Witch Cake Murders (Sweetland Witch Women Sleuths) (A Cozy Mystery Book)

by Zoe Arden

  I needed a friend right now. I leaned in toward her. She leaned in toward me.

  "I lost my wand," I whispered.

  Lucy jumped out of her seat. "You lost YOUR WAND!?"

  I reached across the table and clapped my hand over her mouth. "Sssh!"

  She pulled my hand away. "Relax. There's a silencing charm around each table. No one can hear us."

  I should have known there was something distinctly witchy about this place as soon as I walked in. It was much too quiet for the crowd it had.

  "When did you lose it?" she asked.

  "A couple days ago. When I arrived on the ferry."

  Lucy looked out a large bay window in the far back of the café. You could almost make out the pier.

  "Crumb bums," she muttered. "It's probably gone by now."

  "It is. I've looked and looked, and I can't find it anywhere."

  "Well, you'd better. Before your aunts' big party too. They're bound to make you do some parlor tricks."

  "What are you talking about? What party?"

  "Your intro party," Lucy said. "Didn't they tell you?"

  "Intro party?"

  I thought back to this morning when Trixie and Eleanor had announced their intention to throw me a welcome party. I hadn't realized they'd already set it in motion.

  "I got their invitation a couple hours ago," Lucy said. "They invited the whole island. Even Mistmoor. Guess they want to make sure the people here know who they're dealing with."

  "What do you mean? Why would anyone even come to this party? Who's gonna care about meeting me?"

  Lucy laughed. "Probably everyone. Or at least, anyone who knew your mom. She was a powerful witch. Powerful and popular. Her death kind of shook people up, you know?"

  "No, I don't know." It felt like everyone knew more about my life than I did.

  "I'm sorry. You never even had a chance to know her, did you?" Lucy said, her dark eyes swirling with hints of gray. It was the second time since arriving someone had spoken about my mother's death like it was more than just a plane crash.

  "How did she die?" I asked, not really sure I wanted to know.

  "Hey, Luce!" Megan called from the counter. A man with pinpoint eyes and a large nose stood glaring at our table. I guess even witches got disgruntled customers.

  "Sorry, gotta go."

  "Wait. What about my wand? Is there any way I can track it down or something?" I knew I sounded desperate, but what can I say? I was desperate.

  "If you'd have said something sooner... maybe. Wands have a sort of twenty-four-hour trace memory, but after that..." She shrugged.

  I sighed. "So it's gone, then."

  Lucy shook her head, her eyes looking alarmed now.

  "It better not be. For your sake."

  "What am I supposed to do? Send out a search party?"

  "You don't get it. Wands are like guns. They have to be registered. When they're used, they leave their mark. Like bullets. If someone finds your wand and starts using it for... nefarious purposes..." Her voice trailed off. "Look, rumors move fast in Sweetland Cove. Right now, rumor has it that you..."

  She stopped just before my face turned completely white.

  "Lucy!" Megan called again.

  "Coming!"

  "Are you saying that everyone in town thinks I killed David Buyers?"

  Lucy shook her head. "I'm saying that without your wand, it won't matter. If someone uses it, used it, to kill him... or anyone..."

  "Then the wand will lead back to me. I'll be guilty of murder, even if I'm innocent."

  "Precisely." Lucy's face tightened. "Hold on a sec," she said and ran into a back room. A second later, she emerged carrying a plastic grocery bag. She shoved it into my arms.

  "Here," she said. "It's a loaner."

  I opened the bag and saw a light brown stick almost identical to the one I'd lost. "It's your wand!" I said, touched that she'd trust me with it.

  "You need something to help you avoid suspicion. At least until you get your own wand back."

  "Are you sure?" I asked her. "I mean—"

  "Take it," Lucy said. "Just don't tell anyone I gave it to you or we'll both be in trouble. And find your wand. Fast."

  * * *

  1 0

  * * *

  The first party guest arrived at the bakery at six. Eleanor and Trixie had used what they called "complicated magic" to make the inside of the bakery seem much bigger than it really was.

  "It's the only way everyone will fit," Eleanor had explained.

  I'd greeted the guests happily. My long silky dress made me feel uncharacteristically flirtatious. The fabric was so light I could have been floating on air. The ocean blue coloring matched my eyes perfectly. My hair was twisted up into a loose bun, showcasing my long, lean neck.

  By seven, I was already exhausted. I felt like I'd lived through enough parties to last me a year.

  "Ava, this is Felicity Redfern and Sheriff Lincoln Maxwell," Eleanor said, spinning me around to greet yet another couple. So many names. So many faces. I could hardly keep them straight.

  "Felicity and her mother own Cakes and Creations in Mistmoor Point."

  "Oh," I said, happy to meet another baker. She was about my age with red hair and sparkling green eyes full of good humor. I extended my hand toward her. "Nice to meet—" but Eleanor was already dragging me to meet someone else.

  "And this is Mayor Singer and his wife, Tazzie. Also of Mistmoor."

  "Hello," I said, recognizing the mayor from my ferry ride to the island. His bushy mustache was unmistakable.

  "Nice to meet you, Ava. You know, I don't normally come to this side of the island, but your mother—"

  "And this," said Trixie, turning me toward a face I recognized immediately, "is Damon Tellinger. And his cousin, Slater Winston." She leaned close to my ear. "Strictly humans," she whispered.

  I nodded at them. "Nice to see you again," I said, shaking Slater's hand. Damon stared at me a moment, then turned and went the other way.

  "He's tired," Slater said, shrugging an apology.

  Eleanor spun me around once more. "Here we have—"

  "Aunt Eleanor," I said, holding up a hand. "I'm sorry. I need a break. My head is starting to ache."

  "Oh, poor thing. Of course." She grabbed a huge chunk of lemon peppy bars from a nearby tray and shoved it into my hand. I could smell the sweet, refreshing lemon scent, lifting me like sunshine on a winter day.

  "You go eat that and come back," Eleanor said. "We've got more people for you to meet."

  I scurried away before Aunt Eleanor could change her mind. I made a beeline for the back door and was blocked by a tall figure in a dark blue suit. I racked my brain for his name. Windswept hair. Gorgeous green eyes. Friends with Damon.

  "May I have this dance?" he asked.

  Campbell!

  He'd been one of the first people my aunts had introduced me to this evening. "Campbell, uh, yes, of course. Thanks."

  I looked at the lemon bar still in my hand and stuffed it quickly into my mouth. I had to admit, I felt energized as soon as the sugary lemon touched my tongue.

  "Sweet tooth, huh?" Campbell asked, smiling. "I've been munching on those chocolate walnut cookies all night. Have you tried them? They're amazing! I don't know if it's a sugar rush or what, but I feel light as air."

  I wiped my hands on a napkin and hid my smile. I'd made those cookies. They contained buoyancy extract. I'd figured that with all the dancing, a little buoyancy would be a good thing to add.

  "You look great," Campbell said as he twirled me onto the dance floor.

  "Thanks. You, too." And he did. In his dark suit, with his light brown hair and blue-green eyes, he looked like the type of boy I used to wish would ask me to prom. I'd always imagined that particular rite of passage had been better than staying home and eating junk food with Dad, which is what I'd done.

  "How do you like Sweetland so far?" he asked. I remembered that Trixie had told me Campbell was S.H.—strictl
y human—so I made sure to leave out the part about losing my wand.

  "Great," I said. He spun me again and I knocked into Polly Peacock.

  "Watch it!" she snapped.

  "Sorry."

  Polly turned back to Slater, who she'd been dancing with. She laid her head on his shoulder, and he wrapped his arms tightly around her waist. It wasn't even a slow song.

  "So I guess they're a couple?" I asked Campbell, resuming our dance.

  His brow furrowed. "For now."

  I looked at him quizzically. "What does that mean?"

  "Nothing," he said, shaking his head. "Just that Polly can be... fickle."

  "Oh?"

  "Let's just say she doesn't keep her boyfriends for long."

  I wanted to ask more questions but decided that Polly's love life was of no importance to me.

  To our right, I caught sight of Brendan. He was staring at Megan from the sidelines of the party.

  She was dancing with Damon and looking at him like he was her last supper. Brendan's face furled up like an old vine the longer he watched them. When Megan nuzzled her head against Damon's neck, Brendan stormed outside.

  "I guess love hurts," Campbell said, watching Brendan go.

  "I'm surprised Damon's dancing with anyone," I said. "He doesn't seem the sort."

  "He's just taking pity on her. She's got it bad for him. He knows what that's like. He had it pretty bad for Polly until they broke up."

  "Damon dated Polly?"

  "Yeah. Things between them didn't end well."

  I was shocked to learn Damon and Polly had ever been an item. Until now, I hadn't even been sure whether witches and humans could date. The way Damon's eyes kept drifting to Polly made my stomach churn. He was staring at her like it caused him pain to be around her.

  "Anyway, Brendan and Slater are friends, so Damon's friends with Brendan by association. He'd never scoop in on Brendan's wannabe girlfriend."

  "But Damon doesn't mind his own cousin dating his ex?"

  Campbell shrugged and spun me on my heels. I knocked into Polly again.

  "Ow! I said watch it, measle blossom!" Polly screeched.

  "Hey, there's no need for that language," Slater said, cupping his hand under Polly's chin. She melted.

  "Maybe I need some air," I told Campbell.

  "Sure," he said, looking warily toward the patio door.

  "I'm fine alone," I told him.

  "You sure?" he asked, ever the gentleman.

  "Yeah. Stay here. Keep dancing. Eat something sweet."

  "Actually, I do have a piece of cake I've been saving."

  I knew it. Everyone on this island had a serious sweet tooth.

  "Go get it. And thanks for the dance."

  Campbell hurried toward the kitchen, and I stepped outside and into the cool night air.

  "Nice night, isn't it?" I turned to see Damon looking up at the stars. When had he drifted out here?

  "It is," I said, almost too taken aback to respond. He was actually talking to me!

  His head snapped around and his eyes widened. "Oh. It's you." He walked away without another word.

  "What did I do?" I muttered to myself.

  Soft footsteps clopped on the brick pathway.

  "Nothing," a new voice said.

  "Oh, Brendan. Hi." I felt my cheeks coloring. "How are you?"

  "The same as you," Brendan said, twisting a purple, fuzzy stem in his hand. Small balls that looked like pearls bounced on it as he moved it around his palm. I remembered seeing it in the back room at The Mystic Cupcake. "Out here looking for answers. Finding nothing except darkness and empty space."

  "Depressed much?" I asked, trying to be funny

  I'd finally started getting the hang of telling humans and wizards apart. Trixie had told me it was all about the eyes.

  "Look for the gold," she'd said. "All wizards and witches have it."

  I saw tiny flecks of gold swimming in Brenden's eyes, even in the dark. Warlock.

  "Let me ask you something," Brendan said. "You're a witch. Why do witches like human men?" He was looking at me so earnestly I felt compelled to answer him. I just didn't know what to say.

  "Um..." I stammered. "I don't know. I grew up around humans, so I guess I'm just drawn to them." I looked back through the glass patio door at Damon, who was dancing with Megan again. Brendan followed my gaze, looking miserable.

  "Love sucks," he said, then shoved the purple stem he'd been twirling into his pocket and skulked off. I turned back to the stars and sighed.

  An earth-shattering scream rose into the night, making me jump.

  Through the patio door, I could see a crowd gathering around the perimeter of the room. A woman was screaming. I hurried inside. The crowd had opened up, leaving two people in its center.

  Felicity stood there, her mouth hanging open. Campbell was dancing around her, his hands flying unnaturally through the air. His head was tilted at an odd angle and his tongue lolled out the side of his mouth, like a thirsty dog. He was making strange grunting noises that almost resembled words.

  "Grrraamaric," he yelled. "Ooohlalala!"

  "He's drunk!" someone yelled.

  Campbell swung his hips around and bumped into Felicity, who stumbled away from him.

  "All right, all right, break it up," Felicity's boyfriend, Lincoln, said.

  He was the sheriff of Mistmoor Point and the crowd parted for him as he came through. Even if he hadn't been a sheriff, I suspected the crowd would still have parted for him. At six feet tall, with bronze hair and blue eyes, he made quite a figure in the middle of a crowd.

  "Okay, Campbell. Time to go home," Lincoln said, clamping one hand down on his shoulder.

  Campbell yanked Lincoln hard, sending him flying across the room. Everyone gasped. Campbell stopped, looked around, then let out a strange gurgling sound. He fell to the floor. His face was bright blue.

  Felicity hunkered down next to him. She gave him one hard shake then looked up at the rest of the room, her mouth gaping.

  "He's dead," she cried. "Campbell's dead!"

  * * *

  1 1

  * * *

  "All right, women to one side. Men to the other," Sheriff Knoxx barked. His large frame moved around the room at a slow and steady pace, eying each individual as if we were all responsible for Campbell's sudden death. He was attempting to separate the men and the women who'd been at the party. As if the different sexes might conspire together if left alone.

  He stopped and looked at me longer than anyone. His nostrils flared. I could feel his hot breath from two feet away. It had the unpleasant smell of boiled cabbage.

  "This is dumb," Sheriff Maxwell muttered a little too loudly.

  Knoxx snapped his head around, his dark eyes blazing. Since Lincoln had been the only officer at the party when Campbell's death occurred, he'd automatically assumed control. Now that Knoxx was here, a turf war had broken out.

  "My town, my rules," Sheriff Knoxx said. His voice was like an out-of-tune bass—grungy yet oddly musical.

  "I was the first officer on the scene," Lincoln said.

  "You were off duty. At a party." Knoxx spat out the last word as if parties were akin to eating garbage.

  "Still," Lincoln said. "Seeing that I was the first officer here, I think I should—"

  "This isn't Mistmoor Point," Sheriff Knoxx said. His face was turning violent shades of purple. "Your way of doing things won't work here. You're out of your element."

  Lincoln opened his mouth to protest. Felicity put a restraining hand on his arm. He glanced at her and sighed. I could tell he hated to admit that Sheriff Knoxx was right. He had no jurisdiction.

  Too bad. I thought we'd all have been a lot better off in Lincoln's hands.

  I wondered if the rivalry between the sheriffs stemmed merely from the competition that came between law enforcement units, or if it ran deeper. Although Felicity and Lincoln had shown up to my party, they were the only two from Mistmoor—other than the mayor
and his wife, who gave me the impression they went anywhere free food was offered—to be here. No one else from Mistmoor had bothered to come.

  Trixie and Eleanor had told me not to be offended. The rivalry between Mistmoor and Sweetland went back twelve hundred years, when Sara Sweetland married Patrick Mistmoor. One of them cheated on the other shortly after their wedding, though the accounts differed depending on which side of town you lived on.

  There was supposed to be a cliff somewhere on the island where you could hear Sara's cries as she threw herself off it after her marriage dissolved. Or was thrown off. Depending which version you believed.

  I scanned the room for my aunts. They had disappeared just after Campbell's collapse and were nowhere to be seen.

  "There you are," Lucy Lockwood said. She appeared at my side from out of nowhere and grabbed my elbow, spinning me toward the patio door. "We've gotta get out of here."

  "Why?" I whispered. "I didn't do anything. There's no way anyone can blame me for Campbell. I wasn't even in the room when it happened."

  "Are you kidding me?" Lucy screeched. "Everyone saw you two dancing together. I can just see tomorrow's headline for the Witches Herald." She held her hand up in the air, writing on imaginary paper. "Bakery Reaper strikes again."

  "Bakery Reaper!" Now it was my turn to screech. "You made that up. No one's calling me that."

  "Everyone's calling you that. Now grab your purse and let's go."

  We were almost to the door when Sheriff Knoxx's loud voice boomed across the room.

  "Hold it! You two. Ava Rose and Lucy Lockwood. Get over here."

  We turned slowly toward the sheriff.

  "Yes?" I asked in what I hoped was a calm, measured tone.

  "Let me see your wand," Sheriff Knoxx said, holding out his hand. It was an order.

  I instinctively stepped back from him, holding my purse with both hands like it was filled with money instead of makeup. Aunt Eleanor had taught me the expando spell. Inside my purse, I'd been able to store not just makeup, but shoes, a change of clothes, and Lucy's loaner wand.

  I saw Lucy glance sideways at me. I hadn't used her wand for anything since she'd given it to me a few days ago at Coffee Cove—I'd been too scared. The only thing I'd done with it was make sure Aunt Eleanor and Trixie saw it so they wouldn't question me further about my own wand. From a distance, our wands looked identical. Most wands did.