A New Witch In Town

by Jenny Bankhead

  “Whatever do you mean, Bill?” Muriel asked.

  “Well, I’ve been retired for ten years now, and seeing as I was about as useful as a chocolate teapot this time around, I think it’s about time that I make my retirement official.”

  “No, Bill,” Lorna said, concern in her voice. “The village needs you. What ever would we do without you?”

  “What would you do without me?” Bill repeated. “You’d probably enjoy a fresher, younger police chief who actually could do his job.”

  “I suppose you have a point there…” Betty murmured.

  “Bill, please believe me when I say that the people of Tweed-upon-Slumber do not want an effective police chief. What they want is someone who is odd and ridiculous and disoriented at all times,” Lorna said with great sincerity.

  “In essence, Bill, what they want is you,” Muriel added.

  Chief Bumblethorn shed a small tear into his kimchi stew. He couldn’t tell if it was from the spices of the Korean food or if he was genuinely moved.

  Just then, a terrible thing happened that Lorna still regrets to this day. For some reason she couldn’t comprehend—as if the broom were swept up in the holiday spirit, even though it wasn’t Christmas—it flew into the air and danced about. The villagers were terrified, and Lorna tried to make excuses.

  “It’s attached to a string; it’s an optical illusion,” she explained, laughing nervously.

  “It’s actually just a hologram,” she said, grimacing as she reached to grab it. “It’s definitely not real.” The villagers looked unconvinced.

  In the end, Lorna tackled the broom to the floor and threw him in the closet, and the villagers wrote it off as a freak event that they couldn’t explain, just as everything else that happened in Tweed-upon-Slumber was a freak event that no one could explain.

  Where on earth is Lord Nottingham? Lorna thought to herself. She hadn’t seen him since the cottage had been redecorated, and had to wonder if perhaps he had taken his leave while Betty was decorating the place. How awful that would be, to never see Lord Nottingham again.

  “What’s wrong? You’re frowning,” Betty said, breaking her reverie.

  “Oh, Betty. I can’t understand how you know that,” Lorna replied.

  “I just know these things.”

  “Well, I haven’t seen Lord Nottingham this evening. You know, the cat. I fear that he escaped.”

  “No, he told me that he would be back later tonight,” Betty explained.

  “He told you that?” Lorna asked.

  “From the cat’s mouth,” Betty said, raising a hand in the air as though taking an oath.

  “Interesting…”

  The cottage was packed, as the village did contain one hundred and fifty people, and all those people were in Lorna’s cottage. Some folks were pressed up against the window, whilst others got wise and went out into the garden, where they couldn’t help but trample Lorna’s peas. Lorna was simply glad that everyone had removed their roller skates prior to the meal—that would have seriously screwed up her floor.

  Lorna was amazed at how delicious the British Thanksgiving meal was. The stuffing was actually right on point and very American-like, even if Lorna did detect little bits of blood pudding in it.

  Aside from that, the turkey was fresh and moist, the potatoes were fluffy, and there was even apple pie! What could be more American than that?

  Lorna couldn’t believe how much love she was feeling. The people of Tweed-upon-Slumber had opened their arms and their hearts to her, and she would forever remain there, held in their embrace. There would be times in the future where they would clutch too hard, where she would feel like she had been held in their embrace for too long, but fortunately, on that night, Tweed was only embracing her gently. And for that, Lorna felt immense gratitude.

  The apple pie was served à la mode. Lorna accepted a heaping plateful, and went out into the garden where she looked up at the remarkably clear night sky and relished in it all. The warm apple pie was submerged in a cold dollop of vanilla ice cream, and it melted atop the warm confection and pooled onto her plate. It was so rich and sweet that Lorna wished that the dessert would go on forever and ever.

  Once the meal was done, the folks of Tweed-upon-Slumber slowly began to return to their respective homes. As each guest left, they gave Lorna a pat on the back, thanking her for her service. It was a small gesture, but Lorna was grateful for it.

  “And then there were two,” Betty smiled, the last one to hang around.

  “What an amazing night. I don’t even care that everyone trampled on my garden. I’m just so happy, Betty.”

  “You have every right to be happy. You have done an incredible thing, and the denizens of Tweed-upon-Slumber will forever be indebted to you,” Betty went on.

  “Oh, it wasn’t all that hard,” Lorna said.

  “Nonsense,” Betty went on. “This was a difficult case, and you solved it. You should be quite proud of yourself.”

  “I have trouble feeling proud of myself,” Lorna said.

  “And that’s the challenge, isn’t it? Acknowledging what you have accomplished. We’re all so quick to judge ourselves, but we never admit when something has gone right.”

  “You know what has really gone right? The interior design of my cottage,” Lorna said, utterly filled with gratitude.

  “Yes, I should take it up professionally, I suppose,” Betty mused.

  “Yes, you should, and I don’t know why you haven’t.”

  “Lorna Merryweather, that’s about the nicest thing that anyone has ever said to me,” Betty replied sincerely.

  “Really? You’ve been hanging around the wrong crowd.”

  Lorna and Betty enjoyed the silence for a bit. It had been nice having their neighbors over for the party, but there was nothing more pleasurable than a little bit of peace and quiet.

  “Oh my goodness, Lord Nottingham!” Lorna exclaimed. The cat walked into the cottage, black as pitch.

  “I thought you said your cat was white,” Betty said.

  Lorna didn’t even bother to question how it was that Betty knew the cat had changed color.

  “He goes from black to white a lot,” she said simply. “I’ve already expressed to him that I will love him either way.” As she spoke, she walked over to Lord Nottingham and picked him up in her hands. As it happened, the cat was not covered in soot, but rather, he had actually turned into a black cat. “I wonder if this is a bad sign,” Lorna hedged.

  “It’s not a bad sign, but it’s a sign, nonetheless,” Betty said, pointing her finger in the air.

  “What does it mean?” Lorna asked.

  “That we should brew a pot of tea,” Betty said.

  Lorna cocked her head quizzically.

  “Fair enough.”

  Continuing her assimilation into British culture, Lorna decided not to overthink the fact that Lord Nottingham had gone from white to black. Instead, she brewed a nice pot of tea and sat with Betty, the two of them munching on digestives.

  “You’d think after all that pie we’d be able to pass on the digestives,” Lorna said.

  “Not a chance.”

  “You know, Betty. I have to thank you. If it weren’t for you, and Lord Nottingham, I would feel pretty out of place here. Knowing that I have you guys, I can truly make this town my home.”

  “I’m so happy that you say that, Lorna. I was beginning to think that you’d made the wrong decision,” Betty said, dipping her digestive into her tea.

  “I beg your pardon?” Lorna asked.

  “Yes, I was consulting my cards the other day, and they told me that Cliff Miller might actually have been the right bloke for you after all.”

  “Oh my God,” Lorna said, dejected. Had she been delusional all this time? Was Cliff Miller really the right guy for her, and she’d left him behind in order to start a new life in the world’s kookiest village?

  “Honestly, my dear. You’re going to have to learn to know when I’m joking,”
Betty said with a smile.

  “Oh, Betty. You’re killing me,” Lorna replied.

  The angel of silence flew overhead as the two women did some serious damage on the digestives. The packet emptied, it was time for the last hurrah of the evening.

  “I’ve got a little surprise for you,” Lorna said, a mischievous grin on her face.

  “Oh?”

  Lorna walked over to the sparkling Christmas tree. It was covered in tinsel and those bubble lights that are so dang hard to find in the store—like little miniature lava lamps. There was a magnificent angel on top of the tree who held a crystal ball. Where had Betty found all that stuff?

  Lorna picked up a present from beneath the tree. How she had the foresight to wrap it in Christmas paper and attach a bow is still not understood. She carried the package over to where Betty sat and handed the gift to her friend. Betty tore into it like a seven-year-old on Christmas morning.

  “What is it? What is it?” she kept asking.

  “You’re almost there,” Lorna said, laughing. “Honestly, I don’t know why I wrapped it in so much paper.”

  “Oh my word. Is it truly what I think that it is?” Betty asked.

  “You better believe it,” Lorna replied.

  Betty held the turban in her hands and brought it to her nose where she breathed in the aroma. Yes, it smelt of peaches—the golden plum-colored gemstone, that is. It also had a removable fleece lining and it was reversible, so Betty could either choose white with golden flecks or incandescent green. It was the most beautiful turban that Betty had ever held in her hands, and that was saying a lot.

  “How ever can I thank you?” Betty asked.

  “Are you kidding me? You designed my entire cottage for free,” Lorna said.

  “Well, you do have a hefty bill from Crabtree Antiques in the post,” Betty added.

  “Right,” Lorna said. “But so long as no one’s delivering the post…” She trailed off, descending into giggles.

  Betty put the turban on her head and Lorna was surprised to find herself filled with jealousy. Damn. She should have bought a turban for herself, too.

  “Where on earth did you find it?” Betty asked.

  “A charity shop in Whitley.”

  “Are you joking?”

  “I kid you not.”

  And so, Betty wore her fine turban for the rest of the night. They enjoyed their tea and digestives and reflected on the day’s events.

  “You know, I think that we make a wonderful team,” Lorna said at the end of it, fully content.

  Thunder and lightning could be heard outside. The rain came pouring down, and there was an immediate flash flood.

  “Oh dear. Tweed needs its own weatherman,” Betty said, sipping her tea.

  “Tweed needs its own coastguard,” Lorna said in dismay. “We’re going to have to take a boat to High Street come morning.”

  “I just had a premonition,” Betty said. She quickly reached for her turban and placed it on her head. Lorna was filled with jealousy again.

  “Really?” Lorna asked.

  “Yes, I see it clearly,” Betty replied.

  “No comment.”

  “Someone else in Tweed-upon-Slumber shall die,” Betty said, looking up towards the heavens.

  “Oh, Betty. Everyone in the village is gonna bite the bullet at some point.”

  “No, Lorna. That’s not what I’m referring to. There shall be another murder in Tweed-upon-Slumber,” Betty said, her voice ever so softly trembling.

  Lorna’s blood went cold. Yes, she could sense it too. Someone else in Tweed-upon-Slumber was going to die.

  The End

  I hope you enjoyed the first book in my Merryweather Mysteries series. Take a read of the first chapter of book two, A Witch On The High Seas, coming up!

  A Witch On The High Seas - Preview

  Chapter 1

  Lorna Merryweather sighed as she watched her best friend and neighbor, Betty Wardenshire, reach for a red checker piece.

  “Oh bugger,” Lorna muttered as Betty bounced her red piece over Lorna’s black one. “I should have seen that coming.”

  “Yes,” Betty agreed. She whisked the black piece from the board. “You should have. I believe that was your last piece, was it not?”

  Lorna had no idea how her friend managed to keep such precise track of the checkers on the board. Though Betty was blind, she had an uncanny way of perceiving more than her fair share of the world around her.

  “Yes,” Lorna said with a second drawn out exhale.

  “You’ve been sighing so much you sound like a bike tire that’s sprouted a leak.” Betty reached for a digestive biscuit from the plate between them. She dunked the biscuit into her lukewarm cup of Earl Grey tea and let it soak. “What’s wrong? Are you tired of losing to your old neighbor? That’s three in a row now.”

  It was true. Not only had Lorna just lost a third game of checkers, but before that, Betty had been dominating in backgammon. And prior to that, Betty had won a round of cribbage. They had been playing games since eleven that morning. It was now nearly three in the afternoon.

  “No, that’s not it,” Lorna said. “There’s no one I’d rather lose to,” she added. That was also true. There was no one in the whole wide world that she’d rather spend time with than Betty. “It’s this rain. It’s making me glum.”

  “Is that what’s gotten into you?” Betty asked. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. It was only a matter of time before your Floridian roots began to show.”

  “Yes, I guess.” For the past six months, since inheriting the cottage from her aunt and moving to Tweed-upon-Slumber, Lorna had been doing her best to assimilate into British culture. She wanted to embrace it all; not only embrace it, but emulate it. She packed her pantry with Marmite, referred to her underwear as “knickers,” and enthusiastically enjoyed tea breaks at least four times a day.

  But there was one thing that she simply couldn’t adapt to. “I don’t want to sound ungrateful,” she said. “I love it here…but this rain! Ugh.” She propped her elbow on the table and let her head rest wearily against it as she looked out the window. Water cascaded off Betty’s roof and onto the flowerbeds outside in an unrelenting liquid curtain.

  “Oh, you’ll get used to it.” Betty waved her wrinkled, ring-studded hand in front of her face as if brushing away a fly. Besides the crystal bejeweled rings, Betty also wore a heavy quartz around her neck. The gypsy-inspired staples to Betty’s wardrobe went well with the turban—yes, turban—that Betty sometimes wore. “Give it time. In a few years, you’ll remember nothing else. You’ll get used to these stormy days. It’s always like this in March.”

  “I don’t know if I want to get used to this,” Lorna lamented. “I was spoiled by Florida’s springtime, I think. This time of year is supposed to be sunny and warm… Back in Tallahassee, I usually was pulling my bathing suit and summer sandals out of the closet around now.”

  Lorna thought back to the times before she started over. There had been the job she hated at the cereal factory, a less-than-wonderful man who she’d come this close to marrying, and an overwhelming sense of “there’s got to be more.”

  But everything looks rose-colored in hindsight.

  The truth was, she enjoyed her new life in Tweed-upon-Slumber much more than she’d ever enjoyed Florida; but at this moment it didn’t feel like that.

  When she spoke again, her voice was wistful. “I used to drink piña coladas on my deck while soaking up the spring sunshine. Now here I am drinking hot tea to ward off the chill and wrapped in a wool scarf of all things!” She gave the cable-knit scarf wrapped around her neck a frustrated yank as if it was strangling her.

  “What’s wrong with wool? You just have to adjust your expectations. Instead of sunshine, get used to chilly, gale-force winds and ferocious gray thunderstorms.”

  “I guess I’ll have to try,” Lorna said reluctantly. “And I don’t really miss getting out my bathing suit… It was always no fun to put
it on again after the holiday weight gain. But I do miss the sun.”

  “We’ll have sun again—don’t worry,” Betty promised.

  This perked Lorna up. “When?” she asked. “Soon, do you think?”

  Contemplating the impending sunshine made her feel brighter. Finally, her spirits were revived enough that she felt her appetite return. It had been missing for an entire fifteen minutes. She reached for a digestive biscuit and soaked it in her tea while waiting for Betty’s response.

  “Oh, sometime in June, most likely,” Betty said just as Lorna bit into her tea-marinated cookie.

  “What?” Soggy crumbs flew from Lorna’s mouth. She wiped them away quickly, hoping that her blind friend didn’t perceive her lack of manners. She chewed and swallowed before continuing. “But Betty, that’s four months away!”

  “And until then, we just have to hunker down. ‘In like a lion, out like a lamb’ —that’s what they say about spring around here. The lamb part doesn’t come ’til later. For now, we have to avoid being the lion’s prey.”

  The wind outside howled, throwing raindrops onto the glass window pane with a drumming sound that reminded Lorna all too much of a lion growling.

  Betty smiled, as if pleased that the weather had cooperated in driving home her point. “And while we avoid being chewed up and spit out, how about another game?” she asked.

  Lorna simply couldn’t imagine sitting still for another hour-long checker game. Her friend’s weather forecast was disheartening, but it was also a dose of reality that Lorna needed to hear. If this weather was going to stick around, she was going to have to try to go on with life despite it.

  “No,” Lorna said, placing her half-eaten cookie back on the plate and then brushing crumbs from her lap as she stood. When did my thighs become so…padded? she thought as she worked. I really do need some exercise.

  Her chair squeaked against the floor as she backed away from the table. “I think I should be going. I have to get to the post office this afternoon, and it’s already three. Seeing as it doesn’t sound like this rain is going to be clearing up anytime soon…”