“She's a terrible realtor,” I said.
“She really is awful,” he agreed. “But Winona asked specifically for Dorothy Tibbits in her will.” He poured himself a glass of orange juice and stared at it. “Honestly, just between the two of us, Ms. Vander Zalm had gotten a little kooky toward the end. It wasn't just eating Pop Tarts in the bathtub. She got confused about other things.”
“I'll say. She confused Dorothy Tibbits with a good real estate agent.”
Chet winced. “Technically, she requested the real estate services of the dog mascot, Toto. She wanted Toto, the dog, to sell her house.”
“Is Toto properly licensed as a realtor?”
“He's not even her dog. He lives with a relative, and she just borrows him for her Dorothy and Toto photo shoots.”
“That's diabolical,” I said. “Dorothy is more devious than I imagined. You don't suppose she murdered the old woman to get a real estate commission, do you?”
“She gave me a discount rate,” he said. “She got paid well for the number of hours she put in, but it wasn't exactly kill-for-it money.”
“Any other suspects? Where are we at on the investigation?”
“We?” He quirked an eyebrow. “We are at a standstill. We are waiting on new leads. And we are considering closing the case and ruling it an accident.”
Winona suddenly took hold of me. She and I banged my fist on the stone counter. “Never surrender! Never give up and never surrender!” My throat choked with emotion. “Never surrender!” She banged my fist on the table and said it again and again.
The world around me narrowed to a tiny pinhole of light. My mouth watered, my knees weakened, and I felt my body buckle.
Before I lost consciousness, I had one last thought. Is this the original hardwood floor? Then I kissed the floor with my whole face and fainted.
Chapter 21
Chet gently revived me from my fainting session. I fluttered my eyelids and closed them again, taking an extra moment to savor the contact. He was sitting cross-legged on his kitchen floor with my head cradled on his lap. His body was warm and soothing.
“You're okay,” he said, stroking my hair.
I was more than okay! Sure, the ghostly takeover and subsequent fainting had felt like a dump truck's load of molasses being poured over my head, but having my head in Chet's lap and his hands stroking my hair made it all worth it. I would pack up my things and move into a new haunted house a thousand times to have this moment.
“Can you talk?” he asked. “Zara, are you yourself again?”
“Coffee,” I croaked. “I won't be myself until I've had some coffee.”
He helped me up to my feet. The room undulated around me while my blood pressure regulated.
“You look normal,” he said.
“We can't be sure until we've had coffee. And did I see croissants around here somewhere?”
He chuckled. “Let me whip you up some breakfast. You like fresh fruit salad? It's the least I can do after you've served me two wonderful meals so far—three if we count the pizza when you moved in.”
I rubbed my temples. My memory was spotty and my vision was hazy, like I was still asleep and dreaming. A handsome wolf-shifter man was making coffee and telling me we could have fresh fruit salad with our croissants. I had to be dreaming! I pinched my arm. Nothing changed. This was just a thing that happened now in my new life.
Chet handed me a tray to carry to the table. “We'll be eating in a minute,” he said.
“Don't let me ruin your regular routine,” I said.
“You're not ruining anything. You told me you wanted to help with the investigation, and that's what you're going to do. I've got a ton of notes you can help me look over. Maybe Winona will speak up through you again and give us a hint.”
I started to say I no longer sensed her presence near me but stopped myself. Between my librarian training and my natural flair with research materials, I did have plenty to offer. Even without getting possessed, I could be a fresh set of eyes on the case.
“Where's Corvin?” I asked. “Does he sleep in on the weekend?”
“He's off swimming with Grampa Don.”
“Cool,” I said, nodding. “I've been meaning to check out the recreation center. I hear the pool's gorgeous.”
Chet smirked. “They're not at the rec center. The Moores prefer the great outdoors.”
I laughed. “Of course you do.”
“You can take that tray to the breakfast nook. I'll bring the rest in a minute.”
I turned to leave and paused. “You have a breakfast nook? I don't have a breakfast nook.”
“It's the potting shed at your place. I extended our back wall a few years back and turned mine into a solarium.”
“A breakfast nook,” I said with wonder.
“You can hire a contractor and catch up.”
“I'm going to have to run fast to keep up with you, Chet Moore. I may need new running shoes and a head start.”
He just smiled and rinsed a handful of luscious red strawberries under the tap.
Chapter 22
“Mom, wake up. You told me to drag you out of bed on Monday morning no matter what, and it's Monday morning. Rise and shine!”
“I need a new alarm clock.” I reached out, found her face with my hand, and tweaked her nose. “This one is too chipper, and I can't find the snooze button.”
She swatted my hand away. “We need to get you an enormously heavy alarm clock that you can't levitate and toss across the room.”
“I can't help it,” I said. “The magic has a mind of its own. It's wrapped up in my emotions.”
“You need to get control of yourself. Auntie Z says you need to do drills and exercises.”
I rolled out of bed and started gathering clothes for work. “What else did Auntie Z say? Did she teach you to do any spells?” Zoey had spent all day Sunday at Zinnia's house, while I'd continued helping Chet with his investigation.
After my cozy breakfast with Chet on Saturday morning, I helped him pore over the statements and make phone calls to everyone who'd had contact with Winona Vander Zalm during the six months before her demise. It amounted to what seemed like half the town, and nobody volunteered a murder confession or even so much as a death threat. Chet and I both hoped that Winona would take hold of me again and give us a solid clue, but either she knew nothing, or both of us were exhausted from her recent takeovers.
I hoped Zoey's weekend had been more fruitful than mine.
“No spells yet,” Zoey said glumly. “She's got me learning about the language in the spellbooks. The language has its own logic. You know how English is usually subject-verb-object? She smashes the alarm clock, for example.”
“That was an accident.” I grabbed a fresh towel and nodded for her to walk-and-talk me to the bathroom.
“In the Witch Tongue, it would be more like alarm clock be smashing by tired, angry mother.”
“That's not entirely inaccurate, but it seems a bit judgmental. Is the Witch Tongue supposed to be subjective?”
“It's certainly not objective,” she said. “Apparently, people don't hex, curse, or even bless things they feel neutral about.”
“The magic needs specific instructions, so there aren't any mistakes of interpretation.”
“Exactly,” Zoey said. “You're catching on quicker than I did. That's how you avoid the monkey-paw irony, like when you wish for money and immediately get a big pile of money, but only because someone you care about is killed and you get their estate.”
I turned on the water for the shower and checked the temperature. “That gives me an idea,” I said. “Maybe someone was trying to help Ms. Vander Zalm, and they accidentally hurt her. Do you see where the electrical outlets in this room are?”
Zoey glanced around. There was only one electrical outlet, and it was in a very strange place—high on the wall, on the far side of the door.
I used my finger to draw a line through the air from the outlet
to the top of the bathroom counter. “If she was enjoying Pop Tarts in the tub, she would have had the toaster sitting here on the counter, and plugged in over there. That's why the evil toaster has that weird, extra-long cord. She must have gotten it modified at a small-appliance repair shop.”
“People repair appliances?”
“Yes. There's a repair shop not far from where Chet bought you those chocolates.”
She rubbed her stomach. “Those were so good. Can we go there today after school?”
“Sure, but don't change the subject.” I pointed at the wall outlet. “If someone came in the door unexpectedly, they would have snagged the cord and flung the appliance into the water.”
Zoey crossed her arms over her chest and shivered.
“Mom, I think you've cracked the case.”
“It's just a theory,” I said. “Go get the toaster from its pit of salty banishment and we'll test it out.”
Her jaw dropped open.
“Kidding!” I said. “I'm going to have a shower and go to work. You've got school, and I don't have time to electrocute myself this morning if I want to keep my amazing new job.”
Zoey shook her head and left me to my shower.
I jumped in and enjoyed the luxury of the rainhead faucet. I was in steamy paradise for all of five minutes before my peacefulness was interrupted by the doorbell ringing.
“Doorbell!” I yelled.
The doorbell kept ringing. Who would be ringing our doorbell early on a Monday morning? The chimes sounded again, this time with an urgent edge to their ding-dong. It was almost urgent enough for me to get out of my steamy shower, but not quite.
“Doorbell!” I repeated. “Zoey, you have one job!”
Chapter 23
My steamy shower was interrupted by a voice that sounded a lot like mine.
“Zara, get out of the shower! This is important!”
“Hello?” I tapped my temple. “Testing, testing. Is that me telling myself to get out of the shower? Self, stop being cruel. I only just got the water set to the perfect temperature.”
Someone yanked back the shower curtain. It was Aunt Zinnia, looking more serious than usual, with her thick red hair pulled back in a severe bun. “Why aren't you answering your phone?” she demanded.
“Because it's not waterproof.”
We stared at each other, standing off. I sensed—using my amazing powers of observation—that she wasn't going to leave me to my hot shower, so I reluctantly turned off the water and reached for my towel.
“Why are you here?” I asked. “What's the emergency?”
“I did a spell,” she said, averting her eyes guiltily.
“That's what witches do,” I said. “What kind of spell?”
She coughed and continued looking around the bathroom, avoiding eye contact.
I fashioned my towel into a stylish wrap and stepped out of the iron tub, keeping an eye out for the toaster. We had the wicked appliance locked away in the basement, buried in a bucket of chunky pavement salt, but it was shaping up to be a strange Monday and a witch can't be too careful.
Zoey, who'd been standing quietly in the doorway, came into the bathroom and stood right next to Zinnia. “The spell we talked about? But Auntie Z, you said you were going to let me help you cast the spell. No fair!” She stomped one foot in a petulant gesture I hadn't seen her use in years. “You promised I could help,” she cried. To me, she said, “It's a two-witch spell. She told me.”
“Someone had better start talking specifics,” I said. “Let's try the Prisoner's Dilemma. The first one of you to confess won't get grounded.”
By the look on Zinnia's face, my joke didn't even register, much less amuse her. This two-witch spell business was serious.
Zinnia finally met my gaze. The whites of her eyes were red and painful-looking.
“I opened a hole to the other side,” Zinnia said, her voice barely louder than a whisper. “I was only practicing the gestures and incantations, but the magic urged me to do it.” Her bloodshot eyes filled with tears. “I was weak, and I listened to its urgings. I did the spell and opened a hole. I closed it right away, but I don't know what came through.”
I grabbed her by the shoulders. “What are we talking about here? How bad? On a scale from one to ten, with ten being the freakin' apocalypse, how bad is it that you did this spell?”
Zinnia winced. “Four and a half?”
I let go of her shoulders and grabbed my loosening towel-wrap in the nick of time. “Four and a half? That's all?” I waved one hand dismissively. “We can handle that.”
“Mom,” Zoey said. “Mom!” Her voice was quivering. She was pointing at something behind me.
I turned around slowly, ready to face something five-and-a-half points short of the freakin' apocalypse.
What I saw didn't look like anything at first. Just some drippy streaks on the foggy mirror. But as I stared, the words came into focus. Something or someone had written on the bathroom mirror two words: KILLER DINNER.
Zinnia whimpered, “We're all going to die.”
Chapter 24
“Still hung over from last Friday night?” Frank swooshed his hand in front of my face to get my attention. “Did you carry the party through to Saturday and Sunday?”
“Not exactly,” I said distractedly. I couldn't tell Frank about my aunt's visit earlier that morning, or her subsequent hissy fit over a couple of streaky words on my bathroom mirror.
Frank asked, “Then what's on your mind, pretty lady?”
I lied, “Just a case of the Mondays, I'm afraid. Another coffee and I'll be myself again.”
Frank waggled his eyebrows, which he'd recently re-tinted pink to match his hair. “You're not just distracted. Are you twitterpated?” He gasped. “You've been getting neighborly with that big piece of beefcake who lives next door. Chet Moore. Girl, if I were you, I'd sure like some more of Chet, ha-hah.”
“Oh, Frank.” I gave him a wry smile. “Please say that pun every day. I'm sure it will never, ever get old.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “I'm not too good for lowbrow humor.”
We were both in the staff lounge, taking our morning break together. Kathy wouldn't be in until the afternoon, and things had been quiet that morning. We had a page covering the desk, and she appeared to be sleeping on her feet, like a sheep or a cow. Frank and I had been joking about inventing a new game called Page Tipping. It was really funny. I swear. You had to be there.
Now we were experimenting with the perfect blend of chocolate and coffee to make a superior mocha. Frank felt white chocolate syrup was the key. I had strong feelings about my blend, which used a smoky Earl Grey tea in place of coffee.
He handed me a new sample to taste, served in a tiny taste-test-sized mug that I suspected doubled as a Christmas tree ornament.
The sweet, hot, caffeinated concoction did soothe and invigorate me at once.
“Have you kissed him yet?” Frank asked.
“No, but I was helping him look over some paperwork over the weekend, and on Sunday he did that thing, where the guy removes a stray eyelash from your cheek and tells you to blow on it.”
Frank burst out laughing. “How romantic.”
I gave Frank some squinty-eyed, triple-strength side eye. “These things take time, you ding-dong.”
He sighed contentedly. “I do love gossip on a Monday morning. It makes working for a living almost bearable.”
I took another sip of the mocha. The white chocolate made it taste like liquid marshmallow.
“Frank, you seem like the type of person people confide their secrets in.”
He looked excited. “Yes. And?”
“Nothing happened with Chet, I swear. You'll be the first to know. I'm actually wondering if you ever heard anything about Winona Vander Zalm. Specifically about any enemies she made.”
“She could be catty,” Frank said. “We were at the big Save the Voles and Holes Event, and—”
I interrupted, “Sorry
, did you say Save the Voles and Holes? What are voles?”
“Voles look like mice. They're cute.”
“People need to save them?”
“Well, the voles were the only living things interested in the golf course for a few years. The new owners found a way to humanely relocate them, and fix up the golf course at the same time. Relax, Zara, it all worked out for the best. Totally humane.” He waved one hand in a circle. “Anyway, Winona was in a real witchy mood that night because two other people showed up wearing the same pantsuit as hers, with one of those people being yours truly.” He patted his chest.
“That sucks when someone shows up in the same outfit,” I said.
“The other lady was a good sport about it, and she posed for a picture with me. Winona was too snobby, though.” He held his hand to mouth and stage-whispered, “I wore it best, by the way, in case you were wondering.”
“Of course you did,” I said. “Do you have a copy of that picture? I'd love to see it.”
“I'll check when I get home,” he said.
“How about long-standing feuds? Did she have any major rivals on the socialite scene?”
Frank narrowed his eyes and looked me up and down. “What's got you so curious?”
I shrugged. “I'm living in her old house now. Humor me, will you? I promise to get a real hobby soon.”
“Long-standing feuds,” Frank said. “Hmm. Let me check the ol' database.”
He tilted his head and looked up as he scratched his chin. I'd seen him do this gesture a dozen times while helping patrons look up reference materials. He claimed to have a database of book titles in his brain. After a minute, he'd frown and say, “Let me just double check something.” Then he'd do a keyword search or two on the computer and say something like, “Just as I suspected. We have two books on that subject.”
“Hmm,” Frank said as he slowly reached for his laptop and opened it. He tapped away on the keyboard. “Yes, there it is,” he said.
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