Hexes and Holly: A Paranormal Cozy Mystery Holiday Anthology

by Tegan Maher

  “What is going on?” I whispered back. “We’re the only two witches here, and neither one of us—”

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” a voice boomed. I looked up to the top of the old courthouse. There, holding a megaphone, an older man leaned over the ledge and looked down upon the gathered crowd, backgrounded by a starry sky. “For those of you that don’t know me, my name’s Sheriff Clutterbuck, and I’m sorry to report the computer—and light projector—have been stolen. There’ll be no light show tonight.” The speaker crackled as the sheriff turned the megaphone off.

  “Well, that’s just crap, that is,” an old, rotund woman complained next to me. “Who would steal a light show? And from the top of the old courthouse?”

  “Now, Miss Bessie, let’s just go back to the home,” a small woman said next to her, glancing at me with an apologetic expression. “There won’t be a light show tonight, so no need for you to stay out in the chill.”

  “I bet it was Stan Harvey,” Miss Bessie said, her arm thrusting out toward a man leaning against the building. “That man’s more slippery than a pocket full of pudding, he is. And just look at his face, Claire!” The old woman whirled on the young one. “He’s smirking! Stan is smirking like he finds this all funny!”

  Stan Harvey turned toward the old woman and slowly removed a toothpick from between his lips. “What d'you say, Miss Bessie?” he drawled.

  “I said you’re as crooked as a greyhound’s hind leg, Harvey!”

  “Don’t call me Harvey, old woman!” the man barked.

  “Ma’am, why do you think he stole the projector?” I asked quietly. Gunther rolled his eyes as he stepped forward, his feet planted firmly on the ground as he watched Stan Harvey watching us.

  “Because he’s slicker than a slop jar,” Miss Bessie said, turning. “He’s so crooked he—hey, now.” Her eyes widened as if I surprised her. Then they narrowed. “You. I don’t know you. Who are you?”

  “My name is—”

  “Miss Bessie, come on now, we need to go,” Claire said, interrupting me. Claire’s eyes jerked toward Stan Harvey, who was now heading toward us—a menacing look etched across his face. “You’ve got Stan all riled up, and Gabe will be incredibly disappointed in me if I let you get in another fight in the middle of the town square.”

  “Another fight?” I asked, staring at the old woman. She was elderly and moved slowly. This little old lady gets into street fights?

  “Don’t you judge a book by its cover, there, Miss,” Miss Bessie said as Claire hurried her away. Over her shoulder, she called, “Things aren’t always what they seem around here!” The two melted in the increasingly dense crowd.

  Stan Harvey arrived where we stood and looked around angrily. Realizing Miss Bessie had left the area, he turned and walked away without a word.

  “All this over a projector?” Gunther asked with an exhale.

  “It’s not just a projector,” a woman in her mid-thirties, a six-year-old’s hand in hers, said as she overheard our conversation. “That computer light show contained tonight’s clue for the Festival of Lights scavenger hunt.”

  “Scavenger hunt?”

  The woman nodded. “Each night, the show is slightly different. And each night, for twelve nights, the light show contained another clue to where the prizes were hidden.”

  “What prizes?” I asked.

  “Oh, money, jewelry. Some antique bottles. Some prizes are quite valuable,” the woman nodded, her eyes shining excitedly. “These are the last two nights, though. Everyone was waiting for them.”

  “Why is that?” asked Gunther.

  “Tonight’s prize was a car!” she said excitedly, Then her face fell. “Though I guess the thief found it already. I mean, why else would someone steal the light show?”

  3

  “You just know Clutterbuck took that projector,” a dour-looking woman in her mid-thirties said to the two companions standing beside her. “I heard him talking to Brent Davies earlier today, and he said that car was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen! He wants that car for himself!”

  Overhearing the conversation, a man standing in an adjacent group turned and eyed her up and down. “Oh, for goodness’ sake, Gladys, he’s the sheriff of the town. He didn’t steal the projector.” The two men with him looked at one another and laughed with barely disguised scorn.

  “What does that have to do with anything, Beaufort?” Gladys shouted at him, her hands balling to fists. Beaufort looked askance at the approaching woman, his eyebrow raised. “You think just because we elected him, he’s not crooked? Clutterbuck’s crooked,” she told him, a finger wagging just beneath his chin. “He’s crooked. They’re all crooked.” The two companions she was with flanked her in the standoff.

  “Crooked or not, no one in this town’s going to steal a projector so they can steal a car,” Beaufort countered. “What are they going to do once they get it? Just run to the garage and stare at it?” The man whacked his friend, and they both laughed. “No one could steal the car and drive it, Gladys.”

  Beaufort tossed a beer bottle toward the side of the road. It arced high in the air and came down with a clunk into a garbage can wrapped in a festive red wrapper.

  Then he belched loudly.

  “You’re such a pig,” Gladys told him, frowning.

  “Yeah, yeah, you know you want some of this,” the man responded, throwing his arms wide and shaking his hips. His two friends whooped and hollered as Beaufort leered at the frowning woman.

  “I’d rather be eaten by alligators,” she sniffed and turned back to her friends.

  A uniformed police officer walked by, glancing at the two groups quickly. Not seeing anything to be concerned about, he continued his patrol around the square.

  The crowd continued to mill around the streets in frantically chattering clusters. They had blocked the square off for the festival, so other than a few police cars here and there, there were no vehicles parked anywhere—including the prize car. Which made sense. If people had to get a clue to find the car, it wouldn’t be parked out in the open.

  Gunther returned from paying our bill at the diner and smiled at me. “You ready to go to the hotel?” he asked, motioning toward the old building in the square's corner. “It doesn’t look like anything’s happening tonight.”

  “If that’s the case, why isn’t anyone leaving?” I asked, looking around.

  It was coming up on eight in the evening, and most of the stores around the square were closed. Aside from a few stands selling hot chocolate, chestnuts, or jingle bell necklaces, the crowd didn’t seem like it had any reason to hang around.

  Yet they hung around. I scanned the crowd and spotted Gladys a few feet away.

  “Excuse me,” I asked Gladys after I walked over. “Since there won’t be a light show, what’s everyone waiting for?”

  Gladys turned and eyed me for a long minute. Finally, she spoke. “We all made plans to hang out downtown for the festival. Vanessa, Louise, and I have nothing better to do. So, we’re hanging out downtown for the festival.” Gladys’ arm swept toward her friends as she named them, and they nodded at me. “It’s a pleasant night, and there’s nothing else to do in this town.”

  I frowned. “I thought there was a huge gambling complex on the edge of town?”

  “Oh, there is,” Vanessa nodded excitedly, her eyes shining. “But there’s only one reason to go if you don’t want to gamble or dance. Right, ladies?”

  “Martin Salvi,” Louise said dreamily, elbowing Vanessa. “And Martin won’t be there. We think he’s probably going to come here.”

  Gladys nodded. “He was the one that donated the light show and the car for the scavenger hunt. I bet he’s on his way with his bodyguard right now.” Gladys took a swing out of a bottle stuffed in a paper bag. “And I’ll tell you what, there’s a lot less competition on this street than there usually is at that complex.” Her friends nodded in agreement. “Though there are some new entrants for Mystic’s End Hottie of the Yea
r—who is that blonde dreamboat over there?” She pointed toward Gunther a few steps behind me.

  “My friend’s husband.” The women’s faces dropped in disappointment. “Who’s Martin Salvi?”

  “He runs the greyhound track,” Gladys said.

  “And the casino,” Vanessa added.

  “And the resort,” Louise added.

  “And hopefully my girly parts at some point,” Gladys whispered licentiously. “That man is hot, rich, charming…he’s the most eligible bachelor in all of Mystic’s End.”

  “That’s because he’s not from here,” Louise reminded the women. “They must grow ‘em better in Las Vegas. Ooh, look!” The woman jumped up and down with excitement, pointing. “There he is!”

  Gladys dove into her purse, pawing like an animal searching for buried nuts. In seconds, she pulled out lipstick and applied a fresh coat—her lips were even more crimson than the Santa hat perched on her head. The other two were smoothing their hair, straightening their clothes—and vibrating with excitement as if a bonafide rock star was about to descend into their midst.

  And judging by the reaction of the crowd, they weren’t the only ones.

  A cheer went up as a handsome, dark-haired man exited a limousine. His serious-looking driver scanned the crowd before allowing him to step away from the vehicle. With a raised arm, Martin Salvi gave a quick wave and a charming smile to the masses. They cheered.

  “Well, he’s rather handsome, isn’t he?” I murmured. “And boy, does he know it.”

  He moved with the confidence of a man that wants nothing and controls everything. A slick Italian suit that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a runway in Milan fit Martin’s frame perfectly, and his dark eyes passed over the assembled townsfolk as if he saw each one. “Good evening, folks!” he called in a deep, throaty voice that had no southern drawl. “We’ll see if we can solve this issue for you.”

  I moved away from the women—who now had eyes only for the visiting rock star—and stepped back over to Gunther. “Apparently, he runs the complex thing at the edge of town,” I told him before he could ask. “And according to Gladys over there, he’s the richest and most handsome of them all.” I rolled my eyes.

  “They have a bit of a crush, do they?” Gunther watched the women gush and fawn with amusement.

  Suddenly, Martin’s bodyguard stopped and turned his head sharply. He studied the crowd, his body tense like a coil about to spring. After several seconds of inspection, his eyes seemed to fall on me.

  Martin, as if sensing his bodyguard stillness, stopped and turned to look at him.

  “That’s…weird,” I murmured to Gunther. “I swear, it’s like that guy’s staring right at me.”

  “They’re all the way on the other side of the square.” Gunther strained his neck to get a better view of my eye line. “There’s no way he could pick you out of a crowd like that. There are at least four dozen people between you and him.”

  I held my breath, staring back at the nameless man in fascination. Seconds ticked by as we gazed at one another…or so I thought. But Gunther was right. There’s no way that the guy could have picked me out across the sea of drunken Christmas revelers. Besides, why would he?

  I stepped back behind Gunther, and the guard leaned forward, murmured something to Martin. Martin nodded. Without missing a beat, the two turned and continued on.

  Gunther shifted on his feet. “ Okay, that was a little weird. Did you sense anything?”

  “I told you, I don’t do that anymore. Not unless people push it at me.” Gunther gave me an odd look and then nodded once. Even though he said nothing, I could see from his expression that he wanted to.

  I knew he was concerned about me. He saw my choice not to use my powers as a rejection, almost, of what he sought all his life to obtain. Gunther didn’t understand it.

  When the paranormal chaos went down, I went to study witchcraft with Priestess Goodfellow instead of going to the Witch Academy. Goodfellow was a human witch leading an entirely human coven. Since “real” witches were not human, everyone thought it was a little weird. Charlotte tried to talk me out of it. So did Gunther.

  Once the drama went down and paranormals could live in the human world without fearing execution (long story), though, I’d recognized my own desire to go back to the human world and live within it. The ethical rules, the morality of living among humans as someone with intensely strong supernatural powers? Well, it seemed something better learned from a human than another super-powerful paranormal.

  Witches hadn’t been all that good at the inter-species thing.

  Priestess Goodfellow taught me how to shield myself so my mind-reading and telepathy was something I could use at will. She then repeated—over and over—why she thought it was something to be used sparingly, in emergencies.

  Or, more preferably—not at all.

  Charlotte didn’t understand. Gunther didn’t understand. I wasn’t sure, at this point, I understood.

  But it made sense to me.

  And so I locked myself down.

  As locked down as I was, though, something about that chauffeur’s gaze…

  “Look! He did it! He has the computer and lights!”

  A teenager came around the corner pushing a shopping cart filled with electronic equipment. The young man was slack-jawed, his eyes glazed, and he moved as if he was stepping through quicksand.

  “Bubba Johnson, why did you steal those things?” a woman shouted. “Your momma’s gonna be so angry at you!”

  The crowd was jubilant and accusatory all at once.

  “This doesn’t make any sense,” I said, watching the sheriff (followed by Martin and his bodyguard) walk through the crowd to meet the silent Bubba Johnson. The sheriff pulled the cart from his hands and pushed it toward a uniformed officer. “Are you telling me this kid took the time and effort to steal all that equipment, and then he just wandered back with it so he could hand it to Sheriff Clutterbuck?”

  “Well, sure!” a man, overhearing, answered me with a smile. “What’s so weird about that? This is a small town. Maybe the guilt got to him, and he felt bad. Happens a lot.”

  “What happens a lot?” I asked, confused.

  “People get an attack of conscience and turn themselves in. Or leave town.”

  I’d never heard of that happening a lot anywhere.

  As soon as Sheriff Clutterbuck grabbed the young man’s arm, Bubba Johnson’s eyes cleared. He tried to jerk away with an expression of fear and dismay, but Clutterbuck held tight. “What are you doin’?” Bubba shouted. “Let go of me!” He looked around at the crowd. “What are you all looking at? I didn’t do nothin’! I didn’t!”

  “Now, Bubba, just come along quietly, now,” the sheriff said as he pulled the kid’s arms back and put him in handcuffs. “We caught you red-handed with the goods.”

  The goods were being manhandled by Martin Salvi and his manservant as the uniformed officer watched.

  “What the heck?” I whispered to Gunther. “If they’re going to prosecute that kid, don’t they need to keep it as evidence? Dust it for prints? Something?”

  “Well, you’re a nosey Nellie, aren’t you, stranger?” a big man in a cowboy hat asked me. “Why don’t you just butt out and let the sheriff do his job, Yankee.” It wasn’t phrased as a request.

  “I’m from Los Angeles, not back east,” I told the man, who shrugged.

  “Don’t care. You ain’t an Arkie, you ain’t a Mystie, so you need to just butt out. This ain’t your problem, girlie. Why don’t you go grab a drink and stand on that wall and look pretty until Martin and his boys get the lights back on.” The man delivered the condescending, misogynistic directive with complete sincerity—as if he was doing me a favor.

  Angry at myself for not feeling secure enough to mount a verbal comeback, I turned from the man and walked away.

  For the first time since I came up with this impulsive plan, I questioned the wisdom of moving to an insular community that was
not my own—regardless of birth or origin story.

  4

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Martin Salvi said as he climbed up on an elevated platform next to the gigantic twinkling Christmas tree. “Can I have your attention, please?”

  Despite the lack of amplification, the rabble in the street drew closer. A spotlight from behind me thunked on and swiftly followed the handsome man as he strolled toward the microphone. A squeal and then a crackle echoed from the speakers.

  With a broad smile, he stood tall, center stage. “Now everyone can hear me, I’m sure. Yes? Alright, then! Merry Christmas, everyone! How’s everyone doing tonight?” The crowd cheered and clapped enthusiastically. “Great, great, that’s wonderful! I’m glad to hear it!”

  It was as if he was born to be on that stage. Any stage, really. His dark hair perfect, his dark eyes excited. His posture open and welcoming. Martin Salvi was handsome, I’d give him that. Incredibly attractive, in fact. Even though his energy pulled at me like a magnet, it wasn’t Martin I watched.

  It was his bodyguard off the side of the stage.

  “He’s not breathing,” I whispered to Gunther. Just as I finished a sentence, the man’s chest moved ever so slightly. I cursed. “I swear, Gunther, I’ve been watching the guy for the last couple of minutes. It absolutely, completely looked like the guy never took a breath.”

  The man’s mouth turned up slightly in the corner as if he’d heard me and was amused that he’d thwarted my attempt at proving to Gunther something was a little off here. However, the driver’s eyes stayed firmly on Martin—when he wasn’t scanning the crowd for threats.

  “I think you’re getting a little paranoid,” Gunther responded. “Which I can understand, mind you. That man in the cowboy hat was distinctly unkind.”

  Distinctly unkind? “The man in the cowboy hat was a misogynist—” I stopped myself before I picked a word that rhymed with brick. I sighed. “Yes, he was distinctly unkind. He can’t represent every person in the town, though, you know? If you mix booze with a party, you always get a few jerks.”