The West family Christmas cake recipe dated back to our British ancestors. It had been passed down for generations, along with the legend that the cake was the real reason no creatures were stirring the night before Christmas. Our ancient house had once harbored mice. That is, until Mom had rediscovered and resurrected the ancient family recipe about a decade ago. Suddenly, our mouse problem disappeared. Her cake had one redeeming factor: it was lethal to the poor little creatures.
It seemed wrong in so many ways to serve it to our unsuspecting guests.
This year was a little different. Mom hadn’t made the cake ahead of time like she usually did. She had made it only this morning, too late to prevent our little mouse problem from returning. Our family mansion was old and drafty with plenty of ways for the critters to get inside and escape the cold weather.
I wrinkled my nose and padded by Mom and Aunt Pearl unnoticed. I had just opened the fridge to grab Dominic a Budweiser when I felt something brush against my shoulder. I saw a red flash from the corner of my eye and screamed.
“What the heck—” Aunt Pearl dropped her knife onto the counter and stumbled backward. “Geesh, Cen! You scared the living daylights out of me. What’s the matter with you? You’ve never seen Santa before?”
“Uh…S-Santa?” I turned and stared at the tall but slightly underweight Santa-suited man standing in our kitchen. Was this the same Santa from the snow globe sleigh? If so, he was just another one of Aunt Pearl’s tricks. Somehow, she had managed to ruin all my childhood memories. Now, Santa was all creepy and stalker-like. Good thing we had no kids around because they would be traumatized forever.
My stare locked onto Santa’s pale blue eyes and recognition set in. This was no apparition. It was Earl, Aunt Pearl’s not-so-secret admirer. I hadn’t recognized him in disguise at first, but that was understandable. He was a no-nonsense retired farmer that nobody ever expected to dress up as Santa Claus.
For some unfathomable reason, easy-going Earl liked ornery Aunt Pearl. His calm demeanor was the polar opposite of my cranky, conniving aunt. He seemed willing to go to great lengths to make her happy, which probably explained his Santa suit. That made me happy too. I liked Earl a lot, especially for the calming effect he had on Aunt Pearl.
Mom giggled. “You walked right past Earl, Cen. You’re so lost in your own thoughts that you didn’t see him.”
Santa’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “This suit is pretty flashy, Cen. Kind of hard to miss.”
I was definitely preoccupied, wondering if Tyler was okay. “Uh, sorry, Earl. I wasn’t expecting to see you.” Especially not in a baggy Santa Claus suit. “Aunt Pearl said you weren’t coming—”
“I said nothing of the sort,” Aunt Pearl snapped. “Why don’t you show Earl into the dining room?”
Once we were out of earshot Earl confided, “This whole Santa thing was Pearl’s idea. To tell you the truth, I feel kind of silly in this getup. But if it keeps Pearl happy, it’s worth it.”
Amen to that.
Normally, I wouldn’t have been surprised to see Earl. He lived nearby and had no place else to go on holidays. He had joined us for Thanksgiving dinner. But Aunt Pearl told us earlier that Earl had a new girlfriend and wasn’t coming.
Another fib just for the fun of it. I never knew whether to believe Aunt Pearl or not.
“Let’s go sit in the dining room.” I beckoned for Earl to follow and grabbed a bottle of Witching Hour Red, a merlot vintage from our small onsite vineyard. As we entered the dining room no one mentioned Earl’s Santa suit, making it all the more awkward. Obviously, they were at a loss for words.
Earl sat at the foot of the table. His seating choice was strategically beside Aunt Pearl’s regular seat on his left. Her cane rested against the chair back despite her being in the kitchen. Her cane was really her wand, of course.
It was hard to know if Earl was truly ignorant or just wilfully blind to Aunt Pearl’s witchy talents. Whatever the reason, he never questioned how she got around without her cane or noticed any of her frequent supernatural shenanigans. Love is blind, I guess.
My stomach growled despite the cake sighting. I placed the wine on the table and handed the Budweiser to Dominic. “I’m impressed that you came all the way from Vanuatu to surprise Merlinda.”
“Yeah, well…” He twisted the cap off the beer bottle and downed a generous gulp. He slammed the bottle on the table and let out a sigh as he leaned back in his seat. He squeezed Merlinda’s hand. “She’s worth it.”
I glanced outside and saw that the porch railing had disappeared under a pile of snow. Somehow, Dominic had made it through road closures and the blizzard of the century. And that was after leaving a tropical paradise just to surprise his girlfriend thousands of miles and half an ocean away for dinner. No man had ever done anything remotely close to that for me.
Not that I wanted Tyler to abandon stranded motorists, of course. As sheriff, he couldn’t just up and leave simply because dinner beckoned. I kind of wished for it though. I also considered all the people out driving as inconsiderate. If they weren’t out there getting stranded in the storm, then Tyler wouldn’t be stuck rescuing them. Maybe that was selfish, but was it so wrong to want my boyfriend by my side on Christmas Eve?
“You left the sun and sand for this weather? That must have been hard,” Aunt Amber said.
“Not at all.” Dominic wrapped his arm around Merlinda and squeezed her shoulder so hard that her chair tilted toward him on two legs. “Nothing could keep me away.”
Merlinda steadied herself with a hand on the table. “Who’s taking care of the dive shop? You left during the busy season.”
“You have a dive shop?” Dominic didn’t strike me as a sporty aquatic type. His muscle-bound body would sink like an anchor. Or maybe he would just use someone else as an anchor. His dive shop was probably a cover for drug smuggling or something equally nefarious and shady. There was something a little off about him, though I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
“Not my shop. I just work there.” Dominic turned back to Merlinda. “Everything’s cool, I got someone to take care of things while I’m gone. I missed you so much, babe. I just wanted to be with you for the holidays.”
Dominic pried open Merlinda’s palm and extracted the mistletoe. He placed it on the coffee table between their drinks. “You don’t need lucky charms. I’m here to protect you, now and always.”
Merlinda’s expression darkened. She gulped her wine and deposited her wineglass on the table with so much force it spilled. Little red droplets stained the white tablecloth. “You were supposed to keep an eye on things. I thought we agreed—”
Dominic held a finger to his lips. “Shush, babe. We don’t need to keep it a secret from them.”
“Keep what a secret?” Mom emerged from the kitchen with a steaming dish of mashed potatoes. She placed the dish on the dining room table and wiped her hands on her apron.
“There are problems on Vanuatu. Merlinda has a price on her head,” Dominic said.
Mom gasped. “Merlinda, you never told us you were in danger! Who on earth wants to hurt you?”
Merlinda shrugged. “Dominic is exaggerating. It’s really not as bad as Dominic says.”
Dominic shook his head. “No, you’re not safe in Vanuatu. Not even here. That’s why I came here to protect you.”
“Protect Merlinda from what?” Mom asked. “Westwick Corners is the safest place around.”
“Merlinda’s enemies are hell-bent on getting to her. They want to harness her powers for John Frum and the cargo cult,” Dominic said.
“Who’s John Frum?” Aunt Amber asked.
Merlinda waved her hand in dismissal. “He’s not a real person.”
“Whatever the reason is, nobody’s coming here anytime soon,” Earl said. “We’re smack dab in the middle of a blizzard for a while yet.”
Merlinda glared at Earl. “You’re not a weather expert.”
Earl seemed completely oblivious to Merl
inda’s hatred of him. “Could’ve told you about this storm weeks ago. If you asked me I would have suggested you take an earlier flight. The Farmer’s Almanac predicted lots of snow and a cold winter this year.”
“Well, I didn’t ask you, did I?” Merlinda rolled her eyes. “You actually believe in the Farmer’s Almanac?”
Earl raised a brow. “Of course I believe in it. It’s been right for the better part of the last fifty years, maybe longer.”
“Earl’s been farming for a long time,” I said. Merlinda’s rudeness was inexcusable, but I had to admit that I felt a small sense of satisfaction seeing a crack in Merlinda’s perfect façade. Earl had just tried to be helpful, and she had practically bit his head off.
“Why are these people after you, dear?” Aunt Amber frowned. “Who is this John Frum guy? And what on earth is a cargo cult? Is it for people who love designer luggage? Or something to do with ocean travel?”
A faint smile crossed Merlinda’s lips as she slowly shook her head. “I wish it was that simple.”
Aunt Pearl stood just behind Merlinda, though I hadn’t noticed her enter the dining room. She set the gravy boat carefully down on the table in front of Merlinda, like an offering to a goddess.
“Merlinda doesn’t need your help, Dominic,” Aunt Pearl snapped. “She’s perfectly capable of taking care of herself.”
“Now Pearl...” Earl’s soothing voice had its effect, and everyone was silent for a moment.
Dominic sucked in his breath and frowned. “You didn’t tell them anything, babe?”
“Tell us what?” Mom had missed part of the conversation while on another trip to the kitchen. This time she brought a basket of freshly baked buns. “I hope everybody’s hungry. You can share your news over dinner.”
“But Tyler isn’t here yet.” I glanced out the window, dismayed there was still no sign of his Jeep. Dominic’s Escalade was already covered with a few inches of fresh snow, now a white lump in the unploughed driveway. “Can’t we wait a few more minutes?”
“He’s probably not coming, Cen.” Aunt Pearl’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Ooh…I bet he got a better offer.”
I opened my mouth to answer but stopped. Aunt Pearl liked to provoke me, but I wasn’t taking the bait.
Mom shook her head. “I’ve held off as long as I could, dear. I guess Tyler’s still stuck out there. I’ll just warm up a plate for him when he gets here.”
“Okay.” I sighed, feeling sorry for myself. Just as well, I decided. With both Dominic and Merlinda here, things weren’t even remotely like the special family Christmas Eve I had hoped for.
5
I glanced at the empty seat beside me and half-listened to the conversation. Mom and Aunt Pearl brought more steaming dishes out before taking their places at the table.
The table was crammed with bowls of vegetables, stuffing, cranberry sauce, and of course, the turkey. The two dozen or so dishes were more than enough to feed a coven of calorie-starved witches and then some.
But I had lost my appetite, worried that something had happened to Tyler. I called his cell phone but now he didn’t answer.
Mom caught my eye and smiled in sympathy.
I smiled back, hoping my disappointment wasn’t as obvious to everyone else. I dropped a warm bun onto my plate and passed the basket to Aunt Pearl. If I pretended to enjoy myself, then maybe I actually would.
I glanced around the table, noticing that Aunt Pearl in her green velvet pantsuit and Earl in his red velour Santa suit complemented each other in a weird sort of way. Aunt Pearl, with her gray hair and festive green velvet, resembled an anorexic elderly Mrs. Claus. Earl’s red suit hung loosely on his large frame and gave him an aging hippie Santa look.
Aunt Amber spooned a generous helping of candied carrots onto her plate and passed the dish to Mom on her left. “I want the inside scoop on this cargo cult. Can anyone join?”
“There’s no formal membership or anything. It’s not that kind of cult,” Merlinda said. “John Frum is mostly legend. Even if he was a real person, most of the stories about him are made-up. But on Vanuatu, people honestly believe that he has the power to bestow riches on true believers.”
“Believers of what?” I half-listened as I watched the window for any sign of Tyler.
“It’s mostly a myth that got kind of jumbled together over the years. Some real events got embellished because people wanted to believe they could bring it all back.” Merlinda glanced at Dominic. “The U.S. Navy and other fleets stopped in Vanuatu during the Second World War. They had all sorts of gadgets the locals never even knew existed, like radios, watches, and other things. And amazing food and drink, like Spam and Coca-Cola.”
“I wouldn’t call Spam amazing,” Earl turned to Merlinda on his right. “You gotta try some of my grain fed chicken…”
“You sold your farm, Earl. Remember?” Aunt Amber shifted her gaze to Dominic. “I guess they never had stuff like that in Vanuatu back then. It’s harmless wishful thinking.”
“Like Christmas and Santa Claus,” Aunt Pearl added. “The story is part real and part pretend.”
“Years ago you couldn’t just order stuff online,” Dominic said. “Especially not in Vanuatu. It’s a remote group of islands in the middle of nowhere. Nothing but sand and palm trees.”
Merlinda nodded. “The islanders thought that the strangers could magically conjure up all kinds of luxury goods and conveniences. Nobody on Vanuatu had ever seen those things before. That is, until the 1930’s and 1940’s when the US Navy used the islands as a World War II staging ground. When the servicemen left a few years later, people always expected that the American naval personnel would return.”
“And bring back all the good stuff and good times,” Dominic agreed. “Only they never did.”
“Magic is what people call things they don’t understand.” I hoped the conversation was enough to distract from Aunt Pearl and whatever it was she had up her green velvet sleeve.
Merlinda nodded. “Vanuatu is hard to get to even today, and not many people visit. It’s very expensive to ship stuff there. There are still plenty of things not available in Vanuatu that you can easily buy elsewhere. You can imagine how people’s imaginations ran wild when strangers arrived with all kinds of modern conveniences they have never seen before. Cargo, in other words. The locals believed that all the goods were conjured up because they didn’t know how else to explain it. That’s why it’s called a cargo cult.”
“But weren’t there other people on the ships besides John Frum? Why worship one man?” I asked.
Merlinda shrugged. “John Frum was just a composite of all the enlisted men that visited the islands in those days. When they all left after World War II ended, the locals channeled their energies into whatever they thought would bring the ships back. It was a collective wish that just grew bigger over the years.”
“Bunch of crazies,” Earl said. “Instead of wishful thinking, they could have grown their own food. Didn’t they stop and think about it?”
“You can’t grow Coca-Cola and Spam. What do you know anyway?” Merlinda scowled. “You’ve never been there. You’ve probably never even left Washington State.”
Earl snorted. “Don’t need to be a world traveler to know magical thinking when I see it.”
Aunt Pearl frowned. “Now Earl…I think what Merlinda is trying to say is that she—”
“Merlinda! What’s gotten into you?” Dominic shook his head. “Poor Earl was just asking a question.”
“No, he’s arguing with me like he always does.” She turned to Earl. “Face it, Earl. Pearl doesn’t like you and wants you to stop stalking her.”
“I never said that, Merlinda.” Aunt Pearl’s face flushed crimson red, her skin contrasting against her green velvet pantsuit. The festive holiday mood from moments earlier evaporated.
Earl laughed. “You sure didn’t, Pearl. I mean, you practically begged me to come for dinner.”
That sounded far-fetched, but on the o
ther hand, Aunt Pearl had invited other people, so Earl’s claim held a grain of truth. She had never invited people to our house before. Yet here we were, with a bunch of unusual dinner guests on Christmas Eve. She was definitely up to something.
Mom changed the subject back to Vanuatu. “What does this cargo cult have to do with Merlinda?”
“Merlinda has special powers,” Dominic said. “She makes things appear out of nowhere.”
So Dominic knew Merlinda was a witch after all. Kind of obvious since she was a Pearl’s Charm School student. He had probably figured out by now that we were witches too.
I glanced at Earl. If he knew anything about our witchy powers he never let on. But since he was constantly around Aunt Pearl, how could he not know?
“I don’t know how Merlinda conjures up all that stuff, only that she does. It’s pretty amazing. Oh, I almost forgot.” Dominic reached into his pocket and handed her a small packet of dried herbs. “Your medicine.”
“Thank goodness! I’ve been needing this.” Merlinda opened the packet and sprinkled the entire contents onto her mashed potatoes. She mixed the green powder into the potatoes with a fork.
“Hey, what is that?” Earl pointed his fur-trimmed red velvet-clad arm at Merlinda’s plate. His reach extended diagonally across the table and directly over Dominic’s full plate. Earl squinted at Merlinda’s potatoes. “Looks like marijuana.”
Dominic swatted Earl’s arm away. “Hey, get your arm out of my food. He leaned his shoulder in and blocked Earl’s arm. “Have you ever seen weed, old man? It doesn’t look anything like that.”
Merlinda ignored them. She swallowed a spoonful of mashed potatoes and continued on with her story. “What I do isn’t all that amazing, really. Pearl taught me that if you want something bad enough, you just focus the power of your mind on it, and your wishes will come true. That’s basically all I do.”
“Hear that, Cen?” Aunt Pearl pointed at me with her fork.
Christmas Witch List--A Westwick Witches Cozy Mystery Page 4
