Murder in Moon Water

by CeCe Osgood

  “It’s not as bad as it looks," Selene said. "I'm okay, or I will be soon."

  “How did it happen?" Abby asked.

  "I don’t know. I guess I tripped. Selene's gaze fell on Lulu. "Thank you, Lulu, for being so quick to get help."

  "It was just happenstance that I was driving by and saw you fall. Will the doctor let you leave today or do have to stay overnight for observation?"

  The normally composed Selene frowned like a defiant child. "Overnight? No. I'll be out of here in a whipstitch. Home is where I want to be. Home, sitting in my favorite chair with a cup of tea and a bite to eat."

  Her face lit up. "Oh, you know, what I would love? Your chicken salad on toast, Lulu. It's truly the best I have ever had."

  Harriet chimed in, “I agree. Someday, I hope to get the recipe out of you, Lulu."

  Abby chewed her bottom lip, wondering what was going on. This wasn't about chicken salad. Something was up. She saw Selene’s index finger slightly twitching back and forth. It was pointed at Lulu. Yep. Something was definitely up.

  "I'd be happy to do that for you, Selene. I have everything I need to make it, and since you have"—Lulu nodded at Harriet—"help getting home, I'll run home and make you batch. Do you need a ride?" she said, turning to Abby.

  "My car's at the bookstore. We came in Harriet's pickup."

  Murmurs of gratitude floated out of Selene and the others as Lulu left the room.

  Immediately Selene gestured with her left hand. "Guard the door, Harriet. Now that she's gone, we'll begin."

  Chapter Twenty-five

  "Begin what?" Abby frowned, bewildered. She had sensed the flattery had a purpose—to get Lulu to leave—but why?

  "She’s not one of us," Mr. Steed said.

  Abby bristled. She didn't care for what sounded like an exclusionary attitude.

  Harriet moved closer to the door. "We couldn't do it with her here, Abby."

  "Do what?"

  Mr. Steed poked her forearm with his finger. "We know who you are, dear.”

  Abby, at five-foot nine and half, towered over his slight frame. "I'm sorry? What?”

  "Selene has told us your story. We've agreed to make you a junior member of our coven."

  Abby blinked. "Coven?"

  Mr. Steed became defensive "It's small, yes, but we are a genuine coven. We're solitary practitioners, but we do meet once or twice a year, or when we're needed for emergency healings like this."

  "You mean, you're both witches?” Abby glanced at Harriet who nodded in admission: she too was a witch. “I prefer to call us enchanters. Witch is fine too.”

  Abby shook her head. They were a coven. Her coven. She glanced at Selene. "Did you do some kind of witchy woo-woo to get Lulu to leave?”

  "Witchy woo-woo? I like that," Harriet tittered. She turned to Selene. "Let's do our witchy woo-woo on you-you.”

  Selene laughed then admitted to Abby that she had cast an itty bitty spell on Lulu. "It was to spark her willingness to go home and make the chicken salad, that’s all."

  Mr. Steed nudged Abby's arm. “Selene is a level four enchanter. Harriet and I are still at level two.”

  "And me?”

  "Level one, of course. When I started, we used to call it B.I.T. Broomstick-In-Training. I was one of the first males in the western region. I got a late start due to my adoptive parents who discouraged any use of magick. Hence my reluctance to practice. That's why my advancement has been slower than most. Selene helped me change that, so now I'm always willing to participate whenever I'm needed."

  "You're needed now," Harriet said impatiently as she dug into her handbag and brought out a pen and pad to scribble a note.

  "Take this, Abby." She stuffed the note into Abby's hand. "We'll start with this chant. I've written it for you phonetically."

  "Me? But I’m not ready."

  "You're ready whether you know it or not," said Selene. She closed her eyes and sank back into the pillow. Abby took the note, scanned it.

  Harriet stuck her hand into the pocket of her sweater and pulled out a wand. Mr. Steed did the same.

  Abby stared at Harriet, a youngish Aunt Bee type lady, and Mr. Steed, a fragile elderly gentleman. Sheesh. They seem so ordinary, so normal, and yet they're not.

  Her own hands began to tingle with stinging pinpricks. She looked down. Her palm was glowing a faint blue.

  With a gasp of admiration, Mr. Steed lifted her hand up and aimed it toward Selene. "Oh, you are filled with ancient magick.”

  The chant started as a low whisper. Abby joined in, uncertain of the correct pronunciation.

  Moments later, it was over. Selene's eyes fluttered open and she moved her toes. Winced. "I'm better. Some. A day or two and I’ll be up on that foot in a"—she tried to snap the fingers on her left hand, couldn't—"well, soon enough. Harriet, why do you look so distressed?”

  "I felt a flitter in you. Will you allow me to see if..." her voice trailed off.

  "Of course."

  Harriet swept her hand back and forth in front of Selene's body. Harriet's eyes blinked rapidly like she was in REM sleep mode, until her hand abruptly stopped. “Oh, my stars, Selene."

  "What is it?" Her voice was tinged with dread.

  "I felt something. It was like a whirlwind, like a tornado of energy, and then in a blink, it stopped. That's what knocked you down."

  Abby shuddered, recalling the strong gust of wind similar to Harriet's description when she was on her way to the bookstore. The wind had almost knocked her off her feet.

  Harriet added, "And it's not gone, Selene. I sensed a thread of darkness thrumming inside you, but I can't pinpoint its origin. It's hiding from me.”

  Selene chewed her bottom lip. "I should contact the League."

  "The what?" said Abby, eyebrows rising.

  Harriet turned to her. "The Enchanters League. It's like—"

  Selene cut her off. "Let's call it our trade association."

  Mr. Steed grunted his disapproval. "I would never call it that."

  Selene was firm. "Now is not the time to discuss the League. Later, after you've passed a few lessons, Abby, it will be more appropriate. I believe I should postpone your lessons a day or so. Instead, you can you consult the enchanted book, the Tick Tock book as you call it, and follow its guidance for your training until---”

  A knock on the door interrupted her.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Sheriff Moser stepped inside, his wide-brimmed hat in hand. "I heard you took a fall, Selene." The concern in his voice sounded genuine.

  Mr. Steed and Harriet stealthily slipped their wands into their pockets while Selene pasted a cheery smile on her bruised face. "Sheriff, come in. Don't you worry a spec about me. I merely tumbled over my own feet," she said, making light of her fall.

  Abby watched the various reactions to the presence of the sheriff. Mr. Steed stepped back, half hiding behind Harriet's plump frame while Harriet bubbled, "She's going to be fine, sheriff. I'll make sure of it.”

  "I'm happy to hear that," he murmured as his eyes swept the room, lingering a moment on Abby, a telltale sign of his attraction.

  Her cautious side implored her to ignore him. Don't even think about it. Being involved with a lawman is not a wise move, not now, and certainly not for a witch.

  Harriet became even perkier. "Sheriff, my king cab is enormous, so I'll be able to carry Selene comfortably in the backseat with her foot elevated, but I will need help getting her into her house. Could you follow me? Is that a possibility?"

  "Of course.”

  Harriet, brimming with take-charge energy, instructed the sheriff to drop off Abby and Mr. Steed at the bookstore then drive to Selene's. "I'll have the nurses and staff help me get her ready to travel."

  Ten minutes later, the Jeep was on its way to the bookstore. Mr. Steed had graciously slipped into the back letting Abby take the front passenger seat. Adjusting the paisley scarf, she stole a peek at Sheriff Moser. He fit the very definition of the silent
type. He had, so far, said nothing at all while she chatted on and on. "My daughter, Jill, is a member of the equestrian club at the high school. She hopes to someday qualify for the Grand West National. Did you go to the high school?”

  "No." That was it. He didn't elaborate.

  "Jill adores horses. Her father, my ex, took her to a dude ranch when she was nine, and that was it. Love at first sight. From then on, she pestered us until we joined a saddle club about ten miles from Martindale and found her a riding instructor."

  Out of breath, Abby hit the pause button before switching subjects. "I, um, I'm guessing you closed the George Perkins case."

  "We did, yes.”

  "I am sorry at how vehement Lulu got at the town meeting, especially aiming her ire at you."

  Sheriff Moser surprised her with more than three words. "Tallulah Dupree and I butt heads more often than not. My first week on the job, I gave her a ticket when she ran a stop sign. Ever since then, she's been a hornet when it comes to me."

  Mr. Steed spoke up from the backseat, defending Lulu. "Sheriff, there wasn't a scrap of traffic that day. I saw the whole thing from my front yard."

  "The law is the law," the sheriff responded, matter-of-factly.

  Sheesh, I was right. It's a bad idea to even think about getting involved with this by-the-book lawman.

  The Jeep pulled up across from the square from the bookstore; Mr. Steen and Abby exited. He pointed at a green Honda."That's me."

  "I'm the Volvo right next to you," she said.

  Abby clicked her remote; the Volvo's tail lights flickered in response. Leaning closer to her, Mr. Steed whispered, "You should get started on your training, Abby. Like Selene said, talk to the book."

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Talk to the book. Talk to the book. Mr. Steed's parting advice kept playing in her head. The moment she got home, she was delighted to find the Tick Tock book on her nightstand, right where she'd left it. After fixing dinner, she settled on the bed and placed the book on a pillow next to her. "I feel so silly, but here goes."

  “How can you help me with my witchy woo-woo training?”

  She waited, but the book did nothing. "Well, aren't you going to shuffle through your pages and show me instructions or something?"

  Again, there was no response. "Maybe I'm being too flippant.”

  She changed her tone, turned nicey-nice. “Hello, Tick Tock book. I was told you're an enchanted being and will guide me through the first lessons of my training. I'm ready, if you are."

  The book flipped open to a blank page. A dot of aquamarine ink appeared then stretched to form words. Not tonight.

  "What do you mean not tonight?”

  The words reformed into a new message: Wake me in the morning.

  With that, the book shut itself.

  Sheesh, what a grump.

  The next morning, Abby yawned awake and let her eyes shift from the ceiling to the nightstand where she’d left the book last night.

  It wasn't there. “You stinker. Where are you?”

  After drinking her morning cup of robust java and making sure Jill was in her room engrossed with something on her laptop, Abby went back into her bedroom and closed the door, recalling Selene's advice.

  "Tick Tock book, you are obliged by duty to appear."

  She heard a faint mewl that sounded like a cat and quickly leaned across the bed. The book was on the floor halfway under the nightstand.

  She reached for it, noticing how soft and warm the velvety black book felt to her touch.

  "I'm ready for my lesson," she said, placing it on a pillow.

  For a moment, nothing happened.

  Then a flicker of light gleamed off the swirly gold lettering of the title, Tick Tock: A Memory Block.

  To her surprise, the lettering began to swirl and curl and twirl, morphing right before her eyes into something else.

  "Oh," she murmured peering closer. The swirly title now read: Make Room for a Broom.

  Astonished, confused and a bit taken aback, she waited for the book to do something else.

  When it just sat there, she murmured, "Should I now call you Make Room for a Broom?"

  The book responded by flipping open to a blank page.

  Blank until ... a pinpoint of aquamarine ink appeared.

  As the ink spread it formed letters, words, a paragraph. It was a list of instructions for making a broomstick.

  She bit her lip to restrain the mirth dimpling her cheeks. You gotta be kidding. I have to make a broomstick.

  "I don't know about this. I mean, shouldn't a witch be able to, you know, conjure up a broomstick?"

  No answer was forthcoming from the book.

  Her practical side had her asking, "Well, how about this? Could I use a store-bought broom?"

  A drop of ink formed a word at the bottom of the page. No.

  Then the ink slicked around and formed instructions on how to find a suitable tree branch for the broom handle.

  Lacing up her sneakers, she glanced up and down the street. The lawns on Curiosity Lane were generally well-tended. In other words, no felled branches lying around.

  After a few minutes of stretching, she jogged until she got to where the pavement dead-ended. A running path led from the curb into the woods.

  Up ahead, she spotted several limbs on the ground a few yards off the path. She stopped and "shopped" but quickly discard them. Too short, too thick, too moldy.

  Returning to the path, Abby lengthened her stride into a steady pace and noticed how the patches of sunlight dimmed as the ground sloped upward.

  The overhead canopy of branches thickened as the woods became a forest, and her footfalls on the path made her conscious of how quiet it was now, except for the birds and the wind rustling in the treetops.

  The path curved to the right; the woods grew even darker.

  She heard footfalls behind her and glanced back but was unable to see anyone because of the bend in the path. Fending off the unease she felt, she reached into the pocket of her magenta velour hoodie. It was empty. She'd left her phone at home.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  The footfalls quickened, someone was coming. She stepped off the path, bent over and put her hands on her knees pretending to be winded.

  The silhouette of a man appeared on the path, back lit by a shaft of light slicing through the canopy. Black pants, black sneakers, a black jacket, its hood raised over his head.

  Fear clutched her throat as he came closer and slowed to a stop.

  It was the mayor, Hank Holcombe.

  A scowl spread across his face. “Well, well, well. Who do we have here? Our new resident who thinks she's a detective. What are you doing out here? Looking for clues?"

  She straightened up, her fingers nervously tapping her thigh. "I'm merely enjoying the October weather."

  Holcombe reached into his pocket. Her body tensed. Did he have a weapon?

  A candy bar emerged.

  Holcombe ripped off the wrapper, raised the chocolate bar to his mouth.

  "If you keep hanging around with Mrs. Dupree, I'm gonna tag you as one of those women with an IQ no higher than a concrete block, honey."

  He bit off half the bar, making a show of chewing it loudly to express menace.

  A faint tingle itched in her right palm. Her gaze jumped from Holcombe to her hand. She lifted her hand, stared at the palm. If the itch turned into sharp needle-like pinpricks, would the blue sparks appear?

  He said, “You’re kinda peculiar, aren’t you?”

  She looked up at him. Holcombe eyed her, puzzled by her staring at her palm. “I, for one, don’t like peculiar.”

  Her jaw tightened. "I, for one, don't like dirty deals."

  "Huh?”

  Raised voices sounded from behind them. "That's not what I meant," shouted a man.

  A woman cried out. "Don’t backtrack. It's exactly what you meant."

  The voices belonged to a bickering couple who had just power-walked around the bend.<
br />
  With a glance behind him, Holcombe jammed the rest of the candy bar into his mouth, flashed a nasty look at Abby before skirting around her to resume his run.

  Relief coursed through her body as she watched him disappear down the path.

  The couple managed a polite wave although they didn't stop bickering as they passed by.

  Abby sprinted off in the opposite direction back to the street. When she rounded the bend in the path, her eyes landed on a fallen branch sitting atop a pile of orange and brown leaves.

  How had she missed it? She reached for it, uncertain of what kind of tree it was until a word formed in her mind. Birch.

  It was long and straight, and it fit nicely in her grip.

  Using the branch like a staff, she power-walked to Curiosity Lane.

  Almost to the cottage, she noted Wyatt still had not returned as there was no van in the driveway. She still hadn’t verified if he was George’s nephew. Social media was a dud. She hadn’t worked up the nerve to ask Sheriff Moser to check him out, and Harriet hadn’t called her back yet.

  Entering the cottage, she found a knife and went straight out to the back steps to nip off the nubs on the branch.

  To smooth it out, however, she needed sandpaper, plus the instructions called for three other items she didn't have: wire, twine and straw for the bristles.

  Leaving the branch on the back steps, she was about to hop into the Volvo for a quick trip into town when Jill hurried out of her bedroom. "Devon invited me over. He's got Netflix. Okay?"

  "Fine but be sure to leave his number and address.”

  "I'll text it to you.”

  Entering the Trading Post, she shoved aside the orange and black floating spiders, the vampire bats with oversized fangs and a couple of clown zombies hanging from the ceiling. Halloween was in two days, and she still hadn't bought candy.

  “Abby?”

  Jay Browder stood at the counter shoving his wallet into his back pocket. She approached him. "Hey, rancher.”

  He grinned. "Lady Luck must be on my side today. What brings you in here?"

  No way could she blurt out the real reason. "Gardening. I need straw for mulching."