Cold Cases and Haunted Places

by Trixie Silvertale

  “We all do,” Emory said from her point of the pentagram.

  Five of them stood around the pentagram, one at each point: Emory, Veri, Lene, Mia, and Edwina. One witch for each candle. One witch for each element: Earth, Air, Fire, Water, and Spirit.

  Sweat broke out on Nolan’s downy upper lip, this time free of pink powdered sugar. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You know me. I’m Deputy Nolan.”

  “We know you,” Edwina agreed. “You’re the man who murdered Lydia Day and stole her ka. You are a priest of Am-Heh.”

  “Huh?” His round eyes blinked innocently, but Edwina was no longer fooled.

  “Because you have no power, you take that of others. That of women,” she said.

  His expression turned ugly. “Filthy witch. You think this spell can hold me? No one can defeat my god.”

  “I can.” From the shadows stepped a snake-headed figure holding a staff. “I am Atum, the first god. I bind you, priest of Am-Heh.” Atum raised a hand as if blasting power right at Deputy Nolan.

  “We bind you, Nolan,” Edwina chanted along with the other witches and the embodiment of Atum. “We bind you and your powers. No more will you harm. No more will you kill. No more will you steal the ka of women.”

  Edwina stepped forward, lifted a pair of silver scissors, and snipped it next to Nolan’s startled face, cutting an invisible threat. “With these mortal scissors, I cut your connection to your immortal god. No more harm will you do in this realm or any other. I bind thee.”

  “I bind thee,” the other witches echoed.

  And then altogether, “As we will, so mote it be.”

  The words of the group echoed around the room, growing louder and louder until they faded away. Then Atum stepped into the circle and placed his hand over Nolan’s heart. “Forever are you bound.”

  There was a clap of thunder and Nolan fainted dead away. The six of them stared at his unconscious body.

  “Well, that was anticlimactic,” Emory said.

  “Yet oddly satisfying.” The snake head faded, revealing Merit’s smiling face. “Thank you for your spell, Emory.”

  “It was a simple camouflage spell, with a little extra thrown in to make you temporarily look like Atum. I’m surprised it worked.”

  “Of course it worked,” Edwina said, prodding Nolan’s prone figure with the toe of her boot. “He’s no god. He’s a moron meddling in things he doesn’t understand. He believed his powers were bound by the god Atum and that’s all that mattered to the magic.”

  “Now what?” Merit asked.

  Edwina grinned. “Hogtie him and leave him in front of the police station. It feels like the right level of drama. We’ll leave a note for the chief. Bet if Dekes searches Nolan’s house, he’ll find the arsenic that killed Lydia.”

  After it was done, the other witches headed home, leaving Merit and Edwina alone.

  “Thank you, Edwina,” Merit said. “I could never have done this without you.”

  “Oh, you’d have figured something out.”

  “Maybe, eventually, but it might not have worked.”

  “Will you stay in Deepwood?”

  Merit glanced up at the moon, which hung low and full in the sky. “I don’t know.”

  “If you decide to stay, come by the diner. Pie’s on me.”

  The next morning, Edwina had just put on a pot of coffee at the diner when the door swung open, jangling the bell. Chief Dekes stood there, holding a pink box. He strolled to the counter and set it down, then opened it to reveal rows of glistening maple bacon donuts.

  “So that’s where all Virgil’s maple bars went,” she said. “He told me he was sold out again.”

  “I bought the lot. It’s my way of saying thank you.”

  She grinned. “You sure have a way with words. Have a seat, and I’ll get you coffee. Maybe even share one of my donuts.”

  He sat on one of the stools while she filled a cup. “I’d have never thought it was Nolan,” he admitted. “Never in a million years. I had no idea he even knew about magic.”

  “He came off as a mundane, all right,” she agreed. “Not a particularly bright one either. You found the arsenic, I take it.”

  “Yeah. Under one of the floorboards in his rental house. We’re still testing it, but I’m sure it’ll match what we found in Lydia Day’s system.

  “He tell you why he did it?”

  He grimaced. “He asked her out, and she turned him down.”

  “Revenge then.” She shook her head. “As if he had a right to her. You gotta be more careful who you hand out badges to, Chief.”

  “About that… I was hoping you’d help me.”

  “Help you how?”

  “I know you work for the Witch Council.”

  She lifted a brow. “And how do you know that?”

  “Let’s just say I have my ways.” He grinned and sipped his coffee. “I was hoping that, going forward, you could help with decisions about who is hired by the DPD. Background checks. That sort of thing.”

  “You mean make sure they aren’t nut jobs with magical abilities who secretly worship death gods?”

  He grimaced. “Something like that. I also wouldn’t mind a helping hand now and then with some of the weirder aspects of cases.”

  “What, like a detective?”

  “More like a consultant.” He snagged a donut from the box. “What do you say?”

  A slow smile spread across her face. “I’d be working with you?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” His eyes twinkled.

  She leaned against the counter. That could be fun, but she wasn’t going to make it easy for him. “I’ll think about it.”

  His tone was rife with meaning. “You do that.”

  Want more Deepwood Witches?

  * * *

  Edwina’s investigation is just the beginning! There’s much more to be discovered in the mystical town of Deepwood, Oregon. Check out the first book in the series, Potions, Poisons, and Peril and join the witches on their first case!

  * * *

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  Marzie Nowak and her empty nest coven booked the perfect girls weekend at a charming B&B. But instead of spa treatments and relaxation, they're terrorized by haunted rooms and an ancient mystery. When the B&B owner disappears the witches need to solve the case and salvage their girls night out!

  1

  “Okay, ladies, we’re making a pact: three days, no phones, no work, no checking in with our supposed-to-be-adult children,” Pauline said. She was driving, I sat next to her in the passenger seat, and Georgianne was in the back, reading up on our destination.

  “But what if there’s a vampire bar fight? I asked. “Or a troll traffic jam?” These were the stories I covered for the local news in Widow’s Bay. We were traveling to the other end of the bay on this excursion.

  “They’ll just have to duke it out without us,” Pauline said. She’d arranged our girls’ weekend. She’d invited the whole coven, but only Georgie and I could get away right now.

  I was very bad at taking time off, but I did need it. My job covering news in a small town populated with witches, vampires, and werewolves had earned me a gnarly new forehead wrinkle and dozens of tinsel streaks, also known as gray hair. My aunt liked to call them, “wisdom highlights.”

  As a newbie witch myself, I was just learning the benefits of having a tight-knit coven.

  “I, for one, could use a weekend off from the bookstore.” Georgianne lifted the book she was reading and regaled us about the Van Keppler Mansion, now a hotel. “Owned by Dolores Van Keppler. She’s a descendant of Captain Lars Van Keppler.”

  “Captain?” I asked.

  “Yes, he was the Captain of the ill-fated SS Bannockburn.” Georgianne was our resident historical expert.

  “Oh! I know this one, the Bannockburn disappeared on its way out of Widow’s Bay over one hundred years ago.” I knew at least some of th
e rich history of our Upper Peninsula home, mostly thanks to Georgianne.

  “Yep!” Georgianne affirmed as we closed in on the drive to the mansion that would host our girl’s weekend.

  Widow’s Bay was situated on Lake Superior; it was as North as you could get in the contiguous U.S. Its remoteness provided a perfect place for vampires and werewolves to hide, and witches to thrive. The epic beauty of our northern home also lured tourists looking for adventure. The combination kept a witch busy.

  I’d spent a lot of time recently learning all this about my hometown. Family history meant that it was my destiny to facilitate good relationships between supernaturals who didn’t always get along. At the same time, my day job had me reporting the news for tourists who thought getting a vampire bite would be a good souvenir from Widow’s Bay.

  When Pauline pushed for this little mini-vacation, I had to admit, I was in need. I was looking forward to our long weekend. It would be a break from newspaper deadlines, undead boyfriends, and the werewolf contractors currently re-doing my upstairs bathroom. Werewolf contractors did great with tilework, but the lunch hour was a hairy mess.

  It was late September, and the summer weather had turned into the crisp nip of early fall. I knew from experience that once Samhain arrived, I’d likely be busy as heck.

  The supernaturals, or Yooper Naturals, as my aunt had dubbed them, got into a lot of trouble in the fall. I’d need to be rested and ready for mayhem.

  “The Bannockburn is the ghost ship of the Great Lakes,” Georgianne added as she flipped through the pages of the book she’d been quoting, Shipwrecks of the Great Lakes.

  “That sounds fun,” I said, making sure she caught my sarcasm. I hoped this was going to be a break from things that go bump in the night. And now Georgianne was telling me ghosts were part of the weekend package?

  Pauline interjected; she’d planned the weekend. “Look, the truth is, this resort we’re going to is struggling. The old lady that owns it begged me to help get a little interest going for it. We’re helping her out, juicing her business a bit.”

  “Heck, as long as the juice is spiked with vodka, I have no complaints,” quipped Georgie.

  “We’re also getting some stuff lasered off, that was in our package, too, right?” I rubbed the whisker on my chin that threatened to turn into a full-on goatee if I didn’t treat it violently, soon.

  “Yep, the whole nine yards,” Pauline answered.

  Pauline was always trying to help a local business. In fact, she had footed the bill for the girl’s weekend and volunteered to drive. It was above and beyond in terms of nice things to do for your coven. I resolved to try to drop my apprehension about leaving for a few days and enjoy the time away.

  I needed to get with the program and de-program for a day or two. I had been working non-stop. A few days of pampering probably would do me good.

  I looked out the car window. Lake Superior was deep blue as it met the lighter blue of the horizon. The largest freshwater lake in the world could contain the combined areas of Vermont, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, Connecticut, and New Hampshire and no sharks! It was huge and certainly looked like the sea, not a lake. The downside of Lake Superior? It was colder than a witch’s tit. Something I could verify since I was an actual witch.

  I looked up at the sky. In the distance, clouds gathered on the horizon. Though the weather forecast hadn’t predicted a storm.

  The only thing really predictable about the weather on the lake in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula was that it was unpredictable. But we weren’t there for fun in the sun; we were there for food, facials, and fermented grapes.

  A lighthouse that was tiny when seen from our hometown grew more impressive and imposing as we approached.

  “Wow,” I said as I craned my neck to get a better look.

  “Yeah, says here that lighthouse is over one-hundred-seventy years old,” Georgie added as she flipped through her book. She was vehemently against Googling, but in truth, she was my magical witchy Google whenever I had questions about my newly-discovered witch heritage.

  “There’s the Van Keppler Mansion,” Pauline said, and I followed her gaze.

  The Van Keppler Mansion was huge. A round Tourette made it look more like a mini-castle than a bed and breakfast. The rock and sandstone exterior stood firm against the brutal elements of the Upper Peninsula. And it appeared to be weathering and hardening instead of decaying under the pummeling of wind, ice, and water.

  “This place is in a fight with the elements,” Georgie said. She wasn’t wrong.

  “Well, so are we,” I said. But in truth, Pauline had the body of a fitness instructor, and Georgianne’s flowing red curls made her look like a Celtic Queen. Maybe I was the only one losing the gravity battle.

  Pauline parked, and we all stepped out of the car into the brisk clean air.

  “Cut it out, you’re a stone-cold fox, or well, more like a silver fox.” Georgie brushed one of my long white streaks out of my eyes. We all grabbed our bags and headed up the walk to the front door.

  We rang the front bell and waited.

  Eventually, the big black double doors opened to reveal our host and owner of the Van Keppler.

  “Greetings, welcome! So glad you could make it.”

  Dolores Van Keppler’s voice was shaky, and so was her gesture into the foyer.

  Pauline stepped forward, and we followed.

  The inside was as formidable as the outside. The formal foyer stretched up two expansive stories, and a large marble staircase dominated the space.

  “Ms. Van Keppler, so good to see you up and around. You look magnificent,” Pauline said and gently embraced the doyenne of the Van Keppler Estate.

  “I look like cold butter on a crumbling cracker,” Dolores said as we made our way into the home.

  “Stop,” Pauline said.

  Dolores Van Keppler was decked out. A vintage Coco Chanel Suit was draped on the elderly woman’s slight frame. I gave up at six when I tried to count the strings of pearls that hung from her neck. I was slightly concerned that the weight of them would drag her to the floor.

  “You look lovely, and I have a close friend who would be so envious of this Chanel suit!”

  I didn’t mention that the close friend was my wise-cracking cat, Agnes. Agnes was home, holding down the fort. She would be annoyed she had missed seeing a vintage Chanel in person.

  Our voices echoed in the cavernous foyer space.

  “Thank you, dear, SKEETCH!” Her quiet voice was replaced by a bone-rattling bark to call something named Skeetch.

  We all three jumped.

  “Phew, I need to sit down,” Dolores said. “That took it out of me.” She availed herself of an ornate upholstered armchair. I was no antique’s expert, but I’d bet money that the chair was as authentic as the pearls and worth more than my car.

  “Madame Van Keppler!”

  A young man, as buff as Dolores was skinny, ran into the foyer. He wore a polo shirt, stretched tight over his bulging biceps and impressive pecs. His light hair was neatly trimmed and gave off the vibe of tennis pro instead of a butler.

  “These three guests are taking the Hudson, the Emperor, and the Fitzgerald for the weekend.”

  “You didn’t inform me,” Skeetch said. “I would have answered the door!” He looked flustered by our arrival.

  “Well, now, you know. Booked these three myself. Ladies, Skeetch is the caretaker, bellhop, pool boy, cruise director, and eye candy around here. He’ll get you to your rooms. I’m going to nap. And then maybe join you for dinner. We do it at four.”

  Four sounded about right for a woman of Madame Van Keppler’s age, which had to be pushing ninety.

  “Let me help you to your quarters,” Skeetch said. Dolores waved him off as she slowly made her way out of the lobby, to parts unknown of the mini-castle.

  “My apologies for the delay in greeting you. Leave your bags here, and I’ll bring them up. Follow me, I’ll show you to your rooms,” Skeetch sa
id.

  Skeetch led us up a huge staircase to a landing that shot off in two directions. I counted at least a dozen rooms situated in both directions.

  “Our rooms are all named after tragic shipwrecks,” Skeetch explained. “You can learn about each at the museum.”

  “That’s nice,” I said. And then shot Georgianne a look. She shrugged in response. It felt like naming a cruise ship The Titanic, not exactly great for tourism, but what did I know?

  Skeetch showed us to three rooms, and less than ten seconds later, had returned with our bags. I had one, Georgie had one, and Pauline had three.

  “That’s like a bag a day,” Georgianne observed.

  “I know I really scaled-down,” Pauline answered with no trace of irony.

  Pauline always packed for the unlikely scenario that she could be required to attend a red carpet event at a moment’s notice.

  “Let’s meet in the lobby in thirty minutes. We’ve got a tour of the museum to get to!” Pauline clapped her hands, and we made our way to our rooms.

  I hoped there’d be some time for relaxing but had a sinking feeling that Pauline might have scheduled us to go-go-go. Oh, no, no, no.

  2

  The Fitzgerald room was mine. It was the most famous of the shipwreck rooms since it was fairly recent history, 1975. The wreck was also immortalized in the haunting song the Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald by Gordon Lightfoot.

  Despite the fate of the Edmund Fitzgerald, the room was the opposite of tragic. Breezy curtains framed a window that rose from floor to ceiling. It looked out on the little campus dedicated to shipwrecks. Along with the Van Keppler estate, there was the lighthouse, and adjacent to the massive structure was the museum. I also spied a huge pier, and a boathouse. If one wanted to spend a weekend exploring the grounds, that was certainly possible.

  I was just hoping the pampering Pauline had promised was still on her schedule. I surveyed the Fitzgerald. A Queen size bed, covered in a navy blue duvet with white trim, evoked the nautical theme.