The Innocent Dead: A Witch Cozy Mystery (The Maid, Mother, and Crone Paranormal Mystery Series Book 1)

by Jill Nojack

  Table of Contents

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  Afterword

  Other Books by Jill Nojack

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  No part of this work may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Kindle Press, Seattle, 2017

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, Kindle Scout, and Kindle Press are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  Contents

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  Afterword

  Other Books by Jill Nojack

  1

  “Great galloping goblins! If we must have a cat, it should at least know how to behave.” Natalie glared at the fluffy black kitten half-hidden beneath the lip of the overturned basket of herbal teas. The scent of mint, ginger, and roses wafted upward from broken packages, but she refused to yield to their soothing properties. The frown lines between her eyebrows—more like frown craters after decades of frequent use—were working overtime.

  Gillian Winterforth slid quickly between them, her chubby body clad in a loose, embroidered white blouse and colorful tie-dye skirt, creating an effective wall between Natalie and the kitten. She bent over and scooped it up. It batted at her long white braid, and she flipped the plait behind her, removing it from harm’s way.

  When she was standing again, she rubbed a cheek against the kitten’s glossy fur. “If you were in charge, I’m sure you’d have things running smoothly like in Eunice’s day. Nothing like having an imprisoned citizen inside the cat to keep an eye on things,” she said. Her amused response betrayed a fading English accent.

  “Yes, excellent idea,” Natalie said. “Where is Tom?”

  A young female voice answered from the hallway leading to the private parlor of the Victorian home that housed Cat’s Magical Shoppe. “Hubby won’t be sleeping around town in a fur suit any time soon just to make your life easier, Natalie Taylor. Tom has plenty on his hands with his adorable new wife, a café to run, and a mansion to renovate, thank you.”

  When Cassie Sanders emerged from the hall, she winked a blue eye at Gillian, who smiled in return. Natalie didn’t respond. They both knew she hadn’t really meant that Tom should continue to fulfill the role of store cat. Probably.

  As she bent and picked up the scattered bags of tea and Gillian went for the broom to clean up the mess made by the broken ones, Natalie straightened to the tingle at her spine that signaled the near presence of newly created life, her heart beating fast; the game is afoot! She said, “You can hear my old bones creaking while I work to put things right, can’t you? But at least everything—absolutely everything—will soon be back in place as it should be.”

  Cassie laughed. “Seriously, only a joyless old crone would complain about a playful kitten. Lighten up, Nat. Cat’s Magical Shoppe has always had a cat, that cat has always been named Cat, and that’s how it’ll stay. It’s a family tradition.”

  “Joyless old crone!” Nat snorted. “My dear, you have no idea. Look to that one”—she gestured with her chin at Gillian, who was capturing the last of the spilled tea in the dustpan—”if you’re looking for a crone. In this trio of witches that’s not an honor I can claim. And Gillian . . .” She rearranged the salvageable teas in the basket. “I’m surprised that you haven’t noticed it, too . . . how our little trio has changed. A way that will allow us to cast the spell that will bring order to my little world again.”

  Gillian put the broom and dustpan back in the storeroom. “And that change is?”

  Natalie’s head shook as she hmphed, then said, “You’re not paying attention, are you?” She nodded in Cassie’s direction.

  Gillian’s eyes followed her nod and dropped to Cassie’s middle. They lit up with recognition. “You mean she . . . is she?” Her eyes opened wide.

  “There’s definitely new life in the room.” Natalie looked at Gillian meaningfully. “What do you want to bet it’s not us senior citizens who are carrying?”

  “What are you guys talking about?” Cassie asked. “And stop staring at me like that. You’re creeping me out.”

  Gillian moved to her side. “Sweetie, you won’t mind a little staring if Natalie’s right. If I could just . . .” Gillian moved a plump hand to Cassie’s stomach. Cassie didn’t flinch, so Gillian left her hand there for a moment. Her smile turned into an all-out grin.

  “Oh, it’s true, all right! Nat, we’re going to be grandwitches.”

  Cassie looked down to where Gillian’s hand still rested on her abdomen. “You guys mean?”

  Natalie nodded. “I mean that you weren’t a mother yesterday, but you certainly are today.”

  Gillian still glowed, but she took her hand away. “Yes, sweetheart, we both know what you and Tom did last night.”

  “Yeah, like we don’t do that every night.” Cassie rolled her eyes and giggled. ”I mean, guys, we’re still newlyweds. But no matter what we’ve been doing, there’s no way to tell if I’m pregnant that fast.”

  Gillian said, “The child hasn’t quickened, sweetheart, but there’s a tiny set of cells inside you that’s destined to become someone who is part you and part Tom.”

  Cassie looked down at her flat stomach, then back up to her friends, her face a study in wonder. “Part Tom. Part me. Omigoddess . . .”

  Natalie raised a hand dramatically to shade her eyes, playful now as she neared her goal. “I shouldn’t have said anything. The radiant output coming from where you’re standing is blinding.” She half smiled as she lowered her hand. “Your full attention, please.”

  She walked behind the counter, squatted carefully and, keeping a hand on the countertop to steady herself, unboxed the red vintage purse she’d paid dearly for at auction and hidden in her under-counter cubby months ago. Red is so important for an effective ward against the spirits of the dead.

  The rustling sound of unfolding tissue paper had drawn Cat’s attention. He stalked closer, crouching close to the ground with the tip of his tail twitching, readying to pounce. She shot the kitten a warning glare and set the handbag carefully at her feet where she could snatch it up at a moment’s notice.

  She stood up. “I only mentioned it because I need your help. With the three of us: Mother . . .” she said, putting her hand out gentl
y toward Cassie with a flourish, “and of course, Maid . . .” She put an identifying hand on her own chest.

  Cassie and Gillian looked at each other quickly, eyebrows raised, before turning back to Natalie with disbelieving eyes.

  Natalie knew what they were thinking and scowled. “I was busy. I didn’t have time for romantic nonsense.” Her focus moved to Gillian. “Given those circumstances, as I’ve already said, you can only be the Crone. I think that’s obvious.”

  Gillian smiled. “The wisest witch in the room? I agree.”

  “Believe what you want about the qualities of the Crone.” Natalie twitched her outstretched hand as if flicking away a fly, then let it sink to rest on one narrow hip. No point in wasting time arguing the subtleties. “Let’s stop quibbling and talk about the spell, shall we? I’d like to perform it as soon as possible.”

  Cassie was staring at her own stomach again. “Go on, Nat,” she said after a moment. “Everybody’s listening.”

  “It will require extreme focus from all of us . . .”

  Her audience leaned in, but their eyes were pulled away again when the shop bell tinkled as the door opened and birthed a gaggle of senior shoppers. They had their pocketbooks at the ready, their shopping bags unfurled, and gabbled at each other like turkeys as they spread out quickly toward the shop’s gaudier offerings.

  Cassie looked out into the suddenly crowded shop and grinned. “Oh. That’s what I came to tell you before you guys distracted me—a bus load of tourists just pulled up in the municipal lot. The town’s new publicist got Giles into the tour companies as a secondary stop to Salem.”

  “What good news!” Gillian turned back to Natalie and said, “You’ll have to hang on to whatever you want for later. We’ve got punters!” She spun and bustled toward the clump of customers with Cassie following behind.

  Natalie didn’t follow. She folded her hands on the counter and glared. By the time the shoppers cleared out, Cassie would need to be off to her husband, Gillian would need to be off to her partner, and her own needs would be forgotten. But she was tired, bone tired, of seeing dead people, and even more tired of seeing William, who was the most persistent of them all.

  She looked down when a brush of movement fluttered her pant leg.

  At her feet, the kitten’s head and front paws, so recently covered with the ingredients of subtly enchanted teas designed for healing, beauty, memory, and self control, had disappeared into the open mouth of the purse she’d spent days preparing with complex cleansing rituals. Even she hadn’t dared to put a hand in there for fear of contaminating it before the casting.

  Blast the cat! It would be hours and hours of meticulous work before the spell could go forward and she’d be free from the demands and desires of the dead again. The kitten was soon running scared across the shop to hide behind Gillian’s skirt as Natalie picked up the purse, pleased by her show of restraint. After all, the kitten was still alive, wasn’t it?

  ***

  After clearing up their dinner dishes, Giles’s newest resident watched anxiously as his wife unwrapped the gift he’d bought her as a housewarming present. He held his breath, although Gerald Akers knew better than most that hope can be overrated.

  “It’s hideous! What were you thinking?” Caroline shoved the still half-wrapped picture away from her at the table, knocking over her gin so that it spilled into the tissue wrapping and threatened to encroach on the framed watercolor. She pushed away from the table as it fell, likely worried about ruining her expensive Carolina Herrera dress, but with no regard for the expensive artwork.

  Gerald reached out for both the glass and the gift, righting the tumbler before all its contents escaped. With his other hand, he rescued the picture. It was an abstract portrait of an intriguing woman, hair piled on the top of her head, her face painted with vivid, brilliant colors in places, pastel in others. Gerald thought he could see straight through to her soul. Or, more accurately, that she could see into his.

  He saw himself reflected in the frame’s protective glass; acne scars, gray hair, and accountant’s glasses ruined the view. Even though he kept himself fit and strong with a daily running and weightlifting regimen, he had never had a face anyone would look twice at.

  He held the image to his chest, glad it was safe. “It reminded me of you when you were younger. It’s beautiful. Delicate. A little bit dangerous. You can hang it in your room. Until you’ve forgiven me for moving us out here and come back to our room, I mean.”

  Caroline rolled her eyes. “Just get me another drink.” He jumped to her command, as he always did, and shot to the counter where the bottle sat waiting. He leaned the picture against the ice bucket on the dark wood bar while he set about his assignment.

  She continued talking, more to herself than to him. “I’ll return it and buy myself something suitable tomorrow if I can find a decent jeweler anywhere near this backwater town. I still can’t believe we sold our beautiful condo for this.” She looked around at the newly refurbished family room, her sour expression telling him she found nothing there she liked. “It’s horrid here, just horrid. These yahoos think my bringing a few buses loaded with senior citizens into their dreary town will save their puny economy. I should be in Boston, publicist to movers and shakers instead of new-age shopkeepers.”

  “You know how much fitting in here means to me. Can’t you try? This is exactly what I wanted from my retirement, and I’m still young enough to enjoy it thanks to my smart investments. You could learn to like the peace and quiet. I know you could.”

  “And you could learn to be as quiet as this stupid town, you pathetic little man.”

  He felt his face redden. “I could have come on my own. I’m sure you would have found someone else to take care of you as well as I do while you play at being a publicist.” He was going to pay for that crack, he was sure of that. She would never accept their new lifestyle; he should have left her. But he couldn’t. He loved her. He always had. But sometimes he just . . . .

  He pulled back from the urge to throw the drink in her face and put it down carefully in front of her. He’d pledged to her for better or for or worse, and he’d meant it. She was the only woman he had wanted on his arm when he arrived triumphant in Giles to buy one of the finest houses on the lakefront. He wasn’t one of the summer people now. He belonged. He and his beautiful wife. He took the platinum card from his wallet and set it in front of her by the glass. He’d rather pay for his earlier angry comment with his plastic than endure days of the silent treatment. “Take the Mercedes into Boston tomorrow and find yourself something nice.”

  She barely acknowledged him. She snatched up the card and her drink and stalked out to the porch that overlooked the lake. The sliding glass door rattled as it slammed behind her.

  ***

  Natalie unlocked her front door and hung her keys on the hook. After the influx of tourists, things had turned out exactly like she’d predicted they would. There had been no time for her to finish her appeal to her fellow witches; it was another in a series of delays before she could complete the spell to repel the residents of Giles that only she could see.

  She meant to sigh, but it came out like a groan. It would be good to get out of her not at all sensible but terribly amusing black high heels. Their turned-up, pointy toes added a touch of whimsy to her fitted black pantsuit, but they made it even more urgent that she slide her aching feet into a tub of warm water spiked with Epsom salts, herbs, and a touch of healing magic. She had retired from nursing at sixty-five, so why was she behind a retail counter at seventy-four wearing nonsensical shoes? Ridiculous.

  She should have said no when Cassie had asked. But if she had, Gillian would have been left alone most days to keep up with the latest gossip and goings-on in the magical community. No, it would be wrong of her to saddle a friend with such a burden; Natalie had to be there to assure someone accurately took the pulse of the town.

  After all, it had only been a little over five months since an ancient Egy
ptian demon-goddess had nearly sucked the town into the rift she’d created between the little town of Giles and the Summerlands. The town had survived, but who knew what the long-term consequences of tearing the veil between the land of the living and the land of the dead might be? They’d gotten through the winter without much trouble, but with spring now making itself known, there was no way to predict what might appear as the last of the snow melted.

  Even though the goddess Anat was now bound and buried in a three-ton block of concrete, Natalie remained on guard. After all, Anat had possessed Eunice Grandby, Cassie’s grandmother, for nearly half a century without anyone in town catching on. She wasn’t convinced that all of Anat’s magical machinations had been trapped with her. No, it was best to be right there in the middle of things in case the whispers started again.

  The sweet-smelling zing of ozone that always accompanied the entry of a spirit into the living realm alerted Natalie to the presence behind her. She knew who it was without looking; William had been showing up more and more frequently since her ward had been destroyed. Sometimes she wished she’d run in the other direction and let the town disappear into the breach when Anat had torn the veil.

  She steeled herself to turn, knowing the increased visits might be her own fault; sometimes, if she didn’t look at him directly, his company was reassuring, as if he’d never left her. Truth is, she missed him. She remembered when he’d first appeared after the Witching Faire: smiling, disarming her, looking like he did the first day they’d danced, the first day they’d kissed, the first day he’d told her he loved her.

  Looking just like he did now, she thought as she faced him. He was impeccably dressed, as he was at all times, in tan pants, a crisp, white button-down shirt, and his favorite argyle sweater vest. His hair, not long enough for a DA but not short enough for a crew cut, was slicked to the side with the slightest wave at the front. Her old heart squeezed in her chest.

  She’d always hated that sweater vest, but she could never bring herself to tell him.

  He moved toward her, reaching his hand out for her arm. It felt cold against her skin as he tried to settle it there. Then it glided through, breaking the illusion.