The Witch's Homecoming

by Iris Kincaid

  And the last one was Peter Cousins, better known as Peter Pie. Underneath his baseball cap, he looked to be completely bald. This was the man who’d had the pie rivalry with Harriet Jolly. He once had a booming catering business. Now he worked at the elementary school cafeteria.

  There was definitely a common theme running throughout the businesspeople on the council. There wasn't a single one who hadn't been hard-hit by the hurricane and the loss of prosperity that came with it.

  The Shimmers’ turn finally came up. Aaron Ledger introduced them to each member one by one. “Welcome to Marvel Canyon. I see that you want open up a cafe. Cookies, pastries, light snacks?”

  Winston Bass beamed approvingly. “Good for you. Not a moment too soon. I thought I was going to have to give up coffee for good.”

  “Are you going to have those pretty swirly designs in your coffee?” Canary Meddle asked excitedly. “You’re going to need an expert barista for that.”

  “Absolutely,” Lucinda answered.

  “Do you all realize who these girls are?” Claudia Reyes asked. “Who their father was?”

  “Their father is not applying for a cafe permit,” Aaron Ledger reminded her. “Ladies, you are new to this town and I offer you this advice with the sincerest wish for you to make an informed decision with your investment.

  “I just don’t wish to hold out any false hope to you. Marvel Canyon is not going to return to its previous days of prosperity. I worked at great length personally with the EPA to try and figure out every conceivable option to detonate the dam and restore the lake. There were no good options. We have all had to accept the new reality.

  “Since the hurricane and loss of the lake, people have been moving out of town, businesses have been closing, and Marvel Canyon is poised to become a retirement community, as well as a bedroom community to our larger, more prosperous neighbors. This trend will continue. We have a vote on September seventeenth for the potential closing of the train station. It was very important to get tourists here from all around the state. Now, it’s just a drain on city resources that are needed elsewhere—our parks, our schools . . .

  “If it does close, you'll probably see a further exodus of population. I'm sorry to sound so negative, but there it is. Just something that you should know. Are we ready to vote?”

  Peter Pie leaned forward. “You’re gonna be needing a pie guy. I make the best pies.”

  “We've actually recently already hired a baking service,” Beryl said diplomatically. “But I'm sure we'll be needing some extra holiday pies, and we've already heard some wonderful things about yours.”

  The pie man looked very gratified. “Okay, I'm ready to vote.”

  Peter Pie, Canary Meddle, and Winston Bass were enthusiastic yeses. Aaron Ledger voted no, with regret, and Claudia Reyes also voted no. Leaving their fate in the hands of Whiskey Hodge, who would either make it four to two or a three to three tie. In which case, the vote would be postponed for weeks until a new council member was elected.

  “Are you going to be serving any alcohol at this place?” Whiskey asked.

  “Not per se,” Lucinda answered. “But if you were to bring your own flask in, we certainly would have no objections.”

  She needs AA, not BYOB, Beryl thought.

  But Lucinda’s answer was enough to satisfy her. “I vote yes,” Whiskey said.

  Only then did Beryl realize how long she had been holding her breath. It came out in a loud, noisy exhale.

  Winston Bass flashed two thumbs up at her. “I propose that we show these ladies all the support we can. We're all businesspeople, and we know how important that is.

  “I'm going to show up on opening day with my family, and I encourage everyone else on the council to do the same.”

  Clearly Claudia, the witch hater, was not going to be on board, but the others nodded enthusiastically, even Aaron Ledger. “It's a done deal now. Of course we’ll be there.”

  Mosh whispered to her sisters, “We actually have to do this now.”

  Lucinda responded, “Ten days. All hands on deck.”

  Sure. Open a business. Keep up with her witch experiments. And solve Harriet Jolly's murder before the case got cold. Yikes.

  The meeting was finally concluded, and everyone got together for a bit of casual mingling. Sheriff Ortega was trying to get some valuable intel and gestured Beryl over to join him. He was speaking to Peter Pie, Aaron Ledger, and Winston Bass.

  “What was the last thing that you remember that Harriet Jolly said and did on the evening before she died?

  “We talked a lot that day about the economic impact of the train station closing, didn't we?” Winston recalled.

  “Yes, and at the end, everyone signed a document saying that they had listened to the impact presentation and were fully informed. So, Harriet signed that right before she dashed out,” Aaron remembered.

  “Do you have a copy of that?” Beryl wondered.

  “Sure, let me just check my folder. I'm sure I have it here,” Aaron said.

  “Who was sitting next to her, directly next to her, at that final meeting?”

  The sheriff raised his eyebrows appreciatively. That was the very question he wanted to ask. More specifically, who was sitting next to Harriet’s purse? But coming from a cop, it was likely to put people on the defense.

  “I was sitting next to her,” Peter said.

  “Yeah, I noticed that,” Winston said. “I thought maybe the two of you were just ready to bury the hatchet.”

  “Not a chance,” Peter pie said. “Not after what she did to my strawberry rhubarb that year. No, I just needed to figure out exactly which way she was planning on voting about the train station so that I could mess with her head.”

  “Who was on the other side of her?” Beryl asked.

  “It was Claudia Reyes. The two of them have been pretty friendly for years. But not recently. I got the impression that they must have had a fight or something,” Canary Meddle said. “They were sort of united in their dislike for witches,” she said, looking apologetically at Beryl. “And then she seemed to get the craziest idea in her head. She thought that Harriet might have been a witch. Which was insane. Harriet hated witches.”

  They definitely needed to have a chat with Claudia. Beryl hovered in the background so that the sight of her didn't set Claudia off.

  “I have been told that you thought Ms. Jolly might have been a witch? Is that true?” the sheriff asked.

  “Harriet Jolly was a witch. She kept it secret from us all this time. Infiltrated our city council. Spying on us, no doubt. Trying to figure out her how her kind was going to get the upper hand in this town.”

  “What made you think so?”

  “They all do their magic when they think that no one is looking. That's what she did. I saw her magic when she didn't know that I was looking.”

  “Do you have any thoughts on who might have killed her?”

  “Everyone knows it was that teenager, that awful little witch.”

  “So you think that one witch killed another?”

  “Apparently so, and with any luck, they will keep killing each other. Less for us to get rid of.”

  “Feeling as you do, may I ask why you sat next to her on her final day here?”

  “I didn't want to let her know I was on to her. Think of what she would have done to me if she knew that I knew.”

  “That sounds like a very stressful situation to put up with indefinitely.”

  “Yes, well, now I won't have to.”

  She walked away and Beryl and the sheriff exchanged looks. On her last day in the city council, Harriet had been flanked by Peter Pie and Claudia Reyes, two people who hated her and who had very easy access to her purse.

  CHAPTER TEN

  After a week and a half that passed in a blur of activity, opening day finally arrived. Beryl and Mosh had spent the previous two days on the sidewalks of Marvel Canyon handing out coupons. Grand Opening! The first cup of coffee is on the house!
>
  Some of the coupons are accepted gratefully, some fearfully. Clearly, many locals had now heard that the wizard’s family was behind this new venture.

  The cafe opened up at seven A.M. The first real customers didn't come in until almost 8:30—that was not counting Gwynifer, Muriel, and Emerson as real customers.

  Even their real customers could barely be called customers since they came with coupons and no money. But Lucinda assured the others that luring people in with free stuff was the best use of their promotion budget.

  Another half-dozen coupon holders trickled in before ten A.M. Where were the masses? Who would turn down free coffee?

  Beryl felt a little bad for Oliver Meddle, their new young barista, whose swirling coffee designs were truly world-class. But he didn't actually seem to be suffering. Between the three pretty young owners, Gwynifer’s striking features, and Muriel's goth allure, the shy eighteen-year-old was in teen boy heaven.

  The city council was as good as their word. At ten A.M., five council members and eight members of their families suddenly gave the café a very full and successful feel. And they insisted on paying!

  Not coincidentally, Sheriff Ortega scheduled his coffee run to overlap with theirs. They all ordered big mugs of coffee from the short but tantalizing menu.

  Canary Meddle stood up. “We've just lost one of our own, and she may have been a pain in the butt, but everyone deserves a toast and a remembrance. Shall we share our best memories of Harriet Jolly?”

  There was nervous laughter all around.

  Winston Bass raised his mug. “Harriet Jolly was . . . was the world's most shameless pen thief. That's one thing that's hard to forget about her.”

  Whiskey chimed in, “Ain't that the truth.”

  Peter explained to Beryl. “You know how we all steal pens? At the library. At the hospital. At a hotel. You just forget there's a pen in your hand and you walk away with it. Harriet Jolly took that to the next level. I picked up some really classy pens from the stationery store. Like six bucks each. And she just picked one up from the table and took off with it. Is that a kleptomaniac or what?”

  “It's true,” Canary agreed. “I must have lost at least half a dozen pens to her these last couple of years. I knew better these last few months than to bring expensive pens the council. We all did.”

  Whiskey added, “If her place hadn’t blown up, I would have hightailed it over there to get all my pens.”

  “I think we can all relate, but . . . any other remembrances?” Canary asked.

  Peter Pie shook his head. “I hope you're not looking for sentimental stuff. ’Cause she really didn't inspire it. That woman just exhausted me. Every time I voted one way, she would vote the other. Didn't matter about the issue.

  “She was going to vote for the train station to stay open. Why? Because I had made it known that I wanted it closed. But the thing is, I really didn't. I just had to fake it, ’cause I knew she'd vote the opposite, just to spite me. She was a sour, spiteful nutcase, may she rest in peace.”

  “Sour,” repeated Whiskey.

  “Spiteful,” agreed Canary.

  “Nutcase,” Winston said.

  “May she rest in peace,” Aaron concluded.

  They all raised their coffee mugs.

  “Fine eulogy,” Gwynifer scoffed.

  “Probably better than she deserved,” the sheriff said.

  Gwynifer fixed her gaze on him. “Don't take too long a coffee break, Sheriff Ortega. Don't you have a murder to solve?”

  “Yes, ma'am. I certainly do.”

  Beryl looked over the customers, seeing if anyone needed anything. Peter Pie dropped a spoon onto the floor, bent over, and his baseball hat fell off, exposing his bald head. He quickly and self-consciously put it back on.

  Oh, poor guy. Clearly, he did not like being bald. Hmm. Crazy hair growth tea to the rescue. Beryl ran to the kitchen and quickly brewed a small batch. The flash of electric-blue glow assured her that it was going to be an effective batch. She presented it to Peter as a special tea prize of the day.

  “We're trying to encourage coffee drinkers to expand their palette,” she ad-libbed. “I tried this one myself just a couple of days ago and it's pretty incredible.”

  “Sure, don't mind if I do,” Peter said agreeably.

  Lucinda pulled Beryl to the side. “What are you doing?” she hissed. “Is that one of those grimoire teas you’ve been playing with?”

  “I couldn't help it. He's just so . . . so . . . so bald.”

  Sheriff Ortega was heading for the door. “Good luck, ladies. Great coffee.”

  “Take one of our take-out cups with you,” Lucinda said. “Make sure that everyone at your station sees it. It's good advertising.”

  “Very smart. I’d be happy to put out the good word.”

  Beryl knew what Lucinda was thinking. The café was nowhere near as full as it should have been, especially considering the free coupons.

  Had Aaron Ledger been right? Was the café a lost cause? Was Marvel Canyon a lost cause? Maybe so. Beryl’s heart was starting to sink. Perhaps she had allowed her hopes to rise too high. Because after a full day, they could only count thirty customers, and fifteen of those hadn’t paid a dime.

  The next day, Beryl braced herself for the worst. They wouldn't have city council support as they’d had on the opening day. Still, about 500 free coupons had been handed out. Or was the witch reputation of the house going to be insurmountable?

  But her fears were soon relieved. Starting at nine A.M., there was a small stream of customers, including Peter Pie and Aaron Ledger.

  But Peter was barely recognizable. The baseball cap was gone and in its place was a thick growth of shaggy silver hair.

  He pointed at her excitedly. “It was that tea, Beryl. Wasn't it? Wasn't it?”

  Beryl nodded guiltily.

  “I told you,” Peter said Aaron. “I told you. Well, hook us up. Aaron, you ain't gonna believe what this is going to do for you. I couldn't believe it myself. I took pictures and put them up on my Facebook feed. I told everyone I know.”

  Beryl took a quick look around the café. How could she have missed it? Everyone there had bald or thinning hair.

  Peter gushed, “I told them you were a miracle worker.”

  Aaron asked, “Is it lasting? Or will I need to buy a batch to take with me when I move to Miami?”

  “Miami?”

  “Yeah, you know my souvenir shop was one of the first casualties of the hurricane. So I just sold my house, and I'll be out of Marvel Canyon by the end of September.”

  “Can't say I blame you, but we're going to miss you, buddy. Think you’ll be missing us?” Peter joked.

  “Somewhere between the golfing and the boating and the wine tasting and the five-star restaurants, sure, I’ll try to set aside a little time every week to miss each and every one of you.”

  “Okay, Mr. Big Shot. Another rat abandoning ship.”

  “Well, it is sinking. Ironic, for a place that just lost its water attraction.”

  “Who did you trick in a buying your house?”

  As little as Beryl wanted to think about house selling, she really ought to know about this in case Lucinda forced the issue.

  “It was this retired guy from Orlando, which has gotten too noisy and crowded for him. He wants peace and quiet, which Marvel Canyon will supply in spades. Good luck to all of you. But I need a place that's a little more happening.”

  “Hey, can I have your parking spot?”

  “It's all yours.”

  Beryl finally remembered that everyone in the room was waiting for their hair miracle.

  “Okay, I guess I need to go and make a big batch of that tea.”

  “Big, big batch. The fellas from my bowling league will be here this afternoon,” Peter said.

  At the end of the second day, Beryl tallied sixty-eight customers, with only five cups of free coffee given out. The rest of them were paying customers. Who knew? The baldies were going to s
ave the day!

  On the café’s third day, bald people from all over the state has started to pour in, courtesy of hair loss social networks.

  One woman was a repeat customer from the previous day. Her hair was now thick and well past her shoulders.

  “This is going to totally change my life,” she gushed. “You don't even know how happy this has made me. But I still have a problem. She leaned forward and whispered, “Do you have anything for rosacea?”

  Didn't Beryl remember skin specific potions?

  “I don't know, but I'll sure look into it. Do you want to leave some contact info?”

  The woman gratefully supplied it and left in high spirits.

  During a rare lull in the middle of the day, the cafe got a surprise visit from someone who didn't come for a hair cure or a caffeine fix. It was Morfydd and she was there to see Beryl.

  “Why do you help them? Morfydd demanded.

  “What? With the hair?”

  “Hair. Rosacea. Are we witches or dermatologists?”

  “I know it may seem unimportant, but some of these people were pretty miserable.”

  “I repeat, why does that concern us? They exclude and restrict us. I have personally seen to it that several of them have gone bald overnight. In fact, you have already undone some of my best work. People who have gotten on my bad side. People who needed to be punished.”

  There was only one way to deal with someone this scary and unreasonable, and that was to agree with her.

  “I'm sure they’ll think twice about crossing you again. As for throwing them a bone here at the café, well, that's just good for business.”

  “Hmmph. There are easier ways to amass a fortune than humoring Moles.”

  “We're still feeling our way through things. It's all pretty new to us.”

  “As I said before, do not allow yourself to be blinded by Gwynifer’s naïve vision of peace and love with the Moles. I could fill your ears with their atrocities and humiliations against our kind. Why we, who have such a greater strength, should restrain it has never made sense to me.

  “Gwynifer is too soft. Your father became too soft in his later years. If it's a choice between second-class citizenship and war, I choose war.”