Back Room Bookstore Cozy Mystery Boxed Set: Books 1 - 12

by Susan Harper

  Holly was especially mesmerized by the enormous library whose entrance was an old crypt entering into a seemingly endless underground collection of works. Monica was fairly certain Holly could have lived there and been perfectly satisfied, but there was so much more for her to see. Monica introduced Holly to a number of her mystical acquaintances who were out and about that evening, including the herd of centaurs she had come to know in recent days. They flew from place to place on Monica’s broom, allowing Holly time to get to know this newfound land.

  Soon, though, it had grown terribly late, and while Holly likely could have continued for hours, Monica was insistent that they turn in for the night. They headed back toward Mona’s side of Backroom Books, and Holly could not stop going on and on about the feline water spirits known as underwater panthers she’d had the chance to pet. “I mean, most of this stuff I’ve read about in mythologies, you know? Old ghost stories, and what have you,” Holly went on as they entered the shop. “But there’s so much I’ve never even heard of that exists in this world! I mean, those underwater kittens…they were so cute!”

  Monica snickered as they headed through the back door, reappearing on the Bankstown side of Backroom Books. “I’m so glad that you enjoyed yourself, Holly,” Monica said, yawning a bit and rubbing her eyes. She propped her elbows up on the counter as Holly shut the back door of the shop, closing themselves off from the other side for the time being.

  “Are you kidding! When can we go again? I mean, if you’re okay with it, that is. I just want to see more! I mean, there is this whole new world to explore! It’s incredible!” Holly exclaimed.

  Abigail jumped up onto the counter, yawning a bit herself. “See? Now, why don’t we all just move to Wysteria together,” Abigail suggested. “Even the girl who was raised mortal can’t seem to figure out what you find so interesting about mortals, Monica.”

  Monica rolled her eyes. “We’re not moving out of Bankstown any time soon, Abigail.” Monica spied a bright orange flier sitting on the counter she hadn’t noticed before. She reached for it. “What’s this?”

  “Oh! I’m so sorry. I was so excited about going to Wysteria tonight that I forgot to tell you,” Holly said, taking the poster and holding it up so that both Monica and Abigail could see it clearly. “Someone from the local theater brought this by today wanting us to put it up in our shop window if you’re okay with it. They’re putting on a production of—”

  Abigail hissed loudly as she read the poster. “The Crucible! Absolutely not! Get that vile thing out of this shop this instant!”

  Slowly, Holly lowered the poster, looking very confused at Abigail’s angry reaction. “Why, what’s wrong?” Holly asked curiously.

  “It’s a terrible twisting of facts is what it is,” Abigail hissed. “It’s the mockery of my very being!”

  “What on earth are you talking about?” Holly questioned.

  “It’s why I’m a familiar, you foolish little wannabe mystic,” Abigail said, reaching a paw out toward the poster as though she thought she could grab it and shred it to pieces.

  Abigail was far from a real familiar. She had been assigned to Monica because Monica had been born an unnatural witch—a person born into a witch’s family without the natural gift of magic, therefore she was not particularly gifted with spells and relied on mostly potions for her magic. Abigail was truly a witch who had been turned into a cat by the Sorcerers’ Council and sentenced to five hundred years as a familiar for unnatural witches. Monica was her current assignment.

  Holly, of course, knew all of this by now, but she didn’t know the details of Abigail’s mistreatment of mortal’s crimes. “The Crucible is why you’re a cat?” Holly asked, laughing. “How on earth does that make sense?” Abigail grew very quiet.

  Monica giggled. “Tell her, Abs.”

  But it seemed that Holly, an avid reader, figured it out on her own. “Oh…my…gosh… You’re Abigail Williams!”

  Abigail hissed at her again. “Get rid of that poster!”

  Holly’s jaw was hanging wide open. “You are the Abigail Williams. The main accuser during the Salem witch trials? Wait… You’re a witch… Abigail Williams was…is…a real witch!”

  “I said put that poster away!” Abigail hissed again.

  Monica couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, lighten up, Abs. It’s just a story. You naughty little kitty-cat… You know what I think would be fun?” Monica took the poster and went and taped it up in the window, much to Abigail’s displeasure. “I think we should go see the play together!”

  “Wonderful idea!” Holly yelped. “Can you imagine? Going to see The Crucible with the real-life Abigail Williams!”

  Abigail seemed to be stomping her little paws. “There’s no way! There is no way you two will ever—ever—be able to convince me to go see that play!”

  2

  “I cannot believe you convinced me to come see this play,” Abigail groaned as Holly parked her car in front of Bankstown’s local theater.

  “Oh, hush, Abs,” Monica said, trying hard to hold back any laughter. “This is going to be fun.”

  “It’s a mockery is what it is,” Abigail insisted from where she sat in Monica’s lap. “A mockery! It makes me out to be some horrid villain!”

  “You got people killed,” Monica reminded her.

  “I didn’t have an affair, though,” Abigail stated matter-of-factly.

  “Well, aren’t you a saint?” Holly said, shaking her head. “Should I be concerned about your cat being Abigail Williams?”

  “Just ignore her,” Monica said, opening her large purse for Abigail to crawl into. “She’s a harmless little kitty-cat.”

  “Oh, shut up,” Abigail said, crawling into the bag. She rested her head just outside the purse, her body curled up inside.

  The two women exited Holly’s vehicle. They had dressed up for the occasion, so their heels click-clacked through the parking lot. They purchased tickets at the door and headed inside the modest-sized theater. The lobby was lovely; there was a large golden colored chandelier that hung overhead, and the black and white tile flooring reflected the golden accents on the walls. The ladies entered the house, finding their seats toward the back.

  Once they were seated, Monica placed the bag between herself and Holly. “Can you see?” Monica asked.

  “Yeah, so long as no one huge sits in front of me,” Abigail said. She sounded like she was pouting.

  “Calm down. This is going to be fun,” Monica said.

  “So, what’s the real story, Abigail?” Holly asked.

  “The real story? It’s the story of an innocent little girl who—”

  “Innocent?” Monica asked. “Yeah, sure.”

  “Fine. Fine!” Abigail hissed. “I was twelve. My parents had been killed when I was younger, so I was living with my Uncle Samuel Parris. Uncle Samuel didn’t know that I was a witch, of course. He had no idea my family were all mystics. In fact, the man probably didn’t even know what a mystic was. I needed to practice magic, but in that fanatic town of Salem, one could never be too careful.”

  “Oh my gosh, you were the only witch in Salem, and to throw everyone off your scent, you started accusing people of being witches,” Holly said.

  “She did it for the fun of it,” Monica said. “I mean, really, Abs, that’s pretty messed up.”

  “Eventually when the mystic world caught wind of the number of false witch accusations taking place in Salem, the Sorcerers’ Council came to investigate. I went into hiding, of course. Ran for Boston. They caught up to me many years later. Because of the number of mortals that were killed at Salem, I got sentenced for my deeds and am stuck spending nearly five hundred years as a familiar,” Abigail explained, sighing heavily. “A few mortals get killed, and everyone loses their minds.”

  “It seems you still haven’t learned your lesson, you grumpy old cat,” Monica said.

  “Oh, believe me, I have. Tricking mortals into thinking other mortals are witches is wrong,” Abi
gail said. “Lesson learned. See?”

  “You really can’t stand mortals, can you?” Holly asked, and Abigail grunted. She glanced around the fairly empty auditorium. “Wow, we got here really early, didn’t we?”

  “Come on, Jeremiah, we need to get backstage!” a voice behind them said.

  Monica turned to see that a group of actors dressed in costume were behind them. It was a rather funny contrast seeing them all in their Puritan attire drinking coffees. Monica and Holly both turned around in their seats excitedly. “Oh, shoot, there are people in the house!” one of the guys said. “We really need to get backstage.”

  “Hey, I’m Monica!” Monica said excitedly.

  One of the women laughed. “Hey, I’m Tiffany,” the woman said, stepping forward. “I play Abigail Williams. You guys excited to see the play?”

  Monica heard Abigail hiss, so she gave her a nudge. “Very excited,” Monica said. “Who do the rest of you play?”

  The other girl in the group smiled. “My name’s Enid, but tonight I will be portraying Missus Proctor. And this handsome fellow here, Jeremiah, will be playing my husband, John Proctor.”

  “I’ve never actually seen or read this play,” Monica said. “John Proctor is the main character of it, right?”

  “That’s right,” Jeremiah said proudly.

  The fourth member of the group cleared his throat. “And I’m playing Danforth. My name’s Austin, by the way.” He winked at Monica, and Monica laughed slightly.

  “We better get backstage before we get into trouble,” Jeremiah said. “We’re not supposed to be in the house once people start arriving.”

  “There you four are!” a voice from the stage shrieked.

  Monica spun forward in time to see a young man darting up the aisle toward the group of actors. “You are not supposed to be out here!” he exclaimed.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, we know, Kevin,” Austin said. “We were just talking to some early arrivals.”

  Kevin looked at Monica and Holly and smiled. “I’m the assistant director. Also a rather good stagehand. I hope you ladies enjoy the… Is that a cat?”

  “Um…” Monica said, leaning forward and blocking Kevin’s view of Abigail.

  “You know what? I didn’t see it. I don’t have time to deal with this. Come on, all of you, backstage!” Kevin exclaimed, shooing the actors away.

  “That was close,” Abigail said once they were gone. “Thought we were all about to get kicked out.” Monica thought the cat didn’t think that was a bad thing, of course.

  More people trickled in, and before they knew it, the play was underway. The scene opened with Tiffany playing the role of Abigail Williams trying to assure her uncle that her dancing about in the woods had nothing to do with witchcraft. She was prompt to blame the slave, Tituba, and a girl named Ruth for being the true witches when eyes were on her. She spoke with John Proctor about their affair, prompting Holly to lean over to their Abigail and ask about it.

  “No, I did not have an affair with that old man,” Abigail hissed. “I told you, I was twelve. There were no thoughts in my head of romance then. Now, hush up, and watch this stupid play.”

  The next scene was between Enid’s character, Mrs. Proctor, and Jeremiah’s. The husband and wife pair spoke about the happenings in Salem as their housekeeper Mary Warren entered, presented Mrs. Proctor with a doll she had made, and then pitifully announced that a woman was to be hanged in Salem for witchcraft and another had confessed and would be spared the sentence. Once Mary Warren headed off to bed, the married couple spoke of Abigail Williams wishing Enid’s character dead. The character Hale arrived and began questioning their Christian character as their names were mentioned in court. By the end of the first half of the play, Mrs. Proctor was being carted off on suspicion of witchcraft thanks to the doll that Mary Warren had made and Abigail’s accusations.

  The curtain closed, and the audience applauded the first half. A voice over one of the mics announced that they would be having a brief intermission. “Can we please go?” Abigail pleaded with them. “I really don’t know if I have it in me to sit through another half of this play.”

  “It’s a good play, you grouchy cat,” Holly said. “And, frankly, it sounds like you probably deserve to have to sit through a mockery of your life after what you did.”

  “Honestly,” Abigail groaned as Monica encouraged her to get back into the bag for the women to stretch their legs and take a bathroom break during the intermission.

  Once the ladies were finished in the bathroom and were standing out in the lobby, Monica spotted a familiar face standing by the doors. “Hey, look!” Monica said, nudging Holly. “Officer Brian is here.”

  The handsome man was standing by the doorway in his uniform, his arms crossed and his expression rather frustrated. Monica and Holly approached him, and he smiled when he saw them. “Didn’t know you were here tonight,” Brian said.

  “Yeah, we decided to check out the play,” Monica said. “Are you here watching?”

  “No, I’m working,” he said with a groan. “I kind of got into it with Chief Tollr, and I’m pretty sure that I’m being punished. I’m on crowd control duty, so I get to work late for the next few weekends while this play is running.”

  “Aw, man, bummer,” Holly said. “What did you and Tollr argue about?”

  “He’s just been in a foul mood lately,” Brian said, “and I made the mistake of calling him out on it. He bucked up at me, told me I was being disrespectful, and then just like that, I earned myself what is essentially hall monitor duty at the local theater.”

  “Sorry, Brian,” Monica said. “That sounds really dull.”

  “Well, I did get to see you,” Brian said with a smile. “They’re flashing the house lights. Looks like the second act is about to start.”

  “We’ll see you after the show,” Monica said as she and Holly entered back into the theater and found their seats. Abigail crawled out of Monica’s bag, mumbling about bouncing around too much.

  “Do you think you could make it through one evening without complaining about something?” Holly asked. “You are always in such a foul mood.”

  “You would be in a foul mood too if you had been wandering around as a cat for nearly three hundred years only to be dragged to a play picking fun at your life and making you out to be a sinister adulterer,” Abigail said.

  “I mean, you were kind of a murderer,” Holly said.

  “I didn’t kill anyone,” Abigail said. “I merely suggested that a few people in town were witches. They’re the ones who killed each other.”

  “Yeah, but you let it happen knowing that the only witch in town was you,” Monica said. “Try as you might, Abigail, you can’t really turn this one around.”

  “Fine,” Abigail huffed. “Ooh, I do hate this play!”

  “Hush,” Monica said. “Before someone hears you.”

  The second half got underway, and soon they were at the infamous court scene. There were tears and shouts. Claims of pregnancy. Girls screaming and claiming to see invisible birds. Then, just when things were starting to look up for the Proctors after the man confessed to his affair with Abigail Williams, Mary turned on him. Claiming him to be some sort of Anti-Christ character. There were screams and shouts. Cursing and swearing. Loud arguments. The court scene had run amok, and Monica found herself leaning on the edge of her seat in excitement.

  “Not how it happened,” Abigail said for probably the fiftieth time during the performance, and both Monica and Holly hushed her.

  “Would you be quiet?” Monica insisted. “The play is just getting good, and all I can hear is you clamoring on and on in my ear.”

  The court scene came to an end. Many months had passed in the timeline. Abigail Williams tried to convince Proctor to run away with her, but he of course refused. It seemed as though the Abigail Williams character, portrayed brilliantly by Tiffany, was now on the run.

  John Proctor was being accused of colluding with the devil, an
d they wanted him to sign a confession to avoid a hanging. But then, his character ripped up the confession—unwilling to put shame on his name. Monica felt herself becoming jittery with excitement as the play began to wrap up.

  3

  The director of this particular performance of The Crucible had chosen to erect a noose at center stage for the final scene. Jeremiah, portraying John Proctor, hands bound in front of him, was led up the platform. His wife’s character and several others were at the base of the stage sobbing. Austin’s character, Danforth, placed the noose around Jeremiah’s neck as Enid, playing Mrs. Proctor, spoke the final line. “He has his goodness now,” she cried. “God forbid I take it from him!”

  Jeremiah acted as though he was going to step off the platform, wrists bound with the noose around his throat, when the house lights went out. The audience erupted into applause. Monica and Holly both stood up, clapping excitedly at the emotional final scene they had just witnessed. “Woohoo!” Holly yelped. “Bravo!”

  “Amazing!” Monica declared.

  Abigail huffed. “Can we go now?” she pleaded.

  The lights came back up for the curtain call, the actors preparing to take a bow. But, much to everyone’s horror, Jeremiah was still in the noose. At first, Monica thought it was some sort of visual illusion. A trick. Sleight of hand, maybe? Part of the performance. But when Enid began screaming bloody murder, and Austin leapt back up on the stand to try to pull the noose down, Monica knew better. The screaming echoed in the auditorium, and Officer Brian came darting in from the lobby. “Everyone stay in your seats!” he roared, jumping up onto stage and helping Austin pull Jeremiah down. Once they had Jeremiah down and had him flat on his back, he pointed at a man sitting in the front row. “Call an ambulance—now!” Brian demanded, then began doing chest compressions.

  Monica and Holly looked at one another in a state of awestruck horror. How had this happened? Why would they even include an actual noose in the performance of The Crucible? Several minutes went by. Brian was not giving up on the poor young man. But as more and more time progressed, it was starting to look as though Jeremiah was not going to be revived. Monica felt her palms becoming clammy at the thought. She and Holly had sat down just as everyone else had been instructed to do by the on-duty officer.