“They’re the best. Well, almost,” said Charlie with a smile.
Hansen smiled in return.
Meanwhile, in awkwardland, Jasper and I were looking at each other . . . awkwardly. No way were we going to kiss in public. It was bad enough that we had held hands and ridden the Ferris wheel, heaven forbid we should make an even more emphatic display of ourselves.
Although Jasper’s grandfather had been blissfully absent this whole weekend, I still felt his presence. It was only a matter of time before he said something to me, and I didn’t expect it to be pleasant.
Jasper and Deacon had come in separate trucks, and they both followed us home. Deacon had said he was sleeping at Jasper’s because of some construction going on there that he was helping with, and it struck me in that moment that I had never been to Jasper’s actual home. I had always just seen him at the Babbling Brook Barn. He’d made several references to building on his land, and I knew he lived in the woods, but that was about it.
“We’re putting up some plaster tomorrow, but then I’ll be over,” Deacon promised Greer.
Even Greer knew more about Jasper’s construction than I did. I could have asked my friend, but I wanted to hear it from him.
Charlie, Greer and I were sitting down to breakfast the next morning when something very strange happened. I had already made a run to the Daily Brew to grab bagels as a special treat, because Greer, while awake much earlier than usual, was too preoccupied planning her pie for the final night of the competition to be bothered with making breakfast. She had spent the night poring over recipes; I didn’t think she’d slept at all.
“What does Hansen have to say today?” I asked as Greer unfolded the Caedmon Chronicle.
“He has a bit of news, but it isn’t earth-shattering.” She read us the following paragraph out loud:
After an exhaustive few days of investigation, it is now believed that the murders of Tabitha Tolls and Mrs. Tootsie are connected. Detective Cutter of the Mintwood Police Department has even gone so far as to suggest that Mrs. Tootsie might have known something about Tabitha Tolls’ death, and that’s why she was killed. When pressed about how the detective came to this conclusion he refused to say more.
“That’s very interesting,” I said.
“How could he have gotten that information!” Charlie steamed. “I hadn’t heard that.”
“Maybe he’s making it up,” said Greer in an effort to make her friend feel better.
“You know he wouldn’t do that,” grumbled Charlie.
“Fine, then he has sources you don’t,” Greer said.
Charlie didn’t look any happier with that theory.
“If Mrs. Tootsie knew who killed Tabitha, why didn’t she say something?” I said.
“And why did it take the discovery of Tabitha’s body to push the killer to strike again?”
“I have no idea,” said Charlie. “Maybe guilt finally got the better of Mrs. Tootsie and she was going to speak, and she carelessly told the wrong person. It was only then that the murderer decided she needed to be silenced.”
“I don’t think we’ve ever had so much information and still felt so far behind on a case,” I complained. “We have the black car, we have two murders, we have the fair connection, we know the fire at Tabitha’s wasn’t started on purpose, and we have a solid list of suspects. How are we ever going to find out who did it?”
“We’ll hear something. The fair is obviously very important to this person. They’ll slip up. Then we’ll have them, and I’ll be able to write the article of a lifetime.” Charlie’s eyes lit up at the prospect.
“You make it all sound so simple,” I said, bracing my cheek on my hand.
After that we continued to eat bagels and read in silence. Greer had stopped pretending to read the paper and was instead poring over more of the pie recipes she’d found in my grandmother’s cookbooks.
“I’m in need of a miracle,” she had said to me when asking for the cookbooks.
All was quiet until Charlie’s shocked voice interrupted us.
“Who is that?” the reporter asked. She was still in her nightgown and robe, her tousled blond hair falling in gentle waves around her face. She hadn’t yet showered and blow-dried her hair smooth for the day.
I followed Charlie’s glance out the window and was dismayed to see a now-familiar witch dressed in purple walking around the side of the house. Meredith Munn kept looking up as if to see what was in the windows. Or maybe she was checking the rain gutters. Who knew?
“What on earth?” I muttered, and stood up. My two friends kept peering through the window as I went to the back door.
“Excuse me?” I called. “Can I help you with something?”
Meredith Munn was the sort of woman who never looked startled. Give that she was sneaking around on my property in plain sight, I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised.
“Excuse me for interrupting,” she said.
“Were you bored with the front door?” I asked.
“No one answered. And you have that awful cat,” she replied.
I felt a swell of pride in my chest for Paws. It was an unfamiliar feeling.
“Yes, I wanted to make sure you are quite ready for the Witches’ Council meeting,” she said, coming over to where I stood holding the door ajar.
“I’m getting a little tired of you showing up at my house. Can’t we just have the meeting already?” I asked.
Meredith Munn did not appreciate my sassiness, but sometimes sass is the only way to say something.
“There is a process to these things. We must take time and get the witches together. Your case is of particular interest,” she said.
“Why?” I asked.
Meredith Munn wouldn’t respond.
“I’m not sure I’m ready,” I said. “I don’t like getting into trouble, especially if its with witches.”
“As a witch of the loose coven you have no choice,” said Meredith. “If the Council decides to administer a punishment for someone breaking witch law, the decision must be respected.”
“I’m aware of that,” I said. “Can’t you give me any hint as to what’s going to happen?”
“Just come,” she said, glancing at the house. I couldn’t tell if she saw Charlie or Greer or just somehow knew that they were there. “Alone.”
“I’ll only bring Paws,” I told her.
“Just make sure he behaves,” she said.
I smiled at her. “Sure thing.”
“What did she want?” Charlie asked when I made it back inside.
“One last check with me before the meeting,” I told her.
“They’re really making a big deal about this,” said Charlie, sounding worried.
“It’ll be fine,” I told her, though I wasn’t sure she believed me.
“Can we get back to discussing pies?” Greer asked.
“Of course. The important things,” Charlie said.
“Exactly,” I laughed.
My friends always brought me back to reality. A yummy-smelling kitchen, a beautiful day, and a small town fair were the important things. All of this witchy intrigue got tiresome, especially when uninvited guests kept showing up at the farmhouse. I was happy to go back to reality.
Greer said, “Did you ever figure out why the blueberry pie you made turned everything blue?”
“She made a blueberry pie that turned you all blue?” Paws asked.
The cat was sitting listlessly on the porch, a spot he’d been occupying almost around the clock since Honolulu left. We had managed to drag him to the fair for a while, but when he’d gotten home he’d gone right back to his moping.
“You knew that,” I informed him.
“Oh, yes, I vaguely remember,” said Paws dully. “My life will never be the same.”
“Do you know why it turned us blue?” I asked the cat. Trying to get him to focus was like trying to get Charlie not to be interested in detective work.
“Of course,” said Paws.
All three of us waited. Paws just kept staring off into the distance.
“You have got to be kidding me,” Greer muttered. She snapped her fingers in front of the cat and his head snapped up.
“What is it? Dawn? Sound the alarm!” he cried.
“Paws, why did it turn us all blue?” I asked.
“Your grandmother magicked the blueberries. She used to add a couple to each pie mixed in with just normal blueberries she got from the grocer. That’s what made them so amazingly good, so much better than everyone else’s. She made such good pies that Mrs. Cook was always afraid she’d enter the Mintwood Fair baking competition, and no one else would have a chance. Those blueberries are what you baked as a whole pie. It’s a wonder you weren’t whistling out your ears and dancing on the roof. Just turning blue, with no other consequences, was amazing luck.”
That wasn’t exactly what I would call lucky, but Greer’s face lit up. “Thank you, Grandmother Evenlyn! I have an idea.”
Greer disappeared, and Charlie and I just sat there staring at each other.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I was jolted awake in the middle of the night by a tapping at my window. I tried to ignore it; those heavy curtains were there for a reason. Not the sun nor anything else was to disturb me until morning.
But the noise was persistent, and eventually I was forced to throw off my covers and go see what it was.
Swinging back the curtain, I saw, on the other side of the glass, one of the farmhouse ghost birds.
The little birdie, very irritated at how long it had taken to get my attention, made its frustration known by chirping at me angrily.
I rubbed my eyes and glanced at the clock. It said 3:47 a.m.
Wordlessly I held the clock up to the window and pointed at the time.
The bird spun over in the air as if to say “Whatever,” and flew away.
Bemused, I set the clock back down. Apparently I was supposed to be somewhere, and as far as the ghost bird was concerned I was supposed to be there right now.
I stuffed my feet into my old slippers and headed downstairs as quietly as I could so as not to wake my roommates. The night was warm, so there was no need for a robe; the slippers were just to keep my feet clean.
As I approached the front door I could see a gathering of glows through the curtains, a sign that the ghosts were waiting for me out there.
Opening the door softly, I slipped out onto the porch.
“What is it?” I asked.
The ghosts were all assembled. Tank was sitting with Gary, the one who had lied about knowing where my grandmother’s real wand was.
Karen and the other two tea ladies had gone so far as to move their pretend tea drinking operation closer to the house, and Mrs. Goodkeep and Mr. Bone were standing by. Even Funnel had come over from the cemetery. As usual, he was sitting as far away from Paws as possible.
“What is it?” I asked again when no one said anything.
“We need to speak with you about the dark ghosts,” said Karen. “It isn’t good.”
“What else is new?” I asked dryly.
Ellie had been causing problems for a while now, so I wondered what could have happened to make the entire crew assemble in the middle of the night.
“I’m actually grateful that Ellie isn’t even more trouble than she’s been so far,” I said. “I have a feeling that after I meet with the Witches’ Council and explain the situation, she will no longer be a problem at all.”
“We aren’t so sure about that,’ said Karen. “You remember us telling you that more ghosts have been disappearing?”
I vaguely remembered something of the kind, though I couldn’t pinpoint when she had said it.
“Wasn’t that just kind of a one-time thing?” I asked.
Karen shook her head.
“The rate has become alarming,” said Funnel. “The cemetery isn’t getting any new ghosts for salsa night anymore.”
I licked dry lips.
“Maybe you should sit down,” suggested Mrs. Goodkeep.
Taking her advice, I sat in the rocking chair, still wondering just how bad the news was going to be.
“So she’s massing an army?” I said.
“Yes, I do believe that’s what she’s doing. If she gets many more darks ghosts they’ll be able to overrun us, farmhouse charms or no,” said Karen. “We can only be so prepared with what we have.”
I went cold at that prospect, but tried to keep listening.
“Are you sure?” I whispered.
“Yes, they are coming for Mintwood,” said Karen.
“What do you suggest we do about it?” I asked.
“Mintwood is yours. Never forget that. She can’t just take it from you,” said Mr. Bone.
“We’ll put up a crackling good fight,” said Tank, hopping on one foot. “You don’t know what battle means until you’ve done war with a rabbit.”
“OH. PLEASE,” groaned Paws, who had been sitting calmly on his usual crate. “She could knock you over with a ghost feather.”
“She cannot defeat Tank,” said the rabbit.
“Yeah, right,” said the cat. I figured his unusual calm was because he was still pining over the loss of Honolulu.
“We’ll be okay. I promise,” I told them.
“But we have to prepare,” said Karen, who seemed the most worried about an imminent attack.
“You are preparing,” I told her. “I’m going to speak with the Witches’ Council. There isn’t anything else I know of that I’m capable of doing in the meantime.”
The last day of the fair dawned bright and sunny. I woke up excited for the day, with a good feeling about Greer’s chances in the last round of the competition. Her first two pies hadn’t been judged the best, but something told me today would be different.
Today, Greer would win.
When I finally made it down to the kitchen, I was dismayed to find Greer sitting on the floor, covered in flour.
“I dropped the baking soda,” she said.
“I thought that was flour all over you,” I replied.
“It is,” she said, looking bewildered.
That made two of us.
I wasn’t sure the kitchen was going to survive if Greer didn’t soon stop her frantic baking marathon soon. Luckily the contest would be over that night, so maybe there was hope.
“What does the baking soda have to do with it then?” I asked.
“That’s how I ended up on the floor,” she explained.
Despairing of that line of questioning, I changed course. “How long have you been baking?” I asked.
I glanced at the clock and saw that it was nearly nine. After my middle of the night summons I had slept in, but this was early for Greer. On the other hand, the fair gates opened at nine on the last day and the fair would be in full swing by noon. We ought to get a move on.
“Since six,” said Greer. She started to rub her eyes, then realized that they were covered in flour and left them alone.
“You’re going to sleep really well tonight,” I said.
“Not if I lose I’m not,” she sighed.
“I’ll help you clean up,” I offered.
Once we had finished sweeping and wiping up the flour and all the other mess, I led Greer over to the corner nook. She protested feebly, then gave in and let me take care of her.
“Sorry I’ve totally taken over the kitchen,” she said. “I just wanted everything to be perfect.”
“You’re the only one who uses the kitchen anyway,” I laughed. Greer smiled wearily.
“I keep trying to make this peach pie, but it just isn’t working,” said Greer.
“I think we both know what pie you’re supposed to be making,” I said seriously.
Greer looked at me and sighed again.
“I can’t use magical blueberries. That’s cheating.”
“It isn’t,” I insisted. “You’re supposed to make the best pie you can! Having superior ingredients isn’t a crime.”
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“Yeah, maybe,” said my friend.
“Good morning,” said Charlie, gliding in from her room already dressed.
Greer and I, who looked like bag ladies, frowned.
“What?” Charlie replied to our glares.
“Why are you already dressed?” I demanded, as if she had personally offended me.
“I’ve been up for hours,” she replied. “I wasn’t going to sit around in my PJs.”
Greer and I exchanged a look that implied, Why not?
“Why didn’t you come out here and stop the kitchen madness?” I said.
“Because I wanted to have a pleasant and productive day, including working on the case, which meant staying as far out of Greer’s way as possible,” said Charlie.
“We do need a review of the facts,” I said. “If something is going to go wrong at the fair it’s going to go wrong today.”
“I need the best pie in the history of pies. What else is there to know?” Greer groaned.
“No, about the case,” I said.
“That’s definitely a jumble too,” Charlie agreed. “We have two dead judges. We have one who knew about the other and we have the information that Tabitha was keeping the fair from being opened up to bakers from outside Mintwood. Given all the confusion, I invited someone over to help us make sense of all of it.”
“Who?” I asked.
Just then there was a knock at the door. When Charlie went to answer it, my question was answered.
Hansen Gregory had been to the farmhouse before but had never been invited in as an equal, since Charlie usually treated him as a tabloid hack. We were all aware of the momentousness of the occasion, but Greer and I knew it was better to stay cool and not comment.
Hansen was wearing a blue T-shirt that brought out the blue of his eyes perfectly. He was carrying a stack of papers tucked under his arm as if it was a special treasure.
“I pulled them from the Caedmon Chronicle archives,” he explained as he settled in at the nook table.
“Great! Thanks! Tea?” Charlie asked, and Hansen agreed.
Charlie could probably have proposed boulder-rolling and he’d have gone along with it, but for some perverse reason she still refused to recognize that fact.
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