A Witch Before Dying: A Wishcraft Mystery

by Heather Blake

  My cell phone buzzed.

  “Excuse me,” I said, stepping aside to check the message. I shifted Missy to the crook of my left arm and opened my phone. The display revealed: Michael left an hour and a half ago.

  The message was from Evan, responding to the text I sent him a few minutes ago. I frowned. Where was Michael Healey, the bakery’s deliveryman, then? The Gingerbread Shack was just across the square—it shouldn’t have taken him but five minutes to drop off the cake.

  I texted back (not easy when holding an irritated Schnoodle): No sign of him. Or the cake.

  “The Wickeds have packed their five-dollar bills, Velma,” Harriette said loudly, eyebrows high, “so I hope the stripper is outstanding. Young, hot, sexy.” She wiggled her hips.

  I wondered what constituted “young” to an eighty-year-old. Because it was true I’d hired a stripper, but according to his bio, he was pushing seventy. I suddenly had the feeling the joke wouldn’t go over as well as I’d hoped. If I didn’t fix this soon, I was sure to see Harriette’s fangs tonight.

  I bit my lip and shuddered at the thought.

  “Is your fiancé young, Harriette?” Ve asked oh-so-casually.

  I had to give it to my aunt—she had no qualms about prying into other people’s affairs.

  Harriette pursed fire-engine red lips. “Louis is a bit younger than I am, it’s true.”

  “How much so?” Ve pressed.

  My phone buzzed.

  Evan: I can see van in lot.

  Me: How? Superhuman vision?

  Him: Binoculars.

  I didn’t even want to know why Evan had binoculars at the bakery.

  “Enough to make me feel young again,” Harriette said with a long, drawn-out sigh. She glanced around, and her snake eyes narrowed on the empty spot on the dessert table reserved for the cake. “Has the cake not yet arrived?”

  I smelled venom in the air and said quickly, “I’m going to go check on it. I’ll be right back.”

  Stepping out would also give me time to walk Missy and make a phone call. I wondered how expensive a last-minute exotic dancer would be….

  I pushed my way through the pub-goers and out onto the sidewalk facing the village green. I clipped on Missy’s leash, set her down, and looked around. The village looked nothing short of incredible. The Harvest Festival was in full swing. A huge bonfire lit one end of the green, and a Ferris wheel anchored the other. In between were booths and carnival rides and even a mock haunted house—all attractions to lure in tourists. But underneath it all, below the surface, something crackled in the air. Magic.

  It made me smile. This time of year was special to Crafters. Halloween, which was next weekend, was our biggest holiday celebration.

  The square was packed with tourists and villagers alike. The moon, a waxing crescent, hung high in the sky, the night was mild, the fall foliage glorious, and I wished I could enjoy it fully.

  Unfortunately, I couldn’t grant my own wishes (one of the Wishcraft Laws), which meant I had to find a young, hot, sexy stripper ASAP.

  I nibbled a fingernail and thought about the “entertainment” Web site that had been recommended to me by Evan. I didn’t remember seeing a phone number, but as it was the only local place to hire strippers, once I was done out here I would borrow Ve’s smartphone to access the site and see if I could reach someone in charge to change my order.

  Missy and I dodged a gaggle of window-shoppers as we made our way toward the public parking lot adjacent to the pub. During our walk, I couldn’t help thinking about single dad Nick Sawyer, and how young (okay, he was thirty-five, but still), hot, and sexy he was. Alas, he wasn’t a stripper (I could dream), but the village’s police chief. We’d been dating since the end of the summer.

  I turned the corner, and sure enough, the Gingerbread Shack’s delivery van was parked at the back of the lot, near the path leading to the Enchanted Trail, a paved walkway that looped behind the square.

  The Ghoulousel’s (a ghost-themed carousel) calliope piped a happy, perky tune amid the backdrop of all the other sounds. Bells, whistles. Murmured voices. Squeals from small children. Laughter.

  I was enjoying the ambience until Missy suddenly stopped short.

  “What?” I asked her, looking around for anyone hiding in the shadows along the pub’s stone exterior.

  She growled.

  Not a warning growl, but something primal. Almost fearful.

  Goose bumps raised on my arms. I picked her up. “You’re freaking me out, Missy.”

  It didn’t help that she was trembling.

  The calliope suddenly sounded ominous as I doubled my pace and made it across the parking lot in record time. Cupping my hands around my eyes, I peered into the delivery van’s window. On the driver’s seat were a cell phone and sunglasses; an empty lemon-lime sports drink sat in the cup holder, and a fast-food take-out bag rested on the passenger seat. There was no sign of Michael.

  Try as I might, I couldn’t see into the rear part of the van.

  Pinpricks of fear poked my spine as I walked around the van to the rear doors. The wind kicked up, rustling leaves and bringing a chill to the air. Missy started growling again. I held her more tightly and told myself I was being silly, that Michael was just fine, the cake was fine, that everything was fine, fine, fine.

  But…lately, the village hadn’t been so idyllic. There had been murders here—cases that I’d helped solve.

  Maybe that’s why I was being so paranoid. I had murder on my mind—never a good thing when creeping around in the dark.

  Michael probably just went over to the festival—it was hard to resist its lure. There were caramel apples over there, after all. Lots of them. They certainly tempted me.

  In fact, after Harriette’s party ended, Nick and I had a date that involved one of those apples. We also planned to ride the silly rides, and play the outrageously priced games. I really couldn’t wait.

  Swallowing hard, I pulled the door handle and jumped out of the way as though I expected the bogeyman to leap out.

  Fortunately, for my sanity, he didn’t.

  Inside the back of the van, Harriette’s cake sat proudly, looking beautiful with its black-and-white motif.

  There was still no sign of Michael.

  My ponytail slashed across my face from a sudden gust of wind. I tucked it into the collar of my turtleneck as I tried to figure out how to carry the cake into the pub myself. Missy continued to shake, and I startled when I heard voices on the Enchanted Trail. Old-fashioned gaslights and white twinkling lights strung in the trees illuminated the shortcut path that led from the parking lot to the paved trail. A couple emerged, holding hands and snuggling against each other.

  I relaxed a little, trying not to let my anxiety get the better of me, but as they passed by, Missy growled and wriggled. I set her down and she took off toward the trampled dirt path, stretching her leash to its limits.

  She beelined for something lying in the brush. Something that suddenly brought back those pinpricks.

  A shoe.

  A large sneaker.

  So out of place that it made me nervous.

  Glancing around, I advanced slowly. Wind whistled through the trees, echoing eerily above my head. The faint noise carrying from the carousel’s calliope suddenly sounded keening instead of peppy. “Wh-what did you find, Missy?”

  Missy half-growled, half-cried.

  My heart beat so hard I could feel it in my throat.

  Fine, fine, fine, I sang in my head.

  The shoe lay on the edge of the path, upside down in the long grass. I held up my cell phone, using its glow as a flashlight as I looked around the shrubby area.

  Missy pulled me deeper into the tall brush, her nose to the ground. Suddenly she let out a loud yap and then started whimpering.

  My hand shook as I aimed my cell phone her way. The wind stopped, and the night was deafeningly quiet as the light fell upon my worst nightmare.

  A bloody sock-covered foot stuck ou
t from beneath a mound of branches.