"What?"
"Don't be a show-off," she said grouchily. "Don't you dare levitate this whole house, or I'll scream. Plus you'll break all the pipes and stuff."
"Oh, shush!" I ran up the stairs toward the door. Something dark yet winking with bright light zipped across my path. There was a rat-a-tat sound, not unlike a woodpecker banging on a metal shed roof.
The moving object caught me by the toes. I tripped and fell into Zoey's arms. We both tumbled into the house and landed in a tangle of limbs, flying red hair, and mild cursing.
"You've gone off the deep end," Zoey howled, wriggling 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. It scampered across the porch and caught my toe."
"Like a stray cat?"
"Maybe."
We got ourselves untangled. Nothing was damaged except my pride.
Zoey looked both ways cautiously before she stepped out onto the porch. She leaned down and grabbed something.
She asked me, "Didn't you throw this out?"
My hand flew up to my mouth as I gasped. "I swear I threw that into the trash as soon as we got home this morning."
"Then why's it on the porch?"
In her hands was the evil toaster.
It gleamed maliciously.
Chapter 20
Zoey and I sat in the dining room, staring at the toaster.
The evil appliance sat in the middle of the table, trying to look nonchalant with its extra-long cord wrapped casually around itself.
Zoey asked, "Did you actually see the toaster dart across the porch and trip you?"
"Not exactly. But I did see something dark shoot across, plus some flashes of light. And I might have heard the pitter patter of little feet."
She picked up the toaster with a grunt. "How can a toaster go pitter patter? It doesn't have feet." She turned the rectangular appliance over. "Or does it? There seem to be some retractable parts here in the base. Plus the thing weighs a ton. Is it made of iron?"
"In the olden days, before Wal-Mart, appliances were a lot heavier. And they were built to last."
She gingerly poked at the interlocking parts of the toaster's base. "Is this a removable crumb tray, or are these feet?" She got a piece free and pulled it out. Unfolded, the metal and spring part did resemble a foot.
"That's disturbing," I said.
She released her hold and the foot snapped back into place, tucking to be flush with the base. She turned the appliance upright, again grunting at the weight, and poked at a round glassy bulb on the side. "And what's this?"
"An eyeball," I said.
She flinched, pulling her hands back and holding them close to her neck. "Creepy. It does look like an eyeball."
"Zoey, we are the proud owners of the world's only walking Cyclops toaster. I name him... Talkie Toaster."
"But he doesn't talk."
"No, but he reminds me of the toaster on Red Dwarf. Remember, Dave Lister bought him at a second-hand junk shop on planet-leave, along with a cat that he stowed away."
Zoey nodded. "And the toaster is allegedly smarter than the ship's computer, but always tries to steer the conversation toward toast." She smiled and shook her head. "I was raised on way too much PBS."
"What should we do with it? Smash it to three thousand separate pieces with a fourteen-pound hammer?"
Zoey prodded the glass eyeball. "I don't know if we have a hammer, let alone a fourteen-pound hammer."
I nodded at her cell phone. "Want to try calling Aunt Zinnia again?"
She sighed. "It keeps going straight to voicemail. I think she's mad at us for leaving her house the way we did."
"Maybe this is a test," I said. "Didn't she say something about levels?"
"The toaster is a test?" Zoey's hazel eyes brightened. She was good at tests. "Let's put it somewhere safe while I do some research. Auntie Z said there isn't any genuine magic information on the public internet, but you never know."
"Put it somewhere safe," I mused. "How about the freezer? The door sticks anyway, so even if Talkie Toaster sprouted legs, it would have a tough time busting its way out."
"Good idea," she said.
"Promise you'll be careful and not take it out to use," I said. "This toaster may have already taken a life."
She eyed the squat appliance warily. "Did the ghost of Winona Vander Zalm tell you that?"
I bit my lip and debated how much to tell my daughter. I didn't want to worry her unnecessarily, but now that she was sixteen—old enough to drive with a learner's permit—she was old enough for adult-level worries.
I explained to her how I'd met one of our neighbors outside, and he'd told me not only that the neighborhood kids called our home the Red Witch House, but that Winona Vander Zalm had apparently electrocuted herself with the toaster while making Pop Tarts in the tub.
"But that's impossible," she said. "We saw it on that TV show, MythBusters. An appliance dropped in the tub would have blown a circuit before it killed her."
"That's what I said." I smiled proudly at my smart daughter. "But the woman was quite old. Even a small shock might have stopped her heart."
We both looked at the toaster.
"It must have sprouted legs and jumped in with her," I said.
Her eyes widened. "That's the strangest thing I've heard all day."
I raised my eyebrows at her. "Stranger than finding out we Riddles are witches? Stranger than Corvin singing ding-dong the witch is dead? Stranger than this?" With some effort, I managed to levitate the heavy toaster an inch off the table.
"Hmm. You shouldn't taunt that thing," she said.
* * *
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. And if I wasn't within visual range of a browsing 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.
At lunch time, I went for a walk outside with another coworker who was running some errands.
His name was Frank Wonder, and he was an older man with a dramatic flair for dressing, from his bright-colored trousers to his dyed-pink hair.
He also did a hilarious impression of Kathy.
"Whooooo stamped all these books?" Frank demanded in Kathy's voice. "They're crooked!" Frank using his thumbs and forefingers to form the circles of Kathy's glasses frames. "Whooooo doesn't know how to hold a rectangular stamp parallel to a rectangular book?"
We were walking down the sidewalk together, three blocks from the library.
I cuffed Frank on the arm, laughing. "Stop! You're hurting my sides. And Kathy really is nice, despite her obsession with stamps being perfectly parallel."
We reached the corner. Frank used his elbow to press the button for the crosswalk light, and turned to face me, his expression thoughtful.
"Kathy is the best, actually," he said. "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 something. Or is it football? What season does football run?"
"Beats me. Do all of Kathy's sons play professional sports?"
"Yes, unfortunately for her," he said.
The light changed, so we began crossing the street. Frank gallantly held out his elbow for me to hold onto. I took his elbow and looked around as we entered the main downtown shopping area.
My coworker was fifty-five years old, as fit as an acrobat, had hair the color of a pink flamingo, and wore a ward
robe straight out of the circus. And yet nobody inside the library or outside on the streets batted an eyelash at him. Wisteria was pretty chill for such a small town. I wondered how the local residents felt about witches.
"Kathy has 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 their house 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 snorted. "She'd love that."
We reached the other side of the street, where he stepped over the curb while giving me a dramatic look. "Kathy has taken to crafting," he said. "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 it up now," Frank said. "It won't be so funny when all your sofa pillows are covered in scratchy rhinestones and you have to buy new ones."
"Now I'm afraid," I said with mock terror. "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 a letter of recommendation on my behalf."
My fists were clenching. She lied to me, I thought. 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.
Was the letter the reason she'd been avoiding me since Saturday morning? Zoey had called her several times over the weekend, but she hadn't returned the calls, except for the briefest of text messages letting us know she'd get back to us after checking on some things.
When I finally did see my long-lost aunt 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 shortly in front of us. I wasn't trying to levitate anything, but my emotions were having an effect on my environment. Clear a path, my magic seemed to say.
"It must have been a very good letter," Frank said. "There were other applicants more qualified, and I do mean way more qualified, 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. We simply must pop in." 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. "There's no Monday chore in this world that can't wait until Tuesday."
I followed him into the chocolate shop.
As I looked over the assortment in the display case, I couldn't stop fuming over my aunt. If there was a Witch Code that banned us from messing with each other, why had Zinnia manipulated my destiny and then lied to me?
Yes, I would take Frank's suggestion to thank my aunt for her letter by getting her some chocolates. Sharp-cornered, heavy chocolates. And then I would go to her house and throw them at her while I demanded some answers.
Chapter 21
I looked at the array of hand-dipped chocolates, deliberating over which ones would make the best projectiles for lobbing at my lying aunt.
But eventually my mouth began to water. I tasted some free samples, and soon I didn't feel quite as irate.
The chocolate shop had a soothing atmosphere, with heavenly harp music playing on the stereo to match the heavenly sweet aroma.
My coworker Frank hummed along with the music while he looked over the featured specials and new creations.
Other than us, there were two other people inside the store, an employee and another customer. The employee was a woman with short, golden-blonde hair and an hourglass figure. She was helping an attractive, dark-haired man.
He had his back to me, but my ears pricked up when I heard him say, "It's a welcome gift for a new neighbor. And also an apology."
The woman's eyebrows raised. "Chet Moore, you haven't bought chocolates for a woman in ages. You must really like her." She reached for a gold box shaped in a heart. "Shall I fill this up?"
He crossed his arms and shook his head. "Not the heart. Give me that square box. The plain, gray one."
The blonde looked around, seemingly confused. "Do you mean this box?" She held up a gray rectangle. "This holds our supply of staples."
"Yes. That's the box I want."
She made a tsk-tsk sound. "You can't give a girl chocolates in a container for office supplies."
"Fine," he said with a huff. "Give me that other box. But not the heart one."
As I listened, I could scarcely breathe. Chet was buying me chocolates. The news should have filled me with delight. It would have, had he not sounded utterly miserable. He didn't like me the way I liked him. He was only buying me a gift to smooth things over after Corvin's outburst at brunch.
I quietly backed toward the door and subtly signaled to Frank that I was going to wait outside.
Frank said, at full volume, "Zara, don't you want to get some chocolates for your aunt?"
I froze. Chet's head jerked up, and then he turned around in what felt like slow motion.
"Howdy there, neighbor," I said cheerily. "Fancy meeting you here." I looked at the blonde, who was grinning with relish.
"Helloooooo, yourself," the blonde purred. "You're Chet's new neighbor?"
Chet didn't say a word as he glanced from me to Frank and back again.
"Guilty as charged," I said to the blonde. "I've been causing all sorts of trouble on Beacon Street."
Frank interjected, "Beacon Street? Zara, did you buy that lovely Victorian Gothic on the corner? The Red Witch House?"
"Hah!" I chuckled and mimed wiping sweat from my forehead. "Again, guilty as charged," I said. "I guess everyone knows everyone else's business in a small town like this."
The blonde kept staring and grinning. This is what passes for entertainment around here, I thought.
I took a few steps over to where Chet stood and looked at the box in the blonde's hand. "That box is perfect," I said.
When I turned to look at Chet, he wasn't frowning, exactly, but he did look like he wished he could be absolutely anywhere else at that moment.
I gave him a neighborly smile. "Chet, go ahead and get the chocolates anyway. Don't let me ruin everything. You can bring them over tonight, and I'll pretend to be surprised, I swear."
I turned and leaned over the display of fancy chocolates. "I do love a good marzipan," I said. "And mint. Plus anything with nuts is always good. And I don't mind the fondants. Now, some people, my daughter for example, take a bite of fondant and put it back in the box because it's too sweet, but I say there's no such thing as too sweet." I straightened up and turned to face Chet once more.
He still looked like he was plotting an escape route. "No such thing as too sweet," he repeated.
I backed away slowly. I got the sense Chet might startle at sudden movements.
I pointed a thumb at the door. "I'm going to skedaddle now." I l
ooked over at my coworker, who was watching with just as much fascination as the blonde worker. "Frank, I'll see you back at the library. I just remembered I left my coffee in the microwave. It's probably the perfect drinking temperature right now."
I pushed open the door and left for the library, walking quickly.
* * *
I got back to work, drank my tepid coffee, and then threw myself into my job. I tried hard not to think about my handsome neighbor, chocolates, heart-shaped boxes, or any combination thereof.
At the end of my shift, I punched out my time card with a thunderous KERCLUNK.
I was heading toward the door when Frank caught my eye and beckoned me over to his crafting table. He was cutting shapes from construction paper for a display.
"Those mountains are very pointy," I said, admiring his work.
"They're supposed to be trees, but thanks." He gestured for me to lean down closer. I did, and he whispered, "Tell me more about your beau. The one from the chocolate shop."
"My beau? Frank, you're so old-fashioned for a man with pink hair and orange trousers. Do you mean Chet Moore? He's just a neighbor."
"We'll see about that," he said with an eyebrow waggle. He glanced over at the reference desk, where our boss was talking to two teenagers. "How's Kathy doing today?"
"I think she's warming up to me. She invited me to craft night at her house."
He snipped a pointy tree from green paper. "That doesn't necessarily mean anything. The woman's gone craft crazy. She's probably trying to trick those teenagers into coming back to her crafting lair."
I laughed softly. "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. My devious plan worked."
I got the tingling sensation on the back of my neck that someone was approaching. "Your devious plan? Do tell, Frank Wonder."
Frank grinned. He wasn't Southern, but he enjoyed saying people's first and last names just like a Southerner. "Why, Zara Riddle. If you must know, I stalled you long enough for your beau to work up his courage and approach you." Frank flashed his eyes at me. "You're welcome."
3-Book Series Bundle: Wisteria Witches, Wicked Wisteria, Wisteria Wonders - Cozy Witch Mysteries Page 12