3-Book Series Bundle: Wisteria Witches, Wicked Wisteria, Wisteria Wonders - Cozy Witch Mysteries

by Angela Pepper

  "Two," Chet said.

  "Three slices of bacon," Don said. "Plus all the coffee I want. Final offer."

  Chet sighed. "Deal."

  My daughter steered them toward the dining room while asking about food allergies. They didn't have any food issues, except for Corvin's "extremely horrible" allergy to Brussels sprouts, which was "basically poison," according to him. Zoey assured him there would be no Brussels sprouts at brunch.

  Zoey returned to the kitchen. "Need a hand?" She reached for a slice of crispy bacon and started munching it. "Here, I'll fix the bacon. There should be an odd number of slices when you serve it, because odd numbers are more aesthetically pleasing."

  "How did you count the bacon so quickly? Is this a sign of your you-know-what powers kicking in?"

  "Bacon comes in even numbers from the package, so I just deduced."

  "Speaking of deduce, you can run de juice out to our guests."

  She groaned at my pun, which was the main reason I cracked puns.

  "Take the coffee pot," I said. "And the young gentleman may have his choice of juiceboxes."

  She grabbed the coffee and looked over the spread with widening eyes. "Did you leave any food at the store for the rest of Wisteria?"

  "You've always wanted me to cook more. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth. Tell our guests the first batch of crepes are on the way!"

  She used her free hand to pick up the tray of cream and sugar. "Mom, are you sure you're feeling okay? Most people would want some quiet time to get used to the idea of being a you-know-what."

  "Idle hands are the devil's playground," I said. "Or the devil's workshop, depending on your choice of translation."

  "Talking about the devil is not exactly reassuring."

  I shrugged. "I've got the rest of my life to learn how to curdle milk, or talk to beavers, or whatever it is we can do. Today, let's have a stylish brunch with our neighbors."

  "As you wish." She tossed her wavy red locks over her shoulder and left with the coffee.

  Alone again, I silently thanked my house for having an old-fashioned layout with the kitchen in its own private area, walled off. I wouldn't have felt comfortable contorting my body to stir multiple pans of food at once if I were on display for guests.

  With one hand on the crepe flipper, and one hand swirling the raspberry topping, that left me with zero hands to stir the chocolate sauce in the top of the double boiler.

  What to do?

  If only there were a way for me to stir the sauce with no hands.

  I felt a swirling, trembling feeling inside myself, as though I was about to sneeze, but I didn't sneeze.

  The spoon in the chocolate sauce righted itself and began to stir.

  Hands free.

  By magic.

  Hot diggity dog, I thought. I've got telekinesis.

  Ziggity!

  Chapter 17

  Telekinesis.

  Wow.

  The floating water glass, I thought, remembering my first night of sleeptoasting. The water glass had appeared to hover over the floor by magic because it was hovering by magic.

  My magic.

  I experimented with my new power and found that, for the moment anyway, telekinesis was more of a distraction than it was helpful. While I could use my powers to magically stir a spoon through chocolate sauce, it required enough concentration that my hands slowed at their tasks—like trying to pat your head and rub circles on your stomach at the same time. I needed to grow a bigger brain, or at least get some practice. Telekinesis apparently required a special type of focus—a focus I did not yet have.

  Zoey returned to the kitchen to help me platter the food.

  "Is everyone behaving out there?"

  "Yes." She gave me a suspicious look. "Why are you staring at me with googly eyes like that?"

  "Me? Googly eyes?" I blinked innocently.

  "Yeah. Like you've got a big secret and you want to tell me, but you know you shouldn't, because it would be inappropriate—not that it stops you. Or like you've done something bad and secretly you want to get busted." She looked over at some empty bottles next to the sink. "Are you drunk?"

  "That wine bottle is from last night's dinner with Zinnia. And the beer bottles... Actually, I don't know where those came from."

  "Those must be from Zinnia's guy," Zoey said. "The one who came over to sweep the house for listening bugs or spell bombs. He set up some wards, which are kind of like burglar alarms for magic. Zinnia said the wards wouldn't keep out any ghosts who were already in." She walked over to the bottles and looked at the labels. "These are from a local brewery."

  "What kind of professional drinks two bottles of beer on the job? What did she say this guy was?"

  Zoey shrugged. "Sort of a cleaner."

  "Like in Pulp Fiction? I've seen that movie enough times to be concerned. The cleaner goes in and cleans up, all right. And then he kills everyone, Zoey."

  She seemed more interested in the label than my dire warning. "This guy's a friend of Auntie Z's. I'm sure he's not a professional murder assassin." She stole two more strips of crisp bacon. "Probably."

  "Help me get this food to the dining room before you eat it all."

  * * *

  The three generations of Moores were dressed in crisp dress shirts, all in shades of green, like a multi-generational sports team. Grampa Don had shaved since I'd last seen him. He was handsome for a man his age, even when arguing with his son about how much bacon he could have.

  Chet and his father both rose from their chairs when I entered the dining room.

  Chet gave me a warm smile. "You look well rested, Zara. You must be settling into the house." He returned to his seat and added, "If you ever have trouble sleeping, I can pop over and tell you another one of my stories."

  Grampa Don gave us a dirty look and demanded, "What's going on here?" He looked at his son. "Is it her? Has she already caught the—"

  Chet elbowed his father. "Dad, it's just a joke," he said. "Remember how Corvin and I came over here last Saturday for pizza? I was trying to entertain Zara, and she fell asleep on the sofa. That's all." He flashed his eyes at Grampa Don.

  "All right, all right," Grampa Don said. He turned to young Corvin, who was watching everything intently with his huge, dark eyes. "Corvin, never pass up an opportunity to shut the hell up."

  Chet cleared his throat. "Language," he said.

  Corvin grinned mischievously. "Hell, hell, hell," he whispered. "Hell."

  Chet shot me a pained look and reached for his coffee. His hands looked even more rugged and manly holding the small porcelain cup, which was meant for tea. His thick finger barely fit through the filigree porcelain handle.

  "Let's eat," I said, and we started passing around the platters of food.

  While I ate, I kept looking over at little Corvin. He was so adorable, with round cheeks that begged to be pinched.

  I resisted for at least ten minutes before I gave in to my urges and reached over to give one cheek a pinch. He gave me a funny look but didn't protest. After a second good pinching, I used both of my hands on his plump round cheeks, squeezing his face to give him fish lips while I made popping sounds.

  "Who's a little fishie?" I cooed.

  Grampa Don said, "Little fishie? That's exactly what Winona used to say to the boy." He turned to his son. "Damn! Is it her?"

  I yanked my hands away, suddenly embarrassed. The entire Moore family was staring at me with expressions ranging from curious to horrified. Grampa Moore was so surprised, he'd actually stopped cramming bacon in his mouth.

  "Hazelnut spread," I announced, jumping to my feet. I dashed off to the kitchen for a moment of privacy.

  Alone in the kitchen, I scolded the ghost. "Winona Vander Zalm, control yourself! Don't make me do embarrassing things, or we can't be friends. Keep the entertaining hints coming, but don't take control of my body. You'll leave me with no choice but to a ghost exterminator to get you out of this house."

  "Who are
you talking to?" Zoey asked from the doorway. "Is the ghost back? We should call Auntie Z. She gave me her phone number, in case of emergencies."

  I grabbed the hazelnut spread I'd come in for, along with a tray of deviled eggs.

  "I can handle this myself," I said to Zoey. "Of course she's here. It's a beautiful house. You can't blame the woman for sticking around, even after death."

  "Mom?" She gave me one of her patient looks—the same expression that made people say she had an old soul.

  "Don't give me that look," I said. "Winona is a sweet little old lady, perfectly harmless. Whatever happened last night with the toaster was just an accident, and it won't happen again. It was the toaster, not Winona. I threw that demonic appliance into the garbage can. All's right in the world." I paused and glanced over at the kettle. "Do you suppose anyone wants tea? I just assumed they were all coffee drinkers."

  Zoey took the tray of deviled eggs from me. "Let's get through this brunch and we'll talk more later. I already phoned Auntie Z, right after I got out of bed, but she's not answering her cell phone. She's probably sleeping, after we kept her up all night."

  I picked up a dish towel and twisted it. "I'm not sure if we can trust my aunt. I know she's family, and the ghost isn't, but the ghost never tried to hurt me before last night, when Zinnia just happened to be here in the house."

  Zoey wrinkled her brow and stared into the distance, the way she did when she was thinking about something she'd just read. After a moment, her expression brightened. "We should ask the Moore family what they know about Winona and the history of the house."

  "Duh," I said. "Why do you think I invited them over in the first place? All part of my plan."

  She gave me a look that said she wasn't buying it but appreciated my efforts.

  We returned to the dining room, where Zoey got to work with the single-mindedness she brought to everything.

  She asked the Moores, "How long did Winona Vander Zalm own this house?"

  Grampa Don answered, "She was here before I bought the place next door, thirty-six years ago."

  "I was born inside this house," Chet said. "On this old wood floor." He pointed at my dining room floor.

  Zoey exclaimed, "What? No way!"

  Chet's green eyes twinkled as he looked at me. "I should have broken out this story last Saturday. I might not have put you to sleep."

  "I'm listening," I said. "Did your mother plan to give birth here?"

  "No," Chet said with a chuckle. "There was a terrible electrical storm when my mother went into labor. A couple of fallen trees and power lines—"

  Grampa Don made a contrary noise. He scrunched his face and then waved for Chet to continue.

  Chet said, "The fallen power lines blocked the way to the hospital, so my mother came over here, because she knew Winona could handle anything. Miss Vander Zalm didn't have kids of her own, but she took charge of the situation like a professional. My mother gave birth her, with a small group of neighbors attending."

  Grampa Don snorted. "I wasn't here. I was busy..." He eyed the bacon. "Ooh, bacon. Don't mind if I do!"

  Zoey said, "That's quite the story, Mr. Moore. Did Miss Vander Zalm have any medical training?"

  Chet smiled. "Winona had all the skills she needed. According to the neighbors, she tended my mother and also served cocktails all through the delivery. Manhattans, I believe. Or was it mojitos? She was an incredible hostess." He looked at Zoey and rubbed his chin. "I think maybe she did serve as a nurse during the war. Some sort of war. I never could nail down exactly which one, but I believed her." He glanced around the room, his eyes glistening.

  Grampa Don chimed in. "She was a spectacular woman."

  Zoey practically pounced on the elder Moore across the table. "How spectacular? Were you two an item?"

  The grandfather's moss-green eyes darkened. "After my dear wife passed on, Winona would seek my company from time to time." He glanced over to his son as though asking for permission to continue.

  Chet said, "It's okay, Dad. I've always known there was something between you two. You should go ahead and talk about it. Healthy people talk about their feelings. That's what Dr. Bob says."

  Don snorted and reached for another slice of bacon. "If it's so healthy to yammer on like a fool, I deserve this."

  Nobody stopped him.

  Zoey gave him a moment to chew before asking, "Were you dating up until she passed away? No offense, but she was a lot older than you, wasn't she?"

  He talked around the food in his mouth. "Dating? She wasn't that old, young lady. The two of us made the beast with two backs whenever the moon was full. Does that count as dating?"

  Young Corvin, whom I'd all but forgotten about, piped up, "What's the beast with two backs?"

  Chet quieted him with a hand clamped over his mouth. "I think that's enough talking about Grampa's private nightsports."

  Zoey giggled. "Nightsports," she repeated.

  I smiled at the Moore family. "Thank you for sharing your memories about such a remarkable woman." I held my hand over my heart. "She sends you all her love." I winked at Grampa Don, seeing him for a moment through Winona's eyes. My hero, I thought with a lovesick sigh.

  Chet removed his hand from his son's mouth and gave me a puzzled look. "If you're interested in learning more about the history of this house and Winona, I've got access to old town records. We could visit the archives together sometime." His gaze flicked over to Zoey. "With your daughter, of course. Zoey, you seem very interested in history."

  "That would be nice," I said. My gaze drifted over to the edible centerpiece. "Help yourself to some flowers, please. Everything except the stem is made of fruit."

  My guests admired my handiwork and each took a flower.

  The table was quiet while everyone munched away. Everything was perfect. I felt a warm pressure on my shoulder, as though someone was patting me on the back for a job well done. Winona approved.

  Suddenly, a spoon clattered to the floor.

  Corvin pointed at the air above my head and said, "You're dead. You're dead!"

  His father gave him a stern look. "Corvin! Don't be morbid or I'll give you something to be morbid about."

  I leaned forward and looked into the little boy's eyes, which were as dark as night. "Who's dead?"

  He answered with a low, growling voice. "You know who."

  "How did she die?"

  "Someone killed her," Corvin said. "Ding dong! Ding dong, the witch is dead!"

  Zoey made a squeaking sound and shot me a look.

  Chet got to his feet and pulled his son up as well.

  Corvin squeezed his eyes shut and made a keening sound.

  "Zara, Zoey," Chet said warmly as he nodded at each of us in turn. "Great brunch." He nodded down at Corvin, who still had his eyes squeezed shut. "This one gets feisty when he eats too much sugar."

  Corvin opened his huge eyes and began to laugh-a cruel, nasty laugh. "Ding dong! Ding dong! Who's there? Pop Tarts! The Pop Tarts are done and so are you!"

  Zoey circled around the table and shoved Corvin. "Stop it! Shut up, you creepy little monster!"

  He reached out and shoved her back. He was much shorter and couldn't reach her shoulders, so he struck her in the chest. "You're the monster! And I don't want a big sister! Not you! You're ugly and stupid and I hate you!"

  Chet grabbed his son and pulled him back. I did the same with Zoey, for everyone's protection. She wasn't usually violent, but then again she'd never been called ugly and stupid in her own home, while being punched in the chest.

  "Zara, I am so sorry," Chet said, dragging his son away as quickly as he could.

  Grampa Don grabbed a handful of bacon and followed them. He gave me a pat on the arm.

  "You're a good neighbor," Don said. "Winona is glad to have you in this house. I can feel it." He glanced at his son, who was wrestling Corvin out the front door. "I'd tell you we Moores are usually better behaved, but you strike me as the type who sees right through bullcrap."


  I smiled knowingly. "This is as good as it gets, right?"

  He finished his bacon and licked his fingertips. "What you see is what you get. Thanks for the grub! You make this old house proud."

  I tilted my head to the side. "I make the house proud? What do you mean?"

  He grinned mischievously, which erased about fifty years from his face. My hero, I thought again, feeling a rush of Winona's affection.

  "You'll find out soon enough," he said ominously.

  Chapter 18

  After the Moores left, I looked over the remaining food. We'd barely made a dent. Except for the dirty plates, the table looked like it had just been set up for entertaining. That Winona, I thought. It was just like a great hostess to have ten times as much food as needed.

  As I surveyed the leftovers ad thought of all the packing-up work that lay ahead, I remembered why I didn't cook much.

  At least the dishes would be an excellent opportunity to practice my new witchy levitation skills.

  "Wanna see something cool?" I asked my daughter.

  "Not really." Zoey crossed her arms and slumped into a dining room chair. "Corvin is such a brat," she said. "I can't believe I ever wanted a little brother. They're awful and rude, and they smell like goats."

  "True. And that particular one can see spirits. You heard what he said. He could see Winona Vander Zalm standing with me. I'm a witch, and I can't even see her."

  "No, he can't see anything," she scoffed. "You might not have noticed, because you were drooling over his father and shoving food onto people's plates the whole time, but Corvin was saying a ton of random crap that didn't mean anything."

  "Are you back to playing the skeptic? The Scully to my Mulder? I swear, he looked over my shoulder and saw something. Winona Vander Zalm's ghost."

  Zoey shifted her gaze to a spot above my shoulder and smiled sweetly. "Hello there, Spirit Lady. What a beautiful frock you're wearing today. What's that? You think I should get a raise in my allowance? I agree. Let's tell Mother."

  "Fine," I said, nodding. "I'll raise your allowance, since the Spirit Lady suggested it."

  "She's not really there. I was making a point, Mom."