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

by Zoe Arden

  "Sorry to interrupt," Hadley said, "just thought I'd see if you needed anything. Coffee or tea?"

  Tazzie looked at me. "Coffee would be nice," I said. Hadley disappeared back behind the door.

  "Now then, Ava. Why are you here?"

  Another reason I liked Tazzie—she cut to the chase.

  "I was attacked yesterday at Mistmoor Beach."

  Tazzie's eyes went wide. "I haven't heard anything. I'm so sorry. Are you all right?"

  "I'm fine, thank you. The thing is... no one believes me."

  There was another light knock and the door pushed open again. Hadley returned with steaming mugs and coffee all around. She set sugar and honey on the coffee table and lingered a moment, her eyes inquiring if there was anything more, or perhaps just wanting recognition for a job well done. Sometimes it was the little jobs that mattered the most but so often went overlooked.

  "Thank you, Hadley," Tazzie said. "I'll call if we need anything else."

  "Sure thing," she said and went back out.

  "Now then, what do you mean no one believes you?" Tazzie asked me.

  "No one saw it happen," I told her. "They think I got scared and tripped, that I imagined the whole thing."

  Tazzie frowned. It lasted a second before turning over into a light smile. "I'm sorry, but I'm not sure I understand what this has to do with me."

  "I'm not sure either. I thought my attack might be related to your attack but now I don't know."

  "Oh, is that it?" There was relief in her voice. She wasn't a woman who liked being confused or uncertain. I hadn't noticed how on edge she seemed at first but now that I heard her voice relax and saw her shoulders fall, I realized she was carrying a mass of tension within her. "I doubt the attacks are related, Ava. Mine was a mugging, pure and simple."

  I almost spit out my coffee. "I'm sorry? A mugging? What about the assassin's list that was found?"

  "Oh, that... well... that's just a theory. I trust Sheriff Maxwell but I really don't see how one isolated event should impact the election. I refuse to drop out of the race. Herbert would have wanted me to go on."

  "You mean you're still running in the election tomorrow?"

  "Of course I am."

  There was another knock on the door. "Excuse me," Hadley said, all smiles. "Sorry to interrupt again, but I just found this sitting on my desk and thought I better give it to you. It's marked urgent."

  She walked a large manila envelope over to Tazzie, who took it and set it in her lap. Big, black, block letters were etched across the top spelling out her name. Beneath it, in red, was the word "urgent."

  "Who gave this to you?" she asked.

  Hadley shrugged. "I went to use the bathroom and when I came back it was just lying on my desk."

  Tazzie opened it, peeked inside. She turned it upside down. A tri-fold letter fell onto the floor. Tazzie picked it up and opened it. Her pupils turned to black quarters. Her pink lips turned white.

  "What is it?" I asked, alarmed.

  "Nothing," she tried to say, but it barely came out. "A bad joke."

  Hadley was leaning over her shoulder, reading. She looked at Tazzie, her face serious. "This is a threat, Tazzie, not a joke." She reached for the letter but Tazzie pulled it back. "We need to call the police," she reasoned.

  Tazzie shook her head, folding the letter back up. "Nonsense." Her hands were shaking and the letter slipped to the floor. I snatched it up before she could and read it.

  DROP OUT OR KAYLA DIES

  It was cold and to the point. My throat felt like desert sand as I tried to swallow.

  "They're threatening your daughter?" I asked.

  Tazzie angrily snatched the letter back from me. "It's just a joke," she said, more like yelled. "A bad one. Now, please, I have a lot to do before the election tomorrow."

  She indicated the door. I stood up slowly, walking toward it, thinking. I paused with one foot in the reception area, one foot still in her office.

  "Do you have any idea who would want you out of the election?" I asked.

  She pursed her lips, silent. Hadley answered for her. "Thaddeus Black. I've never trusted him."

  Tazzie shot Hadley an annoyed look.

  "Just a joke," Tazzie muttered under her breath. She rose from the chair and shut her office door on me. We were done.

  * * *

  0 4

  * * *

  "Can you turn up the volume?" I asked Trixie. She was the one closest to the radio. Because of everything that had happened so recently between Mistmoor Point and Sweetland Cove, the outcome of Mistmoor's mayoral election was hot news.

  Trixie turned the dial. Election results were rolling in. They would be updated hourly and broadcast all day until the winner was announced. The Mystic Cupcake was surprisingly empty for mid-afternoon. We chalked it up to election day. Everyone wanted to be at home listening to their radios or watching the television. What else could it be? Normally we were packed at this time, especially being the only bakery in Sweetland Cove.

  The door chimed and I looked up from the magazine I was flipping through. I'd stopped on an obscene ad—a beautiful blonde witch was trying to sell me pre-made frosting, as if any self-respecting witch would use such a thing!—and Colt stepped inside.

  "Hi," I said, setting the magazine aside.

  He walked right past me, grumbling something incoherent, and grabbed a chocolate lava joy cupcake from behind the counter. Trixie, Eleanor, my dad, and I watched as he sucked it down in two swift bites.

  "Sorry," he said, his mouth so full it came out slurred.

  "It's okay," Aunt Eleanor said, looking baffled. Colt never ate with so much... gusto. Chocolate frosting was smeared all over his face. He tried to wipe it away and just made it worse. A chocolate fingerprint stuck just under his right eye, like an ink blot.

  Colt was the type of man who always looked put together. No matter what was going on in his life, he managed to look as though he'd just stepped out of the pages of GQ. His suit was neatly pressed, his shirt wrinkle free, his shoes shined to a high gloss. Even when he wore pullovers and jeans, he looked dashing.

  I watched the chocolate move around his face, spreading. He was sporting a heavy five o'clock shadow.

  "Um... Colt?" I asked. "Is everything okay?"

  "Sure, fine," he said, reaching for a second cupcake. "You don't mind if I grab another, do you?"

  We all shook our heads. My dad arched one eyebrow in a classic Spock move. What's with him? When Colt silently retreated to our back room, I silently followed.

  "Hey, are you sure you're okay?" I asked.

  "Yes! Why do people keep asking me that?" It was snappish and so unlike Colt that I forgot to be angry.

  "Er, you have chocolate on your face. Here," I pointed to my mouth, "and here," I pointed to my eye, "and here," I pointed to my nose.

  Colt let out a long, shaky breath that was more grunt than air. "Ugh!" His hands balled into fists and he slammed one of them into a pile of cinnamon raisin dough we'd been letting rise.

  "Okay, I'm officially worried. Whatever it is, just tell me," I said, resting my hand on his shoulder. He looked at me, his dark blond hair swaying gently as shook his head. It was growing out again. I liked it.

  "My dad," he said.

  "Oh." I drew in a breath, bracing myself for bad news. "Did the Council on Magic and Human Affairs come back with a verdict?"

  "Not yet... but Dean Lampton called me into his office today."

  I burned up just hearing the name. Dean Lampton was the worst, most egotistical head of COMHA I'd ever met. Okay, technically he was also the only head of COMHA I'd ever met, but I was certain that my opinion of him would hold even if I'd met a million heads of COMHA.

  It was unfortunate that Dean was also Colt's boss. He'd fired him not all that long ago, during the whole vampire fiasco. That was still the easiest way to put it—the vampire fiasco. It basically consisted of three vampires with alternating ideas on how to live as a vampire in a human-
witch world.

  Colt's father, Russell, a former COMHA agent himself, had faked his death years before when he was turned into a vampire by the evil Vlaski Ambrose. Melbourne Hammond, a vampire resident of Sweetland Cove who had been well liked until this all went down, had also faked his death. Melbourne had been trying to stop Vlaski from taking over the world. Russell and teetered on the edge of helping Vlaski until he'd finally decided to get away from the dark side and help me and his son instead.

  "And?" I prompted.

  Colt was staring off into space.

  "And... Dean told me to expect bad news. The Council wasn't swayed as much by your testimony as I'd hoped."

  "I'm sorry. It's so unfair. You just got him back after a decade, over a decade, and now you're going to have to give him up again. At least this time you'll know where he is."

  The way Colt looked at me, I knew I wasn't helping.

  "Yeah, because seeing my father behind bars is so much better."

  "Than thinking he's dead? Drained of all his blood by Vlaski Ambrose, the evilest vampire to walk this planet? Left to suffer and wither away like a piece of bad meat? Yeah, I'd say it's much better, Colt."

  "Well... when you put it like that..." His cheeks turned pink. He looked at his shirt sleeve and finally realized his crisp white button down was covered with chocolate.

  He searched his suit coat for a handkerchief, dabbing one end in water before wiping his cuffs with it. A slip of paper fell out of his pocket as he cleaned himself up. I picked it off the floor, half opened. A drawing of Russell Hudson stared back at me, a knife plunged deep into his head.

  "What is this?" I demanded.

  Colt looked at it, took a beat, then said, "Nothing."

  "Nothing? It doesn't look like nothing. It looks like a drawing of your father with his head sliced open."

  Colt grabbed it back from me but not before I could unfold the rest of it. In scraggly, serial killer handwriting were the words All Vampires Must Die. I realized then that the knife in Russell's head wasn't a knife; it was a stake.

  Colt bunched it up and threw it in the trash. "It's nothing. I get a dozen of those a day. I don't know why this one got to me."

  "A dozen a day?! Colt, why didn't you tell me that?"

  He rolled his shoulders. "My dad faked his death for thirteen years and came back as a vampire. It made some people... uncomfortable. I don't feel like I need to talk about it all the time. I know he's not a bad person, even if no one else does."

  "Colt, you're not the only one who knows Russ is a good man. He saved my life, remember? I know what kind of person he is." And then, because there was nothing else for me to say, I hugged Colt. Hard. He turned his face to mine so that our lips met. When we parted, I could see that he'd relaxed just the tiniest bit.

  The swing door opened and Trixie stuck her head. "Ava, you better get out here." She retreated to the front without further explanation. Colt and I looked at each other then went to join her and the rest of my family.

  Lottie Mudget was out front, looking through our display cases and gossiping, her most favorite pastime. Whatever she was saying must have been a doozy, because she had the rapt attention of both my aunts and my father, who normally didn't give one rat's tail about gossip.

  "I'm not saying I would ever go there, certainly not," Lottie said, her pudgy fingers dirty imprints on the glass I'd just cleaned. "I'm loyal to my stores just like I am to my familiars. I only thought you should know that Mystic Cupcake has a little competition now. That way you can prepare your defensive."

  I looked at Eleanor. "What is she talking about?"

  The worry lines on Eleanor's face had doubled in size. "A new bakery just opened."

  "A bakery? When? I haven't heard anything about a new bakery."

  "Apparently it was kept very hush hush," my father said.

  "The owner wanted it to be a surprise," Lottie said, forcing her way back into the conversation. "She swore the previous owners to secrecy and didn't even change the sign until early this morning. No one had a clue."

  Lottie seemed both irritated that she hadn't gotten ahold of this news sooner, and gleeful that she was the first to tell us about it.

  "So, who is this mysterious baker?" Colt asked.

  "Wilma Trueheart," Lottie said, repeating the name like it belonged to someone highly important, a king or queen. "She bought The Alchemic Stone."

  "Anastasia's old shop? Are you talking about the mainlander?!" I shouted without thinking. It didn't matter whether the woman was from Florida or France, she had bought a magical gem shop and turned it into a bakery.

  I'd heard rumors that someone had been looking at the place, but somehow I hadn't thought anything would come of it. The Alchemic Stone had a dark, sordid history, involving draugar and black magic. Who would want to buy it, unless they were into that sort of stuff themselves?

  "When I heard The Alchemic Stone had been sold," said Eleanor, "I assumed the woman who bought it would keep it as is. It never occurred to me..."

  "Never occurred to any of us," my dad said, patting Eleanor's hand. I thought she seemed extra shaky. This was big news but nothing to be frightened of.

  "You mean you knew the shop had sold?" I asked Eleanor, who nodded.

  I had the feeling she was still worried about Sheriff Knoxx. There'd been no further news on the body that had washed ashore. As far as Doctors Wallace and Landon could tell, the man had been killed with a very powerful death curse, but no one had been able to figure out who he was.

  "Ssh ssh!" Trixie suddenly said, even though no one was talking just then. "Did you all hear that?" She turned toward the radio. The announcer's voice boomed across our empty shop.

  "And we have a winner in the Mistmoor Point election... Thaddeus Black just manages to edge out Tazzie Singer and win by a nose."

  * * *

  0 5

  * * *

  Thaddeus Black could not escape the rumors, so he decided to embrace them.

  He was standing at the buffet table in the hotel room he'd rented out for the evening's event, a giant banner hung across the full length of the room, which must have been a hundred feet.

  CONGRATULATIONS, MAYOR BLACK!

  He laughed loudly, his black eyes shining every time a light hit them just right. I had no idea how he'd thrown together something this big so fast and reasoned that he must have been anticipating victory all along. Nothing wrong with that, precisely, it just rubbed me the wrong way. Arrogance was the word that sprang to mind.

  "Hahahaha!" He belly laughed, his massive hands cutting through the air as he looked for something he could hold.

  He was a man who liked to gesticulate, I could tell that right away. The way his arms moved, flapped, swam through the air like it was water. He finally grabbed a mini baguette, brandishing it like a wand as he pointed it here and there, taking the occasional chomp out of it before pointing it again. In his other hand, he held a glass of ale. It sloshed over the sides every time he laughed. He was standing in a small puddle, his shoes glossy with the liquid. He didn't even notice.

  His victory party was in full swing, and he meant to enjoy every moment of it. Why shouldn't he? He had won, after all. Despite the obstacles facing him. Despite the rumors that Tazzie Singer was the rightful winner and the election had been rigged. As he liked to point out, those rumors were completely unsubstantiated. Just that—rumors.

  Everyone in both Mistmoor Point and Sweetland Cove had been invited; almost everyone had come. People were curious about the elusive Mr. Black. He had a reputation as the all-time greatest curse remover in the wizarding world. There were entire chapters in history books devoted solely to him.

  "Yes, yes," he said, loud enough for everyone in the room to hear even though he was talking only to a group of four. There were other groups in line, waiting their turn.

  "It's true, I can't deny it. I ran into Carbuncle Tanner many years ago. He was vicious. Almost bit my head clean off, but in the end, I got him. Im
agine my surprise when it turned out he was NOT a real werewolf, merely suffering from a very severe curse, unlike anything I'd ever seen before."

  The story of Carbuncle Tanner was one of the most famous of Thaddeus’ escapades. According to the legend, Carbuncle was a werewolf who was terrorizing a village somewhere in what used to be Yugoslavia. Thaddeus had tracked him, trapped him, and was about to kill him when he'd realized poor Carbuncle had simply been cursed. Hexed. Turned into a werewolf even though he'd never been bitten by one. Thaddeus was able to resolve the issue and undo the curse, giving Carbuncle his life back.

  Lucy Lockwood grabbed my arm and pointed me away from Thaddeus. "It's Felicity!" she said, smiling and waving.

  The redheaded baker was walking right toward us. Her long legs skipped across the floor in a short, spunky dress. She'd just been talking to Lincoln and she still had that "isn't my boyfriend the greatest?" glow about her.

  "Hi," she said.

  We hugged and she started talking about the election. "I still can't believe Tazzie lost. I'd been so sure it would end up in her favor. I mean, I know what the polls said, but everyone I talked to said they were voting for her. Even Grayson thought she'd win, and he was running against her."

  Felicity's brother was in the center of the room with Kayla, celebrating as if he'd actually won himself. It was one of the things I admired about Grayson Redfern; nothing kept him down. He did what he wanted to do and if it didn't work out, he did something else.

  I still wasn't sure why he hadn't done better in the election. Grayson's numbers had never risen above five percent. People liked him personally, loved his restaurant, The Golden Goose, but just didn't think he was mayor material. At least, not at this point in his life. Try again in a few years, they'd say, patting his hand, and we'll see.

  Grayson was in his late twenties, compared to Thaddeus and Tazzie who were both over fifty. Maybe people thought age brought experience and wisdom. I wasn't sure how true that was anymore. Vlaski Ambrose had been hundreds, even thousands of years old, and he'd been an evil, pompous fool.