by Неизвестный
A cloud of chilly air whooshed up my back and blew right through me. Now I understood the sleeptoasting. The woman's spirit had been trying to tell me about her accident.
“She dropped the toaster in the bathtub,” I said.
He nodded in agreement. “That's what we figure happened,” he said.
“But that shouldn't kill a person,” I said. “The toaster thing was on that TV show where they try things from movies. It would short out the circuit or something, blow the electrical breaker long before it delivered enough electricity to kill someone.”
Arden blinked and stared at me, forehead wrinkled. “Are you calling me a liar?”
“Of course not,” I said quickly. “Just wondering if the toaster thing is a rumor. Maybe something the pesky local children made up.” I was thinking of one pesky local child in particular. He had big eyes, blue-black hair, and would probably be a huge obstacle to my romance with Chet.
Doodles whimpered again, and her owner glanced up at the highest peak of my roof. “We're being watched,” he said.
I followed his gaze to a bluejay. A really big bluejay. The bird ruffled its dark blue head crest and stared back at us.
I waved at the bird. “Hello, bluejay.”
Arden was shifting away from me. “Nice to meet you, Zara. You have a good day, and I'll see you around.” He gave the dog's leash a tug, and they were on their way.
“Nice meeting you,” I called after them. “And I'll have you know my house is just a regular house. I'm going to paint it a different color, so it won't be red anymore and stupid kids can't call it the Red Witch House!”
Change the paint from Wisconsin Barn Red? I could do that. I could do anything I wanted to.
I put my hands on my hips and stared at the house. Blue? No, I wouldn't copy the Moore house next door. Green? I'd have to get a shade that complimented the hedge, but not too matchy-matchy, or the house would feel drab. Purple? No way! Purple would look divine, but purple's the most witchy color of all. I might as well write Witch House on the mailbox. Yellow? Sure. Everybody loves a yellow house.
My daughter darkened the open doorway. “What are you doing out there on the sidewalk? Don't be a show-off, Mom. Don't you dare lift this whole house, or I'll scream, and you'll break all the pipes and stuff.”
“Shush!” I ran up the stairs toward the door, shushing her the whole way. Something dark zipped across my path. I tripped and fell into Zoey's arms. We both tumbled into the house and landed in a tangle of limbs and cursing.
“You've gone off the deep end,” Zoey howled, wriggling out from under me. “I'll be more discreet from now on, but there's no need to tackle me. We're not a tackling family.”
“It was an accident,” I groaned. “Something tripped me.”
“Like a cord?” she asked.
“Maybe.”
She got up and stepped out onto the porch, where she retrieved something I'd thrown into the trash earlier that day.
The evil toaster.
It gleamed maliciously.
I clamped my hand over my mouth and muffled my scream.
Chapter 13
By Monday morning, my levitation skills were strong enough for me to lift and shelve a heavy book. Theoretically, anyway.
The library wasn't a safe place to practice magic since it was a popular public space, never empty during open hours. If I wasn't in visual range of a patron, I was being watched by Kathy Carmichael, her golden-brown eyes ever alert behind her round glasses. She watched me the way an owl watches a mouse who threw out the owl's weird acorn jelly on her first day at work, completely by accident and with no malice whatsoever!
I got through the morning without using magic or getting into other trouble, and went outside for my lunch break with another coworker who was running some errands. His name was Frank Wonder, and he did a hilarious impression of Kathy.
“Whooooo stamped all these books?” Frank demanded in Kathy's voice. “They're crooked!” Frank accessorized his Kathy impression by using his thumbs and forefingers to form the circles of her glasses frames. “Whooooo doesn't know how to hold a rectangular stamp parallel to a rectangular book?”
We walked down the sidewalk and I cuffed Frank on the arm, laughing. “Stop! You're hurting my sides. And Kathy really is nice, despite her obsession with stamps being parallel or orthogonal but not diagonal.”
Frank pressed the button for the crosswalk light and sighed. “You're right. Kathy is the best, actually. She's just been down in the dumperoo lately. Bit of an empty nest situation for the ol' bird, with her youngest son off doing whatever it is he does.” He made a vague flipping gesture with one hand. “Baseball or soccer or whatever. Is it football? What season does football run?”
“Beats me. Is it true Kathy's sons all play professional sports? How many are there?”
The light changed, so we began crossing the street. Frank gallantly held out his elbow for me to hold onto. The man was fifty-five years old, was as fit as an acrobat, had hair the color of a pink flamingo, and wore a wardrobe to match. Nobody inside the library or outside on the streets batted an eyelash at Frank. Wisteria was pretty chill for such a small town. I wondered how the Wisterians felt about witches.
“There are three sons,” Frank said. “The oldest are twins, and they've always been very active boys. The poor woman has washed more sweaty, grass-stained laundry than you or I can imagine. But now they've all flown the nest, and the boys' father is always out of town managing them, so Kathy's got the place all to herself and she's going a bit nutty.”
“I don't know what I'll do when my daughter leaves home. Maybe wait a year and then move in with her.” I giggled. “She'd love that.”
We reached the sidewalk, where he stepped up and gave me a serious look. “Kathy has taken to crafting,” he said solemnly. “With a vengeance. Don't be surprised if you get invited to a magical evening of bedazzling.”
“Sounds almost as much fun as a bedazzling evening of magic.” I grinned at the joke that only I understood.
“Laugh now,” Frank said. “It won't be so funny when all your sofa pillows are covered in rhinestones and you have to buy new ones.”
“Now I'm afraid,” I said with mock seriousness. “Very afraid.”
“At least she won't get rid of you,” he said. “Your job is totally secure, thanks to that glowing letter of recommendation from Zinnia Riddle. How are you two related? Are you sisters? I don't know her well, but even a guy like me takes notice of such a gorgeous redhead.” He looked me up and down. “And you look so much like her.”
What did he say? My aunt gave me a job recommendation? I skipped to keep up with Frank's quick pace on the sidewalk. The man walked like he had long flamingo legs to match his hot pink hair.
“Zinnia Riddle is my aunt,” I said casually. “And she forgot to mention that she wrote me a letter of recommendation.”
I clenched my fists. She'd lied to me, that dirty witch. She'd pretended to be as shocked as I was that we were both in Wisteria, but apparently there'd been a letter. Her lie had been recorded on paper evidence, too.
Was the letter the reason she'd been avoiding me? I'd phoned her several times over the weekend, but she hadn't returned my calls or Zoey's. Worse yet, she was one of those strange people who didn't have voicemail. And one of the times I called, the line didn't ring but emitted a buzzing sound instead. I hadn't heard a busy signal for so many years, I actually thought my phone was broken.
When I finally did see her again, she was going to get a piece of my mind.
Frank didn't seem to notice me clenching and unclenching my fists. Nor did he notice the swirls of dust and debris sweeping itself from the sidewalk five feet in front of us. I wasn't trying to levitate anything, but my emotions were apparently having an effect on the environment. I'd definitely need to work on controlling my powers.
“It must have been a very good letter,” Frank said. “There were other applicants more qualified, and I do mean way more qua
lified, but Kathy was moved by your aunt's words. Almost like she was under a spell.” He chuckled. “Ain't life grand?”
“Grand, indeed. I'll have to thank my dear, sweet aunt,” I said. “Thank her properly.”
Frank gasped and stopped in his tracks. “I know! Chocolate. Nothing says thank you like chocolate.” He nodded at a narrow storefront we'd just walked past. “And these chocolates say thank you, and please, and let's have another, and oh you shouldn't have, and naughty naughty!” He winked and doubled back, skipping toward the door.
I called after him, “I thought you had to visit the post office and the bank.”
Frank waved one hand and declared, “There's no Monday chore in this world that can't wait until Tuesday.”
The way he said it was utterly convincing.
I followed him inside the chocolate shop. There were two other people inside the store, along with a heavenly sweet aroma. A woman with short, golden-blonde hair and an ample hourglass figure stood behind an array of confections. She was helping an attractive, dark-haired man.
He said to her, “It's a welcome gift for a new neighbor. And also an apology.”
The woman's eyebrows raised. “Chet Moore, you've never bought chocolates for a woman before. You must really like her!” She reached for a gold box shaped in a heart. “Shall I fill this up? What's her name?”
He crossed his arms and shook his head. “Put that tacky heart box down. Give me that square box. The gray one.”
The blonde looked around, seemingly confused for a moment. “Chet, do you mean this box?” She held up a gray rectangle. “This holds our supply of staples. You can't give the woman you like a selection of chocolates in what's obviously a container for office supplies.”
“Fine,” he said grumpily. “Give me that other box. But not the heart one.”
I quietly backed toward the door and signaled to Frank that I was going to wait outside.
Frank wrinkled his nose and commanded, “Zara, stay!”
I froze. Chet turned around in what felt like slow motion.
“Zara?” Chet glanced from me to Frank, to Frank's pink hair, and back to me again. Then Frank. Frank's pink hair. Me again.
I waved one hand. “Chet, go ahead and get the chocolates anyway. Don't let me ruin everything. I'll pretend to be surprised, I swear.” I bit my lower lip and glanced over the array of fancy chocolates. “I do love a good marzipan. And mint. Plus anything with nuts is always good. And I don't mind the fondants. Some people, like my daughter for example, take a bite of fondant and put it back because it's too sweet, but I say there's no such thing as too sweet.”
“Marzipan?” Chet's eyes did the circuit again. Me. Frank's hair. Me again.
I gave him an apologetic grin, still backing up. “I'm going to run out of here now. Frank, I'll see you back at the library. I just remembered I left my coffee in the microwave, and it's probably the perfect temperature right now.”
I pushed open the door and left for the library, walking quickly, a huge grin on my face.
Chet was buying chocolates for me. For me! Zara Riddle! The witch!
Could life get any better?
I got back to work and breezed through the afternoon. The patrons were all friendly and warm. The books didn't shelve themselves but felt lighter thanks to my mood. At the end of my shift, my feet weren't the least bit sore.
I punched out my timecard with a thunderous KERCLUNK and waved goodbye to Kathy and Frank.
Frank beckoned me over to his crafting table, where he was cutting shapes from construction paper for a display.
“Those mountains are very pointy,” I said, admiring his work.
“They're trees, but thanks.” He gestured for me to lean down closer and whispered, “Your beau is hanging out in the fantasy section.”
“My beau? Frank, you're so old-fashioned for a man with pink hair and orange paisley trousers. Do you mean Chet? He's just a friend.”
“We'll see about that,” he said. “How's Kathy doing?”
“She invited me to craft night at her house, and I said I'd get back to her. Would you go with me?”
“Depends on the size of the bribe.” He looked over my shoulder. “And… here he comes. Aren't you glad I stalled you long enough for your beau to work up his courage? One more minute and he'll be on us.” Frank flashed his eyes at me. “You're welcome.”
“That pink,” I said, eying Frank's bright locks. “It's called Apex Predator Pink, isn't it? Only animals at the top of the food chain can risk being so bright and flashy.”
His eyes twinkled. “Save your sass for your date. Take notes and tell me everything tomorrow.”
I gave him a teen-quality eye roll and turned around.
Chet stood there, his green eyes bright as he flashed me a smile.
“I see you've got your purse,” Chet said. “If your shift is over, I can walk you home.”
“I see your hands are empty,” I said. “Two can play the Sherlock game. What did you do with my chocolates?”
He shrugged. “I got hungry and ate them. We can stop at the chocolate shop on the way home. I'll buy you everything in the store.”
Behind us, Frank piped up, “In the heart-shaped box!”
Chapter 14
“I haven't been entirely honest with you,” Chet said.
“You don't like marzipan? That explains why you made that face when I fed you the last chocolate.”
We were walking through a park in the middle of the town, halfway home.
Chet guffawed. “I only made that face because I've never eaten my weight in chocolates before, and I was going to explode.”
“You did your best,” I said. “Thank you for the delicious treats, but you didn't need to apologize. I'm not bothered by what Corvin said at brunch. I've got plenty of other things on my mind.”
“Like what?”
I chuckled under my breath. All the sugar and chocolate I'd ingested was making my internal voice bounce around inside my head, threatening to bubble out in a gushing confession. Chet, I'm a witch! A witchy, twitchy witch! I promise not to cast any love spells on you… until I learn some.
“My mind's busy with settling into Wisteria,” I said. “Plus librarian stuff. Lots of intense librarian stuff.”
“I can imagine,” he said. “But about Corvin—do you think Zoey will forgive him for insulting her?”
I patted my closed purse, where I had another box of chocolates for my daughter. “After these, she'll be happy enough to tutor him in the subject of his choice.”
He kept looking ahead at the path, avoiding my eyes. “What do you suppose he meant? About witches and Pop Tarts?”
“I think either he heard a rumor about Winona Vander Zalm or he's the one who started the rumor.”
“Tell me what you know,” he said, sounding irritated.
“I talked to another neighbor of ours on Saturday, a man named Arden. He's got a Labradoodle named Doodles. Sweet dog. He—Arden, not Doodles—told me Winona Vander Zalm electrocuted herself in the bathtub.” I punched Chet on the arm. “You told me she died peacefully. That doesn't sound very peaceful to me.”
He rubbed his upper arm and increased the distance between us while continuing to walk.
“That's what I wanted to talk to you about today,” he said. “We're opening an investigation. She did die by electrocution. I'm sorry I lied to you, Zara, but I didn't want you thinking about tragic things whenever you're enjoying a bath.”
I stopped walking and stared at him in shock. “Back it up a sec. You're a cop?!”
He stopped and glanced around the park nervously. Other people were strolling around with kids and dogs, but they weren't close enough to hear us.
“I'm not exactly a cop,” he said.
I leaned in and whispered, “Secret agent? FBI? Private detective?”
He nodded in the direction of the densely-treed wildlife preservation section of the park. “Let's talk in private.”
As he moved
toward the darkness of the forest, the muscles at the base of my skull clenched, sending a blast of migraine-like pain through my head. I blinked away the stars. The pain left as quickly as it had manifested. Was that my Witchy Warning System? Some kind of supernatural alert that danger lay in the forest? Or was it the normal response to the overstimulation of eating a dozen rich chocolates?
I rubbed the base of my skull and waited for another blast. Nothing supernatural happened. Chet was giving me a funny look.
“Is everything okay?” he asked. “We can talk somewhere else if there's something about this forest that upsets you.”
He had a purposeful tone, like he was trying to provoke a response. What was he up to? I mentally ran my current situation through my Zoey-simulator, where I imagined how I would feel about her doing a thing that I was about to do. Would I scold her for walking into the dark forest with a guy she barely knew? Probably. But Chet was our neighbor, not a stranger. Plus Frank knew I was with him, and since Frank was such a gossip, all my coworkers knew as well.
Chet prompted, “Well?”
“That little forest contains nothing I can't handle,” I said with a smile.
“We're in the middle of a town,” he said. “The scariest thing in that forest is a raccoon.”
“They can be rabid,” I said.
“Duly noted. I'll be on guard for rabid raccoons.”
He pressed his hand lightly against the small of my back to get me walking. We continued on the gravel pathway, taking the fork that led into the forest. The lush canopy overhead blocked the late-afternoon sun. I felt like I was crossing from day to night in a dozen steps.
“Spill it,” I said once we were alone in the forest. “Tell me about this investigation career of yours.”
“I don't work for the FBI or Homeland Security or even the Wisteria Police. And I'm not a gumshoe private eye. I work for an organization that prefers to keep a low profile, and my job is to look into unusual events.”
“Unusual?” I asked.
“Things that go bump in the night.”