Miss Spelled (The Kitchen Witch 1)

by Morgana Best

  It was odd to think of Thyme as my employee, and for a moment I thought they had the wrong person. I had never been someone’s boss before.

  “Oh,” I said. It was all my muddled brain could think of at the time.

  “You know the man out here?” Greer asked, flipping through a few pages of the small notebook he had produced from one of his pockets. He licked the tip of a pen and prepared to write my answer.

  “I met him yesterday, at the funeral,” I said.

  The woman cop nodded. “Your aunt died, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Constable Stevens said, again with the wide smile.

  “Your aunt left you this place?” Greer asked, his voice scratchy and gruff, matching his eyebrows perfectly.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “You bake cakes?”

  “I guess so,” I said.

  The male cop lifted one of those brows, an inquisitive look. “What’s that mean? ‘I guess so’?”

  I was irritated by the question. “I mean, I was left this business by my aunt. I have no idea how to bake cakes.”

  “So why not sell it?” Greer asked. “A nice little place like this! Why, you could sell it and go back to where you came from.”

  I shook my head. I did not want to tell them the whole sordid story of what led to me moving to town. I simply said. “It was my aunt’s wish that I stay and run the business.”

  “That’s good of you,” Constable Stevens said, smiling again.

  I wished she would stop smiling all the time. No one smiled that much in real life, and her smile did not look genuine. It creeped me out.

  Greer went on with his questions. “You know the guy’s name? The deceased man in your store out there?”

  “Brant,” I said. “McMurphy?”

  “McCallum,” Greer corrected me.

  I nodded. “Right.”

  “He took a bite of your cake and keeled over, huh?”

  “Yes, he took a bite and looked at me oddly. His eyes widened; he clutched at his throat, and he fell,” I said, and suddenly I was reliving it all. For one wild moment I was sure I would need that paper bag again. I reached for it but then stopped myself. I took a deep breath, and tried to get myself back under control.

  “She must really not know what she’s doing,” Constable Stevens said under her breath to Greer, who shot her a warning look.

  “I did not bake the cake he ate!” I exclaimed, but then realized that Thyme had.

  Greer towered over me. “Is there any of the cake he ate left?”

  I nodded. “A little. He was testing samples.”

  “What was he sampling cakes for?” Stevens asked.

  “He was getting married,” I said, and tears welled up in my eyes. I hadn’t particularly liked Brant, but he was getting married. It was a terrible situation. I thought about his poor fiancée, and wondered if she’d heard the terrible news yet.

  “Brant has some money,” Greer went on. “Well, he did, at least. A lot of people would have liked to get their hands on it. Do you think anyone was out to get him?”

  I was surprised the cop had asked me that. Was it a trick question? “How would I know?” I said. “I just arrived in town. I’ve only just met everyone.”

  Greer nodded and wrote something in his notebook. “Have you ever been to town before?”

  “No, it’s my first time,” I said.

  “But your aunt lived here her whole life?” Greer barked at me. “You never visited?”

  “No,” I said simply.

  “She left you her business?”

  “My father was Aunt Angelica’s brother, but they didn’t get along. I was surprised when I got the letter in the mail.”

  Neither of the police officers said anything for a moment. Both just nodded. Finally, Constable Stevens spoke. “I’m going to go bag that cake, and speak to Thyme.”

  “Can I go now?” I asked her. For some reason I thought everything would have taken longer.

  “I need your number,” Greer said.

  I gave it to him.

  “This place will need to stay closed for a while. A couple of days, I mean,” Greer said as Constable Stevens made her way back through the swinging doors.

  “Oh, okay, that’s fine, of course,” I said.

  “There’s a forensics team on the way, so you’ll need to vacate the crime scene.”

  “Crime scene?” I heard my voice come out shrilly, and the room appeared to spin slowly. I felt like I was in a bad dream, and I couldn’t wake up. “It’s a crime scene?”

  Greer’s expression did not change. “It’s routine, ma’am. You said he took a bite of cake and then fell down to the floor and died.”

  “But Thyme made that cake this morning. We were the only ones who touched it. So it wasn’t the cake; it had to be something else.”

  Greer nodded, as if he had heard a million excuses about a million different things. “You do know not to leave town?”

  “Do you think I did this?” I asked, reaching for the paper bag. I felt as if I were on the edge of breaking down into hysterics.

  “Routine,” he said again. “Don’t leave town. I’ll need to escort you out so you don’t contaminate the scene. Go get your things.”

  I waited for a few moments until I was sure that I wouldn’t faint, and then I took a deep breath and climbed to my feet.

  After I retrieved my purse and coat from the back room, I slipped through the swinging doors and almost turned right back around when I saw Brant, dead, and still lying on the floor. Thyme was outside, her back pressed against the glass door of the cake store. I hurried to the door, averting my eyes from the corpse as I did so. I pulled the door slowly, so Thyme wouldn’t fall if the door was gone from her suddenly.

  She turned around. “Did they give you the third degree?”

  I nodded. “Pretty much. And they told me not to leave town.”

  “Me, too.”

  Just then, men in white suits wheeled the body out, right past us and into the back of the ambulance. Before they left, they fixed strips of thick yellow and black police tape across the store’s door. Passers-by stopped to stare, but Thyme simply waved to them cheerfully.

  I bit my lip. “Well, that certainly won’t help business. People won’t want to come into the store after someone died in there, and even if they did, the police said we’d need to be closed for a couple of days. Obviously they want to collect…” my voice trailed away, “evidence, I suppose.”

  Thyme shook her head. “Don’t worry, all right? It will all be okay.”

  “I can’t see how. I’ve had enough shocks lately,” I said, and fought the urge to cry.

  Thyme smiled. “Trust me.”

  “All right,” I said. I couldn’t see how it would be okay.

  “You’re seeing your house for the first time this afternoon, aren’t you?” Thyme continued.

  “Yes, Ruprecht will be here any minute. I’m going to follow him there.” That thought cheered me up. I didn’t care what the house looked like. The main thing was that Aunt Angelica had owned it outright. I never thought I’d own my own house, not in a million years.

  Chapter 7

  I couldn’t believe my eyes when Ruprecht slowed his car and pulled into a driveway. It was the same house I had seen the day before, the Victorian home on one floor, with the tin roof. There was that charming little porch on the side, and the front of the house was partially obscured by pretty blue wisteria in full flower.

  Ruprecht parked and got out, and I pulled up alongside his car so he would be able to get out when the time came.

  “Here it is,” Ruprecht said with a smile, waving an age-spotted hand toward the home. “What do you think?”

  “I love it,” I said, as I clasped my hands together. I was overcome with delight. “I saw it yesterday, and I loved it then. It had a pull with me.” I didn’t feel the need to tell Ruprecht about my GPS malfunctioning, and how it had brought me past my de
stination and right to this house.

  As I made my way to Ruprecht, past the heavenly scent of the lilac-flowered buddleia trees, he held out a key to me. “Do the honors,” he said.

  I took the key and laughed, momentarily forgetting that a man had died in my cake store that day, on the first day I had ever worked in it. I slid the key into the lock that sat above the gold door handle, and turned it to the left. There was a satisfying click as a thick deadbolt slid out of place. I turned the handle and went inside.

  I gasped. It was magnificent. The hallway was grand, the typical hallway of an Australian Victorian home that ran from the front to the back door in a straight line. The ceilings were twelve feet high, all pressed metal. The cornices were truly ornate. The floorboards looked like the original tallow wood boards. They were polished and covered in part by a long carpet runner in an arabesque pattern of blues and greens. The paint on the upper part of the hallway was salmon-pink: not to my taste, but hey, I was hardly going to complain. I was still pinching myself that I had a roof over my head, and a mortgage-free one at that.

  Ruprecht gave me the tour. The first door on the left opened onto the living room. There was a wide bay window overlooking the front lawn, and an open brick fireplace sat at a funny angle across the far corner. At the back of the room was a door leading into a dining room. This room was smaller, but large enough for the huge table already in it. I was so lucky that the whole place was furnished.

  Several bedrooms ran off the right side of the hallway. I think I counted four. Aunt Angelica’s old bedroom was on the left of the hallway at the back of the house, so I thought I’d claim the bedroom at the front of the house as my own. It had a beautiful leadlight window and a small bay window overlooking the front garden. It didn’t have an en-suite bathroom, although the main bathroom was right next to it.

  The main bathroom had a delightful claw-foot bath and white tiles. It had clearly been renovated in recent times. The ceiling was again pressed metal, complete with a magnificent ceiling rose.

  “And this is the library,” Ruprecht said, opening a door off the hallway. He gasped. “My mistake; I must be thinking of a different house.” He shot me a funny look.

  “There’s a library?” I asked.

  Again the funny look. “Um, err, I don’t remember,” Ruprecht said, hurrying on down the long hall.

  I was pretty sure he was lying, but I had no idea why. It made no sense. Was he suffering from memory loss and not wanting to admit it?

  The kitchen was the second to last room on the left. It was somewhat dated, but again, I was the last one to complain. At least it didn’t have smoke damage all over the ceiling. Behind the kitchen was a cute little room. Every room in the house had a fireplace, so, when Ruprecht showed me out the back, I was surprised to see a tiny wood box under the back veranda and no wood shed.

  “Where did Aunt Angelica keep her firewood?” I asked Ruprecht.

  He nodded to the wood box. “There.”

  I scratched my head. “That’s only big enough for two or three days. Didn’t she get a whole load delivered at once? I can’t see anywhere to put it.”

  Again, the same funny look crossed Ruprecht’s face. “I’ll explain it all before winter. There’s plenty of time to think of that. You have so much on your mind now.” He wrung his hands in a nervous gesture. “Well, I can leave you to it,” he said, one eyebrow twitching. “I’m sure you’d like to get a few things settled. I’ll check in on you in a day or two.”

  I smiled and nodded. “Thank you,” I said. “For everything.”

  Ruprecht simply waved his hand through the air. “Don’t mention it!”

  I walked him to the front and watched him drive off before I started unpacking my car.

  It didn’t have much, only my clothes, make up, laptop, and few boxes of various belongings. Still, the car was bursting at the seams. I figured you never really know just how much stuff you have until you move.

  By the time I had unpacked my belongings, such as they were, it was all beginning to sink in. I had moved from a big city on the coast to a small, inland country town in the middle of nowhere. I had gained a mortgage-free house and a business—even though that business did involve baking—and I was sure I had found new friends. I had even seen a hot guy. Who knew small country towns had them? It all more than made up for losing Brad, losing my job, and getting evicted. Still, a man had died today, and I was still shaken.

  When I’m upset, I usually have a glass of wine, a lot of ice cream and/or chocolate, or a long, hot bubble bath. I had no wine or ice cream, and I’d had no time to do any shopping. I’d packed a large supply of jelly beans and my coffee machine, along with plenty of coffee. I figured a bath would be just the thing. I was keen to try out the old tub with the claw feet in the bathroom.

  I don’t know how long I stayed in the bath, but by the time I got out and pulled on my pajamas, the sky outside was dark. I went into the living room and turned on the TV, and was delighted to see that Aunt Angelica had Netflix. Before I could decide what to watch, there was a knock on the door.

  I went to it slowly, and opened the door a crack.

  “Camino,” I said.

  “Yes, you got it,” the elderly woman said. I had met her at my aunt’s funeral, and the strange but beautiful little ceremony beforehand. Tonight Camino was dressed in a similar fashion, though there was a splash of color in all the white by way of a purple blouse. She held a cardboard box before her, open, with two cats sitting inside.

  “Would you like to come in?” I asked, wondering if everyone in these parts took their cats with them when visiting.

  “Certainly, dear,” Camino said. “Thank you.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t have much,” I said. “I could find some coffee, I’m sure. There are jelly beans, too.”

  “No, thank you,” Camino said, as she set the box on the floor and then sat on the couch.

  I sat opposite her in a huge, old armchair upholstered wildly in primary colors.

  “You don’t already have a pet, do you?” Camino asked. “A dog?”

  I shook my head. “No, I couldn’t have them in my old apartment. Any pet. They were very strict about it.”

  Camino nodded hard, and snorted. “I’ve been taking care of these cats since your aunt crossed over. They were your aunt’s, and I’m afraid they miss her something awful.”

  “I’m sure it must be hard,” I said, feeling sorry for the poor creatures.

  “Well, to cut to the chase, dear, I need you to have them. I take in a lot of animals. I live next door. You passed the house when you drove up. I like to take care of animals, but you can only have so many in your home before you have to start wondering if you’re living in a zoo. They were your aunt’s, and now they are yours.”

  I looked at the box. Both cats were large adults. One was fat, orange and white, and the other, slender and all black.

  “I’ve never really had a pet,” I said, “although I’ve always wanted pets.” I was delighted.

  “Cats are easy to care for,” Camino said.

  “What are their names?”

  Camino pointed to the orange cat. “Willow,” she said. She pointed to the black cat. “Hawthorn.”

  “My aunt must have liked her trees, huh?”

  “I guess so,” Camino said.

  “I hope the cats like me and don’t run away or anything.”

  Camino shook her head. “They’re your familiars now, dear.”

  “I’m not familiar with them at all, though, is what I’m saying,” I argued. I wanted to be a responsible pet owner, after all. “I’m not familiar with them, or cats in general.”

  “No, honey.” Camino laughed heartily. “They were your aunt’s familiars, and now they’re yours.”

  I shook my head. Perhaps old age had made her slightly potty. “I’m sure she was familiar with them, but I’m not. I’m sorry.”

  Camino stood up. She looked at me and tilted her head slightly. “You don�
��t know anything about this, do you?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I don’t know anything about raising cats.” I said, throwing up my hands.

  This just seemed to amuse Camino more, and she began to laugh again. She went for the door. “Just feed them, and keep water in their bowl, and they’ll do most everything else,” she said before she left.

  I shut the door behind her and then went back to the couch. I looked down into the box and the cats looked up at me. Willow meowed, and Hawthorn jumped into my lap.

  I needn’t have worried; the cats seemed delighted to see me. They purred all over me. “Want some dinner? Has Camino already fed you?”

  The big ginger cat meowed. “Okay, come with me,” I said. I found some cans of cat food in the tiny kitchen. I opened them and set them on the white linoleum tiles. I filled two bowls with water, and then I went to my bedroom.

  The cats followed me in. One, the big one, of course, sat on my stomach, and the other tried to lick my face. I tried to roll on my side, but that angered the one sitting on my legs, and he swiped at me. And so I lay perfectly still in the darkness, staring up at the ceiling. I thought of my mother. I didn’t know why I did, and I wondered if it was something to do with wanting to think of my aunt but not knowing anything about her.

  So instead I thought of my mother. I thought of one time when I was nine, and my father had let me watch a scary movie. My mother had told him not to do it, but my father was stubborn and laughed it off. He said I was old enough not to be scared by a silly movie.

  Yet it had frightened me, and when I was put to bed that night, I called out within a minute of my light being turned off and my door shut. The shadows on the walls all at once had seemed menacing. I felt like I was being watched.

  My mother came in, and I could see by her face that she was mad at my father, not at me.

  “What’s wrong?” my mother asked me.

  “The movie scared me.”

  Her tone softened. “I knew it would.”

  “Do you get scared?”

  My mother didn’t answer for a long time. Finally, she looked at me and nodded. “Sometimes I do.”