Witch Way To Amethyst: The Prequel (A Stacy Justice Mystery Book 0)

by Barbra Annino

  “I don’t think we are going out.”

  Cin threw her hands up. “Here we go. Every time a great guy comes into your life you push him away.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “What about Chance?”

  “What about Chance?”

  “You were both so good for each other and he adored you.”

  “Cinnamon, who stays with their high school boyfriend?”

  “Me.”

  I narrowed my eyes at her.

  “Well, you know, until the divorce.”

  “I still think there’s something screwy about Monique’s story.” It was true. Tony worshiped Cinnamon and Monique lived to torture her. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if she had slipped him something.

  “Don’t change the subject. Why won’t you go out with Leo?”

  “Well, Gramps is sick for one thing and we still don’t know what’s wrong.”

  “Fair enough but you can’t keep watch over him 24/7.”

  “I may also have to help out at the inn.”

  “Why is that?” Cin asked.

  I sucked in some air. “Cin, I need you to tell me everything that happened at the dinner. Who was there, what you talked about, what was served. All of it.”

  Cinnamon stood up and parked a hand on her hip. “You’re creeping me out. Tell me what is going on, Stacy, right now.”

  So I did.

  When I was finished with the highlight reel, Cinnamon’s mouth was skimming the floor. “It has to be another stunt, right?” she asked. “Birdie is forever reaching for the shock value and she’s been trying to get you to move back to town ever since you left. This is her way of keeping you here.” Cinnamon sounded like she was trying to convince herself. “She wouldn’t really hurt Gramps.”

  All I could do was nod. I was about seventy percent sure she was right.

  Let’s face it. Neither one of us wanted to believe that our own grandmother would harm our grandfather for real. People toss around threats all the time, but they don’t actually follow through. Most people anyway. But we were talking about a woman who once reduced a 6’4” 280-pound plumber to a blubbering pile of tears because he padded the bill. Revenge is an art form to Birdie, deeply embedded in her beliefs.

  Over the next hour, I told Cinnamon everything I knew and she filled me in on that night’s dinner. Everyone seemed in good spirits. No arguments, just the usual banter between our grandparents. The menu included pot roast, baby carrots with an orange glaze, twice baked potatoes, and peach pie that Pearl had brought.

  “Do you know if Gramps and Pearl went right home or did they have other plans?”

  “I’m not sure. You’ll have to ask them. Pearl usually pops into the restaurant to close up.”

  Pearl owned the Pearl Palace. It was a quaint diner on Main Street stuck in the 1950s complete with skirted waitresses and a revolving dessert case.

  “But they still live above it, right?”

  Cin nodded.

  “So it was just you, your mom, Pearl, the Geraghty Girls, and Wildcat.” I was thinking out loud.

  “Actually, there was someone else.”

  “Who?”

  “Chance was there too.”

  “Why in the world was he there?” I had no ill will towards Chance. In fact, I had fond memories of our time together. But I wasn’t one to keep stray boyfriends just laying around where anyone could trip over them.

  Cinnamon shrugged. “I don’t know. I think they needed something fixed around the house. It’s no big deal.”

  I sighed and considered this. In a way, Cin was right. So Chance had dinner at the house. So what? He had been a big part of my life once. It was only natural that he would stay friendly with my family. I wondered how his parents were doing. His house was my refuge when things went haywire here. We could watch re-runs of old sitcoms, make macaroni and cheese from a box, play monopoly and know that we would never smell the stench of burning sage or accidentally walk in on a soul retrieval session. Which, believe me, was never advised.

  It was getting late and I was exhausted. Cinnamon and I made plans to meet the next morning at Muddy Waters Coffee House. Then I would visit Gramps and hopefully straighten out this mess. I scratched Thor behind the ears and said goodbye. He barked in protest.

  Cinnamon turned to leave, then stopped and said. “Why would she confess to something so serious if she didn’t do it?”

  “I don’t know, Cin, but I’ll find out.”

  The wind howled through the trees and a chill passed through her to me.

  “Stace.”

  I looked at her.

  “Birdie doesn’t lie.”

  “I know.”

  Chapter 8

  Sleep was dreamless. Which could only mean one thing in my world. Too much wine. I lay in bed for a moment, feeling Moonlight lick my bangs. Probably sucking up the Pinot that sloshed on me after Thor’s greeting last night.

  The clock read 6:30. I could get away with another hour of sleep. I curled up on my side and was just about to drift off when the banging started.

  I bolted upright, not sure where it was coming from. BANG! BANG! BANG!

  From above. Who the hell was tap dancing on my roof?

  I peeled the covers back and crawled from my cozy bed, still not clearly focused.

  BANGBANG!

  This was so not helping my headache. I couldn’t find my slippers but the boots were close. Didn’t bother zipping them as I stumbled into the living room, heading towards the door. The shoe chair helped move things along after I tripped over it and sailed into the tile, which, again, did not help my headache. Finally, I managed to get onto the porch.

  "It's 6:30 in the morning,” I yelled. My mouth felt like a lint trap. “The birds aren't up yet." The sun was blinding me so I had to shield my eyes. I stood there squinting at a man on top of the cottage roof. What the hell? He had a hammer in his hand but the sun was behind him so his face was a silhouette.

  "Sorry ma'am," he said. "I didn't realize someone was staying here. I can come back later."

  Ma'am? I was not old enough to be ma’am. Well, at least the banging stopped.

  I turned to go, but then I heard, "Stacy?"

  All I could see were work boots, jeans, and a baseball cap. I squinted, fighting to focus my eyes. “Yes?”

  “Don’t you recognize me?”

  “Sun’s in my eyes. Who is it?”

  He moved with assurance toward a ladder and the light shifted. Recognition slapped me hard. Oh please, not now. Why did this keep happening to me?

  There wasn’t much I could do, so I decided to just enjoy the view as he scaled down the ladder. He still looked like a walking ad for Levi’s. Tanned face, wisps of golden hair across his forehead, and there they were. Those blue eyes I used to get lost in.

  “Hi, Chance.”

  Is there anything worse than running into your first love with bedhead, baggy pj's and a hangover?

  "How are you?" His sexy mouth curved into a lazy smile.

  "I'm good," I said. Why did I come out here? Please, goddess, don’t let me stink of dog barf.

  He reached in to hug me and I backed away. "Don't think you want to do that. I haven't showered yet,” I said.

  "Come here," he said and pulled me into his strong arms. He smelled of sawdust, autumn leaves, and juniper berries. Comfort food for the nose. I relaxed into the embrace and it felt good.

  After a moment, he said, "Pinot Grigio?"

  Geez, where was a rock when you needed one to crawl under? I broke away and tried to smooth out my hair, but I only succeeded in getting a finger stuck. Chance was gracious enough to pretend not to notice.

  "Compliments of Thor," I said, struggling to free my hand. I decided to just sacrifice a few strands and yanked.

  We stood there smiling at each other for a beat.

  "You look great," Chance said finally.

  I burst out laughing and said, “You’re such a liar.”

  He laughed too,
but then his voice got low and he said, “No, I mean it. You always look great to me, Angel.”

  And with that old, endearing nickname, it felt familiar standing there with him. Like the first place you ever lived, your favorite spot on the sofa, a classic you read again and again. Chance felt like home to me.

  But as they say, you can’t go home again. "So, I guess you're fixing the roof?" I pointed to the roof as if neither of us knew it was on top of the house.

  "Yep. Fiona called me last week. Said she needed a repair job so I thought I could squeeze it in. Then she changed her mind and decided on a total replacement. I had another job lined up but the guy canceled at the last minute." He eyed the loose shingles.

  Canceled at the last minute, eh? It stank of Fiona’s handiwork. Always playing cupid. Well that was fine for tourists and townsfolk, but my love life was off limits and I intended to tell her so.

  “That was very nice of you.”

  Chance shrugged. “You know I’d do anything for your family.” Then he added, “And you.”

  I smiled.

  "I didn't know anyone would be here, though. She said they weren't going to rent the cottage until I was done. Sorry for waking you."

  "No problem, really. So you went into the contracting business with your dad?”

  Chance nodded. "It's a good thing there's ordinances that keep people from tearing down these old houses." Chance surveyed the cottage. "A contractor comes in handy in this town. Business is great."

  "I'm happy for you, Chance," I said and I meant it.

  “Well,” he said, “guess I should get back to work." He took a step back towards the ladder.

  “And I should get cleaned up.” I moved to go inside.

  "Stacy?"

  I turned back. “Yes?”

  "It's really good to see you," he said.

  I studied him closely. He had a few more lines than I remembered. A few more pounds that filled him out just fine. The boy I had loved was now a man.

  "It's good to see you too."

  The front door supported my back as I gathered my thoughts. Had Chance heard about my grandfather’s illness? Birdie? Surely he would have said something if he had. And why did he not mention the dinner?

  I caught my reflection in the hall mirror and smacked my forehead. I looked like the troll doll I used to keep on top of my pencil in fourth grade. Just once, I would like to run into a gorgeous man with hair, make-up, and wardrobe intact.

  Moonlight was crying to be fed, snaking my ankles. I scooped him up and carted him off to the kitchen in search of coffee and food.

  The fridge and cupboards were a ghost town, so I was out of luck but I did have kitten food in my suitcase. I shuffled off to the bedroom and clicked the locks open, pulling out a can of Happy Kitty chicken and livers. Moonlight recognized it instantly and jumped on my shoulder, purring like a jet engine.

  We went back to the kitchen and I dug out a saucer, popped the lid off the can and emptied the contents onto it. Moonlight scarfed his breakfast down, did a figure eight around my legs and sauntered into the living room, curling up behind the heel of the shoe chair.

  I rummaged through the suitcase and pulled out a new pair of low-rise jeans and a knit top with a built-in bra, plus socks and non-cotton panties. No Tinkerbelle or Hello Kitty today.

  The shower was hot enough to massage my muscles and the scent of the shampoo I found in the little basket woke up all my senses. I was revived as I stepped out and reached for a towel. Then I saw the mirror and screamed.

  It was fogged over except for three words.

  I WANT YOU

  Chapter 9

  It took twenty minutes to dress and dry my hair and I was out the door, heading toward the inn, still unnerved by that message. Was it possible a previous guest had left it? A couple scrawling little notes to each other? But certainly, that mirror would have been buffed to a shine by one of the aunts and any impression lost in the process.

  Without coffee, this was not going to get sorted out properly. It was still early. Cinnamon and I had plans to meet in an hour but I needed a jolt now, not to mention a talk with Fiona. How could she not tell me Chance would be around every damn day? I knocked on the back screen door and called out. No answer. The door wasn't locked so I let myself in.

  The kitchen had been cleaned up, all traces of spell work stashed away. In the basement, I suspected, where they stored their tools. It was a sacred place, untainted by outside energy, Birdie once explained.

  No one had started the coffee and I didn’t see any muffins in the oven so I had to fend for myself. My hands were deep in the back of a cabinet, reaching for the Columbian roast when directly behind me someone yelled, "Hey."

  I jumped three feet in the air and nearly wet myself.

  "Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha." It was a Bart Simpson laugh. Nasal and annoying as hell. I turned around, clutching the can.

  He wore a crisp white shirt and black pants. His hair was bottle-blonde and spiked with goop and he used aftershave as an accessory. He reminded me of a skunk sprayed with bleach.

  Then I noticed the remains of a faint scar on his forehead where I had once hit him with a fallen tree branch. It was well-earned.

  Ed Entwhistle. Suddenly, my stomach ached.

  "What the hell do you think you're doing?" I pointed the coffee can at him. Pilates and kickboxing kept my body strong. Pretty sure I could take him again. I could only guess my anger hung like a cloak because he backed off, his face drained of some of its luster.

  "Oooo," Ed said, raising his hands in a defeated gesture. "I give, I give." He laughed. "Drop your weapon."

  I just stood there, wondering what the hell he was doing in my grandmother’s kitchen.

  "You like the new duds?" he asked.

  When I knew Ed in high school, he got his clothes at the Farm-N-Fleet. These clothes had the aura of an upscale department store. Personally, I didn't care either way.

  Here's the thing. When I first moved to Chicago, I met a woman walking a spider monkey down the street. She was crying because the exotic pet store she bought him from wouldn't take him back and her husband threatened to shoot him if she brought him home. So I took him.

  Chester knew lots of great tricks and for the first few days, we got along fine. I dressed him in little doll clothes, combed his hair and brushed his teeth. But then Chester began showing his true colors.

  He had an uncontrollable habit of picking at his fur and flinging the scabs at me. He also liked to snatch food from my plate and run around the living room with it before mashing it into the carpet. But the last straw was when I had a date over and Chester dropped his shorts and gave us a lesson on sexual healing, solo style. He went to the Lincoln Park Zoo the next morning.

  So, you see, the monkey could be primped and groomed but underneath he was still a dirty monkey. That was how I felt about Ed.

  "You look well, Ed. Love the hair."

  "Yep," he said, gingerly touching it. "The store is doing fantastic and Pop's going to retire soon. I'll be managing things from then on. Then it's all mine." Ed grinned. “Especially when he croaks.”

  I blanched.

  He quickly realized his faux pas. "Not that I want that. I love that old geezer, you know that." He elbowed me. "But think of all that dough, baby. Just you and me riding off in the sunset." He grabbed my waist.

  I made a mental note to vomit later and wriggled free from his grasp. Ed had been trying to get me to go out with him since freshman year, but since I tend to date within my species, it never happened.

  Ed's father was Roy Entwhistle, a one-time partner and longtime friend of my grandfather. He and Gramps ran an industrial store together years ago that supplied farm equipment to the entire county. Gramps had the insight to see that factories were replacing farming in the area and he wanted to get out of the business. Roy refused to sell, so he bought Gramps out and lost his shirt. Gramps, on the other hand, made a fortune in real estate investments with money from Roy's buyou
t. Their store, one of those huge superstores that have everything from lettuce to lawn chairs is now sprawled across land my grandfather once owned, but gifted to Roy as a peace offering.

  Fiona breezed into the kitchen then. "Oh, there you are, Stacy. How's the kitty?" She sashayed toward the fridge. "Ed, are we all set for the weekend’s groceries?" she asked.

  Grocery delivery? Didn’t he have people for that?

  Fiona was taxing the laws of gravity with a full-body leotard and a wrap-around mesh skirt. Lolly trailed behind her in a bright floral number with white tights and a tutu.

  Friday morning yoga. I nearly forgot. "Moonlight's fine," I said. "Aunt Fiona, may I speak with you, please?"

  "One minute dear," she said. She reached into the fridge and pulled out two water bottles and tossed one to her sister. Then she ducked back inside, filtering through the food.

  "You’re all set, Ms. Geraghty. Everything in its place. I didn't get a chance to wash and put the fruit away, though. That's in the pantry. And I'll need to bring more eggs.”

  “Thank you.” Fiona followed his cue and ducked into the walk-in pantry.

  "No problem, ladies, I'll just be on my way." Ed swung a jacket over his shoulder as he walked to the screen door. He paused and shot at me using his hand as a gun. “I’ll catch you later, Stacy.”

  I groaned as the screen slammed behind him.

  “Looks like someone is smitten with you,” Fiona said. She took the coffee from my hand and prepared a pot.

  “I’d rather date an escaped mental patient with a contagious skin disease and six fingers.”

  Lolly gazed at me quizzically and Fiona just raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow.

  "Look, forget it. And forget about Chance and I getting back together too.” I directed this at Fiona who was pouring cream into a cup.

  She seemed shocked. “Whatever do you mean, dear?”

  “Fiona, don’t play games with me. He happened to get a cancellation and you just happened to need your roof repaired and I just happened to be staying at the cottage at the exact same time?”

  “That’s right.” She exchanged looks with Lolly. Lolly just shrugged and went back to twisting her tutu into a knot.