Witch in the Dell--And 2 New Mini Mysteries

by Cate Dean

  “That is my usual estimate, at highly anticipated sales. When we go back in, we can start with the starred items, and work our way down the list.”

  “Won’t it still be busy?”

  Aunt Irene shook her head. “Only the serious dealers will be left.” She waved to the parking lot.

  More than half the cars were already gone, and more leaving as people finished their picnics and packed up.

  “It’s almost like a system,” Maggie said.

  “In this part of the county, we have fallen into habits, you might say. Now comes the serious bit—fighting over the more valuable items.”

  The gleam in her aunt’s eyes told Maggie that she enjoyed this part of the process. If her negotiation in the shop was any indication, Aunt Irene would be brilliant.

  Maggie was right.

  Not only did they win most of the items they tagged, Aunt Irene got a bulk price for many of them. Maggie watched in awe as her aunt handled the transactions with such finesse, she made everyone involved happy. By the time every piece was loaded up, both the Rover and the trailer were full. At least half a dozen pieces of furniture would be delivered to the shop in the next few days.

  Aunt Irene and Maggie climbed into the Rover, both of them sighing at the same time. Maggie laughed, looking over at her aunt.

  “That was amazing.”

  “I hope I didn’t tire you for your evening with Spencer.”

  “I have time to rest. I wouldn’t have missed this for anything.” She touched her bracelet, again. Every time she looked at it, she found another detail she had missed.

  “You have another diversion for the summer, on your wrist.”

  “I want to find out who owned it, if I can.”

  Aunt Irene pulled the Rover out of the lot and on to the road. “Tiffany & Co. keeps an archive. If they did make that bracelet, there will be a record. They do charge for the search, but I will be happy to cover that. I want to find out more about the bracelet, as well.”

  “Aunt Irene—thank you.” Maggie leaned over and kissed her aunt’s cheek. “I can’t wait to show Spencer. He’s going to want to start researching right away.”

  “You are two of a kind.”

  “Yeah.” Maggie smiled, running her finger over one of the gold leaves.

  They alternated, solid gold with a beautiful cutout leaf, and got smaller as they spread out from the middle leaf. Whoever had owned the bracelet had taken care of it; there were a couple of small scratches on the solid leaves, but everything else was almost as perfect as the day it was made.

  Finally, the excitement of the day caught up with her, and she closed her eyes, letting the cool air from the open window brush her face.

  Her first day here had been more eventful than the last few months at home. She could hardly wait to see what the rest of the summer brought her.

  ***

  Spencer waited for Maggie outside the Bonnie Prince Charlie.

  She started running as soon as she saw him.

  “Mags!” He met her halfway and lifted her off her feet, turning her in a circle. “I missed you, sweetheart.”

  “I missed you, Spence, so much.”

  He gave her a smacking kiss and set her on the ground. “Ready to eat? I’m starved.”

  “You always are.”

  Grinning, he took her hand and they walked into the pub. Maggie braced herself for Walter’s hostile non-greeting, and blinked in surprise when she saw a smiling woman behind the bar.

  “He’s on holiday,” Spencer said, waving at the woman. “That’s his niece, Amelia.” He led Maggie over to the bar. “Amelia, this is Maggie Mulgrew.”

  Amelia set down the glass in her hand and reached across the bar. “A pleasure, Maggie. Spencer hasn’t stopped talking about you. I’m glad you made your way here.”

  “I love this place, even with your uncle glaring at me like I’m a contagious disease.”

  Amelia laughed. “He thinks all Yanks are the same. I know better. Supper is on me, as a welcome back. No argument,” she said, when both Maggie and Spencer started to argue. “I think you are owed at least one meal, for putting up with my uncle. Just order when you’re ready.”

  “Thank you,” Maggie said. She smiled at Amelia before following Spencer over to their usual table. “I want you to tell me everything you did this year, Spence.”

  “I made a list,” he said, winking at her.

  Maggie smiled. “The day you make a list is the day I start to believe in ghosts.”

  She did like her lists; they kept her mind organized, helped her get things out of her head and on paper, and she always felt like she’d accomplished something when she finished everything on a list.

  “You can make lists for me.” Spencer leaned forward, pointing at her. “I promise you, Maggie Mulgrew, one day you will believe in ghosts.”

  “Don’t hold your breath.”

  “You spend any amount of time in your aunt’s house, or the shop, and you’ll run into the ghost.”

  Spencer had mentioned the supposed ghost before. Like every other time, Maggie fought to keep from rolling her eyes.

  “Have you seen this ghost?”

  “Well, no. But she exists, Mags. There’s been more than one sighting, from tourists who swear they’ve seen a woman hovering in a corner of the shop.”

  “Hearsay. That’s going to convince me.”

  “Ask your aunt. I bet she has seen the ghost.”

  “I’ll do that.” Maggie wouldn’t insult her no-nonsense aunt with a question about a ghost. “I thought you were starved.”

  “I am. Let’s go order.”

  Spencer jumped to his feet and headed to the bar. Grabbing one of the menus on the table, Maggie followed him, doing a quick scan as she made her way around the tables—and looked up just before she ran into Patrick Tucker.

  “Mr. Tucker—I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you.”

  He stared at her, his thick glasses emphasizing his brown eyes. After muttering under his breath, he nodded to her and headed to the opposite end of the bar.

  Someday, Maggie would get a complete, coherent sentence out of him.

  “Mags—are you planning to order?”

  “Yeah.”

  She joined Spencer, and picked the first item she saw on the menu.

  “Um, Maggie.” Spencer studied her. “Are you certain about the fire wings?”

  “What? Did I—” She looked down at the menu. Sure enough, her finger pointed to the appetizer she’d tried her third summer here, and swore never to eat again after nearly burning the entire inside of her mouth. “I’ll have the burger, with cheddar, and chips.”

  “Coming right up,” Amelia said. “Good decision, with the wings. I’m surprised my Uncle Walter hasn’t been sued yet over those.” She winked at Maggie and headed back into the kitchen.

  “You all right, Mags?”

  “I ran into Mr. Tucker.”

  “Ah.” Spencer took her hand. “Still trying to get him to talk to you?”

  Maggie glanced at the bar, and saw him at the end, sipping his tea as he read a book.

  “He muttered this time. It’s a step forward.”

  “Maggie—he doesn’t talk to anyone, except his customers, and only when he absolutely has to.”

  “That doesn’t mean he won’t.”

  “Always the optimist. Hey.” He held up her arm, touching the bracelet. “What’s this?”

  “Oh. I found it at the estate sale today.”

  “It’s gorgeous.” He whistled when he checked the maker’s mark. “Tiffany & Co. You made out, finding this. Most families would have passed it down.”

  “Yeah. Aunt Irene’s going to have Tiffany do a search, see if there’s a record of the original owner.” She showed him the tag. “It should be easy to find, with this.”

  “Made in Egypt. That’s not a usual Tiffany thing.”

  “Hopefully, we’ll get some answers. If not, I have a beautiful bracelet, and a story to go with it.”


  Amelia came out with their meals, and they dug in.

  After Spencer devoured half his burger, he set it down. “Did you want to see the latest shop on the high street?”

  “Not tonight. It would be closed by now.”

  “Nope. This was opened by a couple of Yanks, and it stays open until late. I’ve never seen the like, Mags. It has a bit of everything, some of it for less than a pound.”

  She smiled. “Sounds like a discount shop.”

  “That’s it. Everything has slashed prices on it, not that I would pay the original price for some of the items. I’d barely pay the discounted price. Holmesania looks like a fine souvenir shop in comparison.”

  Maggie covered her mouth, stifling a laugh. Holmesania was the tackiest shop in the village. If Spencer was comparing this new place to it, she had to have a look.

  “I’m game.”

  “Excellent!” He picked up his burger. “We can head over after we finish.”

  She nodded, and dug into her own burger. It would be interesting to see what an obviously American shop looked like, next to all the quaint, well established businesses.

  ***

  They headed over to the discount shop, which turned out to be two blocks down from Aunt Irene’s shop. Maggie was surprised her aunt hadn’t mentioned it. She wouldn’t have been pleased by the addition—or the proximity.

  Junky toys and off brand makeup filled the display window, along with the cheap souvenirs she saw all over London.

  “I don’t think I’ll be spending much money here,” she said.

  “Not with your snooty taste.” He winked at her, took her hand, and led her inside.

  The smell assaulted her first.

  Somewhere in the crammed shop there had to be a shelf of perfume oils. Maggie could smell patchouli, lavender, vanilla, and some musky scent. The combination was not appealing.

  “What is that stench?” Spencer whispered, his nostrils flaring. “It’s horrid.”

  “Patchouli.”

  “It smells like underarm.”

  Maggie choked back a laugh, and halted when a tall, thin woman appeared in front of them.

  “Welcome to The Emporium!” She stuck out her hand, waiting until Spencer took it. “So glad to have you. Take a look around—there are baskets for you to fill up, so don’t be shy.”

  “Thanks,” Spencer said, inching past her. “We’re just—looking right now. First time in.”

  “So much to see.” The woman let out a high-pitched laugh. “I couldn’t decide, so I brought a little of all my favorites. Look around. I’ll be up front if you need anything.”

  Spencer let out a sigh after she left. “You’re not at all like that, Mags.”

  “Like what?”

  “Exhausting.”

  She shook her head, and poked him with her elbow. “Be nice. She’s a fellow Yank.”

  They wandered through the shop, and Maggie was overwhelmed by the variety crammed on the shelves, without any rhyme or reason. At the back of the shop she found what they had smelled since they walked in.

  An entire set of shelves was dedicated to perfume oils, essential oils, incense, and highly scented body oils. Patchouli seemed to be the star, one shelf filled with every possible patchouli scented product—and a couple Maggie had never seen before.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Spencer said, waving his hand in front of his nose. “I don’t know how much more of this I can—”

  A figure darted out of the aisle next to them, running smack into Spencer.

  He fought to keep his balance, and Maggie reached for him, letting out a gasp when he lost the battle and fell sideways.

  Right into the shelf of oils.

  Amber bottles tumbled and fell to the floor, breaking on impact. Patchouli burst through the air, strong and stifling.

  “Bloody—hell!” Spencer straightened, holding his nose. “Let’s get out of here—”

  “Thief! Stop them!” The owner’s shrill scream had them running to the front of the shop, in time to see the same figure who knocked into Spencer sprint outside.

  “We’ll get them,” Spencer said, and shoved the door open.

  Maggie let out a sigh and followed him.

  She spotted them heading up the high street, Spencer gaining on the smaller figure. Thankful that she’d worn flats, she ran up the street, catching Spencer when he stopped, grabbing a decorative lamp post as he doubled over, coughing.

  “Spence? Are you okay?”

  “Patch—” A cough interrupted him, but he didn’t have to finish.

  As soon as she got close, she knew why. He reeked of patchouli. The oil must have splashed him when the bottles broke.

  “Let’s get you home, so you can change.”

  “No.” He cleared his throat and pushed off the post. “I want to choke the fool who knocked me into the bloody shelf.”

  “It could have been an accident.”

  “Was shoplifting an accident as well?” He headed for St Mary’s Church, and down the side path that led to the small graveyard. “There he is.”

  Maggie grabbed his arm. “Wait.” From her angle she could see what Spencer didn’t; the teenage boy gently setting a small item in front of a gravestone. “Let’s go talk to him.”

  The boy jumped to his feet as they approached, ready to bolt. “I didn’t mean to—”

  “Don’t leave,” Maggie said, holding up her free hand. “Please.” Now that she was closer, she saw what he had put on the grave. A small, white statue, of a mother holding her child. “Your mum?”

  He swallowed, staring at his feet. “She died just before Christmas.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Maggie let go of Spencer and moved forward. “Why did you take the statue?”

  “Couldn’t afford it.” He wiped at his face with the sleeve of his jacket. “Today’s Mum’s birthday. I couldn’t—I didn’t want it to pass without giving her something.”

  “You have good taste.” Maggie gestured to the statue. “You chose the one nice item in the shop.”

  He peeked up at her, the amusement and grief in his brown eyes threatening to steal her heart. He was younger than she thought, probably not more than thirteen.

  “Not easy,” he said. “That place is crammed with junk.”

  Spencer laughed, and the boy jerked, backing away.

  “It’s okay.” Maggie held out her hand. “We’re not going to turn you in.”

  “Even if you did douse me in the most disgusting stench.”

  “Sorry.” The boy bit his lip, obviously on the verge of laughing.

  Maggie shook her head at Spencer, and turned back to the boy. “What’s your name?”

  “Peter.”

  “Nice to meet you, Peter. I’m Maggie, and this is Spencer.”

  “Maggie Mulgrew?” His eyes widened, and he started to back away. “Your aunt’ll sack my dad if she finds out!”

  “Whoa.” Maggie sprinted forward and caught Peter’s arm. “Who’s your dad?”

  “He delivers furniture for Ms. Mulgrew.”

  “Hamish? Hamish McCain?” The burly Scot always made Maggie smile.

  “He don’t know I’m here, or that I was planning to—” Peter cut himself off, and tried to jerk free.

  Maggie tightened her grip, and he gave up, hunching his shoulders. “He won’t know, I promise. Neither will my aunt.”

  “How? The owner’s going to report it.”

  “No, she won’t.” Maggie had decided as soon as she heard Peter’s story. “Because once the statue is paid for, it won’t be stolen.”

  “I can’t.” He shook his head. “And you can’t, Maggie. We don’t take charity.”

  “Oh, it won’t be charity. You’re going to work for the money, Peter.”

  “You’d—you’d do that?”

  “Your mum shouldn’t go without a birthday gift, and you’ll feel better, knowing you earned the money for it.”

  “Thank you,” he whispered.

  Mag
gie wrapped her arm around him and turned away from Spencer, who was staring at her like she’d lost her mind.

  “I know how important family is. You meet me at The Ash Leaf tomorrow morning, at nine, and we’ll figure out a payment plan.”

  “I will. You got my word on it.”

  “Good. Why don’t you go home? Your dad will be worried about you, and I’m sure he’d be happy to have you with him, since he’s probably missing your mum, too.”

  She rubbed his arm before she let him go.

  “See you tomorrow.” Peter took off, heading through the park behind the church.

  “What are you thinking, Maggie? He stole that—”

  “To give to his mother. He doesn’t deserve to be punished for that, Spencer.” She turned back to him and crossed her arms. “Besides, he’s going to pay me back, with good, honest work. Let’s go and settle his bill, before the owner calls the police.”

  They ran to the shop, where the owner was busy cleaning up the mess in the back. No sign of a constable, yet.

  “Hello?” Maggie made sure the woman heard them.

  “Oh!” She stood, wiping her hands on a cloth that reeked of patchouli. “Did you catch the little thief? I was going to call the police as soon as I finished here.”

  “I think there was a misunderstanding,” Maggie said. “He thought I’d already paid for the statue. He was in a hurry to take it to his mother.” Not a lie, if not the complete truth. “This,” she waved to the half empty shelf, “was an accident. I’ll be happy to pay for any damage that was caused.”

  “No need. I’m afraid I was a little too optimistic about how much I could fit in this space.” She smiled, and held out her hand. “Leann. It’s good to meet another Yank.”

  “Maggie. My aunt owns the consignment shop up the street.”

  “The Ash Leaf?” Leann sighed. “I aspire to such a classy place. I think I need to rethink. I figured a place like Holmestead, in the middle of nowhere, would like a store with variety.”

  “Maybe a little less variety, and more useful items for every day.” Maggie took out her wallet. “How much do I owe you for the statue?”

  “Twenty-five pounds.”

  Maggie handed over the notes, managing not to flinch at the ridiculous price. “Here you go.”

  “And I know you’re covering for the boy, Maggie. I’ll take the money, and let it go, as long as he never comes in here again.”