Pumpkins & Poltergeists, Confessions of a Closet Medium, Book 1

by Nyx Halliwell

  Logan clears his throat, “Mother doesn’t mean to sound insensitive. We know this is a terrible burden to place on you, along with taking over Miranda’s wedding when you’re in mourning. It’s just that—”

  I raise a hand to stop him. “No apology necessary. I understand. The event is critical to the town’s tourism dollars, as well as your business. I’m sure Aunt Willa would want me to fulfil her duties and make sure it goes off without a hitch.”

  This seems to relieve both of them. Mrs. Cross smiles, and it comes closer to being genuine this time. “I admired your aunt. She had a real nose for business.”

  This revelation shocks me, and some of the feelings I have for the barracuda morph into appreciation. “That really does mean a lot to me.”

  We get down to business and she tells me exactly what she and Aunt Willa had planned for the winery’s part of the tour. Honestly, this open house style of event sounds like a piece of cake compared to pulling off the Burnett-Durham wedding. I’ve planned events here and there, and with Rosie’s help we should be fine.

  Logan offers to order dessert for all of us, but I’m eager to leave and call Winter and dig up the courage to look at the hiding place in the armoire my aunt mentioned. I need to find out more about the curse, check on Miranda, and dive into double-checking the hundreds of minute details for the tour on Sunday.

  I also need to interrogate Tabitha’s reaction to Mr. Uphill and Logan earlier, and figure out a way to force the marmalade cat to talk to me. “Dessert sounds lovely, but I really must be going. And unfortunately for my waistband, I’ve already had too many delicious desserts in the past twenty-four hours, thanks to the ladies’ auxiliary.”

  When Logan rises and offers to walk me out, I feel a cold breeze run over my arm and instantly beg off saying I’m going to the restroom and I’ll see him at the parade practice.

  I do head to the restroom, whispering Calista’s name here and there, while trying not to attract attention from those coming and going in the halls.

  The smell of honeysuckle wafts through the immaculate sitting room that’s part of the restroom, separated from the sinks and stalls and offering seated spots to fix your makeup and chat. This place is nicer than pretty much any home I’ve ever lived in, complete with fancy folded towels and designer soaps. Even the wallpaper screams money.

  At a loss on how to handle Calista—or pretty much any of the other things on my spirit to-do list, I send Winter an SOS. Need to know about breaking curses, and what to do about a poltergeist who died saving the guy she loved and doesn’t want him to get married.

  This is the busiest season of the year for the Whitethorne sisters, and I feel guilty for adding to Winter’s stress with my drama, but who else can I ask?

  I pace, waiting for a reply. “Last chance, Calista,” I call to the empty restroom. “If you want my help, you need to talk to me. You’re a ghost, in case you didn’t realize it, and you need to cross over to the other side. Heaven. Trying to stop Ty’s wedding to Miranda won’t work, not as long as I’m here. You can never be with him again.” At least not until he dies, I think morbidly. “Do you really want him to spend the rest of his life pining over you? Don’t you want him to be happy?”

  Silence again meets my ears. Frustrated, I want to throw one of the soaps against the wall. Definitely not proper manners.

  “Calista, please, talk to me. Let me help you.”

  She makes it clear she doesn’t want my help when all four toilets erupt in geysers of water.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Penelope Calhoun is as opposite of Miranda Burnett as you can get, even if you disregard her multiple tattoos and piercings.

  When I arrive at Aunt Willa’s a good hour before her appointment, I’m a little wet and a lot pissed off. Shower-by-toilet is not a fun experience.

  Rosie shows shock at my appearances and asks what happened. She gasps when I tell her, and because I’m angry, wet, and frustrated, I slip and mention Calista’s involvement. She doesn’t even blink at the ghost story.

  “You have the gift,” she says unfazed. “Willa always claimed you did.”

  “You knew she could talk to ghosts?”

  “Half the town knows, but they’re way too uncomfortable about that kind of thing. Easier to pretend it was nothing but gossip. Willa worked hard at gaining everyone’s trust to put them at ease.”

  “Do you know anything about the Thorny Toad?”

  Again, she’s unfazed. “Oh sure. My abuela does readings there on Saturday nights sometimes. Miss Willa went once a month or so, if she didn’t have a wedding, and helped a lot of people.”

  “Helped them with what exactly?”

  “Bringing them peace and some closure after their loved ones passed.”

  I think on this as I stumble upstairs and shuck my clothes. I take a long hot shower, as if I can wash away the country club disaster as well as my worries and doubts about all of this.

  When the water runs cold, I towel myself off and find Tabby sitting near the hamper. Her gold eyes look bored. Or haughty maybe. Hard to tell which.

  “Tabitha, I need your help.” I dress quickly, feeling a bit weird about her watching me. “I know you can speak. Tell me what’s going on. Did someone really kill Aunt Willa? If so, who? And can you really shapeshift? Why did you react so weird this morning over Mr. Uphill? Or was it Logan?”

  Please don’t let it be Logan.

  She rises slowly to her feet, stretches and arches her back. Then she strolls away.

  Darn cat. Looks like bribery is next, and I best check for something worthy to do it with.

  My phone shows a reply text from Winter. “Curses are nothing to play around with,” it says. “There are herbs, salts, crystals, and talismans that can break and keep the curse broken. As far as the poltergeist? Just as tricky. Let’s talk later, I need more details.”

  So do I, I think to myself.

  I text back, “After I talk to Mama, I’ll call you.”

  Bracing myself, I head to Aunt Willa’s room and stand in front of her antique armoire. At least I think it’s an antique, but maybe Uncle Saddler made it. It’s possible he put the secret compartment in it under her guidance. “Aunt Willa?” I call softly. “Are you here? Any possibility we can talk?”

  There’s no response. Downstairs, Rosie is singing to some music she’s playing. Tabby is nowhere to be found, Arthur and Lancelot are probably still in the front windows, napping like they were when I first came in.

  Reaching out, I toy with the knobs on the front of the armoire then run a hand along the top edge of the cabinet. It’s beautiful craftsmanship and I smell a faint scent of Aunt Willa’s favorite perfume…a simple lilac and vanilla mixture.

  “You know, I’ve done everything you asked.” I shift around to the side of the armoire. “I came home, I told Mama your preferences for the funeral, I’m looking into the curse, and I’m taking care of your brides. I’m even filling in for you at the parade. I went through the trunk, and now I’m ready to see whatever you have hidden in this armoire. All I’ve come up with in return are more questions. I sure could use you or Tabby to answer some of them.”

  The doorbell goes off downstairs and I hear Rosie answering. “Oh, you’re early.”

  A raspy voice answers, “Am I? I thought my appointment was at two.”

  It’s twenty after, and I should rush down and help Rosie out. Instead, I decide it’s now or never. I can take a quick peek inside the armoire then run downstairs to handle this appointment.

  As if she’s read my mind, Rosie calls up the stairs. “I’ve got this, Ava. Take your time.”

  Of course, she’d give me a way out, but, no, if I’m taking over the business, even if it’s just for the weekend, I’m going to be present during Penny’s appointment.

  Pushing on the side panel, I flinch slightly when it pops open half an inch. “Curiouser and curiouser,” I murmur, quoting from Alice in Wonderland. That’s what I feel like right now—that I’v
e somehow fallen down a rabbit hole and I can’t find my way out of this upside-down world.

  My gaze scans the contents inside the hidden compartment. Dried herbs, small drawstring bags, tapered candles, and other tiny items hang from a multitude of gold hooks. My brain can’t quite find the connection between all of them, but they suggest some witchy-ness has been going on. I’ve been in Winter’s store, Conjure, and recognize the ingredients for spells.

  This sets me back a bit. Between the items logged in the ledger and this, it suggests Aunt Willa was a witch, along with being a medium. Like Tabitha, I think, remembering Mr. Uphill’s story.

  Again, Winter is my expert in that area, so I take pictures and send them to her before I head downstairs.

  Rosie introduces me to Penelope, who insists I call her Penn. She seems genuinely upset about Aunt Willa’s death and gives me a hug.

  Her cut-off shorts and tank top put her multitude of tattoos on display and I wonder if she’s at all chilly, although she doesn’t show it. Thick wool socks poke out of the top of her black motorcycle boots, and she has enough silver piercings, I’m almost blinded each time they catch the light as she speaks. “I totally understand if you decide to close the business and not do my wedding.”

  The rasp in her voice sounds like she spent last night screaming at a concert, but I suspect it’s normal for her. I don’t remember her from my years growing up here. I motion her back into her seat, seeing a female ghost hovering around out of the corner of my eye. “Of course I’m going to handle your wedding. Rosie has everything under control.” I may not, but she does. I try to catch better sight of the ghost connected to this client, but it disappears each time I shift my gaze. “Tell me about the groom.”

  The next hour flies by, Penn lighting up as she talks about Beau John Reed—known as BJ—and how they met. Both are transplants to Thornhollow, and she tells me how he proposed on a trip to the Badlands, and the fact she never thought she’d say “I do.”

  “I’m sort of a non-conformist,” she tells me with a chuckle.

  I pretend surprise. “Never would have guessed.”

  The fact the two of them are holding their reception at the Thorny Toad piques my interest. She and Rosie fill me in about the details—big place, plenty of seating, the manager, Rhys—who happens to be Brax’s partner—has happily okayed it.

  I shift my gaze to Rosie. “Braxton LaFleur?”

  “The one and only. You didn’t know? He and Rhys have been a thing for a while now.”

  “I know that.” I rub my forehead. “I mean about them running the Toad.”

  “Oh.” Rosie gives a shrug. “Rhys loves the metaphysical stuff and he’s a talented drink maker. It was a natural fit.”

  “Rhys reads palms,” Penn adds. She turns one of her hands up. “He looked at my heart line, or whatever it’s called, and told me I was destined to meet my soul mate. Two days later, bam. BJ came into my life and we’ve been together ever since.”

  More things I never knew. I make a mental note to chastise Brax later. I don’t understand why he never mentioned to me that Rhys had his own business.

  The appointment comes to an end half an hour later. Penn is hugging me goodbye when the front door opens and one of my favorite people in the whole world hustles in, carrying two tote bags with Beehive Diner stamped on them.

  Queenie sets them on the floor and throws open her generously sized arms to me. “Come here, baby girl.”

  The rush of relief I feel at seeing her is overwhelming. She was a second mother to me growing up, right alongside my aunt.

  I rush to her and let her strong arms crush me in a bear hug.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Queenie and I both erupt in conversation, barely drawing breath between questions and answers.

  Rosie sees Penn out, her ghost friend leaving with her, and Queenie hustles me into the kitchen.

  There, she sits me down at the table and begins unloading the bags, some of my favorite foods being set before me. Chicken and dumplings, biscuits, chocolate pie. My mouth waters.

  She wants to know everything that’s happened since I’ve come home, apologizing for not coming to see me sooner. “Brax said the ladies’ auxiliary was here yesterday, and that you were sleeping through most of it, so I didn’t want to bother you.”

  Queenie avoids the auxiliary as much as possible. “I’m just glad you’re here now. There’s so much going on, and I’m dog-paddling trying to stay afloat.”

  “Talk to me, baby girl.”

  She knows all, and I don’t have any secrets from her for the most part. I start with Aunt Willa’s letter, showing it to her and watching her pull on her glasses to read it. When she finishes, I tell her succinctly about most of the stuff that’s happened since that letter, and she motions at me to eat.

  I do, and she checks the back of my head, to make sure the lump is better. Satisfied, she returns to her seat. “What did you see when you died?”

  “Nothing.” I swallow a dumpling. “I don’t really think I died, though.”

  She clucks under her breath, letting me know she disagrees. “Don’t you think that may be the cause of all this…increased awareness you have?”

  She means about the ghosts. I chew and nod, but ask, “Couldn’t a concussion cause it?”

  Another cluck. “You really believe Willa Rae was murdered?”

  They were close, and I find myself trying to reassure her. “There’s no evidence, so maybe not. I’m confused about so much right now. I don’t want to not look into it and then have unanswered questions after she’s buried.”

  This garners a nod of approval. “What else? You’re not telling me everything, I can see it in your eyes.”

  I debate telling her about Tabitha, and the inanimate objects speaking to me. I sip tea, eat more food to buy time. This makes her happy, even though she knows what I’m doing. “The ghosts are freaking me out, that’s all,” I finally admit.

  “I’m certainly glad to see you embracing your gift with the spirit world,” she says, shoving another biscuit at me.

  This is Queenie—food equals love. I’m already stuffed, but I break a piece of the biscuit off, letting the buttery beauty of it melt on my tongue before I answer. “Is it really a gift, Queenie?”

  There are three women in my life that I couldn’t do without, and she is one of them. She and Aunt Willa were always close, and even though they grew up in very different types of families, they were the best of friends. I’ve always wondered if they weren’t as much sisters as Mama and Willa were. Heart bonds can be as strong as those by blood.

  Queenie leans close, her beautiful dark eyes searching mine. “Don’t you go talking like that now. It is a gift, and you have to stop denying it.”

  I ask her if she knows about the curse on our family, and she straightens, glancing away. “We never talked much about it, but your aunt believed it was a real thing.”

  “I have to tackle that after I get through the Burnett-Durham wedding.”

  The subject switches to the big event, and I fill her in on my bride who’s about to have a nervous breakdown, and about a poltergeist who’s trying to stop the wedding entirely.

  She sits back in her seat, laughing out loud. Her boisterous laugh makes me smile as it echoes off the high ceiling. “Lawd, you’ve got yourself a handful there.”

  I quiz her if she knows how to handle such a thing and she tells me to talk to Brax. He can set me up with somebody from the Thorny Toad who can help me deal with it.

  I tell her about Winter and my hope that she can help guide me.

  Talk turns to her business when I ask her how things are going. Like my aunt, Queenie loves what she does and it shows. She becomes very animated as she tells me about her new menu, the expansion she’s thinking about doing next year, and how her catering business is just getting its legs under it. I’m proud of her, and I feel like I could burst sharing in the joy of her success.

  She checks the watch on her arm and
makes a little squeaking sound as she jumps up. “We gotta go, or we’re going to be late.”

  We leave the dirty dishes in the sink, and drive her SUV over to the municipal parking lot that adjoins Reverend Stout’s church. Rosie claims she’ll be over in a bit. People are just starting to pull in, excitement in the air, as the practice gets under way.

  Queenie sets up a long folding table and pulls out plastic containers full of cookies, breads, and muffins. The sugar cookies are in the shape of fall leaves and pumpkins, and I snitch one as I lay out individually wrapped slices of pumpkin bread and her famous cinnamon apple cake.

  As she gets out coolers of water, sweet tea, and warm cider, I line up cider muffins and a selection of her new candy items. Logan arrives and comes to see us. He buys a cider and asks Queenie if she has any of her hot cinnamon candies.

  “Brought some just for you, Mr. Lawyer,” she says, digging around in the back of the SUV and bringing out a box with more candy in it. She hands him a bag of bright red candies. “Logan is one of my best taste testers,” she tells me.

  He eats a handful and a look of pure heaven comes over his face. “Queenie, you’re going to give Ty Durham’s family a run for their money in the candy department.”

  I freeze, remembering the entry in Aunt Willa’s ledger about Candy Lane—could it be Ty, or someone in his family, that Aunt Willa helped?

  More and more people pull in. Several pickup trucks with hay racks, a few antique cars, and the high school band arrive. We become busy, and Queenie’s coffers start to fill as everyone wants a cookie or a piece of her famous bread. People seem happy to see me, and most have something nice to say about my aunt. I find myself smiling and laughing and generally enjoying the atmosphere.

  When there’s a lull in activity, Logan, who’s been chatting it up with various council members, sneaks up behind me and taps me on the shoulder. When I face him, he holds out the bag of hot cinnamons. “You’ve got to try these.”