Murder At The Museum: A Witch Cozy Mystery (A Bluebell Knopps Witch Cozy Mystery Book 4)

by Nancy McGovern

  “Matter of fact, here comes Rebecca now.” Barry nodded as the door tinkled.

  Bluebell turned around, and a woman in her mid-50s walked in. She must have been a great beauty in her youth, and even now, heads turned when she walked past. She had straight flaxen hair that touched her shoulders, and cheekbones that made it look like she had apples hidden under her skin. Her eyes, though, Barry had been right about them being unusually beautiful. Even hidden behind thick black glasses, they looked amazing. They were sparkling green, and their gaze was so powerful it felt like a laser was being emitted from them. Bluebell couldn’t hold her eyes for more than a second, she had to turn away.

  To her surprise, Rebecca walked right up to Barry and gave him a passionate kiss on the lips. Considering her polished beauty, the contrast of the almost ragged man kissing her was surprising.

  “Meet my wife,” Barry said. “Like I said, finest eyes in the state.”

  “You old charmer.” Rebecca gave him a small slap on the shoulder, then turned and smiled at Bluebell. “Hi, I’m…” Almost immediately, catching sight of her hair, the smile fell away. She faltered, and dropped her hand. “Bluebell,” she said. “Bluebell Knopps. What in the… what are you doing here?”

  “You know me?” Bluebell gasped.

  All eyes were on them now, and Bluebell could almost feel ears perking up at this little exchange. Small towns, she thought to herself, were the same the world over. Good people, but people who loved drama nonetheless.

  As if realizing this, Rebecca smiled and smoothed the front of her dress. “Of course, of course, you’re Bluebell. You look exactly like your mother. I’d recognize you anywhere.”

  “Oh?” She was lying, Bluebell was sure of it - she’d never seen her mother.

  “I was friends with your mother when I was young, and saw you as a toddler,” Rebecca said, more for the benefit of the crowd than for Bluebell. This was a lie too, Bluebell was sure. But then how did Rebecca know who she was?

  “Your sandwich.” The owner of the diner put a plate in front of her. Suddenly, though, Bluebell didn’t feel hungry at all.

  “Pack it up, Jamie,” Rebecca said. “Bluebell will eat in the car. I have to take her to the museum. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

  *****

  Chapter 4

  Prophecies Can Lie, Can’t They?

  Bluebell found herself in the passenger seat of a Chevy Tahoe, the foil wrapped sandwich growing cold on her lap. Besides her, Rebecca sat silent, chewing on the inside of her cheek. There had been an envelope on the car’s windshield as they’d approached it, and Rebecca now gave a huff of indignation as she looked at it. It had the number 8 neatly printed on top, and nothing else.

  “This is ridiculous,” she said, tossing it aside.

  “What is it?” Bluebell asked.

  “Someone keeps sending me these… random things.” Rebecca showed Bluebell what was inside the envelope. It was a postcard sized picture, fully colored red. “Ridiculous, isn’t it? It’s always some weird red triangle, or, well, this. Wait, I’ll show you.”

  She rummaged around in the back of the car, and found two other post cards. Both were housed in envelopes with just a number on them. Inside, they contained postcards, just triangular halves, red and white.

  Like flags of some sort, perhaps? Bluebell wondered.

  “Downright weird,” Rebecca muttered, tossing it back. “I’ve got a feeling it’s Sandra who’s doing this. Trying to threaten me, no doubt.”

  “Who’s Sandra?”

  “Never mind that.”

  Rebecca’s hands were nearly white on the steering wheel. She gave Bluebell a sideways glance once in awhile, but stayed silent. Finally, she started the car and drove off. Within minutes she was parked in front of a building that was almost built in the shape of a cathedral. A large central arch was surrounded by two buttresses, and a stained glass window hung above two huge oak doors. The words Katydid Witch Museum hung above the door in an old wooden sign. In front of the building stood a statue of an old crone with a wart on her nose, giving a gumless smile and pointing a wrinkled finger up to the sky.

  “So,” Rebecca said, breaking the silence. “Let’s talk about you, Bluebell Knopps.”

  “How did you know who I am?” Bluebell asked. “You don’t know my mother, that’s a total lie. I look more like my father than her anyway.”

  “Of course I don’t know your mother,” Rebecca said dismissively. “But I know you, Knopps. I’ve known you since you were a baby! I’ve even googled you once in awhile.” Sighing, she put a hand up to her head. “What are you doing here?”

  “I think you should answer my question first,” Bluebell said firmly.

  “I know you because I made a prophecy about you,” Rebecca said. “One of thousands that I made in my career at the central prophetic department of the Magical Ministry. But you, you were the one that convinced me I should give it all up.”

  “How did I convince you of that?”

  Rebecca began to recite:

  “Hair so Blue, Neon Flame,

  The halls will echo with her fame.

  Death shall follow where she goes,

  Until the day she meets her foes.”

  She looked at Bluebell questioningly.

  “That’s right, isn’t it?” Rebecca asked.

  Bluebell nodded. “That’s the prophecy.”

  “So when did you learn about it?” Rebecca asked.

  “Two days ago,” Bluebell said. “Right after...well, yet another murder.”

  “That’s when you decided to find me?” Rebecca asked. “Hoping I’d answer your questions?”

  Bluebell nodded.

  “You were just a baby when I made the prophecy,” Rebecca said. “Every witch, when born, must have a prophecy attached to her, something that will help shape her life, and perhaps if revealed, at the right time, save her life. Well, most prophecies are simple things, vague and meaningless. Because most lives, you know, are simple things, vague and meaningless. It’s up to the owners of that life to decide what to do with it. The best we oracles do is to give a hint at the shape it can take.”

  “Then a prophecy doesn’t have to be ironclad?” Bluebell said with hope.

  “Of course it doesn’t. Not normally,” Rebecca said. “You have to understand, I was never in control of what visions I would see, or what prophecy my lips would utter in a trance. The process was very business like. We were taken to see the baby or given an object belonging to the baby, we’d go into trance, then we’d see the vague shape the baby’s life would take. After that, the recorder would inscribe whatever passed through our lips. The end. Simple things, usually, and very vague, like, ‘Kind and patient, quiet and grave, Mabell will be, no doubt brave.’ Or ‘With every decision Bryan makes, one more step to wisdom he takes.’” Rebecca smiled fondly at the thought. “Oh, once in awhile, I made more specific predictions, like, ‘Her life will be lived anew, each time she writes a book or two.’ Or, ‘Three fine children Mel will bear, and each will have golden hair.’ But you? You were… you were the baby who made me decide I couldn’t bear to be an oracle anymore. I quit right after that. When I uttered that prophecy, I knew what I was dooming you to. A life worse than any prison, always facing the anxiety that those you love might die in a horrible manner, simply because you were present.”

  “Then it’s true,” Bluebell said, feeling a pit grow in her stomach. “I’m cursed.”

  Rebecca put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” she said.

  “It’s all right,” Bluebell said. In her mind’s eye, she was already envisioning a life out in the woods, alone in the middle of nowhere. She could never see her parents again, or Nolan. She had to leave as fast as possible.

  “No,” Rebecca said. “I can almost feel what you’re thinking, girl. No you can’t run away from this.”

  “Why not?” Bluebell asked with a sigh. “It’s the only option I have.”

  “It’s a terrible o
ption,” Rebecca said. “Whatever force is working through you is destiny, and I know enough of destiny to believe that if you try to circumvent it, you will only make things worse. You think going into the woods is the solution? What if you accidentally encounter strangers? What if you create an ecological disaster by causing the death of animals, and eventually leading to humanity being wiped out? It’s better that the force continue through you the way it has. Trust in it.”

  Bluebell was horrified.

  “I… what you’re asking… how can I!”

  “Believe,” Rebecca said. “Believe that everything happens for a reason, and that someday, you will be free of this.”

  “So the people I love are cursed if I am around them, aren’t they?” Bluebell asked.

  “It doesn’t work that way,” Rebecca said. “As I said, I googled you. Seems like you had only one death that was connected to you directly. Mostly, it’s strangers that died near you. People whose time was already up, perhaps. You gave their destiny a little nudge, but you couldn’t completely change it, I don’t think.”

  “Also who is this foe I need to vanquish that’s mentioned in the prophecy?” Bluebell asked. “That will solve the curse, won’t it?”

  “Ah, the foes.” Rebecca nodded. “You’ll notice, in the poem, it’s plural, not singular?”

  “Yes. I have no idea what it means,” Bluebell said. “I had to ask you for an interpretation.”

  “Very well.” Rebecca nodded. “Here’s my interpretation of the prophecy. I believe that murders have a very high statistical chance of occurring when you’re near, but that doesn’t mean you cause them. In fact, I think you’re almost an angel of sorts. The people who will be murdered, their death was inevitable. What you will do is capture the true predators who have caused these deaths. These are your foes, and I believe it is your duty to find them.”

  Bluebell felt sick. This wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted… she wanted a quiet life in a small town, surrounded by people she loved and a happy family, and perhaps a small business that she tended to. To be told that for the rest of her life she’d be surrounded by murders was a blow.

  “Make what you will of the prophecy,” Rebecca said. “But follow your heart. That is the most important thing. It will teach you where to go better than any mentor, and it will always show you wrong from right.”

  “All right,” Bluebell said, feeling broken. “I suppose I ought to apologize to you first, Rebecca. You were happy as an oracle, and I took the job from you.”

  “On the contrary, I am glad I quit and gave up my powers,” Rebecca said. “I can’t prophesy the future anymore, but that wasn’t always a very happy thing to be doing. After I gave up my powers, I met and married Barry and I opened my own museum. I’m happy now. Thanks to you in a way. Bluebell, don’t ever underestimate yourself, or the kind of effect you have on the lives around you. Yes, death will seek you out, but you can also spread truth and light and happiness. Every human being can.”

  Bluebell nodded, the words seemed hollow right now. She felt trapped, desperate. She could not escape to the woods, neither could she bear being around the people she loved anymore, for fear they might die. Whatever Rebecca said, this prophecy felt like a curse.

  “What will you do now?” Rebecca asked her.

  “I don’t know,” Bluebell said unhappily. “I don’t want to go back home. I don’t want to be near anyone I love.”

  “That’s a mistake,” Rebecca said. “As I said, your friendship will light up many lives. Don’t let my prophecy prevent you from giving it freely to others. Go back home where you belong, Bluebell.”

  “Right now, my heart doesn’t feel like it,” Bluebell said. “You said to follow my heart, didn’t you?”

  Rebecca gave her a sharp look. “Yes,” she said. “Yes I did. What do you feel like doing?”

  “I don’t know.” Bluebell shrugged. “Staying here a few more days. Maybe talking to you some more.”

  “Well then, that’s exactly what you will do,” Rebecca said with a smile. “Tell you what, my assistant vanished a few days ago, just upped and left. Why don’t you stay on in his stead? Just a week maybe? Till I can find a good replacement?”

  “I meant to ask you about that,” Bluebell said. “Isn’t a place like this illegal according to the Magical Ministry? In fact, won’t it be illegal for me to keep contacting you?”

  Rebecca winked. “I still have a friend or two high up in the ministry. They’ll make an exception this time, I’m sure. We aren’t harming anybody. As for the museum, it’s fun, and it’s fake. I’m actually doing good work throwing humans off track as far as us witches are concerned. The ministry sent me a letter lauding my work. I mostly focus on literary witches, local history and mythology.”

  “Oh.” Bluebell nodded. “That makes sense.”

  “So what do you say? Stay awhile? You can room at the museum, and since I can’t really pay much, I’ll just give you three hot meals a day and a very nominal stipend. You’d be doing me a favor, in fact.”

  “Okay,” Bluebell said, after thinking for a while. “I’ll do it.” It felt right, she thought.

  “Great!” Rebecca gave her a big smile. “Now eat that sandwich of yours. Jamie makes a particularly delicious chicken and caramelized apple sandwich.”

  “That’s what I got.” Bluebell smiled. Tentatively, she undid the foil and took a bite. “Quite good,” she said.

  “That’s the spirit,” Rebecca said. “Don’t worry, Bluebell. A week with me, and you’ll be fine. In fact, I’m sure you’ll make your peace with your prophecy before you leave Katydid’s Tooth!”

  *****

  Chapter 5

  Winter’s Shadow

  Bluebell woke up feeling much better. The melancholy feelings that had shadowed her the previous day were somehow replaced by her usual happy mood. Sighing, she turned over in her bed and looked at the peach colored walls.

  Although it looked grand from the outside, the museum was simply a three-story house that had been renovated and had a false facade added to its front. Two stories held the main artifacts of the museum, while the basement was a storage space. The third story, which had once been the attic, had now been converted into a nice little office space. It wasn’t much, but Bluebell liked it. The walls were colored in pastel hues, and the furniture was all basic IKEA fare. Near the window was a large desk with a Mac on it, and ninety degrees to it was the assistant’s desk, with papers scattered all over it, and an old laptop acting as paperweight. A fluffy green and blue checked couch faced the desk from the other wall, while a discreet door with a cardboard bow tie stuck to it led to the bathroom. Finally, there was a small annex to the right that served as kitchen, with its coffee machine, microwave and tiny fridge. Bluebell herself had spent her night on the couch. She now rose and shoved the pull-out away, neatly folding the sheets and arranging the pillows.

  Stretching, she finished brushing her teeth, took a quick shower, and looked inside the fridge. A box of donuts, three days old, sat inside. Deciding against them, Bluebell picked up her purse and strolled downtown.

  Katydid’s Tooth was a small town, and Rebecca must have driven in anxious circles the day before, because within five minutes, Bluebell was downtown. She took a deep breath, appreciating the lovely smells that always seemed to accompany fall. The road had a bed of orange and red leaves on it, and the trees looked slightly mournful.

  Within no time, Bluebell found herself back at the place she’d visited earlier, Angie’s. This time, she noted the photo of Angie herself, placed by the entrance. A beautiful woman in her late forties, wearing an apron and smiling widely with her hands on her hips. Jamie, her husband, stood behind her looking more serious, towering over her.

  “Yes, she was quite a lady,” a voice said behind her. Bluebell jumped and turned around.

  Jamie, the owner, was rubbing his hands on a towel, and giving her a sad smile. Once again, he reminded Bluebell inexplicably of a grizzly bear in a dress.
That floral apron really did look silly on him. But then, Bluebell realized it was the same apron Angie was wearing in the photo. Instantly, Bluebell felt a rush of sympathy for Jamie.

  “I heard about her,” Bluebell said. “I’m so sorry. Were you married long?”

  “Only ten years, but the best ten years of my life,” Jamie said. “Anyway, it’s too early to talk about her, let me get you breakfast. Since you’re my first customer, you get free coffee. It’s a town rule.”

  “A lovely rule for a lovely town,” Bluebell said. His face was all business now, and she sensed he’d rather not talk about his wife anymore. “I’ll have scrambled eggs and pancakes please,” she said, after glancing over the menu.

  “Bacon or sausages on the side?” he asked.

  “Both, thank you.” She smiled. “I’m feeling especially hungry.”

  “It’s this weather.” He smiled. “It’s always good for business, I think.”

  She sat at the counter once again, and soon had a steaming cup of coffee in front of her. It wasn’t as strong as she hoped it would be, but it did the trick. She felt more alert after a few sips.

  “Barry and Rebecca will be in here soon,” Jamie said, “The two of them have breakfast and lunch here every day.”

  “The food’s that good, isn’t it?” Bluebell smiled. “That sandwich was divine, yesterday. I’d really like to thank your chef.”

  “Would you now? She’s kind of shy, but I’ll ask her to come and say hi,” Jamie said.

  A few minutes later, a petite blonde with a shaky smile came out and offered Bluebell her breakfast. “Jamie said you had something to say to me?” she asked.

  “You’re the chef, right?” Bluebell smiled. “That sandwich yesterday, it was wonderful! I’d love the recipe if you don’t mind sharing.”

  “Oh.” The blonde blushed, her entire face going from pale to tomato-red. “It was nothing.”

  “I’m Bluebell.” They shook hands.