At the coven gathering I had liked Josephine particularly. Given that she was the witch who ran a tchotchke shop on Main Street, I didn’t think she’d be very hard to find. Steeling myself and gathering my courage, I got into the Beetle and headed that way.
Despite my determination, I was incredibly nervous as I drove.
“Why are you sweating?” Paws asked, looking at me in confusion.
“You’re a real bastion of comfort, aren’t you?” I said to the cat.
“I don’t know what ‘comfort’ means,” he replied.
I had never seen the other witch around Caedmon, but ever since I had found out that she was that town’s witch, I had been wondering if she knew Hansen Gregory. She probably did. Most people there got the local paper.
I didn’t know where Josephine lived, but I knew where her store was. I’d gone in there a couple of years ago when I was looking for a birthday present for my grandmother and hadn’t been able to find anything. I couldn’t remember if the person who worked there then was Josephine, but the store was full of spunk. It was one of those places that sold crystals, scarves, and potpourri.
“Don’t you have enough friends? Aren’t you at an age where making more is pointless?” Paws asked as he trotted alongside me.
“If you keep being so unhelpful I’m going to take my necklace off,” I told the cat.
“Then how will you see the dark ghosts coming?” he said.
I grumbled about useless sidekicks.
The bell tinkled as I walked into the dingy space, and at first I didn’t see anyone. Soft music was playing and I was overwhelmed by the smell of spice.
“In the back,” Josephine’s voice yelled.
“Does she want me to go in the back?” I was already confused.
“She just wants you to know where she is. Get hold of yourself! You’re going to make a fool of me,” hissed Paws.
I heard footstep, and the next instant Josephine emerged. Her hair was in weird ringlets cascading around her face and she was dressed in layers of silky robes.
“Lemonia! What a surprise!” she cried when she laid eyes on me.
“Hi,” I said breathlessly.
Josephine had a wide face with round cheeks that made it seem as if her head was heavy on her shoulders. For all that, she had a twinkle in her eye that spoke to a love of mischief. My initial impression that I liked her was confirmed now that I’d met her again.
For a split second her face betrayed confusion, then she broke into a big grin.
“Come to learn all about being a witch?” she asked, looking delighted.
“How did you know?”
“You looked out to sea at the gathering the other night.”
My grandmother used to say run away from anyone who looked too pleased with themselves. This was the first time I understood what she meant. But Josephine, not being a mind-reader, continued on. “Don’t be shy, I’d be more than happy to help.”
“What do you want in return?”
“Keys to a very large castle.”
“Are there castles in Maine?” I asked.
She threw back her head and laughed. “I’ve no idea, but rule number one is that witches joke too. Now. Tell me everything you know about being a witch.”
That part of the conversation was short.
When I finished she said, “Wow. That’s not much.”
“You’re telling me,” I muttered.
She sighed. “Looks like we should begin at the beginning.”
“I’m not sure we have time for that.”
She threw back her head and laughed some more.
“I just love the history so. You’re right, however. We perhaps don’t have time for that right now.”
“We don’t have time for the history,” said a voice from the shadows.
I jumped.
Caedmon was bigger than Mintwood, and at first blush more boring. Upon closer inspection there was a lot more going on beneath the surface than I’d ever suspected.
I spun around and stared into the dark corridor.
Gleaming blue eyes and an iridescent body swaggered toward me. She was the same ghost cat I’d seen at the Witches’ Council meeting.
The cat was very large. She was also very bejeweled.
“Hilary, where have you been?” Josephine asked the formidable cat.
“Slaving away all morning keeping the young ones in line.”
“How did that go?” I had the temerity to ask.
With one quelling glare she made it clear that I was not to ask such things again.
I bent my head and shuffled my feet in embarrassment.
Josephine came to my rescue. “Now Hilary, you know Lemmi doesn’t understand the way of things around here. Cut her some slack.”
The cat made a disgruntled noise. “I gave up cutting people slack after I turned forty. Stopped humoring them, too,” she added as she bared her fangs.
“Good to know,” I said. I started to say something to Paws and then realized that he wasn’t there.
“Like I was saying, we don’t have time for history,” said Hilary.
“I’m Lemmi, by the way,” I introduced myself.
“Oh, how silly of me,” cried Josephine.
“At least you’re polite. I’m Hilary,” said the cat.
“Had you gotten word that I wasn’t polite?” I frowned.
“Not you,” said the cat as if she expected me to understand the significance.
“Paws,” I groaned. Now I was glad my ghost cat had disappeared.
“Got it in one,” said Hilary.
“I’ve heard your ghost cat has quite the personality,” agreed Josephine.
“That’s the polite way of calling him a menace,” I agreed.
“Shall we get started?” Hilary asked.
“Who died and said you could participate?” laughed Josephine.
“Probably the same person who died and made you think I needed it,” grouched Hilary.
Josephine rubbed her temples.
“Given what I’ve heard about your cat, I take it this is stuff you have to put up with too?” Josephine asked plaintively.
“Yeah, I’m the difficult one in this partnership,” I said.
“What are you up to now? Since we don’t have time for a history lesson today,” Josephine asked, turning serious all of a sudden.
“I’m going to look around Scarlett’s place,” I told her. “Then I was hoping to find Sicily. I don’t suppose you could tell me where Sicily lives.”
“Are you any closer to finding out happened to Scarlett?” the other witch asked after giving me some quick directions.
I shook my head. I didn’t want to give too much away.
Josephine waved me on my way, telling me to come back soon.
“Monstrous woman,” said Paws after we left. I had found him sitting by the car, waiting for me.
“You just didn’t like her because of her cat,” I rolled my eyes. “She didn’t do anything to you.”
Scarlett lived in Hazelwood, in a modern house on the busiest street in town, which had recently been repaved. The outside of the house was perfectly kept, with flower boxes below the windows and a white picket fence that looked like it had just been freshly painted. Scarlett’s small red car was in the driveway.
Her grandmother had told me that Scarlett had lived there for a couple of years by herself. She had an older sister who had lived in the house with her before moving to California. When the sister left, Scarlett got the house all to herself.
“I’m going to stay in the car,” Paws said when we pulled up in front of the house. Given that it was daytime, he didn’t have much energy. For once he’d been forced to be out during the day, but that didn’t mean he was up for it. I agreed that it would probably be for best for him to sit tight until I was finished.
I hurried up the driveway, the gravel crunching under my boots. As I walked, I saw a curtain flutter in the front window of one of the two small houses
that flanked Scarlett’s. So she had a nosy neighbor; good! Maybe the neighbor could actually tell me something helpful. I was glad Sicily had given me a spare key, because otherwise I would have been breaking and entering.
Scarlett didn’t have any pets to look after, so no one had come here yet to check on the place. If she’d had a dog or a cat, Sicily would have had to come over to take care of it. She had told me that Scarlett didn’t like cats, in fact she was allergic, which was almost unheard of in the witch world.
Given that I was in another town (so my phone worked as it should) I had texted Greer to meet me. I wished Charlie could have come as well, but she was busy looking into the case of Isabel Gray.
The day was warm but not too sunny. While I waited outside the house for Greer to show up, I surveyed the yard, but I didn’t see anything suspicious. The grass was freshly cut and there were small flower pots on either side of the steps. There wasn’t a sign that said, “I, Ellie have taken Scarlett prisoner.” That would have simplified my search considerably.
Enough time went by so that I was about to go inside without Greer when the front door of the house next door opened and the nosy neighbor made her appearance. She was a small woman in her seventies, holding a watering can to camouflage her curiosity. I could tell, because it was obvious that her flowers had already been watered that day.
I wondered how many other people had come by already if she’d had to use a pretense like flower-watering more than once in order to talk to them.
The woman might have ulterior motives, but I had my own purposes to serve. I headed over to the white fence with a bright smile.
“Good morning,” I said.
“Oh, good morning. I didn’t see you there,” said the woman.
She’d been staring right at me since I’d driven in.
“I’m Lemmi,” I introduced myself.
“I’m Ms. Bunny,” she said. “Are you a friend of Scarlett’s?”
“Yes, I am. She’s out of town for a couple of days and she asked me to come over and check on things. I guess it was a last-minute thing,” I said.
“I was wondering about that. Usually I see her coming in and out every day. I’m retired so I’m around. We like to chat by the fence. I haven’t seen her in the past couple of days, though,” said Ms. Bunny.
“Do you have any idea where she might’ve gone?” I asked.
The woman’s eyes went wide. “I thought you said you were a friend of hers,” she said.
“Right, I am. It’s just that she texted me and said that she had to go out of town on an emergency. She didn’t explain why. I thought you might know,” I said.
I was busy congratulating myself on a well-crafted pretext, but the woman continued to look at me strangely.
“You sure you’re a friend of hers? I haven’t seen you around before.”
“Sure, you can ask her grandmother Sicily,” I said.
“Horrible woman,” said Mr. Bunny, drawing back as if she’d just seen a bee in her garden. “She has no tolerance for me at all. I swear she comes over and puts some kind of poison in my flowers. Every time, after she leaves, I feel like they’re duller and wilting.
“I suppose if Scarlett is gone for too long, someone will have to tend to her lawn. The Lawn Association doesn’t like it if the grass gets too long. Then again, she does have someone cutting it for her.”
“Oh, right, yeah,” I said.
Ms. Bunny seemed very concerned with the appearance of Scarlett’s lawn.
“Well, thanks for your time,” I said.
Just then I heard a vehicle approaching and turned around to see if it might be Greer. Luckily, it was. With relief I waved to Ms. Bunny and hurried over to my friend.
Greer hopped out of the truck and surveyed the small yard. “I like farmhouses in the woods better.”
“Me too,” I agreed.
Ms. Bunny had not gone inside, and in fact she watched as we let ourselves into Scarlett’s house. My mention of Sicily was probably the only thing that saved us from having her call the cops, but even so she was obviously skeptical of who I was and what I was doing there.
I didn’t really blame her.
The house was dingy on the inside, and surprisingly, it smelled very bad. The little light that was filtering in around the shutters only served to highlight the dust in the air. As I opened the door it scraped over a pile of mail, which I bent to pick up.
“I’ll look at the mail while you take a look around,” Greer offered.
I handed the mail to my friend and headed further into the little house, while Greer closed the door firmly behind us. I could heard the shuffle of paper as she flipped through the letters and magazines.
The hallway opened directly into a living room. To the left was an open kitchen, to the right two doors, and another small hallway stretch out ahead. Everything was packed tightly into limited space. There was no indication that anyone had broken in or that someone had left in a hurry. There was even chicken on the counter in the kitchen; it had by now been left out for so long that the reek made me wrinkle my nose.
“What’s that smell?” Greer asked.
“Rotting chicken,” I said.
Still in the package, the chicken had obviously been left on the counter to thaw, and then Scarlett hadn’t returned to cook it. This confirmed one thing: Scarlett had planned to come back. Flies buzzed around the smelly meat and it was all I could do not to gag.
I tossed the chicken into the trash bag and took the bag outside. That chicken couldn’t be in the house a second longer.
Ms. Bunny was still in her yard. She waved to me and I waved back. She seemed to be more suspicious than ever to see me throwing something away, so much so that I was tempted to explain that it was rotting chicken. But that would only make her think something was wrong, so I let it go. If she wanted to fish through Scarlett’s trash after I left, more power to her.
I hurried back inside and opened a couple of the windows that faced the back yard, where Ms. Bunny wouldn’t be able to see in but the air would be able to circulate and refresh the place.
“Any interesting mail?” I called to Greer.
“Not really. Mostly just catalogs and advertisements. One bill, but that’s about it,” she said. From down the hallway I heard her sigh. This visit wasn’t helping us much.
I went through the rest of the house, finding clothes laid out on the bed and a backpack tucked into the corner of the bedroom. Everything was neat and well maintained. Nothing at all made it look as if Scarlett had packed up in a hurry and left without meaning to come back.
If nothing else, the visit confirmed that Scarlett had indeed meant to return home that day. Something had interrupted that.
I heard a door open and returned to the front hallway, where Greer had just opened the front closet.
“Look at this,” she pointed.
Unlike the rest of the place, the front closet was jam-packed.
“Looks like there are boots missing,” she said.
“It also looks like there’s a backpack missing,” I said. There were six backpacks hanging on one wall, plus one empty peg.
I couldn’t imagine owning that many backpacks. Then again, I couldn’t imagine enjoying camping. Go figure.
“So, she took a backpack with her,” said Greer. “But that’s not so far-fetched for a day hike.”
I agreed. Still, we hadn’t found a backpack on the trail, and a missing pack might also mean that Scarlett had been more prepared than we’d feared. The house was giving us contradictory clues.
“Let’s get out of here before that nosy neighbor calls the cops,” I said.
“Yeah, she’s liable to call them at any moment,” Greer chuckled.
“Thanks for meeting me here,” I said.
“Of course,” said Greer. “Now I’m off to work.”
Chapter Fifteen
Sicily’s cottage in Leafwood reminded me of what I would expect a mad scientist’s cottage to look like. The dri
veway was dirt and wound from side to side, as if whoever had designed it had wanted to skirt the trees instead of cutting them down: difficult to accomplish in the forest.
There were also huge pockets of road missing, and large stones where there was should have been dirt. I drove the Beetle so slowly I might as well have been walking. Scraggly trees hung over the drive, limiting visibility to just a few feet ahead at any given time.
“What a mess,” said Paws. “I’m glad I live at the farmhouse.”
“Our house is in picture perfect condition,” I drawled.
“It’s better than this place,” said Paws.
For once the cat had said something nice about my place. I would try to remember it, because it probably wouldn’t happen again for a long time.
The drive was lined with all sorts of signs warning us to turn back. One was painted in red on an old piece of cardboard. It said “Beware of Monster,” and “Ladies Without Coffee.”
I laughed at that. Still, the signs made me a bit uneasy. Sicily hadn’t seemed unfriendly at the council meeting or when we’d hiked in Hazelwood, but now I was showing up at her home uninvited.
“Do you think a tiger will jump out of the woods?” I asked.
“It’s entirely possible,” said Paws. “The thing is, only one thing in this car is edible.”
“Very funny,” I said. “Look, here’s a throat lozenge.”
We came around one final bend and saw the house at last.
“Whoa,” I said.
“What are you looking at?” Paws asked.
“The house.”
“I don’t see a house.”
“It’s right there,” I pointed.
“You mean a collection of sheds is a house?” the cat asked. “Things get weird out here in Leafwood.”
“I think that’s the house,” I said, ignoring his frivolity.
“What tipped you off?”
“The sign that says ‘Sicily’s House,’ duh.”
“How many of those sheds do you think were built at the same time?”
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