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

by Amorette Anderson

  I nod solemnly. “I do,” I say. “The timing is a red flag. It happened at the qualifying match before the last earth tournament. That can’t be a coincidence. Pat said that Fred’s partner had a violent stomach bug. That could have been the effects of poison.”

  “Or, it could just be that he was sick,” Turkey says. “Remember the time I was throwing up and you had to take me to the vet?”

  “How could I forget?” I ask, stroking his soft fur a few times. “I was so afraid I was going to lose you!”

  “But I wasn’t poisoned,” Turkey says. “I was just sick.”

  My cat makes a good point, but I’m too tired to think logically.

  “I don’t know, Turkey,” I say, and then give an audible sigh. “It’s been a long day. I think my brain is fried. Marve was filming for a popular television station called W-SPORT when Fred’s partner died. Marve was just a camera guy. Then, Fred asked him to play. Now Marve does both. He films the tournaments and he plays in them. “

  “Talented guy,” Turkey says. “And this Fred character was lucky to find talent on such short notice.”

  “Yeah,” I respond sleepily. “Lucky. Just like I’m lucky. I’m lucky to have you, and my coven and Max...” with my arm slung over my cat, thinking of all of the blessings in my life, I drift off into a peaceful sleep.

  Chapter Nine

  As usual, Turkey wakes me up by kneading the pillow by my head. The ripping sound of fabric, plus his motor-like purring cause my eyes to open slowly. A bright light fills my vision and I reach up to pet my cat out of habit.

  “Turkey Werky,” I say, sleepily. “How about you settle down for a few more hours, hmm? Mommy’s tired. It’s too early to get up.” I close my eyes again and then sling my arm over my lids to block out the light.

  “I’m not your child,” Turkey says. “And it’s not too early to get up. It’s nine o’clock. I’ve been up for hours, doing some investigative work. I also believe our houseguests are up and about. I’ve heard a great deal of commotion out in the living room.”

  Oh! In my sleepy state, I’d almost forgotten about the fact that I have houseguests! So much for staying on high alert over night! My eyes pop open. “That’s right!” I say. “The spirit athletes. For a minute, I thought I’d dreamed that whole thing.”

  “Unfortunately, you did not,” says Turkey. “We really do have two spirits in the living room. I’m sure they’re hungry for breakfast—and they wouldn’t be alone in that. I, too, am—”

  “Hungry for breakfast,” I finish for him, as I jam my feet into my slippers. “I know, I know. It’s two hours and...” I glance at my phone, lying on my nightstand, and see that it’s now nine oh seven. “And seven minutes past your preferred breakfast hour.”

  I shuffle to the door. I hear Turkey padding along behind me.

  Soon I’m whipping up a pot of coffee, serving breakfast to Turkey, and chatting away with my spirit guests. They thank me profusely for the accommodations and are very agreeable when I suggest that they rest in the apartment until the evening games begin.

  Pat says that it would be wise for them to stay off their feet, and Camille agrees. I offer up my television, but both of the ladies have paperback books to read. By the time I’m dressed and ready for the day, they’re looking quite comfortable on the couch, cozied up with their books.

  Turkey weaves around my feet as I loop my messenger bag over my shoulder.

  I can tell he doesn’t want to stay home with the two strangers, so after some discussion, I scoop him up and plop him into my messenger bag.

  He ducks his head down under the flap of the bag as I make the chilly ride to the Death Café, where I’ve promised to meet with Annie. We completely ran out of baked goods the night before, and I promised to help her stock up for the evening. When I enter the café, Turkey hops out of my bag and heads straight for a sunny windowsill in an empty section of the café.

  “I’ll be in the back kitchen,” I transmit to him telepathically as I bustle off to find Annie.

  By eleven, I’m elbows deep in flour, stirring spice cake batter in a big bowl, and Annie and I are in the middle of a discussion about the case.

  “So you think Beth might be the killer?” Annie asks as she pours vanilla into a tablespoon.

  “Well, she’s lying about something,” I say. “I want to know what. She’s at the top of my suspect list at the moment, I think.”

  “Who else is on your list?” Annie asks. She dumps the measured vanilla into the mixing bowl.

  I use a wooden spoon to give the ingredients a hearty stir. “Well, Beth, Boris, Fred, and Marve,” I say.

  Then, thinking of the way Fred’s tennis partner croaked right before a qualifying match, I add in, “You know, Fred’s old teammate died unexpectedly, right before the last Earth Realm match.”

  “You don’t say!” Annie exclaims.

  “It’s true,” I say. “I mean, that’s what Pat and Camille were telling me last night. They said that Marve was a cameraman and with innate athletic abilities. He was always hanging around during the games, filming. When he wasn’t filming, he’d hit the ball around. What if Fred noticed how good Marve was, and decided to do something about it? Maybe Fred killed his tennis partner just so that he could ask Marve to be on his team.”

  Annie eyes the batter I’m mixing. Then she walks to the supplies shelf, bends down, and buries a measuring cup into a large sack of flour. “I just don’t think Fred has it in him to kill,” she says. “He seems like such a nice guy.”

  “Annie,” I say firmly. “You like Fred. You have since you first contacted him. But you can’t let your personal feelings for him get in the way of an investigation.”

  “I suppose,” Annie says, as she returns to me and empties a half a cup of flour into the batter. “There,” she says. “This will do, I’d say. Mix it in, dear, and I’ll grease up a baking sheet.”

  I mix faster as I say. “I mean, just because the guy has twinkly eyes and smiles a lot doesn’t really mean anything. Sure, he makes jokes, he’s friendly, he’s always saying nice things, but... we barely know him.”

  “I know, dear. But really, can you see Fred walloping Janice with a trophy?”

  I try to imagine it. I can’t.

  Annie continues. “Sometimes we have to trust our instincts,” she says. “What do your instincts tell you about Fred?”

  I sigh. “You sound like Turkey,” I say. “And Max. They’re both always telling me to trust my witch instincts.”

  “And they might be right,” Annie says. “You’re not just an average Private Investigator, Penny. You’re a witch private investigator. You have special powers.”

  “I’m not a witch yet,” I say. “None of us are. We’re only on cycle four, and it’s kicking our butts. I think this is done.” I walk with the bowl over to where Annie is standing. She’s greased the tray, so I start pouring batter in.

  As I pour, Annie scrapes the sides of the bowl with a spatula, to get all the ooey gooey batter that’s stuck to the sides.

  “You know,” Annie says, as she scrapes. “I’ve been thinking about cycle four. Maybe if we get the hang of the Trust Spell it could help us figure out who killed Janice.”

  “You think?” I say.

  “I do,” Annie says. “The Power Spell changed everything for us. The Banishing Spell was pivotal in our werewolf case. And the Desire Spell was useful too.”

  “I use the Desire Spell all the time,” I say. In fact, I used it just the other day to ensure that I could afford my groceries. I focused on filling my pantry with ease, and sure enough, Chocopuffs were fifty percent off that day. I smile just thinking of it. “Manifesting stuff is fun,” I say.

  “It sure is,” Annie says with a smile. “I’ve been manifesting more customers in the café. You should see the lunch hour rush these days.”

  I smile as Annie opens a door to her big industrial oven, and slides the cake tin inside. “I do love learning witchcraft,” she says, with her back
to me. “And I can’t help but notice that the spells we study usually apply quite well to the troubles we’re experiencing. You know...” she closes the oven doors and turns to face me. “It’s almost as if life itself throws these troubles at us just so that we’ll get into gear and actually apply the magic that we’re learning.”

  “Now you really sound like Max,” I say, rolling my eyes. “He’s always talking about metaphysical stuff. And it always goes over my head.”

  Annie smiles. “Oh, it’s not so complicated, dear. It’s just about noticing things. You know—patterns. What I see is that whenever trouble presents itself, we as witches must rise to the occasion by becoming stronger witches.”

  “I’d like that,” I say. “And we really do have trouble on our hands. The athletes will head back to the Spirit Realm tomorrow morning. The Spirit Realm police were adamant that they wouldn’t get involved, since the murder happened on Earth. Tonight is our last chance to get to the bottom of Janice’s death. If whoever killed Janice also killed Fred’s partner, then the chances are good that they’ll kill again.”

  “We can’t just let them go free,” Annie says. “Justice must be served.”

  I nod. “For the good of all beings,” I say solemnly. “In this realm, as well as in the Spirit Realm.”

  “And who knows where else,” Annie says.

  “Right,” I say. “Annie, I see your point. Maybe we should try to learn the Trust Spell. We’re in trouble and we could use all the help we can get. But our next coven meeting isn’t ‘til Wednesday.”

  We meet eyes, and then say in unison, “Emergency meeting!”

  I pull my phone from my pocket. “I’ll call Marley.”

  “And I’ll call Cora,” Annie says.

  A half an hour later, the four of us are standing around the counter in Annie’s small industrial kitchen.

  The little space smells absolutely divine; the spice cake in the oven is almost done.

  Annie, Marley, and Cora have their copies of ASBW out on the counter in front of them. Mine is locked away in a safe that Max built me, so I read along over Marley’s shoulder as Cora speaks the beginning of the cycle aloud.

  ‘Dear One. You have come a long way in your study of magic. Now the time is ripe to develop trust. Without trust, you can not and will not progress along your path.

  How can I trust? You ask.

  Child, it will happen little by little, as you learn that you are never alone. You can not continue along this path alone. You must know who walks with you.

  Who?

  That is a question that cannot be answered. Not by someone else. Only by you.

  Once you answer this question for yourself, the trust that you feel will be complete. For by knowing who walks with you, you will begin to trust.’

  “I’m lost already,” I mumble, when Cora takes a break to sip her water bottle.

  “Well, it’s getting to the point that trust is an in-between thing,” Marley says. “You know, like you have to know that whatever—”

  “Or whoever” interjects Cora.

  Marley continues, “Right. You have to know that whatever, or whoever you’re trusting is worthy of trust.”

  “I just think that’s confusing,” I say.

  “Let’s keep reading,” Annie says. “Maybe it will become more clear as we go.”

  As usual, Annie has gotten us back on track.

  “Look at the poem that comes next,” Marley says, pointing to the verses on the page after the cycle's introduction. “It’s not a spell that we say, is it? I mean, the other ones were kind of declarations that we made, you know? This one sounds more like a teacher speaking to a student. It’s coming in from a different perspective. It wouldn’t feel right to say these words out loud.”

  “You’re right, Marley dear!” Annie says. “I wouldn’t feel right about saying these words out loud either. I feel more like they’re being spoken to me by a teacher like you say.”

  “If we don’t say the poem out loud, what do we do with it?” I ask. “We’ve always said the poem out loud. It’s what we do.”

  “Maybe we just think about it,” Cora suggests. “Until we have the answer.”

  “Yes, it’s a puzzle,” Marley says. “We have to put the pieces together.”

  “I have enough puzzles in my life,” I say. “I don’t want another one.”

  “Puzzles are fun!” Marley says.

  “Maybe,” I say. “When you have time to sit around and do them. But we’re in a time crunch here. We have to solve the case of Janice’s murder tonight.”

  “Okay,” Annie says. She looks over at the clock on the wall. “That means we have seven hours until the games begin.”

  “And four and a half hours ‘til dinner at my place,” says Cora.

  “And like three hours before I should go check on my houseguests,” I say. “Plus, Turkey might need to go home and use the litter box soon.”

  “He’s not going to do his business in my café, is he?” Annie asks.

  “No,” I say with certainty. “He likes to poop in private.”

  Marley laughs. “You actually communicated about that? Telepathically? Here I was all envious of you and your familiar, thinking you’re talking about cool, witchy stuff, and you’re—”

  “We talked about his bathroom habits one time,” I say. “Usually we are talking about cool, witchy stuff.”

  “Blueberry and I have been communicating quite a lot,” Cora offers. “And we never talk about her number two preferences. You might not guess it just by looking at her, but she’s actually a very classy, sophisticated pooch.”

  I raise my brows. “Yet she lets you carry her around in that baby carrier?” I ask.

  “With that weird pink bow on her head?” asks Marley.

  “What’s wrong with Blueberry’s bow?” Cora asks. “I think it’s adorable.”

  “Ladies,” Annie says. “We do only have a short time to unravel this poem-riddle. It really might help us with our trouble here in Hillcrest. Let’s take it a few lines at a time.”

  “Okay,” I say.

  “Sure, Annie,” Marley says.

  “I think Blueberry’s bow looks very classy,” says Cora. Then she adds, “And you’re right, Annie. Let’s get started.” She holds her papers up and reads aloud. “The first two lines here say: ‘How to trust? I hear you ask. Let me tell you, it’s no small task.’”

  Annie nods and looks around at us, “Sounds simple enough,” she says, with twinkling blue eyes. “It’s like a teacher, talking to a student like we said before. We’re the students. We’ve been asking how to trust.”

  “I certainly haven’t been asking that,” I say.

  “Maybe not with words,” Annie counters. “But on a deeper level, you are asking it.”

  I frown. “I don’t know about levels. I think I just have one level.”

  Marley nudges me. “Oh stop being so disagreeable, Penny,” she says. “You remember psych class in high school? Mr. O'Brian told us about Freud and all the levels?”

  “I do my best to forget that class,” I say. It’s true. O’Brian failed me for showing a movie instead of actually doing an end of the semester presentation. He said that it was lazy of me. Was it my fault that there was already a documentary out about the exact topic I was to present on? I think not. I think I was being efficient—not lazy.

  Marley ignores my negative comment. “It’s true,” she says to the group. “Penny and I learned about it in Introduction to Psychology. We have different levels. The ego, the....I don’t remember the rest.”

  “Well,” Annie says. “Maybe on one of those levels we’ve been asking. And it’s that part of ourselves that this poem is addressing. I mean, I have to admit I do worry about things, quite often. What’s that but a lack of trust that everything will be okay?”

  “Finally!” I say, throwing up my hands. “Now you’re talking in a language I understand. I worry too! All the time! Mostly about money. You know, how I’m going to
pay rent at my office or buy Turkey enough cat food or pay my bills or my debts...”

  Cora chimes in. “I worry too. Not so much about money. More about relationships. You know, it might sound silly but sometimes I worry that I don’t have enough interesting things to say to Silas when he comes home from work.”

  “We all worry,” says Marley. “I worry about what I’m going to do with my life.”

  “You do?” I ask. It’s never occurred to me that my easy-breezy, seemingly carefree friend Marley would ever worry about a thing like that.

  “Sure,” Marley says. “I can’t do massages like this forever. I don’t have enough clients. This town is so small. I’m not actually saving any money and there’s no way to advance. I mean, someday I might want a—”

  “House?” Interjects Cora hopefully. She’s always trying to convince Marley to ‘grow up’ and move into a home that’s not sitting on four wheels.

  Marley shakes her head. “An RV,” she says. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. I love my van. But sometimes it’s annoying to come home to a cold van and have to wait half an hour for the solar-powered heater to kick in. I dream about walking into an already toasty warm RV...”

  Cora shakes her head. “You would like a house,” she says. “I’m telling you.”

  I speak up. “Everyone has different dreams, I suppose,” I say. “And different worries to go along with them. That’s the constant here, isn’t it? We all worry.”

  Annie speaks. “And trust would solve that. If we had trust, we wouldn’t fret over the future.”

  Marley pulls on a loop of her black hair and twists it in her fingers as she says, “It would be nice, wouldn’t it? Just to feel like everything was perfect. Everything was taken care of. There was no need to worry at all.”

  “That would be nice,” Cora says.

  “Let’s keep reading,” Annie suggested. “This is more than we’ve gotten out of this darn poem in the two months that we’ve been studying it. We’re on a roll! Cora dear, what does it say next?”

  Cora reads on.

  ‘But trust you must, if you’re to advance,