Batter and Spells (Sweetland Witch Women Sleuths) (A Cozy Mystery Book)

by Zoe Arden

  Batter and Spells

  Sweetland Witch Women Sleuths

  A Cozy Mystery Book

  ZOE ARDEN

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2019 ZOE ARDEN

  All Rights reserved.

  This book cover designed by melody simmons

  https://bookcoverscre8tive.com

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  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  . . . . . . .

  dedication

  . . . . . . .

  Dear Reader,

  I believe that books should be enjoyed by as many people as possible. YOU deserves a big THANK YOU.

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  . . . . . . .

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Epilogue

  Preview of Next Book

  ORDER OF BOOKS LIST . Also By

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  Publisher Notes

  "Circumstances? What circumstances are you talking about?" I asked. Then I noticed the manila envelope in her hand, the same black block lettering scrolled across it.

  "Is that another threat against Tazzie?" I asked.

  She shook her head.

  "No, it's just..." She sighed and pulled something from the envelope. It wasn't a note; it was a picture. Eleanor and I looked at it.

  Tazzie Singer stood in the photo with her hair flying out behind her, a strong gust of wind blowing against her and the man she was kissing. He was holding his hat to his head while he kissed her. They looked happy. The man was Mayor Thomas.

  Hadley shrugged. "It came this morning. There was a note with it that said to give the photo to Sheriff Knoxx or else."

  "Or else what?" I asked.

  "Or else something bad would happen to my mom." Her face was sour, grim. "I'm sure it's just a joke, but my mother's older, not in good health. Even if someone only meant to frighten her... I don't want to get anyone in trouble, I just don't want anything to happen to my mom."

  "You haven't done anything to feel guilty about," Eleanor reassured her.

  There was a series of loud noises from outside. A moment later, Sheriff Knoxx reappeared. "We got him," he cried triumphantly. I could almost see the goblin in him as his square jaw set into a grin. He suddenly noticed Hadley there, the picture she'd shown us back in her hands.

  Sheriff Knoxx grabbed it, his eyes widening.

  "Where did you get this?" he demanded.

  "It was sent to me," Hadley said, showing him the envelope with her name on it.

  Otis was suddenly in the doorway. A very frustrated looking Mayor Thomas was with him.

  "Sheriff Knoxx, Mayor Thomas says he refuses to come down to the station with us and answer our questions."

  Sheriff Knoxx turned to him. "It's too late for that."

  "What do you mean?" asked the mayor.

  "I mean, Mayor Quinn Thomas, you don't have a choice anymore. You're under arrest for the murder of Thaddeus Black."

  * * *

  prologue

  * * *

  The assassin waited in the shadows for Tazzie Singer to walk by. He double checked his target list, folded it, and placed it inside the lining of his coat. She wasn't the highest paid target on his list, but she was close. Thaddeus Black would fetch five thousand more, but Tazzie would be easier. She was older. She wouldn't be expecting him.

  Thaddeus Black had struck the assassin as too aware of his surroundings. He had large black pupils that seemed to always be moving, searching, like he expected trouble. It probably came with the job he'd worked at for twenty years. Curse removal was a dangerous thing. It made people cautious. Paranoid was another name for it. Sometimes too paranoid. Sometimes it was just the right amount.

  He would have his work cut out bringing down Thaddeus, but he could do it. It might even be fun, force him to get more creative. Nothing so simple as he planned to do with Tazzie. Watch her, zap her. Bang, done. Collect his money. Twenty thousand dollars was nothing to sneeze at.

  He heard Tazzie's heels clacking on the ground as she strolled casually down the sidewalk toward him. The sky was dark. The tree tops of Mistmoor Point glowed brightly in the moonlight. He would not normally have thought to take her right here, right now, but sometimes the most open places were the best places to do these things. People felt comfortable out in the open. They never realized that the open left you unprotected. He had every vantage point available to him.

  If he were S.H., strictly human, he would have used a gun, perhaps a knife. Something he could play with. But as a warlock, he didn't condone those things. They were too easy, too disrespectful to the intended targets. Tazzie was a witch, a powerful one, though not as powerful as she once was at a hair over sixty.

  Her powers had started to decline in recent years. She found herself needing a wand more and more often, even for the most basic of spells. Charming a broom to sweep the floor used to be a simple snap of her fingers; now it took work. The other day, she'd had to dig out her wand just to get the gum off her shoe. It was sad to see a witch deteriorate like this. In a way, he'd be doing her a favor.

  All this, the assassin knew from his reconnaissance. He was nothing if not meticulous in his research.

  He waited for Tazzie to pass the large oak tree where he was hiding. The oak trees in Mistmoor were five-feet thick and layered with rich browns throughout the trunk. Equally thick, molasses-colored branches sprouted out, dark green leaves growing almost like vines.

  The election was tomorrow. Tazzie was busy fussing with her briefcase. White papers stuck out at all angles. She tried to shove them back in, talking softly to herself as she went.

  "For witch's sake, just stay where I put you,"

  she muttered under breath, obviously frustrated with how things had gone today. Thaddeus Black was still ahead of her in the polls, just slightly, but enough to leave her feeling unsettled.

  Frankly, he thought that she was the better candidate. He even suspected that she would end up beating out Thaddeus in the long run if left to her own devices.

  In some ways, the assassin admired her. A woman in
her sixties taking over for the town's mayor, her own husband, after his death. It couldn't have been easy. Her daughter, Kayla, was helping her campaign, but Kayla knew little about campaigning.

  Kayla was an interesting study herself. It was always best to know those closest to your targets, so he'd paid particular attention to her. Especially since she was close to two of the targets. You never knew when it might be necessary to use that information. It must have been an awkward situation for Tazzie's only daughter, helping both her mother and boyfriend campaign for mayor. She had promised to remain neutral, though he could tell she was rooting for her mother. She felt guilty about it, though.

  Kayla's boyfriend, Grayson Redfern, was supportive of her. He reassured her over and over again that it was fine if she supported her mom. He understood. The assassin almost believed he meant it. It was just bad luck that Tazzie and Grayson were both on his target list, though Grayson Redfern's bounty was significantly lower. His employer offered only five thousand apiece for him and Amanda Hollyberry. He wasn't even sure it was worth it. Especially Amanda. She was quite powerful and could do a lot of damage if he wasn't careful.

  Tazzie moved in front of the tree trunk now, her low, practical heels still clanking like they were stilettos. Her eyes were focused on nothing. A daydreamer lost in the night sky.

  He came out from behind the tree just as she passed him. His shoes made no sound. They were slippers on flower petals. He slowly and silently repeated the spell he'd learned especially for her, swirling his pointer finger at his side until a mist had formed. He reached into the pocket where he'd placed his target list and withdrew the stylus. It wasn't a wand. It was lighter and thinner, smaller, and it could do more damage than most wands could in their lifetime.

  He didn't need it; it was just a precaution.

  "Calabra!" he shouted.

  It was just bad timing that at that exact moment, Tazzie Singer decided to bend over and pick a penny off the sidewalk. She muttered to herself as she did it.

  "Find a penny, pick it up, and all day long you'll have good luck." She said it rhythmically, like a song. The bolt of lightning shot right over her back. She stood back up, penny in hand, and placed it tidily into her pocket, smiling. She had no idea of the narrow escape she'd just made.

  That was when the assassin made the first mistake of his career. He let his frustration get the best of him. "Warthogs!" he yelled.

  Tazzie turned around. Their eyes locked. He was wearing a disguise, but he did not like the fact that she had seen him, disguise or not.

  "Oh," she said uncertainly. Her eyes took in the stylus, the hat atop his head, the thick-rimmed lenses covering his eyes. "Oh," she said again.

  "Excuse me, Ma'am," he said, tipping his hat to her, attempting to put her at ease. It did not work. She stepped back, her senses already heightened. He felt the smile he'd forced turn upside down. He lunged for her. She screamed.

  "Give me your money!" he cried, realizing already that he'd failed.

  This was a neighborhood street. A quiet street, not suited to the type of noise now being made. Doors were opening. People were peering out their windows. They were already dialing the sheriff's station. Lincoln Maxwell would be arriving within minutes.

  "Give me your money!" he cried again, louder, making sure everyone heard.

  He had to make this seem like anything other than what it was. A mugging gone wrong. Tazzie Singer yelled, muttering spells and clawing at his face. She stomped on his foot. The low heels she wore were deceptive. There was steel in them, a witch's trick. He felt it crush his toes as she bore down on him.

  The assassin let out a guttural cry, the first of the evening that he hadn't faked. He pushed Tazzie Singer. She pushed him back. He hadn't expected that. He'd thought she would fall over, but she was strong. Feisty.

  "Get away from me!" she demanded.

  He aimed the stylus at her. He had to decide whether he should do it and get it over with, or wait and try again. His employer would not be pleased if she did not die tonight but they would be less pleased if she was killed in the wrong manner. A manner which would lead back to somewhere it shouldn't.

  Tazzie tried to rip the hat off his head, which alarmed him. If she pulled too hard, his toupee might go with it. Once that happened, she would be quick to realize the rest of him was also fake. The nose, the double chin.

  People were on their porches now.

  "Is that Tazzie Singer?"

  "Are you okay, Tazzie?"

  "You need help?"

  They were coming to her aid. Sirens wailed in the distance.

  The assassin ran. It was not retreat; it was smart business. His target had been compromised. He would escape and survive to try again tomorrow. Next time, he would not fail.

  * * *

  0 1

  * * *

  I woke up feeling groggy. The day before had left me unsettled. I knew the others felt the same way. The election in Mistmoor Point had been postponed. The date to hold it had yet to be determined. Tazzie Singer had been attacked. Mistmoor and Sweetland Cove were both in an uproar. Mayor Thomas had already declared that had anyone listened to him when he wanted to enact his Mayor-for-All Rule, none of this would have happened.

  Aunt Eleanor and Trixie had told me they were going to bed at ten last night, but when I'd gone to use the bathroom at half past eleven, I'd heard them whispering in Eleanor's room.

  "Do you really think someone tried to assassinate Tazzie Singer?" Eleanor asked.

  "I have no idea why they would," Trixie replied. "Tazzie's never hurt a fly. What enemies could she possibly have?"

  "Her husband had enemies and didn't even know it. Look what happened to him."

  "Herbert was killed by a crazy witch, there's no accounting for crazy witches. You know that."

  I'd stood listening at their door until Rocky caught me.

  "Ava is eavesdropping," he said, the wolfhound's voice low. Not a growl, just deep and throaty.

  "Ssh!" I said, flapping my hands at him. "I'm not eavesdropping, I'm just... sleepwalking. Yeah, I'm sleepwalking." I closed my eyes and put my hands out in front of me like a zombie, heading back to my bedroom. I ran smack into the wall and grunted.

  Rocky followed me. Snowball was asleep on my bed, nestled up between my pillows. She was waiting for my return, a furry ball of snow. She lifted her head an inch off the mattress and looked at Rocky as I came in.

  "Your mama must think Rocky is dumb," the wolfhound said and shook his head. I shut my door and an hour later when I opened it again, Rocky was still there. "Hi, Ava," he said cheerfully, wagging his tail. "Rocky is watching you. Rocky knows you like to trick on Eleanor."

  I sighed. "All right, Rocky, you don't have to stand out here to keep an eye on me. Come inside, at least. You can lay on my bed."

  Rocky didn't need asking twice. He jumped onto my bed and curled up at my feet. Snowball stretched out, yawning, and walked over to him. She plopped down beside him and curled up, digging her face into his thick gray fur.

  I fell asleep and when I woke up, both of them were gone. I made my way downstairs, the smell of bacon and eggs sizzling on the stove.

  "Morning," my dad said. "Coffee?"

  "Definitely. I think I might need to stop by Coffee Cove later and get one of those Brass Monkeys Trixie's always ordering."

  A Brass Monkey was, at its core, a vanilla latte, but it was also so much more. It came delivered in a two-liter coffee mug and it was frozen nearly solid. You had to let it thaw for five minutes just so you could drink it. It was Lucy Lockwood's invention. Trixie had challenged her to make something that could keep her up for twelve hours straight, and that's what Lucy had come up with.

  Sheriff Knoxx knocked on our door just as my dad set a plate down in front of me. I was way behind with my mood extracts at the bakery and hoping to catch up this morning. I figured that with Colt in Mistmoor Point the whole day helping Sheriff Lincoln Maxwell, it would give me the opportunity that I needed. I co
uld get a lot done.

  "Hi, Zane," Eleanor said, smiling as he came in. She always smiled when he was around. Their wedding was just around the corner now, less than a month. I hoped this new predicament with Mistmoor's mayoral election didn't put a tarnish on their plans. Eleanor would be heartbroken if they had to postpone.

  "Hi," he said, kissing her cheek and taking a seat at the table. He'd come such a long way from when I'd first met him. He used to be suspicious, sullen, moody. Now... well, he was still all those things, but he was also surprisingly happy a lot of the time. All because of Aunt Eleanor.

  "Any luck with that assassin's list?" I asked him. He shook his head, his face scruffy for the first time since I could remember. He normally went clean shaven.

  "Not yet. Lincoln Maxwell and I went over it with a microscope. No fingerprints, no hairs. Whoever dropped it knows how to cover their tracks."

  "Not as well as they might think," my dad said. "After all, they dropped a pretty important clue. What kind of professional assassin drops their hit list, anyway?"

  Sheriff Knoxx grunted. "True, but Tazzie and the witnesses said it seemed like a robbery that took a wrong turn. He tried to grab her purse, told her to give up her money. That sort of thing."

  "So, what makes you so sure it wasn't just that, then?" Trixie asked. "A simple robbery?"

  "The list," Sheriff Knoxx repeated. "It doesn't make sense unless it's a hit."

  He'd shown the list to us yesterday when Sheriff Maxwell came by from Mistmoor, asking for his help. Four names, all mayoral candidates.

  1. Thaddeus Black $25,000

  2. Tazzie Singer $20,000

  3. Grayson Redfern $5,000

  4. Amanda Hollyberry $5,000

  On the back were the addresses of each of the four candidates and the date of the election. Had it gone as planned, Thaddeus Black was the predicted winner, though Tazzie was putting up a solid fight. As it was, the election had been postponed, the fear that the candidates were not safe gripping Mistmoor's public.

  "If it hadn't been for that list," Sheriff Knoxx said, "Lincoln probably would have bought the robbery story. It was pure luck that he found it when he did, just lying in the dirt. Another few minutes and it probably would have blown away. None the wiser."