“That’s all right. He’s a handsome fellow,” she said.
At that Paws perked up. “You may ask your questions,” he said, granting permission regally.
“Are you looking for the ghost of the woman who lived there?” the deer asked.
“Yes,” I said. “Have you seen her? Mrs. Tootsie.”
“Nice lady. Back when I was alive she used to leave apples out for us. She said it was because we’d steal them anyway,” said the deer. “I’m June Bug.”
We’d met a bear on Mintwood Mountain, but I had never been this close to a deer before. I found the deer preferable and a lot less scary than the bear.
“Nice to meet you. These are my friends,” I said, pointing to Greer and Charlie.
After everyone had been properly introduced, June Bug offered to take us to the last place she’d seen Mrs. Tootsie.
“She was pretty upset about it,” said June Bug, shaking her head. “It comes as a shock.”
“I’ll bet,” I told her. Newly minted ghosts usually resisted the idea of what had just happened, and most of them hadn’t even been murdered.
“Lead the way,” said Greer.
We followed June Bug toward the house until she paused at the edge of the driveway.
“I’ll wait here for you,” she said.
As we crept toward Mrs. Tootsie’s print shop, the memory of finding her body there was still fresh in my mind. There was no sign of her ghost, and I wondered whether that was because she had died so recently.
The shop door was locked, so I pulled out my wand and a handful of sparkles floated through the big keyhole and turned the lock on the inside of the door. I held my breath for an alarm—as if anyone in Mintwood had such a sophisticated system—and waited.
Finally I heard the click that said we were in. With my friends crowding behind me and Paws twining around my ankles, I opened the door. The sooner we were inside, the less risk we ran of being spotted.
“This place smells like books,” Charlie sniffed. “I love it.”
“It also smells like a print shop. Whatever that smells like,” Greer muttered.
There wasn’t much moonlight filtering in through the windows, since someone–either Mrs. Tootsie or the police–had drawn the curtains. I wished I could remember how they’d been when I found her body, but I couldn’t.
Unwilling to disturb anything that I didn’t have to, I ignited a tiny bobbing globe of light with my wand. The night was warm, and the sweat was starting to bead on my upper lip, whether from nerves or the heat I wasn’t sure.
“Is that where . . .” Charlie trailed off as she pointed to the desk that stood facing us across the room.
“Yes,” I said. The cookie and tea were gone, but many of the papers I’d seen earlier had been left undisturbed.
“Did the police take a lot?” Charlie asked.
I looked around. “To be honest, I’m not sure. What happened this morning is just a blur. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” said Charlie. “It must have been a shock.”
“I had hoped that her ghost would be here by now,” I said.
“Like Mark at the resort?” said Charlie.
“Maybe,” I said. “I don’t see her, though.”
“She’s probably gone with the body,” said Greer. “Now that she’s been dead for a few hours and all.”
“Let’s look around anyway,” said Charlie, and the reporter in her got to work.
As the three of us fanned out, Greer discovered that there was a loft, and bravely ascended the stairs. “It’s dark up here,” I heard her say, so I sent her another little globe of light.
“Thanks,” came a voice through the floorboards.
Paws discovered that there was a place to sit and did that.
Charlie started leafing through samples of Mrs. Tootsie’s work that were scattered around the room.
“Here are some of the pamphlets she created,” said Charlie, leafing through some samples. “I had forgotten that she printed the pamphlets for the storefront competition. She wanted Liam to win. That made me like her more.”
“I remember that too,” I said. “She also drew up the signs for when Miss Violetta came to town and wanted to open a hair salon.”
“She was a real pillar of the community. Who would want to hurt her?” mused Charlie sadly as she flipped through one of the many design books scattered around the shop.
“I don’t know, but we’re going to find out,” I said.
Above our heads I could hear the clomp, clomp of Greer’s boots.
“Do you think the killer was here at the same time you were?” Charlie asked.
“No, I think whoever it was, was gone by then.” I told Charlie about checking the tea cup and finding it cold.
After some hesitation, I made my way over to Tootsie’s desk. Whatever she was currently working on had probably been taken away by the police, but maybe there was still something to look at.
As I leafed through random piles of papers, Charlie set to work examining Mrs. Tootsie’s various printing and copy machines.
After a few moments, I looked down at the flyers and did a double-take.
“What is it?” Charlie asked, coming to peer over my shoulder. At first she didn’t get it. Then she gasped.
“She made these a couple of days ago,” Charlie whispered.
“So what?” Paws demanded. “Isn’t she allowed to work regularly? You think women should just stay in the kitchen?”
“Paws, you are the most ridiculous individual imaginable,” sighed Charlie. “I’m saying that she knew Tabitha was dead before anyone else did. She knew it before the house burned down. How is that possible?”
“Maybe she’s the one who killed her?” Paws suggested. “Never underestimate an old lady.”
“I’d hardly call a lady in her sixties old,” I said.
“I suppose not,” grumbled the cat. “Evenlyn was old,” he added hopefully, as if that had anything to do with anything.
“You’re just getting into worse trouble,” said Charlie, shaking her head.
“Did you find anything?” Greer said, peeking down from the loft, swiping at her hair as if she expected the cobwebs she’d brushed into to hold melon-sized spiders. “I don’t think anything up here is useful, by the way. It looks like it’s mostly her husband’s old things.”
We told her about our find.
“Wow, do you think she killed Tabitha?” Greer asked, echoing Paws as she started down the loft stairs.
“That’d be hard to believe,” I said. “They were old friends.”
“Mice?” Paws asked Greer, unaccountably insisting on changing the topic.
Greer was still standing on the stairs coming down. “Lots,” she said. Paws was halfway up the stairs when Greer managed to get out, “The live kind.”
“And that’s my cue to leave,” Charlie said, marching toward the door of the shop.
“This place is so cluttered it’s a wonder she knew where anything was,” I said.
“That’s the best kind of mess,” said Charlie, a girl who never let anything get more than an inch out of place
We made our way back out into the night and found June Bug having a chat with a wolf as she waited for us.
“Pick me UP this instant,” Paws cried. “That terrifying beast is here to eat me!”
“Here wolfy, wolfy,” Greer cooed to the creature.
The wolf ignored Greer, and after a few more words with June Bug it trotted quietly into the woods. June Bug nodded to us to follow and led us around the back of the house, where we were surprised to find a large garden, in the middle of which sat the ghost of Mrs. Tootsie.
To everyone’s surprise, she wasn’t alone.
Chapter Thirteen
“Who’s that?” Charlie whispered, coming to a halt. The ghosts were so deep in conversation that they didn’t even notice our arrival.
“That’s Mr. Tootsie,” I whispered. He was once the band teacher at the high school, but h
e had died many years ago. “He must be buried back here,” I speculated.
June Bug made a coughing noise, reminding us that we were there to speak with Mrs. Tootsie.
“I hate to interrupt,” said Greer.
“Me too, but we have to know what happened,” I said, stepping forward.
Mrs. Tootsie’s head snapped up in surprise as three living humans and a ghost deer came toward her.
“Careful not to step on the flowers,” Mr. Tootsie cautioned. “She did a lot of work on those flower beds.”
There was visible proof of that; the whole garden was alive with beautiful blossoms. Flowers lined the path, and the moonlight illuminated all the work Mrs. Tootsie had done.
“We’ll be careful,” Charlie assured the man.
“You can see me?” Mrs. Tootsie asked.
“I’m the witch of this town,” I explained.
“You should hand out business cards,” said Greer.
“Not a bad idea,” said Charlie.
“Animals wouldn’t know what to do with them,” said June Bug.
“That’s true,” said Paws. “But we would be impressed.”
“Despite how I live to impress you, I think they might be helpful,” I said.
“I’ve had quite a shock,” said Mrs. Tootsie, “but what do you think I can do for you?”
“I know it’s a difficult time,” I said, trying to be kind. “I was the person who found you.”
“I don’t remember any of it,” said Mrs. Tootsie. “And I had no idea that Evenlyn’s granddaughter was a witch. It doesn’t surprise me that Evenlyn was a witch, though.”
“That woman could make a rock tap dance,” said Mr. Tootsie.
“You knew my grandmother?” I asked.
“Everyone knew your grandmother,” he said.
“I guess that’s true,” I said.
“Why didn’t you come by when I died?” he asked.
“Because you died a peaceful death,” his wife explained. “And anyhow, it was a long time ago.”
“I still can’t believe you were murdered,” he said to his wife with a shake of his head. “Here I was in the garden, minding my own business, and this car drives up and the next thing I know my wife is joining me.” He looked a little stunned.
“You saw the car?” Charlie asked, seeing a way to get a story.
“His eyesight is bad,” said Mrs. Tootsie. “All he saw was that it was black.”
“I was never much of a car man,” said her husband. “It sure was red though.”
“Half the town has a black car,” said Greer. “I’m pretty sure it’s one of the most popular color these days.”
“I’m not saying I thought it would be helpful,” he said gruffly.
“It might be helpful,” I said. “Thank you for telling me.”
“Well, I should be getting back to my friends,” said June Bug, getting restless at all the conversation.
“You must be the lovely deer I fed all those years,” said Mrs. Tootsie.
“I’m flattered you remember,” said June Bug.
“Of course I do,” said Mrs. Tootsie. “Thanks for saying hello.”
June Bug sauntered away and Mrs. Tootsie turned to me, looking as if she was ready to get down to business now that the deer had left.
“Do you remember anything?” I asked her.
“No, I’m afraid I don’t. I remember going out to work this morning and that’s about it.”
“Did you know that Tabitha Tolls was murdered last year, she didn’t just disappear?” I asked.
“I most certainly did,” she said. “I’m a horrible person and a horrible friend.”
“How so?” we chorused.
“Because I’m the one who killed her.”
A shocked silence fell!
Was it a knife? Tripping? Maybe a frying pan?
“You most certainly did not,” her husband argued. He looked furious.
“How can there be confusion about whether you killed her?” Charlie asked.
Mrs. Tootsie slumped. “Okay, I wasn’t the actual murderer, but I as good as killed her. I told everyone in town that she didn’t want to be on the judging committee anymore,” she said. “And a week later she was dead.”
“Did you believe she was out of town?” Charlie asked.
“She did say she needed to have some space and clear her head. Still, it was all very fishy,” said Mrs. Tootsie. “I just didn’t buy that whole thing.”
“And then my dear wife goes and says she doesn’t want to be on the committee anymore and she ends up murdered,” said Mr. Tootsie.
“Why would anyone want you all to stay on the committee?” Charlie asked. “I could see where someone might not want you on the committee, but to kill you because you wanted to leave it? That makes no sense.”
“I just don’t know,” said Mrs. Tootsie. “Maybe it’s so obvious I shouldn’t be saying it, but be sure to protect Mrs. Stone. Make sure she doesn’t say she wants to leave the committee, or she’ll be in big trouble.”
“You think whoever killed you and Tabitha wants to kill Mrs. Stone too?” I asked.
“That would make sense, wouldn’t it?” said Mrs. Tootsie. “And like I said, I think it has something to do with staying on that committee. I just can’t figure out what.”
She paused to think for a moment, then said, “I’m sorry. I wish I could be more help, I just have no idea what happened.”
“What kinds of cookies were you eating?” I asked. “There was some kind of smell in the room when I found you, and I thought it came from the half-eaten cookie on your plate.”
“I really don’t remember. Someone brought me cookies?” she asked, frowning.
“Apparently, because there was part of one sitting next to you,” I said. “I thought it might have been poisoned.”
“That’s certainly possible,” said Mrs. Tootsie.
“The police report should say what kind of cookie she was eating. I can look for it in the morning,” said Charlie, glancing at me.
“That would be great,” I said.
“I think it might be an important clue,” Charlie continued. “We have a killer on the loose, and he or she likes to bake. Or at least, that’s how I read the evidence we have so far.”
“Good thing I’m entering a baking competition this weekend. That doesn’t sound dangerous at all,” sighed Greer.
“Deacon will protect you,” said Charlie.
“I’m a witch! I’ll protect her,” I said.
“Oh yeah, you,” Charlie sniffed.
Apparently she hadn’t entirely forgiven me for what had happened earlier, but I still didn’t know what else she thought I should have done.
“Is there anything you’d like the readers of the Mintwood Gazette to know?” Charlie asked Mrs. Tootsie.
“You’re that reporter?” was the reply.
Charlie was often recognized by her name, and everyone was very happy to meet their favorite Gazette reporter.
“That’s me,” said Charlie proudly.
“I’d like for everyone to know that the Mintwood Summer Fair is a great event and something like this shouldn’t tarnish that,” said Mrs. Tootsie.
“I’ll be sure to tell everyone,” said Charlie earnestly.
I didn’t dare inquire as to how she intended to convey the sentiments of a murdered woman to her readers, but I thought the question was best left unasked. Charlie would figure out a way, I was sure of it.
“Come on, we should get going,” said Greer. “We don’t want to be here when the policeman does his check. Even in the back garden.”
We said our goodbyes. Mr. Tootsie didn’t really care that we were leaving, in fact he seemed to want to be rid of us; understandably, he just wanted to talk to his wife. Before we were even out of earshot he was telling her all about what it was like to be a ghost, and she was nodding as if to say, “Yes, I have quite a good idea since I am one as well.”
We left them to their reunion an
d made our way back through the forest. June Bug nodded as we passed her in the woods, and we nodded back.
As we walked, I gazed up the night sky, where sparkling millions of stars floated. That sight would have been reason enough to break the law and sneak into a crime scene. That, and the search for the truth.
We needed to find out who was behind these murders and if Mrs. Stone was likely to be next. Were they connected to the fair, or completely separate?
At this point it was very hard to believe that they were separate.
We were nearing the spot where I’d left the Beetle when a barking noise brought us to a halt.
Looking around to find the source of the noise, I saw Funnel, our friend from the cemetery, on a nearby hill. He was a bloodhound with the typical bloodhound’s drooping features, but as he loped toward us he somehow managed to look delighted.
“I had no idea I’d run into such friends out here in the dark,” he said. “I never expect to run into anything good in the dark.”
“Dog,” said Paws, as if that word conveyed everything he needed to say.
“Grump,” Funnel responded in kind.
“Now, now, you two, just because you aren’t the same kind of animal doesn’t mean you can’t get along,” Greer chided them.
“No, the fact that he’s a dog means we can’t get along,” Paws huffed.
“What are you doing all the way out here, anyhow?” I asked, anxious to get the banter out of the way so we could leave before we were discovered.
“I like to check for new ghosts from time to time,” said Funnel. “We at the cemetery take turns, and it’s my turn this week.”
“Have you found any?” I asked.
“No, but I was just on my way to Mrs. Tootsie’s,” said Funnel. “Her husband has come by the cemetery a couple of times. I imagine they won’t be staying there.”
“Probably not if he’s buried in the garden here,” I said.
“His ashes were scattered,” explained the ghost dog.
Just then the ground beneath our feet started to shake. I would have tried to pass it off as my imagination, but Paws and Funnel both stopped talking and suddenly looked very concerned.
“What was that?” Paws asked.
“Your bear friend?” Charlie asked.
“Certainly not. I expressly told him that I stay away from Mintwood Mountain so as to avoid him. He would never be rude enough to leave it,” said Paws.
Witch of Mintwood Mysteries 7-9 Page 9