“Beautiful,” I said over his shoulder as I walked up to him. He had drawn a lovely field filled with flowers. The sky was very blue and there were a couple of puffy white clouds floating in it. In the middle was a big doughnut decorated with every color of springtime.
“That’s because the big show is the baking competition,” he explained. “I heard Greer was doing it?”
“No, she isn’t. She doesn’t want to,” I said.
Liam quirked an eyebrow at me. “I bet that didn’t go over well.”
I shook my head to let him know it hadn’t.
“Do you think she’ll change her mind?” he asked out of the corner of his mouth.
I shrugged. There was a good chance she would, but then again there was a good chance she wouldn’t. With Greer you just never knew.
“Doesn’t it just smell like summer? I can’t wait,” he said.
“How can I help?” I asked.
“If you grab those rolls,” said Liam, “we can go over to the fairgrounds and you can help me set everything up.”
I grabbed the rolls indicated, waved to Mrs. Barnett, and grabbed a coffee out of her hand as I passed.
“Do you mind if we take your car?” asked Liam as we hurried out of the café. “My mom borrowed mine.”
The fairgrounds were composed of wide open spaces surrounded by woods, just a couple of turns away from Main Street. In the summer months it was easy to walk between the two, but we had so much to carry that it was easier to take the car.
Now, as we drove up in the bright sunlight, I could see many townsfolk working busily away. Everyone was chipping in to get the fair ready on time.
“We’re getting press from one end of Maine to the other. Some New England outlets have picked us up as well,” said Liam proudly.
“All featuring your drawings, I hope?” I said with a smile.
Liam grinned at me. He was modest to a fault, but he was also the best artist I’d ever seen.
“Naturally, some of my work has been featured,” he said.
I pulled into the parking lot and the two of us got out. Liam had stuck his big stack of posters and advertisements in the back of my car, and I set to work to help him carry them.
“I already did the lower fairgrounds,” he explained. “Now just for the upper.”
The lower fairgrounds was its own field set a little apart from the big expanse that was before us now.
“How’s it going?” asked Michael the Mintwood handyman as we strolled past the spot where he was setting up a large white marquee. Always busy doing something practical, Michael was quick with a joke and worked hard. Much like Liam and art, Michael was good at pretty much anything he set his mind to when it came to fixing things. From woodworking to house repairs, he could do it all. He mowed the lawns of almost everyone in town and in the winter he plowed out their driveways. Today he was the tent expert for the fair.
We told him it was going well and he complimented Liam on his drawings for this year’s fair.
“Haven’t had a chance to make it to the lower field yet, but I saw one on the table in the office. Looks super,” he said. Liam thanked him and we headed off to do our own tasks.
“Let’s go check on the ones I put up yesterday,” said Liam over his shoulder as we made our way through the field. “I want to make sure the pins I used held.”
The lower field was empty. Unlike the upper one, which was much bigger, this space had already been set up the day before and all the volunteers had moved on.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, when Liam suddenly looked unhappy.
“There should have been a couple of posters at the gate,” he said with a frown.
“Maybe someone moved them?” I suggested.
“Maybe,” he replied. But he didn’t sound happy about it.
There were booths on either side of us, many with colorfully painted signs proclaiming the activities they’d be offering come fair day.
Ahead were more long white tents.
As I walked slowly forward, gazing around at the setup, I took a step and suddenly heard a crinkle. Looking down, I saw that I had stepped on what looked remarkably like a trampled piece of colorful paper. I bent down to pick it up and realized what it was with dismay.
“This is this year’s fair poster,” I said.
Liam spun around and seized the muddy paper out of my hands.
“This was ripped down intentionally,” he said with conviction.
“That’s silly. Who would do that?” I asked. “I’m sure it just blew off.”
“Maybe,” he said, not sounding convinced.
Now he started walking with such furious purpose that I had trouble keeping up.
“Here’s another one! Did a magic marker accidentally write all over it?” he asked.
Sure enough, another poster, which Liam had tacked to a big wooden signpost, had definitely been vandalized. There was so much black marker scrawled across it that you couldn’t even make out the field in the picture.
“Wow,” I said. “I’m really sorry. Who would do such a thing?”
“I don’t know,” said Liam grimly.
We walked all around the rest of the lower field, finding nothing but more of the same.
“Every single poster,” he said with disgust.
“I can’t believe it,” I said. “Has this ever happened before?”
“Not to my knowledge,” said Liam.
We spent the rest of the day at the fairgrounds. Liam wanted to grill everyone in sight about what might have happened to his posters, but he also had to do the work he’d come for.
Whenever we mentioned the posters people looked surprised, but it seemed that they had all been so busy with their own tasks that no one had seen anything.
“Do you think it was someone who has something against you, or something against the fair?” I asked Liam. We were hanging the sign for the artists’ tent, where there would be finger painting and drawing classes once the fair commenced. As the days went on and more art was created, it would be hung on the walls of the tent and fair guests would have a chance to walk through and see all the creations.
“Definitely against me,” said Liam as we hung another sign.
“Why?” I asked, thinking it was more likely to have been someone who had a grudge against the fair, who didn’t like the noise or the traffic or something.
“Because why else would someone tear down a poster? They could do a lot of other damage,” reasoned Liam.
He had a point there.
“Maybe they thought someone else did the art,” I said. “It’s hard for me to picture someone having a grudge against you.”
“Just try,” he muttered, still looking mad.
I gave him a sympathetic look.
“Come on, let’s get out of here,” Liam said at last. Dusk was falling and it had been a very long day. We had taken a break from fair setup to eat a lunch of sandwiches, but then we’d worked all afternoon without a break. Serves me right for not having a “real” job, I told myself. And on my way home I still had to check on Cesar.
We were just leaving the fairgrounds when I smelled something funny.
“Is that smoke?” I asked.
Liam turned to sniff the breeze.
“It better not be coming from the lower fairgrounds,” he cried.
“Maybe someone is trying to sabotage the fair,” I offered.
Neither of us could see fire anywhere, but the smell of it was definitely in the air.
“I’ll just go back and check to make sure everything’s okay,” Liam said.
Just as he was about to rush off I saw a soft orange glow in the distance. But it wasn’t at the fairgrounds, it was back in the direction of Main Street.
“I think I see where the fire is,” I pointed.
“Phew, at least it’s not here,” he said. “That must be an awfully big fire, though.”
“What house do you think that is?” I asked.
“There are onl
y two houses down that way,” said Liam grimly. “Mrs. Cook’s, and Tabitha Tolls’.”
Tabitha Tolls had been absent from home for the past year. She had been the overall lead judge of the Mintwood Fair baking competition for as long as I could remember, and her input was already missed. Her opinions were an institution. Everyone turned out to listen to what she said.
When Tabitha Tolls had disappeared a year ago, everyone thought she’d just up and moved away. She had boarded up her house before she left, but Mrs. Cook, who was a good friend, lived nearby and would go check on the house from time to time. According to Mrs. Cook, everything always seemed in order.
With such a vacuum created among the judges of the bakery competition, it had been an open question, much debated, as to who would have the top seat this year.
Mrs. Cook had been very sad about Tabitha’s departure, but everyone else had been relieved. Longstanding theories, always discussed in whispers, had held that Mrs. Cook wouldn’t have won every competition if not for Tabitha.
“I’m just going to check on the lower fairgrounds anyway,” said Liam, obviously antsy to make sure everything was okay. I told him I’d wait for him by the car and he disappeared down the dirt path.
As I stood quietly, waiting for Liam to come back and wondering what was burning, ghosts started to appear.
At first there were only a few. The cemetery was the biggest ghost destination, but once night fell many ghosts tended to wander. They could leave their graves for short periods at night, and many of them took the opportunity to visit friends and gather together. It appeared that quite a few of them had decided to take that opportunity tonight.
Several ghost animals showed up as well. A group of wild horses came charging through the night, tall and powerful. They raced each other across the field, leaving colorful sparks in their wake. None of the ghosts had turned dark, which was a relief; that would have meant some serious ill will, and possibly even danger.
That reminded me that all had been quiet on the Ellie front for a while, to the point where I was starting to think maybe she had left the area for good. If I was lucky I would have seen the last of my grandmother’s former friend.
Now fireflies dotted the fairground’s open spaces, and only the ghosts and the lightning bugs lit up the night. Except for the smell of smoke, it could have been described as a perfect early summer evening.
There was still no sign of Liam, so I sat on the hood of my car and waited, enjoying the soft summer air.
Among the ghost animals that came by was a ghost cat who didn’t just pass through but hovered nearby looking concerned and unhappy. She seemed inclined to hang around, so I finally asked her what the matter was.
“You can see me,” she said with surprise.
“I’m Lemmi, the Witch of Mintwood,” I introduced myself.
The cat nodded. She was wearing bright horn-rimmed glasses and she looked rather prissy, helped along by the fluffy white collar that circled her neck.
“My owner died,” she explained. Then she paused and added, with a sigh, “It’s too bad about your posters. I was over here early this morning and I saw that the pretty pictures had all been trampled on. Such a shame.”
I nodded in agreement.
“And I don’t think it was an accident,” added the cat after a pause.
“What, the posters?” I asked, a little confused by her thought train.
“No, I mean my owner,” she said in a tone that suggested I was an idiot.
“How do you know?” I asked, ignoring the subtext.
“I’d been off one night telling the mice what was what, and I came home and she wasn’t around. Eventually I found her in the attic, but she looked really strange,” said the cat, sounding sad.
My stomach turned over, but I forced myself to remain calm.
“What’s your name?” I asked the cat.
“Honolulu. It’s where my owner was hoping to retire,” said the cat.
I knelt down so that I was at Honolulu’s level. She crawled into my lap and looked up at me, sitting as daintily as could be.
“What was your owner’s name?” I asked.
“Tabitha.”
Chapter Six
Sure enough, just as she said Tabitha’s name I heard a siren in the distance. I looked up to see if I could figure out where the emergency vehicle was, but it didn’t really matter, because I knew where it was going.
“What happened?” I asked Honolulu.
“I have no idea,” was her reply.
“I can smell a fire,” I said. “How did you get here so fast?”
“I knew I had to find help,” said Honolulu. “Now that I’m a ghost, time is of the essence. Once the bodies are moved, who knows where I’ll end up or if I’ll be able to talk to you.”
“You died in the fire?” I asked.
“Yes, I’ve been alive for the past year, until tonight. Whenever someone came to check on me, I hid. I was afraid they’d take me away from Tabitha,” the cat explained.
This was all very sad, but I tried to focus on what I should do next, because that was the only way we were going to get Tabitha some help, whatever “help” might be for someone who had been dead for a year.
“Then you died in the fire and decided it was best to come find me?” I said.
“I thought it was best to run way. I just happened to run into you,” the cat explained.
Oh, okay.
“What about Tabitha’s ghost?” I asked.
“I haven’t seen my owner since she died,” she explained.
“We have to get to the fire,” I said.
Honolulu popped off my lap, ready to go. Just as I stood up and dusted off my pants, Liam came running over.
“Goodness, I hope everyone’s okay,” said Liam as we hurried to the Beetle. I motioned for Honolulu to come with us.
“We aren’t,” said the cat.
She looked curiously at Liam when he didn’t respond.
“He can’t hear me, can he?” she asked.
I shook my head and started the ignition while Liam clambered into the passenger seat.
“Patience now,” said Liam. “Be sure to drive carefully.”
“I drive safely regardless,” I pointed out.
“Sorry. I know you’re good driver. I’m just stressed,” said Liam. “I hope everyone’s okay.” He repeated himself, but Honolulu didn’t repeat her information that they weren’t. Instead she sat quietly in the back seat, waiting.
When something shocking happens around Mintwood, whether it’s a missing person or an old car pulled from the lake next to the Babbling Brook Barn, many town residents come out to see what’s happening.
Such was the case of the fire at the abandoned house. By the time we got there, Main Street was filled with people standing back and watching the firefighters battle the blaze. The entire house had gone up in flames.
Luckily, each store came with two small parking spaces around the back, so I was able to park the Beetle next to Liam’s car behind his shop. The two of us hopped out and walked quickly down the road in the direction from which the smoke was billowing.
“Fancy seeing you here,” said Greer. She’d been standing on the sidewalk but had seen us coming and hurried over to join us.
“Think Charlie’s already here?”
“Yes. I think she’s paid a sorceress to give her levitation powers to make sure she arrives at crime scenes before anyone else,” said Greer.
Liam chuckled despite the dire situation. “It’s just funny, because it’s probably true,” he said apologetically.
Liam thought Greer was just being silly; he didn’t know that his own mother was a witch.
“She’s pretty,” said Honolulu as she trotted along next to me.
Greer was, in fact, very pretty. She had dark hair, pale skin, and a sarcastic outlook.
“Thank you,” my friend mouthed to the cat.
Honolulu, who hadn’t thought anyone else could see or hear her aft
er I told her Liam couldn’t, looked surprised.
“Is that Tabitha Tolls’ house?” Greer asked, pointing in the direction of the fire.
“Who is that?” asked Miss Violetta, who had opened the Mintwood Mirror hair salon not too long ago. She was standing by herself at the edge of a crowd spectators, her beefy arms wrapped around her waist as if she were cold despite the warmth of the day.
“She was the head judge of the pie-baking competition at the fair for years,” I explained.
“Was she doing it this year?” asked Miss Violetta.
“She left town a while ago. Everyone thought she wasn’t coming back,” I said. I remembered in the nick of time that I was probably the only one who knew that Tabitha Tolls was dead.
“She’ll be upset to return and see her house like that. I hope someone can get in touch with her,” said Miss Violetta.
It creeped me out to know that Tabitha had been dead inside her house for the better part of a year, with only her cat having known.
I took a couple of steps back in hopes of talking to the cat privately. Greer noticed what I was doing and set about distracting our friends.
“Did anyone ever come by the house?” I asked Honolulu once we were a good distance away.
“After Tabitha died?”
“Yes, after she went missing,” I said.
“Oh, yes. Mrs. Cook came by several times, calling for Tabitha and sometimes for me. She was very confused.”
“How did Mrs. Cook not find Tabitha?” I asked.
“Tabitha was in the attic, and Mrs. Cook never went up there,” explained the ghost cat.
Mrs. Cook did have a bad hip, so it wouldn’t be surprising if she’d been unable to climb the ladder that led to the attic, and why would she go up there anyhow? That still left the question of what Tabitha herself had been doing up there.
“What about Detective Cutter?” I asked.
“No one else was in the house,” said the cat. “I would have smelled it.”
That was an interesting idea!
“After Tabitha died, did you smell anything out of the ordinary?” I asked.
“No, just the usual mix of smells,” said the cat, pondering.
I frowned. That didn’t make much sense, so I told myself to revisit the question later, preferably after Tabitha’s body was found and it was confirmed that she hadn’t died of natural causes. I still wasn’t actually sure.
Witch of Mintwood Mysteries 7-9 Page 4