Southern Hauntings

by Amy Boyles

  Her eyes flared. “Really? I thought you did.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t. At all.”

  “But you must’ve heard.”

  I bagged up the food and scooted it toward her. “Heard what?”

  “About the order.”

  I frowned. “The Magnolia Cove Order?”

  A trill of laughter trickled from Idie Claire’s throat. “No, silly. Not our order, because we don’t have one, but the Head Witch Order.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never heard of a Head Witch Order.”

  Her eyes flared with intrigue. Great, this would be all over town first thing tomorrow morning. I’d be known as the laughingstock of Magnolia Cove because I didn’t know about some stupid Head Witch Order.

  “Betty didn’t tell you?” she said.

  “Tell me what?”

  “Well…” Idie Claire leaned over the counter and whispered so no one could overhear. News flash, Idie Claire—there was no one else in the store.

  Only cats and dogs who I could understand but few others could.

  What’s she saying? one of the kittens said.

  She says you’ve got a big butt, a puppy answered.

  Do not, the kitten mewed.

  Do too, the puppy barked.

  Too distracted to pay attention to Idie, I raised my finger. “Hold on a second.” I peered around her to the animals. “Will y’all please stop talking about who’s got a bigger butt?”

  The puppies tumbled with laughter. The kittens did, too. I rolled my eyes and pinpointed my focus back on Idie.

  “Sorry. Continue with what you were saying.”

  “Sure.” She looked distractedly over her shoulder. “They weren’t talking about my rear end, were they?”

  I grasped her shoulder like it was a lifeline. “Goodness, no. Sorry if I made you think that. The kittens and puppies were arguing with each other, is all. Trust me, no one was talking about your tush. Not that there’s anything wrong with your tush, because I’m sure there isn’t. I’ve never looked, to be honest with you. Should I look?”

  I cut my hand through the air. “Scratch that. I’m not looking at your tush. No one is. I mean, someone probably is, but not me.”

  Idie’s eyes widened the more I spoke. “Pepper, it’s okay. Don’t hyperventilate.”

  I laid my hand over my heart. “Sorry. I’ve been a little frazzled lately.” One quick inhale and I was ready to pick up our conversation where it had been left off. “Now. What were you saying about the order?”

  “Well,” Idie said with the voice of authority, “you didn’t hear this from me, but from what I understand, the Head Witch Order is going to start seeking out all witches like you—with your power.”

  “Why?”

  “They want to make sure you’ve been trained correctly.”

  I laughed. “Joke’s on them. I haven’t been trained at all.”

  “That’s what they’re afraid of.”

  “What do you mean?” Now Idie had me worried.

  She sighed. “The order is saying that tensions are rising.”

  “What sort of tensions?”

  Idie licked her lips. “In some areas between witches and werewolves. The order needs all the help they can get—specifically from head witches in case things come to a climax.”

  I rubbed my temples. “What are you saying, exactly?”

  “The order wants to train you in case there’s a serious conflict with the werewolves. They’ll use you to fight.”

  I scoffed. “Against werewolves? Axel’s a werewolf.”

  Idie shook her head. “Then the order will see him as a threat. You have to be careful, Pepper. From what I understand, they’re coming.”

  I shivered as Idie left. Was Betty trying to protect me from this? From being yanked into a fight I had no interest in?

  There was only one way to find out. I glanced out the window and saw my grandmother make her way toward the shop. It was time to go.

  Time to meet Neville and get some answers for myself.

  SEVENTEEN

  It wasn’t an exaggeration to say Neville Mabury possessed a striking similarity to a beaver.

  I’m not kidding.

  The three of us found Neville in his backyard drinking a cup of hot tea and smoking a pipe.

  As soon as Betty saw the pipe, she nudged me with her elbow.

  “See?” she whispered. “Fate.”

  I rolled my eyes and decided it was best not to answer her.

  Neville rose with surprise. He shoved his hands in his pockets and in the most beaver-like of ways, said, “Hello there, Mrs. Craple, Miss Dunn and Mr. Reign. Did I promise to host a dinner party and forget all about it?”

  He rubbed a hand down his face. “It wouldn’t surprise me if I had. Lately my memory has been horrible, what with the dog barking at night, almost every night.”

  A small Yorkshire terrier ran up and sniffed my ankle. The little bugger hiked his leg to pee on me, and I quickly stepped away.

  “No, thank you. I don’t need that today.”

  Neville picked him up. “Sorry about that. But what can I do for you?”

  Betty nodded to Axel. “Neville, we thought we’d bring some dinner and see if you wouldn’t mind sharing it with us.” From behind his back, Axel whipped out a hot and ready pizza.

  A cake pan appeared in Betty’s hands. “And I brought the dessert.”

  Neville sniffed the pizza. His lip curled over his large incisors. I don’t know why I didn’t pick up on his beaverish appearance at the familiar society, but it was so obvious now it was almost hard to keep a straight face.

  “I love pizza.” Neville licked his lips. “And what do you have there, Mrs. Craple?”

  “Please call me Betty.” She sidled up beside Neville and whipped off the foil covering the dish. “Mississippi Mud Cake.”

  “Oh, my favorite,” Neville said.

  “Mine too,” I said, shooting Betty a dirty look. She smiled proudly and hooked her arm around Neville’s.

  “Shall we go inside? It’s getting chilly out here.”

  Neville smiled broadly. “Of course. But only if you give me the first bite of that cake.”

  Betty ignored my blatant stare. I felt like I was about to burn a hole in her gray old-lady sweater.

  “Neville,” she cooed, “you may have as much as you’d like.”

  Then Betty better be prepared to make another Mississippi Mud Cake just for me because I wasn’t sharing—at least not until I ate my fill.

  “Why is she here again?” Axel asked as we followed the two inside.

  “So she can prove he’s her secret admirer.”

  “You know”—Axel scrubbed a hand down his face—“she just might be right.”

  I glanced at the pizza in his hand. “What made you decide to bring that?”

  Axel chuckled. Amusement filled his blue eyes. His fingers traced down my arm, leaving a blaze of heat in their wake. Oh, how I could lose myself in him. It was easy—the determined set of his jaw, the wicked smirk that often donned his face, and not to mention the way he smelled—like leather and a warm breeze right off the beach. His scent sometimes changed, but leather always skimmed off his flesh.

  Axel intoxicated me.

  His voice whipped me back to the present. “I brought the pizza because I met Neville the night of Willow Dean Gar’s murder. If we walked in here with guns blazing, he’d smell a rat and clam up. But”—his gaze trailed to my lips—“add a little food and maybe some wine and I have the feeling we’ll be able to get anything and everything from him.”

  I considered telling Axel what Idie Claire had said, but why worry him? Besides, this was Idie Claire I was talking about. She might’ve heard that bit of gossip from one of her clients—one who’d had their hair bleached so many times the chemicals sank into her skull and gave her brain damage she didn’t know about.

  I mean, that was a possibility, right?

  Instead o
f talking about doom and gloom, I threaded my fingers through Axel’s. “Let’s just hope you’re right about Betty.”

  We ate off paper plates, which was fine with me. Neville was a middle-aged bachelor. Easily twenty years younger than Betty, but that wasn’t stopping her from questioning the bejeezus out of him.

  “So, Neville, do you think women like music boxes?”

  Neville scratched the round bald spot on the top of his head. “Don’t they? I always thought so. But I guess I haven’t considered the question recently.”

  Betty sliced into her pizza. Yes, she ate it with a fork and knife. “Well, I like them. If someone had happened to give me one as a gift, I would want them to know it was very much appreciated.”

  Sheesh. Why didn’t she just come out and say it?

  “Neville,” I said, “do you like stationary?”

  Betty kicked me.

  “Ow!”

  “Of course he likes stationary,” Betty said. “Everyone does.” Betty opened her purse. I peeked inside and caught a glimpse of the stationary her secret admirer had given her.

  She’d brought it. No way. Betty wasn’t allowed to derail our meeting with Neville.

  I had no choice. The only thing left to do, to make sure Betty didn’t sidetrack Neville, was to shut down the secret admirer stuff.

  I slapped Betty’s purse from her hand. “Ah! A spider,” I shrieked.

  The purse skidded across the floor. Betty shot me a look full of whoop ass. I darted from my chair and grabbed the purse, setting it in an empty chair beside me.

  “Oh my gosh, I am so sorry, but I thought I saw a huge spider beside your purse and I want to keep it safe, so I’m just going to lodge it beside me.” I smiled brightly and turned to Neville, whose mouth hung to his chest. Apparently I’d scared the grits right out of him.

  I leaned on my elbow and smiled brightly. “So, Neville. How about that first slice of Mississippi Mud Cake?”

  He took it graciously, and I nodded to Axel. Betty sat sulking in her seat. I cut myself a square of cake and was lifting the fork to my mouth when it stopped.

  “Sorry, Pepper,” Betty huffed, “but I remember you telling me that you’re on a diet. You made me promise not to let you eat sweets.”

  Darts shot from my eyes. I wanted to strangle her. Well, not really. I wanted to eat some cotton-picking cake. But I’d done it now. I’d screwed with Betty, and I had to pay for it.

  And all I wanted was cake!

  I smiled sweetly and settled my fork on the plate. That was fine. Two could play this game.

  “Neville,” Axel said, “it’s horrible about Willow Dean, isn’t it?”

  “Oh yes,” Neville said between bites, “just terrible. You know not many people liked her, but I did. She was also a favorite of Frederick Albod’s when he was still with the familiar society.”

  “Speaking of Mr. Albod…” Axel bit into the cake. Traitor. “You were close with him, weren’t you?”

  Neville wiped a smudge of chocolate from his lips. “Oh yes. We were close.”

  “Do you remember ever hearing Mr. Albod say that he was afraid for his safety?”

  “Because of the critterling, you mean?”

  My eyes flared. “Yes, because of that.”

  “I was aware of Mr. Albod’s fears. The power to take control of an animal and do surreptitious meddling is something many witches or wizards would love to possess. Commit murder and no one would ever know it was you.”

  He tucked his napkin into his collar. “But you know that wouldn’t have helped Willow Dean. A human killed her, plain and simple.”

  “Neville, this may be hard to talk about, but we understand that you were present when Mr. Albod died.”

  Tears brimmed Neville’s eyes. “I was present. I’d gone to help my friend and watch him. One moment he was alive and I was fixing us both a cup of tea, and the next he was dead. Gone. I called the doctor and he tried to revive him but Mr. Albod never returned.”

  He rubbed his forehead. “His body felt waxy almost immediately.” He snickered. “It’s strange the things you remember at a time like that. So strange.”

  Betty patted his hand. “It’s okay. It was a difficult thing you experienced.”

  He nodded. “It was. Very difficult. Mr. Albod was my dear friend. I hated seeing him like that. Watching him—he looked so cold.”

  “It’s okay.” My voice filled with sympathy. “You don’t have to talk about it anymore if you don’t want to.”

  Neville’s dog jumped from its cushion on the floor and ran to the front door, barking the whole way.

  “Simmer down,” Neville said. He rubbed his head. “That dog’s been keeping me awake half the night for a while.”

  “Barking?” Axel said.

  Neville nodded. “I don’t know what it’s barking at. There’s nothing out this way. We live at the farthest reaches of town. There’s nowhere else to go. But he’s barking.”

  The dog scratched the door. “There must be something.”

  Neville scratched at his hairline. “There’s an old shed maybe about a half mile down the road. It’s deserted with vines growing up around it.”

  My gaze snagged on Axel’s. A dark look flashed across his face. He was thinking something, but what?

  “Would you like more cake?” Betty offered gently.

  “Don’t mind if I do,” I answered.

  “Not you.” She snatched a fork from my hand. “Neville. I was wondering if he wanted any more.”

  Neville patted his belly. “No, thank you. I’m okay. I don’t need more. I have to watch my figure, you know.”

  Betty quirked a brow. “You do? Now why would a handsome man like you need to watch his figure?”

  “For my girlfriend.”

  I’d just taken a sip of water and wound up squirting it from my nose. Betty looked too shocked to ask any questions, so I took over.

  “Your girlfriend?”

  Neville smiled broadly. “Yes, my girlfriend. We’ve been dating for a few months. Best thing that ever happened to me.”

  Neville didn’t notice that Betty’s expression had collapsed. I wrapped a hand around her and squeezed. I didn’t want to make a scene of comforting her, so I took Betty by the hand and rose, ready to leave.

  Axel rose as well, and Neville walked us to the door. He scooted the dog away with a gentle push of his foot and then scooped the animal in his arms.

  What do you hear outside? I asked the pooch.

  The dog’s ears perked up at my question. He opened his mouth to answer right as Axel spoke.

  “One last question, Neville.”

  “Sure.” Neville rubbed his belly. “It’s the least I can do after that wonderful meal.”

  “Did Mr. Albod ever say who he was afraid of?”

  “Hmm.” Neville opened the door, and we stepped outside. Darkness had replaced the day, and a sliver of moon hung high in the sky. “As a matter of fact he did.”

  My heart lurched in my chest. Sweat immediately poured from my palms. Wow. No one had said who Mr. Albod had been afraid of. No one knew—except Neville.

  “Do you care to tell us?” Axel prodded.

  Neville scratched the stubble of his chin. “I’ll tell you. One night Frederick confided there was one person who scared him—one person who he was afraid wanted the familiar vessel.”

  Neville paused. I wanted to grab him by the collar and yank the information out of him.

  “Who was it?” I said, my voice frantic.

  “Why, Mr. Albod was afraid of Charles James Hix.”

  I blanched. Axel shot me a questioning look. My lips parted. “That’s CJ for short. CJ Hix.”

  Axel ran his thumb across his chin. “Thank you, Neville.”

  We said our goodbyes and left Mr. Mabury on his front porch. A halo of light surrounded him while the darkness swallowed us up.

  EIGHTEEN

  By the time we returned to the house, the three of us were tired. Axel gave me a quick
kiss goodbye and promised to catch up with me the next day.

  As Betty dragged herself into her recliner, my mind whirled with thoughts of Mr. Albod being afraid of CJ.

  It was then that I remembered the girlfriend comment that Neville had made.

  I smiled sadly and pointed to the cake. “Want to split a piece? I’ll warm it up in the microwave.”

  “We don’t have a microwave,” Betty snapped.

  “Yes, we do,” I said. “It sits in the kitchen next to the refrigerator.”

  “That’s a toaster oven. What are you? Taking tips from Amelia?”

  I narrowed my eyes and matched her, glare for glare. “It is a microwave. I’ve used it before. Maybe it’s you who needs to look again.”

  “Oh,” she mumbled, “I never use it.”

  I brushed my hands to get rid of the nasty feeling between us. “I’ll ask again: do you want me to heat up a piece of cake for us to split?”

  “Yes.” Her lower lip trembled. Betty’s voice came out weak.

  I shook my head as I marched into the kitchen. When I returned, Betty had wrapped herself in a blanket. I sat across from her and rested the plate along with two forks on the coffee table.

  “At least now you know it isn’t Neville,” I said gently.

  She squirmed a bit, which suggested she’d heard me. “I suppose.”

  “Come on, Betty. Aren’t you glad you know? I mean, seriously? Wouldn’t you rather be able to cross him off the list than be pining over him and wondering?”

  “No,” she said flatly. “I was certain it was Neville. One hundred percent.”

  I dug my fork into the cake. Betty didn’t move to stop me while I brought a chunk to my mouth. I paused, waiting for her to snatch my happiness away, but instead she waved her hand.

  “You can eat it.”

  My mouth dipped into a deep frown. “It’s better to know than not know. At least you found out now that he has a girlfriend before you started making wedding plans. Given, those would be behind his back since he probably wouldn’t even know you’d pinpointed him as your secret admirer, but once Neville didn’t appear for the wedding, you’d be pretty clued in.”

  Betty pulled her pipe from her pocket, lit it with a flame that ignited from the tip of her finger, and tugged hard on the stem.