Miraculous Mintwood Magic

by Addison Creek

  “Let’s go,” I said. As gently as possible I started to crawl toward the door, with my friends moving behind me. It was tedious going, since we had to move quickly and quietly at the same time, not the easiest thing to do with three humans to manage.

  To make matters worse, Paws offered color commentary as we went. “And the rock rolls on. Three slowpokes in a row. Who will be the slowest poke of them all?” he asked.

  “I suppose it’s okay if he’s talking, given that he can’t be heard by the stray,” said Charlie.

  “If only we couldn’t hear him either,” said Greer.

  The stairs were the worst part of getting out of the house quietly. Each step creaked and groaned as we made our way downward.

  “I’ll go out the back,” said Greer. “If the cat runs off, maybe he’ll run toward me.”

  “That’s a great idea. Like having a giraffe chase a fox,” said Paws.

  Glancing out the front door, I could see that the cat was still there, and definitely eating the cheese. Greer had been right; he did look scrawny, although from what I could see of him, I thought “he” might really be a “she.”

  “What should we do?” Charlie asked.

  “We have to try to get through the door. We didn’t plan this terribly well,” I whispered. “He’ll probably run off again the second he hears the slightest sound.”

  “That’s so obvious it’s painful,” said Paws.

  I took a deep breath, put my hand on the doorknob, and peered through one of the tiny window panes in the door. The cat looked right at me; I looked right back. Knowing that my time was up, I flung open the door and ran through. The cat darted away into the darkness.

  I nearly tripped down the porch stairs. In the dim recesses of my mind I realized two things. One, the cat had gotten way. Two, even this porch was sturdier than mine.

  Chapter Twelve

  By the time I pulled to a halt on the porch, the cat was long gone. I glared around into the darkness.

  “You have to respect the run, the gliding gazelle grace of the feline persuasion,” said Paws, trotting up to us and looking very smug.

  “You don’t even like cats,” I pointed out.

  “I like this one a little more now,” he assured me. I just rolled my eyes.

  “Greer! we lost him,” I cried as our friend came from around the back of the house. She shrugged. She didn’t look the least bit surprised.

  “What about the ghosts you claim hang out here?” Charlie asked.

  “I didn’t see any when we were inside. We could check again” I said.

  “We haven’t tried the kitchen,” said Charlie. “The doors leading into it are closed, so I figured the stray cat probably wasn’t in there. I wondered if maybe there’s a hole in the wall or something, but I really think he just ate all the cheese and disappeared.”

  “Let’s at least check the kitchen for ghosts,” I said. “If we don’t find any tonight, we’ll try again tomorrow.”

  “I don’t know how we’ll fit it in given that we also have to go back to the development,” said Paws.

  He was right. I kept forgetting that we had more to do than just run after stray cats. I also had Cesar to check on. I shook my head at the thought of having two pet sitting responsibilities at once; it didn’t happen very often. Well, in this case it was one pet sitting job and one self-appointed task of finding a stray animal. Almost the same thing. And two murders, of course. It was a lot. Normally I would tell my boyfriend about how busy I was and he’d commiserate and help me find a way to get some rest and relaxation, but that wasn’t going to happen this time.

  We went back inside the dilapidated old building one more time, Charlie leading the way. “This way,” she said, making for the kitchen door.

  As we got near, I could hear voices. Charlie heard them too and slowed her pace. Greer frowned. “I guess there are ghosts here after all. Pity they can’t help us catch a stray animal.”

  “Ghosts aren’t the most helpful lot,” said Charlie.

  “Who are you calling unhelpful?” Paws demanded.

  “Sorry. Definitely not you. Can you go through the door first and scope everything out?” Charlie asked him.

  “Absolutely not,” he said.

  “I’ll go first. I’m the witch around here,” I said.

  “You should try performing some magic from time to time,” Paws said.

  It sounded like most of the things he said. Kind of like a joke. But I knew he wasn’t really kidding. Recently I had let my magic practice fall by the wayside, realizing with some surprise and not a little concern that I was acting as if seeing ghosts was enough in terms of witchy behavior. It had been a while since I had performed any serious magic, except for the fence around my house. Even that was getting further and further in the past, and anyhow, for that I’d had a lot of help.

  I was also fretting about the investigation into my grandmother’s death, which I continued to put on the back burner when other things pressed. I had promised myself after talking to Paws that I would look into it further, and I had done nothing about it since then. Heck, I was technically kind of single at the moment. If I couldn’t do it now, then when?

  I pushed the kitchen door open.

  “Grab that platter. Who wants a date?” a large ghost woman demanded.

  She reminded me a bit of Mrs. Barnett. She had beefy arms and was moving around the kitchen as if she owned the place, with several other ghosts spinning around her. They were preparing a ghost meal, whatever that was. All four of us just stood in the doorway, mouths agape, and at first the ghosts in the kitchen didn’t acknowledge our presence. They acted as if they didn’t even realize we were there.

  Paws was the first one to make a move. Needless to say, food always interested him. When he trotted over to be closer to the counter, the large ghost woman gazed down at him with a severe look and demanded, “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

  “Helping,” said Paws.

  “We have it on very good authority that cats don’t help,” said Greer.

  The woman raised her eyebrows. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen humans, even a witch. It’s been an even longer time since I saw humans who could see me but who weren’t witches.”

  “All sorts of new things are going on around here,” I said dryly. “For instance, a bunch of ghosts moving in across the street from me and not telling me.”

  “Who says we moved in?” said a guy ghosts wearing beat-up jeans and a beat-up shirt. He looked like he worked for a living. His face was weathered but kind.

  “Have you not?” I asked.

  “Of course not. This place is a dump. We just come here from time to time for dinner. Change things up a bit. Get away from the cemetery,” said another ghost. He was one I did recognize a bit from around Mintwood.

  “Found some apples outside,” said a woman coming in the back door. She stopped dead when she caught sight of the human visitors. Mrs. Goodkeep and I stared at each other.

  “Fancy seeing you here,” said Charlie.

  The former mayor of Mintwood glared down at Paws.

  “Oh, spare me. I didn’t tell them anything. You know very well they wouldn’t listen to a word I had to say if I did,” said Paws.

  “I guess you have that right,” she said.

  “Why didn’t you want me to know you were here?” I said.

  “Because you’re so officious,” said Mrs. Goodkeep. “Besides, you’d tell Karen.”

  Oh, so that was her problem. Karen was in charge of the ghosts who lived at my farmhouse, and she and Mrs. Goodkeep didn’t get along. To be fair, Karen didn’t get along with many people. Or ghosts.

  “I can’t believe you think I’d snitch on you,” said Paws.

  “Of course I think that. Because you would,” she said.

  The other ghosts had been watching this exchange with interest. Now the woman who had been cooking sniffed in disdain. “I knew inviting you would cause trouble. I didn’t want to,
but you insisted. Next time I won’t invite you.”

  “What trouble have I caused? You didn’t come here for me, did you?” Mrs. Goodkeep asked me.

  “No, definitely not. Because I don’t care that you’re here,” I said, with emphasis.

  The woman shrugged, came the rest of the way into the room, and dropped the apples on the table. They floated a little strangely, then sparkled. I had never seen such a thing before. I guessed maybe I hadn’t been paying close enough attention.

  “Now that you’ve come all this way, what can I do for you?” asked the woman doing the cooking.

  “Let me introduce myself. I’m Lemmi, and these are my friends,” I said, naming to Charlie and Greer in turn.

  Paws coughed delicately. I introduced the cat.

  “Molly,” said the woman. “Been a ghost for a long time and I’ve not seen you around.”

  “She keeps saying that as if it means something,” said Paws out the side of his mouth.

  We stayed to chat for a while, but it was getting painfully late. Charlie, Greer, and I all smothered yawns as we excused ourselves. Molly made me promise to come again soon. I told her we would, and mentioned our stray cat problem as the main reason.

  All was quiet. The only trouble was that it had taken until two in the morning to achieve that blessed state. At this rate I wouldn’t sleep at all.

  Chapter Thirteen

  When I woke up the next morning, I knew it wasn’t actually morning anymore. We had been out so late that I was getting dangerously close to a Greer-style schedule, staying up half the night and sleeping in until noon. Charlie had even decided to get a late start and not go to work until afternoon. She had already written a couple of articles for the week, and she didn’t think she’d be missed at the office. With Lena in a rage about Toil Tamper, no one much wanted to be there anyway.

  As late as it was when I came downstairs, Charlie still wasn’t up. It hardly ever happened that I was the first one out of bed in the morning, but for once I was the one to go outside and grab the newspapers. From the brief glimpse I caught of the headlines, I knew the day’s articles would be an entertaining read. So it was with something to look forward to that I made myself coffee and toast before settling in to read the news.

  Hansen had written another article about the supposed witches living among us in the county. I had thought he’d be too distracted by the murder at Hayview to keep coming back to that topic, but apparently, and unfortunately, the man could multitask.

  It wasn’t long before Charlie plodded out of her room, but we didn’t speak until she had her coffee and was sitting down to the papers as well.

  “Hansen’s getting closer to your secret,” Charlie warned me as she read the Gazette.

  “He’s writing about a field filled with witches’ top hats that dance on their own. I don’t think he’s getting very close,” I told her.

  Charlie shrugged. “You never know. Where’s your pointy hat?”

  “Safely in my grandmother’s room,” I told her.

  “For now,” said Charlie with a twinkle in her eye.

  I glanced at Charger and rolled my eyes. “I’m going to check on Cesar soon.”

  “You do that,” Charlie said.

  I sighed and flipped the page back to the front. Hansen’s article had been pushed to the side in favor of Toil Temper’s. Temper had written another epic about how much trouble Jasper and his corporation were in.

  “I can’t believe anyone calls him a journalist,” said Charlie with some bitterness.

  “Bottom line, he’s doing a lot of writing and the paper is publishing it,” I said.

  “Sensational nonsense. Do you really think Jasper’s job is in jeopardy from this one deal?” Charlie demanded.

  “I don’t think he’d lose his job, but his company might have some trouble,” I pointed out. Since Jasper worked for his grandfather, his job was pretty safe. But the same couldn’t be said for the company itself. They needed this deal. Toil Temper was making it clear that they needed it badly. Dead bodies were not usually good for deals.

  “What’s on the agenda for today?” Charlie asked.

  “Check on Cesar. Go downtown and check on Bright Lights. After that I need to find out more about the Hayview property and Mr. Earle.”

  Bright Lights Cinema was an ongoing project of ours; we had been asked to clear out the mountains of stuff that had been stored there for years. The task was mighty and the going slow.

  “We were trying to find out more about him yesterday,” said Charlie. “Then his wife died.”

  “Are you going to Applewood today?” I asked.

  Charlie nodded. “Hansen is going with me.”

  I looked back down and continued to read, lifting the edge of a page up slightly so that the newspaper hid my smile from Charlie.

  A couple of days passed quietly. Dead ends piled up. The only flare-ups in the murder cases were in the paper itself, where other reporters had gotten in on the action and were trying to outdo each other in producing the most sensational articles, first about Hayview and then about the murders. I continued to mull the notion that Wolf Senior had something to do with all of this, but it sounded too far fetched to be true.

  I had never felt that the information we were able to dig out on a case was so unhelpful. We were going places, we were interviewing potential witnesses, suspects, and other people who, we hoped, might have some useful information. But it still felt like we were running into nothing but dead ends.

  One evening I was sitting in the living room going over old newspaper clippings. We were staying inside because torrential rain was falling outside. All I could hear was the hammering of water hitting the house from every angle.

  I had done a bit of my project of sorting through old articles every day since Tom had escorted me to Hayview to see Mr. Earle’s body. Each day I looked at the collection of clippings and hoped they’d tell me something about what had happened to the man when he disappeared. So far I had found nothing.

  Finally we decided to put an end to the dithering. Charlie proposed we do a little bit of snooping, and both Greer and I agreed with her. We might be technically breaking the law, but at this point I didn’t think we were going to get answers any other way.

  This time I was just starting to read a new article when there came a pounding on the door.

  I sprang to my feet, startled because I hadn’t heard a car drive up. A second’s consideration told me that the rain was so loud I couldn’t expect to hear a thing.

  When I glanced out the window into the gloom, I saw a great hulking figure in my doorway. Then he looked up from under the brim of his hat, and I had to admit that he wasn’t actually that tall.

  I opened the door to Detective Cutter, who was waiting patiently on the porch.

  “Hello?” I was shocked to see him at the farmhouse, if for no other reason than that he hated coming out into the country. A little joke in Maine, where everything was country.

  “Can I come in?” he asked gruffly.

  I felt acutely that I was in an old nightgown with a robe thrown over it, with fluffy slippers on my feet. I reminded myself of that time when I had come across Detective Cutter gardening and felt a bit better.

  “Of course,” I said, stepping back.

  “Are your cohorts here?” he asked, peering over my shoulder.

  “If you mean my roommates, yes,” I said.

  My eyes flicked to the window. Paws had been pretending to sleep, but I caught him with one eye open.

  The detective followed my eyes to the dark porch window, but he, of course, didn’t see a thing.

  “It’s raining cats and dogs,” he muttered.

  “I hope not, and I’ll beat them up if I see them,” Paws offered.

  “Tea?” I asked the detective.

  “Decaf. I need to be able to sleep,” he said.

  “Make yourself comfortable.” My arm swept around to take in the living room.

  “Same green
furniture your grandmother had,” he commented.

  I couldn’t tell if he thought that was a good thing or a bad thing. He mostly just said it to himself, so it didn’t seem to matter much. I headed for the kitchen to get the refreshments.

  “Did I hear the door open?” asked Charlie, emerging from her room in a sweatshirt and comfy pants.

  “Detective Cutter is here,” I said.

  Charlie raised her eyebrows slightly. As if she meant it to be subtle, she turned back into her room while I put the tea on. After a few minutes of puttering in the kitchen, getting the mugs ready and gathering the tea options, I heard voices coming from the living room. Greer had found our guest.

  Just as I finished preparing the tea, Charlie waltzed out of her room, grinning at me and clutching her notebook to her chest.

  “Interview time!” she whispered.

  “He came to see me,” I said.

  “Doesn’t mean I can’t get some of my questions answered while he’s seeing you. I’m sure he can tell me some things that we need to know.” She made a show of examining her list.

  The last two days had been frustrating. We had seen no sign of the ghost of Mr. Earle and made no progress at all on the murders. Getting some new information from Detective Cutter one way or another was the only way I could think of to break this case wide open. Desperate times were about to call for desperate measures.

  Later on, after Detective Cutter left, we intended to sneak into Hayview on the theory that maybe Mr. Earle’s ghost would only appear when all was quiet.

  When Charlie and I got to the living room we found Greer sitting tensely on the couch, already dressed for our adventure in her usual all-black outfit.

  “Hey,” she said.

  The detective glanced at her and then back at us.

  “Fashion these days,” he muttered to himself, and then he relaxed. Once he stopped worrying about Greer’s burglar outfit, her shoulders relaxed as well.

  Cutter had hung up his rain-soaked clothing on a hook next to the front door. I could hear a quiet drip drip as splats of water hit the old wood floor. Charlie couldn’t stand it; she went over and put an old towel down to catch some of the mess.