Witch of Mintwood Mysteries 7-9

by Addison Creek

  “We can do it,” I said.

  “He won’t like seeing you there,” said Tom.

  “Why not?” Charlie asked.

  Tom was tight-lipped and refused to tell us.

  “We’ll be back shortly. I promise,” said Charlie. She closed her notebook with a snap and started to walk away.

  Tom looked at the bony hand poking out of the dirt and shuddered, not at all happy that he’d be left alone with it. “I suppose it’s silly to worry about the killer coming back,” he mused.

  “Given that it’s a skeleton, yeah,” I said.

  “Let’s go,” said Charlie.

  We walked away as Tom continued to putter at the crime scene. I heard him on his phone asking for forensics and wondered where the nearest forensic lab was that served Mintwood.

  “I’m blanking on where Detective Cutter lives,” said Charlie.

  “He lives on ritzy side of town,” I said.

  “Oh,” said Charlie, “I remember now. His family has a nice house.”

  Our first case had been an investigation into the disappearance of Gracie Coswell, who lived on the fancy side of town. Gracie lived in a mansion, and so did Detective Cutter. Usually when he was out amongst the rest of us he tried to hide that fact, but it was true.

  “I wonder if it’s gated,” said Charlie.

  “I doubt it,” I said. “He’s a detective, after all.”

  It didn’t take us long to reach Detective Cutter’s house. It was in fact a mansion, and very nicely kept.

  “Who is that out front in pink?” Charlie wondered, seeing someone out gardening as we drove up to the house. You didn’t get such stunning gardens without a lot of work. I knew, because I didn’t have them.

  “Probably the gardener,” I said.

  We pulled up the Beetle and got out, momentarily losing sight of the gardener. When we saw him again Charlie gasped in shock. The gardener, dressed in pink and wearing a wide-brimmed hat, was Detective Cutter himself, holding trimming shears in one hand and weeds in the other. He looked just as shocked to see us as we were to see him.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

  Charlie blinked several times. “We came about something we found at the library.”

  Detective Cutter frowned under his wide-brimmed hat, probably wishing he was wearing anything else but what he actually had on. “Why didn’t you call?”

  “We did call, several times. You didn’t answer,” said Charlie.

  “What kind of disturbance would be so important that you have to come get me?” the detective demanded. He was visibly unhappy that his morning off and his gardening were being interrupted.

  “I don’t want to bias you. It would be best if you came yourself,” Charlie explained.

  The detective eyes narrowed.

  “Tom also called you,” I added.

  “Tom?” Detective Cutter asked, suddenly looking very concerned.

  “He’s at the library now,” I said.

  “When we couldn’t get in touch with you we called him,” Charlie explained.

  “What a terrible idea! Are you trying to ruin the whole investigation? Give me a minute,” said Detective Cutter. Then he rushed past us into his house.

  I was as surprised as could be that he was taking us seriously with so little effort on our part. But when Charlie and I exchanged looks, I knew our conclusion was the same: we were going to go with it.

  While we waited, I took my time examining the grounds. There was a gazebo and a beautiful old swing, and in the back of the house a nicely kept barn. The whole thing said New England Charm. I wondered why Detective Cutter kept it all hidden away.

  He eventually came marching out of the house, now dressed in his police uniform, his whole demeanor transformed. “I’m ready,” he announced. “I’ll follow you.”

  We climbed into the Beetle and headed back to the library. If the cell phone service in Mintwood had been more reliable, Detective Cutter probably would’ve been on the phone to Tom asking him what was going on. Since he didn’t have that option, we just drove quickly. But not too quickly; he was the police, after all.

  When our little caravan reached the library, we all hopped out and hurried around the side of the building to see what Tom had been up to in our absence. The librarian, Mrs. Snicks, had also arrived. She was standing along the side of the building, gazing at Tom and looking very concerned.

  “I’ll have to ask you to wait here,” said the detective importantly when we reached the spot where Mrs. Snicks was standing. “Like you said, this is my investigation.”

  “This way,” said Tom, looking sheepish. The two police officers walked around to the back yard without us, leaving Charlie and me to explain what was going on to Mrs. Snicks.

  “Tom told me there’s a body,” said Mrs. Snicks, sounding remarkably calm.

  “He told you that?” Charlie asked.

  “It’s Tom, after all,” said Mrs. Snicks with a small shrug.

  “Right,” I said.

  “There’s a hand sticking out of the dirt. A skeleton hand, that is,” Charlie explained.

  Mrs. Snicks sucked in her breath. “Well, we’d best be getting inside to start looking at missing persons news. Come on,” she said, turning around to lead the way, obviously assuming that she was now in charge of us.

  For a split second neither Charlie nor I moved. We had planned to look through Charlie’s own black binders to see who had gone missing from Mintwood over the past decade, but when we didn’t follow her Mrs. Snicks paused at the steps and looked back at us. “Are you coming?”

  Charlie and I hurried to follow her. We could check Charlie’s binders later.

  It wasn’t quite opening hour yet, so we had the place to ourselves. Mrs. Snicks brought us right over to the computers that gave library patrons access to many public databases.

  “Aren’t these fancy?” she said with pride.

  “I love them. They aren’t a notebook, but they’re still wonderful,” said Charlie.

  We each logged on to a computer and started searching lists of missing persons.

  “Will somebody who went missing in the thirties do?” Mrs. Snicks said. “I think this one is a husband who just got up and went to his other secret family, but you never know.”

  “We think the skeleton is a woman,” said Charlie. “I would also be surprised if she was that old.”

  “You never know,” said Mrs. Snicks with a wink. “Some of us look remarkably young for our age. It’s just a number, after all.” She fluffed her graying hair and smiled.

  We kept searching. At times, looking out the back window, I could see Detective Cutter and Tom going about their investigation. Periodically Detective Cutter would gesture wildly, giving the distinct impression that he wasn’t happy. If body language could be read from a distance, Tom was very embarrassed as Detective Cutter asked a string of difficult and unreasonable questions.

  “I found something,” said Charlie triumphantly.

  “Who is it?”

  Mrs. Snicks and I crowded around her shoulders.

  “A tourist who went missing last summer,” Charlie explained.

  “Oh, I remember that,” said Mrs. Snicks. “People were looking everywhere.”

  “I think I remember her family being upset,” said Charlie with a frown.

  “They were downright distraught, but that’s not surprising, is it?” said Mr. Snicks. “They eventually held a remembrance gathering at the library because it was her favorite place. They couldn’t actually have a true memorial service, because no one actually knew whether she was dead or had just disappeared.”

  Mrs. Snicks paused for a moment, then added, “Horrible people.” She spoke with such feeling that Charlie and I looked at her in surprise.

  Mrs. Snicks wasn’t really one to mince words. Unlike her husband, she did enjoy a good bit of gossip, and we knew that. But saying that the family of a missing woman was horrible seemed like something else entirely.

>   “What? They were,” said Mrs. Snicks defensively. “They blamed the town for her disappearance and hinted that someone in Mintwood had murdered her. Well, I privately agreed that someone might’ve murdered her, but it wasn’t anyone from Mintwood. If she was murdered, it was probably a member of her own family. That’s what kind of people they were. In my opinion, of course.”

  “Her name is Isabel,” said Charlie, now scanning the article. “Oh, yes, her daughter is being quoted. They said her disappearance was a complete and utter shock. She says they miss her desperately.”

  “They’re from Virginia,” I said.

  “With all the tourists who come here in the summer, there was bound to be a problem eventually,” said Mrs. Snicks.

  “You think they’re back this summer?” I wondered.

  “Good question,” said Charlie. “It shouldn’t be too hard to find out.”

  “You remember where they were staying last summer?” I asked the librarian.

  “One of those nice houses on the lake,” said Mrs. Snicks.

  “And they never found this Isabel?” I asked.

  “It doesn’t look like it,” said Charlie. “There’s an interview here with her sister Dana. She says they’d been coming here since they were kids.”

  “Bless her. She did love it here. She was in the library all summer long,” said Mrs. Snicks. “I think she’d taken out every book in the library at least twice.”

  Charlie jotted down a couple of things in her notebook and snapped it closed. “We don’t know if the skeleton is actually hers,” she said, “so of course we have to wait for confirmation. But as soon as we’re sure, we can start digging for more information. Right now I’m going back to the office to see what else I can find out.”

  “I’m going to go check on Cesar,” I said.

  I was still taking care of Mr. John’s dog. As summer reached its height Mr. John had gone to visit his family, and since Cesar didn’t like to fly, I was pet sitting again. I also had a certain meeting with a certain witch that I couldn’t be late for.

  “It was very good playing detective with you two girls,” said Mrs. Snicks. “When I hear something else I’ll let you know. I have a feeling it’s going to be a very busy day at the library.”

  “You still want a protest?” I asked.

  Mrs. Snicks laughed. “Dear girl, certainly not. They’d be very confused about what you were protesting.”

  “She’s right there,” said Charlie.

  “Death is so sad. So is not protesting,” said the librarian.

  Chapter Six

  I dropped Charlie off at the office with a promise to pick her up later. Before I went to Hazelwood I had to check on Cesar, and I also wanted to stop back at the house to see if Greer was awake so I could tell her what we’d been up to. Charlie and I agreed that I’d pick her back up at the newspaper offices in time for dinner. We were even thinking of going out for a meal.

  Cesar was his usual happy self and getting more excited to see me every time I came by. I gave him a good portion of kibble and clean water and spent some time petting him and throwing the ball for him to fetch, then headed home.

  There was no sign of Paws, but Greer was sitting on the porch enjoying the nice summer day. Charger lay at her feet, his belly tilted upwards hopefully.

  “You left early,” she said. “Wanted to get downtown before the hordes of tourists woke up?”

  The number of people visiting Maine in the summer doubled and sometimes tripled the population of the state. For the most part visitors were friendly and pleasant, enjoying their vacations. Every once in a while, just to balance things out, they were horrible, horrible drivers.

  “Actually, Charlie asked me to go take a look at something at the library,” I told Greer.

  “Oh, what was that?” she asked.

  I sat down on the front steps and told Greer everything. Her eyes widened in shock. “I can’t believe Charlie went to the library by herself this morning and found a dead body,” she said.

  “I know, it’s hard to believe,” I said. I shook my head and added, “At least it was a skeleton, not a recent murder.”

  “Unlike Pickle going around killing people,” said Greer dryly. “Who cares that much about winning a baking competition?”

  “You cared about the baking competition, and she cared about the fair itself,” I said.

  “True,” Greer acknowledged. Then she sighed. “You sure you don’t want company?” she asked.

  I shook my head. She couldn’t come with me to Hazelwood, at least not yet. “No, but stay here and keep in touch with Charlie and Mrs. Snicks. If you hear anything, let me know.” We both knew that cell phone reception might prevent that, but we were always ready to try.

  Greer nodded. “I’m going to the bar in a bit to clean up, but the second I hear something I’ll be in touch.”

  I went inside and grabbed a quick bite to eat. Once I’d scarfed down my sandwich of brie and apple I headed to Hazelwood.

  All around the county were cute little towns. Caedmon, Mintwood, and Iriswood, not to mention Pennwood all had a lot going on.

  Hazelwood was not like those towns.

  For one thing, it was terribly spread out. The downtown had a pottery shop, a very old antique shop that might or might not have been more aptly named a junk shop, and a garage that was always closed. It was the kind of place that might be nice to live in but didn’t draw visitors.

  Because Hazelwood wasn’t a very large town, it was known for its woods and hiking trails. Some were easy walks while others were far more elaborate. Sicily had suggested I meet her near the entrance to the trail where she thought her granddaughter had gone missing.

  I’d had to dig out my hiking boots, checking to make sure no mice or spiders had taken up lodging inside them.

  Watching me, Greer had shaken her head. “You’re such a chicken,” she observed.

  “I don’t like mice,” I replied.

  “I don’t think anyone likes mice,” said Greer. “Except for Paws.”

  After confirming that my boots could still be worn, I’d thrown them into the back of the Beetle and headed out.

  Sicily was already at the parking lot for the Prairie Falls Hiking Trail when I arrived. She looked me up and down and said, “You really look like you’re ready for hiking.”

  “I brought my hiking boots,” I told her.

  “You’re still in a dress,” she said dryly.

  “You told me this was just a walk,” I retorted.

  “It should be, but we don’t know where my granddaughter is, now do we?” she said. “Anyhow, let’s get going.” She was carrying an old walking stick and handed me a fancy new one.

  “I figured you wouldn’t want to use an old beat up one,” she said. I took the walking stick and tried not so say anything I’d regret.

  Meaning I said nothing at all.

  Sicily was obviously trying to get my goat, and I wasn’t going to let her. We were here to find Scarlett, and I was determined to keep myself from being drawn off track.

  “Can you tell me what she was doing out here?” I asked.

  “Not for sure, but I assume she was looking for ghosts. She spent a lot of time in the woods, but obviously she had always come back before,” said Sicily. Finally she let her worry about her granddaughter outweigh her need to needle me. “She grew up around here, so it’s not as if she wouldn’t know her way around.”

  “She also knew the dangers,” I said, thinking of things like bears. Not that a bear had attacked a human in Maine in a long time, and anyhow, as a witch Scarlett should have been able to protect herself.

  “It took me a while to get worried, but now I am,” said Sicily, leading the way to the well-trodden trail.

  She stopped at the trailhead and fished out a photograph from the pocket of her long-sleeved shirt. The snapshot showed a young woman smiling brightly, her crazy curly hair flowing around her face as she grinned at the camera.

  The shot had
been taken at the top of a high mountain, and the horizon stretched for miles in the background.

  “This is Scarlett,” said Sicily. “We really loved her name, but it doesn’t exactly fit her, since she turned out to be an outdoorsy, down home kind of girl.”

  “No intrigue?” I asked.

  Sicily gave me a dangerous look. “Certainly not. Not like your grandmother.”

  Without so much as a glance of camaraderie in our search, much less her granddaughter’s bright smile, Sicily started forward up the trail.

  Regardless of the company, I loved the Maine woods in the summer. This was just my kind of hike: easy.

  The sunlight slanted through the trees and everything smelled new and alive. The radiant colors of auburn, brown, and green mixed with the golden light to make magic.

  Well, almost magic.

  “This is lovely,” I said. “I can’t believe I’ve never been here before.”

  “People from Mintwood think pretty well of themselves,” said Sicily.

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “It means that you think you have everything you need right there, so why would you venture out to good old Hazelwood?” she said.

  “Did my grandmother think that way?” I asked.

  “She certainly did,” Sicily said.

  “I go to Caedmon a lot,” I said.

  “Josephine will be so pleased to hear it,” said Sicily.

  I came to a halt.

  “Josephine is the Witch of Caedmon?” I asked.

  Sicily didn’t stop moving, nor did she bother to answer.

  We walked along at a decent clip until we passed a couple of other walkers, who smiled and nodded.

  After a while we came to a rocky outcrop where we could see overland for a good distance. My guide stopped and squinted at the horizon, pushing back the wide-brimmed hat she wore to protect her face against the sun.

  “What’s the longest Scarlett has been ever gone before?” I asked.

  “Only a couple of hours. I guess maybe an afternoon at the longest,” said Sicily. “She’s a real outdoors type, but she always took someone with her when she went camping. She doesn’t go off by herself.”