An Old Witches Tale

by Agnes Lester Brown

  An Old Witches Tale

  A Whitewood Witches Murder Mystery

  Agnes Lester Brown

  Blue Lantern Publishing

  Edited by Clio Editing

  Cover and production by Carl Duncan

  Copyright © 2018 by Agnes Lester Brown

  All rights reserved.

  * * *

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  * * *

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  * * *

  Bluelanternpublishing@gmail.com

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Epilogue

  Also by Agnes Lester Brown

  About Agnes Lester Brown

  Prologue

  The girl with the tousled brown hair sighed behind the steering wheel as she swung the powder-blue van around on Lemington Lane, and headed back the way she came. Her mind was preoccupied; so much so that she’d lost concentration and missed the entrance to the Shady Pastures retirement home where Granny Fae, her beloved grandmother, lived. She pushed her sunglasses up her nose and forced herself to focus, making sure she didn’t miss the looming cast-iron gates on the left the second time she passed them.

  It wasn’t like she didn’t come here often—she visited Fae at least once a week. But knowing how cranky Fae became whenever she mentioned her late Grandpa Randolph, she knew it was a difficult conversation that lay ahead during her visit.

  She slowly drove up the leafy driveway lined with aging oaks and past the well-manicured lawns and expansive emerald gardens that surrounded the Shady Pastures building complex. Twice she had to stop and wait for seniors with canes and walkers, accompanied by their helpers, to shuffle across the driveway on their daily walkabouts. She was grateful when she thought about how spritely and energetic her granny still was, despite having celebrated her seventieth birthday only last month. She reluctantly thought how much she’d miss Fae’s dry sense of humor and no-nonsense attitude when she was no longer around. But as she parked in the gravel parking lot and turned off the car, she closed her eyes and shook her head to expel that notion.

  After all, it was a ridiculous idea. There was no reason for Fae not to live to a ripe old age. Or even forever. She certainly knew enough about alchemy, magic potions and spell casting to cheat every known cause of death.

  “Here comes Lori, my favorite granddaughter!” Fae exclaimed from where she and her two best friends and roommates, Dinah and Blaise, were seated below a shaded pergola in the garden. Lori guessed the three old ladies had been sitting there since early morning, looking forward to her arrival. Fae beamed and opened her arms for a hug. “Where’s the rest of the crazy Whitewood family today?”

  Lori kissed Fae on both her rosy cheeks. “Hi, Granny. I’m so happy to see you’re as chipper as always.” She winked at Dinah and Blaise. “I hope she hasn’t been playing too many pranks on you two.”

  “Oh, we keep her in check, but only just,” Dinah said. “She’s a feisty one.”

  Unlike during other visits, Lori didn’t sit down straight away to catch up with the latest goings-on at Shady Pastures. She was visiting for a purpose that needed privacy.

  She put her hand on Fae’s shoulder. “Granny, can we go for a walk? I need to discuss a few matters with you.” She saw the quizzical expressions of the other two. “Just normal family stuff, nothing serious. We’ll be back in a second.” It was a half-hearted excuse, one she knew would fire up their curiosity rather than satisfy it.

  Fae acted defensive. “If it’s about the love potions I prepared for your boisterous cousins, it ain’t my fault if they got knocked up. I warned them those potions were potent mixtures and should be used with extreme care,” she said, holding up her hands. Dinah and Blaise giggled behind theirs.

  Lori blushed. “Don’t worry, Jasmine and Rosie are definitely not pregnant. And you know how touchy twenty-somethings are about their love lives, so I don’t broach the subject when we talk. By the way, Aunt Hazel sends her love and asked me to remind you to do those morning exercises the doctor gave you. Now, shall we go?”

  “If you insist,” Fae said and reluctantly got up. She looked at Dinah and Blaise. “Excuse me for a minute, guys. Let me go hear what’s so hush-hush that it can’t be said in decent company.”

  Lori delayed what she wanted to come to talk about until the two of them had walked halfway across the lawn in the direction of the duck pond and were well out of earshot. She listened with half an ear as Fae chattered about the staff they suspected of swiping their chocolates, and how the residents were up in arms because there hadn’t been any pudding served in almost three months. As they approached the duck pond, with its pink water lilies and pretty sculpted rock coves, Lori breathed deeply and interrupted Fae’s string of complaints.

  “We held our regular solstice family gathering over at Whitewood Mansion yesterday,” Lori said. “We’re sorry you weren’t there—”

  “Yes, yes, whatever,” Fae said and waved her hand dismissively. “The girls and I had an urgent order for a few magic items, so I had to skip the solstice. Not that I missed anything, I’m sure. I bet old Randolph, rest his miserable soul, would’ve made the usual theatrical entrance in a cloud of orange smoke. Tell me, what was he wearing? Let me guess—it was a silver sorcerer’s hat and that ridiculous sequined purple coat.” She shook her head. “I can’t imagine I was once married to that old coot.”

  “Yes, Grandpa Randolph graced us with his presence from the Other Side,” Lori said, a little dismayed at her granny’s lack of respect for the departed. She stopped, turned to Fae, and took her hand. “He told us he’s worried sick about you, Granny.”

  Fae stomped her walking stick. “Worried about me? Why would he care all of a sudden? Did you tell him how happy I am here at Shady Pastures, not having to listen to his constant criticism of my spell-casting skills?”

  “Granny, be serious, please.” Lori’s stern voice had the desired effect, and Fae held back further snarky comments. “You know Grandpa Randolph’s clairvoyant gifts have saved us from much trouble in the past. When he says something terrible’s going to happen to you and that you’ll be in grave danger, we need to take him seriously.”

  Fae was unperturbed. “Danger? For heaven’s sake, this is an old age home, not a war zone. What sort of danger can possibly be lurking here? What does Randolph know that I can’t see with my own eyes?”

  Lori gave Fae a stern look. “Are the three of you still concocting potions in that clandestine magic factory you’re running in the basement? What if anyone found out about it? Imagine if one of your spell experiments went awry. You’re well aware Mr. Drake runs Shady Pastures with an iron fist and will kick you out at the drop of a hat if he finds out about it.”

  Fae shrugged offhand. “There’ve been a few minor mishaps, but nothing serious. We tried out a new anti-snoring potion on old Mr. Wilson in Room Fourteen, the one above ours, because it was keeping us awake all night. When the nurses arrived the next morning to shave him, they were confronted by a six-foot-long beard. We even had th
e press here. Apparently it’s a world record, and he’s going to be featured on the cover of Fantastic Beards International magazine.”

  She hastily continued when she saw Lori’s worried look. “But we’ve had wonderful successes too. We experimented with a blessing spell, and the next thing you know, Gloria, one of the helpers, who had cash flow problems, won six figures in the lottery. Apparently she and her hubby are living in it up in the Bahamas now. Other than that, it’s business as usual here, you might say.”

  Any misgivings Lori had had about what she wanted to say vanished as she listened to Fae. She cleared her throat.

  “Granny, the family and I have had discussions, and we want you to come live with us, at Whitewood Manor. It’s for your own protection.”

  “Thank you for being so concerned about me, my child,” Fae said in the soothing tone she reserved for her granddaughter. She took Lori’s arm. “I know you want what’s best for me, but I’m happy living here. And besides, I get to see my best friends every day.” Her voice became firm again. “No, moving from here isn’t happening anytime soon. In fact, make that never. I’m planted at Shady Pastures, like those oaks.” She pointed in the direction of the driveway.

  No matter how much cajoling, bribing and threatening Lori did, Fae wouldn’t budge. All she did was keep shaking her head, and later ignore what Lori was saying.

  It took Lori a while to realize she wasn’t going to win the battle of wills between them.

  “Alright. I can’t force you to relocate. But you have to promise you’ll take extra care. You know Grandpa Randolph. As quirky as he may be, he’s never wrong with these predictions. He’s one of the best sorcerers there ever was. And, believe it or not, he still cares deeply about you.”

  At that moment, both winced and hung on to each other as thunder rumbled in the distance and a blinding bolt of lightning lit up the horizon. While Lori had been doing her best to convince Fae to move, the sky had gone from a deep, cloudless blue with cheerful sunlight to a blanket of menacing storm clouds.

  “It looks like a downpour’s about to drench us, so let me quickly get you back to your room,” Lori said and steered Fae back to the main building. She flinched when a huge raindrop stung her bare arm. “I hope this foul weather isn’t an omen of something bad befalling you,” she said, but Fae pretended not to hear.

  Chapter One

  The giant grey owl living in the towering oak tree by the Shady Pastures entrance turned his feathery horned head sharply as a dark blue sedan started up the old age home’s driveway. He wasn’t used to cars at this time of night. His large yellow eyes followed the vehicle’s red taillights as it approached the main building. The driver turned off his headlights and cruised slowly into the darkened parking area.

  As the car passed by a dense clump of pine trees bordering the empty parking lot, three petite figures appeared from behind the shrubbery in black dresses that reached to the ground and black cone-shaped hats pulled low over their faces. All were carrying large bags slung over their shoulders. It made them look like hunchbacks in the dim light of the sickle moon.

  The car halted a few feet away from them, and the driver turned off the ignition. For a few moments, the air was dead quiet, except for the faraway hoot of the entrance gate owl, who’d resumed his nocturnal hunt. Then one of the back windows whirred down halfway, and the three shadowy figures shuffled closer.

  “What’s the code word?” an elderly female voice hissed into the opening.

  “Sageconiferonicum,” came the barely audible answer from inside the car.

  The woman outside the window cupped her ear. “I can’t hear you! Speak up! What did you say?”

  The voice inside the car hesitated before whispering back as the driver turned on the car again, preparing for a quick getaway. “Are you the witches—”

  “Shhh. No names, ever. Understand? What’s the password, sweetie? I don’t have all night, and it’s friggin’ cold out here.” The two figures behind her nodded and pulled their shawls closer. “Just call me Witch No-Name, if you must. Now get on with it.”

  “It’s… it’s… sage…sagecoffer—”

  “Don’t bother, it doesn’t matter.” Witch No-Name waved her hand in irritation, and three silver rings on her bony hand flashed in the moonlight for a second. “Just tell me what you ordered, and we’ll get this over with.”

  A thin, pale hand extended out the window and handed over a scrap of paper with several items written on it, under the headline “Magic Shopping List.”

  “One broom, three copies of Introduction to Casting Love Spells, two potion starter kits, two Wonder Wands, and a magic ring,” Witch No-Name read out, and all three passed wrapped packages from their bags through the window into eager hands. Each package had a small label with Handmade Product of the Potion Portal—Handle With Care written on it. Below the inscription was a small logo of a witch flying on a broom.

  “Everything here comes with a money-back guarantee,” Witch No-Name Number Two said as she accepted a handful of bills from inside the darkened car. Then her tone became more ominous. “But, be warned, these magic tools aren’t toys. Use at your own risk. We take no responsibility for injuries sustained if you fall off the broom or get beaten up by the ex-girlfriend of a new lover. Got it?”

  A soft, excited giggle came from inside the car, and then the window closed and the car sped off in the direction of the exit. By the time the car turned onto the main road, the three mysterious figures had taken off their hats, gotten rid of their black cloaks and stuffed everything into the bags. Instead of three black-clad figures, a trio of white-haired ladies in tracksuits and sneakers were now hurriedly making their way to the entrance. As soon as they reached the threshold, the door opened from inside.

  Holding their breath, they squinted in the dark to see who it was that opened for them. Whoever they saw standing on the threshold could be good news, or very, very bad.

  They sighed with relief when they saw Joe Humberton’s moustached face, his eyes ringed by thick black spectacles, peek around the door.

  “Quick-quick, let’s get a move on. The lights in Claptrap’s apartment just came on,” Joe whispered urgently as he shooed them through the door.

  No one at Shady Pastures called the director, Howard Drake, by his real name, except of course when they were in his company. When he wasn’t around, he was Claptrap—a man fond of his own self-important voice. Everyone knew him as an opinionated control freak, vicious to those he considered not up to his own exacting standards.

  Once all three had squeezed past him, Joe hurriedly shut the door, locked it and guided them by flashlight down the long, dimly lit corridor to the door of Room 55. A sign printed on a pink sheet of paper below the room number on the door listed the occupants of the room.

  Ms. Fae Whitewood

  Ms. Dinah Lang

  Ms. Blaise Flattery

  Each of the three gave Joe a hasty but grateful peck on the cheek before closing the bedroom door softly behind them and sinking down on their beds.

  They’d barely sat down when a baritone voice rang out from the far end of the corridor.

  “Who’s there?”

  No answer followed. Then the sound of shoes with squeaky rubber soles could be heard coming down the corridor.

  The three occupants of Room 55 fumbled helter-skelter into their pajamas, not caring that they got into them inside out in the dark. The footsteps halted in front of their door.

  No one in the room dared to breathe.

  “Humberton? Is that you? What on earth are you doing skulking around in the dark?”

  “Good evening, Mr. Drake. I’m doing rounds to make sure everything’s okay. All is in order. All the doors are locked, and the windows closed. No one can get in, or out. No need to worry.”

  “I thought I noticed movement outside in the bushes. Did you see that car in the parking lot? Who was that? Do you think it’s someone picking up a resident slipping out for the night?”

&
nbsp; “Probably just someone’s who’s lost, sir. I saw the car, but it turned around and left again almost immediately after it arrived.”

  “Did you make a note of the license plate? It might be someone unwelcome who had bad intentions.”

  Joe hesitated. “No, sir. I didn’t think it was necessary, because the car—”

  “You’re slipping up, Humberton. I’m not accusing you of anything, but you realize this is not the first time this sort of thing has happened.”

  “Sorry, sir. In the future I’ll—”

  “I think you need to come see me in my office in the morning, please. There are a few things I need to discuss with you.”

  “Of course, sir. I’ll come first thing,” Joe said.

  “And one more thing, Humberton.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “I found this thing lying on the floor in the reception area. Looks like a witch’s hat. Do you know if it belongs to any of the residents?”

  “Never seen it before, sir. Maybe it’s a prop left over from Mrs. Gladstone’s birthday party this morning.”

  “Are you sure? Have you seen any weird shenanigans going on among the residents?”

  “No, sir. I would’ve noticed.”

  “Goodnight, Humberton. And put it on your to-do list to install extra lights in the parking lot.”

  “Will do. Sleep well, sir.”

  In another wing of the sprawling Shady Pastures complex, a thin, sickly woman turned her wheelchair with great effort and moved from her bedroom window overlooking the parking lot to her narrow single bed. Before calling the night staff to help her change and lie down, she put her binoculars into a drawer and wrote down a detailed description of what she’d just seen in a small notebook she permanently kept on her dressing table.