I did learn a little more about Barbara and the town of Rosemary Creek along the way, Barbara's voice steady and calm. She was very regal, in her own way.
Rosemary Creek itself was more like a small river, she told me, where the main street in town – a pedestrian only area - housed most of the businesses, dotted along the edge of the creek. It was hard to imagine any kind of town being set up like that, at least for someone like me who had spent their whole life in San Francisco. I tried to picture the road and businesses facing the creek, or river or whatever, and people walking up and down. It seemed so impossible that there existed such a place. I mean I had just witnessed a mugging in broad daylight. Rosemary Creek sounded like paradise compared to that.
"Whoa," I whispered as we came up over one of the larger hills, the sun starting to sink lower in the sky. Oranges and pinks melted into a lilac which bloomed out toward the open sky of blue, setting the valley below us on fire in its bright jewel-tones. Up ahead, a clearly-freshly-painted sign advertised 'Rosemary Creek', splashed on it in black brush, and so charming that I was sure I'd imagined it.
The valley wound through the lower hills, just like the glittering creek that bent around us as we followed it.
"It's gorgeous. It’s almost unbelievable." How had I never come here before?
Barbara just laughed, and I sat stunned as I stared out the window.
"What's all that? The vineyards?" I asked her, nodding off in the distance. Neat, equidistance rows of dark green vines spread out over the valley, looking like the sort of thing you’d expect to see in the Tuscan countryside.
"Absolutely. One of the more famous wineries is just down the road there. Ah, we're here." The car rolled to a slow stop, and she put it in park before picking up her purse. "I just need to do a little grocery-shopping before we go home. I wasn't exactly expecting your arrival."
"Isn't that what you do, though?" I asked, half-teasing, half-curious. "Wiggle your fingers, twitch your nose? I don’t know. Grocery-shopping seems a little bit below a witch. I mean especially when you could easily predict the winning lottery numbers or something." I followed behind her as we headed around the corner and up the street where little shops and restaurants were starting to turn their lights on outside.
Barbara laughed good-naturedly. "That’s not exactly how it works, but I can’t exactly blame you for thinking that, what with the way we're always depicted on the television and in movies and all. Besides, I said we're witches, not psychics. Believe me, dear, if I were, I would not be carting my behind up the street to go grocery shopping. I'd simply have my butler do it for me!"
I snorted, and walked after her into the large Rosemary Creek Market.
"Hello, dear," Barbara told the cashier at one of the two checkout lanes as we walked in. There were only two lanes, total? We got a wave and a smile in response, and Barbara turned to me as she grabbed a cart.
"There's the simple matter of where you'll be wanting to stay to attend to. I will let you know that my daughter Karen, who’s about your age, lives in a two-bedroom apartment suite underneath my own home. It has its own kitchen, a walk-out to the outside, and a large bathroom. You’d have your own room, with plenty of space in the closet. She's been looking for a roommate for a while. Would that work for you?"
It seemed weird to agree even though I'd never met her daughter, but I'd already come this far.
"Sure. That sounds perfect."
"Excellent! You'll get the chance to meet Karen once we're finished, I'm sure. I don't think she had anything planned for today. I expect she'll be pleased to finally have another witch around."
"Oh, is she one too?" I asked, not sure how these things worked yet.
She nodded, turning down the next aisle with the shopping cart. "Yes, yes she is."
I walked along with Barbara up and down the aisles, asking question after question as Barbara filled the cart with delicious goods. It turned out Barbara's whole family came from a line of witches, and that as powerful as they were, they kept to themselves.
"Barbara!" a loud, high-pitched voice squeaked from behind us. "There you are!"
We both turned to see a short, thin woman with a curly head of salt and pepper hair, wearing such large round glasses that I could've sworn I’d just run into a giant bug in the middle of a grocery store.
"Oh, hello, Corinne," Barbara said. The tone of her voice made it painfully obvious Barbara wasn't too thrilled to be running into her. "Taylor, this is Corinne Leeman, my next-door neighbor. Corinne, this is my friend, Taylor Dean. She'll be living with Karen and I."
Not even bothering to give me a second look, Corinne tilted her head, her eyes looking rather bug-eyed as she sighed loudly. "Have you spoken with Chief Benson?"
"Chief Benson? No, I haven't. I've only just returned from the city, actually. Was he looking for me?"
Have you ever met someone and immediately known that they live off cigarettes, martinis, and gossip? Yeah. That was the overwhelming feeling I was getting from this Corinne lady, and the moment she leaned in and her voice dropped several octaves, I knew I was right on the money, and I hid a smile as she began to speak to Barbara in a fake-hushed whisper, making it easy for me to overhear. I was pretty sure that was the point.
"Well, I hate to be the one to tell you, but I suppose you'll hear it from someone else anyway before you even make it to the police station." Another dramatic sigh. "I've just heard the news. Henry Mortran was found dead this morning. And not just dead. Murdered."
Corinne paused for a moment, her voice dropping even lower, until she sounded not unlike a chain-smoker trying to seduce someone. "So naturally, the police are looking for you. They came around the neighborhood, asking if any of us knew where you were."
Barbara's elegant posture slumped some and she shook her head. "Oh, that man."
Whoever Henry Mortran was, he was deader than a doornail, and not a favorite of Barbara's, either.
Chapter 5
I raised a brow at the weird exchange between the older women, wondering if today could possibly get any stranger, then decided there was probably no limit to how strange today could get. I mean, I’d found out I was a witch, for goodness’ sake. That right there just blew the “normal” line right out the window.
For the first time in the five minutes since Corinne stopped us, she finally acknowledged my presence, her bug-like eyes roving over me with a renewed interest. My cheeks flamed up; it was like she was studying me rather than politely acknowledging my presence.
"And you're new to town? Staying with Barbara and Karen?" she questioned me, sounding more intrigued with each syllable.
"I guess you could say that, yes." I stuck my hand out. "I'm Taylor." Barbara had already introduced me, but my parents had still raised me to be polite.
She took it quickly, shaking my hand with way more vigor than I expected, and pulling my hand into hers, patting it. "Lovely. You know, you remind me of a young Susan Hayward. Of course, you'll have no idea who she is, but my she was beautiful. How old did you say you were?"
Barbara gasped, frowning at her. "Corinne! You can't just ask a lady her age like that! I can only imagine the wrath a poor soul who dare ask you the same question would face."
"Pfft, everyone knows not to ask a lady with gray in her hair that question, of course. But she's young. I'm sure she hardly cares. Let me guess: twenty-three? Twenty-four?"
"Twenty-five, soon enough." I did think it was pretty rude to ask, but I kept that to myself.
The way she grinned up at me was enough for me to consider finding a way out of the conversation. "Perfect. What brings you here, anyway? We don't get too many visitors to Rosemary Creek."
My eyes darted between her and Barbara frantically. What was I supposed to say? ‘Oh, you know, Barbara realized I was a witch, and I basically picked up my whole life and moved here on an inkling, because Barbara is also a witch?' Because there was no way this woman knew about Barbara. I may have been the most ignorant of my powers
but even I could tell Corinne Leeman didn't have a magical bone in her body. Much less the ability to keep something like the town being home to magical beings a secret.
"Karen was looking for a roommate," Barbara offered.
"Yep. And I, uh, needed a change of scenery." I was pretty sure I sounded about as convincing as the boxes of Twinkies next to us claiming to be organic.
Even if I wasn't exactly throwing her off our scent, Corrine didn't seem too bothered. "So you'll be staying for a while, then? That's wonderful to hear! You know, Taylor, I'd love to have you over for dinner sometime. We don't live far down the road from Barbara and Karen. What's your favorite food? I don't mean to brag or anything, but I've been told I make a sinful apple pie! You should come by one night this week, meet my husband, Frank, and of course my son, Ken. Ken's actually one of lawyers in town, he works not too far down Main Street, at James & Sons. He's actually around your age—only a few years older. He's been practicing for a couple of years now, graduated early from both college and law school, mind you! I'm sure he would be happy to meet—"
Barbara spun her cart around, not-so-accidentally bumping into Corrine's. "Oh goodness me, I'm sorry Corrine. Taylor and I need to get going though, if I'm going to catch up with the chief. Thanks for the head's up about Henry. I'll have to let Karen know once she gets home."
It was kinda funny watching the short woman's mouth open and close, reminding me of one of those pufferfish. "Yes, well. Of course. Please let her know that we're sending our thoughts and prayers. To both of you, but I'm sure that Karen will need them most. And Taylor, don't forget about our dinner invitation!" she waved at me as Barbara had already turned down the next aisle.
"The only thing sinful about those pies of hers is how fast they leave you running to the bathroom. Sorry about her," Barbara muttered to me. "She can be pretty unbearable at times, when there's enough gossip to keep her spirits lifted, anyway. If you look up the word 'meddlesome' in the dictionary, a portrait of Corinne Leeman and her three yippy dogs would be smiling smugly right back at you."
I snorted, but had more pressing questions. "Barbara, who is Henry? It sounds like you and your daughter know him. And I'm hoping that murder isn't a reoccurring thing around here, either."
She didn't say anything at first, the cart's squeaky wheel rolling very slowly until we reached the end of the next aisle where she turned to me, the elegant smile twisted into something more of an annoyed frown.
"Henry Mortran. One of the worst mistakes I've ever made, and believe me, for a woman like me with magic in her blood and plenty of magical mishaps under her belt, that's truly saying something." She sighed, picking up a can of chicken broth and studying it for a moment before adding it, and four more like it, to the cart. "Henry is Karen's father. My ex-husband."
Whoa. I was definitely not expecting that. I drew a sharp intake of breath, not at all sure of how to respond. "Oh."
"Oh, indeed. He would pick a rather inconvenient time to die like this, too. He always had horrible timing. But what can you expect from such a poor excuse for a husband?" Above us, the fluorescent lighting flickered ever so slightly.
I didn't want to laugh. I really didn't. But the disdain in Barbara's voice was so casual and just so nonchalant that I had to stop myself to keep from chuckling. In my defense, it had been a very weird day. "Right. Did you still want to go in to see the police chief?"
She waved me off, stuck a few more various cans into the cart, ticking off things on the grocery list she pulled from her purse. So far, I'd learned that witches were pretty normal people. They even had grocery lists with everyday boring items like 'bread,' 'tomatoes,' and 'toilet paper.' So much for all the eye of newt and wing of bat mumbo-jumbo.
"I'm not doing a thing until I've finished my grocery shopping and settled you into the house. Chief Benson will just have to learn to be patient. It would be a good skill for him to acquire anyway, if you ask me."
I nodded, helping Barbara do the rest of her shopping before we left the store, finding that I had even more questions than when we’d arrived. There had been a murder? Here?
The sky was already coming to life with stars by the time we were a little ways out from the center of town. It had been so long since I’d really seen the night sky alight with anything more than pollution and the occasional fireworks.
Pulling up into a short drive that led to a well-lit sidewalk with a short stone fence on either side that barely came up to my knees, the lights in the shape of old gas lamps, my mouth dropped open at just how incredible it looked. The front lawn was set in two tiers, the lower one covered in emerald green grass, dappled with tufts of tall grass here and there around smaller groupings of flowers, while the upper tier was lined with short thin hedges and a small fountain off to the side. There were trees on both sides of the house without it looking crowded, and those same gas-lamp type lights ringed around the outside of the house, showcasing the gorgeous Tuscan two-story in warm light and shadows. I looked around the outside, dazed a little by the flat, red clay-tiled roof atop each section of the house, and the long and rounded windows all around both stories.
I had never really thought about what my dream home would look like; I had always kind of figured I’d only ever be able to afford a cramped, unrenovated condo in San Francisco, but as soon as I looked at Barbara’s house I knew that yup, this was one hundred percent my dream home. It left a lot of questions begging to be answered. Mainly, how could I get into the souvenir store market?
"Home sweet home," Barbara said, grabbing a grocery bag in each hand, the warm glow of the lamps making her appear even more regal as we made our way up to the front door. I followed after her with a couple of bags myself, and it only took us both a couple of trips back and forth before all of the groceries had been loaded inside the kitchen.
Barbara’s kitchen alone looked like it came straight out of a Better Homes and Gardens cover. It was large but warm and cozy. The white-washed cabinets reached to the ceiling, and the huge black-topped island in the middle boasted a stainless-steel cooktop, and plenty of space for people to gather around. There was no cauldron to be found.
"Wow," I gasped breathlessly. "This is probably the nicest house I've ever been in."
Barbara led me around the main living area and over to a short hallway, where a set of steps and a wrought-iron railing took us down to a tastefully decorated second living room; this was obviously the suite. Off to the side of the living room was an open kitchen with gorgeous dark cabinets and one of those fancy French-door refrigerators. I was literally living some sort of HGTV dream.
"Karen's bedroom is the room closest to the kitchen there, where the double-doors are. And your room is over there," she said, pointing to the other side of the living room, where one door revealed part of a clean-looking full bathroom, and the other door was shut. "After you."
It felt a little surreal to be opening the door to my new room, considering the day’s events, but I had to admit that once I did, it seemed to fit me just right.
The room was big enough to fit the queen-sized bed and four-piece matching suite. The curtains were a pretty shade of lavender, while the bed linens were a crisp white. It was crisp and clean, but not overkill. Classy, without being overdone. I jiggled the closet door open to reveal a walk-in closet the size of the bathroom at my old place. I definitely didn’t own enough clothes to fill it.
There must have been a smile on my face when I walked back out to where Barbara was standing, waiting patiently.
"I take it that you approve of your new living quarters?"
I nodded, still unsure if I could pinch myself and not wake up from the most bizarre dream, ever. "I love it. Really."
The sound of light footsteps coming down the stairs reached my ears, and I looked up just in time to see a rake-thin woman with long brown hair and big brown eyes that reminded me of Bambi. She gave me a curious look, but didn't seem too perturbed by the stranger in her home. The shape of her face gave it away
instantly: this had to be Barbara’s daughter.
"Honey, this is Taylor Dean, the young lady I told you about. Taylor, this is my daughter, Karen." Barbara beamed at me.
"Hi," I said, somewhat nervously waving. Seeing Karen in person suddenly left me feeling a little out of place. I mean, what if she thought this whole me-randomly-showing-up-and-moving-in thing was odd? It wasn’t like I’d be able to blame her. It was odd. What if she hated me, and I had to move? I didn’t want to move, I already loved it here. Panic rose up in my throat, but before I had a chance to let my brain go completely nuts with the overreacting, Karen gave me a kind smile.
"Hey. It's nice to meet you. I heard you're the newest baby witch on the block."
Right, of course Barbara would have mentioned that to her.
"Yep, that's me," I replied a little bit shyly.
And of course, Barbara found that to be the opportune moment to leave me to it. "I have one more errand to run tonight. Why don't you two get to know each other better?" She took her hand and placed in on her daughter's shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze before going back upstairs to the main house.
Was this Henry guy especially short? For her mother being tall and willowy, Karen sure was short, even shorter than me at five-foot five. She was just as thin as her mother, though.
"So" Karen began with a sigh. "It's been a pretty long day and I don't know about you, but I'm ready to kick off my shoes and relax. One of the rotten backyard breeders we've been dealing with for the past few months was finally arrested yesterday, so naturally we’ve taken in all of their cats, and all of the latest litter of kittens needed to be treated, poor things."
Did she just say kittens?
Karen walked over to the refrigerator and yanked open the door, pouring herself a glass of water. "Then there's the matter of my father being dead."
Witches and Wine Page 3