Essentials of Murder: The Aromatherapy Apothecary, #1

CHAPTER ONE

Mom, you have to do something. Go to City Hall and complain. The voice next door dropped for a moment, then rose again, loud enough for me to hear the end of his rant. …put you out of business.

Stop harping. Victoria Lewellyn’s gravelly cough interrupted her tirade. I don’t see Carissa’s shop as competition. We can work together with enough business to go around. I’ve already discussed collaborating with her on a few items.

If you don’t believe she’ll steal your customers, you’re blind. A door slammed. If you won’t do something about it, I will.

Over the past two weeks, I’d heard the same cringey argument nearly every day. I had a hard time concentrating as I tried to tame my shop into some semblance of organization before my grand opening. I turned up the music to drown out their ongoing bickering. My aromatherapy shop wouldn’t steal customers from Victoria’s candle shop. Our products complemented each other, but Russ Lewellyn refused to listen to reason.

Bright sunlight made the pastel-hued glass jars glow on the shelves in front of me. I arranged them by color in the front window of Aromatherapy Apothecary. The display was meant to entice customers at the shop’s grand opening in two days. In the meantime, there were more than enough last-minute details to keep me working late into the night. 

The bells on Mystic Valley Candles’ door jangled like they were angry at the world. Russ stopped in front of my window, saw me standing there, and punched his fist toward me. A dark scowl cut through his bushy black brows, and his beefy face and neck turned a mottled red.

I jumped and knocked a jar off the shelf. 

The sound of glass shattering on the polished concrete floor echoed through the store. When I looked up from the mess, he was staring at me. My heart stopped. I couldn’t shake the feeling that nothing but hatred filled the man’s soul.

He sneered, then turned and stomped down the street toward City Hall.

I’d done nothing he could complain about that would jeopardize my business. Still, I worried he might fabricate something that could postpone my opening.

The scent of lavender spread throughout my shop as I carefully wiped up fragments of glass that scattered across the floor. Sweet almond oil, infused with lavender, had splashed on the wall, the legs of the tables, and in a growing circle on the floor. I didn’t have time to make sure all the grease was cleaned from the floor, but the last thing I could afford—or want—was for someone to slip and fall. Insurance was much more expensive than I’d expected, especially without placing a claim the very day I opened. I’d planned to fit in time distilling a new batch of lavender essential oils. I wanted to tinker with my Celebration blend for the grand opening, but the cleanup was taking up a lot of the time I’d allotted for those tasks.

When the last shard of glass had been wiped up and my floor felt squeaky clean, a soft knock sounded on the locked adjoining door that separated my shop from Mystic Valley Candles. I stood and brushed a tendril of curly raven-black hair that had escaped the elastic band holding my thick ponytail away from my face. Droplets of perspiration dotted my moon-shaped face, despite the air-conditioning that hummed. It was much too hot for early April, and I worried about what summer held for the small town of Oak Creek Valley in Southern California.

I hurried to unlock my side of the connecting door and pulled it open.

Victoria eased into my shop and handed me a plate of chocolate chip cookies. She’d already found out my favorite.

I’m so sorry about my son’s behavior. I don’t know what’s gotten into him. Her washed-out gray eyes were red-rimmed. A generous amount of crow’s-feet framed her eyes and lines marred the skin surrounding her thin, chapped lips. Ever since his father left, he seems to fly off the handle for no reason.

It’s not your fault. I held up the plate. Thanks for the cookies. Can I fix you a cup of tea?

That would be nice. Thank you. Her hands trembled as she reached up to pat her gray bob.

Please, sit. I motioned to a padded black leather barstool at the narrow island that ran down the center of the shop. It didn’t take long for me to fill the delicate floral-patterned tea cups with cinnamon tea I’d brought in a thermos carafe with me that morning. I placed a cup and saucer in front of her.

She sipped her tea, and I bit into a gooey chocolate chip cookie. It was the perfect ratio of chocolate to cookie, and I liked how she’d added a mixture of regular-sized chocolate chips and mini-sized chocolate chips. I reached for another cookie and watched as her gaze swept around my shop, taking in the disorganized stacks of diffusers, aromatherapy kits, and jewelry. My neighbor appeared much older than her fifty-four years. Her skin was more sallow than usual, and worry lines mixed with her normal wrinkles. 

I’ve talked to Russ until I’m blue in the face. Why can’t he understand business will be better for both of us if we collaborate? 

My face warmed. I didn’t want to tell her about her son’s behavior. She had enough worries over him already.

She lifted her pointy nose in the air and sniffed. I have customers who would pay more for organic and natural scented candles, like the lavender you’re scenting the room with. Do you have a diffuser running? 

No, I, uh, accidentally knocked over one of my sample jars.

You should think about using diffusers or something to scent your store with seasonal fragrances. The lavender is lovely, but it might be a bit too calming. Citrus will be popular during the summer and cinnamon in the fall. Victoria’s eyes regained a bit of their spark. On days when it’s not too hot, prop your door open and use a fan to blow the fragrance out onto the sidewalk area. That’ll bring in customers.

Is that what you do?

Never underestimate the power of the schnoz. She pointed to my freckled nose. Let me know when you do that and we can coordinate our scents.

Uh, sure. Great, one more thing I needed to add to my to-do list. Maybe my dad had an extra fan tucked away in his garage. 

Rumor around town has it you’ve set up a distillery in here. She mimed tossing back a drink. Are you doing anything illegal that I should know about?

No! Absolutely nothing illegal is going on here. Heat flooded my face again. Before I moved back to Oak Creek Valley, I had enough accusations thrown at me to last me a lifetime. I’m distilling some of the essential oils I sell, which should help the bottom line. Lavender is one of the key ingredients along with citrus from our local Pixie tangerines.

My mentor, Mariska Kemp, had talked me into purchasing a copper distiller. While distilling my own essential oils was more work than I bargained for, Mari made a good point. With organic fields of lavender, flowers, and herbs, plus orchards of tangerines, lemons, oranges, avocados, and olives readily available within fifty miles of my shop, I could get quality ingredients at reduced prices and pass those savings on to my customers. 

Using local ingredients will be a good selling point. Once you open, I’ll buy some of your tangerine essential oils and try it in a batch of candles. She gulped the tea remaining in her cup. Maybe we can do some cross-promotion that way and get Russ off my back.

I’ll give you some right now so you can start experimenting. I walked over to a stack of boxes, rummaged through them, and handed her a vial. Let me know what you think.

She uncapped the vial and took a sniff. Her eyes widened. I can’t wait to try this in a candle. It’ll be a huge seller, especially in the summer months.

If you like that, you’ll have to try my Celebration Blend once it’s perfected. I had experimented with numerous essential oils and had narrowed down the mixture to include jasmine, geranium, coriander, and rosemary essential oils along with our local Pixie tangerines. I was close to figuring out the exact ratios for the uplifting fragrance, but the blend still wasn’t quite what I’d envisioned. In fact, I’ll commission you to make Celebration Blend candles to sell in my shop, if that’s agreeable to you.

That works for me. She nudged her teacup and saucer away from the edge of the counter. I’ve taken up enough of your time. You probably have a lot you need to get done before your grand opening.

There aren’t enough hours in the day, but I’m opening, one way or another.

Stay optimistic and let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.

The cookies were the perfect pick-me-up. We walked to the adjoining doors. I appreciate it.

My pleasure. She tilted her head. You’d better make sure you keep this door locked from your side. I’d hate for my son to sabotage your new business before you even open.

CHAPTER TWO

Victoria closed her side of the connecting door and turned the deadbolt.

My mouth gaped open.

She was worried about her son destroying my shop? What in the heck had I done to deserve his malice? 

I shut my connecting door harder than I intended. The bang reverberated around the walls and echoed off the polished concrete floors. I jumped, then turned the deadbolt to lock the door on my side. I hoped she didn’t think I’d done that in anger, but deep down I knew I had. Russ wasn’t the only one experiencing anger management issues. Ever since I’d been arrested nine months ago, it didn’t take a whole lot to tick me off—or make me jump.

I closed my eyes and took several deep, calming breaths, then unlocked the cabinet in the island and pulled out two small bottles of oils—patchouli and lemon. I extracted two drops from each and placed them in a tiny glass bowl, then eyeballed three-quarters of a teaspoon of sweet almond oil and a quarter teaspoon of local organic olive oil into the mix. The smell of patchouli wasn’t entirely pleasant, but the lemon oil made it bearable. I massaged half the mixture onto my arms, applying with long, gentle strokes.

As my skin absorbed the oils, I plopped down on the floor and kicked my shoes and socks off. I worked the remaining mixture into my soles, applying extra pressure along the line horizontal to the balls of my feet. I sighed as some tension slipped from my body. With the hectic schedule of opening the shop, I’d neglected practicing reflexology, and my body had paid the price.

A key turned in the lock of my front door and the chimes hanging on the handle jangled as it pushed open. I jumped and the now-empty glass bowl skittered across the floor.

Carissa? Are you here? Mari entered the shop and locked the door behind her.

I’m putting on my socks and shoes. 

Mari peered over the countertop. Is everything all right?

Eh. I rocked my hand as I looked up at the nut-brown, deeply wrinkled face of my friend. Her jet-black hair was cut short, the ends spiked up with gel. The stress is getting to me. A quick massage with some patchouli and lemon helped.

Do you have time for a longer reflexology session? She walked around the counter and pulled me to my feet. Despite her tiny size and advanced age, she was remarkably strong and energetic.

I’ll be fine. Can I take you up on that offer after opening day is over? 

Absolutely. Don’t forget to take care of yourself in the meantime. Mari studied my face with her golden-brown eyes. But the stress isn’t from all that needs to be accomplished. What happened?

How do you do that? You can always tell when something’s wrong.

You’re an open book, darlin’. She patted my round cheek. Now, tell me all about it, and let’s see if there’s something I can do to help.

My friend, my mentor. Mari had rescued me many times over the last four years. I would have still been floundering in life—or worse, in prison—if she hadn’t taken me under her wing. Her gaze never left my face as I told her about my run-in with Russ and his mother’s warning. She glanced over at the adjoining door. He’s a troubled young man. Keep that locked.

I snorted. I do. He’s in his thirties. He’s beyond being a young man and should have grown out of that.

Mari frowned and shook her head. Some people would have said the same of you, my dear. Look past the actions and see what’s beneath the surface that creates those actions.

I shouldn’t be so quick to judge, but I felt threatened by him. You’re right. His mother said Russ started the angry behavior after his father left.

How long ago was that?

I didn’t think I should pry, so I didn’t ask.

She rolled her eyes. "You mean to say you didn’t think to ask."

Ack. She knows me too well. 

I hung my head. I’m trying to be sensitive. But when I get stressed, it all flies out the window.

It doesn’t matter. He’ll see reason within a few weeks when he finds your shop is bringing them new business and profits. Mari tugged me toward the distilling room, where my copper still occupied a long butcher-block table. Show me your new concoction. I’ll help figure out what needs to be done to make it worthy of the celebration.

We worked together for an hour, Mari’s sharp nose and intuitive nature pinpointing the adjustments that needed to be made. I crossed my fingers as we left the still to do its magic through steam distillation. The system held enough water to run for several hours, so I didn’t have to babysit it. I’d turn it off after two hours and allow the resulting concoction to rest overnight before separating the oil from the hydrosol and bottling it in tinted vials. I’d use the hydrosol, which was basically the scented water extracted from the plant material, to perfume the warm towels used during reflexology appointments.

Mari departed to have lunch with a friend at one of the historic downtown arcade cafes, known state-wide for its innovative vegan food. Omnivores and herbivores alike lined up for the delicious meals. Despite having a few cookies earlier, my stomach rumbled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten lunch. I eyed my PB&J sandwich, but it wasn’t very appealing. Instead, I was tempted to stroll down the block to Jean-Luc Patisserie for a cup of coffee and a croissant sandwich. 

Purse in hand, I locked the door and turned right onto the wide sidewalk toward the patisserie. I waved at Victoria as I passed the candle shop, then dodged around several tourists who stood clumped together, their heads bent as they consulted a map. 

Oak Creek Valley—located about two hours north of Los Angeles in normal traffic—was home to artists, New Age enclaves, and spas, as well as award-winning wineries. With plenty of warm sunshine year-round, tourists flocked to our valley. Downtown Oak Creek wasn’t very big—just a few blocks of shops and restaurants, and a large park that held an outdoor amphitheater. 

I pushed the glass door open and stepped into the cheerful interior of the patisserie.

Lunchtime was over, but several people waited in line. 

I glanced at the enticing desserts in the glass case and reminded myself that I was here for lunch. I didn’t want to admit to myself that I was really here for the delicious baker, Jasper Whitby. My heart beat faster when he stepped through the kitchen door. He focused his attention on the patron placing an order, and I returned my gaze to the tempting pastry case with the mouthwatering mounds of delectable desserts. 

I knew better than to think he’d noticed me as anything other than a chubby customer who enjoyed gobbling up his delightful goodies, or at least a cup of coffee, just about every afternoon. I couldn’t resist admiring his green eyes flecked with gold or his slow smile that ended with a dimple appearing in his left cheek whenever he took my order. His deft hand at making utterly sinful Triple Chocolate Rolls ratcheted my admiration to the stratosphere. I reminded myself, again, that I needed a sandwich and not a pastry.

By the time it was my turn to order, the butterflies in my stomach were performing cartwheels and went into overdrive when Jasper flashed his bright smile at me.

What can I get for you today, Carissa? His slow drawl made the words sound low and husky.

I wanted to fan myself. Do you have any croissant sandwiches? And a cup of coffee too. I fumbled in my purse for my credit card, keeping my gaze on Jasper.

Will turkey and smoked provolone work for you? He accepted my card and our fingers brushed.

I hope he didn’t notice my trembling hand. That would be great. Thanks. I took the card back and dropped it into my purse. Can I get it to go?

It’ll be ready in a few minutes. Jasper turned and spoke to the pimply teenage boy working at the espresso machine. The kid went back into the kitchen for a moment, then returned.

He ignored the line, looking at me instead. Are you all set for your grand opening?

I’m getting there. It’s not quite as organized as I’d have liked, but it’ll work well enough.

I’ll be happy to drop by this evening and give you a hand. Just say the word.

Before I could say thanks, the elderly woman behind me interrupted. Excuse me, but I don’t have all day to wait to place an order.

Pardon me. I didn’t mean to hold up the line. I moved to the side to wait for my sandwich.

Jasper’s interactions with the other customers made me smile. As an apology for making them wait, he included a free cookie with each order. He gave each of them a wide grin and made them feel like he was honored they’d stopped by his patisserie.

I’m delusional if I think he’s interested in me any other way.

It didn’t take long for the kid to hand me a white bakery sack and a to-go cup. 

Jasper met my gaze again, and he winked. 

Heat flooded my face, but before I could react, his attention was back on the ordering customer.

I juggled the bakery bag and coffee on the way back to my shop. At the door, I fumbled with my keys. The lock clicked open and just as I’d reached for the door handle, I saw Russ sauntering down the sidewalk. He had a smug smile and his steps were jaunty.

What changed his mood?

I wasn’t sure if he’d noticed me, so I flung myself into the shop, secured the deadbolt, and hid behind the wall that separated the front door from my window display case. I waited a few minutes, then peeked out the window.

He stood there, staring in, like he’d waited for me to look.

Startled, I yelped and the bakery sack and full cup of coffee tumbled from my hands.

He raised his hand and formed his thumb and finger into the shape of a gun. Bang. You’re dead.

CHAPTER THREE

By the time I’d found my cell phone in my purse, Russ was gone. I didn’t think I was in any real danger, but his actions rattled me, so I made a call that brought my twenty-seven-year-old self tremendous embarrassment.

Chief Carmichael, here.

Dad? I wrapped my free arm around my stomach. I, uh, I think someone just threatened me, but it’s probably not serious. Just thought I should run it by you, you know, in case.

Where’re ya at, Carissa? Are you safe? His radio squawked in the background.

I’m safe in my shop. He ran away already.

Stay where you are. I’ll be there in ten. 

Dead air filled my ear.

My dad, Police Chief Robert Carmichael, had served the small town of Oak Creek Valley for over fifteen years. Everyone knew him. Some loved him, some feared him, and a few wanted him out of the way. My scandal almost brought about his downfall. The only thing that saved him was that it happened in San Francisco, several hundred miles to the north, and I was eventually cleared of the charges. Barely. And my straight-laced dad had spent a lot of his retirement savings to get the best lawyers for me. To say our relationship hadn’t fully recovered would be an understatement.

While I waited for him to show up, I mopped up the spilled coffee and tried to get the milky brown stains out of my leggings. My sneakers were soaked but there wasn’t much I could do about that, except dab at the moisture. They’d need to take a spin through the washer. I made a mental note to bring a spare change of clothes and shoes to keep in the shop should further mishaps occur. With an appetite that had vanished when Russ startled me, I tossed the coffee-soaked sandwich into the wastebasket. If I got hungry later, I could eat my PB&J. Missing a meal wouldn’t hurt me, though. 

Dad used his key to let himself into my shop. He paused a moment, perhaps to look at his only child, who had increased in girth since her disgraced return home several months ago. Or perhaps to figure out what to say to said daughter. In the end, he resorted to interacting with me in an official capacity.

"Are you