Curses & Cupcakes (A Stella Storm Cozy Witch Mystery Book 1)

by Amy Casey

  I turned around expecting Janice, or police.

  Then I saw something else.

  Something different entirely.

  Krissy’s ghost was back.

  She was standing right opposite me. I couldn’t figure out whether she was staring at me or at her own body.

  But then her bright blue eyes met mine and I saw the confusion in them, saw the fear in them.

  “How am… How am I there but…”

  I took a few deep breaths, tried to keep my composure as I walked over towards Krissy’s ghost. Because if there was one thing for sure, it was that I needed to grasp this opportunity with both hands. I was lucky as it was that Krissy’s ghost had returned at all. I needed to find out whatever info I could before her ghost moved on to another plane—for good.

  “Krissy, try to keep it together,” I said, realising how easier-said-than-done that was right away.

  “But my—my body’s there. It’s there but I’m…”

  “You’re dead, Krissy.”

  She glared at me. “Dead? I can’t be. I’m talking to you.”

  Shit. This wasn’t going to be as easy as planned. “No. I mean, yes. Yes you are. But you’re… you’re a ghost now.”

  “A ghost?” I saw nothing but bewilderment on Krissy’s face. “Are you insane?”

  “You’re the one looking at your own body, aren’t you?”

  Damn. I realised that was a bit off as soon as I said it.

  “Look, Krissy,” I said. “I’m sorry about what’s happened to you. But it’s something we need to get to the bottom of.”

  “My dress,” Krissy said, still lost in a trance of confusion. “My favourite dress. That blood. I don’t think it’ll ever wash out.”

  “Krissy—”

  “And my necklace. Where’d my necklace go?”

  I turned around to the body. “Your necklace?”

  “The one my aunt gave me when I was a kid. It’s… I always wear it. It’s gone. It’s completely gone.”

  I wondered whether this was significant in some way. But before I knew it I saw the blue lights in the distance, fast approaching, and I knew I was running out of time.

  “Krissy, I need you to tell me whether you saw anything.”

  Krissy looked on, dazed. Then eventually her head lifted and her eyes met mine. “Saw anything?”

  “Yes. Saw something that led to this. What’s the last thing you remember?”

  Krissy visibly swallowed as the sirens grew louder. I could see her trying to piece things together, trying to get to the bottom of everything.

  “I was… I was walking.”

  “Walking where?”

  “I can’t remember.”

  “Think, Krissy. Think.”

  “I’m trying, okay. Give me a rest, jeez. You just told me I’m dead. Bit of a bombshell to drop on someone.”

  “Sorry,” I said, realising patience was something I could really embrace right now. “This is just really important.”

  I saw her thinking some more.

  But then I noticed something worse.

  Something worse than the blue lights.

  Worse than the doors of the police cars closing.

  Krissy’s glow was fading.

  She was transferring. Transferring to the other side.

  She looked at her arms, clearly not oblivious to what was happening.

  “Krissy, quick,” I said.

  “What’s happening to me?”

  “You’re a good person. You don’t need to worry. I promise. But you need to talk to me. You need to tell me the last thing you remember.”

  Krissy started to fade.

  The blue lights got closer.

  “Krissy!”

  “The dark place,” she said.

  I frowned. “The what?”

  “I remember waking up in the dark place. And then…”

  But Krissy didn’t finish speaking.

  Her ghostly glow disappeared into thin air.

  The police officers approached, led by Detective Inspector Steve Burke.

  “Well, well,” he said, scanning me from head to toe. “If it isn’t Stella Storm. Fancy seeing you here.”

  Chapter 6

  Okay so another two things.

  One, I’m not attracted to DI Steve Burke. So don’t even try and say I am.

  And two, definitely don’t mention anything to Mary about DI Steve Burke, because she’ll be matchmaking the two of us before you can click your fingers.

  The night was dark and cold. I could see my breath frosting in front of me. I felt bad for Rocky, leaving him home with Beatrice all alone, especially with The Witch still paused on the TV screen. He’d be wondering where I’d got to, and he’d be even more excitable when I got back solely because I wasn’t exactly the kind of person who went out at night all that much.

  I’d never been one of those girls, really. I preferred being tucked up with a hot drink and a movie, especially if my pets were near me.

  But right now I was caught in the headlights—literal blue police and ambulance lights—of something that I knew went a whole lot deeper. Something that was worth being awake for.

  The forensics were already on their way. The police had examined the scene. Police tape had been stuck up around the area. Already, people were at their windows, peeking through their curtains. Because this wasn’t the sort of thing that happened in Goosridge. The worst thing that had happened in Goosridge in the last five years was a house fire three years ago where arson was suspected, but it turned out it was just Mad Mike getting a little bit excited with his chemicals and causing a blaze that stemmed from his fireplace.

  Nobody was hurt. And of course, he didn’t admit it right away. He wasn’t called Mad Mike without a reason.

  “So I have to ask, Stella. What exactly were you doing out here at this time?”

  I knew the question was coming. I couldn’t help quivering a little when Steve spoke. He was tall, dark-haired, with just a little stubble. He must’ve been in his mid-thirties, and he looked good for it. The pair of us didn’t exactly know each other all that well. I mean, he popped into Witchy Delights for a coffee—decaf—every once in a while. But to be honest, I kind of froze up when he was around. Which Mary and Annabelle made a damned good point of highlighting in front of me, much to my dismay.

  “I got a call from Janice,” I said, trying to avoid looking Steve in the eye. “Her cat had gone missing.”

  “So she called you at half eleven about a missing cat?”

  “What? Why is that so bad?”

  “I dunno. It just seems a bit weird is all.”

  “Well we live in a weird place,” I said. “If it’s taken you all these years to notice this then you’re not a very good detective, are you?”

  He looked at me with wide eyes, frowned. “You’re awfully defensive for someone at a suspected murder scene.”

  “You saying I’m a suspect?”

  “I’m just saying… This body. This discovery. It isn’t—”

  “It isn’t Goosridge,” I said.

  “Right,” Steve said.

  We stood together in awkward silence for a few seconds. And that silence mostly consisted of me trying to weigh up how I could break what poor Krissy’s ghost had told me about “the dark place” without sounding completely insane.

  “Do her parents know?” I asked.

  Steve frowned. “What?”

  “Her parents. Krissy’s parents. Do they know about her?”

  “Oh,” Steve said, looking flustered by this whole procedure. “Well I guess we… we’re working on it. You don’t have to worry about us. We’ve got it under control. We’re the police, right? We keep people safe.”

  I resisted the urge to bite back at Steve, mostly because I knew his police work didn’t exactly consist of CSI level stuff—and the stuff he had dealt with over the last few years hadn’t been done with the… well, the most professionalism.

  So I tried to keep things as polite a
s I could. “Remember when Doris’ dog went missing?”

  Steve looked shifty. “Is there a point you’re trying to make here, Stella?”

  “I’m just saying. You sent out a manhunt and it turned out he was at the back of the next door neighbour’s garden having it away with a poodle after all.”

  “Again. Is there a point you’re trying to make?”

  “I’m just saying. Don’t you think you should be maybe trying to… I dunno. Seek outside help?”

  Steve glared at me. I saw him blushing. I could tell he was insulted by my insinuation. “And who is the outside help supposed to be? You?”

  I looked down, then. Steve knew about my “intuition.” He didn’t know where it came from of course. A lot of people were curious about just how I knew things and some of the tricks I was able to do—like miraculously getting to appointments early when I was on course to be ten minutes late, things like that.

  And there was something else about Steve. Something I hadn’t quite brought myself to admit.

  I wasn’t sure why, but I hadn’t ever used any magic where he was concerned.

  I looked into his eyes and I wondered what he thought about me. What he really thought about me. And deep down, I felt too afraid to find out.

  “Are you gonna just stand there staring at me all night or are we actually going to get somewhere here?”

  “What?” I said.

  “Your face. You look like you’ve seen a ghost. As they say. Obviously I know you haven’t because ghosts are nonsense and you’re not completely insane. I mean, imagine. Imagine you actually seeing a ghost. I’d probably section you right away and throw you in a looney bin because only loonies—”

  “That’s… insensitive,” I said. “You shouldn’t call people with difficulties ‘loonies’. It’s insensitive and politically incorrect.”

  He shrugged. “But are you okay? Did you see something? Something you’re not telling me about?”

  I opened my mouth to respond but again, I knew just how mad I’d sound, and how much I’d be implicating myself if I said any more.

  “No,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

  Steve sighed. “Stella, I know you have a tendency to… to show curiosity.”

  I frowned. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

  “What it’s supposed to mean is I’ve seen how you are at work. And I’m asking you this as someone who respects you. Stay out of this investigation. Leave us to do our work. Please.”

  I gritted my teeth. There was so much I wanted to say about this rebuff. It was natural, of course. But all I said was: “Who was it that solved the case of the poodle-banger again? After all that manhunting?”

  Steve’s cheeks flushed. “Don’t push your luck, Stella.”

  I wasn’t going to push my luck. I turned around, went to head back home.

  Piers meowed at me as I passed him by, Janice still peeking through her windows.

  I tried to put the murder out of my thoughts. Tried to heed Steve’s advice.

  But I was Nosy Stella. So I’d be damned if I didn’t at least do a little investigating.

  I was only asking a few questions. That’s all I had to do.

  And there was nothing wrong with that, right?

  Chapter 7

  Three hours sleep was never an easy feat.

  Working on three hours sleep was even more difficult.

  Pretending to be cheery and interested in every damned story of every damned customer while working on three hours sleep… yeah. That was a challenge of the ages.

  It was mid-morning and news of Krissy Palmer’s murder had spread across the small town of Goosridge like a wildfire. It was the talk on everyone’s lips—theories were swirling (mostly inane). Sympathies were in full flow (mostly superficial). If I could get a pound for every time someone had said the words “poor girl,” I could afford to quit my job here and go travelling the world.

  Not that I was being selfish. I was crushed by Krissy’s death. It still didn’t feel real, that was for sure. But it was, and I’d stared that death in the face and I wasn’t shaking my curiosity about it, that was for sure.

  Maybe I was nosy. So be it. I felt like I could use my powers for good where this mystery was concerned.

  I just didn’t know where to start.

  “Stella?”

  I jolted awake. Realised I’d been dozing right then, as the smell of coffee hit me with a heavy force.

  Joan was opposite me. Joan was a short, plump woman who had a tendency to chat a hell of a lot. You could say anything to Joan—call her a chatterbox, tell her she was boring—and she wouldn’t even hear you, not really. She was so involved in her own life that I’d be surprised if she’d even acknowledged the fact that someone had been murdered in Goosridge.

  “Sorry,” I said. “Was it another mocha?”

  Joan smiled. “Yeah, yeah. Anyway. As I was saying. Kevin was supposed to be coming with me to the concert on Saturday. But he turns around and says he just isn’t feeling it. Just isn’t feeling it? Can you believe that?”

  “No. I really can’t.”

  “Madness, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah. Madness.”

  “I mean what’s he going to be doing otherwise? Sitting in front of the television? Sipping on cans of beer?”

  “Sounds like bliss,” I said.

  “Yeah. Madness, I know. It’s almost as if he’d rather spend time alone than with me—with his wife.”

  “Remarkable,” I said, as dryly as I could as I handed Joan her mocha. “Truly.”

  “Anyway,” Joan said. “You should take a break. You’re looking tired, Stella, love.”

  “Tired of talking to you.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Just said… just said you’re right. I’m tired.” I forced a smile. “Enjoy your mocha, Joan.”

  I watched her turn away and let my smile drop, let my true colours shine through for just a moment.

  “Hey grumpy,” Annabelle said, after I’d served a few more coffees and cleared up a couple of tables. “How you holding up?”

  I looked around at Annabelle and I could tell from the look on her face that she was smirking at my earlier exchange with Joan.

  “I could do with a nap,” I said.

  “You should. I mean, you found a dead body. That’s bound to take it out of you.”

  I frowned at the frankness with which Annabelle spoke. “Did you know Krissy well?”

  “As well as anyone. Why?”

  “I dunno. I guess you’re just closer to her age.”

  “I can’t say I hung around with her or anything. She’s younger than me.”

  “What was she like at school?”

  “What does school have to do with anything?”

  “Just answer the question please, Annabelle.”

  “Wow. You really are bossy today. But erm. I dunno. Like I say. Didn’t really hang around with her. But she was quiet, I guess. Kept herself out of the spotlight.”

  I nodded. Pretty much as I’d suspected. Krissy was a beyond-ordinary girl who hadn’t upset anyone. So why had she been murdered? Why had her body been dumped in Janice’s junk-site? It must’ve been someone who knew about Janice being a hoarder. Which meant it had to be someone local.

  And the stab marks. The marks all over her. Why?

  The dark place.

  “Anyway,” Annabelle said. “Heads up. Looks like your bestie’s back for round two.”

  I turned around and my stomach sank when I realised what Annabelle was talking about.

  Joan was back—and she had a body full of mocha. Which was never a good thing. If there was one thing that Joan absolutely didn’t need, it was coffee. I’d tried giving her decaf a few times, but amazingly she’d been able to tell the difference.

  It was time for another talk-a-thon.

  “Hello, Joan,” I said, forcing as wide a smile as I could. “What can I get for you?”

  “Oh, nothing else. Nothing else. I just came
to say bye before I went.”

  I paused for a second. “Well. Bye.”

  “Yeah. Bye.”

  She turned. Started to leave.

  Then she did her usual thing of stopping and turning around, something else on her mind. “Oh, awful news about the girl, isn’t it?”

  Wow. She’d actually got onto that discussion topic. And she was actually talking about someone other than herself for a change. “Yeah. It really is.”

  “I knew her family so well. What devastating news it is.”

  Ah, there it is. Joan making Krissy’s murder about herself.

  “Anyway,” she said, walking away. “She was never the same since she met that boy. Bye, Stella.”

  “Yeah,” I said, making another coffee, the whoosh of the machine filling the air. “Bye, Joan.”

  It took a few seconds to click. Maybe it was the tiredness. Maybe Joan had just talked me out.

  But when it did click, I turned around and almost dropped the coffee on the floor.

  “Wait, which boy?” I said.

  But it was too late.

  Joan was already long gone.

  But my curiosity was even more piqued.

  She was never the same since she met that boy…

  Chapter 8

  So sad what happened to Krissy,” Mary said.

  It was afternoon and I was on my break—and boy did I need it. Not just a break from work, not just a kip, but a break from all this talk about Krissy. I felt like I needed some time out to just focus. To try and piece together what I knew. To get my thoughts in order.

  But naturally I was sitting in the staff room with my best friend who wouldn’t bloody shut up about the whole case.

  “Yeah,” I said, trying to keep her from figuring out just how interested in the case I was. “Terrible.”

  “What’s with you?” Mary asked.

  “What’s with me? Someone died. I found their body. That’s what’s with me.”

  “No. There’s something else. I can see it in your eyes.”

  “See it in my eyes? Who the hell are you, Wet Wet Wet?”

  “That’s actually the wrong song. They felt it in their fingers. And their toes, as it were.”

  “Oh, you get the point.”