The Case of the Trust Spell: A Hillcrest Witch Mystery (Hillcrest Witch Cozy Mystery Book 4)

by Amorette Anderson

  “Interesting,” I say. “Do you think you can reach out to him again?”

  “I plan on it,” Annie says. “I told him I’d contact him again this evening, right when I closed up the café. I’ll go home and perform the same sort of ritual. It was fairly easy, you know. All I needed was a black candle, a bundle of sage, and a few other odds and ends. Very doable. Should I tell him the tournament is a go, then?”

  I don’t hesitate before nodding. “Yes,” I say. “Yes, let’s do it.”

  “Wonderful!” Annie says. The corners of her eyes crinkle with crows feet as she smiles. It’s nice to see her smile. Even better than that, the sparkle is back in her clear blue eyes. “Walter loved tennis, you know,” Annie says. “We used to play doubles at the park with some of our couple friends. I think he’d be very happy that we were arranging a tournament. We’ll call it Walterdon - you know, like Wimbledon, except—”

  I smile and nod. “Walterdon... in honor of Walter. I love it, Annie.”

  Annie sips her tea happily and then says, “It will start tomorrow—Saturday—and last for two days. Perhaps it could be a yearly event!”

  Wow! This ball got rolling faster than I expected! “Whew—tomorrow, Annie, that’s really soon. I’m not sure—”

  Annie is too busy talking to hear me. “I’ll start baking. I wonder what Walterdon players will like to nibble on between games. Do they eat gluten? Dairy? Eggs? Do spirits eat Earth Realm food at all? Oh—and where will they sleep? We’d better find accommodations...”

  “Annie, just how many spirits are going to be visiting Hillcrest tomorrow?” I ask. I guess I wasn’t entirely sure what I was signing up for when I agreed to this!

  “There will be four teams of two and a judge. Nine visitors total. Do you think you could host a team at your place? Or is one your maximum? They’ll have to sleep on your couch. It will just be for the weekend, though. Oh, Fred is going to be so pleased!”

  “Um... I guess I can take two,” I say. I stand up and reach for my empty mug and crumb-covered plate. As I move them to the dustbin, I ask, “Annie, where are they going to play? The only tennis court is in Hillcrest Park and it’s covered in snow. And don’t you think this is going to attract a bit of attention—a bunch of spirits knocking a tennis ball back and forth?”

  “Oh—I had an idea about that,” Annie says. “The games will take place at night. You know how the park is abandoned on winter nights. Fred says that spirits are most active at night, anyways. That way, no one will know about the games. Do you think you could talk to the park groundskeeper about getting the court lights on overnight? I think it’s Gunther Lawson these days... You’ll have to come up with some sort of excuse. You’re so smart, Penny, I’m sure you’ll come up with something.”

  “Sure,” I find myself saying. Because well, a compliment will make me agree to anything.

  As I step out of the café doors, I feel a knot of worry growing in the pit of my stomach. Did I really just agree to help Annie host the first annual Walterdon tournament? Did I just agree to host two houseguests in my small, messy apartment? Did I just agree to try to needle Gunther into keeping the park lights on?

  And most importantly of all, did I just agree to open the portal to nine unknown spirits?

  Annie has followed me out onto the sidewalk. She gives me a quick squeezed goodbye. She looks much happier than when I first met with her. Seeing the twinkle in her eyes makes all my worry worth it. Annie is excited about Walterdon, and that’s what counts.

  It’s snowing, so I pull my hood up over my knit cap and zip my coat up to my chin. I give a final wave to Annie and then turn down the snow-covered sidewalk. I’m not entirely sure where to find Hillcrest Park groundskeeper, Gunther Lawson, but I have an idea about where I can start.

  Hillcrest is a small mountain town, and there are only a few eateries in it. It’s getting close to lunch time and that means chances are good that Gunther, along with half of the town of Hillcrest, is hunkered over a burger at Hillcrest’s one and only burger joint: The Place.

  Chapter Two

  I was right.

  As I walk into The Place, I spot Gunther at the counter, biting into a juicy burger on a glistening golden bun.

  It actually looks pretty good; I could use one of those! I place an order with the lunch waitress, Janine, and take a seat by Gunther’s side.

  By noon I’ve regaled him with my longing to play tennis at night, due to my busy work schedule (ha!). He agrees to keep the lights on for me overnight, just for the weekend, in exchange for copious amounts of baked goods. I’m going to have to ask Annie to bake some extra items.

  I leave The Place and head next door to my office. I spend the afternoon brushing up on the rules of tennis and even watching a few Wimbledon matches on my phone. I have to admit, it’s a nice change of pace from my marathon headstand sessions or hours of knitting. I mean, I absolutely love knitting, don’t get me wrong. It’s just that it’s nice to change it up every once in a while.

  I head home around four, which gives me plenty of time to unlock the magical portal to other realms, as promised to Annie. By five my magic-work is done, and I’m sure that the portal is open.

  Since my vampire boyfriend Max is out of town (in Asia, doing research for his next book), I curl up with my calico cat, Turkey, on the couch and watch a few episodes of Sherlock Holmes before bed.

  My eyes pop open the next morning to a bright, sunny day.

  I feel a little flutter of excitement in my chest as the events of the day before come back to me. Today is the day! Today is the first day of the first-ever Walterdon tournaments!

  I pop up to a sitting position. Turkey is on the mattress next to me, already sitting up and staring at me. Or rather, he’s staring above me. I reach up and find that my short brown hair is poking up in an unruly manner. I try to flatten it as I say, “Turkey, today is the first day of Walterdon! I feel like it’s Christmas morning or something!”

  “Are you sure that it’s wise to invite nine unknown magical beings into the Earth Realm?” Turkey asks. He has a serious expression;, his brows are tented up, his bottom lip forms a straight line. “I’ve been thinking about it all night.”

  “You weren’t sleeping?” I ask.

  “Hardly,” Turkey says.

  “You love to sleep,” I say.

  “I couldn’t. I barely got nine hours of shut-eye. I was kept awake thinking about all that could go wrong with these beings. We don’t know them, Penny. Besides that, I couldn’t sleep because you were snoring.”

  “I was not.”

  “You were. Quite loudly.”

  “I don’t snore.”

  “I’m afraid you do.”

  “Turkey, I’m in a wonderful mood. Today is a great day. You’re not going to get me down.” I toss the covers off of me, and one corner flops over Turkey’s head. He shakes his head to brush it off as I swing my legs over the side of the bed and push my bare toes into my fluffy slippers. I shuffle towards the bedroom door.

  Turkey bounds off of the bed and trots behind me. “I’m not trying to be a downer,” he says.

  “Well, you are,” I say. “You’re being a real party pooper.”

  “I poop in solitude,” Turkey says. “In my litter box. I would hardly do my business while a social engagement was going on. You know I don’t enjoy crowds or loud noises.”

  I laugh at his little joke, but he doesn’t laugh with me. I realize he wasn’t joking. “No. Party pooper means that you’re being... I don’t know, grumpy. Looking at the glass as half empty instead of half full... Party pooper is like an analogy or a metaphor or something.”

  I scratch my head. It’s too early to be using words like ‘analogy’ or ‘metaphor’. I haven’t even had my coffee yet.

  Thankfully, Turkey doesn’t ask me to explain further. “Ah. I see,” he says. “ Well, I don’t think I’m being grumpy, Penelope. I feel I’m being realistic and logical. Think about it. Since you started practicing magic
, we’ve had a murderous werewolf cross through the portal, as well as a stealing, killing Fire Witch. How do you know that one of these spirits isn't going to stir up trouble in Hillcrest?”

  He has me there. I pour water into my coffee pot and then empty out yesterday’s grinds.

  “Turkey, I don’t know. But one of the three P’s of witchcraft is playfulness. This is going to be a fun event. Besides, Annie needs this. She works all the time at her café, and yesterday was the anniversary of her late husband Walter’s death. Those two were such a sweet couple. I mean, they really loved each other. They had so much fun. They were best friends. Annie really misses him.”

  The coffee pot makes a sizzling sound as drips splash into the waiting pot.

  I recall the way Annie’s shoulders sagged yesterday when we first started talking. Then, in my mind, I picture the way she perked up as she started talking about the tournament.

  “This time of the year is hard for her,” I transmit to Turkey. “If we could turn this Walterdon into a yearly event, it might help her channel her energy in a positive way every year. She can remember her husband, and celebrate the good times they had together by honoring him with this fun, playful little event.”

  Turkey has positioned himself pointedly in front of his food bowls.

  “Speaking of half full or half empty....” he says, and then give his empty dish a nudge with his nose.

  “Right,” I say.

  I walk over, give his back a few strokes, and then reach for his dish. As I fill it with dry food I say, “This is an opportunity to help Annie. I couldn’t say no. The spirits will arrive in town late this afternoon, and the first games will be tonight, after dark. Oh—I don’t know if I mentioned this last night, but two of them will be staying here.”

  “As in, here, here? In our apartment?” Turkey asks. “We’re having house guests? No—Penelope, you most certainly did not mention that last night!”

  I nod and then busy myself with adding wet food on top of the dry so that I don’t have to meet my cat’s disapproving gaze.

  I know I didn’t mention our houseguests last night. Turkey doesn’t do well with guests. He’s a very private kitty. It took him years to warm up to Chris, my ex-boyfriend. He’s not crazy about Max, my current beau, to say the least. He adores my best friend Marley, but that’s only because Marley’s been around for Turkey’s whole life. She’s like family, to both Turkey and me.

  Turkey detests strangers. I knew he wouldn’t be happy to learn that I’d invited two of them into our shared living space.

  “It’s going to be fine,” I say, placing his dish down in front of him. I pat his head. “Really. Think of it like we’re hosting exchange students or something, Turkey. It’s a great opportunity for us to learn about another culture.”

  “The spirit culture?” Turkey asks.

  I nod. Thank goodness... there’s enough coffee in the pot for me to pour a cup. I really don’t think I can keep this conversation up without a little bit of caffeine. I reach for a mug. It’s my favorite one. ‘Grant me the serenity to kick some butt today, and karate chop the crap out of anyone who tries to slow down my train of awesome.’—Jumper Strongheart.

  Ah! A saying to live by.

  I fill my mug. “Yeah,” I say, after taking a healthy slurp. “The spirit culture. We’ll get to know our house guests. It’ll be great... very diplomatic of us. You know, accepting diversity and what-not. You’ll see.”

  “Spirits...” Turkey says. “Are they basically ghosts?

  I take another slurp. Then I answer honestly. “I think so, but I don’t really know. All I know is that they’re going to be here this afternoon, and we have a lot to do to get ready. Cleaning this place up is a good place to start. It’s a mess in here.”

  From the vantage point in my small kitchen, I look out into the living room. Sweaters and sweatshirts are draped haphazardly across my couch. Cereal bowls litter the coffee table, and every spare surface area seems to be crowded with something or other. The cauldron I inherited along with ASBW is on my countertop, filled with over-ripe bananas. Next to it lies my Book of Shadows, open to a page of cat doodles.

  “And whose fault is that?” Turkey asks.

  He’s right. It’s mine. If it was up to my pet cat, this place would be spotless. I sigh.

  “Mine,” I say. “I know. I’m a slob. That ends here. Today, Turkey. I’m going to clean this place up top to bottom for our guests, and then keep it clean from now on.”

  Sometimes I feel super optimistic in the morning, especially if I’ve gotten a solid night’s sleep. Today is one of those days. I’m getting fired up. The coffee is helping, and my excitement about the tournament is spurring me on.

  “I’ll believe it when I see it,” Turkey says.

  “Challenge accepted,” I answer. I set my mug down on the counter, and place both hands on my hips. Where to start?

  Three hours, two cups of coffee, and the complete ‘Camelot’ soundtrack later, I’m covered head to toe in dust, splashes of dishwater, and cleaning solution fumes. My hair smells like Windex and my pajama shirt is half soaked in lemon dish soap. Things got a little wild there for a minute or two (especially when I decided to do some interpretive dancing to my favorite Camelot song, ‘The Lusty Month of May’), but my apartment is more sparkling clean than it has ever been before—perhaps in years.

  I take a quick shower and then dress for the day. I’m feeling like a champion as I say goodbye to Turkey and make my way towards the Death Café.

  The afternoon passes away in a blur of activity.

  First, Annie and I have a little pow-wow about tournament logistics. We place calls to Cora and Marley, and soon we have housing lined up for all of the spirit athletes.

  We also draw out a huge chart on poster board, according to the team names that Fred gave Annie last night when they communicated.

  There are four teams total that will be playing in the tournament, and we’ve decided on a round-robin format.

  When I hear the phrase ‘round robin’ I think of a simple, big-bellied bird that heralds in the coming of spring with a chirpy song. The term completely belies the complexity of what a round robin actually is. It takes us several drafts to finally get the lineup of games perfected. We settle on a format of four games per night.

  After our poster board is finalized, we move into the back kitchen of the café to start baking. Luckily, Marley and Cora join us, and we are able to whip up several pies, cakes, bread, and other treats—enough to keep Gunther Lawson happy and our visiting athletes fueled up for the games.

  By five pm, we’re ready to greet our guests. Cora has agreed to host a spaghetti dinner at her place before the games begin at eight.

  I’m nervous and excited as Annie, Cora and I pile into Marley’s van so that we can drive up to Hillcrest Pass to meet the Spirits.

  “What do you think they’re going to be like?” Cora asks as she pulls a seatbelt across her chest. She’s left Blueberry Muffin at home for the afternoon, to get some rest before all of the excitement begins.

  “Annie said that Fred was a jolly kind of guy,” I say from the front seat. “Isn't’ that right, Annie?”

  Marley fires up the van, and reggae tunes begin emanating from the speakers.

  I look over my shoulder at Annie.

  She’s dancing a little bit to the beat. This is the Annie I know and love! No more drooping shoulders. She looks happy and excited as she responds. “Yes, very jovial. He laughed a lot, and made plenty of jokes.” She bobs her head up and down to the rhythm of the music.

  Marley pulls out onto the street. “I’m excited,” she says. “I’m sorry I couldn’t host one of them at my place.”

  “It’s not a problem, dear,” Annie says. “You live in a van. We wouldn’t expect you to have overnight guests in here.” She turns to Cora. “Are you sure it’s going to be okay with Silas to have four houseguests up at his building site this weekend?”

  “Sure,” Cora says. �
�I think he’s looking forward to it. We already fit one of the rooms with sleeping bags, pads, and a heater. I just hope the spirits don’t mind the rustic accommodations.”

  “I don't think they will,” Annie says. “Fred tells me that they don’t experience temperatures quite like we do. They do feel cold, but not to the extent that those of us born and raised on the Earth Realm do. That’s because their bodies aren’t solid, per se.”

  “Max says that nothing is solid,” I chime in from the front. We hit a bump in the road, and I reach up for the grab bar above the window. “He says that we only think things are solid.”

  “How is Max?” Marley asks, looking over at me.

  “Good, I think,” I say. “He called me from a satellite phone two days ago, from some little village in the Himalayas. He doesn't have any cell service or internet. He said the research is going well.”

  “What’s he doing there again?” Cora asks.

  “Research for his next book,” I say. “It’s called ‘Tap into Tribal Wisdom: Master the Art of Longevity.”

  “Interesting,” Annie says.

  “Kind of...” I say. “Sometimes he goes on about his research and I have trouble following him. He’s always talking about how to live forever.”

  Marley reaches for the volume dial and turns down the music. She turns to me and says, “Do you think he’s going to develop some kind of pill or something? Is that what he’s working on?”

  I sigh. “I wish it was that easy. It’s not. He says that it has to do with thoughts. He says that living longer has more to do with thoughts than physical stuff. That’s why he writes books, I guess. He says that books are how thoughts are transferred.”

  Annie speaks. “Maybe Max will be able to tell me where Walter is... you know—whether I might be able to find him if I keep looking.”

  “Maybe,” I say. “Max does know an awful lot. We can ask him when he gets home. He’s flying into Melrose tomorrow morning.”