"I'm glad you asked! It was my gut, actually. Did you know that people really do feel and think with their guts? The microbial balance in our digestive system affects many of our thoughts and behavior."
"Your gut told you?"
"Yes," I said, leaving out the part where a ghostly finger wrote the words KILLER DINNER on my foggy bathroom mirror. I also couldn't tell him how the ghost had angrily knocked Dorothy's housewarming gifts off the fireplace mantle.
So, I told him a half-truth. "Detective Bentley, my amazingly intuitive gut told me. My gut said her killer had been at my recent dinner party, so that narrowed down my list of suspects."
"Fascinating," Bentley said flatly. "And did your gut base that on the fact someone at that dinner party removed the modified toaster from your premises?"
"In a fashion," I said. "At first, I suspected my co-worker, Frank Wonder, because he'd been overly interested in the bathtub on the night of my dinner party. Plus he and Winona had history with a who-wore-it-best thing over a certain sequined pantsuit."
Bentley waved impatiently for me to continue.
"Then I suspected my aunt, who's a real gem of a woman once you get to know her." I winked. "She co-wrote a cookbook with the deceased, years ago. When I spoke to her about it, though, she had only fond memories of their time co-creating recipes. Like I said, Zinnia is a real catch."
He waved his hand again.
"But it was my boss, Kathy Carmichael, who tipped me off. She told me about the rumors. Have you heard the one where my silly old house is a fountain of youth?" I laughed. "Can you believe such a thing?"
"I'm a man of science," he said.
"Me, too. A woman of science who believes in the collected wisdom of carefully researched and annotated knowledge. I am a librarian."
"Yes. We've covered that, Ms. Riddle. Several times."
"But Dorothy Tibbits is not a woman of science. She's superstitious, and she believed the house would prolong her life. She killed the homeowner to get the property on the market, but she couldn't raise the funds right away, because the market's been so flat lately. She planned to let the listing get stale and then put in a low-ball offer once she'd gotten her money freed up from the sale of her own house."
"That appears to be corroborated by the evidence," he said.
"Indeed." I rested my elbows on the cheap plastic surface of the folding table and tented my fingers, supervillain-style. "But what Dorothy didn't account for was the resourcefulness of a broke single mother looking to start fresh in a wonderful new town. I saw through the dust and clutter, spotting a diamond in the rough." I nodded like a bobblehead. "A woman in search of her dream home is a powerful thing."
"So I've heard," he said. "Whose idea was it to put on the theatrical display?"
"Chet came up with some of it."
"He asked to marry you?" Bentley raised one eyebrow in a way that made me think he was teasing me.
"Detective Bentley, I had to break his heart and only get fake-married."
Bentley made a tsk sound. "His loss."
I stared into his gray eyes, which glowed silver now. Was he flirting with me? And had I noticed before how cute he was? If he was in his forties, it was only his early forties. Zinnia was in for a treat if I ever did get the two of them together for a date.
Detective Bentley sat up straight and closed the laptop he'd been using to take notes.
"That will be enough for today," he said.
I gave him my warmest smile. "Come see me at the library if you ever need my help again."
"Oh, I doubt that," he said. "But perhaps I'll see you around."
"I could buy you a donut."
He frowned.
"Two donuts," I said with a smile as I got up to leave.
He reached out to shake my hand. When we touched palms, I got a flash of something, like a memory of an event that hadn't happened yet. And then, as quickly as it had come, it was gone.
"Stay out of trouble," he said.
I tossed my hair back over my shoulder. "I never make promises I have no intention of keeping."
Chapter 38
After I left the police station, I walked to my aunt's house, where I found Zinnia and my daughter in the flower-festooned sitting room with the curtains drawn. Zinnia was playing teacher, showing Zoey how to hold her hands and whisper the spell to make a puff of purple smoke. It wasn't going well.
I took a seat on the tasseled sofa next to a frustrated Zoey, who whined, "There's no point! I'll never be able to do magic."
"Patience," Zinnia said. "You must have faith, and you must have patience."
"Hang in there," I said, wrapping my arm around Zoey's shoulders and squeezing her to my side.
Zinnia's purple smoke reached my nostrils and made my mouth water. It smelled exactly like caramel corn, except twice as delicious.
"Zara, how are you doing?" Zinnia asked.
"Great, except I miss my ghost pal. Winona's completely gone now, which is bad news for my culinary future."
Zoey interjected, "We had peanut butter sandwiches for dinner last night, and she forgot the peanut butter."
"But we did have a scary red hand floating in the punch bowl."
"Mom, pouring a bottle of wine into a bowl doesn't make it punch."
I snorted. "Smarty-pants teenagers and their fixation on details like ingredients."
Zinnia said solemnly, "Because of your gift with wandering spirits, you may attract another one soon."
"I hope it's a chef," Zoey said. "Or maybe a mime. Those are the clowns who don't talk at all, right?"
"Ouch," I said, pulling my arm away from her shoulders. "Someone's in need of a snack, or a nap, or something."
"Sorry," Zoey said. "Excuse me for a minute while I go splash some water on my face." She got to her feet and left for the washroom.
Once Zinnia and I were alone, she said softly, "You and I must also keep the faith."
I whispered, "Is it possible Zoey's not a witch after all? You said it skips generations sometimes, and as far as we know, my mother didn't have it."
Zinnia didn't speak, but her expression told me what I needed to know. Nothing was certain. The future held only blank pages.
I unwound my silk scarf and folded it across my lap. Zoey was still in the washroom with the door closed.
I nodded at the small crystals that served as the sparking point for the smoke plumes. "Do you mind if I try?"
She scoffed, "Knock yourself out. Though I shouldn't say that, because you haven't been doing your assigned readings or drills. You'll probably cast the spell wrong and actually knock yourself out. Back when I was a novice witch, I also thought I was too good for drills and—"
She stopped talking. I couldn't see her face through the thick, sweet, purple fog hanging in the air, but I imagined her jaw had dropped open.
The truth was, I had been doing my drills. I'd been practicing, and I was determined to do everything that was prescribed for a novice witch. I should have told my aunt as much, but it was so fun to see her splutter in frustration over what a "natural" I was with magic.
When the purple fog finally dissipated, Zoey was standing behind her aunt's chair with an irritated look on her face.
"Show-off," Zoey said.
I gave her one of my motherly looks. "Zoey, when you bring home straight A's on your report card do I call you a show-off, or do I take you out for ice cream sundaes?"
Her face contorted as she worked through the logic.
"You've always been very supportive," she said with a sigh. "I've compared notes with other people my age, and I can say, without irony, that you're basically the best mother in the entire universe."
"It helps that I have the best daughter," I said. "I really lucked out with you, kid."
Aunt Zinnia cleared her throat.
"And we also have a wonderful aunt," I said.
"We do," Zoey agreed, smiling. "Should we take her out for ice cream sundaes?"
"Right after w
e ambush her with a group hug. Quick, Zoey! She's trying to get away! Grab her arms!"
Giggling, we descended upon Aunt Zinnia and squeezed her until she was begging for mercy.
We packed away the spell books and casting supplies, opened the curtains to let the sunshine into the room, and left the house in search of ice cream sundaes.
"I know the perfect place," my aunt said.
Outside, the three of us linked arms as we walked along the sidewalk, laughing and comparing notes on our favorite sundae toppings.
"Don't let me eat more than one," I told the other Riddles. "I've got a date tonight with Chet, and I need to impress him with how much food I can put away in one sitting."
Zoey groaned. "And you wonder why you don't have a boyfriend."
Zinnia covered her mouth with her free hand and giggled. "He's such an interesting man," she said. "And I think he enjoyed pretending that you two had spontaneously gotten married."
"That was his idea," I said. "He didn't think Dorothy would fall for our act if we didn't make the lie enormous. He says you need to go big or go home. Do you think he's a former con man? He sure knows a lot about tricking people."
"I'm sure there's more to Chet than meets the eye," Zinnia said. "In addition to the fur and the claws."
"Mr. Moore is nice," Zoey said. "And if he's good to my mother, that's all that matters."
We reached the end of the street and turned left at Zinnia's guidance. I could almost taste the ice cream. I was in the mood for caramel syrup, too.
We passed other people out for strolls with their kids and dogs.
Once we were out of hearing distance of regular people, Zinnia asked, "Did Chet ever find out more about the scary bird that attacked you?"
"Not yet," I said. "And since Dorothy Tibbits didn't turn into anything furry or feathery to get away from the cops, we can assume it wasn't her." I looked down at my feet on the sidewalk for a minute. It always fascinated me to focus on my shoes and let the sidewalk be a gray blur, then focus on a spot of concrete and let my shoes be the blurs.
"It might have simply been a large bird," Zoey said. "I researched Pacific Spirit Park, and it's a nesting zone for some large eagles."
"Good point," Zinnia said. "We must only look to magic for answers when there are no other alternatives."
"Sure," I said lightly. "You know how I exaggerate sometimes. I have a wild imagination. It might have been a mamma bird protecting her nest."
"We're not far from the ice cream place," Zinnia said, and she started listing off the flavors they usually served.
A dapper-looking gentleman walking a trio of West Highland White Terriers stopped in his tracks to give us an appreciative look, and could you blame him? Three generations of redheaded witches out on the prowl will draw that kind of attention.
There was a rumbling sound as a large black vehicle, followed by another one, drove past.
My aunt, who'd been leading the way to the ice cream shop, slowed down until she was standing still at the sidewalk, looking dazed. I followed her gaze to the vehicle that was passing by slowly. A long, black hearse.
Zoey asked, "Did you forget the way?"
Zinnia blinked rapidly and licked her lips. "The way to where?" She shook her head. "Wait. I remember. Ice cream."
Zoey shot me a concerned look before asking, "Auntie Z, are you okay?"
Zinnia turned to me. "Zara, dear, I've been meaning to talk to you about this in private, but I suppose now is as good a time as any. Do you have a Last Will and Testament?"
"Everyone should have a will," I answered.
"So, I'll take it by your sassy answer that you don't have one." She gave me the same look she used when she saw the inside of our microwave, with the food exploded all over. "Who's going to be Zoey's legal guardian if something were to happen to you?" She glanced over at the hearse, which was still visible at the end of the block.
"Nothing's going to happen to me," I replied with a shrug. "I'm in perfect health, except for the fact that my baby toes don't bend at all, but the last doctor I saw assured me it was somewhat normal."
Zoey interjected, "Your baby toes don't bend?"
Zinnia chuckled softly. "Mine don't bend either." She waved her hand. "Forget I brought it up."
The hearse was now gone from our sight, but not from my mind. I grabbed her arm. "Why did you ask about a will? Do you know something?"
"As a matter of fact, yes, I do," she said with a sigh. "Last night, I had a prophetic dream that I'm going to kill you."
I held up my hands. "Please don't. I promise I'll stop making such a terrible mess inside the microwave."
She looked skyward and made a tsk-tsk sound. "Never mind," she said. "Let's talk about something else."
"No. Let's talk about my death, and how frequently it is that you dream about killing me. Are you happy in these dreams?"
Zoey punched me in the arm. "Mom!"
Zinnia glanced around. We were on the sidewalk in front of a very plain house with a gravel driveway in the front yard. The house looked sad, as though it knew the other houses on the block were more adorable and cared for. It seemed to cast a longer shadow than the other homes along the street, and the dark windows in its attic seemed darker than they should be, given it was a sunny day.
Other than the sad, plain house that seemed to be watching us with its dark attic window eyes, there were no other people around to overhear us.
Zinnia twisted her hands together and gave me an apologetic look. "I shouldn't have brought it up. There's no need to worry. My dreams are rarely literal. More often than not, they're metaphorical. Do you know what that means?"
"I know what a metaphor is," I said.
"Oh!" Zoey exclaimed. "You mean like how the death card in a Tarot reading doesn't mean death. It can simply mean the end of a way of being or doing."
Zinnia reached up and gave Zoey a pat on the head. "Very good, dear," she said in a soothing tone. "My dream could mean that I will cause your mother to quit doing something."
Zoey grinned. "Mom's going to stop nuking food without a cover inside the microwave?"
Zinnia laughed, but it didn't sound lighthearted enough to put me at ease.
"Sure," she said, though she didn't sound convinced. "Death to all bad habits." She used her chin to gesture in the direction we'd been heading before the hearse had driven by and our procession had ground to a halt. "Right after we feast on ice cream."
I rubbed my stomach. "I'm not sure if I'm in an ice cream mood. Having my aunt talk about murdering me isn't so great for the appetite."
"Who said anything about murder?" Zinnia's hazel eyes were wide. "It would have to be an accident." Her cheeks reddened. "I imagine."
I moved away from her on the sidewalk and put my arm around my daughter protectively. "Aunt Zinnia, are you trying to be funny? Your jokes could use some work."
She looked down at the gravel driveway next to us and then at the sad, plain house. "I'm sorry that I'm not as funny as you two." She shook her head and rubbed her face with both hands. "Please forget I mentioned anything, and I promise to be very careful to not kill you."
"Or anyone else," I said.
She looked at me, smiling. "I promise," she said. "Now, let's get that ice cream."
I took one last look at the dark-windowed house next to us, and then led the way toward the ice cream shop.
Zinnia asked Zoey about school, and my daughter began chatting happily about how modern and spacious her new high school was, compared to her old one.
We arrived at the ice cream shop. The place was busy, but there was still plenty of space for the three Riddle women at their cute bistro tables. We would have a lovely afternoon together. And then that night, I'd go on my first official date with Chet Moore. My new life in Wisteria was falling into a nice, safe, happy rhythm.
Or so I thought.
What I couldn't have known was that inside the ice cream shop, I would have my first encounter with someone who was goi
ng to turn my life upside down.
And, due to a chain of highly improbable events, my aunt's prophetic dream would come true.
In five days, Aunt Zinnia would kill me.
Wicked Wisteria
(WISTERIA WITCHES BOOK 2)
Angela Pepper
WWW.ANGELAPEPPER.COM
Chapter 1
Three generations of redheaded witches walked into an ice cream parlor.
That's not the opening to a joke. It's how my latest installment of shenanigans got started. I swear on a stack of the Wisteria Public Library's various holy books that everything I'm about to tell you is entirely true.
The minute I walked into the ice cream shop with my daughter and my aunt, my witch senses started tingling. At first I thought it was just excitement about ice cream flavor choices, but that was because I'd been a witch for barely a full month and was still getting the hang of things. We ordered our treats and took a seat by the window. While we ate our sundaes, my stomach flip-flopped, sending me concerned messages, and for good reason. Something strange was happening, indeed.
None of us were talking.
Ordinarily, if there are two Riddle women present, you have to fight to get a word in edgewise. And three Riddle women is a symphony of snark peppered with intergenerational arguments about fashion and culture, and pressing topics such as the calorie content of cherry-flavored lip gloss. But this afternoon, it was as though someone had erased our thoughts and left us speechless. We were so quiet, I could hear the woman seated behind me sighing as she flipped through the pages of a hardcover book. Yes, even without seeing her, I knew it was a hardcover. My witchy ears could also tell the book contained five hundred and twelve pages, printed on acid-free, eighty-five-pound paper stock.
The woman's sighing only grew louder once I noticed it. She sounded like someone who'd never been so disappointed in her life, until she flipped another page and became even more disappointed, sighing even louder.
3-Book Series Bundle: Wisteria Witches, Wicked Wisteria, Wisteria Wonders - Cozy Witch Mysteries Page 23