Witch Way to Mintwood (Witch of Mintwood Book 1)

by Addison Creek

  Like Mrs. Goodkeep waking up Charlie so I’d be forced to tell her I could see ghosts, also that we lived on a graveyard and I was a witch, that kind of something.

  “Me too,” said Greer, rubbing her eyes with her knuckles. “Charger woke me up, running around in circles.” That accounted for the scraping I’d heard. The dog was standing loyally by her side, and she gave him an affectionate pat.

  We both prowled around the house, checking windows, doors, and closets for something that didn’t belong there. I picked up an old baseball bat, because I didn’t have a large dog with me, but the house was silent and still and there was no sign of anything out of place. Charlie’s door was firmly closed, with no light peeking out from beneath it, so I figured she must be managing to sleep through the quiet commotion we were making. We were just about to head back upstairs when a definite scraping sound came from the dark kitchen.

  We exchanged looks.

  “What do you think?” I whispered. “I was just in there, and I didn’t see anything.”

  Greer shrugged. “We have to check it out. I’ll go first. My bathrobe is ratty, after all.”

  The instant we walked into the kitchen I knew it was Mrs. Goodkeep, because I could see her out the window, peering into Charlie’s room. The dratted ghost had been up to her tricks earlier, then had hidden while we searched and waited until I’d left the kitchen to resume causing trouble.

  “She’s such a loon,” Greer muttered.

  “I hate that woman,” I said. “She’s so annoying.”

  I went to the front door, opened it, and called out to Mr. Bone, who appeared immediately holding a trowel in one hand and a book in the other. Ignoring the fact that he was apparently busy, I asked him to keep an eye on Mrs. Goodkeep until tomorrow and told him where he could find her at the moment.

  “Giving you trouble, is she?” he asked.

  “Always,” I muttered.

  “Your new little friend is pretty upset, huh?” he asked. “The blond firecracker.”

  “She is,” I said. “She’s also not a new friend. I’m pretty sure she’s a new roommate.”

  “True, I remember seeing the three of you around here when you were teenagers, thick as candy thieves you were.”

  “What are we running, a halfway house?” One of the tea ladies had heard my comment about Charlie moving in and had stooped to talking to me in honor of her annoyance. “We’re already stuck with the other one and her face. She’s pretty, but she’s permanently plastered her expression into a scowl.”

  “What’s that you said? I’m pretty? Thanks ever so,” said Greer, swooshing in. She smiled at Mr. Bone, who smiled back as the tea lady wandered off huffing and puffing about how much better it was to be a ghost – at least you weren’t an idiot anymore.

  “Things have gotten considerably nicer around here since you arrived,” Mr. Bone told Greer, with a wink and a smile. Greer had charmed him.

  “Thank you, glad to be here,” she said. “Maybe someday the niceness will extend to the far lawn.” She pointed toward the tea ladies, one of whom turned around to yell, “Not likely.”

  When Mr. Bone saw me glaring at him he tipped his hat and said, “I’ll go take care of Mrs. Goodkeep for you now, and don’t you worry. Have a lovely rest of your night.”

  With that he snuck around the side of the house to where the other ghost was about to spill my secret to a sleeping Charlie. Once the door was closed again I said to Greer, “I have no idea how you do that.”

  “Do what?” Greer asked. My friend had a way of getting people to like her despite her gruff exterior, a talent of which she appeared entirely unaware.

  I snorted and went up to bed as Greer asked me again what I was talking about.

  Chapter Eight

  In the morning I woke up hoping we’d gotten away with our midnight secret wanderings with Charlie none the wiser.

  The three of us were halfway through breakfast before I started to worry that Charlie might suspect something had happened while she slept.

  “Do you keep lights on outside at night?” Charlie said.

  My raisin maple oatmeal was halfway to my mouth when I stopped. “No.”

  “I thought I saw something bright at my window, but maybe it was just a dream. . . “ She let that hang there before casually adding, “My room’s coming along amazingly! I’m excited.”

  “Great,” I said. “Did you see anything outside?”

  Charlie frowned as she moved oatmeal around in her bowl. “No, but I mean, I wasn’t really looking outside. I just sort of rolled over. Today’s a big day. I needed all the rest I could get.”

  “Why is today such a big day?” said Greer.

  “My editor gave me permission to write a front page article on the barn construction,” she said.

  “Oh?” I asked, trying not to sound too interested. The barn was the other ghost project I was currently working on, and short of going to the protest yesterday for all of half an hour, I wasn’t doing a very good job of it.

  If only these projects paid good money, I wouldn’t have such a hard time fixing my house.

  “My editor wants something sympathetic to the new construction project. How great it’s going to be for the town and all that,” she said.

  I dropped my spoon in my bowl and gave her a sour look. “Great, that’s just great. Everyone in town is for this project, but what about the barn!”

  “There are benefits to it,” said Greer.

  “But the barn,” I said.

  “We all love the barn,” said Greer. But then she turned to our new roommate and asked, “What research are you doing today, Charlie?”

  “I’m interviewing Jasper,” she said, sounding excited. “He’s the lead on the project. He’s taken over a lot of his family’s business lately, and he’s really doing wonders for the community. It’s not as glamorous as becoming a lawyer or a doctor like his mother, but he’s so good at what he does and he cares about the community so much!”

  Greer gave me a sidelong look while Charlie continued to talk about Jasper Wolf. “I emailed him last night, saying I didn’t think he’d remember me or anything, but it turns out he does remember me. He said he remembers our gang of three pretty well, and he knew I graduated at the top of the class.” She grinned. “He invited me to his office and I invited him to dinner at my house.”

  “You did WHAT?” I sputtered. “Dinner where?” She had said her house after all, which until yesterday I would have thought meant Andy’s, but now meant . . .

  “This is my house now too,” said Charlie, shrugging. “So he’s going to come here. We haven’t made a set plan or anything yet, but I figured you’d be happy about him coming over. You think he’s cute, right?”

  I put my face in my hands. My grandmother’s kitschy style was going to be on full display, ready to be enjoyed by none other than Jasper Wolf, the corporate suit. I was gradually realizing that it wasn’t really fair to call him a corporate suit, though I might just keep doing it anyhow. Either way, he was going to be at the farmhouse.

  Breathe, just breathe.

  “That’s great, Charlie,” I said through my palms. Greer patted me on the back and tried not to laugh. “Text me when you two figure out what the plan for dinner is.”

  “It will be a great distraction from Andy,” said Charlie, dabbing at the sides of her mouth with a napkin. “I’m not so sure Andy’s going to come around. He still wants his ‘space.’”

  “Do either of you know anyone around town named Jeff?” I asked, remembering my promise to Mrs. Goodkeep from the night before. I’d checked my home phone answering machine as soon as I got up to see if Detective Cutter had contacted me, but there were no messages. Annoyed, I had thrown on a pair of jeans and a sweater and gone downstairs to eat breakfast. Coffee and some chow were the only ways to turn the world right side up again.

  Both my friends thought for a minute. “There’s a Jeff who’s the custodian at the newspaper,” said Charlie. “I think he
lives in Caedmon though.” Caedmon was a couple of towns over.

  “Is he single?”

  “He’s sixty and married to his high school sweetheart,” said Charlie. So not him, I thought.

  “There’s a Jeff who comes into the bar sometimes,” said Greer. “Young guy. Lots of tattoos. Rides a bike.”

  “Is that someone you think Gracie would go for?” I said, forgetting that I hadn’t told my friends what I was up to in relation to the high school prom queen.

  “Gracie Coswell?” Charlie was instantly on high alert, like she’d detected a fire and was going to sniff out exactly where it was before stamping it out so hard with her high heels that it never wanted to come back.

  “Yes,” I said, eyeing my friend for signs of eruption. Ever since Gracie had tried to be named valedictorian for being prettier than Charlie, Charlie had hated Gracie with a passion she usually reserved for Andy’s mother. My friend was never going to forgive Gracie for not understanding that there were multiple ways to be attractive, and brains WAS one of them, as she had told us many times since.

  “Why do you care about Gracie?” said Charlie icily, as if I’d betrayed my own mother.

  “Just wondering,” I said, swallowing hard under her concrete gaze. A part of me knew I shouldn’t have asked about Jeff in front of Charlie, because it would lead to exactly this, but when I woke up that morning I hadn’t been able to think of any Jeffs in town and I needed to know who Gracie might be dating. The girl’s life might hang in the very balance, after all.

  “He’s good-looking in a bad boy type of way, so if Gracie’s breathing, then yeah, I think he might convince her,” said Greer, ignoring the steam spewing out of Charlie’s ears and covering the breakfast nook. “He’s never come into the bar with her, though. He always comes in alone. Sits there and drinks a beer or two and then leaves.”

  “How often does he come in?” I asked Greer, who gave me a strange look.

  “Once or twice a week,” she said.

  “Think he’ll come in tonight?” I asked, giving up all pretense of sounding casual.

  “Don’t know. I can let you know if he does,” said Greer.

  “Let us BOTH know,” said Charlie. When we both looked at her skeptically, she said, “I just got dumped. Of the three of us, I’m for sure the first one who needs to go to a bar. If you go tonight, I’m going with you.”

  “All right,” I said reluctantly. “We’ll all go. IF he’s there.” And if Gracie’s still missing by sunset.

  Just then the house phone rang, blaring like a trumpet throughout the rooms. Greer got up and answered, if for no other reason than to stop the ringing. She listened for a few moments, then held out the pink receiver to me.

  “Hello?” I said.

  “This is Detective Cutter,” said the familiar voice on the other end of the line. “We’ve officially declared Gracie Coswell a missing person. The mayor would like to speak with you about her disappearance, if you could come to city hall this morning? He would like to thank you for alerting us to this most dire situation.”

  My grandmother’s words sprang into my head. “Whatever you do, don’t go to the town hall. DO NOT.”

  I cleared my throat. Both my friends were looking at me, wondering what was going on. Sorry, Grandma.

  “Sure, I can come by. I’m having lunch with a friend, so I can’t stay long,” I said and hung up the phone.

  When I told Greer and Charlie that Gracie was missing and I had discovered it the night before, they were both mad at me for holding out on them.

  “How can we live together without trust?” Charlie demanded. “That’s a big scoop and you didn’t tell me! Don’t you realize I’m a reporter?”

  “I’m not doing an interview for the paper,” I said quickly. “It’s bad enough that I have to go to the town hall and be thanked by the mayor.”

  I’d had very little interaction with Mintwood’s mayor over the years, which if you asked my grandmother was all to the good.

  “Fine, I’ll tell whichever reporter gets put on it that I live with the person who discovered that Gracie Coswell, Mintwood’s golden girl Miss Priss, is missing, but that she – said roommate – doesn’t want to talk to us.”

  “Thank you,” I said, and Charlie glared harder.

  “What friend are you having lunch with?” said Greer. “Aren’t all the friends you have in this room?”

  “Yeah, that’s why I’m having lunch with you,” I said brightly.

  “Great,” muttered Greer. “Now I have to break my rule.”

  “Which rule is that?” Charlie asked.

  “The no getting properly dressed before noon rule, obviously,” said Greer.

  “You’re such a good friend,” I said, hugging her around the shoulders even as her expression turned sour.

  “I know,” said Greer, and pushed her chair back. “Everyone have a great morning.”

  Charlie was eyeing me. “There’s something you aren’t telling me, and I just want you to know that it’s fine for now. You can keep your secrets, but you should know that I’ll discover whatever it is you’re hiding. You’ll break and tell me. I know it. You’ve been warned.”

  “Stop giving me the stink-eye,” I said. My friends and their facial expressions would be the death of me, I swear.

  “Oh, by the way, why is the attic locked?” said Charlie, pausing as she walked back to her room.

  I paused with my back to her, about to grab a glass of water and walk out the door.

  “Um, all my grandma’s stuff is up there. It’s mostly just junk and useless stuff like that, but I figured I’d keep it locked all the same.”

  Truth be told, it was all her witching stuff, which I had barely looked at since she died. Having all of her stuff up there made me sad. Even when she lived alone she’d kept the door locked, so I followed her practice. The ornate key was kept on a chain around my neck.

  “Have a good morning.”

  I hurried out before Charlie could ask any more questions, but now I knew I was going to have to tell her my secret, probably sooner rather than later. “Oh, hey Charlie, I’m a witch. It runs in the family and it means I can see ghosts, which is why I’m trying to find out what happened to your least favorite person in the world, Gracie Coswell. Feel free to put your investigative skills to work and poke around.” If she was going to live with me she was bound to find out anyway, and the news would be much better coming from me.

  As Charlie left for work, I hurried upstairs to find something presentable to wear. If I was going into the Mintwood town hall I needed armor, and it was going to be in the form of a cute blouse, a skirt, and flats. Bring it on, world, I thought, imagining myself holding a shield with a broom design on the front. Yup, very realistic, I know.

  I was careful to keep my grandmother’s key necklace on, and I added some stud earrings my mother had given me when I turned sixteen and was ready for “grownup” jewelry. After a quick shower I put my unruly brown hair up in a bun, just in case the mayor or Detective Cutter was confused about whether I meant business.

  My grandmother had refused to explain most aspects of being a witch, and that included why I should steer clear of the town hall, why foxes hated our property but badgers loved it, why Paws was still there, and the fact that she was a witch at all. Learning as I went along wasn’t easy. I was sure that someday I would look back and think it had been good for me, but today wasn’t that day and tomorrow wouldn’t be either.

  Once I was ready to go, I grabbed my handbag and hurried to my car. After my meeting I’d be having lunch with Greer at The Daily Brew, then maybe I’d pop into the costume shop to say hi to Liam. After that I might stop by the Babbling Brook Road barn, but more than likely it wouldn’t be late enough for the ghosts to be visible yet.

  In any event, I wanted to be sure I was home in the evening so I could have a chat with Paws. If I was conducting an investigation into a missing person so that Mrs. Goodkeep would leave me and Charlie alone, I neede
d to run what I did by him. He had a lot more experience with ghosts than I did, seeing how he was one.

  The fact was, ghosts rarely did harm. They’d need a dark witch to turn them evil, and I didn’t know any. Sure, my grandmother said, dark witches were everywhere, but since she had never pointed any out, for all I knew Charlie was one and the cranky tea shop cashier another.

  In order to contact or interact with a dark witch’s spells, there had to be spells from the likes of me. But I had never done a spell in my life thanks to my grandma’s refusal to teach me a thing about being a witch.

  I’ll never forget one particular conversation I had with her, in which she made her feelings on the subject abundantly clear.

  “What do you need to practice? You ARE one,” she said.

  We were sitting in her kitschy green living room at the time, and she was knitting. She loved to knit. I had enough hats to last me two lifetimes, hats in every color to match every country outfit.

  “But I don’t know what I’m doing,” I countered. She shook her white curly head vigorously.

  “You’re brown-haired and you’re a witch. You don’t practice being brown-haired, so why would you practice being a witch?”

  “Gram, I don’t think that’s how it works,” I said desperately. “You practice knitting, right?”

  “You’re being ridiculous,” she told me kindly. “You know everything you need to know.”

  “Oh yeah, how do I banish a ghost, then?” I asked.

  My grandmother looked scandalized. “Whatever would you want to do that for? Ghosts are our friends. They keep us company.” Clearly she’d spent too much time with Paws.

  “What if it’s a bad ghost?” I said.

  “Ghosts are rarely bad without a witch behind them,” she said, her face turning hard. “What you have to do is deal with the witch who’s feeding them the evil strength.” She sniffed. “If you ask me, those sorts of witches have no idea of the real value of spells.”

  “All the ghosts here though?” I said. “You don’t feed their energy?”

  “Are they doing something evil?” she said. “Then no. They just exist without help.”