Witchy Start (Neighborhood Witch Committee Book 1)

by Nic Saint

  “Or failing one and throwing a temper tantrum.”

  “And Leann didn’t like that. She called it child exploitation and immediately got in touch with the police and child services.”

  “Oh, God,” said Ernestine, shaking her head.

  “They didn’t take away her kids, did they?” asked Estrella.

  “No, they didn’t. But she did have to sit through a very uncomfortable interview. She ended up unfriending and blocking Mrs. Peach after that,” said Gran.

  “This woman caused so much trouble for so many people,” I said. “I had no idea.”

  “Me neither,” said Ernestine. “I just figured she was our slightly eccentric and very annoying neighbor, while all this time she was some kind of ogre.”

  “Looks like Sam will have his work cut out for him,” said Estrella. “Any one of these people had a reason to kill Mrs. Peach. So who did it?”

  We all looked at Gran, hoping that her witchy powers perhaps extended to clairvoyance. But she shook her head firmly. “I have no idea who did it. I just know that I didn’t do it, and neither did any of you.” She smiled. “I know you too well for that.”

  “What about me?” asked Renée. “Do you think I’m a suspect?”

  “You never had any run-ins with Leann, did you?” asked Gran.

  “No, I stayed far away from that woman. She was human poison.”

  “Yes, she was,” Gran confirmed, which surprised me. Gran rarely says anything bad about anyone. The fact that she said something about Leann Peach told me the woman must have been pure wickedness.

  “So maybe she deserved what happened to her?” asked Busby, wiping his lips with his napkin. “I mean, she was clearly an evil person.”

  “Yeah, good riddance is what I say,” Bancroft chimed in.

  “No one deserves to die,” said Gran softly. “Not even Leann Peach.”

  “She’s not dead,” said Barnum, who’d been playing with a pancake. “Unless they put a stake through her heart she’ll be back. She’ll take out all her enemies.” He nodded knowingly. “Just like Carrie. Lots of blood.”

  “How did you ever get to see Carrie?” asked Renée. “You’re way too young to watch horror movies.” She directed a critical look at Barnum’s brothers. “Do you let your little brother watch those gory movies?”

  “Let him?” asked Busby with a chuckle. “We can’t drag him away. The kid is a horror fanatic.”

  “Shame on you,” said Renée. “You shouldn’t let him watch that stuff. It’s going to mess with his mind.”

  Busby laughed at this. “You have no idea, ma’am,” he said.

  The kitchen door opened and Father Reilly walked in.

  “So did you do it?” was the first question out of Barnum’s mouth.

  “Barnum!” Gran snapped. “Show some respect.”

  The priest wiped his brow. “No, I didn’t do it,” he said. “And I think I managed to convince the detective of that fact.” He plunked down and immediately swallowed down a big gulp of coffee, though it looked like he might have preferred something a lot stronger.

  Sam stuck his head in and locked eyes with me. “Edelie? A word?”

  Chapter 5

  I followed Sam out of the kitchen, my heart beating a steady drum. Was he going to accuse me of murdering our neighbor? But why? I hadn’t even known the woman. Had never even exchanged more than a few words with her. She hadn’t put beetles in my lettuce, sprayed me with blue paint, got me expelled from school, sent to Mozambique or any of those things.

  “Yes?” I asked a little stiffly once he’d closed the parlor door.

  “Sit down,” he said, gesturing at one of the overstuffed chairs.

  The parlor is one of Gran’s favorite places in the house. The windows are stained-glass with a floral motif, as is the wallpaper, and the room is airy and light. She just loves to entertain her guests here.

  Obediently, I sat down. I’d never seen this side of Sam. He was really in full cop mode now, the consummate detective. This was probably what it felt like to be a suspect in one of his cases. Not a very pleasant sensation.

  I’d actually met Sam when Gran had been attacked a couple of months ago, and since then our paths had crossed again and again. We’d gone out on a date once or twice, and had locked lips more than a few times. But I still didn’t know how serious we were. Or if we were ever going to grow beyond that initial attraction stage. Well, if he didn’t put me in jail first, of course. I don’t think cops are allowed to date murder suspects.

  He was standing wide-legged in front of the window, his hands on his hips, staring out. Suddenly he turned to me. “Look, I don’t know how to say this so I’ll just launch right into it.”

  “I didn’t do it, Sam,” I said. “I mean, I hardly knew the woman.”

  He stared at me for a few seconds, then his eyebrows rose. “Wait, you think you’re a suspect?”

  “Why else would you bring me in here?”

  He raked his fingers through his hair and smiled. “Honey, you couldn’t be more wrong. I brought you in here because I didn’t want your family to overhear what is essentially a private conversation.”

  “Oh. So what did you want to talk about?”

  I know I was a lot less friendly than is expected from a girlfriend, but since we weren’t dating anymore, I think a little frostiness was in order.

  “I’m sorry, all right,” he said, taking a seat across from me. He picked up a cigarette lighter shaped like a flower and toyed with it. It was one of Gran’s ornaments she’d picked up over the years.

  “Sorry about what?”

  “Sorry for not calling you for four days.”

  I shrugged. “You’re under no obligation to call me. If you call, that’s fine. If you don’t, that’s fine, too. It’s not as if we’re joined at the hip or anything.”

  He eyed me uncertainly for a moment, then seemed to regroup. “I didn’t call you because… there’s no easy way to say this so I’ll just get it over with.”

  I knew it. He was seeing someone else. I steeled myself. “Just spit it out, Sam,” I said. “I can take it.”

  “Pierre died,” he said finally.

  Whatever I’d expected, it definitely wasn’t this. “What?”

  “Yeah. We were out in the boondocks, assisting a local investigation with links back to some New York lowlife I arrested once, and my partner took a tumble, made a bad fall and… well, he didn’t make it.”

  “Oh, Sam, that’s terrible,” I said, immediately filled with compassion. I’d known Sam’s partner. He’d always seemed like a nice enough guy.

  “I’ve been pretty broken up about it,” he confessed. “I had to come back and tell his mother and father and, well, the whole thing just kinda had me thrown.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, getting up and taking his hand. “You should have called. I want to be there for you when stuff goes bad.”

  “I know, and I wish I had. I was going to call, but then I figured you didn’t deserve to be burdened with my stuff, so… I decided to get my head in the right place again before I…” He dropped his eyes and instinctively I sat in his lap and held his head against my chest. His shoulders shook, and for the first time since I met him, the big, burly cop was crying, unburdening his grief.

  It didn’t take him long to pick himself up again. “Look,” he said. “Don’t think for a moment that I think your grandmother is a suspect, because she isn’t. But I have to go through the whole list, and apparently it’s a long list, so I just wanted to start with the least likely suspect.”

  “I know,” I said. “Gran and Renée told us a little bit about Mrs. Peach.”

  “She sure was no peach,” he said.

  “No, looks like she wasn’t.”

  He smiled and touched his finger to my cheek. “Can I take you out tonight? Dinner and a movie? We can talk. Catch up.”

  “Sure,” I said. “Let’s do it.” And just like that, we were okay again.

  Chapter 6


  One advantage of opening up a flower shop was the fact that our commute was suddenly cut to a couple of minutes, since the store was one block away from where we lived. We walked there, the three of us, still talking about the murder of Mrs. Peach.

  “I can’t believe Sam questioned Gran,” said Ernestine. “I mean, Gran!”

  “I can believe it,” said Estrella. “Gran has hidden depths. Depths that Sam would do well plumbing.”

  “Sam told me Gran’s interview was just routine,” I told them. “He doesn’t believe Gran had anything to do with Mrs. Peach’s murder any more than we do. He just had to scratch her name off his list. Same thing for Father Reilly. Neither of them are suspects in Sam’s book.”

  “Oh, so now it’s suddenly Sam this and Sam that, huh?” asked Estrella. “I thought you guys had broken up?”

  “They didn’t break up,” said Ernestine. “They were on a break.”

  “Same thing.”

  “Is not.”

  “Is too.”

  “Sam didn’t call me because his partner died,” I said.

  Both my sisters gasped in shock. “Pierre died?” asked Estrella. “But I liked him.”

  “Liking a person doesn’t make them immune to dying,” said Ernestine.

  “I know that. But he was such a sweet, funny little guy. I really liked him.”

  “He slipped and made a bad fall, Sam said. Which is why he didn’t call.”

  “I don’t get it,” said Estrella. “The first thing Sam should have done when Pierre died was call you. Literally the first thing that should have gone through his mind should have been to take his phone and talk to you.”

  “He said he was such a mess that he didn’t want to burden me with his grief. And I get that,” I said. “He wanted to get a grip on himself before he called me.”

  “Sounds pretty fishy to me,” said Estrella.

  “Oh, it is not,” said Ernestine. “I think it’s the most romantic thing ever. He just didn’t want to bother you with his personal stuff. I think it’s very nice of him.”

  “And I think it’s very suspect,” Estrella insisted. “But if you think it’s fine, more power to you.” She paused. “I’m just saying, if I were you, I’d look into this whole ‘Pierre died and I was grieving so bad I couldn’t call you’ thing.”

  “That’s just crazy,” I said, shaking my head. “Pierre died and you want me to check up on him?”

  “Yes, what do you suggest?” Ernestine asked. “That she call Pierre’s family and ask them if he’s really dead? How insensitive can you get?”

  “I’m not telling her to call his family. Just call the precinct. Tell them you’re a friend of Detective… Pierre, and ask them where to send the flowers.”

  Conveniently, we’d arrived at Floret & Bloom and Ernestine was rolling up the roll-down gate with one brisk move of her arm.

  “I’m not doing it,” I said as we entered the store. “I’m not calling the precinct. That would mean I don’t trust Sam. And I trust Sam. Completely.” I dumped my purse on the counter and opened the cash register.

  “If you trust Sam completely you’ve got nothing to worry about,” said Estrella. “So just call them and you can relax in the knowledge that you were right.”

  “Maybe she’s right, Edie,” said Ernestine. “Maybe just call them and get it over with. She’s not going to stop bugging you until you do. You know how she is.”

  I did know how she was. But I was putting my foot down on this one. There would be no calling behind Sam’s back to check up on him. I wasn’t going to be one of those girlfriends that went through her guy’s phone or planted a tracker on his car. Nah-uh.

  “Hello? Yes, this Estrella Flummox. I’m a friend of Detective Pierre…”

  “Farrier,” Ernestine supplied helpfully.

  “Hang up that phone,” I said. “Hang up that phone right this minute!”

  I tried to grab the phone but Estrella kept it out of reach. “Yes, Pierre Farrier. I heard about his tragic death and wanted to know where I can send the flowers and the card, maybe even attend his funeral if it’s not too late.”

  “Hang up that phone right now!”

  “Yes. Pierre Farrier. He works out of your precinct, doesn’t he? Partner of Samuel Barkley? Yes, they’re both good friends of my family. Oh.” She glanced at me, a look of triumph on her face.

  My heart sank. “What?” I asked. “What are they saying?”

  “So he didn’t die? Oh, that’s such a relief. He’s in the hospital but he’ll be home soon. Oh, that’s so great to hear. Yes, I was a right mess over it. Yes, someone must have been spreading stories. Fake news, just like you say, ma’am. Thank you so much.” She clicked off her phone with a gesture of victory. “Pierre Farrier is just fine. He broke his arm but he’ll live. And so will Sam Barkley. He’ll live to tell another lie.”

  “Not if I have a say in it, he won’t,” said Ernestine. “The rotten scoundrel!”

  “Of all the low, dirty, rotten… Hey, why aren’t you more upset, Edie?”

  “Oh, I am upset,” I promised her. “In fact I’m way beyond upset. I’m livid.”

  She handed me her phone. “Go ahead. Make the call.”

  “I’m not making the call. I’m seeing him tonight and I’ll ask him face to face.”

  “You’re not still going through with that date, are you?” Ernestine asked.

  “Make the call. Get it over with,” said Estrella. “If you won’t call him, I will.”

  I groaned. I so didn’t want to do this over the phone. Then again, I didn’t want to wait until tonight either. So I made the call.

  “Sam?” I asked when he picked up on the first ring. “We just called the precinct.”

  “You did? You could have called me. I told you, anything you need, you call me.”

  “I needed to know where to send the flowers for Pierre’s funeral.”

  Silence.

  “Sam? Are you still there?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “The strangest thing happened. When we called—”

  “What do you mean, we?”

  “Actually I called, Sam,” Estrella suddenly spoke into the phone. “And you’re a rotten scoundrel!”

  I yanked the phone away from her. “That was Estrella.”

  “Yes, I heard that. Listen, Edie…”

  “No, you listen to me. You lied to me, Sam. You told me Pierre was dead and turns out he isn’t. So while I’m glad your partner is still alive, I’m more than shocked that you would tell me he’s dead.”

  “He did die. For a few minutes. And then he came back. It… kinda threw me for a while. That’s why I didn’t call. One minute he was there, the next he was gone. It… that could have been me, Edie. I could have died out there. It just made me think. Do I really want to put you through that kind of thing? Do I really want you to sit at home and worry that I might not make it? That’s a terrible thing to put anyone through, especially someone you deeply care about.”

  “But why didn’t you tell me that? Why did you tell me Pierre died?”

  “It just seemed easier to explain somehow. I didn’t know if you would understand the other stuff. I don’t know. It—” He sighed. “It just seemed easier to lie about it, I guess.”

  “Look, I know you’re a cop, Sam, and I know what you do is dangerous. I get that. But anything can happen to anyone at any time. I can cross the street and be hit by a bus. We never know what the future holds in store for us. So let’s just… take it one day at a time. I mean, it’s not as if we’re married or anything.”

  There was a long pause, then he said, in a croaky voice, “I’m sorry. I guess I overreacted, and then I behaved like a total jerk.”

  “You got that right, Sam!” Estrella barked into the phone.

  “Please, just don’t ever lie to me again, all right? Can you promise me that?”

  “I promise,” he said.

  “Is Pierre going to be all right?”

  “He�
�s going to be out of circulation for a while.”

  “Didn’t you think it would be kinda strange when I suddenly bumped into Pierre?”

  “I—I guess I didn’t think things through, huh?”

  “No, you certainly did not. Anyway, I’m glad Pierre is okay.”

  “You’re letting him off pretty easy, Edie,” said Estrella. “If I were you—”

  “Well, you’re not me, are you?” I snapped, holding my hand over the phone.

  “Just leave her be, Strel,” said Ernestine. “She’s fine. Pierre’s fine. Sam’s fine. We’re all fine.”

  “Well, I’m not fine,” Estrella bellowed into the phone.

  “Got that,” Sam said. “Just tell your sister I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not telling her anything. This is none of her business.”

  “So are we still on for tonight?” he asked.

  “Yes, but you’re paying for everything. And we’re having dinner someplace swanky.”

  “And we’re all coming!” Estrella yelled. “And you’re paying.”

  “For once I agree with my sister, Sam,” I said.

  “God,” Sam groaned. “You’re never going to forgive me, are you?”

  “I might forgive you, Sam,” I said, more dramatically than was my intention, “but I will never forget.”

  I hung up the phone and both Estrella and Ernestine whooped.

  Chapter 7

  I was still thinking about the whole Sam thing when Flavio Moreskin walked into the store. Ernestine was in the back, on the phone with our suppliers, while Estrella was in the display window, rearranging things, so it was just me in the store.

  “Hello, honey,” said Flavio. Flavio is of Eastern European descent and has that whole dark-skinned, dark-eyed, dark-haired thing going for him. He and Erick have been married for a while, and moved next door to Mrs. Peach just after the wedding, having bought the house together. In hindsight they probably wished they hadn’t. Nobody likes to be turned into a Smurf.