Witchy Start (Neighborhood Witch Committee Book 1)

by Nic Saint

  Before we could recover from the shock, the doorbell rang, and then immediately the front door was pushed open. Ever since Gran launched her Airbnb, the front door stays open during the day—or at least when we’re here.

  “Hello!” a stentorian voice rang out. “Anybody home?”

  A shiver ran through me when I recognized the voice as belonging to Sam Barkley. The NYPD detective and I had been dating on and off for a while, but it had been off again since he went out of town last week and didn’t bother to call me for four days straight.

  “We’re in here, Sam!” Ernestine called out. “In the kitchen.”

  Sam walked in and seemed surprised to find the kitchen a lot more crowded than usual. The burly detective’s keen blue eyes flitted from face to face until they landed on mine.

  “Hi, Sam,” I said. I’d just stuffed a muffin into my mouth, so I didn’t exactly look my sexiest.

  He gave me a nod. “Edie.” Then his eyes continued their search until they found what they were looking for. “Cassandra. Can I have a word?”

  Gran nodded. “Let’s go into the parlor.” She walked out, Sam right behind her.

  “This won’t take a sec,” he said for the sake of the rest of us.

  “What’s this all about?” asked Ernestine.

  He hesitated, then he said, “There’s been a murder. Leann Peach.”

  And without another word, he closed the door behind him.

  We all stared at each other. “Who is Leann Peach?” asked Busby.

  “She’s one of our neighbors,” Estrella said. “She lives across the street—lived.”

  We all looked at Renée, who seemed to be the only one who knew what was going on. She knew the drill, for she launched into an explanation without having to be prompted. “She was found this morning. At St. Michael’s. Crushed to death by a cross.”

  “Crushed to death—you mean literally?” I asked.

  She nodded. “The cross fell on top of her. Death was instantaneous.”

  I didn’t ask how she knew this. Somehow Renée always knows. She’s a slight woman with short gray hair, soft brown eyes and a friendly face. And whenever something happens in Haymill, she knows all about it.

  “But Sam said it was murder,” said Estrella.

  “Someone must have dropped that cross on her,” said Bancroft.

  “That’s impossible,” said Father Reilly. “A single person cannot lift it. It takes at least four to hold it up. I would know since I was one of the people who helped take it down during an extensive renovation in the nineties.”

  “Oh, that’s right. St. Michael’s was your parish, wasn’t it, Father Reilly?” Renée asked.

  He nodded amiably. “Indeed it was. Although I don’t remember ever seeing you in church, Mrs…”

  “Reive. Renée Reive.” She gave him a deferential smile. “I’m not Catholic, father. I’m Presbyterian. But I did hear many great things about your time here.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Reive. But as I said, no one person can hold up that cross. If Mrs. Peach was murdered, as the detective indicated, there must be some other explanation.”

  “Maybe the vampires got to her,” said Barnum excitedly. “Was she a very juicy woman, sir? Lots of blood and guts?”

  The priest seemed taken aback by the comment. “Um, I wouldn’t exactly describe Mrs. Peach as a juicy woman, young Barnum. She was more of a dry prune, actually.” The moment he said it, he seemed shocked at his own words, for he gave a surprised chuckle. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong.”

  “A dry prune,” Busby said with a laugh. “I like that.”

  “No, but you’re right,” said Mrs. Reive. “Mrs. Peach wasn’t exactly a peach. In fact she wasn’t well liked.” She quickly made the sign of the cross, then added, “I know one should never speak ill of the dead, but she wasn’t.”

  “You’re quite right, my dear Mrs. Reive,” said the priest. “Leann Peach was not a very pleasant woman. There were many complaints by many parishioners about her, even in my day.”

  “Why is that?” asked Bancroft, interested.

  “Because she was a vampire!” Barnum said, slathering a waffle with Nutella.

  “She hated us,” explained Estrella. “For some reason she kept filing complaints about us with the local police department. Said we were…” She hesitated, and directed a quick look at me.

  “Witches,” I said. “She said we were a bunch of witches.”

  “Hey, that’s so weird,” said Busby. “Everybody knows witches don’t exist.”

  “Yeah, everybody knows that,” Ernestine confirmed. “Except Mrs. Peach.”

  “She just hated Gran,” Estrella explained. “Because Gran didn’t back down whenever Mrs. Peach came after her.”

  “Vampires hate witches,” said Barnum knowingly. “Because witches can defeat vampires.” He glanced at Father Reilly. “So that’s the vampire you were after. Mrs. Peach. Why didn’t you tell me? I could have helped you slay her!”

  The priest laughed again, and ruffled Barnum’s hair. “You’re funny.”

  “Yeah, a regular barrel of laughs,” said Bancroft with an eye roll.

  “Try living with him, Father,” said Busby. “You won’t think he’s so funny then.”

  “I wonder why Sam wanted to talk to Gran,” I said, directing an anxious look at the door.

  “He’s probably talking to everybody that knew Mrs. Peach,” said Renée. She uttered a little cry and flung her hand to her chest. “Oh, my. That means he’ll want to talk to me next. How is Detective Barkley?” she asked me. “Is he nice?”

  “He can be nice,” I hedged.

  Estrella laughed. “Edie and Sam had a fight.”

  “Edie and Sam?” asked Bancroft. “Don’t tell me you and Mr. Hunk are a thing?”

  “And what if we are?” I asked.

  “Well, but he’s so…” He puffed up his chest to indicate Sam’s general buffness. “And you’re so…” He deflated his chest and hunched his shoulders to refer to my less-than-buffness.

  I directed a Death Star look at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing. Just that he’s a hunk and you’re… not.”

  “Girls can never be hunks, Bancroft,” said Busby knowingly. “Girls can be chicks.”

  “So what you’re saying is that I’m not pretty enough for Sam Barkley?” I asked, my voice rising about an octave.

  “Well…” Bancroft seemed to realize he’d picked a fight with the wrong not-so-hunkish anti-chick. “From an objective standpoint he’s like an eight and you’re like a… five, maybe? No, let’s make that a six. And that’s just me being a professional stylist.”

  “I hate you,” I growled.

  “Just making an observation.”

  “I don’t think Edie’s a six,” said Busby. “More like a seven minus. She’s got great cheekbones. And she’s got a pretty great rack. Guys dig big racks,” he added for my sake.

  I gritted my teeth. I had a hard time suppressing my urge to throttle both my cousins. “Well, for your information, Sam and I have been dating for months, and he never once mentioned this discrepancy between us.”

  “Guy must be blinded by love,” said Bancroft. “It happens.”

  “Or he’s obsessed with your rack,” Busby said helpfully. “Happens more often than you might think. Chicks that look like dogs but with great racks can score way above their average rate. I saw that every day in Hollywood.”

  “You’re a moron,” I snapped at him. “And you’re a moron, too,” I added for Bancroft’s sake.

  “And I have to live with these two morons every day,” said Barnum with the sigh of a long-suffering younger brother. “Woe on me.”

  In spite of my bubbling anger, I had to laugh. Well, we all did, actually. Barnum might be a big PITA sometimes—or actually most of the time—but he was a great kid.

  “I just hope Detective Barkley will go easy on me,” said Renée, who was touching up her lipstick now, and checking he
r look in a small pocket mirror.

  “Sam is a sweetheart,” Ernestine assured her.

  “Yeah, he’s a great guy,” Estrella added.

  They both looked at me to complete the accolade but frankly I had nothing to offer. We might have been dating for months, but that seemed like a thing of the past. Sam hadn’t called me. I hadn’t called him. So technically we weren’t an item anymore. So maybe my two moron cousins were right? Maybe I was too ugly for Mr. Hunky Hunk? Finally, when I realized all eyes were on me, I shrugged. “Yeah, Sam’s okay.”

  “That’s great,” said Renée, taking a deep breath, “because I’ve got a lot to say about Mrs. Leann Peach.”

  Just then, the door opened and Gran walked in, followed by Sam. He directed a look at Father Reilly, totally ignoring Renée’s eager glances, and grunted, “A word, Father?”

  Father Reilly disappeared with Sam, and Renée deflated like a failed sponge cake. “Well, I never. I really thought he was going to pick my brain.”

  “Or something else,” Bancroft muttered.

  We all stared at Gran. “So?” I asked anxiously. “What did he say?”

  Gran looked a little crestfallen. “Well, it seems as if I’m on Sam’s list.”

  “What list?” I asked.

  “His list of suspects.”

  Chapter 4

  “Sam seems to think someone killed Leann,” Gran continued, “and I just might be the killer.” She emitted a startled laugh. “Can you imagine? Me? A killer?”

  “I can,” said Barnum. “The way you came after me for digging those trenches to protect the house from the German invasion? I thought you were going to kill me.”

  Gran uttered a cry. “Barnum. You’re just too much, aren’t you?”

  Barnum frowned at her. “See? You’re doing it again.”

  “I don’t think you did it,” I said.

  “Yeah, me neither,” said Ernestine. “You’re not a killer, Gran.”

  Estrella was conspicuously silent, though. Apparently she thought Gran just might have the killer instinct after all.

  “But why would he think you killed Mrs. Peach?” I asked.

  “Because I had a grudge against her. Because she kept filing complaints about me, calling me a witch. And I might have finally caved and killed her.”

  “I don’t think Sam really believes that, Gran,” I said. “He’s just being methodical. Like any good detective.”

  “So what did he say? How did this Peach woman die?” asked Bancroft.

  “Yeah, did some Incredible Hulk rip this cross from the wall and smash her with it?” asked Busby. “Cause I’m sure I could lift that thing, and I wouldn’t need four guys to help me out, like that priest just told us.”

  “Leann was killed by a cross falling on her head,” Gran confirmed. “The bolts that held the cross in place were loose, and apparently someone removed the final nut just when she was in position. The cross fell and crushed her to death.”

  “The final nut,” said Bancroft with a chuckle. When Gran gave him a death stare, he raised his hands, palms up. “What? It’s funny.”

  “Leann didn’t think it was funny,” Gran said. “And neither do I.”

  “Well, I don’t know,” said Renée with a sigh.

  “You don’t know what?” Gran asked.

  “With the number of enemies Leann had, it’s no wonder someone took a whack at her.”

  “That’s true,” Gran admitted. “Leann was not a popular woman. In fact I think she had more enemies in this neighborhood than friends.”

  “Not just in this neighborhood,” said Renée. “In any neighborhood.”

  “See?” I said. “I’m sure Sam has a long list of suspects and you’re just one of many. And you’re probably all the way at the bottom of the list. Like, literally the very last person on his list.”

  “So who else is on this list?” asked Ernestine, interested. “I mean, apart from you and Father Reilly?”

  Gran and Renée shared a knowing look, and Renée said, “Do you really want to know?”

  “Yes!” Barnum cried.

  “Well, all right,” said Renée. “Here goes.”

  “Leann obviously had a beef with me,” said Gran.

  “And with Father Reilly,” added Renée.

  “Father Reilly?” I asked.

  “Vampires are afraid of vampire hunters,” said Barnum knowingly.

  “Did Father Reilly tell you why he was transferred to another parish?” asked Renée.

  “He said something about the Lord working in mysterious ways,” I said.

  “Actually the Lord had nothing to do with it,” said Renée. She filled her cup of coffee, added creamer and sugar and took a sip. Her eyes shining excitedly, she launched into her story. It was obvious she and Gran had gone through this ritual many times. In fact they probably did it every day. “Mrs. Peach caught Father Reilly kissing Petrona McClafferty in the sacristy one fine morning, and she immediately decided to alert the bishop that one of his priests was carrying on with one of his parishioners—a married woman, no less. Father Reilly got kicked as far as Mozambique and was never seen or heard from in these parts again.”

  “Oh, my God,” said Bancroft between two giggles. “Talk about a scandal.”

  “Yes, it was quite a big scandal at the time,” Gran intimated.

  “And then there’s the Moreskins,” Renée continued, clearly enjoying her new role as raconteur.

  “Who are the Moreskins?” asked Busby, lowering a sausage into the abyss and chomping down.

  “Flavio and Erick Moreskin. They’re the gay couple across the street,” Estrella said. “They’re so nice. They once gave me a golden microphone for my birthday.”

  “They’re also nudists,” Renée said. “A fact that didn’t escape their next-door-neighbor Leann Peach, who filed complaint upon complaint against the couple, and when that didn’t help, even put the hose on them one summer afternoon.”

  “She did not!” Bancroft cried, his hands flying to his face in shock.

  “Oh, yes, she did,” Gran confirmed. “And more than once, in fact. She also took pictures of the couple and posted them online.”

  “Though that didn’t do her a lot of good. The Moreskins filed a complaint against her for violating their privacy. I think they won that, didn’t they, Cassie?”

  “Yes, they did. Which only infuriated her more. The next time she used the hose on them she added blue dye. Flavio and Erick looked like a couple of Smurfs for days.”

  “Oh. My. God!” Bancroft cried. “I’m starting to like this Mrs. Peach! She’s a hoot!”

  “Lucy Peanut didn’t think so,” said Renée.

  Busby popped three egg rolls into his mouth in quick succession. “Who’s—”

  “She’s Mrs. Peach’s other neighbor,” said Gran. “And she’s a foodie.”

  “A raw foodie,” Renée added. “She only eats raw food. Lucy grows her own veggies and will only eat organic food. So when Mrs. Peach’s cat Snoozles peed in her tomatoes one day, Lucy wasn’t happy and complained to Leann.”

  “I take it she didn’t like that,” said Bancroft, hanging on Renée’s every word.

  “No, she did not,” said Renée with a tiny smile. “So she went and collected a bunch of beetles—no idea where she got them—and let them loose on Mrs. Peanut’s vegetable garden.”

  Bancroft clapped his hands in delight. “She’s a menace!”

  “Not much remained of Lucy’s garden after that, I’m sorry to say.”

  “Don’t forget about Paloma Peach,” said Gran.

  “You tell that story, Cassie. You know Paloma better than I do.”

  “Paloma is Leann’s sister. So when their father died they both stood to inherit a part of the house—the house where he lived all his life. Only when the notary read the will, turns out Leann was the sole beneficiary. Somehow she’d managed to get her sister bumped from the will.”

  “The woman was pure evil,” Busby decided.

&
nbsp; “A vampire,” Barnum added.

  “I never liked her,” said Ernestine.

  “Me neither,” I said.

  “So all these people are suspects now?” asked Estrella.

  “Wait. The story isn’t over yet,” said Gran with a nod at her friend.

  “Yes, I haven’t told you about Didi Fizz yet, have I?”

  “Didi Fizz?” I asked. “Who is she?”

  “You know that Leann Peach was a teacher, right?” Renée asked.

  “No, she wasn’t,” said Bancroft, horrified.

  “Oh, yes, she was. An English teacher. And she was also something of a prude. So when she caught Didi making out with a boy one day, she decided to do something about it. So she had her kicked out of school.”

  “For kissing?” Bancroft cried. “No way.”

  Renée and Gran shared a look. “I don’t know the complete story,” Renée admitted. “But Didi was expelled. She missed a scholarship because of that, and never got to become the doctor she always wanted to be. I think she went to nursing school, though, so at least there’s that.”

  “Tell them the story of Brandi Bluff, Renée,” Gran instructed.

  “Brandi Bluff? The bestselling fantasy writer?” asked Ernestine, her interest piqued.

  “She lives two blocks over,” said Gran. “She always walks her dog in the same park where Mrs. Peach used to go for her morning stroll.”

  “Brandi was Mrs. Peach’s favorite writer. She was also an alumnus of hers, so she was particularly proud of her accomplishments, which she used to pass off as her own. Because she was Brandi’s English teacher.”

  “Of course,” I said.

  “But why would Brandi have a grudge against her former teacher who was so very proud of her?” asked Estrella. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “Well, it doesn’t,” said Renée. “But that’s Leann Peach for you. Not a lot of the things she did made sense.”

  “She used to follow Brandi’s Facebook page, and was an avid liker and sharer of her posts,” said Gran, wiping a few crumbs from the tablecloth.

  “Until she began to notice a few disturbing things,” said Renée.

  “Brandi has four kids. And she used to post a lot of pictures of her kids on her page, showing what they were up to. You know the sort of thing. Kids playing in the yard, or making a mess in the kitchen, or acing a test.”