“Hansen interviewed Macy. She told him everything and then added her own personal embellishments,” said Charlie through gritted teeth.
“Wow, Macy? Did she spew a bunch of lies?” I said.
“Yeah, and then some! She said she was the one who insisted we check out the strange smell. She just knew something was terribly wrong,” said Charlie in a damsel-in-distress accent.
I snorted.
“That isn’t true?” Liam leaned over, excited.
“I’m the one who thought we should check out the smell,” I said.
Over the next couple of days the Mintwood Gazette refused to put a damper on the headlines about the death at the silo. Charlie knew Jasper wouldn’t appreciate it, but Charlie’s editor, Lena, wanted no part in keeping the story quiet and didn’t give a whit about Jasper.
As a result, a new headline about the silo stared out from the front page every day. The stories themselves offered slim to no new information, but the headlines still grabbed the attention of readers. Lena was so unbelievably furious with Charlie about the Macy interview that she did the unthinkable. She accused Charlie of poor journalism.
“Who’s the body in the silo?” cried one headline. That article proceeded to describe what had happened the night of the fundraiser, yet again summarizing the story of how the dead person had been discovered. On the plus side, the end of the article did include a note about how readers could donate to a good cause.
Every day I spent a few minutes reading the Gazette while I hung around Ms. Ivy’s house with the cats. I didn’t think the cats should be left alone all day, but Neely still wouldn’t come near me. She just continued to sit in the tree, staring at me with the “Death has come” look.
At least no one had robbed the house. The red car didn’t show up again, and I tried to tell myself that whoever owned it had left town. I didn’t really believe myself, though.
I have mentioned the importance of the Mintwood Post Office in telling the story of a previous case, and its central place in the life of the town came into play again as I dealt with the various puzzling events that followed the discovery of the body in the silo. The Mintwood Post Office, as I mentioned before, was a most reliable source of local news, especially about town politics. People always have to send and receive mail; day in and day out, no matter what’s happening, mail will arrive and must be dealt with appropriately.
As for me, I’ve often thought that in some ways it would be easier not to get mail. Charger liked to chase the mailman, and if the mailman had ceased to arrive every day, I wouldn’t have had to wonder who was coming up the driveway and sending Charger into a tizzy.
The only problem was, I really liked getting mail.
Back at the farmhouse after one of my visits to Ms. Ivy’s, I was surprised to find a single piece of mail that was so shocking, I stood on the porch staring at it until Greer asked me if something was wrong. Charlie raised her eyebrows as if she was wondering the same thing.
“Yeah what’s the problem?” said Mr. Bone, trotting over with his easy smile. Obviously my reaction had made an impression on everyone in sight.
“I got a postcard,” I said.
“I often get upset when people act like they care about me,” Greer noted.
Charlie and I exchanged a look and Greer glared at us.
“Who’s it from?” said Charlie.
“It’s from my aunt Harriet,” I said.
My aunt Harriet was one-of-a-kind, a model that couldn’t possibly be replicated or reproduced. My mother thought this was a good thing; she had never been very close with her sister, and as far as I knew they hadn’t spoken at all since their mother had died.
“Where is Aunt Harriet these days?” said Charlie.
“The postmark is from Washington State,” I said.
“Wow, that’s not close to here at all!” said Charlie.
“No, but it says she’s coming here,” I said.
“What?” said Greer, raising her eyebrows.
“Yeah, I know,” I said. “She didn’t even come for Grandmother’s funeral. To be fair, I don’t know that she got word in time. To be fair in the other direction, she’s very hard to track down, and she doesn’t make much effort to make it easier.”
“Has she ever stayed in one place for long?” said Charlie.
I shook my head. “She left Mintwood at fourteen and Evenlyn said she never looked back.”
“I bet she’s seen so much of the world . . .” mused Charlie. “I bet she has the best stories.”
“What does the postcard actually say?” said Greer.
“That’s what I don’t get,” I said, turning over the single card and looking again at the picture of mountains on the front. “It says, ‘I’ll be there soon. Hold the fort until I arrive!’”
“That almost sounds like . . . but she couldn’t be . . .” Charlie didn’t finish her thought.
Paws jumped up onto his box under the window, his tail swishing, “It does in fact mean that she’s a witch, yes.”
The thought of Aunt Harriet coming to Mintwood was both terrifying and a relief. She clearly wasn’t the kind of witch my grandmother had been, the kind that was settled in one place.
“When my grandmother told me that witches skipped a generation, I assumed Aunt Harriet couldn’t do spells, just like my mom,” I said once we were back inside and huddled in the nook.
“When do you think she’ll arrive?” Charlie wondered.
“Just in time to miss everything important,” said Paws from the window.
“Oh, you think? I can’t recall anyone else who arrives just after the nick of time,” I muttered.
“Who are you calling late?” said Paws. “I’ll have you know I come from a very long line of cats who kept perfect time.”
“Yes, I’m sure the places where they arrived and the times when they arrived were the exact places and times they meant them to be. I’m sure that habit extends to you as well,” I said.
Paws had nothing to say about that.
“Where do you think she’s going to stay?” said Greer.
“One of the many unused bedrooms, probably. The one I’m in used to be hers, but I’m pretty sure she told my grandmother that the day she stayed in this house again would be the day my grandmother’s hair went from gray to yellow,” I said.
“Maybe she isn’t going to stay here at all then,” mused Charlie. “Then again, that was a long time ago, and people do change.”
“I have no idea what she’ll do,” I said. “I’ve barely ever seen her.”
“I’ll add it to the list of mysteries on our whiteboard,” Charlie offered.
For our first case, which Charlie had dubbed “The Disappearance of Gracie Coswell,” we had used a whiteboard to outline all the information we had and didn’t have and the questions we needed to answer. At first I had thought Charlie was just kidding about them, but her lists had turned out to be very handy.
“She probably isn’t really going to come,” I mused. “My aunt was never what I would call reliable.”
“Missing her own mother’s funeral does take a lot of effort,” said Greer. “I can’t imagine that.”
“She was probably off on some epic witching adventure,” said Charlie. “I’m sure she would have come if she’d gotten word in time.”
“There’s always a chance my mom told her not to. They didn’t get along,” I said.
“She may come this time, though,” said Charlie. “Maybe she knows you’re in trouble and she really means to help.”
“Unlikely. Very unlikely,” I said.
Chapter Twelve
The next day was quiet.
I should have noticed that it was too quiet, but of course I was just relieved. Paws had forbidden me to make any effort find out who the body in the silo had been, so that it had become a waiting game. Charlie would probably know before I did.
“Can you come with me?” said Paws as evening fell.
“Sure, since you’r
e asking nicely,” I said.
Paws wasn’t usually one to ask permission. He did something when the mood struck him, and later didn’t care if it had made any sense or not.
His kindness and solicitous behavior should have tipped me off to danger. It wouldn’t have been clearer if he’d worn a cap and a little suit that read, “I’m up to no good.” I just missed it.
“It’s this way,” said Paws, hopping off his crate and trotting away, tail held high, toward the tea ladies at their table. Mrs. Goodkeep was still at the farmhouse, but she’d been very subdued since her return from being Poofed. Mr. Bone was his usual cheerful self, always with something to fix or laugh at or look into.
There were two ghosts at the table that I’d never seen before. As we drew closer, I saw that all the birds and mice, and even the hound Funnel from the cemetery, were waiting for us.
“What’s all this?” I asked as we reached the tea ladies. One of them pretended to take a sip of non-existent tea, while another blew her nose and the third coughed, all so they didn’t have to say hi to me.
“It’s a ghost meetup,” said Mr. Bone. “Ghosts tend to gather when there’s a problem to discuss, especially problems relating to safety. It’s a very civilized and helpful way of dealing with difficulties,” he added.
“What’s the problem this time?” I said.
“You,” all the ghosts chorused.
The three tea ladies nodded their heads. “Everything was much better when Evenlyn was the Witch of Mintwood,” said Karen, the leader of the tea ladies. The other two rarely talked, but Karen was downright chatty, especially when she wanted something. Apparently tonight she wanted me in trouble. She had bony features and her eyes were close together, giving her a sharp look that made me just as wary tonight as it always did. She was also taller than the other two and tended to tower over the other ghosts.
Before she had gotten into so much trouble, Mrs. Goodkeep had been the ringleader of the ghosts, but Karen had taken charge when Mrs. Goodkeep was sent away. It was plain to see that Karen was going to stay in charge now that she had acquired a bit of power.
“I’m doing my best,” I said. “If it’s the other night you’re worried about, I don’t think that will happen again.”
“What exactly are you doing to keep it from happening again?” said Karen.
“Trying to find my grandmother’s wand, so I can practice spells,” I said. “And I’m going to stop whatever witches think they have a right to attack my property. As the Witch of Mintwood, I won’t tolerate it.”
“That’s all well and good, but until now you’ve left us vulnerable! Ghosts have disappeared when they shouldn’t have, ghosts have turned dark, this is all because you haven’t protected your territory, as is your responsibility,” said Karen.
“This is the first I’m hearing about ghosts disappearing,” I said. Then I remembered the drive to the barn . . . there were no ghosts anywhere. I hadn’t thought much about it at the time, but now I started to wonder.
“No, it isn’t. The ghost of the body in the silo isn’t there. You think that’s just some sort of coincidence, but it isn’t,” said Karen accusingly.
“Several ghosts have disappeared from the cemetery. Ghosts wander in and out, but a few of our regulars are gone,” said Funnel.
I shook my head. “I should have been told of these disappearances a long time ago! If I had known everyone was in such danger I would have . . .”
“Would have what?” said Karen.
“I would have done something to protect you,” I said.
“Maybe. But so far we’re the ones who have had to protect you,” said Mrs. Goodkeep.
“You keep quiet,” Karen ordered. “You broke the ghost rules. You can’t lecture a human on that now.”
“Nonhuman. I’m a witch,” I said, “and if I tell you I’ll protect you, then I will.” At the moment I wasn’t sure why I was determined to protect Karen when I really wouldn’t have minded if she went Poof. I guess I knew, somewhere deep inside, that that was just wrong of me.
The night was clear and cold and the stars were bright overhead. It was the kind of beautiful night I loved, the kind you only see in a small town. I wondered how many other witches were looking up at this very sky right now, having conversations with ghosts. Even if they were, I felt like the ghosts couldn’t be anything like these.
“I want to thank you for trying to protect the farmhouse,” I said. “It means a lot to me. So, may I express my gratitude for your assistance?” There was no point arguing with the ghosts, so I might as well be conciliatory.
Karen looked taken aback by my deference, so much so that she almost smiled before one of the other tea ladies elbowed her and brought her to her senses.
“It doesn’t change the fact that you need to learn your spells. Pronto,” Karen sniffed.
“I know that now. I’m working on it. What else would you have me do?” I said.
“You must find your grandmother’s wand. It must be the next thing you do. The fact that you have no idea what you’re doing or how to use the thing is putting us all in danger,” explained Mr. Bone. I had never seen the old ghost so serious.
“The very safety of the ghosts hangs in the balance,” Funnel added, his drooping eyes filled with concern.
“Great, so no pressure,” I muttered.
I slept in for as long as I could. In fact, I would have managed to get quite a lot of sleep, except that I had to check on Ms. Ivy’s three cats, and by ten in the morning my stomach was rumbling. When I finally rolled myself out of bed and headed downstairs, Charlie had long ago left for work. But I knew Greer would still be there.
My friend was sitting at the table in the nook, cradling a steaming mug of coffee and staring out the window.
“I’m impressed that you’re going to so much trouble to get up by noon,” I said.
“I’m impressed with myself too,” she said.
“You don’t think Deacon is actually interested in dating Macy, do you?” said Greer after a moment of silence. Seeing the two of them talking together when we’d gone to see Jasper had clearly been on her mind. I had expected that image to throw her, and it had.
“He has to have better taste than that. He dated you, and you’ve ruined him for any other woman,” I said.
Greer threw back her head and laughed. “You’re always so good at cheering me up. I know I did this to myself. He’s the one who wanted to get back together and I’m the one who said no, but I just don’t know what I want. Is it wrong that I don’t want to see him dating anyone else, either?” she wondered.
“I don’t think it’s wrong at all. I think it’s perfectly normal for someone who’s ruthlessly possessive,” I said.
Greer laughed again. “I’ve never been possessive. Okay, granted that until the end I always thought I had the guy. I knew he flirted, but I was never wondering where he was at night.”
She sighed and looked out the window again, then shook herself. “Anyway, enough about me. What’s the ghost news from last night?”
“They wanted to yell at me,” I said. I told her what had happened and what I had promised.
“You want help looking for the wand?” she asked.
“Sure, that’d be great,” I said.
“Anything to keep from having to go to the bar” she said.
“Has work been crazy?” I said.
“Well, it’s not as if all those witches who’ve been wandering around town drink. But they seem to be causing the regulars to drink more,” she said with a wicked grin.
After we had eaten breakfast, finished our coffee, and put on a pot of hot water for tea (because why not run the table with hot drinks on a cold morning), we got to work.
I decided I’d take my grandmother’s bedroom, while Greer should search the kitchen. “It would really win the prize if she left her wand in the kitchen,” I said.
My grandmother’s bedroom door was closed, and I gingerly pushed it open as if I might distu
rb something in there. Of course, I might disturb the secret ghost who was protecting the wand, but it was unlikely I’d see the ghost during the day, so really, the extra care was just my own resistance to getting going.
Grandmother’s furniture was antique and made of beautiful cherry wood. She had once told me she’d get a fortune if she sold it, but I wasn’t remotely tempted to do that myself – the stuff was too precious to me. Her bedspread was green, as were her curtains. She had the best view in the house, with windows overlooking the fields and trees. She had a couple of jewelry boxes that were now covered in a thin layer of dust, and most of her clothes were still in the closet and the dresser.
It was during quiet times like these, when I was surrounded by her stuff, that I wondered again what had happened to her. Had she been killed? Would I ever find out? If Aunt Harriet actually showed up, would she be able to help me solve that mystery?
The dresser drawers creaked as I pulled them open. I sifted gently through my grandmother’s perfectly folded sweaters, trying not to think about how sad it made me that she was gone.
Nothing in the dresser seemed to be of any obvious relevance, except possibly a bunch of letters stuck toward the back of the middle bottom drawer, all from a woman named Ellie. I had never heard any mention of an Ellie, but maybe Paws had. I left the letters out and told myself I’d read them later.
Then I opened the closet door, only to see a line-up of familiar color-coordinated sweater sets, but still no sign of the wand.
I poked around for a long time, but the longer I looked, the less likely it felt that the wand was in this room. In fact, as far as I could discover, my grandmother had kept no evidence of witchery in her bedroom at all. After an hour or so of fruitless searching, I decided to go check on Greer.
“Any luck?” I said.
“I think your grandmother owned every kitchen gadget known to man,” said Greer.
“Grandmother loved to cook,” I said. “She’d make a big batch of pasta on Sunday and eat it all week. She ate vegetables out of the garden and made her pasta and sometimes went to the butcher’s for chicken.”
Spell by Midnight (Witch of Mintwood Book 3) Page 8