Witchy Start (Neighborhood Witch Committee Book 1)

by Nic Saint

  He knitted his brows. “Snoozles is at your place?”

  “Yeah, he snuck in last night, and again this morning. I guess he needs more time to say goodbye to the neighborhood.” I refrained from telling Sam the cat had talked to us. I didn’t think this would go over well.

  “I just hope your gran won’t kill him. The poor creature has been through enough already. I think he deserves some pampering. In fact Mom bought him a pile of cat food, all the expensive stuff. Maybe I’ll just drop it by the house.”

  “Would you? That would be so great.” Gran wouldn’t like it, but then what else was new.

  Sam darted a serious look at the house. “So are we doing this?”

  “Yes, we are,” I said, and put my foot on the first step.

  The house actually looked better on the inside than the façade indicated. Didi lived on the third floor, in a slightly rundown apartment that told me how measly her paycheck was. She’d done her best to make the place look clean and cozy, though, with modern furniture in light woodsy colors, cheerfully yellow curtains on the windows, a few comfy bean bags, a spanking new kitchen and even a happy little yapper who answered to the name Lincoln. He was a Yorkshire Terrier with a pink ribbon in his hair.

  “Take a seat, please,” said Didi. She was a slender, dark-haired young woman with an open face and a kind demeanor. I thought she probably made a great nurse.

  “We’re here to talk about Leann Peach,” Sam began, flipping open his notebook. “Mrs. Peach was murdered yesterday, and we’re reaching out to everyone who knew her. She was your English teacher, is that correct?”

  “She was,” said Didi curtly, her posture having gone rigid when Sam had revealed the purpose of our visit.

  “You don’t seem surprised that she was murdered,” I said.

  “I saw it on the news. Someone dropped a cross on her.”

  “You and Mrs. Peach had some trouble a couple of years ago?” Sam asked.

  Didi nodded, sitting ramrod straight. If she sat any straighter she was going to pull a muscle. “Mrs. Peach told the principal that she caught me cheating on my final. As a consequence I was expelled, my scholarship was revoked and I ended up missing out on the chance to pursue the academic career my parents and I had always envisioned for me.”

  “That seems like a harsh punishment,” said Sam.

  She nodded stiffly. “Especially since the charges were false. I never cheated on my final. I never cheated on any exam, never in my life. I was an A student throughout my entire high school career. Mrs. Peach’s claim was bogus and she knew it. The principal chose to believe her, though.”

  “But why? Why would your teacher spread such a lie about you?” Sam asked.

  “Because she was a terrible prude,” said Didi, her eyes growing moist and her composure faltering. “She saw me kissing Steve Earn, her nephew, in the girls locker room one day, and sent us both to the principal. When she saw that her intimidation tactics didn’t work, and that Steve and I had no intention of breaking up, she decided to bring out the big guns, and accused me of cheating. She hated me, and wanted to make me suffer.”

  “Because you were kissing some boy?” Sam asked, sounding skeptical.

  “Because she saw me kissing her nephew,” said Didi, her gaze dropping to her lap and tears rolling down her cheeks. “She said I wasn’t good enough for Steve, and that she would get me for it. And so she did.”

  “What did Steve say?” I asked softly.

  She shook her head. “He tried to stand up to his aunt, but she was too vicious—too mean. In the end he caved to save his own grades. I never saw him again.”

  Sam heaved a deep sigh and sat back. “That’s a terrible story, Miss Fizz.”

  Didi was wiping at her eyes. I handed her a Kleenex and she gratefully took it, avoiding my eyes. “I’m sorry for falling apart on you like this. I’d promised myself not to let Mrs. Peach affect me again, but it seems she still does.”

  “Well, it’s only natural after such a harrowing experience,” said Sam.

  “Thank you.” She lifted her hand, then let it fall into her lap. “At least I got to go to nursing school, which was my second choice. And my parents stood by me, even if no one else would.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said. “Everybody we talked to so far confirms that Leann Peach was a horrible person who lived to make the lives of others miserable. Why didn’t the principal of your school see through her lies? Why did he end up believing her and not you and this Steve?”

  She looked up. “Because he was Leann Peach’s brother-in-law and Steve’s father. And he didn’t think I was good enough for his son either.”

  When Sam and I were out on the sidewalk again, I was feeling a little sandbagged. All these horror stories about Mrs. Peach were starting to affect me. At this point it seemed that whoever had killed the woman had done the world a favor.

  “So that’s another one I can scratch off my list,” said Sam, checking his notebook. “Though I’ll still have to check her story with her supervisor.”

  “I doubt that she lied about it. It would be easy to refute.”

  Didi had told us she was at the hospital yesterday morning. She’d done the morning shift, and her colleagues would vouch for her.

  “So who else is left?” I asked.

  “At this point? Nobody. I talked to Brandi Bluff, the writer, and she also has a solid alibi. She was out for a run with a group of friends and they all confirmed it.” He scratched his scalp. “I’m running out of suspects, Edie.”

  “Me, too,” I confessed. “Though I’m sure there must be others out there who were slighted by Mrs. Peach.”

  “It seems to me pretty much everyone she ever came into contact with was slighted by the woman. She was like the neighborhood pest.”

  “What about witnesses? Anyone see her go into the church?”

  “We canvased the neighborhood, and one guy saw Mrs. Peach enter the church. Guy who runs a hot dog stand across the street. But he didn’t see anyone else go in before or after.”

  “Doesn’t the church have a second entrance?”

  “Yes, it does, which is how Father Frank gets in and out. Unfortunately no hot dog salesmen on that side, and none of the neighbors saw anything either.”

  “What about Father Frank himself?”

  “Oh, he was around, but like I told you, he made himself scarce whenever Mrs. Peach visited the church. He was at home, getting ready for mass, and his housekeeper vouches for him.”

  “She could be lying.”

  “Honey, everybody could be lying. The hot dog guy could be lying, too, but why would he? And why would Father Frank kill Leann Peach? He didn’t like her, but it seems he was one of the only people she actually respected. He was her priest for ten years, and they never quarreled.”

  “Unlike Father Reilly.”

  “Unlike Father Reilly, who visited Orlando McClafferty, and was seen by McClafferty’s wife, woman by the name of…” He flipped through his notebook.

  “Jeannine,” I said helpfully, which elicited a grin from the burly cop.

  “You seem to know everything.”

  “The neighborhood watch has to stay on top of the situation.”

  “So you’re going ahead with that watch business?”

  “Why? Don’t you think we can pull it off?”

  “Oh, you can pull it off all right. It’s just that… Have you ever stopped to consider this stuff might be dangerous?”

  “Well, no more dangerous than what you do, Sam.”

  “Yes, but I’m trained to handle danger. You’re not.”

  “I’m sure that watching out for suspicious activity won’t get us into trouble,” I said.

  “It might. Some shady characters might not like a bunch of girls snooping around their territory and decide to get rid of you.”

  I gave him my brightest smile. “Good thing we have you to protect us, then.”

  He gave an amused bark. “Yeah, right.” But then he turned
serious again. “I won’t always be around to keep an eye on you, honey.”

  I placed a hand on his chest. “We’ll be fine, Sam. We can take care of ourselves.”

  “I’d feel better if at least you took a course in self-defense. And maybe got yourself a gun.”

  “A gun! I’m not getting a gun. What do I need a gun for?”

  He leveled an incredulous look at me. “To protect yourself against the bad guys?”

  “I don’t need a gun,” I assured him. “Even if I got one, I’d be too scared to use it.”

  “That’s why you need to go to the range. If you want I’ll take you and your sisters.” He grimaced and quickly amended, “Or maybe just you.”

  “Just me? Why not Strel and Stien?”

  “Because I don’t trust them with a gun. Strel is liable to shoot her own toe off, and Stien might fumble the gun and shoot everybody.”

  I crossed my arms. “It’s nice to see how much faith you have in my sisters.”

  “I have faith in you. Isn’t that enough?”

  “No, it’s not. I’m a package deal, Sam. I come with a lot of baggage.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Oh, all right. Bring your sisters along and let’s shoot some rounds. Even if you don’t want to get a gun right now it doesn’t hurt to learn how to use one. Besides, getting a permit might take some time.”

  When he dropped me off at Floret & Bloom, he promised to bring by the cat food for Snoozles. I told him that when he did, he might as well stay for dinner. And he said that when he came over for dinner, he might as well stay the night. What? A witch has needs. And now that it looked like the investigation was at a dead end, I needed a pick-me-up. And nothing picks a girl up like a big, burly cop in her bed. It even beats a hot water bottle.

  Chapter 25

  That evening after closing time, I had to drag myself up the stairs to reach my room. Our newly improved display window and Gran’s general overhaul had done its job and had attracted customers by the boatload. We’d never sold so many flowers before, and I had to brush up on my organizational skills to get all of our new customers served on time.

  I was about to enter my room and crash on my bed when there was a soft hiss that sounded as if it came from somewhere nearby. I searched around for the source of the sound but couldn’t find it at first.

  “Pshhh!” the voice went.

  And then I saw it. Barnum, who was sharing a room with Busby, had opened his door a crack and was peering out.

  In spite of my better judgment—which told me I should simply ignore my cousin and head inside—I walked over.

  “What is it this time?” I asked.

  “It’s Kermit!” he hissed loudly, defeating the purpose of trying to be inconspicuous.

  “Oh, Barnum,” I said. “What did you do this time? Pour more holy water on his head? Try to drive a stake through his heart? Hasn’t the poor man suffered enough already? Just leave him alone.”

  “I taped him!” said Barnum enthusiastically.

  “You did what?”

  “I taped his secret conversations with my secret machine!”

  This, I had to see. “What secret machine?”

  He opened the door so I could come in. The room, as I should have expected, was a mess. Busby’s clothes were strewn all over, and bathroom towels covered every available surface, along with PowerBar wrappers, empty protein shake cartons and dozens of bottles of vitamins and other supplements. Barnum led me to his bed and pointed at a device that would have looked alien to pretty much anyone but me. Because it was mine.

  “Barnum!” I cried. “You took my tape recorder!”

  I like old stuff from the eighties. In fact I collect it. My room is full of record players, Swatch watches, tape recorders, walkmans, boomboxes, Rubik’s cubes, ET dolls… I even have an old Betamax recorder.

  “Yeah, and then I put it in Kermit’s room. And it worked! I recorded an entire conversation!”

  “But why?!”

  He shrugged. “I want to know what he is! First he’s a vampire hunter, then he’s a vampire, then he’s an exorcist, and now he’s a Muppet?!”

  “He’s none of those things, Barnum. He’s just a priest.”

  “He’s not a priest. He looks like a priest but he’s not a priest.”

  “He is a priest.”

  “Uh-uh. He’s up to something. Listen to this.”

  He pressed the play button and the tape rolled. I heaved a tired groan and flung myself onto the bed, accidentally burying my face in a pair of Busby’s boxers. Yuck. Gross. I picked the horrible thing up between thumb and index finger and threw it away from me. I finally paid attention when Father Reilly’s voice suddenly sounded loud and clear through the room.

  “Orlando? Yeah, it’s me. We need to meet. No, now! I’m going out of town for a couple of weeks to stay with Lou-Anne.” There was a moment’s pause, where Orlando said something, then Father Reilly came back. “Of course the old hag deserved to die.” There was a soft scratchy sound that took me a while to interpret as a chuckle, then he said, “I’ll be there in twenty.”

  Barnum pressed the stop button and the tape stopped rolling. I stared at him. “When was this?”

  “Ten minutes ago, just before you got here. You just missed him. You know what I think? Kermit isn’t a priest, or a vampire, or an exorcist, or a Muppet. He’s a hitman! He goes around killing people. Now all we have to do is find his gun. I’ll bet he’s got a special gun. Like a laser gun or something.” He gave me a serious look. “I’m going to find that gun, and then I’m going to tell Sam there’s a killer in the house. A hitman!”

  I swallowed away a lump of uneasiness. “You just might be right,” I said, and then I rewound the tape and played it again. There was something about the tone of Father Reilly’s voice that I didn’t like. He didn’t sound like the kindly old priest at all. More like a vengeful… killer. But that wasn’t possible. Was it?

  I bounced up from the bed and hurried out into the corridor. There wasn’t a lot of time. In ten minutes Reilly was meeting Orlando. I needed to know what they were going to discuss. I needed to be there. Listen in on their conversation. But how? Suddenly I found myself in front of Gran’s room, my feet having taken me there.

  Of course. The only way to listen in on a private conversation was through witchcraft. And the only way to do that was by casting a spell. I needed to find the Book of Secrets and I needed to find it now, before it was too late.

  And just when I was about to enter Gran’s room, Ernestine and Estrella arrived on the landing. Our eyes locked and they both came hurrying over.

  “What are you doing?!” Estrella hissed.

  In a few brief words I explained to them what Barnum had overheard. They were beyond excited.

  “We need to find the Book of Secrets,” I said. “It’s the only way to figure out what’s going on.”

  “Or we could just go to Gran and tell her,” Ernestine suggested.

  “She’ll never believe us,” I said. “Father Reilly is a guest. She’s not going to allow us to eavesdrop on his private conversations. She just won’t.”

  Ernestine gave me a serious look. “We’ve been looking for the Book of Secrets for weeks. It’s nowhere to be found.”

  “We never looked in Gran’s room,” I said.

  “I looked in Gran’s room,” Estrella confessed.

  “You did what?!” I asked.

  “You guys didn’t want to do it so I did what had to be done!”

  “So did you find something?” asked Ernestine.

  “Nope. She must have cast a spell to hide the book from sight.”

  I paused, my hand on the handle of Gran’s door, then I made a decision. If Father Reilly was a murderer, or Orlando, or Orlando’s wife, we needed to know. And the only way to find out was through witchcraft. So I pressed down on the handle and walked into Gran’s room, my sisters right behind me.

  “Quick,” I said. “We need to be in and out in a flash.”


  I searched Gran’s bedroom while the others searched the living room. I worked quickly and efficiently, opening drawer after drawer, riffling through Gran’s clothes and her underwear, feeling weird as I did. We were crossing a definite line, and if Gran ever caught us, there’d be hell to pay.

  I finally gave up on the bedroom and moved into the living room to help my sisters. And that’s when I saw it. Above Gran’s TV, a bookshelf had been bolted into the wall. Most of the books were Agatha Christie detective stories, the kind Gran loved, with a few Ellis Peters and Mary Higgins Clark tomes thrown in. And right in the middle of them, a big, bulky book sat, spine out, the words Book of Secrets burnished into the leather in fiery red letters.

  “Look, you guys,” I hissed. “There it is!”

  I gaped at it, and so did my sisters.

  “How is it possible you missed that?!” Ernestine cried.

  “I looked! It wasn’t there before—I swear!” Estrella said.

  “So why is it there now?” I asked. And then I got it. “Because Gran wanted us to find it.” I quickly walked over and slipped it from the shelf. It was heavy, just like I remembered. I placed it on the living room table and opened it. Nothing. The pages were… blank!

  “That’s not possible,” said Ernestine, taking over from me. She leafed through the book, but they were just a bunch of empty pages. She finally left it open and stepped back from the table. “Something is going on here, you guys,” she said.

  “That’s the understatement of the year!” Estrella cried, her voice skipping.

  And then, before our eyes, words began to form on the pages that lay open, and when we moved closer, I saw it was a single spell. A spell to ‘hear from a distance.’

  I gasped. “But… that’s just what we need!”

  “Let’s just cast the spell and put the book back before Gran finds out,” said Estrella.

  Somehow I had the impression that Gran had already found out. In fact she was probably directing this scene from afar. But there was no time to think about the hows or whys, so we joined hands and glanced down at the spell, then said it aloud. “Mifranticum Distancica Audiabile!”