Strange Brew

by N C Patterson

  Strange Brew

  Coven Coffee Paranormal Mysteries, Book 1

  N.C. Patterson

  Summer Prescott Books

  Copyright 2019 Summer Prescott Books

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication nor any of the information herein may be quoted from, nor reproduced, in any form, including but not limited to: printing, scanning, photocopying, or any other printed, digital, or audio formats, without prior express written consent of the copyright holder.

  **This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to persons, living or dead, places of business, or situations past or present, is completely unintentional.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Also by N.C. Patterson

  Author’s Note

  Contact Summer Prescott Books Publishing

  Chapter One

  “I got the job! I’m being promoted to the homicide division,” Becca said, her voice ringing excitedly over the phone line.

  Sitting with my feet propped up near my computer keyboard, I nearly fell out of my seat at the news. Throwing out one arm and planting my hand on the desktop, I thankfully kept myself from toppling backwards in the creaky wooden rolling chair.

  Planting my penny loafers firmly on the floor, I spoke into the phone. “Becca, that’s awesome news!”

  “I know. I just had to call you as soon as I found out.”

  “Even before your mom?” I teased her, wiggling my eyebrows even though I knew she couldn’t see me.

  There was a quiet chuckle from her end. “Yes, even before my mom.”

  “She isn’t going to like that,” I told her, holding back the laughter with a hand over my mouth.

  “She doesn’t have to know I called you first, Adrian.”

  Smirking with one side of my mouth, I rolled my eyes a little. “No, I guess not. It isn’t like I’m going to tell her.”

  This time she let out a burst of air as she said, “Ha. No, she probably wouldn’t even believe the news coming from you.”

  “And she’d get suspicious about why I was calling,” I pointed out.

  “Hey, whatever, you know? She’s just going to have to get used to the idea of us.”

  I propped my elbow up on the desk. “We’ve been dating two years. If it hasn’t happened already, I don’t think it’s going to.”

  “You never know,” she said with a song in her voice. “She could wake up one morning and decide she loves you. I know I wake up every morning thinking just that thought.”

  I let out a long sigh. “It would be nice, but I’m not holding my breath, and neither should you.”

  “Come on, Adrian. She has to understand eventually, right?”

  “I’m not sure why you keep holding out hope,” I admitted with a little shrug. “Your mother is a hard-working, dedicated woman who is always trying to improve the community around her. She is like the embodiment of good faith and charity.”

  “See? All the more reason to hold out hope for her to give us her blessing. Goodness knows my dad can’t do that.”

  “But,” I cut her off before she could come in with any other words of hope, “she doesn’t like me, and that is that. She loves her daughter, you, and I’m the man in the way of all that.” I spun in the chair, facing the back wall of my office, a floor to ceiling bookshelf filled to the brim with mystery and thriller novels. In conjunction with the local library, I hosted a weekly book group. “She’s afraid I’m going to steal you away,” I said, returning my thoughts to the conversation at hand.

  “That’s not true. You are not the man in the way.”

  “To her, I am.”

  “What is the old adage? A woman must leave her mother and cling to her husband?”

  “I think you have that backwards. Isn’t it, a man must leave his father and mother and cling to his wife?”

  “Whatever, I don’t know.”

  “Didn’t you go to church camp?” I questioned.

  “Yeah, Mom sent me almost every year, but I never much paid attention to the lectures. I was more into the swimming and sports side of things.”

  “In any case, even if you’d gotten the quote correct, I’m not your husband. I’m sure that is one reason for your mother’s distaste for me.”

  “You’re right, you’re right,” she sighed in agreement. “In her opinion, a sensible woman would have walked out on you by now for not proposing.”

  I cringed at the mention of marriage. It just wasn’t for me, and something I really didn’t want to chat about, not right then.

  “Not to mention, I don’t really fit into her paradigm of a suitable match.”

  “I’m not sure anyone would fit my Mom’s mold for a perfect, old fashioned, and upstanding boyfriend,” she noted with a little scoff in her throat. “At least, not the men I like.”

  I let out a long and pained breath.

  Sometimes, it seemed as if we couldn’t talk about anything else but her mom. This time, however, I knew it was my fault for bringing it up at all. It was up to me to change the subject. “Anyway, I’m not gonna say, ‘I told you so,’ about the job, but I knew you could do it.”

  She was silent for a moment. “Well, I mean, it isn’t totally official or anything. While the chief wants to promote me, I still have to work through the whole mentorship process under gruff old Donald Miner. He at least gets his say before I’m fully instated.”

  “Oh, whatever. You’re basically in.” I waved a hand in the air.

  “Not if Miner thinks I don’t measure up. I have to work side-by-side with him through at least a couple cases until he thinks I’m ready to hoof it alone.”

  “How old is that guy? Hasn’t he been on the force forever?”

  “I think in his late sixties? Anyway, he seems like a tough nut to crack, but you have to give him credit. He knows what he is doing.”

  I wasn’t so sure about that myself. I’d heard rumors around town that the old head of the homicide division was losing his touch. He even let some citizens get too caught up in police matters, from what I understood.

  “Anyway, it’s going to be a tough few months ahead. I won’t be able to see you as much.”

  “But it’ll be worth it. He’ll see what a brilliant young detective you are and put you right in with the best of them.”

  She was hesitant again. Usually, Becca was a very confident woman, but occasionally the hesitancy would slip in--the brief doubt. I think it was something left over from her childhood, that insecurity from never being perfect enough. When it came down to brass tacks, she still had a little bit of that girl in her.

  I supposed that was why she went into law enforcement. It helped her feel like she had some control. More than that, it helped her feel useful, like she was actually making a difference.

  And she was.

  The silence was interrupted by a knock on the back door of the shop.

  “Oh, I’ve gotta go. The food delivery is here.”

  “Okay. I’ll let you get to work. How about we plan on celebrating tonight? Just you and me over drinks or something?”

  “Sounds great, but we’ll have to do it p
retty late. I’m not sure how long the Family Book Day here at the shop is going to last.”

  “You sure you can’t sneak away early?” she asked.

  More knocking echoed through my door. “I’ll see if I can convince Dahlia to cover for me, but no promises,” I told her, getting up from my seat and walking out of the office into the cramped kitchen area.

  “Let me know,” she said. “Love you.”

  “Love you, too.” Hanging up, I finally got to the door and opened it.

  “Good morning,” the older woman said from outside, a big beaming smile on her face. The early sunlight caught in her poof of stark white hair, making it almost seem to glow. Her arms were overloaded with a massive stack of pastry boxes.

  “Morning, Mrs. Haverford. Come on in.”

  “Thank you,” she said, stepping inside, “but how often do I have to tell you to call me Pam?” she scolded with a little smile, setting the stack of boxes on the metal kitchen counter.

  “As many times as I have to tell you to call me Adrian. Everyone else does,” I said with a sideways smile.

  “Well, we’ll both get it right next time,” she said with a subtle laugh. Pulling the receipt off the top, she glanced over it. “Now, that’s six dozen donuts, correct?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I agreed, heading over and opening the top box. Lined up in rows like little soldiers were twelve delicious steaming donuts--a sign they were fresh from the ovens at Pam’s Frosted Bakery--Mrs. Haverford’s shop. Each one was uniform with the next, a shiny coating of oil over the dough, with a glaze of sugar on top, and a chestnut colored drizzle.

  “Is that cinnamon I smell?”

  “Yes, it is. A touch of allspice as well. It’s a new frosting I’m trying.”

  “Delicious. The customers will love it. I wouldn’t be surprised if we were sold out by noon.”

  “Maybe you should order more,” she suggested teasingly.

  “Well, your donuts are always a hit, but I try to support all the local bakeries in the area,” I informed her. “Pies, croissants, cinnamon rolls, you name it. We like having a nice variety for our customers.”

  Mrs. Haverford shrugged. “Why not start baking right here instead of outsourcing?”

  I shook my head. “Our focus is all on having a great library of games for people to play and on tasty drinks in-house. Besides, I’ve never been much of a baker myself.”

  “You know, I’ve never been in the front part of your shop. What sort of drinks do you have?”

  “We do coffee, beer, and wine. The great trifecta. Similar to outsourcing for our baked goods, all of the beer and wine are also from local breweries and wineries. Same with the coffee beans.”

  “Local roasters?”

  I pointed a finger at her and winked. “You got it. However, with that coffee, we make a ton of different themed drinks right here at the cafe--both warm and chilled.”

  “Themed drinks?” she questioned. “Oh, you mean based off witches or Halloween or something?”

  “Exactly. Like, our most popular one right now is the Cauldron Fire Mocha. Sort of a combination of spicy Mexican chocolate and coffee.”

  The older woman hummed hungrily. “Sounds delightful. Maybe I’ll have to bring Don over for a drink one evening.”

  “Don?” I asked, raising one eyebrow.

  “My boyfriend.”

  I hadn’t been aware that Mrs. Haverford was dating anyone. It wasn’t as if I knew her well. I’d only found her shop a few weeks earlier and had started ordering donuts for customers to purchase with their coffee.

  “He is the head detective for the homicide division here in town.”

  At this news, my jaw instantly dropped wide open. “Donald Miner?”

  “Yes, that’s the one. I didn’t know you knew him.”

  “Oh, I don’t,” I admitted, placing a hand on my chest. “My girlfriend is just a member of the police force, and she’s just been promoted to homicide.”

  Mrs. Haverford smiled wide, “Ah, yes. That’s right. I heard Don was going to be training someone new.” She crossed her fingers. “I’m praying that this means new talent can step up and he can finally retire. Maybe even help me at the bakery.”

  “If only,” I chuckled.

  “Anyway, hon, I better get back. I’ve only got one girl managing the store this morning, and we tend to get a big wave of customers when we first open.”

  “Thanks,” I called, picking up the stack of pastry boxes. As I headed out to the front of the shop, I considered whether I could convince my donut baking friend to put in a good word for Becca.

  I paused.

  Maybe to get Detective Miner to retire and pass the reins to Becca, I would need to do a little magic of my own.

  Chapter Two

  “So, when are you going to tell her you’re a warlock?” a voice from somewhere in the shop asked me, almost reading my exact thoughts.

  And there was only one person I knew who could practically read into my mind.

  Glancing down from the stack of donuts I was working on getting out into the glass display case for, I noticed the familiar orange cat waltzing across the tile floor toward me.

  “Tamsin, what are you doing out here?”

  He hopped up onto the counter next to the old-fashioned metal cash register, sitting up straight and batting his tail back and forth. “Hey, I thought I was the official mascot of Coven Coffee. Don’t I have every right to be here?”

  It was true. I had a painted picture of the cat on our hanging wooden sign outside. He was portrayed with a star and moon witch’s hat on his head-- a hot cappuccino (with a skull in the milky froth) held in one paw.

  “No, I know that, but why are you talking? What if one of my baristas was to walk in?”

  He rolled his eyes at me. Typical cat. “There is no one around,” he pointed out, curling up in a ball.

  “Not at the moment, but opening shifts start soon. Also, you can’t be on the counter, and you know it.”

  “Woohoo,” he said sarcastically, reluctantly hopping down onto one of the bar stools where there was no danger of him being too close to the donuts I’d just bought. He wasn’t your normal type of cat, but that didn’t mean a surprise health inspector would know that. I always have to tell him to stay out of the food preparation area. “I have to get all my talking in now before all the mortals arrive, and I have to start pretending to meow and purr all day long.”

  “You don’t have to stick around and pretend. You could always go home.” Behind the brick building where my coffee shop was located, just across the alleyway, was a small little row of townhomes all squeezed in together--one of which I owned and lived in with my familiar Tamsin.

  “Anyway, you didn’t answer my question. When are you going to tell Becca you’re a warlock, Adrian?”

  I paused, staring into the pile of cinnamon donuts in front of me. I wished I could fall into it and not have this conversation. More often than not, my familiar brought up difficult topics I didn’t care to address. Finally, I answered. “I’m not going to . . . ever.”

  “Ever? Well, that’s going to be difficult.”

  “No, it isn’t,” I argued.

  “What about Theo?” he noted, changing to a different difficult topic all while batting his tail against the side of the stool.

  “Aunt Theo? She knows I’m a warlock, you goof,” I pointed out, ignoring where he was going with this conversation.

  Lifting his head, he bared his fangs. “No kidding, Adrian. I mean when are you going to inform her that you’re dating a mortal woman?”

  I swallowed the growing lump in my throat. Leave it to my familiar, the creature sent to protect me in this world and the next, to bring up the hard questions. “Why does she need to know?”

  “It’s been two years. Theo is going to find out eventually if she hasn’t already.”

  I pursed my lips at him. “If she’d already found out about us, she’d be teleporting herself in here so fast that she wouldn’
t even stop to worry if any mortals were around or not.”

  “Of course not,” he said with a wave of his paw. “Theo would just wipe their memories of ever seeing her.”

  “Seems like a waste of good magic,” I complained. “Anyway, you know that would be a terrible idea,” I reminded him. “If Becca’s rich conservative mother hates me for not being good enough for her daughter, my Aunt Theo--the woman who’d raised me from a tiny child--would hate a mortal woman I was dating just as much. No, telling either of them anything is a terrible idea, and you know it.”

  He tilted his head to one side, looking at me. “In that case, perhaps it’s about time you cut this whole thing off,” he suggested with a wicked smirk. Despite the humored smile, I knew there was an honest-to-goodness seriousness behind his suggestion.

  It wasn’t the first time he’d advised me to cut off my relationship with the mortal, and I’m sure it wouldn’t be the last.

  “Oh, hush up,” I scolded him, reaching across the counter and giving him a bop on his little head. “I’m busy getting ready for the day.”

  “Okay, don’t tell her. No skin off my nose. She’ll find out eventually by the fact that you never seem to age while she withers away. I don’t think that will go over well, now will it?”

  I nervously chewed my lower lip, knowing he was right. I had tried to avoid this fact as much as possible.

  “Speaking of which,” he continued, “what about the fact that you’re seventy years old? When are you going to tell her that?” he pointed out, making a jab at my age.

  I scoffed at him, folding my arms. “I don’t look seventy,” I snapped.

  “Not in mortal years, you don’t,” he chuckled, looking me up and down. “But you are seventy. Your birthday was in January, or did you forget?”