A Hillcrest Witch Mystery Collection

by Amorette Anderson

  I’m almost one hundred percent certain that Cliff Haywater doesn’t write in pink, cursive lettering about dying his roots.

  I flip to the August calendar and my eyes track over to the little box that represents the fourteenth.

  There’s only one item listed. ‘Pick up from Bess—2:30,’ it says. There’s a little heart next to the note, but no further details.

  Since I’m starting to get freaked out about being in the Haywater’s home uninvited, I close the planner, scoop up my bag, and hustle to the door.

  I make my way back to my office, and spend the afternoon trying to organize my thoughts on the case. I crowd my notebook page with details that I’ve learned, but it only serves to make me more confused. How does a one-way ticket to Hawaii connect to a rotten, weasel-like personal assistant?

  Furthermore, why wouldn’t Melanie mention that she had to visit Bess’ Antique Haven?

  She was hiding something, when she gave me her timeline of the day. It seemed that my peek into her planner explained what she was hiding: a visit to Bess, at the Antique Haven. Why would she lie?

  And if she lied about a visit to Bess, what else was she lying about?

  Chapter Four

  That evening, at five o’clock on the nose, I ride up to my friend Annie’s cafe. Unlike Melanie, I am not perfectly organized, nor averse to being late. In fact, I’m usually late for things.

  My Wednesday evening knitting circle is an exception.

  I’m never late for knitting circle.

  I pull open the door to the Death Cafe.

  Yep, that’s the name of Annie’s business, and she has no plans, as far as I know, to change it. Annie re-named it in July, after what my friend Marley termed an ‘end-of-life crisis’. Instead of the red-sports car purchasing symptoms of a mid-life crisis, her end-of-life crisis consisted of a campaign to normalize the word Death.

  I’m pretty sure she didn’t consult any marketing experts, when she decided on the new name. However, since the residents of Hillcrest are highly addicted to her coffee and sugary, freshly baked treats, business has been doing just fine—despite the perhaps off-putting name.

  Though, I’ve become kind of attached to the name, over the past few months. And strangely enough, it has removed some of my own fear around the word Death.

  Now, when I think of the word Death, I think of iced americanos, confectioners-sugar dusted lemon squares, and conversations with friends.

  Her campaign, at least for me, has been a success.

  I enter the cafe and see that the other members of the knitting circle are already seated around a table in the middle of the cafe. I’m not the only one who arrives on time—we all prioritize this gathering.

  Annie always closes down at four, so our knitting group has the place to ourselves. The inside of the cafe looks nothing like you might expect, given the morbid name. Annie has painted the walls bright, sunshine yellow and the many tables scattered around the room are draped in white table cloths. Paintings of flowers, along with copious bouquets scattered around the room, complete the cheerful vibe.

  Marley waves as I enter.

  “Hey, girl!” she says.

  She’s wearing a tank top and loose overalls. Her glossy black hair lies in a braided rope over one shoulder. I’ve always admired Marley’s pretty hair—ever since we were kindergarteners together.

  In fact, I’ve always admired everything about Marley; from her shiny hair to her perfectly proportioned figure, to her carefree lifestyle. Marley lives in a red and white VW van, parked on the edge of town.

  “The dragonfly wings finally came in!” she says, flashing a bright smile.

  I have my knitting tote bag slung over my shoulder, along with my messenger bag, so I take a moment to unburden myself. Then I flop down into a chair and reach for a pitcher of lemonade that Annie has placed in the middle of the table.

  Marley continues. “Cora picked them up at the post office this morning. Show her, Cora!”

  Cora is beaming as she holds up a little, tiny plastic bag, and shakes it a little bit. “The packaging even says, ‘no dragonflies were harmed in the collection of these wings.’ Isn’t that great?” she says happily.

  “So, they were already dead when the wings were plucked off?” Annie asks. She’s already knitting, and her fingers fly as though the act is as natural as breathing. I hope to be as skilled a knitter as Annie is, one day.

  I pull out my Icelandic sweater pattern, along with the blue, yellow and grey wool and my needles. Then, I pull out my copy of ASBW. Marley, Cora and Annie already have their copies out in front of them.

  “Is that going to work?” I ask. “Does the book specify if the dragonflies have to be dead or alive when the wings are removed?”

  “I hope not,” Cora says, making a face. “I don’t want to do a spell if it includes torturing innocent dragonflies.”

  “Neither do I,” Marley says.

  I flip to the first page of cycle one and scan the words. “Nope,” I say. “It just says ‘dragonfly wings’.”

  “Thank goodness,” says Annie.

  Cora sets down the bag gently. “I’m going to postulate that these wings were collected off dragonflies that died naturally after living very full, happy lives,” she says primly.

  Whereas Marley and I sometimes act like kids trapped in adult bodies, Cora is a true, mature grown up. She has a house, drives a compact SUV, and when she drops an ice cube, she doesn’t kick it under the fridge. I bet she even flosses every night. Though she’s only ten years older than me, she’s a mother figure in my life.

  “What else was it that we were waiting on?” Annie asks. She keeps knitting as she looks over the photocopied page in front of her. Her reading glasses are propped low on her nose, and her halo of short, curly, white hair bobs up and down slightly as she knits.

  “Okay... let’s see. Cycle One. The Power Spell,” she says, reading aloud. “The first cycle of magic that you will embark on in your initiation into witchcraft consists of learning about the power within you. In order to do so, follow the steps to this power potion precisely.”

  She pauses to take a breath. Marley, Cora and I are all listening intently, though we’ve heard and read the directions many times over the past few months.

  Annie continues reading. “Remember—these objects are only symbols for what is occurring within you. As you combine them, reflect upon what they represent, as outlined below. Once you have gathered and combined these powerful symbols from the richness of Mother Earth, you will then wear them in a satchel around your neck for—”

  “What is a satchel, exactly?” Marley asks.

  “We’ve gone over this before,” Cora says with a sigh. “It’s like a little purse.”

  “Should we order some online now?” I ask. “We should have done it when we ordered the dragonfly wings? I bet Etsy has satchels, too.”

  “That will only give us another delay,” Annie says, shaking her head. “We’ve already spent long enough gathering up the other supplies. I vote that we sew the satchels ourselves. It won’t take more than a half an hour.”

  “Agreed,” Cora says. “We’ve really gotten behind on this cycle. Who would have ever guessed it would take us over two months!”

  “Good point,” I say. “I’m up for sewing.”

  “Me too,” Marley says.

  “That settles it,” Annie says. “It is unanimous: We shall sew our own satchels.”

  As a coven, we’re a very democratic bunch.

  Annie speaks up again. “Now, we just have to decide if we want to do that little project tonight, or next week. If we want to make them tonight, I do have some old curtains that I pulled down with the remodel. Perhaps not the most aesthetically pleasing print, but they would certainly do the job.” She looks around at us. “I also have needles and thread. All in favor of tonight?” she asks.

  Again, it’s unanimous. We all want to get this Power Spell show on the road. Annie slips away to gather the supplies.
While she’s gone, Cora points to the sweater pattern in front of me, along with the three still-wrapped skeins of yarn.

  “Penny,” she says. “I thought you were planning on starting your sweater this week. What happened?”

  I look at the unstarted project. “I couldn’t,” I say. “I just kept working on that scarf I have going.”

  “How long is that thing now?” Marley says, laughing.

  “Too long,” I say, rolling my eyes. “But it’s easy. I know the pattern by heart.”

  “Because you’ve made a million scarves,” says Marley.

  “Not a million!” I protest.

  “Penny, you’re ready to try something new. You’re getting really good!” Cora says.

  “Thanks,” I say, somewhat unenthusiastically. “This sweater is going to be a lot harder than the scarves. It’s going to take my full focus, and I’ve been a bit distracted these few days.”

  “Because Max is back in town?” guesses Cora.

  “Did you finally spend the night at Chris’s?” guesses Marley.

  “No!” I say. “This isn’t about Chris. Or Max. I’m distracted about work. I have a new case.” Then, because I’m curious, I ask Cora. “How did you know Max was back in town?”

  “Oh, he came into the law offices,” she says casually.

  Cora is the administrative assistant to the new lawyer in town, a woman by the name of Hiroku Itsu. “He wanted to meet with Hiroku to go over the details of a lease. It was for an apartment over in your area, Penny. Blackbear Apartments. Unit B, I think it was.”

  I gulp. “That isn’t in my ‘area’, Cora. That’s right below me.”

  Cora laughs. “Don’t worry. I don’t think he ended up signing it. Someone else signed the lease first. What’s your new case?”

  “It has to do with the Haywaters,” I say. “Just between us, I don’t think their marriage is going that great.”

  “Well, that’s not new news,” Cora says. “Anyone can see they’re not happy. Haven’t been for years, in my opinion. And, since we’re keeping things between us here,” she lowers her voice, though no one else is in the cafe, “I think Melanie was getting divorce papers from Hiroku. They’ve had several meetings, and I happened to overhear the word ‘divorce’ a few times.”

  “Really?” I ask. This is useful information! Being friends with a gabby law-office secretary has once again paid off. “Any idea when the divorce was supposed to go through?”

  “I think it is imminent,” Cora says. “Usually, when people meet with a lawyer about that sort of thing, they mean business. I’m actually surprised we haven’t heard anything about it yet. News of a break-up spreads so fast in this town. The meetings were happening weeks ago, so I thought we’d be hearing whispers by now.”

  “She’s still living at the house,” I say. “And Cliff doesn’t seem to have any idea about a divorce. At least, he didn’t mention it to me, and he seemed to think that the marriage would benefit from a shared vacation.”

  Cora shakes her head. She’s busily working on a pair of legwarmers. “That would be a disaster,” she says, as her needles click rhythmically.

  “Sounds like he’s clueless,” Marley says, while pouring herself a glass of lemonade.

  “Poor guy,” Cora adds. “Sometimes that’s how it goes, though. I’ve seen it happen in the law office before. One partner wants out, but they want to get all their ducks in a row before bringing it up with the other partner. Seems cold, but it happens.”

  Annie returns to the table, carrying a folded curtain and a little wicker box of knitting supplies “What seems cold?” she asks.

  “When a husband or wife talks to a lawyer about divorce, before actually talking to their spouse,” I say.

  “Cold, indeed” Annie says with a nod. She sets the supplies down on the table, in the spot that Cora cleared for her.

  Cora reaches for the folded curtain fabric and spreads it out.

  “None of us have husbands,” Annie says. “Why are we talking about divorce?”

  “I’m working on a new case,” I say. “It involved the Haywaters. Cora was just saying that she thinks they’re headed for a divorce. Melanie’s been visiting the law office.”

  “Just between us,” Cora says.

  “I see,” Annie says. “Such a shame.” She removes shears, a pin cushion, and two spools of thread from the wicker box. “Poor Melanie. She comes into the cafe often, and she hasn’t seemed well these days.”

  I speak up. “I think she’s still upset over the whole Joe Gallant thing. You know, how he was found in the deep freezer?”

  “What a terrible accident,” Cora says. Annie hands her the scissors, and she begins carefully cutting out four squares of fabric

  “I’m not so sure it was an accident,” I say.

  This gets everyone’s rapt attention. Cora stops cutting. Marley puts down her glass of lemonade, and Annie sets down the spool of thread in her hands.

  “What do you mean?” asks Marley.

  “I mean, I think Joe Gallant was murdered,” I say. “I think someone either forced him into that freezer or waited until he was inside, and then held the door shut while he died.”

  “You have a dark mind,” Cora says. She resumes cutting

  “I have a realistic mind,” I say. “Cliff said that he never had any issues with the freezer. I don’t think it would just malfunction like that, on the last day that Cliff owned the restaurant, and the day right before Melanie was supposed to take off for Hawaii.”

  “Melanie was going to Hawaii?” Annie asks.

  I nod. “She bought a ticket. For the fifteenth. Joe died on the fourteenth. Isn’t the timing strange?”

  “I’ve always wanted to go to Hawaii,” Annie says. “My husband and I were going to go, for our fiftieth anniversary.”

  We all fall silent.

  Annie’s husband passed away years ago, before the anniversary date ever occurred.

  After a respectful silence, Marley chimes in. “I’ve always wanted to see Hawaii too. The weather is supposed to be perfect.”

  “I love the ocean,” Cora says, dreamily.

  “It is odd that the freezer went on the fritz while someone was in it, after years of working perfectly,” Annie says. “You really think someone tinkered with it?”

  “I really do,” I respond.

  “Who would do such a malicious thing?” Marley asks, while Cora passes out squares of fabric.

  I accept mine. It’s pale blue, with little white and pink flowers printed on it. The print is faded, from years of soaking up sunshine. It’s a drab fabric, all in all, but it will do the job. Annie passes me a threaded needle.

  As I fold the little square of fabric in half, I recite the list I’ve been pondering all day. “I have four suspects,” I say. “All these people went into the restaurant on the day that Joe was found dead. Ralph, Glenn, Cliff and Melanie.”

  “Look at you, with your little list of suspects! You sound like a real detective,” Marley says.

  “I am a real detective!” I say.

  Annie is already sewing her satchel, and I peek over to make sure I’m on the right track.

  Nope.

  She’s folded one edge in just a few millimeters and is pinning it in place.

  “For the drawstring to go through,” she says, as she spots me peeking.

  “Oh! Right, I say, as I unfold my square and then copy her.

  Soon we’re all sewing. The conversation centers around my case for quite some time. I let the ladies know all that I was able to glean from Melanie. Once I’ve recounted the interview in entirety, my friends add in their two cents.

  “She’s definitely lying,” Marley says.

  Annie nods sagely. “Yes, it’s odd that she didn’t want to tell you about going to Bess’s Antique Haven.”

  “Maybe she just forgot?” guesses Cora.

  Annie shakes her head. “Melanie has an excellent memory. Once I served her a regular latte instead of a decaf, and
she brings it up every time she comes in. That happened five years back. That woman’s mind is like a steel trap.”

  “I think she is hiding it on purpose,” I agree. “She acted super sketchy when she talked about the span of time between leaving the retirement party in the park, and then going to The Place. She wouldn’t meet my eye. I wish I knew why she would lie to me about that.”

  “Maybe the Power Spell will help,” suggests Cora. She holds up her perfectly sewn satchel. “Let’s fill these babies up!”

  Chapter Five

  Cora waves her satchel in the air, showing it off to the group. I’m done also, so I hold it up as well. Mine looks a little bit crooked, but it will have to do.

  “It would be nice to feel more powerful,” I say. “This case is a little bit above and beyond what I’m used to.”

  “You did an excellent job with the candy bar theft,” Annie says, reaching over and patting my forearm. “Don’t discredit yourself.”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  Annie sets aside her own satchel, which is also now done. She pulls forward her photocopied ASBW pages. “I think it would be helpful for all of us to feel more powerful,” she says. “We are a coven of witches, in charge of protecting a portal into our little town, after all. If we don’t figure out how to harness this power, I have the distinct feeling that things could get wild here, very quickly.”

  I know what she means.

  I have the same feeling.

  When Claudine Terra died, the mountain pass behind her house mysteriously opened up to through traffic. It turned out that Claudine had been protecting Hillcrest from visitors of other magical realms. Now that she’s gone, it’s up to Annie, Cora, Marley and I to monitor the pass and protect the town. I have to admit, we’ve been doing a very spotty job of it, so far.

  “Thank goodness the pass has been so quiet,” I say. “There haven’t really been any magical visitors, have there?”

  “Except for Max,” Cora says.