Witch in the Dell--And 2 New Mini Mysteries

by Cate Dean

  “That’s understandable.”

  His smile widened, and she smiled back at him. In that moment, she knew that she and Spencer had just become friends.

  He grabbed her hand and ran down the middle of the pedestrian high street.

  “Where are we going?” Her voice bounced over the question.

  “My favorite place!”

  He didn’t stop until they reached the bottom of the street.

  Maggie skidded to a halt as soon as she saw the water.

  Photos hadn’t prepared her for just how—expansive it was. Even with the half-moon of the harbour enclosing part of it, the Channel seemed to go on forever.

  Spencer nudged her. “Pretty amazing, isn’t it?”

  “Incredible,” she whispered. Cool wind slapped at her, lifting her wild red hair and throwing it around her face. She grabbed it, and made a mental note to take a ponytail holder next time she wandered outside. “I didn’t expect it to be so—ˮ

  “Awesome?”

  “Yes.” She grinned at him. “Awesome.” Her mother would be vibrating with outrage if she heard Maggie utter that word. It felt almost as amazing as standing here, with her new friend. “Is it always this windy?”

  “Windy?” He grabbed her free hand and pulled her along the raised boardwalk. “This is just a teasing breeze, sweetheart.”

  Maggie blinked at him, startled by the endearment. She’d never had so many thrown at her, so casually, as she had in the last three days. Each one surprised her, but they also warmed her, slowly filling the aching hole in her heart.

  When they reached the end of the boardwalk, Spencer turned her around, and she was awestruck again.

  A castle towered above them, standing on the edge of the cliff, like a bastion against all enemies.

  “Getting fanciful again, Maggie,” she muttered, and pushed away the comment. That was her mother talking.

  “What was that?” She looked over at Spencer, and smiled when she saw his shoulder length hair flying around his face. “What?”

  “I’m not the only one with crazy hair.”

  He laughed, and grabbed the length. “I normally pull it back into a queue, but I didn’t expect to be heading down here. My mum’s fingers twitch every time she looks at it. I keep waking up expecting to find she’s cut it in the night.”

  Maggie let out a shout of laughter—and clapped her hand over her mouth.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean—ˮ

  “To laugh at something funny?” He shook his head, and took her hand. The contact was obviously natural to him, but it was still a revelation to Maggie. “Ms. Mulgrew told me a bit about your parents. Just to warn me, Maggie, not to invade your privacy. She wanted me to have some advance notice, so I didn’t think you were an odd duck.” He grinned, and patted her cheek. “I still think you’re an odd duck. But in a good way.” He winked at her.

  She stared at him, still reeling from the fact that he knew about her, that Aunt Irene had told a stranger about her. But after spending time with her aunt, Maggie understood that it was done with love.

  “Mags?” A hand waved in front of her face, and she jerked back to the present. “You all right in there?”

  “What did you call me?”

  Spencer blinked. “What? Oh—I have a habit of shortening names. I can stop if it bothers you. Or you can call me Spence, I can call you Mags, and we’ll be the best of friends.”

  Maggie had to sit down after that.

  “Hey.” Spencer sat next to her, and draped his arm over her shoulders. “Tell me what’s going on in there.” He gently tapped his finger on the side of her head.

  “A little overwhelmed,” she whispered, staring out at the water. The small waves lapping at the rock beach calmed her, in a way she didn’t expect. “I don’t really have friends back home. My parents don’t like having kids in the penthouse, and they really don’t like me going over to someone else’s house.”

  “First of all—a penthouse?”

  She nodded. “My father’s a doctor, my mother’s a lawyer. They consider it an important visual of their status.”

  “Right. Now for my question—why no kids?”

  She gave him a tiny smile. “They’re afraid I might pick up bad habits. Or germs.”

  He burst out laughing. “I like your humor, Mags.”

  “I’ve always said things like that in my head, not out loud.” His grin encouraged her, and she smiled at him. “It’s good to know I’m not the only one who thinks they’re funny.”

  “You slay me.” He rubbed her shoulder before he freed her and jumped to the beach. “Hey—did you want to go up to the castle?”

  “Can we?” She looked over her shoulder, the thrill of seeing it again racing through her. “I’d love to.” She pulled the mobile out of her pocket. “But I need to let my aunt know first.”

  “What is that?”

  “A mobile phone. Aunt Irene gave it to me, so I won’t be able to say I couldn’t get in touch with her.”

  “Wow.” He ran his fingers along the edge, admiration in his eyes. “My parents would never. Too much temptation.” He winked at her.

  “Let me call her, and then we can go.” She made a quick call, and got her aunt’s blessing, with a deadline for supper. “All good.”

  “Come on.” He helped her off the boardwalk, then took her hand. The easy gesture was starting to feel familiar now. Starting to feel right. “I know a staircase that leads up to the back side of the complex.”

  “Sounds like an adventure.”

  He grinned at her over his shoulder. “If you think that’s an adventure, just wait.”

  ***

  Maggie was floating by the time she and Spencer left the castle, heading back down yet another staircase. She didn’t want the day to end, but her feet started dragging when they hit the bottom of the stairs, and Spencer headed in the direction of her aunt’s house.

  “I need to get home, before Mum decides I ran away, and gives my room to a passing stranger.” He winked at her, and she smiled. She really wanted to meet his mom.

  “Thank you, for the best day of my life.”

  “I thought it was pretty spectacular, myself.”

  Maggie never thought she’d find someone her age who spoke like an adult. Foolish, childish talk had been drilled out of her at a young age, but she knew, from attending school, that the way she talked wasn’t normal for a ten year old. Her budding, tentative friendship with Spencer gave her hope that she wasn’t a freak.

  “Here we are,” he said. They stood at the end of the driveway. “I’d walk you up, Mags, but I have to be honest. Your aunt terrifies me a bit.”

  She laughed, and squeezed his hand. “I get that. She terrified me, when I first arrived. But she won’t bite, I promise.”

  “Maybe next time.” He kissed her cheek and headed down the sidewalk, walking backward. “See you tomorrow!”

  Before she could answer, he took off.

  “Wow,” she whispered.

  “Spencer is a bundle of energy.” Aunt Irene’s voice startled Maggie. She turned to find her aunt standing behind her, watching Spencer. She turned her gaze to Maggie. “Did you have a good day with him?”

  “The best!” Impulsively, Maggie rushed forward and wrapped her arms around Aunt Irene’s waist. “Thank you for introducing us. And for telling him about my—quirks.”

  Aunt Irene chuckled. “Told you about that, did he?” She ran her hand down Maggie’s unruly hair, then eased back. “Why don’t we go inside and comb out some of those tangles? Then I can show you a few ways to wear it in this constant wind.”

  “I’d like that.” She took Aunt Irene’s hand, and walked with her up the long driveway. “Aunt Irene?”

  “Yes, my dear?”

  “Is it wrong to wish I could stay here with you?”

  “My dear Maggie.” Aunt Irene stopped at the bottom of the porch, and cradled Maggie’s cheek. “I would love nothing more. And no, it’s not wrong. As much as I love yo
ur mother, she was not meant to be a mother. I fear you will suffer for that lack. But remember this; no matter what, you are always welcome here. Always.”

  “Okay.” Maggie couldn’t say anymore, since she was too busy fighting the need to burst into tears.

  As if Aunt Irene knew, she didn’t say anything else. She just led Maggie into the house, and up to her spacious bedroom, settling her at a small vanity that faced a gorgeous mirror.

  “Wow,” she whispered. “Where did you find this?”

  “At an estate sale. I spend most of my weekends traveling to sales, whether they be boot sales, estate sales, or charity sales. You never know what treasure you might find in the midst of the jumble.” She winked at Maggie in the mirror, holding up a wide tooth comb. “Hold still for me.”

  Maggie braced herself for pain, but Aunt Irene had a gentle touch with the comb. She carefully, patiently combed Maggie’s hair, until it stood out around her head. Maggie burst out laughing.

  Aunt Irene smiled. “It’s good to have a sense of humor about your hair. You will never be able to control it, not completely.”

  “I’ve tried, and it always wins.”

  “Let’s wet it down a bit, then I will show you a simple, fast updo.”

  “Okay.”

  Aunt Irene headed into the bathroom, returning with a spray bottle. “This is filtered water, with some rose water. It will help a bit with the frizz, and also leave your hair smelling nice.” She sprayed Maggie’s hair until it started to calm down. “Now, watch closely. I’ll have you repeat the steps.”

  With a few quick, expert twists, Aunt Irene had her hair up in a soft bun. It didn’t look too grown up, or like she was trying to look grown up. No—it looked like her, and she loved it.

  “Okay. I think I can do that.”

  “We will go through each step until you have it down, then try another style.”

  Maggie fumbled her way through the first time, ending up with a lopsided bun that started to fall out as soon as she let go. She laughed, took it down, and tried again. By the fifth attempt, she was becoming faster, and the sixth time was the charm. She stared at her reflection, at the messy/neat bun.

  “Wow,” she whispered.

  “What do you think?”

  “I love it.” She met Aunt Irene’s eyes in the mirror. “Thank you.”

  “We wild redheads have to look out for each other.” She smiled, and took out the bun. “Ready for another one?”

  “Yes, please!”

  They spent the next hour trying new hairstyles, and by the end of it, Maggie felt like she could have control over her hair, instead of just dealing with it.

  She yawned—again—and Aunt Irene patted her shoulder.

  “Time for supper and your bed, my dear girl.”

  “But I’m not—ˮ A jaw-cracking yawn interrupted her, and she smiled. “I guess I am.”

  “I should have warned you that young Spencer is a force.”

  “I really like him, Aunt Irene.” She felt heat rush to her cheeks, but she refused to be embarrassed.

  “I had an idea that you would take to each other. He is too smart for his own good. As are you,” she said, and leaned down to kiss the top of Maggie’s head. “Now, head down to the kitchen. I’ve had chicken stew on all day, and it should be ready by now.”

  “With dumplings?” Maggie had a bowl her first night here, and thought she’d died and gone to heaven.

  “No other way to make it.” With a wink, Aunt Irene stepped back. “Go on, and pour yourself something to drink. I will be right down to serve us both a huge bowl.”

  “Okay.” Maggie stood, and wrapped her arms around her aunt’s waist. “Thank you,” she whispered. “This was so much fun.”

  “You are too easy to please, child.” But Aunt Irene returned the hug, squeezing Maggie before she let go. “I will see you downstairs.”

  Maggie sprinted out of the bedroom and down the stairs, not stopping until she reached the big kitchen. She’d loved it at first sight, with the long marble counters, the butcher block island, and the scarred, beautiful farmhouse table with mismatched chairs. It was how she had always pictured a kitchen where people would sit, eat, and laugh together.

  She wasn’t allowed in the kitchen at home, only the formal dining room, which felt like eating in a fancy restaurant, every meal.

  “Stop it,” she whispered. “You have this to look forward to, every summer.” And any other time she could talk her parents into letting her come here.

  She had felt more at home by the end of her first day than she had in five years of living in her parents’ penthouse apartment. And she had all summer to cherish it, and make memories that would carry her until her next visit.

  Aunt Irene’s footsteps echoed down the hall, and Maggie wiped her eyes, moving to the fridge to pour herself a glass of lemonade.

  Tears wouldn’t be part of her time here.

  ***

  Spencer showed up the next morning, while Maggie was still in her room, trying out one of the new hairstyles Aunt Irene had taught her.

  She was already dressed, so she pulled her hair into a ponytail and ran downstairs. He stood in the living room—no, the lounge, Aunt Irene called it.

  “Hey, Spence.”

  “Mags. I hope I’m not too early.” He flashed her his wide grin, and she returned it.

  “Not at all.”

  “Maggie.” Aunt Irene headed down the stairs, dressed to go out. “I will be gone most of the day, at the estate sales I told you about last night.”

  “Okay.”

  She had nearly begged to go with her aunt, but it hadn’t worked. Aunt Irene did promise to start taking her when she was old enough to recognize a find. Until then, Aunt Irene would help her learn more about antiques, and how to tell the real deal from a reproduction, or outright fake.

  Maggie could hardly wait.

  Aunt Irene stopped long enough to kiss the top of her head. “Have an adventure today, all right?”

  “I will.”

  She watched her aunt leave, so happy she was afraid that all of this was a dream and she’d wake up any second, staring at her bedroom ceiling.

  Spencer tapped her on the shoulder. “Earth to Maggie. You still here?”

  “Yeah.” She smiled at him. “What are we doing today?”

  He wiggled his eyebrows. “Hunting for ghosts.”

  “Spencer—I don’t believe in ghosts.”

  “What?” He stared at her like she just told him she had the plague. “How can you not believe in ghosts, when you live with one?”

  It was her turn to stare. “What are you talking about?”

  “Oh.” He crossed his arms. “Your aunt didn’t tell you.”

  “Stop dragging it out and spill.”

  He headed for the front door. “Let’s walk while I tell you. I don’t want her to show up while I’m talking about her.” He actually shuddered, and it took all of Maggie’s control not to roll her eyes. “Trust me, by the time I finish, you will believe.”

  “I seriously doubt that. But you can try.” She smiled at him when he glanced over his shoulder.

  “Amateur,” he muttered, and jumped off the porch.

  “So, where exactly are we going?”

  “There’s an old graveyard on the cliffs. I swear to you, Mags, it has to be haunted. I feel like I’m being watched every time I go there.”

  “Why do you keep going back?”

  He stopped, turning to her. “To find the ghost, of course. Silly girl.” Shaking his head, he started walking again. “Why do I go back there—what a ridiculous question.”

  Maggie laughed and caught up with him. She already got his humor, and knew he was playing with her.

  “Tell me more about this ghost,” she said.

  “All right.” They walked up the steep street, and she forgot about her burning thighs as he talked. “There used to be a grand mansion on the cliffs—a great pile, my dad called it, owned by a wealthy family. The Ca
merons. One night, screams echoed all the way down to the village. Horrible screams. When the villagers went to investigate, they found Mrs. Cameron, huddled on the path leading to the graveyard. Beyond her, the mansion was in flames.”

  Maggie had one hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. “What happened?”

  “No one could ever get that out of her. The mansion burned to the ground, and the local constables found the remains of Mr. Cameron in the rubble. She died a few days later.” Spencer’s voice lowered to a whisper. “Locals think she walked into the sea, because she was found one morning on the beach, soaking wet, and dead.”

  “How awful.”

  “On some nights, her screams can be heard echoing over the cliffs.”

  “Are you sure it’s not the wind?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “I’ve heard them, Mags, and they weren’t the wind. You may be a non-believer now, but stay around here long enough, and you’ll change your mind.”

  “I doubt that.” She shrugged when he glanced at her. “But you can always try to change my mind.”

  “Challenge accepted.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her up past the last house. “Come on!”

  She stumbled, trying to keep up with him as they ran across a field of grass and wildflowers. Only his tight grip on her hand kept her upright. He finally slowed, and she saw the reason why; crooked gravestones appeared, more than she’d expected for what she figured was a family graveyard.

  Spencer halted next to the rusted fence surrounding the gravestones.

  “Ready to start believing?” he whispered.

  A shiver ran down her back. “Ready,” she whispered back.

  Still holding hands, they walked through the open gate. Wind whipped around them, and Maggie stumbled when a gust shoved at her.

  Spencer caught her. “All right?”

  “Just the wind.”

  “Or was it?”

  She shook her head, and they kept moving.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Mrs. Cameron’s grave. It’s the one with the marble angel, over...” His voice faded, and he let go of Maggie’s hand, sprinting toward the grave.

  Maggie followed him, stumbling on the uneven ground. She almost ran into him when she skidded around a tall statue. He knelt on the ground, leaning over—