Witch on Third (A Jinx Hamilton Mystery Book 6)

by Juliette Harper

  But it wasn’t just the cessation of the rocking and poking that made Glory feel better. She instantly felt Rodney’s paw give her three taps from the other side of the canvas — their pre-agreed signal that all was well. Glory had genuinely feared for her rodent friend’s safety inside the bag.

  Little did Glory know that Rodney had made the trip from the shop to the house inside Mindy’s purse. Pleased with himself that he’d found a cushioning wad of tissues and a leftover corner of a granola bar for a snack, the rat thought everything about Operation Stowaway was going great — until he stepped in an open tube of lipstick at the bottom of the handbag.

  Not wanting to leave magenta tracks all over the interior, Rodney was forced to stand in the makeup until his right hind leg was purple up to the first joint. Snagging one of the tissues and balancing precariously on the other leg, he scrubbed furiously at his stained fur. Then, wanting to hide any evidence of the mishap, he shredded the tissue and piled the remains on top of the offending lipstick.

  Just then, Mindy put the tote down with a thud and Rodney happily climbed out of the purse and up the spine of the book to signal Glory that he was okay. Stained, but okay. Then he cautiously peeked over the top of the bag, only to duck down quickly when Mindy came out of the kitchen followed by two young men.

  “I’m telling you it’s better than the baseball video that’s already on YouTube,” one of the boys said. “I’ve actually identified the ghost.”

  “Geez, Nick,” Mindy said excitedly. “Would you quit talking about it and just show us what you got?”

  “I was so busy working with the video I forgot to plug my laptop in,” he said. “The battery’s dead.”

  “No problem,” Kyle said, taking out his computer. “Where’s the file?”

  “It’s already on the YouTube channel. I was just waiting for you guys to see it before I hit publish.”

  Kyle clicked a few keys, and then all three young people crowded around the screen. From his vantage point, Rodney could see the picture in the gap just under Mindy’s elbow. The night vision picture showed an image of a baseball field.

  “When did you shoot this?” Mindy asked.

  “A little bit before dawn this morning,” Nick said. “I couldn’t sleep, and I wanted to scout out the baseball field. I never dreamed I’d get any evidence at that time of day, and then I had to get to the grocery store early to help George with a delivery, so I didn’t have a chance to process the footage until I got off work.”

  As they all watched, the lone figure of a man slowly materialized at home plate. He wore an old-fashioned baseball cap, which he slowly removed before raising his hand and rubbing his face. As he turned to look into the camera, the screen froze and split. The ghostly image on the right sat next to a black-and-white photograph of what appeared to be the same man.

  “Oh. My. Gawd!” Mindy breathed. “Who is he and how did you find that picture?”

  “I just got lucky,” Nick admitted. “Since he’s in uniform, I thought maybe he got killed while he was playing. There’s a list on Wikipedia of baseball players who more or less died in action. I just started clicking through looking at photos.”

  “So who is . . . er. . . was he?” Kyle asked.

  “His name is John Lewis Dodge,” Nick replied. “He was playing for the Mobile Sea Gulls in the Southern Association League when he was hit in the face by a baseball. Dodge was just 27 years old. Talk about a lousy break.”

  Kyle leaned closer to the screen to study the two images. “So Dodge just played in the minors?” he asked.

  “Nope,” Nick said, “he played two seasons in the majors, then went back to the minors in 1913.”

  Mindy pushed Kyle aside to get a closer look for herself. “I don’t get it,” she said, squinting at the screen. “If this guy played for an Alabama team, what’s his ghost doing in Briar Hollow?”

  “Beats me,” Nick said, “unless the other baseball spirits are attracting additional ghosts.”

  “Aw, come on,” Kyle said. “If we haunt it they will come? There’s zero precedent for that.”

  “Which,” Nick beamed, “is the beauty of it. This is the perfect way to launch our paranormal series — with something no one has ever seen.”

  “Or will believe,” Kyle pointed out.

  To Nick’s consternation, Mindy agreed. “Yeah,” she said. “And, well, doesn’t this look kind of lame up beside the other video? That guy got two whole ghost teams playing an actual game. This is just a lone ghost with a sore face.”

  Her comment elicited a howl of protest from Nick, and the three of them launched into a vigorous debate about the merits of the video. The distraction gave Rodney the opportunity he needed to jump down from the bag. He paused just long enough to give Glory a questioning thumbs up. Even though she was plastered flat on the side of the tote, Glory answered with the same gesture.

  Then Rodney dove under the skirt of the easy chair whose bulk was holding the tote upright and continued to listen as the trio of ghost hunters argued. After several minutes, Nick grudgingly agreed not to publish the video in favor of staking out the ballfield as much as possible over the next few nights to try to capture more footage.

  “So does this mean we’re not going to look for Mayor McAlpin’s ghost?” Kyle asked, closing the lid of his laptop.

  “I think we put him on the backburner for now,” Nick said. “George and Irma told me a little bit about the courthouse haunting, and I gotta say, if the ghost is McAlpin, he’s not very good at his job. Most of the time people only see the bottom half of him. When he first showed up, he was just a disembodied pair of shoes.”

  Mindy looked confused. “How could anyone look at a pair of ghost shoes and know who was wearing them?” she asked.

  “Get this,” Nick grinned. “McAlpin had issues about being short. He had his shoes built up. That’s how they know the ghost is him.”

  “Oh my God,” Mindy giggled. “A Hushpuppy haunt!”

  “If McAlpin is this lame in the afterlife, he must have been some piece of work when he had a pulse,” Kyle said. Then, struck with sudden inspiration, he said, “Come on guys, that’s enough work for one night. Let’s throw a pizza in the oven and watch some Big Bang Theory.”

  Two supreme pizzas and six episodes later, only soft snores and the occasional burp could be heard from the couch and recliner. Rodney stuck his head out and then surreptitiously tiptoed farther into the room. When he verified that all three of the humans were sound asleep, he signaled Glory, who peeled herself off the tote, breathing deeply to re-inflate herself.

  When she was three dimensional again, she gestured toward the front door, and Rodney nodded vigorously.

  Looking around uncertainly, Glory whispered, “Darby?”

  Instantly the brownie appeared beside her. Glory pointed again toward the door, and Darby nodded. Climbing astride her broom, she made room for Rodney to ride behind her, then slowly elevated them to eye level with Darby as they advanced toward the front door.

  When Darby reached for the knob, Glory made ready to slip through the opening, instantly throwing her broom into high gear when a six-inch gap appeared. At the last second, however, she realized the screen door was still closed. Pulling back sharply, she threw herself into a backward loop. Rodney held on for dear life, but lost his grip and went flying through the air and straight into Darby’s outstretched hand.

  Righting herself, Glory shrugged and mouthed the word, “Sorry!” indicating that Rodney could get back on the broom.

  Wide-eyed and indignant, Rodney shook his head and scampered up to Darby’s shoulder where he planted himself with a firm grip on the collar of the brownie’s shirt.

  Glory shot him an irritated glare and formed the word “chicken” with her lips.

  In response, Rodney stuck his tongue out and stayed where he was.

  Darby quietly pushed the front door open another few inches and unlocked the screen. Once they were outside, he moved to close the door but f
roze when he heard Mindy’s voice. “Which one of you losers left the front door open?” she demanded sleepily. “You trying to get us murdered in our sleep?”

  Without waiting for her accomplices, Glory zoomed across the yard and out of sight. Darby blipped into invisibility and took Rodney with him. A block from the house, Glory slowed down, hovering just out of the glow of a street lamp.

  “Darby! Rodney! You guys okay?” she hissed.

  A disembodied voice to her left said, “We are fine, Mistress Glory. May we please go home now?”

  Ducking to dodge a moth, Glory said, “Absolutely. Wait until we tell the others what we found out. They’re never going to doubt us again!”

  “You went where?” I spluttered. “What were the three of you thinking? What if someone saw you, or worse yet what if something ate you?”

  Drawing himself up to his full three-feet, Darby said, “Mistress, if I may be so bold, I survived for centuries in the cemetery guarding Knasgowa’s grave.”

  “In an alternate dimension, hidden from the world, where nothing could hurt you,” I shot back. “Not the same thing at all, Darby. Not. Even. Close.”

  That got me nothing but a pouting and slightly defiant brownie.

  “And you!” I said, turning to Rodney. “You are supposed to be the responsible one here. How could you let them talk you into this?”

  Without hesitation, the rat pointed at Glory, tossing her straight under the wheels of the bus.

  “Glory,” I said, “this caper was your idea?”

  Crossing her arms defensively, Glory said, “It wasn’t a caper. It was a covert operation to gain information about Mindy and the other ghost hunters. We heard you talking about the need to keep an eye on them and decided to help. You never let us do anything.”

  That rendered me temporarily speechless. “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “Just because we’re little, you think we can’t be part of the team and fight evil and all that stuff,” Glory said, warming to the topic. “We decided to prove you wrong. So there.”

  The fact that Mom, Gemma, and Tori were all doing their best not to bust out laughing was not helping move this conversation along in the slightest.

  “How, exactly, have you proved me wrong?” I asked.

  Shifting her hands to her hips, Glory proceeded to tell us everything they had seen and heard in the Pike house. When she was done, I sat down heavily on the couch. Rodney, who was sitting on the arm, reached over and patted me consolingly. That’s when I noticed his hind leg was purple.

  “Do I even want to know what happened with that?” I asked, pointing at his leg.

  He shook his head.

  “Yeah,” I said. “That’s what I thought. So, on top of everything else, we have another ghost video to deal with. Perfect. Just perfect.”

  Tori cleared her throat. “Uh, Jinksy, Beau and I are really the ones who got this ghostly baseball thing started in the first place. Why don’t you let us check this Dodge guy out and see if we can make this all go away?”

  “Good idea,” I said. “Away as in far away. Far, far, away.”

  “No problemo,” she assured me. “We’re on the case.”

  Before I could tell her that didn’t really make me feel better, Barnaby and Moira showed up, and we were suddenly wading in a veritable sea of “problemos.”

  17

  When Barnaby and Moira arrived in the lair, I excused myself to go upstairs and get Dad and Beau. They had been manning the shop since we sent Mindy home at 5 o’clock. We had no customers, and the square appeared to be deserted. I turned the “Closed” sign around, switched off the lights, and sent Chase a text saying he and Festus should join us.

  By the time I went back downstairs, Festus, who was usually full of jovial wisecracks, appeared around the corner from the passageway. He walked silently through the seating area and assumed his favorite spot on the hearth with his back to the room.

  Chase came in and greeted everyone. As he passed me, I asked in a low voice, “What’s up with the old man?”

  “Beats me,” he said. “He was fine this morning, but his mood has gotten worse and worse all day. Probably just a hairball. It’ll come up sooner or later.”

  Since I wasn’t keen to talk about the regurgitation habits of werecats, I changed the subject. “Where are Greer and Lucas?” I asked in a regular tone of voice.

  “Here,” Greer answered, stepping out of the stacks followed by Lucas. Both carried armloads of leather-bound volumes. When they dropped the books on the work table, the force of the landing raised a cloud of dust around the weighty tomes.

  Curious, Beau lifted the top book and read from the spine, “A History of the Second Crusade as told to Fr. Gilbert by a Knight of the Templar Cross.” He opened the cover almost reverently. “My heavens,” he said, “this is an illuminated manuscript.”

  Barnaby moved to stand beside him. “You cannot imagine the hours monastics like this man labored in the medieval scriptorium to produce such manuscripts. During both Reformations, human and Fae, zealots threatened the destruction of works such as this for perceived heresies. We salvaged what we could, safeguarding the manuscripts here and in other repositories around the world.”

  “A work of intellectual heroism,” Beau said, cradling the book in his hands. “This is simply magnificent.”

  “You have an interest in such things, Colonel Longworth?” Barnaby asked.

  “I do, sir,” he said. “One fueled by both my current circumstances and as a matter of personal curiosity.”

  “Then you must come to Shevington and spend time with me in my private library,” Barnaby said. “We can discover what common interests we might share.”

  “It would be my honor, sir,” Beau said, carefully replacing the volume, “but I fear we bibliophiles are forcing our companions to wait for an explanation of your presence here this evening.”

  Barnaby looked around as if he’d forgotten the rest of us were in the room. “My apologies,” he said, bowing slightly, “an addiction to research is my greatest failing. Let us begin.”

  When we were all seated around the fire, I said, “So I guess the two of you are here because of what Festus and Chase found in Raleigh.”

  “Yes,” Barnaby said, “the scans from the RABIES collar confirmed everything Greer and Lucas had already surmised about the specific focus of the inventory Irenaeus Chesterfield amassed over the past few years. The artifacts we saw all relate to time and navigation.”

  We all exchanged puzzled looks. The Lord High Mayor and the resident alchemist came all the way to Briar Hollow to give us confirmation of what we already knew?

  Before I could say anything, Festus broke his silence. “That’s it?” he asked sarcastically. “What about that fancy rowan necklace thing Chesterfield was trying to buy? You have some slick explanation for that?”

  The nasty, accusatory tone of the words wasn’t lost on us, but I think everyone was too shocked to say anything.

  Barnaby shifted in his chair. “I’m afraid,” he said, “that is a rather more complicated story.”

  “Aren’t all of your stories complicated?” the old cat said sharply. “Run it past us. I think we’re bright enough to keep up.”

  Chase winced. “Dad,” he said, “show a little respect.”

  “Oh, I’m plenty respectful, boy,” Festus said, “but I’ve also been doing me some thinking, and I don’t like what I’ve come up with. Two amulets made of amber both associated with particular trees, one of which is sitting in the dead center of Shevington? I’m thinking that’s not a coincidence and I’m thinking his Lordship the Mayor here knows all about it.”

  I’ll give Barnaby credit. He didn’t flinch.

  “Your thoughts are correct,” he said gravely.

  “Oh,” Festus said, “I’m not done. In fact, I’m just getting warmed up. When the Amulet of the Phoenix surfaced, you acted like it was nothing more than a magical trinket Chesterfield just happened to get his pa
ws on, but wasn’t exactly the truth, was it?”

  No one said a word or even dared move as the yellow cat and Barnaby Shevington stared at one another.

  “No,” Barnaby said softly, “that was a lie. The Amulet of the Phoenix is no mere trinket. Although its story has receded into our mythology over the past several hundred years, it is one of the great artifacts of Fae culture. The fact that it was in Chesterfield’s possession is not insignificant.”

  Without blinking, Festus said, “Who had the amulet before him?”

  “My late wife, Adeline,” Barnaby replied. “Until the Amulet was taken from Brenna Sinclair, I had not seen it since my wife’s murderer ripped it from her neck on the 6th day of April, 1580. Darby recognized it instantly when it was seized from Brenna because he was in service to my daughter, Knasgowa. I dreamed of returning the amulet to her as she also guarded the Mother Oak. We were never able to locate it during her lifetime.”

  My mother looked at Barnaby with something akin to awe. “Knasgowa was your daughter?” she said. “But that means you’re our . . . ”

  “Grandfather,” Barnaby said, “though many times removed now.”

  “That’s all warm and fuzzy, Gramps,” Festus said, “but let’s get back to business here, shall we?”

  The tension in the room ratcheted up like a race car going from zero to sixty. Festus clearly had no intention of stopping what amounted to his interrogation of Barnaby. All the rest of us could do was sit there and watch.

  “As you wish,” Barnaby said. “Pray continue.”

  “Did it occur to you that Chesterfield might be the wizard who killed your wife?” Festus asked.

  “It did occur to me,” Barnaby replied, “but I could not face the idea that . . . that . . . my own brother killed Adeline.”

  Anger filled the amber eyes that remained locked on Barnaby. “Now we’re getting down to it,” Festus purred. The sound was low and menacing. “Just so we’re sure everybody is on the same page here. While the rest of us have been fighting and bleeding to protect the Fae world from discovery, you chose to protect your sorry brother instead. Do I need to remind you that my wife died rather than betray our kind, Barnaby? If that’s even your name.”