Miss Spelled (The Kitchen Witch 1)

by Morgana Best

  I bit into a yellow jelly bean and tried to savor it as I studied the return address on the back of the envelope. It looked really official. Whoever was regretting to inform me of something, they looked like they were someone important.

  I shoved some more jelly beans into my mouth, and unfolded the letter once more. Might as well rip off the band-aid fast and deal with the pain all at once, right?

  Dear Ms. Amelia Spelled,

  I regret to inform you that your aunt, Ms. Angelica Spelled, has crossed over to the other side. I am the designated executor of her will. At your convenience, I require an audience with you to finalize your inheritance. Please see the included documents as to the details of your inheritance and my contact information.

  With very best wishes.

  Yours truly,

  Ruprecht Foxtin-Flynn.

  I reread the letter and tried to remember my aunt. I felt bad that I could not remember anything to bring a sense of loss. My father had a sister, but I couldn’t remember her. Had I ever seen her? Angelica Spelled. Mom and Dad said something about me having an aunt who was highly eccentric, but I don’t remember them mentioning her name. They had told me that they cut ties with her a long time ago, but they had never told why they had done so.

  I wondered why an estranged relative was leaving me something in her will. The only relatives I had experienced had resented me. There had been no mistaking their dislike for having to care for an extra child, especially when they did all they could to push me off onto the others.

  I flipped the page. It looked fairly standard. Family photos were listed. Okay, that was good. I had always wanted to make an album. If I was lucky, there would be pictures of my parents when they were younger. Next on the list was bone china. That was going to be harder to deal with. I could hardly live in my car with bone china. Hopefully, it was antique, and I could sell it. Then I read the next item that I had inherited.

  All remaining property, including house, contents, and store.

  I read it about five times, waiting for it to disappear and be something like a doll house and not a real house—but it was a real house. And a store? My aunt had left me a store: an income-producing store?

  I read everything carefully. Was I dreaming? There was no way. There was no way that I’d lost my home, job, and relationship, and then inherited a house and my own business, all in less than a day.

  I stared at the hand-written phone number on the corner of the envelope and rubbed my chin. No, it couldn’t be real, right? This was the part where I called and Ruprecht Foxtin-Flynn would turn out be a con man trying to get me to send money to an overseas address, or he’d ask for my credit card number for ‘processing fees’. I, Amelia Spelled, was not that person who got an inheritance from a mysterious relative.

  I chewed on my bottom lip thoughtfully and checked the time. Then, I reached for my cell phone.

  Chapter 3

  I was ready to get out of the car by the time I finally crossed the town border and found myself in Bayberry Creek. The charming little town sprang up out of nowhere, various homes appearing first, and then some businesses and one small school lined the road. As I continued on to the center of town, my GPS went haywire, the screen blinking nothing but green and black for a few moments. When it came back on, the streets were gone, but the blue line remained, and it showed me that I should be turning right.

  I did so at the next intersection, and I continued on awhile, away from the main hub that was the middle of town and toward more houses. One house in particular caught my attention, a pretty gray and white home surrounded by a lush green lawn and magnolia trees. The home was Victorian, with beautiful antique iron lacework along the front veranda and a black iron gate. I almost drove off the road due to looking at the home so much. Somehow it reminded me of something, but try as I might, I couldn’t get my brain to focus long enough to come up with what it was.

  Then I was past the house and the memory remained hidden, while I had to deal with my GPS malfunctioning one more time. It flashed green and black again, but now when it stopped, the streets were back along with the blue line. It was telling me that I had gone too far. I wondered how that could be. I slowed my car and made a U-turn as soon as there was break in the light traffic.

  The GPS led me to a small shop on the corner of two streets with bird names, Crow Lane and Raven Street. The building was made of red bricks which had faded to a dusky pink after long years under the sun. The front of the store was mostly glass, and I could see inside it as I parked alongside the curb. The store looked to be a book store, although there were some antique pieces in the window. The sign hanging over the doorway on a small black chain swaying softly in the wind simply read, ‘Glinda’s’.

  I climbed out of my car and took some time to stretch my legs. I stretched my arms over my head and bent backward, groaning a little as I heard some cracks. I had never been one for long car rides.

  My car was crammed full of luggage, just about everything I owned, and it had been hard to see out of my back window since a stack of folded blankets obstructed most of the glass.

  As I walked to the front door of the store, it swung open suddenly. A man appeared there. I hadn’t seen him coming, even though the door was mostly glass, apart from a metal bar bisecting it in the middle. The man was slim and elderly, his head mostly bald save a few wisps of white hair which curled wildly this way and that. His skin was pale and thin looking, spotted brown in places. He looked like a wizard from Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings.

  He must have seen the startled expression on my face, because he smiled sheepishly and extended his hand. “Did I scare you?” he asked.

  “Oh no, no,” I said hurriedly. “I wasn’t paying attention.” Well, I was pretty sure I had been paying plenty of attention.

  The man laughed and held the door open for me. “Come in; come in. I’m betting you’re Amelia.”

  I nodded as I stepped into the shop. It seemed like the kind of place in which I could spend a lot of time, and I had only seen a fraction of it. There were rows and rows of books on shelves that were no more than three or four feet high. There were also numerous antiques. It dawned on me that this was a both a bookstore and an antique store. I supposed this was common in a small country town like this one. “And you’re Ruprecht?” I felt silly as soon as I said it. I mean, who else could he be? Dumbledore?

  “Please call me Ruprecht,” the man said with another grin. His smiles were warm and freely given. I didn’t know the man, but I liked him already.

  “And Glinda’s, like the good witch,” I said.

  Ruprecht tilted his head to the side and raised one of his bushy gray eyebrows. “Come again?”

  “Glinda, the good witch. From The Wizard of Oz?”

  “Oh, never seen it,” Ruprecht said, shaking his head. He lifted his hands and let them fall in a dismissive manner, as though he had more important things to do than watch one of the most popular and beloved films of all time.

  “Oh well, never mind then,” I said with a laugh. “I love your store.”

  “You’ve barely seen it,” he said. “Take a peek as we head into the back. I’ve just brewed some tea, if you’d like.”

  I am more of a coffee person, but I could sit through a cup of tea for the sake of being polite. Ruprecht turned and hurried toward the back of the store, leaving me to follow along behind. I turned my head this way and that as I tried to take in as much of the shop as I could. It was something of a labyrinth.

  The back room was cramped, with a small sink in the corner and a counter next to it. There was a tiny stove with only two burners, on one of which sat a blue kettle that looked to be made of tin, and was maybe as old as Ruprecht, if not older. He picked up the kettle and poured tea into two small, thick white cups. When he handed me my cup, I was surprised to realize that the cup was made of bone. Surely I was wrong, but when I pulled the rim of the cup to my lips, I hesitated just a moment before I allowed my mouth to touch it.

>   “I can take you to your aunt’s house tomorrow, after the funeral service which I mentioned to you on the phone. I’m afraid the house isn’t quite ready for you, so I took the liberty of booking you into a hotel tonight. It’s a nice little place out on the edge of town,” Ruprecht said.

  “Oh, thank you,” I said, wondering what he meant about the house not being ready.

  Ruprecht must have read my mind, or else he simply knew I would be wondering such a thing, because he smiled and waved his hand through the air. “Not to worry, dear, just cleaning a few things up, making a few small repairs, things like that. Cleaning out the gutters, so to speak. I took care of it all. I didn’t want you to have a thing to worry about at this trying time. I know it must be hard to lose a family member.”

  I didn’t feel the need to mention that I didn’t know anything about my Aunt Angelica beyond the fact that my parents had told me that she was extremely odd. I don’t remember ever meeting her. Instead, I nodded somberly and took another sip of tea. As I was trying to think of something to say, I heard a soft meowing. I turned toward the door which led to the store proper, and there was a cat, fat and orange with a white streak running down the center of its face. It was joined by another cat, this one gray and black, and much slimmer. Both cats sat in the doorway, their little heads tilted upward as their eyes remained on me. It made me uncomfortable. It was as if they were staring right through me.

  “How long have you had this place?” I asked as I turned from the cats to look at Ruprecht once more.

  He took a moment to finish his tea before answering. “A lifetime,” he said, and then he set his cup down next to the sink. “I can give you the tour.”

  “Thanks, I’d love that,” I said. I finished my own cup and set it next to Ruprecht’s.

  He led me out into the shop. The cats ran in front of him and then disappeared beneath a heavy oak writing desk that looked as old as the hills.

  We spent half an hour or so going through the shop, Ruprecht pointing out his favorite pieces as we looked at the antique furniture and knick knacks. It was a strange sort of shop, with an almost arcane feel to it. The sky outside was growing dark when we paused by the front door.

  “I can give you directions to the hotel, and they have a key waiting for you at the front desk.”

  I smiled. “Thanks so much.”

  “Tomorrow I’ll introduce you to Thyme, who was your aunt’s assistant at the shop,” Ruprecht said.

  “I don’t even know what kind of shop it is,” I said, shaking my head. “I hadn’t seen my aunt in a long time, if ever,” I finally admitted, “and this has all happened so fast.”

  Ruprecht nodded his head. “Well, dear, it’s one of my favorite places in town. It’s a cake shop, to be precise.”

  My mouth fell open. A cake shop? What did I know about baking? Hadn’t my terrible cooking just gotten me evicted? Hadn’t it cost me my boyfriend, a man I had thought I would marry? I couldn’t run a cake store, any more than the old man in front of me could run a marathon. I forced my face to twist into some sort of look which hopefully could be mistaken for delight, but inside I was worried, and frankly, crushed. Why couldn’t my aunt have owned this bookstore? Or just about any other business?

  I had, of course, wondered what sort of store it was from the time I had received the letter until I arrived in Bayberry Creek, but I hadn’t worried too much. I had just counted my blessings that I owned a business, any business at all. It was better than being homeless and penniless.

  “She’s left all of her recipes with Thyme,” Ruprecht went on. He appeared to be oblivious to my distress. “So I’m sure you can step in, and we people here in town won’t have to go long without your aunt’s famous chocolate cream cupcakes.”

  I smiled, a smile that betrayed my feelings of horror and utter despair. “I’ll do my best,” I said.

  Chapter 4

  The next morning I awoke with a stiff back, the price I paid for spending hours in the car the day before. I took a long, hot shower, letting the steaming water pound on my back and work out the kinks for me. As I was drying my hair using the hotel hair dryer that could not be unplugged from the wall, the small white phone in the other room rang. I was startled. On the one hand, I hadn’t anticipated any calls. I didn’t think anyone would know I was here, and on the other hand, I associated the sound of the landline ringing with people chasing me to pay overdue bills.

  I rushed from the bathroom in a white terry cloth robe, although of course, the other person on the phone wouldn’t be able to see me. I smiled when I heard Ruprecht’s voice.

  “Amelia, I wanted to ask you to come to a small get together this morning. It’s before the funeral proper, just some of your aunt’s best friends and most loved companions getting together.”

  I thought that sounded nice, so I jotted down directions on the small pad of paper that was kept next to the phone and told him I would be there. When I hung up, I finished drying my hair, and then dressed.

  I had left my car mostly packed the night before, only taking out one of the suitcases. It was a funeral, so black was in order, and I thought I looked pretty good in a black skirt which fell to my ankles and a modest black top. It felt strange to feel good about myself as I looked in the mirror, since I was going to a funeral after all, but I had been a mess since my breakup. It was nice to feel as though I had some worth, if even only in such a shallow way as looking nice.

  I followed the directions I had written down as I slowly drove through town. There was a stretch of bushland that ran along the southern part of Bayberry Creek, and that was where the directions led. I parked in a small lot with a few other cars, and had been instructed to follow a dirt path there into the bushland. I had walked only a couple of hundred yards before I saw Ruprecht. He was wearing a suit, all black except for the white shirt, and his tie had small red dots upon a yellow field. He took my hand warmly, and then motioned for me to step off the path. “Walk right down there, to the edge of the creek,” he said. “You can’t miss it.”

  And indeed I wouldn’t have been able to miss it, because I was one of the last to arrive. There was a small group of people here, all of them women, most of them older. A massive iron pot sat near the water, and it appeared to be filled with dirt. Next to it, on a small table which seemed out of place in the bushland, was a bowl of seeds. To the left of that was a large circle made of flowers lying on the ground. The wind was strong here between the trees, and the flowers swayed this way and that, but surprisingly they didn’t scatter into the wind, which would have taken them right out to the clear water in the small stream.

  “Amelia, this is my granddaughter, Mint,” Ruprecht called from behind me.

  When I turned, I saw a young woman who was near my own age standing next to the old man. I smiled and shook her hand. Mint was wearing all black, and her hair was as black as night. She had bracelets all up her right arm, starting at the wrist and going almost up to her elbow. They all appeared to be made of hemp, and they all had a single glossy stone tied among them somewhere.

  “Nice to meet you,” Mint said. “I’m sorry about your aunt. We all loved her very much.”

  I nodded. I felt bad that I wasn’t too distraught about my aunt’s death, simply because I hadn’t known her. I also felt bad as I didn’t know whether I should tell Mint this.

  “Camino is an ancient historian of sorts, and a classical scholar,” Ruprecht said from behind me, making me jump. “In fact, she’s your new next-door neighbor.”

  I swung around to see an elderly woman in a white, flowing floor-length dress. I smiled and shook her extended hand, keeping one eye on Ruprecht, who was heading for the center of the flower ring, making sure to step over the flowers and not disturb them. He was opening his mouth to speak when he stopped and looked pointedly toward the tree line from the small clearing we stood in. I saw a woman, more or less my own age, hurrying into the clearing, wearing a bright yellow dress and an easy smile.

  “I
’m Thyme,” she said to me. “I keep everything running at the shop,” she added with a laugh.

  “We’re going to begin now,” Ruprecht said, and Thyme fell quiet. As Ruprecht began, I turned and looked at everyone in the clearing. There were only ten or so people here. I wondered if there would be more at the funeral proper in a couple of hours.

  Ruprecht spoke of Angelica, and he spoke fondly. He didn’t speak for long before he was stepping out of the flowers. “Would anyone like to say anything?” he asked, and Thyme was the first one to go forward and take Ruprecht’s place within the circle.

  “Angelica was more than just an employer to me, and even more than just a friend. She was like a mother. As to you she was like family. It’s never easy to lose family, but we, more than anyone else, know that death is just the beginning of a great journey. We can take solace in knowing that Angelica’s spirit exists and carries on. She was many things, most of all though, she was a friend.”

  I thought Thyme had finished speaking, but she went on. “I remember the first cake of Angelica’s I tried. My goodness. That’s all I have to say, right?” There were some nods and laughter throughout the group. “What a talent the woman had. What a talent, and I’ll miss her.”

  More nodding, and then Thyme was done. A few other women spoke, and I realized that Ruprecht was the only man there. After they had finished speaking, everyone looked at me as if they expected me to speak, but I had been moved to tears by the kind words everyone had been saying about the aunt I didn’t know. It was powerful, unlike anything I had ever felt. I managed to get out of speaking with some grace, probably due to my tears. Thyme even came over and rubbed my back softly as Ruprecht went back to the circle.

  “Please, let’s gather by the basin and each plant a seed. Remember our friend as we do so.”

  A line quickly formed at the iron pot, and I went as well. I had never seen anything like it, but one by one the women picked up a seed and pressed it into the earth that sat in the pot. When it was my turn, I took a seed and placed it on the dirt, pausing a moment before using the tip of my index finger to press it down. I found myself wishing once again that I had known my aunt.