by DS Butler
A WITCHY CHRISTMAS
HARPER GRANT MYSTERY SERIES BOOK THREE
D S BUTLER
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
A note from D. S. Butler
Also by D S Butler
Acknowledgments
Copyright © 2016 D. S. Butler
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author.
http://www.dsbutlerbooks.com
For Dad x
CHAPTER 1
“That man is the least convincing Santa Claus I have ever seen.”
Loretta put her hands on her hips and peered into the makeshift grotto I’d put up in one corner of Archie’s Diner.
She had a point.
Bernie Crouch had volunteered to fill the role of Santa Claus. Although we couldn’t see him as he was covered by the green felt exterior of the grotto, I could hear him singing a rather inappropriate ditty.
I gave a slight nod rather than replying directly to Loretta because the diner was packed. It was full of mothers and children eager to see Santa Claus, and some of the older locals had turned up to gawp at my dismal design skills.
Still, the children seemed happy with it, and I supposed that was the main thing.
I probably should mention why I don’t talk to Loretta in public. She is the diner’s resident ghost.
My name is Harper Grant, and I’m one in a long line of Grant family witches. I can see Loretta because I am what’s known as a ghost seer or communicator. It is one of my witchy abilities. When I say one of... Well, to be honest, it is really my only witchy ability.
I’m pretty much a failure at everything else. Although my grandmother hasn’t given up on me yet and is always on my case, nagging me to learn my spells.
Loretta pulled a peculiar face as little Tommy Breton rushed past me and darted right through her. It was one of her pet peeves. I’d walked through Loretta on more than one occasion, and after each episode, I had to apologize profusely before she would talk to me again.
I think Tommy had had too much sugar. He was a little exuberant at the best of times, and today he was running around, hollering at the top of his lungs.
We hadn’t expected our Santa’s grotto to be quite such a success, and feeling overwhelmed by the crowd, and Tommy Breton in particular, Archie had retreated to the kitchen.
Archie is my boss, and he is a lovely man, but he’s not very good at handling unruly children.
I heard a rather loud hiccup from inside the grotto and frowned. I had my suspicions that Bernie Crouch, our resident Santa Claus, had been drinking.
Before I could decide whether or not to have a word with him, Dr. Madeline Clarkson walked up to me and smiled.
She nodded at Tommy Breton. “It looks like somebody could do with a little counseling,” she whispered.
I agreed that Tommy certainly needed some help, but I thought the answer was probably a little more straightforward than counseling.
Across the other side of the diner, at a table by the window, Tommy Breton’s mother was sitting using her cell phone and completely ignoring her son. I thought that probably had something to do with Tommy’s behavior.
Madeline crouched down, caught Tommy by the arm and tried to persuade him to calm down a little bit.
She didn’t look like she was getting very far so I thought I’d help.
“If you’re not a good boy, Tommy, Santa won’t bring you any presents,” I warned.
Tommy shot me a scornful look. “My mom gets my presents. There’s no such thing as Santa Claus.”
He spoke in such a loud voice, I was sure everyone in the diner had heard him. I shot a worried glance around and saw a dozen pairs of eyes glaring at me.
One little girl waiting in line to see Santa Claus burst into tears.
I grabbed Tommy by the hand. “Come over here with me, Tommy. I am sure Archie has some nice coloring books that will keep you amused.”
Once I got Tommy settled with the coloring books, which would probably keep him occupied for all of five minutes, I set about trying to clear some of the tables.
It wasn’t easy because all the tables were full and people were standing up and chatting as well. Muttering apologies, I squeezed between them.
Thank goodness we weren’t serving our usual menu this afternoon. We were only offering tea and coffee along with a selection of muffins and cookies, and Sarah had made some gingerbread men for the children to decorate.
The smell of the gingerbread filled the whole diner, and despite the state of the tables and the considerable amount of work I would have to do to tidy up, I felt a warm glow of happiness.
I loved Christmas.
I’d persuaded Archie to put some colored lights up in the window to add to the festive atmosphere, and although Archie didn’t share my excitement over Christmas, he’d agreed.
My sister, Jess, had helped me create the grotto, and we’d roped in Chief Wickham to construct a wooden frame. Then we covered it with green felt and used large rolls of white foam to imitate snow.
Archie had managed to source a Santa Claus outfit, but when our first choice for Santa Claus, Jonas Klondike, had broken his foot, trying to chase a seagull that had deposited something quite unwelcome on his head, we thought we might have to cancel the whole event. It was Christmas Eve, after all.
Jess and I thought Archie should be prepared to dress up and take on the role, but he was surprisingly reluctant. Fortunately, word spread around the town that we were in need of a stand-in, and Bernie Crouch had volunteered his services.
I was starting to think that may have been a bad idea.
The line of children seemed to be getting longer, but no children were coming out of the grotto with presents.
Loretta hovered beside my shoulder. “You’re going to have to go in there and find out what’s going on,” she said. “We’ll be here all night at this rate.”
I put down the cleaning solution and cloth I’d been using to clean table ten, and told Madeline, who was trying to persuade Tommy Breton to color inside the lines, “I am just going to check on Bernie.”
Madeline looked up with a frown. “He is taking rather a long time, isn’t he?”
I marched up to the front of the line and ducked my head inside the grotto. Bernie was sprawled on a chair absolutely fast asleep, snoring.
“Bernie! There’s a line of children out here waiting to see Santa Claus.”
Bernie jolted in his chair, and his eyes flew open. “Sorry, Harper. It’s been a very long day. I must’ve just closed my eyes for a few seconds.”
&nb
sp; “Well, there’s going to be lots of disappointed children if we don’t hurry things along.”
“Right. Send the next one in.”
I lifted the piece of felt that flapped down over the entrance to allow the first child in line to enter and then walked back to the table where Madeline was sitting with Tommy Breton.
“I can’t believe it. He was actually asleep.”
Madeline raised an eyebrow. “Oh dear, that’s not good news. He has been doing so well.”
Although I should’ve been working, I couldn’t help slipping down into the chair opposite Madeline and asking, “What do you mean?”
“Well, you know I don’t talk about clients, but it is common knowledge that Bernie used to have a drinking problem. I have been helping him, and he’s been doing ever so well, but it sounds like he may have had a relapse.”
I nodded. That wasn’t good news.
Poor Bernie. I hoped he could see this through otherwise there would be a lot of very unhappy children.
Madeline Clarkson had arrived in Abbott Cove just after Jess and I moved to the town to be closer to Grandma Grant. She was what Grandma Grant referred to as a head doctor. She was a clinical psychologist and offered counseling for a variety of problems. The locals had been a little reluctant to embrace her at first, but she’d been patient and kind with them and eventually she’d been accepted into the community.
Sarah came out of the kitchen holding a tray of gingerbread men ready for the children to decorate. Some of the designs they had come up with so far were interesting, to say the least.
I thought Tommy might like to decorate a gingerbread man, but I hoped he didn’t eat any more sugar. He was excitable enough already.
I took Tommy over to the decorating area, which was two tables pushed together, covered with a Christmas-themed tablecloth. A variety of colored icings, silver sugar baubles, and chocolate sprinkles were set out on the tables.
“I think Santa Claus could be a little tipsy,” I whispered to Sarah.
Sarah was a short, stout, practical woman with beautiful red hair that she had to keep tied back in a bun for work. She didn’t seem surprised by the fact our Santa Claus was slowly drinking himself into a stupor.
She patted my arm. “I’ll take him a cup of coffee. Hopefully, that will keep him awake.”
Sarah left me to entertain the children as she went to get Bernie a strong cup of black coffee.
I had leaned down and was trying to tell Tommy to leave some of the chocolate sprinkles for the other children when I heard a high-pitched shriek.
Startled, I looked up, as did everyone else in the diner, to see Sarah hightailing it out of Santa’s grotto. Her cheeks were bright pink.
She stormed up to me. “The nerve of that man! He pinched my bottom!”
Leaving me gaping after her, Sarah stalked off to the kitchen. I shot a worried look at Santa’s Grotto as another child disappeared inside.
Next to the grotto’s entrance, Loretta hovered with her arms folded across her chest. She shook her head at me.
“I think you need to take a look, Harper,” she said and then pursed her lips in a disapproving fashion.
Hoping that Tommy Breton couldn’t make too much mess while I was gone, I walked across to the grotto and peered inside. Although he tried to hide it by shoving the silver hip flask behind his back, it was clear to see that Bernie Crouch was still drinking.
That was the final straw.
I dropped the green felt covering the entrance and turned around to face the line of children.
“Santa Claus will be taking a short break,” I announced to groans from children and their parents.
Apologizing, I rushed off to the kitchen. I needed Archie to have a word with Bernie, man-to-man.
When I entered the kitchen, Archie was already shaking his head as Sarah filled him in.
“We can’t have a man like that acting as Santa Claus, Archie,” Sarah said. “Those children are going to be scarred for life.”
“Well, I think you might be exaggerating, and besides, we will have a riot on our hands if we turn people away.”
Archie had a point. It was Christmas Eve and parents were feeling frazzled. Everyone was trying to prepare the perfect Christmas, and none of the parents wanted to tell their little angels they wouldn’t be seeing Santa Claus, after all.
“Maybe you should do it, Archie,” Sarah said. “You’d make a great Santa.”
I have to admit it was a good idea. I’d wanted Archie to play Santa Claus all along, but for some reason, he wasn’t keen, and we’d all agreed on Jonas Klondike because he had a huge, bushy, white beard which was perfect for the role.
Archie shook his head. “Oh, no, I don’t think so. I’ve never been very good at acting.”
“It’s hardly acting, Archie,” I said. “You just have to put on a red suit and a fake beard and say, ‘ho ho ho,’ a lot and then hand each child a present.”
“I’m not good with children,” Archie whined. “I will tell you what, I’ll compromise. I’ll go and have a word with Bernie and tell him to get his act together.”
Archie began to untie his apron. I supposed it was because he wanted to present a strong image, and wearing an apron with flowers and love hearts printed on it wasn’t quite the look he was going for if he wanted to take a firm hand with Bernie Crouch.
“And make sure you tell him to keep his hands to himself,” Sarah said, wagging a finger in Archie’s direction.
“Yes, I will,” Archie muttered as he walked out of the kitchen.
I followed him, but before Archie could talk to Bernie Crouch, he was collared by Tommy Breton, who demanded to know what Archie thought of his gingerbread man.
As Archie made appreciative noises and praised Tommy’s artistic streak, the door to the diner opened, and my sister, Jess, walked in. Her cheeks were flushed pink from the cold.
“How is it going?” Jess asked.
She’d already finished up at work a couple of days ago and had been enjoying her time off. Jess worked at the local library, and they closed over the Christmas holiday period.
“Not great,” I said.
Before I could fill her in on how our Santa Claus was acting out and getting drunk, Jess said, “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Harper. Okay, so it’s not the most attractive grotto in the world, but the children seem to like it. I’ve never seen the diner so busy. I think you must have every child in Abbot Cove crammed in here.”
I scowled. “And what exactly is wrong with my grotto? You helped put it together!”
“Nothing, it’s fine. Don’t be so touchy. I came in to ask you if you’ve seen Grandma Grant?”
I shook my head. “No, not since this morning. Isn’t she at home?”
Jess sighed and shook her head. “No, she went out at lunchtime, saying she had forgotten to get some ingredients for Christmas lunch. She’s really starting to worry about this meal. I actually think she might be nervous.”
“Nervous? That doesn’t sound at all like Grandma Grant.”
“I know. That’s why I am worried. I think she’s anxious about the impending family visit.”
I frowned. I hadn’t ever seen Grandma Grant nervous about anything. But I suppose it had been a little while since we’d seen my parents and my sister, Lily. They were coming to Abbot Cove this year to spend Christmas with us.
When Jess and I were children, we used to spend every summer here, but since then, Grandma Grant had slowly drifted apart from our father, her son. When Jess and I were growing up, our parents had forbidden Grandma Grant from mentioning the M word. We’d had no idea we were descended from the Grant witches of Abbott Cove.
Our father didn’t approve of magic, which had made life rather awkward when Jess and I had discovered our magical abilities after we turned sixteen.
I thought perhaps magic had completely skipped a generation, but Grandma Grant told me she suspected my father had suppressed his magical abilities, and that was why he was
so anti-magic. Both my mother and father still refused to talk about magic, and that was the reason why Jess and I had moved away from New York City and settled down in Abbot Cove with Grandma Grant.
It’s hard to pretend to be something you’re not.
They were supposed to be arriving tomorrow before lunch.
“I am sure she’ll be fine,” I said.
Grandma Grant was the most formidable person I knew. She didn’t suffer fools gladly, and she really didn’t care what people thought of her. In fact, she positively encouraged the residents of Abbott Cove to think she was a witch. That didn’t exactly sit well with Jess and me because we preferred to blend in and not draw attention to ourselves.
I was about to ask Jess whether she thought Lily might be developing her magical abilities soon. Our younger sister would soon be turning sixteen. I wanted to be able to support her through the transition. Although it was possible that she took after our mother rather than our father and hadn’t inherited any witchy genes.
But before I could ask, there was an audible gasp from the people in the diner, and I turned around to see Archie staggering out of the grotto.
His face was white as he stuttered, “Everyone has to leave, now. Please take all the children outside.”
“What’s up with Archie?” Jess asked.
I shook my head. I had no idea. Perhaps he’d had a falling out with Bernie Crouch.
I left Jess and rushed over to him. “What is it? I’ve never seen you look so pale.”
Archie’s eyes were wide as he licked his lips, and then he said, “It is Bernie. He’s been stabbed.”
CHAPTER 2