The Goode Witch Matchmaker: Four Sweet Paranormal Romances (The Goode Witch Matchmaker Collection Book 1)

by Cate Lawley

  “On a positive note, the site hasn’t seen much activity for several months.” Hillary tilted her head, giving him a concerned look. “Maybe she’s started to move on?”

  “Either way, there’s no simple solution. I come back after she has come to terms, and it’s all opened up again. Or I never come back and she’s left with this question. And how do I explain where I’ve been?”

  “We move one step at a time, and the first step for all of us to kick your curse in the privates. We need to break it into tiny little pieces.”

  “You have some thoughts on how to do that?”

  Before she could answer his question, someone knocked on the front door and Hillary popped up like an over-caffeinated terrier.

  She came back clutching his high school yearbook and a shredded padded envelope. “Victory!”

  “You found me?”

  She wrinkled her nose at him. If she wasn’t so cute, it would be obnoxious. She sat down at the kitchen table and started flipping through the pages. ”Finding the book was no small accomplishment. You couldn’t let me revel for two seconds.”

  “Sorry.” He wasn’t, but he could be polite. “Try the index.”

  He expected a glare, but she just grinned and said, “Oh, yeah,” and flipped to the back of the book.

  “I wonder why this stuff isn’t online?”

  Hillary raised an eyebrow. “Says the guy who should be seven years behind on technology. A lot of them are scanned via third-party services—but not yours. Ha!” She gave him a significant look and deliberately said, “Victory.”

  She flipped the book around and tapped her finger on a picture. Brad, but several years younger.

  They both shared a look, followed by silence.

  “So, that was kinda anti-climactic,” Hillary said.

  “Yeah, we were both already sold on the idea.”

  “Yeah.”

  Walter strolled in and gave them both a concerned look. “Bad news?”

  “No.” Hillary handed him the open book.

  Walter nodded, looking at the picture. “Bit of a letdown, since we already knew.”

  “But now we know for sure. Next on the agenda, break the curse.” She tipped her head to the side. “Okay, first figure out how to break the curse, then break the curse. I think regaining your memory would be a solid step in the right direction.”

  “Got it.” Finding out more about his former self appealed on more than one level, but certainly if it got him closer to a normal—fully physical—life, he was all in. “Who’s turning pages for me?”

  “My walk cleared my head and knocked the cobwebs out.” Walter took the yearbook from Hillary and sat down at the table. “So I’m raring to go. And while we’re working on this, Hillary, maybe it’s time to call that fella that does the paranormal investigations. Unless you’ve had some luck getting in touch with your witch friend?” Walter gave Hillary a hopeful look.

  “Nope,” Hillary replied. “Paranormal investigator it is. But we have to drop the guy a letter at his post box, remember? That whole hired assassin image he has going on.”

  “You can skip the analogies to hit men. This whole thing is about not taking me out. I’d like to be more alive, not less.” When no one replied, Brad turned to Walter and said, “Start at the index. See if I’m anywhere else in the book. Then we can go page by page.”

  Hillary pulled up a chair next to Walter’s for Brad and then disappeared to write their pitch for the paranormal investigator.

  Thoughtful of her, but he’d like to pull out his own chair. Soon. He hoped.

  Chapter 13

  It hadn’t taken Hillary long to draft the note. She’d been living and breathing Brad’s messed up, non-corporeal story for several days now. To say it was on her brain was an understatement. She kept it short, trying to intrigue with a mysterious pitch, but also promising prompt cash payment for results.

  The post box address was a little shop not far from Hillary’s house. Not in her neighborhood, but close enough that she usually passed it a few times a week. So she opted to simply drive it there in hopes of speeding the process up a bit. “Anyone coming with?” she hollered. “Leaving to drop the note in five.”

  Gramps and Brad both responded in the affirmative, and the three of them piled into her car a few minutes later.

  It took Hillary a few minutes to remember that her shotgun passenger wasn’t visible to the public. “Okay, super weird that no one is sitting in the front, and you’re in the back, Gramps.” It was also the closest she’d been to Brad. His less than substantial form was unsettling.

  “You can see me. Good enough,” Brad said.

  Hillary didn’t respond. She was too worried about this paranormal investigator guy. What if he had no clue? Worse—what if he had a clue and took it upon himself to exorcise Brad? And that’s when she realized—she couldn’t do it. A few days ago—what seemed like a lifetime ago—she would have been open to all of the possibilities. Breaking the curse and making Brad corporeal, or just making him disappear so that her grandpa could attest to the fact that he did, indeed, live alone. A real-life Brad or no Brad, same result: her Gramps wouldn’t appear to be actively hallucinating.

  But now her gut rebelled at the thought of Brad disappearing into the ether, to either live out the rest of his life who-knew-where or to simply wink out of existence.

  “We need to be careful.” She met her grandpa’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “We don’t have much information and that gives the investigator more power. How can we tell if this guy knows his stuff? Or that he isn’t doing whatever he thinks is best—regardless of what we’re asking for?”

  “Sounds paranoid, and I’m the one with his life on the line.” Brad tried to catch her eye. “Weren’t you the one who said you’d do whatever it took to sort out Walter’s problem?”

  Gramps cleared his throat.

  “Sorry,” Brad said quietly.

  “No, you’re right.” Hillary looked straight ahead, avoiding eye contact. “You’re okay; you’re more than okay. I don’t want you to disappear into some great dark nothingness.” Maybe a little harsh to say out loud, but it was a possibility. “Maybe I wasn’t as sensitive about that when you first popped up.”

  Apparently, Brad didn’t have a response to that. And Gramps was wise enough to know when to pretend to be hard of hearing.

  Hillary drove the rest of the way in silence, hoping that this paranormal investigator wasn’t a giant fraud or too caught up in his own agenda to be trusted. She might have spared a minute or two to hope she wasn’t becoming a conspiracy nut. And she definitely sent an ill thought or three Glenda’s way.

  When they arrived at the mail store, Gramps awoke with a start. He hadn’t just been quiet, he’d fallen asleep. Hard to do in the cramped backseat. Which begged the question of how Brad had ended up in the front.

  “You guys coming inside?” Hillary asked.

  “We came this far.” Gramps stretched as best he could in the confines of the backseat. “Let’s go.”

  “And I thought you were just along for the Dairy Queen stop you know I’m making on the way home.”

  Hillary walked in, making an attempt to be casual about holding the door for Brad. She’d been meaning to ask him if he could pop through walls. Surely he’d have to. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to move nearly so freely as she thought he could. She’d ask on the way home.

  “Hi,” Hillary put on a bright smile.

  The small, wiry, unshaven man behind the counter tried to return her smile, but was only successful in producing a tired facsimile. “How can I help you?”

  “I need to deliver a letter to a post box here. It’s urgent, so is there any way to drop it directly in the box without sending through the local mail processing center?” Hillary tried her cute and charming approach, but she could already see it was falling short.

  “That’s highly irregular, and I’m not sure it’s legal. I’d have to check.” His features were scrunched up
into a look of displeasure, then suddenly his expression changed. “Which box?”

  “Oh, seventy-four.” Hillary watched in surprise as the clerk’s demeanor changed.

  “Ah,” the clerk said. “That’s fine. I can take it.” Hillary must have looked suspicious, because he quickly added, “I’ll deliver it now.”

  “Any chance this guy is an agent for the investigator?” Brad asked.

  Hillary kept her eyes on the clerk as she said, “I don’t think so.”

  The clerk looked confused. “Do you want me to deliver it or not?”

  “No,” Gramps said before Hillary could reply. “Thank you.”

  Since he was leaving and Hillary knew Gramps was nobody’s fool, she followed him.

  “Wait,” the clerk called after them. “You have a…a special problem?”

  Hillary hovered on the threshold as her grandpa held the door open. Did Gramps just wink at her? No, no way. This was the guy? Gramps had not only known, he’d called the guy’s bluff. Go grandpa.

  When she turned back around and got a second look at the P.I., all she could think was: paranormal investigator, her tush. She didn’t see a harried and disheveled clerk saving all their rears with a curse-breaking spell.

  She almost walked out the door. Almost. But their options were limited to two, and with Glenda in the wind, really just one. And Gramps had followed her back inside without any qualms, so he must not be as appalled by the choice as she was. She sighed then told the mail clerk, wanna-be paranormal investigator, “We need a curse broken.”

  Chapter 14

  Hillary’s first impression hadn’t been exactly spot on. The clerk was in fact the owner, and he’d been “in the business” for five years. His name was Archibald Schmidt but everyone called him Smitty, and in his five years of paranormal investigating he’d encountered ghosts and witches. That’s as far as the brief interview Gramps conducted had progressed before a legitimate customer had arrived. How much action he’d seen in those five years remained an unknown, as did whether he had any curse-breaking knowledge.

  Smitty had been more than curious about the job. He’d displayed a child-like giddiness, in fact. One that he tried and miserably failed to hide. So Hillary guessed not that much paranormal action actually came Smitty’s way.

  But Hillary hadn’t vetted his background and qualifications further; there’d been no time as customers kept streaming in. And, with Glenda in the wind, they didn’t have an alternative to Smitty, the giddy-post-office owning paranormal investigator. Hillary stepped into line, quickly scheduled an appointment for a few hours later—Smitty’s earliest availability and likely when his shift ended--and then she left.

  Almost exactly two hours later he’d appeared at the agreed-upon coffee shop. She eyed him critically as he set his coffee down on the edge of the table and barely caught it before it tipped over. She sighed. Not promising.

  Brad wasn’t so circumspect. “You’ve got to be kidding me. We can’t put my life in this guy’s hands.”

  Smitty had come close to sitting in Brad’s chair—on top of Brad. Hillary didn’t like to think about the permutations of what might happen in that situation. Another question she needed to ask Brad when they had a spare moment. But Smitty’s unknowing gaffe had certainly contributed to Brad’s ill humor.

  “Give him a chance,” Gramps said, giving Brad a sharp look.

  Hillary squeezed her eyes. This was the root of all evil. “Gramps. We’re trying to prove you’re not a crazy person. Remember?”

  Gramps huffed. “He’s a paranormal investigator. He should be used to this kind of thing.”

  Smitty eyes bulged as he looked between her, Gramps, and what must look like an empty seat.

  “There’s some kind of confidentiality here, right?” Hillary snapped her fingers in front of Smitty’s face. When he blinked and looked away from Brad’s chair, she repeated, “Confidentiality?”

  Smitty frowned at her and then seemed to gather himself. “Absolutely. I guarantee discretion.” He lowered his voice. “Do I understand correctly that you’re being haunted?” He didn’t wait for a reply, just barreled on. “That’s unusual. It’s usually a physical location, and the ghosts I’ve encountered don’t travel. But we can do a ritual cleansing—wait, you mentioned a curse. So, one of you is cursed and that’s why the ghost is tied to you?”

  Hillary exchanged a look with Gramps. He inclined his head, so she took a breath and spilled the whole story.

  And Smitty stepped up. No shock or confusion, he just took out a notepad, jotted down notes, asked a few business-like questions, and, generally, looked almost competent.

  When she finished, Hillary said, “Well? What do you think?”

  “I think your witch Glenda is in this up to her chin. And she has a bizarre sense of humor. Glenda Goode and the Goode Witch Shoppe?” Smitty shook his head and frowned. He didn’t quite make a tsk-tsk sound, but it sat on the tip of his tongue.

  Smitty belonged to the camp that believed one must keep paranormal goings on well under the radar of normal folk. His attempt at a discreet contact method should have tipped her off.

  “All right Captain Obvious. We’re aware Glenda’s involved and probably knows how to break the curse—but she’s not available. What do we do?” Brad crossed his arms over his chest.

  Huh. How did a ghost stay in shape? Brad’s biceps showed off quite nicely in that T-shirt.

  “Hillary? Are you okay?” Brad asked, his overt annoyance fading.

  Hillary sighed. Definitely not okay. She was losing it. Or she was finally coming out of her stress-induced funk. She was hardly one to miss noticeable hottie attributes, even on a ghost. “Yep. All good.” Turning to Smitty, she said, “Our friend Brad has pointed out the futility of relying on Glenda for a resolution. What are your ideas?”

  “Pay attention. This part is very important,” Gramps gave Smitty his best impersonation of a trustworthy but stern old dude. “Evidence points to a curse, which makes Brad an innocent victim, and someone we want to protect.”

  “Right. No exorcising our cursed buddy Brad.” Hillary may have been a little too exuberant in her defense, because a woman sitting at an adjacent table looked suddenly very curious about their conversation. Hillary flashed the older woman a brilliant smile and said, “New movie.”

  The woman quickly looked away.

  Lines of concentration appeared on Smitty’s face—or he had indigestion. After a few minutes, he said, “I only know two ways to break curses. If it’s the religious kind, then prayer. The second way, and I only know this from research, not firsthand experience…”

  Surprise, surprise. But Hillary made encouraging gestures.

  “Well, there’s always an out, you know, built into the curse.” Smitty smiled. “So find the out, and you can break the curse.”

  He looked really proud of himself, so Hillary almost felt bad about bursting his bubble. “Here’s the thing, Smitty. We don’t know how he was cursed, or what exactly the curse is, and yet you think we can figure out what the loophole is? How should we do that?”

  “In less than three days,” Brad reminded her.

  She relayed the deadline to Smitty.

  “Wait, there’s a deadline? What happens in a week? No one mentioned any kind of time pressure. He’s been like this for seven years. How is this all of a sudden a problem that has to be fixed right now?” As he spoke, Smitty became more and more agitated.

  If Hillary had to guess, she’d say he was a tightly wound guy, even on the best of days. How did a guy like this ever end up in the paranormal investigation biz?

  Gramps raised his index finger. “That would be my fault. I’ve got an evaluation with a psychiatrist coming up in a few days and eventually a hearing. It’s a long story and you don’t need the details. Let’s chat, Mr. Smitty, about this loophole. And some way to discover how Brad was cursed. Let’s start there, shall we?”

  “Yes, how he was cursed would be very helpful information,” S
mitty agreed.

  “We don’t have a name, but we can almost certainly find it. Don’t give me that judgy look, Mr. Schmidt. It’s just come to light that Brad’s old girlfriend was a witch, and her mom was the one who cursed him. We don’t know exactly why, but we can guess. Her daughter died in a car accident exactly one year before Brad was cursed. Brad was driving.”

  Smitty nodded. “The mother seeks vengeance or justice.”

  Hillary threw her hands up. “It was an accident. He wasn’t drinking or doing anything irresponsible. Not so far as we can tell. Who sentences a guy to this,” Hillary flung her hand in Brad’s direction, “just because he was there?”

  “She has to believe the accident was Brad’s fault,” Gramps said. “And he wasn’t just there; he was driving. I can’t imagine the grief of losing a child. It’s quite possible she’s not thinking rationally.”

  “Seven years later and she’s still not seeing reason? I don’t buy it.” Getting worked up wasn’t helping anyone, so Hillary shook her head and tried to focus on something helpful. “What does this information get us?”

  Smitty used his pen as a pointer and moved through each point in his notes. After he reached the last scribble, he looked up and said, “If the mother blames him, she wants justice or vengeance. In either case, there are two choices. You have to either convince her of Brad’s innocence or convince her to forgive him. I think.” He shrugged and smiled apologetically.

  “Yes! Forgive—that’s what Glenda said to Brad before she got cut off. Right?” Hillary looked to Brad for confirmation.

  He looked bemused, but he nodded. “True, but there wasn’t any context. Forgive the person who cursed me? Get her to forgive me? Forgive myself? No idea.”

  “So, get the witch to forgive Brad, and she might lift the curse,” Smitty said. “There is a second option. A loophole, basically a way to break the curse built into the curse itself. It can be a weakness, or even something placed intentionally by the cursing party. Think of the old fairytales. Once the lesson was learned, the curse was broken. Or meet a set of potentially arbitrary circumstances, and the curse is broken.”