“He doesn’t look like a serial killer,” Aunt Matilda observed.
“How can you tell?” I asked as he tapped on the window. He was wearing a raincoat that made it impossible to tell anything about him—I was guessing it was a him, since he seemed to be over six feet tall—and I was in a bit of a dilemma. I couldn’t open the window—the car was dead—and the way my luck was going, I wasn’t about to open the door. “Need help?” he shouted through the glass.
“I’m fine,” I yelled back.
“Hogwash,” Aunt Matilda retorted.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” I muttered.
The man paused and dug something out of his pocket. I prayed it wasn’t a gun.
It wasn’t. It was a badge.
“I promise I’m not an ax murderer,” he said, as if he’d read my mind. I opened the door a bit so we could talk, and a sheet of cold water poured onto my leg. “What’s wrong with your car?” he asked.
“It just died,” I told him, turning the key in the ignition again. Nothing.
“Had you already pulled over when it happened?”
“No,” I told him. “It died on the road, so it’s probably not the battery.”
“Why don’t I take you into town, get you to a hotel and organize a tow?”
I quickly debated my options—spend the night with Aunt Matilda in a cramped Kia Soul, or maybe be able to take a shower and sleep in a bed. It was a short debate. “Thanks,” I told him. “That would be terrific. Let me just dig out my overnight bag and we’ll go.” It took a little doing, but I located the red strap of my overnight bag and extracted it from the pile in the back seat, then grabbed the key from the ignition. My raincoat was buried, unfortunately, but at least I’d have a toothbrush.
“Don’t you want to turn the hazard lights off?” he asked as I stood in the pouring rain. “Save your battery.”
“Good idea,” I said, reaching in to flick them off before following him to the cruiser.
Aunt Matilda followed, too. “This is so exciting,” she burbled. “I’ve never been in a police cruiser before! Do you think he’ll make the sirens go?”
I ignored her as best I could—the last thing I needed was to seem like I was prone to conversing with myself.
“Thanks so much for helping me out,” I told the officer as I tucked my bag in under my feet. The dashboard was a mass of lights and screens; it was a little intimidating.
Aunt Matilda had passed right through the door of the car and was bouncing around in the back seat. “So this is what it feels like to be arrested!”
As my aunt poked her fingers through the metal grille separating the back from the front, I glanced over at the officer as he took the hood of his raincoat off. And… um… wow. He could have been a Hemsworth brother.
Aunt Matilda noticed, too. “He’s a looker,” she observed. “Maybe things are looking up for you, Amanda.”
I surreptitiously wiped under my eyes in case there was any smeary mascara as he put the cruiser in drive and pulled back onto the highway. “What brings you to Misty Hollow?” he asked as he turned onto the exit.
“Strictly accidental. I’m moving to Portland, actually. Or at least I’m trying to move to Portland. They closed down 95, and then there was a detour, and the nav system got me lost, and then my car gave up the ghost.”
“You do know that you’re in Vermont.”
I blinked. “Vermont? How did I end up in Vermont?”
“Might want to get your navigation system checked out. Good thing I happened to be driving by,” he said. “I’m not usually out on the highway at night.”
“Maybe your luck is turning around,” Aunt Matilda suggested as she drifted through the metal grate, brushing past me on her way to investigate all the control panels. I shivered as she made contact; so did the officer, whose name I realized I didn’t know.
“I’m Amanda, by the way. Amanda Blackthorne.”
“Zeke Parker,” he replied as we approached the small town of Misty Hollow. “There are a few Blackthornes in Misty Hollow. Sure you’re not related?”
I shook my head. “Everyone in my family lives in Boston or Florida. What a cute town!” I commented as he turned onto a main street that looked like it could have been featured in a storybook. The billboard might look less than enchanting, but the town itself was gorgeous. There was a row of shops in quaint storefronts. As we rolled down the street, I noticed a bookstore with a swinging sign labeled Once Upon a Time, a bakery named Sticky Buns, with a beautiful woodland bread display in the plate window, and a corner coffee shop named Magic Beans, that had a smattering of bistro chairs and tables in front. There was also a small shop called The Crooked Broomstick, with crystals sparkling in the window; it looked like some kind of new-age store. “Is there a reasonably priced hotel?”
“There’s only one hotel,” he replied. “A bed and breakfast, actually. It’s called Blue Water Inn. I’ll drop you off and leave a message for Ed that you’ll be in touch.”
“Who’s Ed?”
“He owns the Misty Hollow repair shop,” he told me. “He’ll set up a tow and get your car taken care of.”
“I like this town,” Aunt Matilda announced from the dashboard, where she was fiddling with the knobs. It was a good thing she was invisible to Zeke, or he wouldn’t have been able to see through the windshield. “It feels nice.”
It did, I realized. Something inside me had relaxed since he turned onto Main Street. It felt homey here… comfortable. As he turned onto a side street, the siren blared.
Zeke reached for the knob and flipped it off. “What the…”
Aunt Matilda was perched on the dash, with half her body on the wrong side of the windshield, looking pleased with herself. I shot her a stern warning look. She blew me a raspberry and started to play with the video display.
Thankfully, he turned off at big, gray Victorian before Aunt Matilda managed to do any more damage. “Here we are,” he said as he pulled up near the front door.
“Thank you so much,” I told him as I grabbed my bag from beneath my feet.
“My pleasure,” he told me. “Check with Ed at the shop tomorrow morning; I’ll give the tow truck company a call, and you can square it with him. If you need anything else, here’s my card.”
He handed me a card, and our fingers brushed. Despite the humid air, I felt a slight shock, almost like static electricity. I thanked him, and our eyes locked for a moment. Then I grabbed my bag and, with Aunt Matilda in my wake, made a dash for the front door of the inn.
“This place is pretty nice,” Aunt Matilda commented as she swirled around the lobby. If you could call it a lobby; it looked more like a living room, complete with a banked fire in the ornate fireplace and a calico cat curled up on the Oriental rug in front of it. “Not as nice as that policeman, though. If I was twenty years younger and still alive…”
As she explored the room and commented on the visual merits of Officer Parker, I tried to decide what to do. It was two in the morning and I didn’t want to wake anyone up, but I didn’t want to spend the night in the lobby, either. There was no bell or button or instructions on what to do.
“Oooh, look at this sofa,” Aunt Matilda said, perching on the red velvet settee. “I feel like I belong in a movie.” She struck a pose, and the calico cat shot up from the rug like it had been fired from a gun. A moment later, she was atop the heavy oak hutch, staring down at Aunt Matilda with her tail puffed up like a bottle brush and hissing like a snake.
“What’s up with her?” Aunt Matilda said. I didn’t answer, because at that moment, a middle-aged woman walked into the lobby, eliminating my anxiety about how to let someone know I was here. She was dressed in a blue fluffy bathrobe covered in coffee cups, and looked like she’d just climbed out of bed. Which I guessed she had.
“I’m so sorry to bother you,” I said, wiping my wet hair out of my eyes and trying to ignore Aunt Matilda, who was busy trying to coax the terrified cat from her perch on top of the hu
tch. “My car broke down on the highway, and I need a place to stay.”
“That’s what we’re here for,” the woman said in a cheery tone. “One room for the night, then?”
“Yes, please.” As I spoke, the cat hissed louder. I turned to look; Aunt Matilda was floating up next to her, trying to pet her. The cat had other ideas; as I watched, she launched herself at a framed painting of a wrought-iron bench in a garden. It didn’t work; the picture slewed to the side, depositing the poor cat on the floor. She scuttled under the settee, letting out a colorful melange of hisses and growls. Matilda floated down toward the floor, determined to follow her. I rolled my eyes and gave her a stern look, but it was useless.
“Please tell your friend to let Patches settle down,” the woman said. “She doesn’t like ghosts.”
“What?” Aunt Matilda and I spoke at the same time. I swiveled to look at the innkeeper, whose eyes appeared to be on my wayward aunt. “You can see her?” I asked.
The woman nodded and looked down at her computer screen. “First floor okay?”
“That’s fine,” I said, as Matilda drifted up next to me.
“How can you see me?” Matilda asked. “No one’s ever been able to see me before. Except Amanda.”
“I just can,” she said. “Always have been able to. Anyway, I’m going to put you in the Rose Room. We’ve got a resident spirit in the house—her name is Ivy—and she’s very shy. If you stay off the second floor, we should be okay.”
“There’s another one of me here?” Matilda asked, brightening. You’d think ghosts were a dime a dozen, but Aunt Matilda had only turned up half a dozen of her kind over the past two years, and none of them had been what you’d call chatty.
The woman nodded. “If you’re here a few days, she might be brave enough to come out, but she keeps to herself a lot.”
“I’d love to meet her. How old is she?”
“She just turned 100,” the woman said, as if a hundred-year-old ghost named Ivy were perfectly ordinary. “Now, here’s the key. It’s down that hallway to the left, and breakfast starts at eight. Do you need any help with your luggage?”
“This is all I’ve got,” I said, pointing to my small bag.
“Great. And the Crooked Broomstick opens tomorrow at ten.”
“What?”
“You’ll want to visit it while you’re here.”
“Why? Are they hiring?” Aunt Matilda asked.
“Maybe,” she said cryptically. Before I could ask her anything else, she smiled at both of us and turned off the computer. “I’m going to head back to bed. If you need anything, just dial 0 on your room phone.” She smiled at both of us and turned off the computer. “I’ll see you at breakfast!”
“I can’t believe she could see me!” Aunt Matilda said excitedly as I opened the door to the Rose Room a few minutes later. “And there’s another ghost here. I can’t wait to meet her!”
“Well, don’t go hunting her down tonight,” I admonished her as I turned on the light. The room was, predictably, a dusky rose color, with a beautiful duvet embroidered with roses and lavender. Even the air smelled faintly of roses. I dropped my bag and closed the door behind me, relieved to be in a room for the night.
“This is nice,” Aunt Matilda commented as she floated around the room. She ducked into the bathroom, then flitted back out. “There’s a big claw-foot tub in there; you should take a bath.”
“I think I will,” I said. It was late, but I was still wired from the adrenaline dump of being stranded, and my damp clothes had given me a chill.
As I walked into the spacious, tiled bathroom to turn on the tub, Aunt Matilda followed me. “I wonder what it’s like where Ivy lives?”
“She told you to leave her alone,” I chided Aunt Matilda as I turned on the hot water, pleased to note a bottle of bubbles. I emptied it into the tub and inhaled as the scent of roses filled the small bathroom.
“But how could she be shy around me?” she asked.
“Not everyone is quite as… effervescent as you are.”
“It must be my joie de vivre,” she said. “Ironic, since I’m not technically alive.”
“Maybe she’ll be more up for company in the morning,” I suggested. “But for now, let’s just settle in, okay? It’s not like Ivy’s going anywhere anytime soon.”
As I spoke, there was a bump in the hall. A chill unrelated to my wet clothes ran down my spine.
I looked at Aunt Matilda expectantly.
“I’m not going out there,” she said, eyes wide.
With a sigh, I walked over to the door and looked through the peephole. Nothing.
“Probably just pipes bumping or something,” I suggested.
“That didn’t sound like pipes,” she said ominously.
There was another bump. I looked again.
“Open the door a crack,” Aunt Matilda suggested.
“Or you could just go through the door,” I reminded her.
“No way. You know how I am about ghosts and things.”
“Five minutes ago you were complaining that you couldn’t go meet one.”
“That’s a different kind of ghost.”
“Fine,” I said, and unlocked the deadbolt, making sure the chain was still in place.
As soon as the door opened a crack, something dark and sticky and cold flew through it. I jumped back and screamed, but it wasn’t after me.
It glommed right onto Aunt Matilda’s arm.
* * *
Spell of Trouble, the first in a new paranormal cozy series, is scheduled for release Fall/Winter 2019. Check Karen’s web site for updates!
More Books by Karen MacInerney
To download a free book and receive members-only outtakes, short stories, recipes, and updates, join Karen’s Reader’s Circle at www.karenmacinerney.com! You can also join her on Facebook.
And don’t forget to follow her on BookBub to get newsflashes on new releases!
* * *
The Dewberry Farm Mysteries
Killer Jam
Fatal Frost
Deadly Brew
Mistletoe Murder
Dyeing Season
Wicked Harvest (September 2019)
* * *
The Gray Whale Inn Mysteries
Murder on the Rocks
Dead and Berried
Murder Most Maine
Berried to the Hilt
Brush With Death
Death Runs Adrift
Whale of a Crime
Claws for Alarm
Scone Cold Dead
Cookbook: The Gray Whale Inn Kitchen
Blueberry Blues (A Gray Whale Inn Short Story)
Pumpkin Pied (A Gray Whale Inn Short Story)
Iced Inn (A Gray Whale Inn Short Story)
* * *
The Margie Peterson Mysteries
Mother’s Day Out
Mother Knows Best
Mother’s Little Helper
* * *
Tales of an Urban Werewolf
Howling at the Moon
On the Prowl
Leader of the Pack
* * *
Six Merry Little Murders: A Cozy Christmas Bundle
(October 2019)
* * *
And coming Fall/Winter 2019… a new paranormal cozy series featuring Amanda Blackthorne and her spectral Aunt Matilda!
Recipes
Apple Puff Pancake with Cinnamon Butter Maple Syrup
Ingredients:
* * *
Apple Puff Pancake
1 apple, thinly sliced
1 tablespoon brown sugar
6 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
4 eggs
2/3 cups whole milk
2/3 cup all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
3/4 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
whipped cream, for serving
* * *
Cinnamon Butter Maple Syrup
1/2
cup maple syrup
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
* * *
Directions:
* * *
Puff Pancake
* * *
Preheat the oven to 450 degrees F. Arrange the apple slices in the bottom a 10-12 inch oven-proof skillet. Drizzle 4 tablespoons of melted butter over the apples and sprinkle with brown sugar. Place the skillet on the center rack of the oven for 10 minutes.
* * *
While skillet is in the oven, in a blender, combine the eggs, milk, flour, vanilla, cinnamon, salt and the remaining 2 tablespoons melted butter. Blend on high for 30 seconds to one minute or until the batter is smooth, with no large clumps of flour. Remove the hot skillet from the oven and pour the batter into the skillet, then place the skillet on a lower rack of the oven and bake for 18-20 minutes or until the pancake is fully puffed and browned on top. (Do not open the oven during the first 15 minutes of cooking or the pancake may deflate.) Remove the puff pancake from the oven and serve topped with cinnamon syrup.
* * *
Cinnamon Butter Maple Syrup
* * *
In a small saucepan, combine the maple, butter, and cinnamon and bring to a boil over high heat. Reduce the heat to medium and simmer for 3-5 minutes. Remove from the heat and stir in the vanilla. Serve warm aside the puff pancake.
Cranberry Island Crabmeat Quiche
Scone Cold Dead Page 18