“But why?”
She blinked at me, her expression forlorn. “The message is pretty clear. These were welcome gifts, and someone literally destroyed them. We are not welcome here. We are unwanted and unwelcome.”
“This isn't about a ghost,” I said. “You're projecting your fears about moving here because you'd rather repress your fear than admit you're scared.”
She finished gathering the bath products and stood to face me. She'd grown recently, and we were nearly eye-to-eye.
She stated simply, “Someone doesn't want us here.” She turned and went to the den's small window. She pressed her forehead against the glass and said, “Look!”
I joined her at the window.
At the edge of our backyard was a figure clad in black. The figure ducked under the fence separating our yard from the neighbor's.
“It's that stupid boy,” Zoey said angrily. “The one who was peeping at me in my room. He must have gotten inside the house and smashed our things.”
I growled some non-repeatable words.
“Mom, calm down. Don't get all lightning-bolts-and-brimstone.”
Too late. The day had been long and full of cardboard boxes and whining—much of it mine—but we'd survived. Our new life awaited. Nobody, and I mean nobody, was going to stand in our way, especially not an ill-behaved child.
I muttered a few more choice words, turned on my heel, and marched straight out the front door into the twilight of the spring evening. The sweet scent of cherry blossoms smelled sickly. The air crackled around me.
I marched over to the blue door of the Moore Residence, my broom still clutched in one hand and my daughter right behind me.
Chapter 3
I banged on the neighbor's door, yelling, “Open this door right now! I know you're in there!”
Zoey tugged on my arm. “Mom, it was just smelly soap and a potted plant.”
“That lovely fern was a symbol. A gesture of welcoming. Now it's smashed to pieces, and I won't stand for it. We Riddle women are strong and we fight for ourselves. If we don't nip this problem in the bud, one day we'll be the ones smashed to pieces at the hands of that sociopath.”
“He's just a little boy.”
I turned to her. “And before they grew up, so were history's worst dictators.”
The door creaked open. A man said, “Are you comparing my sweet boy to Hitler and Stalin?”
“Yes, I am. He snuck into my new house and smashed…” I blinked at the man standing in the doorway. I'd been expecting someone handsome with green eyes, and while this guy was handsome and did have green eyes, he was also well into his seventies. “You're not Chet.”
The man pinched the wrinkle of skin on the bridge of his nose. “What's Chet done now?”
“Not Chet. It was a little boy.” I held my hand four feet above the porch's floor. “About this high. Dressed in black, like a ninja, with dark hair falling over his forehead. He was in my house less than five minutes ago, smashing things and making both of us feel generally unwelcome.”
The man dropped his hand from his face and gave me a curious look. “Are you two the chumps who bought the old Vander Zalm house?”
Zoey chose this moment to join the cause. “Hey! Who are you calling chumps?”
“That's us,” I said with a forced smile. “But I'm the only one who's on the hook to pay for the mortgage, so that makes me the chump.”
The man said, “Whatever you paid, it was too much.”
And then he slammed the door shut between us.
Zoey gave me her told-you-so look.
I gave her my don't-make-things-worse-for-your-mother look.
I knocked on the door again. This time nobody answered, which was probably for the best, since I was still clutching the broom and thinking about hitting people with it.
The curtains on the window next to the door twitched, and a pale, round face appeared. The little boy had his eyes crossed and his tongue sticking out.
Zoey yelled, “You little creep! You don't scare us!”
He responded by jamming a finger up one nostril and using his other hand to make a rude gesture.
I smacked the glass with the broom and made a scary face right back at him. His eyes widened and he ran away from the window.
Zoey said, “Good job, Mom. Now, let's dial your crazy down and go home to our delicious chopped salad.”
As we left the porch of the blue house, I said, “Forget the salad. Let's order pizza.”
“But we don't know which place has the best pizza. We know nothing about this town. I'll go online and do some research, read all the reviews.”
“Good idea. We can play Dueling Laptops. I'll look into the history of our house and look up the old owner's name and see what she was all about.”
“You mean… see if she died inside the house and became a vengeful ghost?”
I used the broom in my hands to sweep some dirt off our front stairs. “Our house isn't haunted by anything except the boxes that haven't been opened since our previous move.”
“Maybe we shouldn't unpack completely,” she said.
I paused my sweeping to look into her eyes, which were as blue and calm as a summer day at sea. People always told me my daughter had an old soul. I chalked it up to the wide set of her eyes, and how she was continually five minutes ahead of you in any conversation, anticipating what you'd say next and answering questions you hadn't asked.
“We'll get everything unpacked,” she said. “Don't be a worry-wart. No matter what happens, we're definitely here to stay. We'll string fairy lights in the backyard and sleep on the lawn during the summer solstice every year.”
Her words and her certainty sent a shiver through me. Maybe she was an old soul, after all. What did that make me? I finished sweeping the porch and ushered her back into the house.
Five minutes later, we were rejoicing in the miracle of an unsecured wireless network somewhere along the street. Our own internet would be hooked up on Monday, but in the meantime, we were in business.
We each took one side of our comfy sofa, legs interweaved and computers on our laps like warm, square cats.
“Let the Laptop Duel begin,” she said. “One hour?”
“You really think you can get the town's best pizza to our front door within sixty minutes?”
“Easy,” she said. “Will you have a full report on the history of this house and its previous owners?”
“Like it's my job,” I said with a grin. “And… go!”
The typing began.
After a minute, I reached for my tea. I bumped the spoon, which clattered to the floor.
Without looking up, Zoey said, “Company's coming for dinner.”
“Are you psychic now?”
“You dropped a spoon. That means we'll get a visitor.” She rubbed her temples and hummed theatrically. “I'm getting a vision now, it's all coming into focus. I can see him! It's a boy! The visitor is a little boy with black hair.”
I shuddered. “Let's hope that doesn't happen again. You know I've never spanked you, or any other deserving kid, and I'm proud of my spanking-free track record, but if that kid breaks one more thing in my house, I might have to get old-fashioned on his tushie.”
Zoey waved her hands like a mystical fortune-teller and dramatically intoned, “The ninja boy's destiny is out of our hands. Ooo-ooo-oooh! It's all up to the moo-oo-oon goddess now.”
“Just order the pizza,” I said with a sigh.
Chapter 4
Fifty-two minutes later, the doorbell chimed.
“Doorbell,” I said.
My daughter raced to the door and flung it open. I followed behind her, opening my wallet.
We found a skinny teenager delivering our pizza, and also our new neighbor Chet Moore, gripping the little dark-haired boy by the collar.
Zoey glared at the big-eyed boy and said, “You dare darken our doorway, pestilence?”
The boy stuck out his tongue.
Zoey jerked fo
rward, reaching for his tongue, but he recoiled quickly.
“Too slow,” he taunted. “And I'm not pestilence. That's what you are. I was here first.”
I grabbed Zoey by the shoulder and hauled her back. “Kids,” I said to Chet. “Every day is like a trip to the zoo with no admission fee.”
Chet nodded and gave the boy, who looked about ten years old, a stern look.
The pizza delivery guy cleared his throat. I paid the teen for the pizza and said to our neighbors, “Come in and partake of pizza delights. Zoey claims this is the best in town, but we need an expert's opinion.”
“We don't want to impose,” Chet said. “Grampa Don told me what happened today. I only brought Corvin by to apologize.”
The boy—Corvin—squirmed like a fish on a hook. “Sorry,” he croaked.
“Corvin's very sorry,” Chet added. “I'll pay for the damages. How much?”
“Don't worry about the money,” I said. “But I do love a good heartfelt apology. Come in off the porch and join us for food and drinks. We're having lime cordial in martini glasses because that's all the glassware we've unpacked so far.”
The little boy jerked away from Chet's grip on his collar. He flew into the house like an opportunistic housefly on the first day of spring, following Zoey and the pizza.
As they neared the dining room, I heard Zoey say, “Corvin? That's such an interesting name. It means raven.”
“I know that,” spat the boy. “I'm not a dummy. I'm a genius. I'm smarter than you because I'm smarter than everyone.”
“You think you're smarter than me?” Zoey laughed and started quizzing him. “How big is the moon in relation to the earth?”
“Twenty-seven percent.”
“That's a bit high.”
“Dummy! You didn't specify,” he said. “By diameter, the moon is twenty-seven percent compared to earth, but by volume it's two percent.”
“Very good. Here, have some pizza.” A few seconds passed. “Hey! Leave some for the rest of us.”
While the two of them quizzed each other and fought over the pizza, I smiled sweetly at Chet. We were still near the front door, where he was examining the carved wood table we'd positioned in the hallway to receive keys and mail. He nodded appreciatively at the dovetail joints visible inside the drawers. I did always admire a man who had an eye for detail and craftsmanship.
“Your son is a clever boy,” I said.
“He doesn't get it from me.”
“What does your wife do?”
“Nothing,” he said.
“Lucky lady,” I said with a laugh.
“She's dead.” He quickly added, “No need to apologize. It was many years ago, before I moved in next door with my father. Don was supposed to help me raise Corvin to be a well-adjusted and perfectly normal boy. As you can see, that didn't exactly work out as planned.”
“Boys are tough,” I said. “So are girls, but I got lucky. People say Zoey has an old soul.”
Chet finished examining the entry table and glanced down the hall, toward the den. “May I? It's been a while since I've been inside this house.”
“Be my guest.”
He led the way to the den, where he frowned at the dirt and mess on the floor. I apologized for the disaster and started using the broom and dustpan to clean it up.
“Don't apologize.” He knelt near my feet and gathered stray pottery from the corners of the room. “You're not the one who did this.”
“To be fair, we didn't see your son break these things. We only saw him running away from the house.”
“Corvin's supposed to be out of his destructive phase,” Chet said. “He's relapsed. The therapist says I need to be firm, but not overreact. How's a parent supposed to do that? We've been trying to come up with a fair punishment, but he keeps lying. He says it wasn't him. He says a ghost knocked over your welcome gifts.”
“Ask him how he'd know about this so-called ghost if he wasn't inside the house. You can't see into this room from your place.”
He went to the window and sighed as he leaned on the windowsill.
“Corvin isn't like other kids,” he said.
“What's wrong with him?”
He turned to face me, his green eyes blazing, his expression one of pain. “I try to focus on what's right with him. He's still a person.”
“I've offended you,” I said. “I'm very sorry.”
His expression softened. “No, don't be. We came here to apologize to you, and you're not wrong about Corvin. He's not normal.”
I grabbed his arm playfully. “Honey, there's something wrong with all of us, and thank the stars, because it'd be a dull world if we weren't all a bit bent!”
He looked down at my hand on his arm as though he'd never seen a hand before. Was he one of those people with an aversion to being touched? Earlier in the day, when we'd been shaking hands, he had yanked his away suddenly. What would happen if I kept holding his arm? Would he melt?
I studied his green eyes while they stayed trained on my hand. He had long, thick, dark eyelashes. Approximately one in fifty eyelashes was a lighter, silver hue. I began counting his light eyelashes. I'd gotten to twelve when he cleared his throat and gently pulled his arm from my grasp.
“We should check on our kids,” he said.
I cocked my head. “I hear laughter. That's a good sign. You only have to worry when they're quiet.”
“Corvin is very quiet.”
“Maybe they'll become friends. Zoey always wanted a little brother, but as time went on and I got used to being on my own, that became unlikely. Not impossible, because everything works fine down there—better than fine—but you know what it's like being a busy single parent.”
He seemed amused by my oversharing. He licked his lips and said, “Zara Riddle, formerly Zara the Camgirl, I'd be shocked by you discussing your plumbing with a man you just met, but I feel like I know you. Like I've known you for a thousand years. It's the strangest thing.”
“Not really that strange,” I said. “I was famous on the internet for about fifteen minutes, plus you watched me on my webcams and read my journal entries.”
He shook his head. “Life is funny. I can't believe I live next door to Zara the Camgirl. Didn't you live in Chicago? You're a long way from home.”
“I got a great job offer out of the blue and decided to make a leap of faith.”
“To Wisteria,” he said. “That's a big leap of faith.”
I grinned at him. “Too late! You guys are stuck with me now. For better or for worse.”
He finished for me, “Til death do us part.”
“Speaking of which, I dug up a little information about the previous owner of this house. It's probably stuff you already know.”
“Try me.” He flashed a flirty smile. Who was the Turbo-flirter now? Chet Moore. That's who.
I started spouting my research. “Winona Vander Zalm was a wacky diva socialite who showed up at parties for just about anything. You could open a sandwich shop and she'd be there helping to cut the ribbon. I saw a ton of photos of her at every event in Wisteria since people started posting on the internet. She was stunning for her age. How was she as a neighbor?”
“Ms. Vander Zalm was a very dynamic woman.”
“How did she die?” I waited with breathless anticipation.
The room filled with a buzzing sound, brightened, and the two sconce lamps on either side of the fireplace burned out with a sizzling pop.
Chet went to the sconces and frowned at the gray bulbs. “You might have a few circuits overloaded.”
“Chet, you were going to tell me how—”
Ignoring me, he said, “I can check the electrical panel before I go. Someone should look into this and make sure it's not a fire hazard.”
I joined him in frowning at the gray, burned-out bulbs. “Don't tell our kids about this. They'll be saying the ghost did it.”
“I said I'll check the electrical panel, and I will, Zara. You can count on me.”
“Thank you.”
“No need to catastrophize.”
I laughed. “You don't need to slap me like some hysterical woman in an old horror movie. I told you before, we Riddle women are tougher than we look. If we have a ghost, we'll deal with it ourselves.”
“Don't be so sure about that.”
The temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees. The hairs on my forearms stood up. “Do you believe in ghosts?”
“There's more to this world than what's visible,” he said. “For example, magnetic fields. They're not visible, but they're powerful. The moon pulls the ocean up on the shores like a silky blanket.”
“Chet Moore, you believe in ghosts!”
He reached up and ran one fingertip across his eyelashes. There seemed to be more silver ones than had been there a moment earlier.
“Let's leave the ghost stories to our kids,” he said. “As for Ms. Vander Zalm, she passed away peacefully in her sleep.”
“Here? In the house?”
“I did say peacefully. Can you imagine anything more peaceful than passing into the next world from the comfort of your home?”
“Chet, I like how you don't give straight answers. I'm sure it drives some people crazy, but I dig it. You're interesting.”
“Are you being sarcastic?”
“I don't know. I can never tell if someone's being sarcastic or not, even when that person is me.”
“Zara Riddle, you are so much more than Zara the Camgirl.”
“I'm a librarian.”
“Really?”
“Starting Monday!”
He raised an eyebrow. “Tell me more about this librarian job of yours,” he said.
And I did.
We joined the kids and wrestled a few slices of pizza away from them. Everyone got comfortable in the half-unpacked living room. I told Chet about how excited I was to be working my dream job in a town that felt like an undiscovered gem. How did Wisteria even exist? The town had just enough of everything, was as pretty as a postcard, and my dream house was totally affordable. How had the rest of the world not packed up their bags and moved there ahead of me?
Chet didn't have any answers but agreed that Wisteria had to be paradise because people kept telling him that. He'd grown up there, so he knew little else.
Wisteria Witches (Witch Cozy Mystery and Paranormal Romance) Page 2