Witchy Worries (Neighborhood Witch Committee Book 2)

by Nic Saint

  “That reminds me,” said Strel. “I have to call Dunny.”

  “And I have to call…” Stien frowned. “Nobody.”

  I turned to her. “I saw Glenn. He said he thought your dress was amazing. He wants to know who your designer is so he can recommend them to his Hollywood friends.”

  Stien’s face lit up. “Really?”

  “Yeah, really. He thought yours was the most beautiful gown of the three.”

  “I wish I’d seen that,” said Sam. “Next time you go dressed as three princesses you have to show me first.”

  “Oh, there are pictures,” said Strel, holding up her phone. Sam, when he saw the three of us in our most fabulous dresses, actually went speechless, which, in my mind, was probably the best compliment of all.

  “What’s going to happen to the Mockfords?” I asked.

  “Well, we’ve got them on murder and attempted murder,” said Sam. “So I hope they go away for a good long while.”

  “I hope the judge is lenient,” I said. “They just wanted to avenge Romella.”

  “I know,” said Sam. “But murder is never the answer, Edie.”

  I smiled. Sam giving me back my own line was funny. It meant we were on the same page.

  “Oh, did you ever find out who threw that rock and destroyed our store window?”

  “Nah. No prints and no DNA. Whoever launched it was very careful not to be implicated.”

  Yes, Tisha Lockyer was certainly a very careful and cunning woman.

  “Oh, and the strangest thing happened. Stanley Chariot dropped by the precinct earlier. He said there was a break-in in his apartment last night, but when I pressed him for details he said he couldn’t remember. All he could tell me is that three burglars kept him up all night and made him talk a lot. So much so that he pretty much lost his voice. He had to whisper the entire statement.”

  I held my breath. Oops.

  “He said they were very good listeners. They liked some ideas he had about feather boas?“

  “Did they take anything?”

  “Only his pride.”

  “Well, that’s not exactly a crime, is it?”

  He laughed. “No, it is not.”

  We watched as the Mockfords were escorted into police vehicles and whisked away. I felt sorry for them, in spite of the fact that they had just tried to murder me and my sisters. For a neighborhood watch girl I’m surprisingly soft-hearted. Maybe that was something I had to work on.

  I watched as Glenn came shuffling along, directing a keen look at me and giving me a cheerful wink. He took out his phone and snapped a picture of a crushed up can of Coke Zero. A second later, Stien’s phone beeped. Another addition to the actor’s Instagram collection of urban curios.

  Sam frowned at the seedy-looking bum. “Is that guy bothering you, honey?”

  “Oh, no,” I said. “Not at all.” And I returned Glenn’s wink.

  Stien, who’d caught the interaction, displayed a cheerful smile, and instantly went in pursuit of the vagrant. Now there was a great couple, I thought. Princess and the Beggar. Even better than Beauty and the Beast. And as Sam escorted us home, I thought that for three incompetent witches, and amateur neighborhood watchers, we’d done a pretty great job. And we hadn’t even used witchcraft! Gran would be proud.

  “So are you going to get us that commendation now?” I asked Sam.

  “Yes, Sam,” Strel chimed in. “We solved the murder before you did.”

  He sighed deeply. “Like I said, I’ll talk to the commissioner.”

  I grinned and hooked my arm through his. “Do you think we’ll get actual badges? Like you? And uniforms? And a paycheck? Oh, and don’t forget about free donuts, Sam.”

  “Don’t push it, honey.”

  “Oh, I’ll design the uniform!” Strel cried. “Just like Lady Gaga. She was wearing the most amazing uniform the other day. It was simply fabulous! I’ll get started straight away!”

  Sam raised his eyes heavenward. “Great. That’s what this neighborhood needs. Three amateur cops in a Lady Gaga uniform.”

  Correction: three amateur witches in a Lady Gaga uniform.

  Epilogue

  A few days had passed, and we were all sitting outside on the deck, enjoying a fabulous meal. The sun was shining brightly, birds were tweeting happily, Strel was tweeting, too, and I finally felt relaxed again, after those tense moments in the Mockford backyard. Sam was there, and so was Dunlop. Glenn had removed his makeup and his disguise, and was raising his glass in a toast to Gran.

  “I think I can speak for Mrs. Oats and myself when I tell you that this has been the most glorious reception at any Airbnb I’ve ever enjoyed. Your hospitality, your kindness, and your sense of humor have made this stay one I’ll never forget, Cassie B,” said Glenn. “And I can already announce that I will be back next year, when Manhattan in Motion returns for another fabulous installment.”

  “Thank you, Glenn,” said Gran. “You are most kind. And most welcome, of course. Anytime.” She darted a quick look at Stien, who seemed to keep it together, though when Glenn had announced he was leaving the next day, she had wept a few silent tears.

  “I think Glenn is right,” said Mona, also lifting her glass. “It’s been a most… interesting stay. And absolutely not boring. I already complimented my son on an excellent choice. Most excellent.”

  Miraculously, she and Auntie Leigh had finally found common ground… in crochet. Leigh was an avid crocheter, and so was Mona, and the last couple of days they’d been exchanging patterns. Leigh hadn’t even needed to apply witchcraft, or dole out healing advice or place stones around Mona’s bed. They were both leaving, to be replaced by new guests who would be arriving next week.

  “I think it’s so wonderful that you two are finally getting along,” said Gran, gesturing at Leigh and Mona.

  “Oh, well, how can one resist a crocheting genius like Mrs. Shamrock?” asked Mona.

  “Or a crocheting giant like Mrs. Oats?” asked Leigh.

  “Is it true you’re going to be staying at Mona’s place in Philadelphia?” asked Gran.

  “Oh, yes,” said Auntie Leigh. “I’m definitely looking forward to that. In fact I’ve already packed my potions and I’m going to use this opportunity to teach Mona how to make the perfect… footbath.”

  Mona, who’d been listening with rising brow, heaved a sigh of relief. “I love a nice footbath!”

  “Right?” asked Leigh. “After a long day of exploring the streets of Philadelphia, I’m sure we’ll be more than happy to soak our dogs in a nice hot bath. We can even watch a Cary Grant movie.”

  “One of my favorite British-American actors,” said Mona, patting her new friend on the arm. She suddenly looked a decade younger, and she didn’t even need a facial to accomplish this feat!

  And just when the feast was in full swing, compliments being exchanged and toasts being made, another visitor joined us outside on the deck. It was… Tisha Lockyer!

  “Tisha!” said Gran. “What a nice surprise.”

  “Hi,” said Tisha. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

  “Of course not,” said Gran. “Take a seat. I’ll set an extra plate.”

  “Oh, I’m not staying,” said Tisha. She gestured at Glenn. “Glenn has been so kind to offer me a job.”

  “A job?” I asked. Stien, too, stared at the actor, her face a mask of surprise.

  “Yes. I don’t know why I didn’t see it sooner,” said Glenn, wiping his lips with his napkin. “But when I walked by Pretty Petals the other day I just had such an epiphany. I saw all those wonderful flower arrangements, and I said to myself, I can use this in my life. In fact, I need this in my life.”

  “Glenn has offered me a move to LA,” said Tisha. “And to become his personal florist.”

  “Well, not my personal florist,” said Glenn with a chuckle. “Though I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to keep you busy. And I have a lot of friends who are simply dying to have someone as talented and accomplished
as Tisha provide us with her personal florist solutions. Fill our houses with blooms!”

  “It’s a wonderful offer,” said Tisha. “A great opportunity. And that’s why I’m so grateful.”

  “Don’t be,” said Glenn. “You created this opportunity all by yourself. With your talent.”

  “Did I?” asked Tisha, darting a quick glance at Gran.

  I detected a slight smile playing about Gran’s lips, and when I caught her eye, she gave me a wink. And then I got it: this was the spell she’d cast on Tisha. Rather than get back at the woman, she was sending her away to the West Coast, never to bother us again! Brilliant, and devious at the same time.

  “Which is why I’m so very sorry to refuse the offer,” said Tisha.

  “What?” cried Gran. “You’re not taking the offer?”

  “No, I’m not. I realize that Sloan and I have a lot of things to work through. He begged me to give him a second chance, and since his job is right here in Brooklyn, I can’t possibly leave.”

  “But… he can find another job,” said Gran. “I mean,” she added when she realized how vehement she sounded, “I’m sure Sloan wouldn’t dream of stopping you from reaching your full potential, Tisha.”

  “It’s not just that,” said Tisha. “I like it here. I’ve built my business and I have my friends here and my family, and I want to stay and see Pretty Petals grow and prosper. I’ve been thinking about expanding. To open more Pretty Petals and run an actual franchise, the way you did, Cassie.”

  Gran’s jaw had dropped and she now hitched it up. She clearly had not seen this coming.

  ‘”What’s more, I want to apologize for my appalling behavior lately,” said Tisha, and stepped forward, holding something in her hand. It was a twig or something. “Which is why I want to extend this olive branch. A present from me to you. Let’s stop the war and be friends, Cassie. Make peace.”

  Gran accepted the olive branch, and said, “Of course. I’m the first to realize that competition doesn’t have to become open warfare.”

  Tisha smiled. “So you accept my apologies?”

  “Yes. Yes, I do,” said Gran, still looking slightly taken aback.

  “Great,” said Tisha softly. “I’m sure we’ll be great friends.” She glanced at Glenn. “I’m sorry, Mr. Kerb. Perhaps we can talk again at some point in the future. It really was a wonderful offer.”

  The actor held up his glass in a salute. “Of course. The offer still stands, Tisha.”

  After directing a final smile at the rest of us, she turned on her heel and strode off.

  And as the others discussed this latest development in the flower shop war, Gran stared at the olive branch, clearly not sure what to think of it. Even as she did, I saw her expel a slight gasp, and drop it to the ground. And as I watched, the olive branch suddenly changed into a viper, and snapped at Gran’s ankle! With a swift flick of her wrist, it jumped up as if stung and then vanished in a puff of smoke. Gran glanced around to see if anyone else had noticed the incident. When she locked eyes with me, I saw that a resolute look had come into her steely blue peepers.

  It was obvious that the flower shop war was back on. Big time.

  THE END

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  Excerpt from Purrfect Crime (The Mysteries of Max 5)

  Prologue

  Donna Bruce was a woman profoundly in love with herself. From personal experience she knew there was no other person as amazing as she was. She was smart, successful, beautiful, and, above all, she was kind to humans, children and dogs, which cannot be said about everyone. She was a giver, not a taker. In fact she gave so much she often wondered if people appreciated her enough.

  Her kids, for instance, could probably love her more for all the sacrifices she had made. For one thing, they’d pretty much ruined her figure. After the twins were born, something strange but not very wonderful had happened to her hips. They’d never looked the same again. And when she saw what breastfeeding did to her boobs, she’d vowed never to fall into that horrible trap again.

  She now carefully tucked her golden tresses beneath the pink shower cap, wrapped the white towel embroidered with her company’s crest—a nicely rendered tiara—around her perfectly toned and tanned body, and stepped into the sauna cabin. She had the cabin installed only six months ago as a special treat to herself when donna.vip, the lifestyle website she’d launched a decade ago, had topped 200 million in revenue.

  She languidly stretched out on the authentic Finnish wood bench, took a sip from her flute of Moët & Chandon Dom Perignon, and closed her eyes. She’d just done a conference call with her CEO and now it was time to relax. Later today she had a session with her private fitness coach scheduled, and to top it all off she was going to treat herself to a healing massage as well. Time to get pampered!

  And she’d just reached that slightly drowsy state she enjoyed so much when a soft clanking sound attracted her attention. She opened her eyes and saw through the slight haze that filled the cabin that there was someone moving about outside.

  She frowned, wondering who it could be. Her housekeeper Jackie wasn’t coming in until ten, and the rest of the staff knew better than to intrude on her alone time. It was hard to make out the person’s face, as the one small window was all steamed up. With a grunt of annoyance she got up and wiped her hand across the glass to look out. And that’s when she noticed something very disturbing: the person was wearing a mask of some kind. One of those silly Halloween masks.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she called out.

  But the intruder just stood there, unmoving, staring at her through the black mask that covered his or her entire face.

  “Who are you?” she asked. “Answer me at once!”

  When the person didn’t respond, she shook her head and took a firm grip on the wood door handle, giving it a good yank. The door didn’t budge. She tried again, knowing that these sauna doors could be sticky, but to no avail. And that’s when she saw that someone—presumably the masked person outside—had stuck a long object through the door’s handle, blocking it. It was her long handle loofah, the one she’d intended to take into the sauna with her.

  “Hey! This isn’t funny!” she cried, tapping the pane furiously. “Open this door right now!”

  And that’s when the masked figure reacted for the first time by raising a hand and pointing a finger at her, cocking their thumb and making a shooting gesture. And in that exact moment, she became aware of an odd sound that seemed to come from somewhere above her head. A buzzing sound. She looked up in alarm, and when she saw the first dozen bees streaming into the sauna cabin, she uttered a cry of shock and fear.

  She rapped the window again, more frantic this time. “Let me out! Why are you doing this to me?! Just let me out of here!”

  More bees fluttered into the cramped space and soon started filling it. There must have been hundreds, or maybe even thousands! And as they descended upon her, she felt the first stings. She started swatting them away with her towel, but there were too many of them, and for some reason they seemed drawn to her, whipped into a frenzy by some unknown cause. And as she stumbled and fell, desperately flapping her hands in a bid to get rid of the pesky insects, she soon succumbed. Her final thought, before she lost consciousness was, “Why me?!”

  Chapter One

  Having spent most of the night outside, looking up at the stars and commenting to Dooley on their curious shape, attending a meeting of cat choir in the nearby Hampton Cove Park, and generally contemplating the state of the world and my place in it, I was ready to perform my daily duty and make sure my human Odelia Poole got a bright and early start on her day. I do this by jumping up onto her bed, plodding across Odelia’s sleeping form, and finally kneading her arm until she wakes up and gives me a cuddle. This has been
our morning ritual since just about forever.

  When I finally reached the top of the stairs, slightly winded, a pleasant sound emanating from the bedroom filled me with a warm and fuzzy feeling of benevolence: Odelia was softly snoring, indicating she was in urgent need of a wake-up catcall. So I padded over, and jumped up onto the foot of the bed. At least, that was my intention, only for some reason I must have misjudged the distance, for instead of landing on all fours on the bed, I landed on my butt on the bedside rug.

  I shook my head, happy that no one saw me in this awkward position. With a slight shrug of the shoulders, I decided to try again. This time the result was even worse. I never even cleared the bed frame, let alone the mattress or the comforter. Like an Olympic pole vaulter who discovers he’s lost the ability, I suddenly found myself facing a new and horrifying reality: I couldn’t jump anymore!

  “Hey, Max,” a familiar voice sounded behind me. “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like I’m doing, Dooley?” I grumbled. “I’m trying to jump into bed!”

  He paused, then asked, “So why are you still on the floor?”

  “Because…” I stared up at the bed, which all of a sudden had turned into an insurmountable obstacle for some reason. “Actually I don’t know what’s going on. The bed just seems higher now.”

  “A sudden weakness,” Dooley decided knowingly. “It happens to me all the time.”

  “Well, it doesn’t happen to me,” I said, scratching my head. Yes, cats scratch their heads. We just make sure we retract our claws, otherwise it would be a fine mess.

  “You probably need food. Did you have breakfast? When I don’t have my breakfast I feel weak. Do you feel weak?”

  I gave him my best scowl. “I feel fine. And for your information, yes, I did have my breakfast. The best kibble money can buy and a nice chunk of chicken and liver paté.”

  “Wow, what happened?”

  “What do you mean, what happened?”