Zoey snorted. "I thought you wanted me to paint a mural on that wall."
"My daughter, the genius finger painter." I patted her on the head. "Are you sure magic has its own ideas, or was Zinnia trying to scare you?"
"How should I know?" She jumped up on the bathroom counter and bowed her head. "I might not even be a witch."
I turned on the water for the shower and checked the temperature. "All this talk about magic gives me an idea," I said. "Maybe someone was trying to help Ms. Vander Zalm, and they accidentally hurt her. Do you see how many electrical outlets are in this room?"
Zoey glanced around. There was only one electrical outlet, and it was in a very strange place. It wasn't next to the bathroom vanity, but high on the wall, on the opposite side of the room from the claw-foot tub.
I used my magic to tug the end of the toilet paper roll, and then stretched the roll in a floating line through the air, from the outlet to the top of the bathroom counter.
"Ooh," Zoey said with admiration.
"If the ol' gal was enjoying Pop Tarts in the tub, she might have had the toaster sitting here on the counter, where she could reach it from the tub, and plugged in all the way over there, with the cord stretched across the door."
Zoey rubbed her chin. "That's an accident waiting to happen."
"Exactly." I pointed my finger at the door. "If someone came in the door unexpectedly, they would have snagged the cord and flung the appliance into the water."
I used magic to swing open the door quickly. The toilet paper broke along a perforation and fluttered to the floor, but it was easy to imagine something as strong as an electrical cord staying intact and sending the appliance flying.
Zoey crossed her arms over her chest and shivered.
"Mom, I think you've cracked the case."
"It's just a theory," I said. "Go get the toaster from the freezer and we'll test it out."
Her jaw dropped open. The water for my shower was running and steaming up the bathroom.
"Kidding," I said. "I'm having a shower then going to work. I don't have time to electrocute myself this morning if I want to keep my new job."
Zoey shook her head and left me to my shower.
I jumped in and enjoyed the luxury of the rain head faucet. I was in steamy paradise for all of five minutes before my peacefulness was interrupted by the doorbell ringing.
"Doorbell!" I yelled.
The doorbell kept ringing. Who would be ringing our doorbell early on a Monday morning? The chimes sounded again, this time with an urgent edge to their ding-dong. It was almost urgent enough for me to get out of my steamy shower, but not quite.
"Zoey, you have one job!"
I heard the thumping of my teenager going downstairs to answer the door.
A few minutes later, my peace was interrupted by a voice that sounded a lot like mine.
"Zara, get out of the shower. This is important."
"Hello?" I tapped my temple. "That sounds like my voice," I muttered. "Is that me telling myself to get out of the shower? Self, stop being cruel. I only just got the water set to the perfect temperature."
Someone yanked back the shower curtain. It was Aunt Zinnia, looking less than amused. She had her red hair pulled back in a bun so tight, her face reminded me of a certain terrible real estate agent.
She frowned at me. "Why aren't you answering your phone?"
"Because it's not waterproof."
We stared at each other, standing off. I was learning so much about my aunt. She didn't have a problem with nudity. Since she wasn't leaving, I reluctantly turned off the water and reached for my towel.
"And good morning to you," I said. "Did you run out of coffee at your house?"
"I did a spell." She pressed her lips together and averted her eyes guiltily.
Now she looks away, I thought. Now that I'm wearing a towel.
"That's what witches do," I said. "What kind of spell?"
She continued looking around the bathroom, avoiding eye contact. For a change, she wasn't wearing a skort. Just regular trousers with big pleats. She's the one who needs a closet spell, I thought with an inward giggle.
With my towel turned into a stylish wrap, I stepped out of the iron tub.
Zoey, who'd been standing quietly in the doorway, came into the bathroom and stood right next to Zinnia. "The spell we talked about? But Auntie Z, you said you were going to let me help you cast the spell. No fair!" She stomped one foot in a petulant gesture I hadn't seen her use in years. "You promised I could help," she cried. To me, she said in a tattle-tale tone, "It's a two-witch spell. She told me."
"Someone had better start talking specifics," I said. "Let's try the Prisoner's Dilemma. The first one of you to confess won't get grounded."
By the look on Zinnia's face, my joke didn't even register, much less amuse her. This two-witch spell business was serious.
Zinnia finally met my gaze. The whites of her eyes were red, like she'd been crying.
"I opened something," Zinnia said, her voice barely louder than a whisper.
"The look on your face tells me it wasn't a can of whoop-ass you opened."
Her lower lip trembled. "It was a hole to the other side."
Zoey and I exchanged a look. She silently mouthed the words that's bad as she shook her head. I gave her my figured as much look.
"I'll help you close the hole," I said. "If you need two witches, I'm your witch."
She lifted her chin bravely. "I was only practicing the gestures and incantations for later, but the magic urged me on." Her bloodshot eyes began shining. "I was weak. I did the spell and poked open a hole. There was something dark, like an army of black beetles crawling out of a crack in the ground."
Zoey and I exchanged another look.
Zinnia quickly added, "I closed the hole right away, but I don't know what came through."
I checked the tuck on my towel and then grabbed my aunt by the shoulders. "What size of a hole are we talking about here? How big and how bad? On a scale from one to ten, with ten being the freakin' apocalypse, how much should we be freaking out?"
Zinnia winced. "Four and a half?"
I let go of her shoulders and grabbed my loosening towel-wrap in the nick of time. "Four and a half? That's all?" I waved one hand dismissively. "We can handle that."
"Mom," Zoey said. "Mom!" Her voice was quivering.
She was pointing at something behind me.
I turned around slowly, ready to face something five-and-a-half points short of the freakin' apocalypse.
On the plus side, it wasn't an army of black beetles.
All that had manifested inside the steamy bathroom were drippy streaks on the foggy mirror. As I looked, the streaks became words. Two words. Something or someone had written on the bathroom mirror two words: KILLER DINNER.
Zinnia whimpered, "We're in big trouble."
Chapter 33
"Still hung over from last Friday night?" My pink-haired coworker, Frank Wonder, swooshed his hand in front of my face to get my attention. "Did you carry the party straight through to Sunday?"
"Not exactly," I said distractedly. I couldn't tell Frank about my aunt's visit earlier that morning and her subsequent hissy-fit over a couple of streaky words on my bathroom mirror.
Frank asked, "Then what's on your mind, pretty lady?"
"Just a case of the Mondays, I'm afraid. One more coffee and I'll be myself again, unless I become someone else."
Frank waggled his eyebrows, which were tinted pink to match his hair. "You're not just distracted." He gasped. "You're twitterpated! You've been getting neighborly with that big piece of beefcake who lives next door. A certain Chet Moore. Forgive me the sin of punning, but I dare say you want more of Chet Moore, ha-hah."
"Oh, Frank." I gave him a wry smile. "Please say that pun every day. I'm sure it will never, ever get old."
He shrugged one shoulder. "Frank Wonder is not too good for lowbrow humor."
"Or referring to himself in the t
hird person."
He yawned. "I'm sleepy, too. Flying all night takes a lot out of a person."
I raised my eyebrows. "Is there something you want to tell me?" Perhaps a secret of the shifter variety?
"I suffer from extremely vivid dreams." He wrinkled his nose. "Well, maybe suffer is too strong a word. Truth is, I enjoy my vivid dreams. But they can be tiring when I'm flying around all night."
"Maybe you're a secret superhero. Have you been fighting crimes?"
"Yes," he answered solemnly. "I visit the home of every person with overdue library books and shame them into returning the books."
"Like a less materialistic Santa Claus."
"That's me." He giggled and reached into the staff kitchen cupboard. "Now, where is that white chocolate syrup?"
We were both in the staff lounge, taking our mid-morning break together while the assistants manned the counters. Kathy wouldn't be in until the afternoon, and the WPL had been quiet that morning. Earlier, we'd witnessed one of the young pages slumped over the book cart, sleeping on her feet, like a cow. Frank and I got carried away inventing a new game called Page Tipping. It was really funny. I swear. Even the page agreed once we helped her up.
Now Frank and I were experimenting with the perfect blend of chocolate and coffee to make a superior mocha. Frank felt white chocolate syrup was the key. I had strong feelings about my own blend, which used a smoky Earl Grey tea in place of coffee.
He handed me a new sample to taste, served in a tiny mug that I suspected was actually a Christmas tree ornament.
"This one's a winner," I said. White chocolate syrup plus microwaved coffee. Who knew?
"Speaking of winners, have you kissed him yet?" Frank asked.
I had fainted and woken up on his lap, but I couldn't tell fellow librarian that. He'd probably insist on taking me to the hospital to get my head checked. Non-supernatural people did stuff like that.
"We haven't kissed," I swore. "But I helped him look over some paperwork, and on Sunday he did that thing, where the guy removes a stray eyelash from your cheek and tells you to blow on it."
Frank burst out laughing. "How romantic."
I gave Frank some squint-eyed, triple-strength side eye. "These things take time, you ding-dong."
He sighed contentedly. "I do love gossip on a Monday morning. It makes working for a living almost bearable."
I took another sip of the mocha. The white chocolate made it taste like liquid marshmallow.
"Frank, you seem like the type of person people confide their secrets in."
He rose up on his toes excitedly. "Yes, I am. And?"
"Nothing happened with Chet, I swear. You'll be the first to know. I'm actually wondering if you ever heard anything about Winona Vander Zalm. Specifically about any enemies she made."
Frank rubbed his chin and looked up for a moment. "She could be catty," he said. "One time, we were at the big Save the Voles and Holes Event, and—"
I interrupted, "Sorry, did you say Save the Voles and Holes? Remind me, what are voles?"
"Voles are small rodents, related to mice. They're cute."
"People need to save them?"
"Well, the voles were the only living things interested in the Wisteria Golf Course for a few years. The new owners eventually found a way to humanely relocate them. Relax, Zara, it all worked out for the best. Totally humane." He waved one hand in a circle. "Anyway, Winona was in a real witchy mood that night because two other people showed up wearing the same outfit as hers, with one of those people being yours truly." He patted his chest.
"That sucks when someone shows up in the same outfit," I said. "You wore a dress?"
He made a bird-like squawk. "It was a two-piece pantsuit. Unisex."
"Okay." I held my hands up in a truce-like gesture.
"The other pantsuit lady was a good sport about it. She even posed for a picture with me, in front of the voles. Winona was too snobby, though. She kept shooting dagger eyes at me and the other gal." He held his hand to mouth and stage-whispered, "I wore it best, by the way, in case you were wondering."
"Of course you did," I said. "Do you have a copy of that picture? I'd love to see it."
"I'll check when I get home," he said.
"How about long-standing feuds? Did she have any major rivals on the socialite scene?"
Frank narrowed his eyes and looked me up and down. "What's got you so curious?"
I shrugged. "I'm living in her old house now. Humor me, will you? I promise to get a real hobby soon." I glanced over at Kathy's coffee mug, which had been bejeweled during one of her at-work crafting sessions. "Maybe something crafty."
"Long-standing feuds," Frank mused. He glanced up at a poster we had, depicting famous literary feuds. "Hmm," he said. "Let me check the ol' database."
He tilted his head and looked up as he scratched his chin. I'd seen him do this gesture while helping patrons at the library's reference desk. He claimed to have a database of book titles in his brain. After a minute, he'd frown and say, "Let me just double check something." Then he'd do a keyword search on the computer and say something like, "Just as I suspected. We have two books on that subject." People seemed to enjoy his playfulness.
"Hmm," Frank said as he walked me over to the computer we kept in the staff lounge. He tapped away on the keyboard. "Yes, there it is," he said.
"You're amazing," I cooed.
"That poster about literary feuds reminded me. Winona wrote a book with someone, once upon a time." He turned the screen to face me. A search on Winona's name had brought up a book about Halloween-themed party foods for children. The book was listed in our database as being co-written by two authors, W. Vander Zalm and Z. Riddle.
"Very funny," I said. "You set this up and put my name in here as a prank, didn't you?"
He pointed to the call number, made a tsk sound, and took off at a speed-walk pace. He returned forty seconds later with a colorful book in hand, breathing heavily.
"It's her," he said. "And the co-writer is none other than your aunt." He made a self-satisfied sound. "Speaking of which, she was absolutely delightful at your party on Friday. I can see that good looks and great taste in clothing run in the family."
"You monster," I chuckled.
"Do they still sell trousers with pleats, or do you suppose she has them custom made?"
"Shush."
I opened the book and flipped to the author photos on the inner flaps. The pictures were at least twenty years old, but there was Zinnia staring back at me, looking like my twin. The picture of Winona Vander Zalm was one I'd seen before, accompanying articles about her fundraising work.
"Zinnia never told me about this," I said. "In all our discussions, you'd think their old partnership would have come up."
Frank tapped at the keyboard some more and then nodded.
"Your aunt might have been embarrassed," Frank said. "This was supposed to be book one of a whole series. The publisher named a bunch of upcoming titles, but none of them were ever published. Sales of the first print run must have been disappointing." He looked over at the cookbook and patted the closed cover. "This copy has only been borrowed a dozen times in the last twenty years. It should have been deaccessioned by now."
I looked over the checkout dates on the screen. "It only misses the biennial purges because someone checks it out during the culling period."
"Someone," he said, tapping the keys again. "Someone named Winona Vander Zalm. Now that she's gone, it'll be the end for her book. It will be tossed out, along with Be Bold with Bananas and a few other gems."
I grabbed the book and clutched it to my chest. "No!"
Frank chuckled. "Zara, you can't save them all. Culling day will come, as sure as rain will fall as soon as you've washed your car, and as sure as that page is sleeping on her feet again." He tiptoed toward the open door. "Come on. You push her and I'll catch her."
I held up my hand. "Five more minutes. Let me have a gander at this book, and I'll be right out."
"Gander away." He paused in the doorway. "Hey, speaking of geese, here's a fun fact. Did you know, they're only a gaggle when they're on the ground? When they're flying, a group of geese is in a V formation is a skein, and when they're in a close-knit group, they're a plump." He bounced his pink eyebrows.
I actually did know that, but I pretended I didn't and made a surprised face for Frank's benefit.
He disappeared, leaving me with the cookbook.
It was, sadly, not a book of spells. It wasn't magical at all. The recipes were the sort you'd find in magazines at the checkout line.
- Fill a latex glove with red juice to make a bloody hand to float in the punch bowl.
- Stick toothpicks into coconut balls to make spooky spiders.
- Got zombies? Make a gelatin-based salad with elbow macaroni in a bowl, then flip it upside down. Ziggity! You've got a jiggly brain.
Okay, that last one was pretty cool.
I continued flipping through the book, stopping when I encountered a page titled KILLER DINNER.
I froze, my breath caught in my throat. Those were the words I'd seen on my bathroom mirror.
The two words that had put Zinnia into such a tizzy.
Chapter 34
Before I'd left the house for work that morning, Zoey and I calmed down Zinnia and coaxed out a few details about her spell.
My zany, skort-wearing aunt had been attempting to open a portal to communicate with Winona Vander Zalm. It was supposed to give us real-time communication, not just the old recorded greetings I'd been channeling so far.
It did seem to have worked.
Zoey swore on her favorite jeans that she hadn't written the message on the mirror, so it had to be a message from the spirit. But what did it mean?
It couldn't possibly be a coincidence that I was currently staring a recipe labeled KILLER DINNER, in a book co-authored by the spirit and my aunt.
Was this page in front of me a big, honking clue or what? And if it was a clue, how could Winona have known I would find her book today of all days? My brain churned through possibilities and probabilities. Was that smoke in my nostrils? Yes, my brain was definitely smoking, and I was thinking way too hard for a Monday morning.
3-Book Series Bundle: Wisteria Witches, Wicked Wisteria, Wisteria Wonders - Cozy Witch Mysteries Page 20