Murder in Moon Water

by CeCe Osgood

  Like that little dog.

  "Stop thinking about it," she said. "Focus on what you need to do today."

  She'd read that the ability to compartmentalize helped to de-stress the mind and keep it from deep-diving into depression or, in her case, flipping out.

  Most of the time that 'something else' for her meant cleaning the house or sending out resumes online—a futile effort, so far—or overturning the soil in the backyard garden and mowing the grass, which she’d done three times already this week.

  She'd grown quite fond of the old push mower she'd found in the shed since it meant more exercise and no gagging gasoline odor.

  Near the front porch, she knelt to tie a flapping shoelace. Leaves rustled in the nearby honeyberry bush; her body cringed. Her mind said, It's just a bird, Abby, relax.

  She stood up and stretched her hamstring muscles by rising up on her toes. Maybe I should make a syrup like Lulu did? Why not? George offered the berries to me.

  She reached for a plump honeyberry. It was quite tasty, and she had yogurt. She could add a few berries for a nice snack. She was plucking more off the bush when a tan cargo van pulled into George's driveway. The driver climbed out. "You're gonna have to pay for those, lady."

  Abby gawked at the slim blue-jeaned boyish man loping toward her, keys jangling in his hand. An impish grin appeared on his bronzed face. "I'm kidding. Take all you want."

  "Thanks, but who are you?"

  "I inherited this place from my Uncle George. I'm Wyatt."

  "Abby." She finger-waved to him. "Nice to meet you, Wyatt. Are you moving in today?"

  "I brought a few things. I plan to go back and forth to my apartment in Santa Clarita. That's near L.A. so it's a chunk of driving." Aha, Abby thought. She definitely got a California vibe from him, plus there was is hair streaked from the sun and the sea. A surfer, she guessed.

  He nodded at George's cottage. "Do you know what it's like inside?"

  "If it's like mine, the interior is straight out of the seventies. Harvest gold stove and fridge and formica countertops.

  He scrunched his nose. "That's crap. I guess I'll have to buy newer appliances when I get ready to put it on the market. That's my plan. Renovate it and sell it."

  He stuck his hands in his pockets. "I don't t-think Uncle George would mind if I sold it. But then it's been so long since I've seen him, I don't know what he would say. I should've made more of an effort."

  His expression grew pensive. "I don't know. Maybe I'll move in and keep it. A quiet little hamlet like this might be just what I need to finish some of my songs."

  "You're a songwriter?"

  "I don't feel I can claim that title yet. Not until I can make a decent living from it. How about you? What keeps you occupied?"

  "At the moment, scouring this town for work. I'm a new resident."

  His cell pinged; he reached for it, checked the text, started to walk away. "Well, best of luck, and take all the berries you want, Abby."

  She watched him trod up the steps to enter the cottage. Cute, friendly and probably not even thirty yet. Having him for a neighbor could fun. "Unless he has his uncle's personality and suddenly turns into a grouch."

  Clutching a handful of berries, she walked up the porch steps slowly as she told herself not to be silly, there would be no surprises, like a dog she could see that her daughter couldn't.

  As she crossed over the threshold, her eyes skipped around the cozy living room. "Ohhh," she gasped, stricken by the sight of the dog stretched out on the sofa.

  The noise woke up the tiny Dachshund. It bolted upright, its mouth moving, seeming to bark at her. But she didn't hear anything. It was as if the little dog was on mute.

  With a flap of its silky black ears, it jumped off the sofa but instead of landing on the floor, the pup momentarily floated in the air ... and then vanished.

  Abby's knees jellied, and her body toppled to the floor. She lay there in shock and astonishment, and when her heart rate came back to normal, she knew she couldn't deny it any longer. She needed help.

  Chapter Nine

  Overhanging chokeberry trees shadowed the two-story Tudor house up on a hill. The driveway and front steps were steep, maybe forty, fifty feet up.

  "Oh, goodie, more exercise," she griped as she trekked up the steep walkway, lifted the ring of the football-sized owl door knocker and let it slam against the brass plate. The resounding clank made her snort, "Well, that'll wake the dead."

  Selene, with her silvering hair up in a bun on the top of her head, ushered Abby inside. Since Selene believed in psychics, Abby thought she might be able to refer her to a good one, a real one, if there was such a thing. Maybe there was. She'd seen those shows on TV.

  "Let me bring in some tea," Selene said, disappearing into another room.

  Abby gazed around the darkened living room with its heavy drawn drapes and shell-shaped lamps glowing on opposite sides of a long Chesterfield oxblood sofa.

  A stone fireplace, unlit despite the cooling weather, was flanked on each side by needlepoint tapestries of pastoral landscapes. There was something familiar in the design of the tapestries, but the longer she stared at them, the stranger they became.

  She turned away and chose one the two enormous armchairs, clasping her jittery hands together as she sat waiting. How much should I tell Selene? I'll just tap dance around it. She might be the wrong person to ask.

  Selene carried in a tray with a teapot and two delicate bone china cups, saucers and a single rosebud in a cut crystal vase. Placing the tray near Abby, she said, "Help yourself if you wish."

  Abby bypassed the tea and any chitchat to hurriedly explain her dilemma. "I know I sound ridiculous, but I feel like things are happening that I have no explanation for."

  Selene leaned forward. "Oh?"

  "Either I'm hallucinating or"—she heaved an exasperated and desperate sigh—"I think I might have, don't laugh, I might've seen a ghost."

  There was no surprise or derision in Selene's response. "What makes you say that?"

  "I'll answer that after you tell me something. What kind of dog did George have?"

  "Winston was a mini-Dachshund, black and tan, the classic Doxie. "

  "I knew it." Abby breathed in through her nose and exhaled slowly. "I saw Winston's ghost sitting in my living room near the fireplace."

  Since Selene seemed open to what she was saying, Abby continued, "And that's not the only strange thing that's happened to me. Back in Martindale, I experienced this..." she broke off, censoring herself. It was so unbelievable.

  "Tell me everything that's bothering you, Abby."

  Putting aside her reluctance, she recounted the peculiar memories from long ago when she saw the little boy lost in the woods and the strange figure in black with the silver pony. "That was years ago. More recently I had something even stranger happen to me. My palm started itching, like it was stung by millions of bees, and then I saw these blue sparks flying out of it."

  She gulped, wary of telling Selene how the sparks had saved her from a psychotic killer. It sounded ludicrous even though it really happened.

  "Tell me about the ghost," Selene said.

  "He was on the couch when I walked in. I startled him, and he jumped up and started barking, but I didn't hear anything. It was like he was mute."

  Selene lifted an index finger to her rub her chin. "You heard nothing?"

  "Nothing, and then I remembered when the dog was running down the dirt path leading me to George's body, there wasn't a sound either. No whimper, no bark, no sound of his paws hitting the ground."

  Selene, hands clasping each other in her lap, let out a long sigh.

  Abby felt certain she knew what Selene was going to say. She had to see a psychiatrist ... immediately.

  Selene's words were not at all what she was expecting. "This is happening much sooner than I anticipated, but then I was never good with timing."

  Bewilderment registered on Abby's face.

  "I'm afra
id this will not sit well with you, Abby, it is, however, exceedingly important for you to grasp. But before I go on, I have to say that I'm certain you did see a ghost."

  Chapter Ten

  "But I don't believe in ghosts."

  Selene let a faint smile surface. "Some people don't believe the earth is round. Beliefs are not necessarily true, are they?" She leaned forward, her hands fidgeting, betraying her own nervousness. "I know this will sound strange to you, so please let it sink in. You and I, well, we are ... related."

  "No, we're not.”

  "Yes," Selene said softly, earnestly. "We are. And the rest of what I have to tell you is even more unbelievable although it’s unreservedly true. Please let me explain."

  Selene spoke quickly and directly. "My great-great-great grandmother and yours were cousins. They lived in the same village off the coast of Ireland on Kinraven Island, but over time, their descendants wandered to other regions and countries and continents.

  "Some followed the old traditions, some, like your mother—"

  Abby stiffened. "My mother?"

  "Yes. She never wanted to be part of what I will call 'our heritage' so she disavowed the family and disappeared into the world. No one heard from her for many, many years. Your mother, Phoebe..."

  Abby nodded, disbelieving. "That's her name.”

  "Phoebe fell in love at first sight with your father. They married shortly after that and you were born a year later. You were five when she passed away after a short illness."

  "How do you know all of this?"

  "She came to me in a dream."

  Abby felt chilled. "A dream?"

  Selene pressed on. "I'm not a medium so I don't see ghosts, but I do, on occasion, get visitors in my dreams from the other realms."

  "Other realms?" Abby's pulse notched upward. Sheesh, this town must breed loonies.

  "Phoebe came to me, I didn't know who she was until she told me, and she compelled me to bring you here."

  Abby felt like she was rapidly falling from the sky while the earth was swelling up to meet her. Like she was flying and falling in her recurring dream. This couldn't be true, and yet, somehow, she knew it was.

  She seldom ever thought about her mother. It brought a sadness she couldn't handle so she pushed it away, but now that sadness was engulfing her causing distress, and yet it was also strangely comforting.

  A long moment passed in silence. Finally, she looked at Selene as her curiosity surfaced. "Why did she want me here?"

  "She said your gifts would be needed."

  "What gifts?"

  "You're an enchanter, Abby. And from what you've describe to me—the blue sparks—you have the potential for remarkable powers."

  Abby's memory clicked. The weirdo guy with the wolf tattoo back in Martindale had called her an enchanter.

  Selene said, "An enchanter, depending on the level, has certain gifts, along with access to the other realms. We usually keep to ourselves and remain hidden although there have been conflicts with humans. I'm sure you've heard their common term for us. Witch.”

  "W-witch," Abby sputtered. Her eyes darted to the front door—the fastest escape route. I was right. This town is full of loonies. It's one thing to believe in psychics, but witches. C'mon. She started to rise.

  "You must sit," Selene said sharply, removing a pencil-sized wand of ebony from her pocket. “I'll cast a spell if I have to."

  "A spell?”

  Confusion, alarm and the overpowering awareness of a tick, tick, ticking inside of her forced Abby to sit back down.

  "Yes, Abby, you’re a witch due to your heritage and the magick inside of you."

  Selene paused, watching to see if it was registering or if fear had dragged her into denial. Abby still looked ready to flee.

  Selene waved the wand. "I so often find that action convinces when words fall short."

  She aimed the wand at the teacup which floated up in front of Abby's face and swirled around until it landed back in the saucer.

  Then Selene aimed the wand toward the front door and uttered something under her breath.

  The door unlocked with a click and swung open. The football-sized owl knocker came flying inside, soared around the living room twice then flew back to the door which slammed shut.

  Astonished, Abby laid a hand on her stomach which was churning with anxiety. Selene said, "I can move objects up to a weight of perhaps thirty pounds. It comes in handy with groceries. I have a few other gifts too."

  Selene gave her warm grin. "There. I see a gleam of understanding, and your memory block is vanishing, isn't it?"

  "My what?"

  "Your mother cast a memory block spell on you when she knew she would no longer be around. She did it to keep your gifts from emerging until you were an adult and could fully understand the extent of your heritage. She did not want you to fall under the influence of those who are malicious and manipulative."

  Abby's mouth twitched. She didn't like the sound of that.

  "Unfortunately, Phoebe suffered from a malady most of the Adamas have, myself included."

  Abby grimaced. This was sounding worse and worse. "What malady is that?"

  "We're terrible with math. She added too many years to the spell. Instead of a fifteen-year block, she accidentally doubled it to thirty. And now, it's finally wearing off."

  Abby dropped her gaze to the floor, doubt pricking at her. Could this be true? It's so bizarre. But it did explain so many unexplainable things that had happened to her throughout her life.

  Selene reached for her teacup. "Tell me, Abby, have you recently encountered a book with a peculiar title?"

  Her head jerked up."Yes. The title is Tick Tock, A Memory Block."

  Selene let out a soft cackle. "Silly rhymes are a favorite of certain enchanted beings who prefer to manifest in different physical forms. You'll understand that later. For now, consider this Tick Tock book as your guide."

  "It's not a book?""

  Selene's mouth quirked. "The entity is manifesting as a book which is useful since reading is a swift method of sharing knowledge. This particular type of entity tends to be impish and stubborn. It may disappear at times, but it will return."

  Despite her internal debate, Abby did her best to absorb what she heard, and as she did, her pulse steadied until a discordant thought emerged. "So, I didn't win the cottage. It was a set up to get me here."

  Selene, pinking with embarrassment and guilt, conceded it was a set up. "But the other entrants received a consolation prize worth more than their entry fee. Each one was sent a spell for good luck, be it for love or money. It was their choice.”

  Selene retrieved a cellphone from her pocket and tapped the screen. "This is my accomplice."

  Abby gasped. The accomplice was Twila, the young woman who'd rented the house next to hers in Martindale. It was Twila who had persuaded Jill to enter the online contest for the cottage.

  Selene smiled at the image on her phone. "She's my daughter. I enlisted her help to bring you here."

  Abby took a moment to let it all register, then said, "I thought she was just some kooky girl."

  Selene laughed. "An apt description for my Twila."

  Abby said, "I once asked her where she was from and she said a teeny tiny town. She meant Moon Water, didn't she?"

  “Yes. In fact, it was her idea to use the cottage as the grand prize. It's been in the family for years. For the past two decades, we've used it as a vacation rental, but I felt it was right for you. I knew you would fall in love with it."

  “And I did.”

  Selene tilted her head. "I know this has been overwhelming for you, Abby. I think it's best if you go home now and let it all sink in. We'll get busy tomorrow with your training."

  "Training?”

  "There is much to learn about"—her hand gestured—"this world and the other realms."

  Abby placed her hand on the arm of the chair about to rise, then halted. "Will I ever get to meet my mother?"

&nbs
p; "I don't know, dear. It's not my decision. What I do know is there are mysteries upon mysteries, and it is wise to never say never."

  As she pocketed her phone, Selene cautioned, "You must keep this to yourself, Abby. Please say nothing to your daughter."

  Jill. Oh my. Abby's eyebrows spiked up. "Is she a witch too? She can read my mind sometimes.”

  "I don't know if she is or not. Her abilities may never develop beyond the level of telepathy which some humans possess. We will have to wait and see."

  Then Selene closed her eyes, waved a hand in circles as she muttered words in a language Abby didn't understand. "There. I've conjured a spell. Jill won't be able to read your mind for a while."

  Selene rose.

  Abby did too. "I do have one more question. Why did the ghost dog come to me?”

  “I don't know. It's the spirit's choice, not ours."

  Selene opened the front door, peeked out at the evening stars and yawned. "Almost my bedtime."

  "I thought witches were fond of midnight and swooping around on their broomsticks.”

  "A few do gather in the woods or favor traveling by broomsticks. Most of us live quiet mundane lives though we may use an occasional spell or concoct a healing potion with the herbs and minerals from this miraculous planet."

  Abby murmured, “So no covens and dancing in the woods, huh?"

  Selene gave her an enigmatic smile. "Oh, I didn't say that.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Abby threw her arms out, feeling refreshed by the cool mist rising, then trotted down the steep steps of Selene's Tudor home.

  "Are you ready for this?" she asked herself.

  "Nope. And sort of."

  It had become clear her life would never be the same after today, but at least now all of the strange things made sense.

  She captured a strand of her red hair in her hand and stared at it.

  Part of her was fearful, and part of her couldn't wait for the training Selene had promised. Would she learn to chant? To cast spells? To make potions? "Ooh, will I get my own wand and a broomstick?"