Wisteria Witches (Witch Cozy Mystery and Paranormal Romance) Page 6

  She linked her arm with mine and leaned in to whisper, “But there are bad witches and evil warlocks who will kill others to take their powers.”

  I groaned. “This is why we can't have nice things.”

  Chapter 10

  My daughter and I arrived home just as the lights next door at the Moore residence were coming on.

  “You go inside and freshen up,” I told Zoey. “I'm going to invite the Moores over for brunch today.”

  Zoey blinked at me in disbelief. “Brunch?”

  “We moved here to Wisteria for a fresh start, remember? We talked about how we weren't going to be homebodies anymore. We're going to take tap dancing classes, and see arty movies with subtitles, and watch community theater, and have people over for brunch!”

  She stared at me like I was crazy, and maybe I was.

  I shook imaginary pom-poms. “New life in Wisteria. Social activities. Woo hoo!”

  Still bug-eyed, she said, “But we've only just found out about the W-I-T-you-know-what thing. Isn't that more than enough for our first week?”

  “Today's Saturday, so it's our second week.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I don't know why I even try to argue with you.”

  “It's good practice for one day when you're a lawyer.” I shooed her toward our house. “Go in there and get a few hours of sleep. I'll zip out to the store and grab a few things. How about eleven? People have brunch at eleven, right? If you wait until noon, it's just called lunch, and you can't drink champagne and orange juice at lunch or people think you're a lush.”

  “Are you possessed again? Look me in the eyes and tell me your name.”

  With my most snooty voice, I declared, “I'm Winona Vander Zalm, and I throw the most spectacular brunch parties. They're the toast of the town.” I snickered. “Get it? The toast of the town.”

  She shook her head. “That jolt must have fried your circuits.”

  I raised my arms in the air and twirled around. “I feel great! Sure, everything smells like a burned-out bakery, and I pulled a scary black booger out of my nose when you weren't looking, but I feel spectacular!”

  She gave me a sleepy head-shake and let herself into the house.

  I ran up to the Moores' blue front door and knocked out a happy rhythm.

  The eldest member of the family, Don Moore, opened the door the width of one cagey eyeball. I thrust my hand through the opening.

  “Good morning, Grampa Don! I hope you don't mind me calling you that. Your son told me everyone in the neighborhood calls you Grampa Don, and I'm definitely part of the neighborhood now. I'm Zara Riddle and I'm a wi… uh, wickedly fun single mother. You and I met last week when I came over here to meet your delightful grandson.”

  Grampa Don's suspicious eye narrowed. He didn't shake my hand or open the door any wider. He turned and yelled, “Chet! Your crazy girlfriend is here!”

  “Girlfriend?” I took a step back. “Grampa Don, your son and I shared some pizza a week ago, on moving day, but that was all. Not that I have any objections to being Chet's girlfriend, but I don't much like the sound of being his crazy girlfriend. It's offensive, if you must know, but not so bad that I won't invite you to brunch.”

  “Brunch?” His eyeball narrowed even more. “What kind of brunch?”

  “The best kind. Free, and right next door. Come over at eleven, and bring Chet and Corvin.”

  He looked over his shoulder again for a moment then said, “Chet must be in the bathroom right now. He's not coming down the stairs. Either he's in the shower, or he doesn't want to see you.”

  “But you must tell him about brunch. You must all come over. I insist.”

  Gruffly, he said, “Will there be bacon?” He licked his lips.

  “Acres of bacon,” I promised. “Several kinds.”

  “See you there.” He nodded curtly and closed the door.

  I sailed down the steps and nearly knocked over a woman.

  “You're up early,” she said.

  “Dorothy Tibbits!” I shook her hand. “Are you selling another house in the neighborhood?” I looked around her for Open House signs and found none. She was, however, hiding something behind her back.

  “Not yet,” she said, using her free hand to twirl one of her dark brown pigtails. She was dressed, as she'd been the previous times I'd met her, in a blue pinafore and sparkling red shoes similar to the ones Judy Garland wore in The Wizard of Oz. She didn't have Toto with her, much to my disappointment. I'd seen the little dog in her advertisements but hadn't met him yet.

  I leaned over and snuck a peek behind her back. She was holding binoculars.

  “Binoculars?” I plucked them from her hands. “Dorothy Tibbits, you naughty girl, are you stalking someone?”

  She let out a scream that turned into a laugh and plucked the binoculars back again. “These silly things?” She batted her eyelashes innocently. “I use the binoculars to inspect chimneys and roofs without needing to climb a ladder.”

  “Why not send up your flying monkeys?”

  Dorothy blinked at me, her face expressionless. If she was feeling any emotion at that moment, the Botox did an admirable job of hiding it.

  “Flying monkeys,” I said. “Like in the movie.”

  She looked over at my house and then back at me. Ignoring the issue of the flying monkeys, she said, “I hope you and your daughter are settling in. These old houses can be difficult, the way they're all chopped up into smaller rooms.”

  “We do get lost sometimes, but we put those map things on our phones.”

  She blinked again. “You get lost? Not inside the house!”

  I patted her on the shoulder. “It's nice to see you again, Dorothy.”

  She nodded and said, robotically, “And I am so glad that you are pleased with your home purchase.” Her eyes darted away from my face, to the roofline of the houses on the street, and then back to me. “If you happen to change your mind, for any reason whatsoever, please don't hesitate to call. I'm, uh, running a new special. If you, er, sell within six months of purchase, there's no commission.”

  I looked at my house and then back at her. Had she made up that special just now? Was she crazy or just stupid? When I'd first toured the house, she'd all but told me not to buy it. Did she know about the ghost?

  “Thanks, Dorothy,” I said. “I'll think about it.”

  “Call me anytime,” she said.

  I thanked her again and excused myself. I was throwing my first brunch party and needed to get cracking if I was going to do it with style—and there's no point in doing anything at all if you can't do it with style.

  Chapter 11

  My brunch guests rang the doorbell just as I was putting the finishing touches on the centerpiece. It was a bouquet that looked like flowers but was carved from fresh fruit.

  “You're so jaunty,” I said to my creation.

  Kebab skewers formed the sturdy stems for my edible arrangement, springing from an antique teapot. I'd used gingerbread cookie cutters to make flower petal rounds from various melons and apples, and fresh berries for the flower centers. I'd even crushed raspberries to dye the pineapple hearts a lovely pink, but the real stars were the blueberry hyacinths.

  The doorbell rang again.

  I yelled at the kitchen ceiling, “Doorbell!”

  My daughter ever-so-helpfully called down the stairs, “Mom! Doorbell!”

  I yelled again, “Doorbell!”

  She came stomping down the stairs and into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. The doorbell rang again. “Doorbell,” she said.

  “You think?”

  She finished rubbing her eyes and blinked at the operation that was taking place in the kitchen. The edible bouquet was complete, and I was stirring the contents of three pots on the stove plus four bowls on the kitchen island. Spread out around me was more food than I'd cooked in the past year.

  The doorbell rang again.

  “I'll get the door,” she said.

  I gave her a confused
look. “Is that the doorbell I hear?”

  She showed me the whites of her eyes as she turned and left the kitchen.

  I blended my raspberry sauce with fresh whipped cream and listened as she greeted our brunch guests. The elder Moore was friendlier to her than he'd been to me. “Call me Grampa Don,” he said. “Or even Grampy. I like that. But not Grumpy. I don't like that.”

  I heard Corvin whine, “Grampy! That's my special name for you!”

  “You heard my grandson,” Don said. “That's his name for me, so you can't call me Grampy when he's around.” He chuckled good-naturedly then said in a more serious tone, “I was promised there would be acres of bacon. I don't smell any bacon.”

  “No bacon for my father,” Chet said. “He's got to watch his cholesterol.”

  Don retorted, “I'm leaving if there's no bacon. I'll stay only if I can have five slices.”

  “Two,” Chet said.

  “Three slices,” Don said. “And all the coffee I want.”

  Chet sighed. “Deal.”

  I listened as my daughter steered them toward the dining room and asked about food allergies. They didn't have any allergies, except for Corvin's extremely horrible allergy to Brussels sprouts, which was extremely deadly, according to him.

  Zoey returned to the kitchen and asked if I needed a hand.

  “Run the coffee out to them, and the young gentleman may have his choice of juiceboxes.”

  She looked over the spread with widening eyes. “Did you leave any food at the store for the rest of Wisteria?”

  “You've always wanted me to cook more. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth. Tell our guests I'm rolling the first batch of crepes and food's on the way!”

  She picked up the coffee pot and tray of cream and sugar. “Are you sure you're feeling okay? After a bombshell like last night, most witches would want some quiet time to get used to the idea.”

  “I've got the rest of my life to learn how to curdle milk, or talk to beavers, or whatever it is we can do. Let's have a stylish brunch with our neighbors.”

  She tossed her wavy red locks over her shoulder and left the kitchen with the coffee.

  Alone again, I silently thanked my house for having an old-fashioned layout with the kitchen in its private corner at the back of the house. I wouldn't have felt comfortable contorting my body to stir three pots of food at once if I were on display for guests in an open-style layout. And one of them might have noticed me stirring the third pot without touching the wooden spoon with my hand.

  That's right. Hands-free stirring.

  My witch powers were kicking in already. Stirring pots was just the beginning. I probably should have showed Zoey my new trick, but I enjoyed having the new gift to myself for a moment.

  Zoey returned to the kitchen and helped me platter all the food and bring it out to the dining room.

  The three generations of Moores were dressed in crisp dress shirts, all in shades of green to match their eyes. Grampa Don had shaved since I'd last seen him. He was handsome for a man his age—even when arguing with his son about how much bacon he could have.

  Chet looked even more rugged and manly holding one of the vintage, rose-patterned cups we used for coffee. His thick finger barely fit through the filigree porcelain handle. He kept looking at me and looking away when I met his eyes. Each time, I felt my cheeks flush.

  Young Corvin looked adorable, with round cheeks that begged to be pinched. I resisted for at least ten minutes before I gave in to my urges and reached over to give one cheek a pinch. He gave me a funny look but didn't protest. After a good pinching, I used both of my hands to give him fish lips while I made popping sounds.

  “Who's a little fishie?” I cooed. POP, POP.

  Grampa Don said, “Winona? Is that you?”

  I yanked my hands away, suddenly embarrassed. The entire Moore family was staring at me with expressions ranging from curious to horrified. Grampa Moore was so shocked, he'd actually stopped cramming bacon in his mouth.

  “Hazelnut spread,” I announced, jumping to my feet. I dashed off to the kitchen for a moment of privacy.

  Alone in the kitchen, I scolded the ghost. “Don't make me do things, or we won't be friends. I'll hire an exterminator to get you out of this house if you can't control yourself!”

  “Who are you talking to?” Zoey asked from the doorway. “Is the ghost here?”

  I grabbed the hazelnut spread, along with a tray of deviled eggs. “It's a beautiful house,” I said to Zoey. “You can't blame the woman for sticking around, even after death.”

  “Mom?”

  “Don't give me that look,” I said. “She's perfectly harmless. Whatever happened last night with the toaster was just an accident, and it won't happen again. I threw out the demonic appliance and all's right in the world.” I paused and glanced over at the kettle. “Do you suppose anyone wants tea? I just assumed they were all coffee drinkers.”

  Zoey took the tray of eggs from me. “Let's just get through this brunch and we'll talk more later. I phoned Auntie Z, but she's not answering her cell phone.”

  “I'm not sure if we can trust her. I know she's family, and the ghost isn't, but the ghost never tried to hurt me before last night, when Zinnia just happened to be here in the house.”

  Zoey wrinkled her brow and stared into the distance, the way she did when she was studying for an exam. After a minute, her expression brightened. “We should ask the Moore family what they know about Winona and the history of the house.”

  “Duh,” I said. “Why do you think I invited them over in the first place? I'm clever and devious like that.”

  She gave me a look that said she wasn't buying it but appreciated my efforts.

  We returned to the dining room, where Zoey got to work like a novice witch on an important fact-finding mission, which she was.

  She asked, “How long did Winona Vander Zalm own this house?”

  Grampa Don answered, “She was here before I bought the place next door, thirty-six years ago.”

  “I was born inside this house,” Chet said. “And I do mean this one.” He pointed at my dining room floor. “There was a terrible electrical storm when my mother went into labor. A couple of fallen trees and power lines blocked the way to the hospital, so my mother came over here and gave birth with a group of neighbors attending.”

  Don snorted at the memory. “Winona continued to serve cocktails all through the delivery. She was an incredible hostess. Did you know she served as a nurse during the war? I never could nail down exactly which war, but I believed her.” He glanced around the room, his eyes unfocused. “She was a spectacular woman.”

  Zoey practically pounced on him across the table. “How spectacular? Your eyes twinkled when you were talking about her. Were you two an item?”

  Don cleared his throat and looked uncomfortable. His moss-green eyes darkened. “After my dear wife passed on, Winona would, uh, seek my company from time to time.” He glanced over to his son as though asking for permission to continue.

  Chet said, “It's okay, Dad. I've always known there was something between you two. You should go ahead and talk about it. Healthy people talk about their feelings.”

  Don snorted and reached for a forkful of bacon. “If it's so healthy to yammer on like a fool, I'm taking another bite of this.”

  Nobody stopped him.

  Zoey gave him a moment to chew before asking, “Were you dating up until she passed away?”

  He talked around the food in his mouth. “Dating? The two of us made the beast with two backs whenever the moon was full. Does that count as dating?”

  Young Corvin, whom we'd all but forgotten about, piped up, “Dad, what's the beast with two backs? I don't know that one. Is it a—”

  Chet quieted him with a hand clamped over his mouth. “I think that's enough talking about Grampa's private nightsports.”

  Zoey giggled. “Nightsports,” she repeated.

  I smiled at the Moore family. “Thank you for sharin
g your memories about such a remarkable woman.” I held my hand over my heart. “She sends you all her love.”

  Chet removed his hand from his son's mouth and gave me a puzzled look. “If you're interested in learning more about the history of this house and Winona, I've got access to old town records. We could visit the archives together sometime.”

  “That would be nice,” I said. My gaze drifted over to the edible centerpiece. “Help yourself to some flowers, please. Everything except the stem is made of fruit.”

  My guests admired my handiwork and each took a flower.

  The table was quiet while everyone munched away. Everything was perfect, including the custard. I'd never made custard before, and it had turned out perfect. I felt a sensation on my shoulder, like someone was patting me on the back for a job well done.

  Suddenly, Corvin pointed at the air above my head and said, “You're dead. You're dead.”

  His grandfather gave him a stern look and barked, “Corvin! Don't be morbid or I'll give you something to be morbid about.”

  I leaned forward and looked into the little boy's eyes, which were glowing as bright as emeralds in a display case. “Who's dead? How did she die?”

  “Someone killed her,” Corvin said. “Ding dong! Ding dong, the witch is dead!”

  Chet got to his feet and pulled his son up as well.

  “Great brunch,” Chet said warmly. “This one gets feisty when he eats too much sugar.”

  Corvin began to laugh—a cruel, nasty laugh. “Ding dong! Ding dong! Who's there? Pop Tarts! The Pop Tarts are done and so are you!”

  Zoey circled around the table and shoved Corvin. “Stop it! Shut up, you creepy little monster!”

  He reached out and shoved her back. He was much shorter and couldn't reach her shoulders, so he struck her in the chest. “You're the monster! And I don't want a big sister! Not you! You're ugly and stupid and I hate you!”

  Chet grabbed his son and pulled him back. I did the same with Zoey, for everyone's protection. She wasn't usually violent, but then again she'd never been called ugly and stupid in her own home.

  “I am so sorry,” Chet said, dragging his son away as quickly as he could.