Twistchapel Witch Cozy Mystery Box Set: Books 1-4 plus Christmas Short

by Alexandria Westbay

  "Good thing, otherwise it sounds like you could be in trouble right now."

  "What an idiot," I mumbled, fists clinched.

  "Zoey, you need to calm down," said Bart, concerned. "Here, I'll give you our first lesson as we walk."

  The cat cleared his throat.

  "Magic can do many great and many terrible things. This is why there are some good and bad witches. However, these are all outpourings of the individual."

  "So you're saying that the magic doesn't make people good or bad, but the people themselves will use it as they see fit?" I asked.

  "Correct. Additionally, magic can be summoned through the use of strong emotions. As you've already found more than once, anger can bring about fire."

  "Will I always be in risk of making fire when I'm angry?" I asked. That could get really inconvenient really quickly.

  "No. The key is to learn how to control the magic that flows through you. That's why witches can still summon fire even when they are happy, sad, bored, and all the like," he said.

  "Great. So how do I learn to control it?"

  "Your first test is learning how to summon a ball of light, and you can't be using anger when you do it."

  "Like, a flame?" I asked. I could do that without trying already. How big the flame was, now that was another story.

  "No, you pyromaniac. I want you to just summon a ball of light, like a bright light bulb."

  "Isn't that electricity?" I asked.

  "It can be. There are usual multiple ways to manifest an ability. You know, there's more than one way to skin a cat," he said. "Hmm. I should probably stop using that metaphor."

  "Probably," I giggled. I looked around us. No one was really looking at me. "Should I try to summon light right now?"

  "Why not? No offense, but you're probably not going to pull it off on your first go."

  I held up my right palm as we walked, trying to clear my mind. I imagined a yellow ball of energy in my head, and tried to picture it in my hand. I tried to pull in energy and send it to my arm. I wasn't sure, but I could almost feel something happening.

  I focused more on my hand, straining to make the ball of light appear. My hand shook as I tried to will some power through my finger tips. After a few more seconds, a small poof of smoke appeared above my hand and drifted off in the wind.

  I looked down at Bart, who was watching the whole time.

  "Hey, look at that! Better than expected," purred Bart approvingly. "Maybe there's hope for you after all."

  Smiling, I wanted to try some more, but I could see we were nearly at Sophie's house. I would have to try again a little bit later.

  I walked up and knocked on the door of the Simpson's house. A beautiful brick home located in downtown Twistchapel, Jeff and Sophie must have been doing well for themselves. I had only been here a few times over the last several years. Sophie and I had been much closer when we were younger, but after high school our lives just seemed to go in different directions. She met and married Jeff after high school, and began to spend most of her time at home.

  The door opened and there stood Sophie, tissues in hand. Sophie was a tall, slender woman, with black hair and glasses. Everyone thought she would grow up to be a model when we were in school, but she never pursued it.

  "Zoey! It's been too long!" she cried, pulling me in with a tight hug.

  "I know, Sophie, I'm so sorry," I said, closing the door behind me. "I really should do a better job of keeping up friendships. How are you handling everything?"

  Sophie led me in to her living room, which was furnished with very uncomfortable but stylish items. The two of us sat down on a zebra print couch that felt like a pile of rocks.

  "Sometimes good, sometimes not so good. You know my father," she said. "He was always such a grumpy old man, even when we were kids."

  I nodded, unsure of how to respond to that. I didn't want to agree and accidentally offend her so soon after her loss. I looked over at a brown couch next to us, covered with what appeared to be black dog hair.

  "Oh, do you have a dog?" I asked.

  "No, why?"

  "Uh, no reason," I said. That was strange. "Speaking of which, how are your kids?"

  "Oh, they're managing okay. I sent them both off to school today. No sense in having them sit around and mope with me. People keep coming by to say their condolences, and it just would have made them sad. Dad wasn't really close with them, but he was still their grandfather."

  "Were you with them last night?" I asked. I hoped it came across natural in the conversation.

  "Yes, I was so bummed I wasn't able to make it to the party last night. I wanted to go, but Jeff was suddenly called into the office. I figured we might as well have the babysitter come another night, when we both can be out. Seems like that never happens anymore," she said sadly. "Jeff got promoted at work a few months ago and is gone nearly every night now."

  I thought back to all the alcohol Jeff bought the previous day. Seemed strange to have so much if he's working all the time.

  "What does he do for work again?"

  "He works in IT," she said. "I don't know much of the details. You know me, I've never been very good with technology."

  "How's he taking the loss?" I asked.

  "Not well," she said. "He answered the detectives questions as quickly as he could, and then was gone right after the officer left. Jeff said he needed work to distract him. Poor guy."

  Work, or maybe all that booze.

  "Were they close?"

  "Very. I rarely saw my father as happy as he was when he was with Jeff. They used to always spend so much time together. I think Jeff feels guilty about working so much, and missing out on my dad's final few months."

  "That's so sad. Who do you think did it?" I asked.

  "I have no idea," said Sophie, shaking her head. "There were so many enemies of my dad, it could've been anyone." She paused and gave me a curious look. "Who do you think?"

  "I'm not sure," I said. "Thomas Rollin, my butcher, was arrested for it. I'm trying to figure out who did it to clear his name."

  "Is that why you keep asking me so many questions?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Oops.

  "What do you mean?" I asked.

  "Do you think I did it?"

  "No... I was just-"

  "I know that's what everyone is thinking!" she said loudly, suddenly getting to her feet. "Everyone thinks I'm so happy that he died, since I'm the only heir. Is that why you came by? To see if I was mourning the loss of my father, or to see if I had a guilty conscience for killing him?!"

  "S-Sophie, I'm not saying that at all," I said.

  "When was Thomas arrested?" she asked.

  "I'm sorry?"

  "When was he arrested?" Sophie asked impatiently. "How long ago was it?"

  "Uh oh, she's got you Zoey," said Bart.

  "Maybe an hour ago..." I mumbled.

  "So we haven't talked in years, and within an hour of your butcher getting arrested, you decide to swing on by?" she asked, her voice trembling with emotion.

  "When you put it that way, I can see how that sounds bad," I conceded.

  "You're just looking for someone to shift the blame to so you don't have to hire another butcher," she said.

  "Sophie, I-"

  "Please leave."

  I didn't know what to do. I wasn't accusing her of killing her father but... maybe I was. She was mysteriously not at the event, and her only alibi is she stayed in with her kids. The murder happened after 10 pm, which meant her kids were probably already asleep. It wouldn't be impossible for her to slip over, kill her father, and come back unnoticed. She was friends with Bridgette as well, and had been to their house several times. She knew the ins and outs of the woods well. But how would she get Thomas' knife?

  I stood up and turned to leave.

  "I'm sorry for your loss, Sophie. I hope you and your family feel better soon," I said as I made it to the door. I walked out and turned back to face her.

/>   "Come here again, and I'll call the police," she said harshly, slamming the door.

  Bart's head floated through the door.

  "That went well, huh?" said Bart.

  I started making my way back to my store.

  "So, do you think she did it?" asked Bart, walking next to me.

  "I don't know... she got really mad when she thought I was accusing her," I mumbled.

  "True. It could've been righteous anger, or she could've been trying to use your emotions against you so that you wouldn't suspect her anymore."

  "I need to know more," I said. "She still could've been the murderer. She seems to have had the most to gain... but why last night? Wouldn't it have been easier to kill him when he was alone at home?"

  Bart shrugged.

  "Who knows. Do you have any other people on your list you need to talk to?" he asked.

  "A couple," I said, as we made it back to work. I walked past the store and made for my car. "Not today, though. I've already been yelled at enough for one day. I'll try to talk to more people tomorrow."

  "Can we watch reality TV?" asked Bart excitedly, hopping into the passenger seat.

  "Sure," I said, starting up the car. I wasn't going to be paying attention anyway. Thomas was innocent, and no one else was going to be able to figure this out. I needed to keep thinking on it.

  Chapter 7

  The next afternoon I made my rounds through the store with Bart. I hadn't slept well the night before and locked myself in my office for most of the day. I couldn't stop thinking about poor Thomas, locked up for something he didn't do. At least, I didn't think he did it. Was it possible that he had it in him to kill Mr. Spinner, just over being insulted for how he cut meat? Thomas had been acting so fidgety the morning before the murder, was that somehow connected as well?

  I needed to see how my other workers were doing, and to see if anyone knew anything more about Thomas.

  "Jimmy, how are you doing today?" I asked one of our produce clerks. Jimmy Ralin had just started a few months ago, but with Eric filling in for Thomas in the meat department, I needed him to take charge. He was an awkward kid, but very friendly.

  "Good, Miss Foster," said Jimmy. "I really appreciate you having the trust in me to oversee a whole department by myself. And produce, no less! Most important department in the store."

  "This guy," said Bart, shaking his head. "What a suck up."

  "Absolutely, Jimmy," I smiled. Bart was right. He was a brown-noser. When I hired Jimmy, he made it very clear that he wanted to move up as much as possible in the company. Every time I asked him to do the smallest task, he always made sure to thank me and talk up how big of a responsibility it was. "Let us know if you are having any difficulties and I'll send Eric back over to give you a quick hand."

  Jimmy's face fell for half a second before he caught himself. "Oh, I think you'll find that I'll run this department far better than Eric ever did."

  "Looking forward to it," I said as I walked away.

  "If Eric ever winds up dead, I'd keep Jimmy at the top of your list of suspects," offered Bart.

  We walked back to the meat department, where Eric was arranging the items in the meat counter.

  "How do you like being a meat cutter, Eric?" I asked.

  "Oh, not too bad, Miss Foster," he said, wiping his hands on a rag as he finished. "I miss not having Thomas around though. Any word from him?"

  I shook my head. "Unfortunately not."

  "That's too bad. The new detective came back in last night and asked about you, by the way."

  "Really?" I asked. That wasn't good. Did he still think I was a suspect?

  "Yeah, but it didn't seem very serious. He was asking about the store and what kind of things you like. It was kind of odd."

  "That is odd," I agreed. Why would Drake be talking to Eric about me? I'd have to deal with that later. This seemed like a good time to talk about Thomas. "Speaking of odd, I noticed that Thomas was acting really jumpy the other morning. I know you two are friends, do you know what was going on with him?"

  "I'm not sure," shrugged Eric. "I tried to see what the matter was, but he just kept saying it was nothing. To be honest with you," Eric lowered his voice and looked around. "I'm a little worried something serious is going on with him."

  "What makes you think that?" I asked.

  "Thomas and I used to go bowling every Tuesday night together with a few other people. A couple of months ago, Thomas just stopped showing up. I asked him if it was better to move it to another night, but he said he couldn't. The other guys said that he never goes out with them anymore after work. It's very strange."

  "Hmm, interesting," I said. "Thanks for letting me know, Eric. I'll do what I can to help Thomas out. I hope you have a good rest of your shift."

  "What are you thinking?" asked Bart as we started back up to the front.

  "That's very strange about Thomas," I said. "He's always had Tuesday nights off explicitly so that he could play in his bowling league, and he told me he went bowling the other day. Why would he lie about that?"

  "Excuse me, Miss Foster," said a man's voice. I turned around to see a customer wearing a trench coat, large hat, and sun glasses. He had a heavy beard, silver in color, but I couldn't make out the rest of his features.

  "Hello, sir. How can I help you?" I asked. This guy was giving off a seriously creepy vibe.

  "A friend of mine, Thomas, works for you. Do you know when he'll be in?"

  "This guy a loan shark, or something?" asked Bart.

  "I'm afraid he won't be in for quite some time. He was recently arrested," I said.

  "Arrested?" said the man. "What for?!"

  "The murder of Mr. Spinner," I said. Should I really be freely giving away this information? Maybe I should start being more careful with who I told that too.

  The man looked away as he thought over the news. "Miss, I think you and I should have a talk."

  "Um, okay..." I said. What did this guy want? Maybe Bart was right. Maybe Thomas was having financial trouble, but if this guy was some sort of loan shark, I didn't know what to do about it. "What would you like to talk about?"

  "It's more of a private matter. We should-"

  "MISS FOSTER TO REGISTER ONE!" cried out the intercom. I instinctively looked up at the wall with one of the speakers. I really needed to turn down the volume on those things. "MISS FOSTER TO REGISTER ONE. THANK YOU."

  "I'm sorry, sir, you were saying..." I said, turning back to the man. Or rather, turning back to where the man had previously been standing. He was gone.

  "Woah, where'd he go?" asked Bart.

  "I don't know. No time to try and find him though, sounds like I'm needed up front."

  I let out a preemptive sigh as we neared the registers. Bridgette had the day off, which meant Charline was the only cashier working today. She must have been the one who paged me.

  Sure enough, Charline was behind the register, not moving.

  "How can I help?" I asked as I approached from behind the customer.

  "This woman said she needed to talk with you," said Charline, pointing to the customer. I looked up and saw a familiar face. Just the person I wanted to talk to.

  "Jill Arnold, right?" I asked.

  "Hi Zoey," smiled Jill. " Thought I'd drop by and-"

  "Miss Foster," said Charline, interrupting Jill. "I would appreciate it if you didn't have your friends come to the store during busy hours and hold up the line."

  I looked up at the conveyor belt. There were no customers, and no line.

  "Um, sorry about that?" I offered.

  "Why are you saying sorry? There's no one in line!" said Bart, jumping onto the conveyor belt.

  "I accept your apology, but please don't let it happen again," said Charline.

  "This woman is insufferable!" hissed Bart, swiping his paws through Charline's face. I was thankful Bart had enough self control to not materialize.

  Well, somewhat thankful.

  "Jill, why don't you a
ccompany me to my office," I said. "I don't want to keep Charline from her duties."

  Jill followed me into my office, with Bart joining after he tired out.

  "Thanks for talking with me, Zoe-Oh my, that is very... pretty...," said Jill, doing a bad job of hiding her horror while she looked at the floral wallpaper.

  "Don't mind the wallpaper, it was a mistake that won't go away," I said.

  "I see. How are things going for you? I've heard you and the new detective have gotten on quite well," said Jill.

  "What?" I asked. "Who was saying that?"

  "Just people," she said innocently. "I just wanted to hear if you he told you any of the suspects he had."

  This woman was worse at being subtle than I was.

  "I don't believe he even knows who you are, Jill," I said.

  She breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you for not saying anything about my... incident."

  "Speaking of which, I had a few questions. If you wouldn't mind."

  "There's nothing to tell," she said.

  "Really? Because I seem to remember you saying that Mr. Spinner approached you at the party, and not the other way around," I said.

  "That's correct," said Jill, looking everywhere but at me.

  "After you said that, I thought back to what I first heard, and it sounded instead like you were the one approaching him, and he was shocked by that."

  "I-I think you are remembering wrong."

  "Possibly. I guess I could mention it to Detective Drake the next time I see him. I'm sure he'll ask around and find out the truth," I bluffed. I had no intention of telling Drake anything I found out, but she didn't need to know that.

  "I... but... there's no need..." Jill struggled. She closed her eyes and let out another breath. "Okay, fine. I'll tell you what I know. I don't want any of what I say going to the detective, though," she said nervously.

  "I promise."

  "Well played, Foster," said Bart, nodding with approval. "You're better at this than I thought."

  I couldn't contain my smile, but went right for it. "Tell me everything, please."

  "Most of what I told you was true," she began. "I've always wanted to open my own beauty salon, and thought Twistchapel would be a great place to setup shop. I've heard nothing but great things about this town."