Witch Way Round (Witch of Mintwood Book 6)

by Addison Creek

  “Maybe next time we go on a field trip and a case turns up, I’ll go home and get Tank,” I muttered as we left the room.

  “That’s a good idea, except then Paws will stay out all night intentionally because he doesn’t want to deal with the rabbit,” Charlie pointed out.

  “True enough,” I said, feeling queasy.

  Though I didn’t want to let on as much to Charlie, the more I thought about it the more I was sure that something had happened to Paws. I tried not to let panic overtake me.

  “Let’s go to the basement,” said Charlie.

  We didn’t have any trouble finding the stairs again. The halls were quiet. Everyone was partied out from the night before.

  I glanced out a window as we walked, but I didn’t see anyone bustling around outside yet. Inspector Smith had told us we had to stay until Sunday, and I was expecting him to make a statement at breakfast, after which people would be allowed to leave. With no more suspects after Simon Simone’s alibi had held, the police really couldn’t keep a resort full of people confined indefinitely.

  In other words, the culprit was likely to get away today unless we did something about it. Away from the Club, at least, if not away from possible discovery.

  I could only hope.

  “This way,” said Charlie, pushing open the door to the lower levels of the Country Club.

  The stairwell was colder than the first floor hallway had been—maybe even too cold.

  “Do you think Ellie got to him?” Charlie whispered as we crept down the stairs.

  “It’s possible,” I replied. “But what could she want with Paws?”

  “He knows a little more than he lets on,” said Charlie.

  “Given how little he lets on, I have a feeling he knows a lot more,” I muttered.

  Charlie grinned but kept quiet.

  I pushed the door open when we reached the bottom of the stairs, and saw . . . darkness.

  Unlike when we’d snuck down there to listen in on Inspector Smith’s interrogations, the whole basement level was dark. The only illumination came from the red exit sign and a bit of light filtering through from the windows in the rooms off the hallway, some of which had doors with thick glass panes.

  I blinked several times, letting my eyes adjust to the shadows.

  “Why are the lights off?” Charlie whispered.

  “No idea, but I don’t like it,” I said.

  We made our way down the hall as carefully as we could. Every door we passed was closed, and at each one Charlie would press her ear up against it and listen.

  “I don’t hear anything,” she’d whisper, then we’d move on to the next door.

  It didn’t take us long to make our way down the entire hall. At the end we turned left and were met with another darkened corridor.

  “This is taking forever. Who knows what’s happening to poor Paws while we spend forever looking for him,” I said.

  “Just remember, he can take care of himself,” said Charlie. “I’m sure he’s fine even if he does need rescuing.”

  “Right,” I muttered. Like that made sense.

  We hadn’t made it three steps down the second hallway when I heard a yell. Charlie and I both raced forward, determined to save Paws.

  “Where’d it come from?” I asked in a panic. I threw open the nearest door, behind which were a bunch of folding chairs but no mouthy ghost cats.

  “Over here,” said Charlie, reacting to a second yell.

  “That sounds like Paws,” I gasped, dashing forward and shoving the nearest door open.

  What met my eyes wasn’t really that shocking, given who Paws was.

  The ghost of a man about the same age as Mason was trying to throttle Paws.

  No offense to the cat, but I could see how he could push a ghost to violence.

  “What?” demanded the sixty-something man when he saw our shocked faces. “It’s not as if I can hurt him.”

  “He has a point,” said Charlie.

  “Can you please get him to take his fingers from around my throat?” Paws wheezed.

  I pulled my wand out and the man’s eyes widened.

  “No need to get testy,” he said, releasing his captive. He set the cat on a table and Paws quickly scurried over to me. From behind my shoulder he got a lot braver.

  “You coward! You had me and you let me go! What kind of freedom fighter are you!”

  “What’s your name?” I asked the ghost.

  “McCormick,” he said. “I used to work here.”

  There was something very familiar about the man standing in front of us, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

  He wasn’t the person I had expected to see, but he wasn’t reminding me of the person I’d expected him to remind me of either.

  “Freddie,” Charlie whispered. “I bet that’s his dad.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Who are you?” the man snarled. “How is it that all of you can see me when my own son can’t?”

  “I’m the Witch of Mintwood, and these are my colleagues,” I said, introducing Paws and then Charlie.

  Paws came staggering over to me, his tail waving dramatically.

  “I really thought I was a goner. You must have moved more quickly than usual, because I never thought you’d reach me in time,” he said hoarsely.

  “You’re welcome,” I told him.

  “You’re a witch?” the ghost asked, looking confused.

  “Yes, I’m a guest for the weekend here at the Club. Now, why you were trying to hurt Paws?” I demanded.

  “He was asking questions about the murder,” said McCormick.

  “Is that a crime?” I asked.

  “No, but I still thought I’d take care of it,” he said. “Protect my boy.”

  “Freddie?” Charlie clarified.

  “Yes, we look so much alike, there’s no sense denying it,” he said. “I know he’s going to get in trouble for the murder. He shouldn’t have done it.”

  “So Freddie did do it?” I asked.

  The ghost didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. We knew Freddie was guilty.

  “It was an accident,” he finally admitted.

  “What about trying to choke my cat?” I said.

  “You tell ‘em,” said Paws.

  “I did that so he wouldn’t tell my secret,” said McCormick, hanging his head.

  He looked up at Paws. “I’m sorry. I know you’re just a sweet, innocent cat. I never should have tried to hurt you.”

  “The last part is certainly true,” said Charlie.

  “What secrets?” I asked.

  “I died a few months ago. In an accident. I came here whenever I could because I knew my son was going to do something foolish sooner or later. My secret is that Mason fired me and my son Freddie never forgave him,” said McCormick.

  We took the stairs two at a time and had just reached the top when we ran into Greer, her dark hair scraped back into a ponytail and bags of tiredness under her eyes.

  “I woke up and you two weren’t there,” she grumbled. “How dare you investigate a murder without me?”

  “We wanted to let you get your beauty rest,” said Charlie, skidding to a stop.

  “That isn’t as important as catching the person who killed Mason,” she pointed out.

  “On that we might have a theory,” I said.

  Greer looked relieved, then noticed what I was cradling in my arms. “What happened to him?”

  “He helped catch the killer,” I said. Paws’ eyes were closed, but he opened the left one a slit to look at Greer.

  “I am a servant dedicated to my work,” he said.

  “Thanks for all your help,” said Greer seriously. “Fill me in?”

  Paws nodded and rested his head back on my forearm. “You may continue,” he said, putting on a typical Paws-style show of his generosity.

  “Who are we going to talk to, anyhow?” Greer asked.

  “Follow me,” I told her.

 
; The main entrance was filled with perils for our little team of unofficial investigators. David was behind the desk speaking to Inspector Smith, who eyed us as we passed through the lobby.

  “That guy doesn’t trust us,” said Greer.

  “He shouldn’t,” said Paws.

  “I thought you were sleeping,” said Greer.

  “This is too important for sleep,” he informed her.

  The Sunday morning sun was bright. There were people milling about now, and I could smell the bacon even from the front entrance. My mouth started to water and the rumbling in my stomach got more insistent, but we weren’t going to eat quite yet.

  In light of everything that had happened, I was surprised there were still so many people at the Club.

  “Curiosity,” said Charlie, interpreting my expression correctly. “They want to know who did it almost as badly as we do.”

  “We want to know who did it the most badly,” said a chipper voice behind us.

  Hansen Gregory fell into step next to Charlie. The look on her face was as clear as day, and what it said was that she was contemplating shoving Hansen into a wall but knew it wouldn’t do any good. He saw the same expression, and it only made the smile on his face broader.

  Just then we walked past the Wolf family and some of the other board members. Tyler Spin was handing out papers. Jasper was wearing a button down shirt, open at the collar and tucked into his slacks. His grandfather was wearing a jacket but no tie. They both looked formal and ready to do business. I thought someone should tell them it was Sunday.

  I straightened my shoulders and prepared to ignore Jasper, but he said in a clear voice, “Hi Lemmi, Hansen, Charlie, Greer,” giving a quick nod to each of us.

  Hansen grave him a cheerful wave, as did my two friends. I scrunched up my face, opened my eyes wide, and only then remembered I was supposed to say hi.

  As I spun back around I couldn’t be sure, but I thought Jasper might have been laughing at me as he turned back to his colleagues.

  After that we headed to the golf course, where two carts rumbled around while Freddie lounged and Eben did the weeding.

  “Who are we going to talk to?” Hansen asked.

  When Charlie remained tight-lipped Greer said, “Just tell him!”

  Hansen’s eyes went wide. “Did you find out who killed Mason?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “How’d you do that?” he asked, aghast.

  “We’re very good at our jobs,” said Charlie.

  “You have a job as a reporter. As far as I knew neither of these two have investigative professions,” said Hansen. “Greer does make a mean cocktail, though,” he added.

  “Thank you,” said Greer. “Also, I don’t have a profession. Yet.”

  “Much to your mother’s chagrin,” said Hansen.

  Greer had no time to react to that sally, because just then Eben scrambled to his feet and said, “How can we help you?” He was covered in a layer of mulch and dirt, while Freddie remained pristine and detached.

  “Need help with your luggage?” Eben asked, pushing the point. He glanced down at his hands and faced facts. “I’d probably have to clean up first.”

  “I’ll help them. I’m perfectly clean,” Freddie said, puffing out his chest and marching over.

  “Did all four of you come all of this way just to ask that?” Eben wanted to know.

  “We actually came to talk to Freddie about something else,” I said.

  Eben sat back down on the golf cart, not disguising the fact that he was keenly interested in what was about to happen.

  “What can I do for you?” Freddie asked. His bright smile was perfectly in place as he squinted into the sun.

  “We were wondering about Friday night and whether you saw Mason at all,” I said.

  Freddie’s smile faltered just a little.

  “Oh, boy. Here I was thinking that this was about the missing golf balls,” said Eben.

  “Quiet,” Freddie snapped.

  “What missing golf balls?” Charlie just couldn’t help herself.

  “Do NOT explain that right now,” said Greer through gritted teeth. Seeing the look on her face, Eben did as he was told.

  “I was working here Friday night. I was a server,” said Freddie.

  My mind flashed back to that night and I remembered the smear I’d seen on his shirt sleeve when he offered me hors d’oeuvres. I had thought it was chocolate, but what if it was mud?

  “Did you murder Mason?” Charlie asked.

  This was too direct, and we all knew it, including Freddie, who threw back his head and laughed.

  Even the long-suffering Eben looked unsure when he heard Charlie’s question.

  “How could I have done that with so many witnesses?” Freddie asked.

  “Someone managed, even with all those people scattered around the Club. Who better than an employee? You called him out to the Lily Pond from his office and when he got there you shoved him into the water,” suggested Charlie in a reasonable tone, as if she was just passing the time of day.

  “You got some mud on your sleeve that you couldn’t entirely scrub away,” I added.

  Freddie looked down at his forearm as if the mark would still be there. His eyes had gone cold.

  “You don’t have any proof,” he said quietly.

  “The police are searching for that muddy jacket right now,” Hansen lied.

  The only sign that Charlie appreciated Hansen’s skill was a twitch of her right eye.

  Freddie’s face fell.

  “So that’s where you were,” Eben gasped.

  “Shut up,” Freddie growled.

  “The time for being quiet is past,” said Hansen. “It’ll look better if you tell us everything now.”

  Freddie looked away, his eyes taking in the green golf course and the ocean beyond.

  “I never wanted to keep quiet about it anyway,” he said. “I just meant to shove him, not . . . what happened.” He shook his head. “He ruined my dad. I lied to the inspector about lily pads. You probably don’t know this because you weren’t at the interrogation, but I was trying to throw him off and that’s all I could come up with.”

  “And the chandelier?” I asked.

  Freddie looked at me in surprise. “I tried to sabotage it. That didn’t work so well.”

  “I love that chandelier,” Eben sounded indignant.

  “And it was all done to get back at Mason?” I said.

  Freddie nodded.

  “So you decided to make him pay?” I offered.

  “Like I said, I didn’t mean for it to happen that way,” said Freddie. “After it did, I figured . . . well, like I said, he ruined my dad.”

  I decided not to mention that Freddie’s dad was there in ghost form and that he was worried about his son. The elder McCormick would keep looking after Freddie whether Freddie knew it or not, and it made no sense to start talking to the young man about witches and ghosts. He had enough to worry about without that, and so, for that matter, did I.

  After the talking to I’d given the ghost McCormick, I had a feeling he’d manage to keep an eye on Freddie from now on without trying to throttle any ghost cats.

  Just then something caught my eye from the direction of the main building. It turned out to be Inspector Smith coming toward us. He must have suspected something was up, and he would have been right.

  “Dude, I knew you sucked but I didn’t know you were a murderer,” said Eben, shaking his head.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “All packed?” Greer asked. After Inspector Smith arrested Freddie (he was very surprised that that’s what he was doing), we retreated to our room to get ready to head back to Mintwood.

  An hour later we were ready to go home.

  “Nice relaxing weekend?” Greer smiled and shook her head.

  Not long after that we were on our way to the Beetle. I’d missed the old wreck the past couple of days. When Freddie had parked it he had made sure to put it in th
e very back of the parking lot, sheltered by a few trees. The battered old car was hardly visible to anyone else, which I’m sure was his intention.

  As we walked through the lobby I took in the scene. There were even more police milling around than there had been before. There had been an arrest in the murder, after all.

  As we passed, Inspector Smith was giving Charlie the strangest look. As often happened, she was the one who got credit for solving the case of the Lily Pond Murder.

  “You’re a reporter with the Gazette?” Inspector Smith asked her, strolling over.

  “I am,” said Charlie, setting down her bag. “Charlie Silver.”

  The Inspector shook her hand, but he was still giving her a very peculiar look.

  “You solved the case awfully fast. I almost wonder how you managed to do it. We had access to a lot of information that wasn’t public and we still couldn’t crack it so quickly.”

  “Probably just luck,” said Charlie, shrugging modestly. “I got the right information at the right time. It all comes down to when you know what you know, doesn’t it?”

  The Inspector gave her a bemused look, as if he wasn’t going to bother trying to figure out what that meant.

  She gave him a bright smile. “I’d be happy to tell you all about how I did it.”

  “Oh, you’ll be doing that, yes indeed. Please come to the precinct some afternoon when you’re free. No rush. We’ll be talking to Freddie ourselves. All of this is off the record, of course,” he added.

  “You can trust me,” Charlie assured him. He gave her a skeptical look.

  “Hansen, good to see you again,” Inspector Smith said, greeting Hansen Gregory with a lot more warmth than he had shown toward Charlie. The reporter for the Chronicle had come over the second we arrived in the lobby.

  “Inspector.” The two man shook hands as if they were the best of friends.

  “I was just talking to this Gazette reporter. Don’t suppose you’ve had much occasion to interact with each other,” said the Inspector.

  “We’ve crossed paths a couple of times. Charlie is the best of the best,” said Hansen.

  As usual, his praise surprised his fellow reporter, and Greer and I exchanged glances. We always enjoyed seeing Charlie a little flummoxed. It rarely happened, but Hansen managed to do it on a regular basis.