3-Book Series Bundle: Wisteria Witches, Wicked Wisteria, Wisteria Wonders - Cozy Witch Mysteries

by Angela Pepper

  I gave my head a shake and read the recipe. Killer Dinner was basically a pot roast with sprigs of herbs jabbed in to make it resemble a porcupine. The accompanying photograph looked an awful lot like roadkill. I grimaced. No wonder the book had sold poorly. The audience of cookbook buyers wanting to recreate the look of roadkill is a very small niche market.

  One chunk of text near the bottom of the page did catch my eye.

  The caption under the roadkill photo read: A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell, but your beau will be telling all the fellas at work about the fabulous killer dinner you made for him!

  Was this the clue? Was Winona telling me her former beau was the one who murdered her? The only boyfriend I knew of, who was still alive, lived next door. Don Moore. The gray-haired man had claimed to have made the beast with two backs with her.

  On a hunch, I checked the book's index. Nope. It contained no recipe for a Beast With Two Backs, but there was a Beast With Orange Sauce.

  Weren't a significant number of homicides crimes of passion? I'd seen a number of true crime shows over the years. How often did the killer live right next door? Not often, but it happened.

  I licked my lips and said his name out loud. "Don Moore."

  I didn't feel, smell, or sense anything out of the ordinary.

  "Ms. Vander Zalm? Can you hear me? Show me a sign. Let me know if Don Moore was the one who killed you."

  Nothing happened.

  And then something did.

  My stomach flip-flopped.

  They say you should trust your gut. Your gut instincts.

  As I doubled over, I realized that either the ghost had just named her killer, or I'd overdone it with the mochas.

  * * *

  At around two o'clock, Kathy came to check on me in the staff lounge. I'd used a blanket to build myself a fort in the Grumpy Corner. I was shoeless and curled up in the fetal position.

  Kathy pushed up her round owl-eye glasses and hooted, "Whooooo did this to you?"

  "Frank," I said. "But it's not his fault. I should know my mocha limit. He didn't overserve me, I swear."

  She reached into the blanket fort and pressed a cool hand on my forehead. The gesture was incredibly motherly and soothing. I liked Kathy. I still felt bad about throwing away her acorn jelly, but at least my diabolical intestinal adventures were finally bringing us together.

  "Zara you're feverish," she said. "You should go home early. You don't need to finish your shift."

  "I already punched out my time card," I said. "I'm waiting to get up the strength to walk home."

  She took me by the hand and tugged. "Get up. I'll drive you home. I've got to run some errands anyway. Frank and the others can hold down the fort a bit longer. I think the pages wanted to get him alone anyway. They were giggling about tipping people over. Do you know anything about that?"

  "Hijinx during work hours? In the library?" I shook my head and made tsk-tsk sounds as I extracted myself from the blanket fort.

  "Don't let Frank be a bad influence on you, Zara. He's a wonderful children's librarian, and the families adore him, but sometimes his pranks go too far."

  "Good to know," I said solemnly.

  Slowly, I did an awkward dance to get my shoes on the corresponding feet without leaning forward. When I was finally ready to leave, I looked up and saw Kathy leafing through the book penned by my ghost and my aunt, Spooky Gatherings for Ghouls Cookbook.

  "This old thing," she said with a chuckle. "That crazy woman always checked it out during our circulation review. What a kook she was." She held it up. "Are you checking this out?"

  I told her I'd intended to, and she disappeared to run it through the checkout system officially.

  Five minutes later, I was strapped into Kathy Carmichael's car, which was slightly more luxurious than a broomstick. The Honda's brown vinyl seats had been repaired with duct tape, and by the sound the engine made when Kathy started it up, those weren't the only makeshift repairs.

  Kathy gave me an apologetic look. "I can afford a better car, honestly. The library pays me enough. I just like this old thing. It's sort of a nest on wheels." She waved to a pile of stuff behind us. The backseat was packed tight with crafting supplies in stacking plastic containers, as well as loose baskets of twine, fuzzy pipe cleaners, scissors, and what most people would generally refer to as crap.

  "A nest on wheels," I said. "I can see that."

  Kathy shifted into gear, and the nest emitted interesting sounds and smells as we began our journey toward my home.

  "Thanks again for inviting me to your wonderful dinner party," Kathy said.

  "And thank you for coming. I don't know how much longer I'll be in the entertaining mood, but it was great to have everyone I know in Wisteria all in one place at the same time."

  "You seem to be making new friends easily. By this time next year you'll need a bigger house," she said.

  "You're too kind. If I'm still here in a year, I'll worry about it then."

  She made a whistling sound through her tiny, sharp nose. "Of course you'll be here. Why would you ever leave? Nobody leaves Wisteria. The only way out is to die." She turned and shot me a knowing look. "But you don't have to worry about that, now that you have the house. You're living in the Fountain of Youth."

  "Kathy, this might be my recent dehydration causing auditory hallucinations, but did you just say my house is the Fountain of Youth?"

  "That's what I said. I'm joking, of course. I might be a nutty ol' bird obsessed with crafting, but I'm not crazy. Not like old Winona Vander Zalm, with her wild claims about witchcraft and that old house."

  "What did she say, exactly?"

  We stopped for a red light. The cloud of stench the old Honda was emitting caught up with us.

  Kathy gave me an owlish look, blinking seriously behind her round glasses. "Ms. Vander Zalm told me once, in confidence, that she was never going to die. Not ever. She said the Red Witch House had magical energy that protected her and kept her young. She claimed she was a lot older than she looked."

  "That's so strange," I said. "Why would she tell you?"

  Kathy shifted gears, and we sailed into fresh air again.

  "She was lonely, I suppose. Or maybe she wanted to boast about it. What's the point in being a hundred and something if you can't tell anyone?"

  "You believed her? You think my house has magic?"

  Kathy snorted again, whistling through her nose. "Who would believe such nonsense? Not me. I believe in research and knowledge. Facts. Science."

  "But there are countless references to Fountains of Youth in literature throughout time. What if it's real? What if there's far more to this world than meets the eye? What if fiction is closer to reality than you think?"

  "But magical fountains are just an idea, Zara. Like the plucky underdog heroine in a young adult novel who battles a mighty monster and singlehandedly wins freedom for her people. Or the handsome man in a romance novel who doesn't notice a woman's stretch marks."

  I tried to laugh, but the dry sounds coming from my parched throat were less than convincing.

  Kathy elaborated some more about her favorite book themes, and how she wished they were real. She'd been an adult already when the Harry Potter books broke out as huge literary hits, yet she'd still yearned for her own letter from Hogwarts. She yearned to a Chosen One. A Secret Princess. A girl who didn't know she was already something else.

  "Don't we all," I said, thinking sadly of Zoey, still patiently waiting for her powers.

  * * *

  We reached my house, where Kathy asked, "Would you like me to help you inside? Whip up some chicken soup?"

  "Thanks, but you've already done more than enough."

  "How's that?" She tilted her head back and pushed up her round glasses. "Zara, you don't look well at all. If I have to carry you in there and tuck you into bed, so help me, I will."

  "No need." I fumbled blindly for the door handle and cracked the door open. "You've helped more than enough
by letting me go home early and giving me a ride." I jumped out of the car, my legs wobbly and weak but still holding me up. "See you around!"

  "Tomorrow?" Her gaze flitted between me and the house-the Red Witch House.

  I snapped my fingers. "Good idea! I'll see you tomorrow, in the big building with all the books."

  She shook her head. "You're not right in the head. I'm coming in with you."

  "No need!" I flung the car door shut and thumped the roof twice, the way people thump on taxis in movies to send them away.

  To my surprise, it worked. The car immediately sped away. Was that magic? Had I cast a spell on the brown Honda without meaning to?

  I thought I heard Kathy screaming inside the retreating car. I told myself it was just worn brake pads or old fan belts.

  I stumbled up the stairs to the porch, let myself in, and locked the door behind me.

  Zoey would be home from school soon.

  I ran to my refrigerator and yanked open the door to the freezer.

  Empty.

  Just as I feared, the toaster was now gone.

  I grabbed my phone and made a call.

  "It's me," I said, breathing heavily. "I know why Winona Vander Zalm got murdered. I've also got some ideas about how. If we're going to catch the killer, I need your help."

  Chapter 35

  SATURDAY

  One month had passed since my daughter and I had moved to Wisteria. In that time, we'd learned we were witches, gotten to know my wacky aunt, thrown two dinner parties, and survived our first ghost. We had not yet fully unpacked all our moving boxes. But hey, what's a month?

  Five days had passed since I'd made two important discoveries: the identity of Winona Vander Zalm's killer, and my personal limit for number of mochas consumed in one hour. The answers are A.) to be revealed shortly, and B.) three.

  As for the killer, today was the day my theory would be put to the test.

  Chet and I stood on the sidewalk in front of the nondescript office building.

  He turned to me, his green eyes bedazzling. I'd never imagined that anything other than rhinestones could be bedazzle, but Chet's green eyes did exactly that.

  "Zara Riddle, are you ready for this?"

  I gushed, "Chet Moore, I'm ready for more things than I can even imagine, and I have quite the imagination."

  He smiled. "I'll take that as a yes." He took my hand in his. "We should hold hands."

  "Good idea," I said. "Schmoopsie Bear."

  He recoiled visibly. I made a mental note that Schmoopsie Bear was too far. It was good to know the man had some limits.

  We walked inside the boxy municipal building, swinging our arms like a couple of lovebirds, and gave our names to the receptionist. She led us down the hall to a meeting room with glass walls. Chet held my hand the whole way. We only let go to slide into our seats at the metal-and-glass table. He quickly caught my hand again once we were seated.

  In a warning tone, he said, "You might have to hold my hand forever."

  "Forever?" I let out a laugh that sounded like a cackle. I wondered, was that a witch thing? Would I be cackling all the time now that I was a witch? Was cackling inevitable, like the pudge you get over the waistline of your jeans on the day of your thirtieth birthday? Life was full of so many inevitabilities.

  My terrible real estate agent, Dorothy Tibbits, came into the room with her brown pigtails bouncing and a huge grin on her inflated lips. She wore her usual blue pinafore dress.

  "You two lovebirds," she exclaimed breathlessly. "Married already? As of yesterday? I should have known something was up at your dinner party last week." She looked right at Chet. "You couldn't take your eyes off Zara all night."

  I leaned to the side and rested my head on his shoulder. "The man knows what he likes. I told him he could have the milk and eggs and bacon for free, but he insisted on buying the whole farm!"

  Chet squeezed my hand. Hard. "Sweetie-pie, I did not buy the farm. That's what you say when someone dies."

  I started to laugh, deliberately snorting to keep myself from cackling. "We can't have that," I wheezed. "Not until I've taken out a big insurance policy on you."

  He squeezed my hand again. "One thing at a time," he said tersely.

  "Right," I said, nodding. "Let's not waste Dorothy's time."

  Dorothy Tibbits took a seat across from us and crossed her legs primly. "What is it I can help you two lovebirds with?" Her posture was one of excitement, with her upper body leaning forward. Her breathing was rapid and shallow. "Our receptionist said something about amalgamating your real estate holdings? Selling off one house and moving in with each other?"

  "Yes," Chet said. "But we can't decide which house we should sell," he leaned his head from left to right theatrically, "and which one we should keep."

  Dorothy practically vibrated with excitement. Her fingers twitched in sequence, making her hands resemble large, wrinkly, pink spiders.

  "Let's take this one step at a time," she said with deliberate slowness. "You can let this be an emotional decision, or you can go by the numbers. There are many factors, such as lot size, age of renovations, plus let's not forget about the memories. All the wonderful memories of young Corvin, getting his height measured with those adorable little pen markings on the door frame." She batted her thick row of false eyelashes at Chet. "You do mark his height on the door frame, don't you?"

  "Of course I do," Chet said, his voice deep and low, bordering on a growl. "I'm a single parent, but I'm not an animal."

  Dorothy let loose frothy giggles. "Exactly! Which is why I crunched some numbers and gave it careful consideration. Are you ready for my decision? I mean, my recommendation?"

  Chet and I exchanged a look. "Yes," we said in unison. "We're ready."

  Dorothy's grin was maniacal. "I think you'll be much, much, much better off selling the red house." In spite of her Botox, she wrinkled her nose with what seemed like considerable effort. "That house is getting so old now, and I know you're coming up on a huge repair bill for a new roof, and probably re-piping, and heaven knows what condition the foundation is in." She waved one weathered hand. "Why not let the new owner worry about those things?"

  I beamed at her. For such a terrible real estate agent, she was surprisingly convincing today. Could it be a spell?

  I looked over at Chet. He'd taken a pen from his pocket, which he clicked twice. I heard something pop, but faintly, as though it was just my ears adjusting to a change in air pressure.

  Dorothy raised her eyebrows at us expectantly. "Ready to sign the papers?"

  I gave her a broad smile. "Dorothy, you and I are on the exact same page," I said. "But my wacky ol' aunt could use some convincing. She's been spouting some mumbo jumbo about the house having magical properties. Have you ever heard such nonsense?"

  Dorothy's face was frozen. More frozen than usual.

  I tilted my head up, caught Aunt Zinnia's eye through the glass walls of the meeting room, and waved for her to come join us. "Here she is now," I said to Dorothy. "You'll talk to her for us, won't you?"

  Dorothy stammered, "Uh, y-y-es, I'll certainly, uh, try."

  Aunt Zinnia rushed in and took a seat, facing me and keeping the back of her shoulder facing the real estate agent. She'd dressed up for the occasion, in a daring blend of two floral patterns: roses on her skirt, and daffodils on her blouse.

  "Zara, I've done it," my aunt said breathlessly, setting a mirrored jewelry box on the glass table. "It's all inside this box, but we have to release it within the next few minutes before everything expires. I've done the calculations, and we won't have another chance again for seven years."

  I clapped my free hand to my cheek and gasped, "Seven years? And we only have a few minutes?" I looked right at the real estate agent. "Dorothy, I must apologize. This will come as a shock to you, but I've come to think of you as a member of our strange little family. Zinnia and I are witches, and we need to cast an important, time-sensitive spell at once."

  C
het released my hand and pushed his chair back so hard it toppled over as he got to his feet. He stood, towering over me, and demanded, "Cast a spell? Don't tell me you're a witch."

  I shrugged meekly. "Sweetheart, it's not what you think."

  "Not what I think? You mean I didn't marry a witch?"

  "Okay," I said. "It's exactly what you think."

  Chet shook his head and clenched his fists. "Wisteria! It's this whole damned town! Full of witches!"

  Dorothy pushed her chair back and got to her feet. She was looking back and forth between the two of us so quickly, she looked like a cat watching a game of ping pong.

  I rolled my eyes at Chet. "Don't be so dramatic, Sweetie-pie. Deep down, you knew I was a witch. A regular woman can't do half the things I did to you last night. Not even a redhead." I nodded at his chair. "Now be a good boy and sit."

  Shaking his head slowly, he did as he was told and took a seat.

  "Zara, we don't have much time," Aunt Zinnia said.

  I clapped my hands. "All right. Time for the two-witch spell to bring back Winona Vander Zalm." I looked right into Dorothy's eyes. "We just need to check in with the home's former owner about any magical qualities the Red Witch House has. Just to be thorough, and to make sure it doesn't fall into the wrong hands."

  Her voice shaking, Dorothy said, "Bring her back?"

  I snapped my fingers impatiently. "Just in spirit form, but yes. She'll be here. But times running out. There were some delays getting her out of this realm and into the next, but I understand matters are moving along smoothly now, and we just have a few minutes."

  Breathlessly, Zinnia said, "We may already be too late."

  I reached for the mirrored jewelry box. "It's showtime!"

  Dorothy lunged forward and snatched the jewelry box away from me. She glared into my eyes and hissed, "Zara Riddle, whatever voodoo nonsense you're thinking about doing, you'd better not, or you'll be very sorry."

  Aunt Zinnia turned her head very slowly and gave the brown-pigtailed, tight-faced real estate agent a bored look. "Or what, Dorothy? You'll tell the whole town I'm a witch? Honestly, it might be nice to stop having to hide what I am." She leaned forward and flicked up the latch on the jewelry box. "Let's get this party started." She winked at me.