Miss Spelled (The Kitchen Witch 1)

by Morgana Best

  “When?”

  “I can tell you about one of the times I was the most scared. I was about as old as you are now, maybe a little younger.”

  “Okay, tell me,” I had begged.

  “I was walking home from violin practice,” my mother began. “Practice was at Mrs. Seymour’s house. She lived a few blocks away. I didn’t want to learn to play the violin, but my mother made me take the lessons.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Sometimes we parents think we know better than our children.”

  “Don’t you?”

  “Usually,” my mom said with a laugh. “Now hush and listen. I always cut through yards to get to her house, and back to mine, but one day, as I opened a gate and went into a yard I had cut through a hundred times, I heard a loud barking. Whoever had lived in the house had a new dog. I saw him, coming at me. He was big with sharp, white teeth. I turned to go for the gate, but somehow I couldn’t open it. My hands weren’t working. I felt the dog close behind me. I turned, and his face was right near mine. I was shaking. He opened his mouth, and then he licked me.”

  I had giggled.

  “That’s when I knew not everything scary was worth worrying about,” my mother continued. “The movie was scary, but it’s not real, so it’s not worth worrying about, right?”

  When my mother left the room, I still felt as if something was watching me. I didn’t want to call her back, so I pulled the blankets over my head.

  Right now, I had the same feeling. I dislodged myself from the cats, and crossed to the curtains. I pulled one aside, and under the streetlight, there was a figure, the tall, dark figure of a man. A chill ran right through me, and I jumped back from the curtain. When I looked again, he was gone.

  Chapter 8

  From time to time as the morning went on, I sat by the bay window looking out over the front garden. I was awaiting news from the police station to tell me when I would be able to reopen the cake store. I was concerned that the police would find something deadly in the cakes that had killed Brant McCallum, but that was unlikely, since I hadn’t baked them.

  I had walked the three blocks to the local store to buy necessities such as microwave dinners, chocolate, and ice cream, and then spent the morning exploring the garden. I was thrilled to have a garden of my own.

  In one of my moments sitting by the bay window, the sound of my new cats tearing through the house shattered my quiet contemplation. I leaped to my feet and headed in the direction of the screeching cats. They were not in the hallway, and for a moment all was quiet. Then the sound started again, pulling my attention to a door on the left of the hallway.

  I opened the door expecting to see another bedroom, but it was a library. I did a double take. How had I overlooked this room? Sure, the house was rambling, but I thought I had seen all the rooms. I was sure this was the one that had made Ruprecht pause. Yet, he had said that the room wasn’t a library. I thought we had then gone into the room, and found it was another bedroom, but then again, I must have been confused. Perhaps Ruprecht had shut the door and we’d gone on to the next bedroom.

  If that were the case, why would Ruprecht try to hide the library from me when I would find it anyway? I had no idea. Even trying to figure it out was giving me a headache.

  I rubbed my forehead and walked into the room. There were shelves upon shelves of books. I walked over to a shelf and picked up the first book I saw. It was a heavy book, brown leather with the words, Aristotle, Metaphysics, embossed in gold writing. I quickly put it back. The next book was entitled, Papyri Graecae Magicae: the Greek Magical Papyri in Translation. I put it back, too. Aunt Angelica sure wasn’t into simple romances.

  Before I could look at any more books, the cats ran past me. The orange and white cat, Willow, sniffed and clawed at one of the bookcases. He then stood on his hind legs, almost as if he were trying to reach for a particular book. I walked toward him quietly, hoping not to startle him. Just then, I noticed the black cat, Hawthorn, walking along the shelf just above Willow.

  I wasn’t sure what to make of the crazy cats, so I shrugged it off and turned to go back to the living room. I had just reached the door when there was a loud thud. I swung around to see the two cats sitting on the floor next to a book. For a moment, I felt like the cats were smiling up at me.

  “Well, you two are already proving to be mischievous!” I said, as I crouched down to pick up the book. I could barely make out the title, so I took it over to the window. In the light, I could just make out the words, Book of Shadows.

  “How strange,” I said aloud. What looked like a pentagram could be seen etched into the soft material of the book. I flipped open the pages and was at once surprised to see handwriting. I continued skimming through its contents, and all I found were scribbles and doodles.

  Then, I realized exactly what I was looking at: a recipe book. Several herbs and other recognizable ingredients, such as sugar and coffee, were scattered throughout. I quickly slammed the book closed and sighed. I glanced down at the cats, who were both sitting at my feet, watching me intently. “Oh, you two really are going to be a handful, aren’t you? You can sniff about the house all you like, but don’t drag any more recipe books off the shelves!” I wagged my finger at each of the felines, and then realized I was already turning into a crazy cat lady.

  I walked back toward the bookcase. As I extended my arm to put it back, I caught another glimpse of the pentagram. I didn’t really know much about symbols and old secret societies and such, but the shape did remind me of something specific: a TV show I used to watch called Ghost Chasers. I carefully studied the pentagram, feeling the etching with my fingers as I recalled some details of the show. I remembered how they spoke of the pentagram. They said it was an ancient symbol of protection and power, although I never really understood what that had meant.

  Just then, there was a loud thud on the other side of the room. I looked to see if the cats were at it again, but they still remained by my feet. The sound pulled my memory back to the show’s biggest attention-grabber: how the ghost hunters would call out and ask for a reply when they suspected an entity was present.

  The eerie atmosphere of the old Victorian home was enough to scare even the biggest of skeptics. I laughed at the thought of ghosts or other apparitions haunting my new house. In a half-joking way, I repeated the show’s famous line, “If you can hear me and wish to make contact, please knock once.”

  Suddenly, there was a loud knock at the front of the house. I clutched my stomach as the hairs on the back of my neck stood tall. My skin quickly filled with goose bumps. I went cold all over.

  I quickly made for the front of the house. I reached for the door with trembling hands, and then stood there, hesitating.

  I waited by the door, wondering if the sound would come again. It did, but this time, it sounded like an actual knock on my front door. I bit my lip and grasped the knob firmly, turning it slowly as I pulled the door open.

  “Good morning, ma’am,” Sergeant Greer said. He was accompanied by Constable Stevens, the female cop. “May we come in?” he asked.

  “Yes, of course,” I replied, motioning for them to enter. I was relieved that they weren’t ghostly entities. They walked in, one after the other, and then followed me toward the sofa and chairs.

  “Would you like to sit down?” I asked. I wasn’t used to speaking to police, so didn’t know the protocol. I had watched reruns of Midsomer Murders many times, but that was England, not Australia.

  “No, thank you,” Constable Stevens replied.

  “We’re here to let you know what our investigation has turned up,” Sergeant Greer said.

  “Oh,” I replied, and waited for him to continue.

  Sergeant Greer chewed his lip. “We weren’t able to find anything in your cakes.” He sounded disappointed.

  “Not a single trace of poison, mold, unsanitary food, or anything else,” the female officer added, grinning broadly.

  “Right. Which is why w
e’re going to close the investigation and allow you to reopen the store,” Greer said.

  I was pleased to hear such positive news, but I wondered what had actually happened to Brant McCallum. “Uh, then how did he die, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  The male officer leaned forward and spoke in a stern tone. “The official report has his cause of death listed as ischemic heart disease, and the manner of death is natural causes. That is why we have no other choice but to allow you to reinstate your business.”

  “Heart disease?” I said, confused.

  Greer shrugged. “It’s basically the category that most common heart failures are listed under. The coroner wasn’t able to pinpoint exactly what caused his heart to fail that day. She told us she did the exam twice to confirm his findings, because according to McCallum’s charts, the man didn’t have a history of any heart defects or disease.”

  “Oh,” I said, turning away. As I did, I caught a quick glance of Willow and Hawthorn as they sat in a far corner of the room. I wondered if they had been sitting there the entire time I had been speaking with the police. It was strange how they were just sitting there, focused on the conversation. I turned back to the two police officers and frowned. “Obviously, I’m happy that the shop isn’t to blame in any way, but it’s still very upsetting that a man died right in front of my own eyes. Poor Thyme, too.” I felt tears coming on, so I sniffled into a tissue. “I’m sorry. I think I’m just still in a state of shock or disbelief or whatever.”

  “That’s understandable,” the female cop said, still smiling widely. “Death is a difficult thing for everyone. If you need any help at all, just call this number.” She handed me a small, white business card. “This is a doctor who speaks to victims and their families, families of offenders, and anyone else who’s been through a traumatic experience such as this.”

  “Oh, I think I’ll be okay, thanks,” I said. “I was just hoping to have a sense of closure in the matter. I was worried that it was my fault somehow, and it’s great to hear otherwise, but it just doesn’t make much sense. He was perfectly fine until he bit into that cake. How could it have nothing to do what happened to him?”

  Sergeant Greer shook his head. “It seems like it was just a freak coincidence, to be honest. We don’t have the toxicology screens back on the victim yet, but every one of those sample cakes was tested, not just the one he took a bite out of. Not one of them contained any traces of chemicals or drugs, or anything else of the sort. His heart just gave out.”

  I studied the officer’s eyes as he spoke. I was sure that he believed everything he was saying, but I struggled to do the same. I glanced over at Constable Stevens, who was still wearing her usual over-the-top smile. “I suppose things like that happen every day in the world,” I admitted, “but I’m just not used to them happening around me.”

  “It was probably just a one in a million kind of thing,” the woman replied. “Don’t let it scare you.”

  I raised an eyebrow at the cop’s words. I wasn’t sure why the woman would have said such a thing, but it didn’t sit well with me for some reason. What was there to be scared about in such a nice town?

  “Thank you for your time,” Sergeant Greer said, and the two officers turned to leave.

  Once I closed the door behind them, I went back into the living room. Willow and Hawthorn were peering out the bay window, staring at the cops as they left.

  Chapter 9

  Brad had always told me that I was going to end up killing someone with my cooking. I was relieved that I hadn’t proven the jerk right yet.

  Yet was the operative word. Why? Why a cake shop? My food was not fit for human consumption. It was so not cake-shop quality. You don’t serve cardboard flavored bricks and iced charcoal to customers. No one would think my food was edible, much less tasty.

  Regardless, it was a relief that the cake samples didn’t kill the man. It would have killed me if the cakes had somehow been toxic, despite my not even touching them. I probably would never have been able to step into a kitchen again.

  I took a deep breath and looked around the house. It was still so surreal. Everything had happened so fast. One minute I had lost everything, and the next I was in a new town starting a new life, a life of baking cakes for people. Heaven help this poor town. Thank goodness for Thyme.

  I almost jumped out of my skin when the home phone rang right beside me. I tensed up. Who would be calling? I hadn’t given anyone here the number yet. Was it someone calling for Aunt Angelica?

  “Hey,” a familiar voice chimed in cheerfully as I picked up. “How are you doing?”

  “Oh, Thyme, hi!” I stammered as I tried to think up what to say. Goodness, in all the chaos, I had forgotten to call Thyme and update her. She was right there when the man died, so she had to have been wondering what happened. “I’m so sorry. I meant to call you sooner.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” I could almost see Thyme wave off my apology with a graceful sweep of her hand. “I’m sure you’re busy celebrating the sample cakes being cleared and all.”

  “Huh?” I stopped in my tracks. I myself had only just found that out. “How did you know?”

  “A little bird told me.” Thyme’s voice had a playful tone to it. “I told you there was nothing to worry about. It was just an unhappy coincidence that he came to the shop before he died. It could have been anywhere.”

  “I guess.” I was glad that the shop had no part in the man’s death. Yet it felt wrong to celebrate that Brant McCallum had died of natural causes. It was even weirder to hear Thyme being so accepting of the whole thing. Or maybe I was the one being strange. After all, if it hadn’t been natural or some sort of accident—I shook off the thought.

  “Glad to hear it. So when are they going to let you reopen the shop?”

  I winced. “They cleared it this morning.” I needed to figure out what to do about that shop. Sure, it hadn’t killed anybody, but it didn’t mean I could make it succeed. It had taken two staff members, Aunt Angelica and Thyme, to run it before, and now there was only Thyme and me, and I was a serious liability. “Sorry I didn’t tell you. It’s no longer a crime scene, anyway.”

  “Great. See you there in an hour,” Thyme said with the same cheerful energy. “You need to start learning to bake.”

  “What?” I gripped the back of a chair tightly.

  “Yeah. You have to learn eventually. You have some baking to do.”

  “Oh no, no, Thyme. No!” I waved a finger at the air in front of me for emphasis.

  “Yes, yes, yes.” Despite the firmness of Thyme’s voice, I could swear I heard hints of laughter in it. “There’s no point in putting it off. You’ve inherited a cake store, so you’ll have to learn to bake. No time like the present, right?”

  After about five or so minutes of debate, I realized that my new friend had a stubborn streak, at least when it came to this. She was going to get me in that shop if she had to show up on my doorstep to do it.

  So an hour later, I was there with my cheerful and triumphant friend, at my very own little shop of horrors, complete with tools for my mad experiments on how many ways I could ruin flour and sugar.

  If Thyme noticed my misery, she didn’t give any indication. “Don’t worry. Baking is easy. You just have to follow the recipe.”

  Easy for her to say! Thyme had never made an Easy Bake Oven cry for mercy. Yet I had to admit that she did have a point. If I didn’t get in there now, I was going to keep finding excuses not to do so. If I were to be honest with myself, it was nice to have someone care enough to want to help me, even if it was with something like baking.

  Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

  * * *

  “How did you do that?” Thyme asked me in a puzzled tone as we sat side by side on the bench, waiting for the fire department to arrive. The last remnants of smoke lazily wafted out the kitchen window.

  I groaned and buried my face in both hands. I should have known that I wasn’t magically going to learn
to bake that easily, even with close supervision. “Sorry.”

  Thyme waved away the apology and seemed more amused than anything. “It’s not like it was a big disaster or anything. We put the flames out easily. I wouldn’t even have called anyone in if you didn’t need the report. Insurance won’t replace the oven without it.”

  I was horrified. “The oven might need to be replaced?”

  Thyme shrugged. “No idea, but it is an old oven. Angelica had it for years. You might do better with one that you feel a good vibe with, and it would be better if the insurance bought it for you, right?” Thyme gave a playful wink and then fanned away a cloud of smoke that drifted our way.

  I suspected that she was just trying to cheer me up. Still, it was nice to have someone supportive in my corner during my latest cooking incident. “It’s hopeless.” I sighed and glanced over my shoulder at the store. Why couldn’t my aunt have left me a bookstore? A shoe store? Anything but a cake store?

  “Not at all.” Thyme followed my gaze and gave a half smile. “Good thing Aunt Angelica kept three ovens for busy times. We’ll use a less temperamental one after they have a look at the kitchen.”

  “Do we have to?” I fixed an exaggerated tragic expression on my face, trying to lighten things despite my worries. I had to smile as Thyme let out a laugh.

  “You’ll get it. I have feelings about these things. And you, Amelia Spelled, are going to make the most amazing cakes ever.”

  When Thyme said things in that confident tone of hers, it was hard not to believe it. But of course, I had months of proof to the contrary. “I’m afraid that’s a bet you’re going to lose.”

  “Oh no, I’m not allowed to bet. It’s frowned upon in this establishment.” Thyme spoke in a mock dignified tone as she pretended to look over an imaginary pair of glasses.

  “What establishment?” I asked her. Sounds like this town was pretty old fashioned in the gambling department.