The Cat in the Lighthouse (A Mystic Cove Witches Paranormal Cozy Mystery Book 2)

by Lilly Graves

  There’s a few beats of silence in response and then Aunt Willow says, “Chloe, I believe Nova and I are on the same page about this. We lost Raven. We don’t want to lose you too.”

  Aunt Nova puts a hand to my cheek. Her honey brown eyes glint with emotion. “You’re the spitting image of her.”

  “I’m not going to die. And if I did, I still have several lives left.”

  “You lost two of them within the last week. Look, there’s a reason Raven had to sneak you the note. The Afterlife wouldn’t have been okay with it. She’s going around the rules, and that alone isn’t the safest precedent to set.” Aunt Nova always abides by the rules of magic.

  “Yeah, I think, Chloe, that we should lay it to rest for now.” The aunt that I always knew as my witch before my true identity was revealed goes on. “No jumping into things.”

  My blue eyes feel huge and moist. This wasn’t the kind of response I was hoping for. Seeing this, Aunt Willow edges in, “Would you like to stay in here to sleep tonight? Get some rest? You’ve gone through so much so fast.”

  “Right, I think it’s time we left this room unlocked. This can be your room now.” Nova strokes the back of my short hair, like she does when I’m in my cat form.

  I soon lay there atop the bedspread in deep thought, resting against my paws. The maroon curtains are open, letting in the soft light of the half moon. It’s September. Fall starts in a few days. Two full moons are in cycle this month. Mystic Cove’s 100th annual Harvest Moon Festival will be taking place during the second full moon.

  I stare at the heavenly illumination through dark branches, anticipating the extra energy boost the two full moons will bring. I'm going to need all the strength I can muster to solve what is sure to be an emotional case, and without the help of my aunts.

  First things first: In the morning, I’ll look up any reporting on my mother’s death to see what leads I might follow. Sounds like this quaint coastal town holds even more secrets than I imagined.

  Chapter 3

  The next morning, I’m working from home at The Mystic Cove Mirror, the newspaper that has been passed down in the Wildes family for more than a hundred years. Aunt Willow heads it today, while Aunt Nova runs her own company, The Mystique Boutique, instead.

  I’m sitting in the living room's back alcove that sits behind the gray velvet couch. This was our temporary set-up amidst receiving a 3-day notice from the print shop’s landlord. Thankfully that all got worked out on the third day, so we can go back. But now we have everything here, and it needs to be moved back to the original, historic printing press location on Wildes Road.

  With a wave, a shot of magic exits my pointer finger. My computer powers on with a tone and glow of the screen. Seeing this, Aunt Willow teases, “You know there is a neat little thing called the power button, just behind the monitor.”

  I look up at her with a smile. “I’ve learned so much that my mind is a little overloaded, when it comes to computers.” And who can blame me? I mean, I was just a regular magical house cat several days ago, and now I’m a newspaper reporter. You can call it nepotism all you want, but it’s expected with witches. We not only pass down the family home but the family business. And this business has been in operation for more than one hundred years.

  Google is no help. It pulls up several short and bland news articles. Like they each came straight from the daily wire news release, they're robotically verbatim: who, what, when, where, why, with the barest of facts. Wait a minute… “Aunt Willow, Friday is the anniversary of Raven’s death. It’s landing on the day of the 100th Harvest Moon Festival.”

  “Yes, it is,” she replies without missing a beat. “I used to publish anniversary articles on her death, so her memory would stay alive in Mystic Cove.”

  “Why did you stop?”

  She shrugs. “It’s been more than twenty years now, and I felt like I was mainly writing the articles for Nova and me. We stopped getting condolences. Everyone had moved on in their own busy lives.

  Of course, no one would write a more detailed account, unless they personally knew my mother to care.

  That got me looking over at the green metal filing cabinets lining the other side of the nook. I go search by date until I come up with the article that was written a little over twenty-three years ago, several months before I came down to Mother Earth as a cat familiar.

  Several copies of The Mystic Cove Mirror same print run are filed together. Drawing one out from the folder, my heart is thunking. The front page has a beautiful image of my mother that I’d never seen before. She’s sitting on a rock down in the cove, next to the lighthouse. She’s wearing the Doc Martin’s I found up in her room. Her long black hair ruffles a touch in the breeze. Her face is serious, a keen look to her eyes that haunts me for a moment with an otherworldly feeling, like she’s staring back at me through the photo, knowing the serious responsibility I have taken upon myself to solve this case.

  Opening up the newspaper, I find that the rest of the pages are about Raven. Well, except for the advertisements, one taking up half of the back page for Marnie’s Moon Pies: Experience a psychic trip without being psychic. My grandmother, matriarch of the paper at the time, had dedicated an entire issue to my mother.

  Flipping through the spreads, something drops to the floor. It’s a sympathy card to Nova and Willow from the shop owners down Wildes. Inside, the handwritten messages are heartfelt condolences. As I scan them, my eyes and nose turn moist. I come to one message in particular, one that says, “I warned Raven of danger...” Simply signed, CeeCee.

  CeeCee of the used bookstore down Wildes, Pages Revisited.

  Warned, Danger... I buzz within. Maybe this is what witches mean when they say their fairy godwitch is like a guiding force. Am I sensing inspiration from Annabelle? Or maybe I’m feeling her third glass of wine. Either way, I’m compelled to have a little visit with CeeCee Mahone.

  Prepared with the map of X’s in the back pocket of my slender-fit black jeans, and wearing a pair of my mother’s Doc Martin’s that I took from her room with permission last night, I’m ready to talk with CeeCee.

  CeeCee won’t know my true identity, that I’m Raven’s child. Rumor has it, which I spread myself, is that I came from extended relatives back east to live with Nova and Willow, whom I dearly call aunts.

  Business down Wildes Road is bustling, as shop owners are happily preparing for fall, which starts next week. Already, pumpkins adorn some of the walks and storefronts. My favorites are the warty ones that remind me of fairytale witches. Real life witches don’t usually look so haggard. They look like you and your friends. Regular people. Or they can be strikingly beautiful like Aunt Nova.

  The leaves are starting to pale, and the air feels thicker, like a soft fog blankets Mystic Cove, though none is in sight. My favorite time of year. But whenever outside of my fur, a bit of a chill nips at my arms and goosebumps raise. It’s still so weird.

  I rub my arms, approaching Pages Revisited. The door is littered with various posters of events, some outdated. One advertising The Harvest Moon Festival is front and center, however. Every year, Phoebe Collins, who is Mystic Cove’s top socialite, plans the event. Next week, the sidewalks of Wildes Road will be full of witchy wares and demonstrations. I always look forward to it, as do the tourists.

  The bell at the door chimes as I enter, and the scent of thousands of used books permeates the air. Mingled with that, I can make out the familiar smell of cat food.

  Her ten cats basically live here. As such, there are several cat trees placed in corners, along with a few squeak toys and scratch pads. I can spot three felines curled-up in different places. A fat orange cat is splayed out on a reading table, like he’s claiming his territory. Boris. He lifts his big head and eyes me as I enter. I never did like that dude. He’s a true bully. Sebastian is scared of him. I’m just annoyed by him. He has a crush on me, to say the least. I’m thankful that I’m in disguise. He won’t come tromping over to me, pushing for a
stroll around some bushes. Yuck!

  My eyes return to their search of the witch I’m seeking. The one who warned my mom of danger. A couple of other people are in the shop, standing in an aisle, fervently flipping through books. There are rows and rows, like a library. Where is CeeCee?

  At last, at the back wall, rising above the rows of wooden bookcases, CeeCee’s hefty form appears. She’s not performing a levitation spell. She’s lithely climbing a ladder. Then, stretching on one foot like a ballerina, she reaches far for a book. Instead of a tutu, her hefty rump sports a colorful orange Mumu, patterned in llamas.

  Soon beneath her, I say, “Hi CeeCee.”

  She yelps and drops a book. Thwap! It smacks against the old wood flooring, kicking up dust. A plump hand to her chest, she declares, “Oh, you scared me there, child!”

  She calls lots of young women child, so at twenty-three I’m not taking it personally. It’s just an expression. At forty-two, Aunt Nova would probably die for CeeCee to call her that. CeeCee is in her sixties and has an outspoken personality that people either love or hate, no in-between. She climbs down with several books clamped in her other arm, against her body. “Can you get that for me?” she asks, pointing at the book that’s still on the floor.

  “Of course,” I say, wondering where my manners were. I pass it to her, and she stacks it on top of the rest in her arm.

  “Thanks,” she says huffy. “I’m not as spry as I used to be. My back can’t take bending down like that anymore.”

  “Oh, no, you look very… spry,” I say, awkwardly. “Reaching for those books up there.”

  “Yeah, that takes other muscles. No biggie. Now what can I do for you?” She looks at me through puffy eyes set beneath badly drawn thin eyebrows.

  “I’m with The Mystic Cove Mirror and I’m writing an anniversary piece on the death of Raven Wildes…”

  CeeCee’s expression shifts to further irritation. “Oh, that. I don’t know much about that.”

  I draw the sympathy card out from my back pocket (or something else) and open it up. “That’s okay,” I say. “I’m just going around the shops here, asking about any memories, big or small. I want to make it a unique editorial piece in her honor.”

  “Oh,” the bookstore owner points at me. “That’s right, you’re related to her. You’re the one staying with Nova and Willow. You came to the garden party.”

  “Yes, I am.” Nightshade’s HOA has a biannual garden party, and I was just there with my aunts on Saturday afternoon.

  She steps aside to a trolley and sets the books down atop it. “Listen, I’ve got a lot of work to catch up on today. When we all thought we were getting kicked out of our shops, it completely messed up my system. I was shoving books back wherever there was an open space, because I didn’t think long term. So, I’ll let you go interview other people.” She looks up at me, again the flame of irritation in her eyes. “I don’t want to waste your time, or for you to waste mine, understand?”

  Um, no, CeeCee is not going to just cop her usual attitude to get rid of me that easily. I open the sympathy card and read out loud, “I warned Raven of danger...”

  “Yeah, sounds vaguely familiar. Did I write that? What’s your point?” CeeCee huffs again and then pushes the trolley down the back aisle.

  I follow her and say, “What danger? Do you think her death had to do with something dangerous?”

  The wheels of her cart squeak as she comes to an abrupt stop. “Of course. That child was always taking stupid risks. I don’t mean to be rude.”

  Oh, yes, she does!

  “But that’s just the cold, hard facts. She fell off a frickin’ lighthouse searching for gold.”

  “So that’s the danger you were talking about?” No, there’s something more. She’s hiding something.

  “It’s not the first time someone died because of the greed of prospecting.” She shoves a book into a bookcase.

  I figure I should just be as blunt as she. What can I lose? Not any kind of friendship I’d be seeking from the woman. “You know something more. Her death was not an accident.” My voice vibrates with the next words to escape my mouth. “It was murder.”

  “I never said that. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She shoves another book into the bookcase, this time harder. “I’m busy. Why don’t you just go along now, before I really get rude? Shoo!”

  I’m used to this kind of personality. I liken her to Sebastian, the other cat that lives with me. The one who acts like he rules the world. “Your rudeness is used as a protective cloak, CeeCee Mahone, when there’s something you want to hide.”

  The witch’s jaw drops, wiggling her triple chins. “Who do you think you are? Some clairvoyant or something?”

  “Maybe,” I say. I wouldn’t be the first psychic in town. Might as well play that up for my little interview here.

  “You just ate one of Marney’s Moon Pies, didn’t you?” Her voice lowers and she’s being dead serious, her eyebrows scrunched together in an uneven line.

  Marney is the owner of the bakery next door. Like her advertisement in the newspaper printing from long ago had said, her moon pies give a glimpse into the past or future. You might see yourself clipping your toenails on the couch next Tuesday night. Or you could relive your most embarrassing moment from years ago. On rarer occasions, you can even see things in another’s past or future. It might not be from your own. It all depends.

  As you can imagine, her place is a hot spot in the strip. Tourists love a chance at feeling like they have a magical ability, even for a small moment. Even if they just see themselves clipping their toenails next Tuesday. Their reaction is always one of amazement.

  Some, more cautious people, are too afraid to try the moon pies, because of the randomness of the visions. Some would rather completely shut their door on their past, in fear of one of the many old skeletons popping up to say hello.

  Anyway, back to CeeCee’s accusation. “I may or may not have eaten one of her moon pies,” I say. “I can tell you this, however: I know her death was not an accident. She was murdered. I know that you know that as well, so spill.”

  “You can’t prove a thing. I wasn’t the only one searching for the treasure,” she says, pursing her lips.

  Oh, now I know she was hunting it too. Why would she warn Raven of danger if she herself was daring to look for it too? Less competition.

  “There was also Hal and Marney and Levinia. Lots of other people. Besides, I don’t trust you. You could have eaten a funny mushroom and went on some trip that meant nothing.”

  “I assure you that I didn’t, CeeCee.”

  “Either way, I’m not speaking to you any further on this ridiculous topic. Now, let me be absolutely clear, because I guess I wasn’t the first time. Get. Out. Of. My. Shop.”

  I’ve hit her wall and there’s no way around it now.

  “Fine,” I say.

  “Good riddance!” She literally waves me off with a hand.

  As I start walking away, I hear her heavy footsteps going the opposite direction. I look over my shoulder and spot her entering a back office, Boris the bully pushing his way inside, before she shuts the door. I can overhear a few sparse words. “The new girl... just questioning me… death.”

  You might not have known a cat’s hearing is similar to a dog’s. We’re perfect eavesdroppers because of this. And although I’m not in my cat form, I can still hear better than most due to my mystical shifting abilities. As if I’m on paws, I step as stealthily as possible to the back office to better listen in. Beside the door, I instinctively press my ear against it.

  “Yes, she was just here. I kicked her out. Who does she think she is?” There’s a long pause, and I don’t hear Boris reply. She must be on the phone. “If she is clairvoyant, then I don’t want her around me at all. She will find something out, and then it could be my head on a platter. You know what I’m saying?”

  CeeCee does know something!

  “Hey,” a man says, breaking my
concentration. I turn around and see it’s Detective Julian Pierce, the hottest bachelor in Mystic Cove, and a warlock to boot.

  I cringe because I wonder if he just caught on to the fact that I’m snooping. He must think that’s my only past time. “Hi,” I say quieter than usual, but this is a bookstore, and like libraries, it’s typical to whisper, right? Oh, it’s not? Okay. Double cringe. “How are things down at the department?”

  His black hair is purposely disheveled in a sexy sort of way, framing hazel eyes. “Constant work,” he says. “Not as many quiet moments around Mystic Cove as some would think.”

  My ears pick up CeeCee saying goodbye and then I hear her heavy footsteps coming toward the door. I don’t think. I pinch Julian’s black shirt sleeve and quickly tug him out of the store.

  Chapter 4

  Once outside on the wood plank sidewalk, the detective asks, “What was that about?”

  I drop my head. “Okay, so I didn’t want CeeCee to catch me eavesdropping.”

  “Eavesdropping again?” Hi dark brows raise. “What are you up to now, Chloe?”

  I perk up. “Yes, eavesdropping, but it has to do with a really important cold case.”

  “A cold case? There’s not one murder in Mystic Cove that hasn’t been solved.” As the head detective, I know he feels pride over what he thinks is a fact.

  “That’s what you think!” I point.

  “Then what…?” He doesn’t doubt me as much as he used to. I can see in those dark brown eyes that the splashes of green are sparkling with interest. “Whose murder?”

  “My mom’s,” I blurt at the same time regret seeps in.

  “Your mom from back East?”

  Oh, that’s right. My aunts and I concocted the story that I came from cousins back East. You would do the same if you had no belly button. I might as well be an alien, dropped down from another universe. I’m a cat who was meant to be born a witch, but after Raven’s murder was instead sent down to be Willow’s familiar. Try explaining that one!