Murder Any Witch Way: A Brimstone Bay Mystery (Brimstone Bay Mysteries Book 1)

by N. M. Howell

  “Okay, here’s the problem.”

  I raised my eyebrow. What did he mean, ‘problem’? There was a dead girl on a table in front of us. The problem was obvious.

  I held my silence and waited for him to continue.

  “It’s safe to say this wasn’t an accident. The fact that she was hung from a rope in a public place suggests that whoever did this was trying to make a statement.”

  I nodded, agreeing with him.

  The mortician continued his analysis. “The markings on her back, whatever the bloody hell they mean, also suggest that the killer was either trying to convey a message, or…”

  “Or performing some sort of ritual,” I finished.

  He rubbed his eyes again, and then looked up at me, a defeated look in his eyes. The sheriff was no idiot, and I knew he suspected the girls and me to be witches. He, of course, had never said anything or asked, which I always appreciated about him, but I know that he had a feeling. And now was not the time to hold anything back.

  “What can you tell me about rituals?” he asked me.

  I shook my head. “Nothing, Sheriff.” I was telling the truth. “I really don’t think this has anything to do with the people who came with the Shadow Festival. I don’t recognize the symbol. The purpose of the event here is to share the world of the paranormal with the rest of society, and murder at the event would be very bad for business.”

  “I agree. Then who? Or what?” he asked.

  I shrugged again. “I have no idea. But whoever did this, did it with a purpose.”

  The Sheriff stood up. “A purpose, indeed,” he said. “Someone doesn’t make a statement this grand and then disappear. I suspect we’ll be seeing more from whoever did this.”

  “Another murder?” I asked, shocked. The mortician’s gaze went from me to the sheriff and back again. His eyes grew wide as we spoke.

  The Sheriff nodded. “I would suspect, yes. If not that, then something else dramatic. People like this want attention, they want a show. We are going to have to be extremely careful, and we may have to shut down the festival.”

  I sighed, knowing full well that it would likely come down to this. So much for convincing the town of the goodness of the paranormal.

  7

  The sheriff dropped me off at work after the inspection at the morgue was finished. I didn’t want to have to think about the story I would have to write, so I went into the café instead, which thankfully had been re-opened.

  I really needed that Americano.

  Mr. Bramley was standing behind the counter and regarded me gravely as I walked in. “Is it true?” he asked.

  I nodded. “Unfortunately, yes.”

  He sighed and shook his head. “Terrible. Just terrible.” He began preparing the espresso for my drink automatically. “Triple?”

  “Yep, it’s that kind of a day,” I said, then sought out a place by the window. The view of the main street was concealed behind overgrown flower planters. Massive colorful flowers and vines grew along the entirety of the window, and I was thankful for the privacy. I heard a loud meowing noise through the window and noticed a small gray cat chewing on the leaves of one of the vines.

  “Hey there, little guy,” I said through the window, tapping my finger on the window pane. The cat watched my finger, mesmerized, then went back to chewing his leaves.

  I settled back into the comfy booth and checked my phone. Seven texts from Riley, all along the lines of WTH is that and More info, plz.

  I texted back: Just a research project, can you help?

  My phone buzzed back immediately. Sure, but that better not be an actual body, River.

  I laughed to myself. Not exactly the best text message to receive without an explanation.

  Just a pic, I texted back.

  Craig Bramley brought over my coffee, and to my delight placed one of his fancy imported cakes in front of me. I never bought them of my own will, as I felt I would be betraying Mrs. Pots and her cakes, but man were they ever good.

  Mr. Bramley went back to fussing about behind the counter when Ryan and his friends walked in, and I did my best to look busy on my phone, but they came to join me at the booth and sat down anyway.

  I looked up expectantly, not saying anything.

  “You don’t look so good,” Ryan’s dark-haired friend said. “Afraid you’ll be next?”

  Ryan elbowed him hard in the ribs. “Brett, dude, what the hell?”

  Brett laughed. “Just teasin’ her. God, you small-town folk are so uptight.”

  “I think that’s what they say about us city guys, too,” Jordan chimed in.

  “Four coffees, dad,” Ryan called to his dad across the café. He turned to me. “Care if we join you?”

  “Actually, I was just leaving.” I stood to leave, but Jordan reached out and grabbed my arm. “You should stay,” he said, winking at me. “Tell us what you found out about the woman’s murder.”

  I pulled my arm away from his grip, not impressed in the slightest.

  “That’s all there is to know,” I said sharply.

  I turned to leave, and Jordan added, “Anything unique about the body?”

  I eyed him suspiciously, wondering how he would know to even ask that.

  “Nothing that we could see.” He looked let down. Good.

  I left the café without another look back at them and called out a “thanks” to Ryan’s dad as I left.

  I walked home quickly with my head down, not wanting to interact with anyone else. I was mentally and physically exhausted, and all I wanted was to sit down and drink my coffee in peace. I knew that once I got home, the girls would pester me about the murder, but that sure beats dealing with Ryan and his pushy friends.

  I heard the same little meow noise behind me as I walked away from the café, and I turned to see the little gray cat was following me. I bent down to scratch its ears, and it rolled onto its back for a belly rub.

  “Well, aren’t you just a friendly little guy,” I cooed to it, scratching its fuzzy white tummy. I noticed he didn’t have a collar and figured he must be a stray. “You look pretty damn good for a stray,” I said to him. He purred under my touch.

  “I’ve gotta go home, now,” I said to it. “Go back to where you came from.”

  I walked away, but the cat followed me. I hoped it would lose interest eventually, but the damn thing followed me all the way home. When I finally arrived at the house, I gave it one last scratch. “Sorry, buddy, you’ve got to stay outside.” I closed the door behind me, and the cat sat outside on the steps, looking up at me through the window with big, sad eyes. Damn, the last thing I needed at that moment was a guilty conscience. I shut the blinds and tried to put it out of my mind. I had bigger things to deal with than a clingy cat.

  The house was surprisingly quiet, and I relished in the peace as I desperately threw off my clothes and jumped in the shower to try and wash the memories of the day from my skin. The memories, unfortunately, didn’t go away, but the steaming hot water felt really good.

  I then heard a loud bang from far below me, and I knew where the girls were. I laughed and stepped out of the shower so I could dry off and go join the fun. Every now and then we all would have a ‘witch off’ with Mrs. Brody. What’s a ‘witch off’? Well, I’m glad you asked.

  Essentially, we all would do our best to out ‘witch’ each other - with harmless spells, of course - by showing off our potion and spell casting skills. It always ended up in complete mayhem, and it was a total blast. I needed the distraction right about now.

  I was not prepared for what I walked into, though.

  Tiny little Mrs. Brody was backed up into the far corner of the room looking distraught, her hair a flamboyant neon pink color. Jane had lost her eyebrows, Bailey had grown antlers, and poor Rory had sprouted a bright green mustache. Not only that but the little gray cat that followed me home was sitting on the kitchen table, with a bow tie tied around its neck, watching the fun with interest.

  “Er�
� what’s going on here?” I asked, doing my best to contain my laughter.

  “Get. It. Off. Of. Me.” Mrs. Brody said through clenched teeth.

  Rory crossed her arms stubbornly. “Not until you get rid of my mustache!”

  “Now,” Mrs. Brody snapped. “Get. It. Off. Right. Now.”

  Jane and Bailey were doubled over in a laughing fit of hysterics, obviously not helping the situation.

  “I think it suits you,” I offered to Mrs. Brody. The pink actually looked good on her.

  “Not. The. Hair.” She breathed again through clenched teeth. “Get. It. Off.”

  “Not until you get rid of my mustache, old woman,” Rory said menacingly.

  Both witches were at a standoff, staring daggers at each other.

  “What is she talking about?” I asked Jane, who had regained her composure somewhat.

  “Oh, that’s not a tail I should tell,” Jane said, her face straight.

  Rory calmed down enough to add, “Let’s just say she was at the tail end of a bad spell.”

  Silence filled the room for a moment, and then the two girls burst into another monstrous fit of hysterical laughing.

  I stared at Rory in disbelief, finally catching on. “You didn’t?” I asked, biting my lower lip to not join in the laughter.

  “She started it,” Rory stated.

  “Let me see it!” I turned to Mrs. Brody, who was looking angrier than I’d ever seen her before.

  She slowly turned around and revealed what looked like a long monkey’s tail sticking out from her dress.

  I couldn’t contain myself any longer, and joined the two girls on the floor, holding my stomach desperately, laughing harder than I had in a long time. I wiped the tears from my eyes as I tried to catch my breath. Realizing that neither Mrs. Brody nor Rory were going to let up first, I stood up, tried to collect myself, and put on a mock stern face.

  “Honestly,” I said, crossing my arms. “You are both acting like children.”

  Growing up in a house full of experimental and particularly creative witches, there were a few key spells you mastered early on. One of which was particularly suited to situations like this.

  I closed my eyes and concentrated, and then muttered the incantation from memory. It had been nearly 15 years since I’d had to use that spell, but it was still fresh in my memory. I focused on Mrs. Brody’s pink hair and nasty tail, Rory’s mustache, Jane’s missing eyebrows, and Bailey’s antlers.

  I opened my eyes and the room filled with a flash of light, and when my eyes adjusted everything was back to normal.

  “Hey,” Mrs. Brody barked at me. “Give that back.”

  She snapped her fingers, and her hair returned to neon pink.

  “Oh, sorry,” I laughed. “It is a good look for you.”

  “I know,” she snapped, then busied herself in front of the kitchen sink, peeling some kind of funky-looking vegetable.

  I sat down at the kitchen table and scratched the cat behind its ears. The cat didn’t seem too perturbed at the nonsense that was going on around him. “What are you doing here, little guy?” He rolled over again onto his back for more tummy scratches.

  I rolled my eyes. “What a little suck up you are.”

  The girls came and joined me around the table, each taking turns giving the cat belly rubs.

  “You doing ok?” Bailey asked me, looking concerned.

  I nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. A little rattled, but fine.”

  “Any updates on the murder?” Rory asked.

  “Well,” I started. I wasn’t sure how much to tell, but given the circumstances, I figured I might as well be honest. “This is classified information. Keep it between us, okay?”

  They all nodded eagerly.

  “The body had some sort of symbol cut into its back,” I said, then paused. “I don’t know what the symbol meant, but it suggests the killer was trying to make a statement, and it’s rare that these sorts of cases are one-offs…” I trailed off, the dread I felt earlier returning to the pit of my stomach in full force.

  “What do you mean?” Rory asked, concern drawn across her face. “You mean there will be more of these?”

  Mrs. Brody joined us at the table and sat down, looking utterly dismayed. “I doubt it was coincidence, occurring right when the festival came to town.”

  “Do you think it was one of the festival people?” Bailey asked. “Why would they do something like this?”

  “Of course not,” snapped Mrs. Brody. “More likely someone wanting to make it appear as if it were them. Put the blame on the paranormals. It’s not a new thing, dear.” She sighed, memories of a darker past obviously haunting her. I remembered the stories her spirit friends told us the other night and felt a chill crawl up my spine.

  “It’s possible,” I said. “We don’t want to come to any conclusions before we’ve had a chance to investigate further.”

  “Are we in danger?” Jane asked, her face had drained of all its color.

  “I think it’s safe to assume, at this point, that everyone is in danger. Just be careful, stick together and don’t go anywhere that could get you in trouble, okay?” I looked at each of them in turn, waiting for their agreement.

  “I have a meeting with the mayor and the sheriff first thing in the morning. We’ll figure this out,” I added.

  “What are you going to say in the paper?” Bailey asked.

  I shook my head. “I have no idea. But we have to be careful about it. I think that’s why Sheriff Reese is letting me stay so close to this case. The way we communicate these events to the town will have a huge effect on how things will be, going forward.”

  I lay my head on my arms, and the little cat walked up to me on the tabletop and rubbed its body against my face.

  “Who let him in?” I asked, giving yet more tummy rubs to the little fuzzy thing.

  Everyone looked at each other, but not one of them had an answer.

  Bailey shrugged. “Must have jumped in a window.”

  I glanced around, noticing each window was closed. “Uh-huh,” I said, not believing them.

  “He obviously likes you,” Rory said, beaming. “You should keep him. We could use a cat around the house to scare off the spirits.” She laughed.

  “Hey now, none of that,” Mrs. Brody interjected. She wagged her finger at the cat. “No scaring away my friends.”

  The cat meowed in reply. “I didn’t know cats could see spirits,” I said, eyeing Mrs. Brody. “Since when?”

  “Since always, dear,” she said, petting the cat on the head. “You’ve obviously read the story books. Where do you think those books get their ideas from?”

  Huh. Who knew.

  “Well, little guy,” I said to the cat. “Welcome to the family, I guess.” He meowed, and rolled over on his back for more belly rubs.

  “Speaking of ghosts,” Rory said. “If she was murdered, couldn’t we just ask her ghost what happened?”

  I didn’t even think of that. “Do all murder victims turn into ghosts?” I asked, curious. The haunted house was full of ghosts, but none that I could tell matched the profile of the murder victim.

  As if on cue, one of the ghosts from the dinner party emerged from the living room.

  “Excuse me, don’t you knock?” Mrs. Brody chided the man, as he approached the table. He ignored her.

  “To answer your question, yes, all murder victims become ghosts,” he said matter-of-factly. He must have been eavesdropping from the next room. How convenient.

  “Hi, Mr. Richards,” Rory said, smiling at the man.

  “Hello, my dear,” he replied, tipping his bowler hat in greeting.

  “You can’t just come around uninvited, you know,” Mrs. Brody said sternly to the man.

  “I am a ghost, madam,” he replied. “I can go anywhere I please, and I wish you luck in stopping me.”

  “Hmph,” Mrs. Brody replied, turning up her nose. “We’ll see about that.”

  I laughed, curious as to
how she could possibly control the whereabouts of a ghost. I wouldn’t put it past her to try, though.

  “If I wanted to track down a specific spirit,” I asked Mr. Richards. “Where would I look?”

  “Oh, a number of places, I suspect,” he began. “Near the body, at the murder site, at a location dear to the person while they were living…”

  I sighed. “So, anywhere.”

  “I would start at the murder site, as that’s where the spirit will first appear.”

  “We’re not sure where that was,” I said, defeated. “I don’t think the murder happened where the body was found. There was no blood. Not that I noticed, at least.”

  “I could have the boys do a sweep of the town if you like?” he suggested.

  I sat up straight. “You can do that?” I really didn’t know much about ghosts, I realized.

  “But of course,” he said to me. “What do you think we do with our time? Float around in one place all day?”

  I never thought of it. I guess I assumed ghosts just sort or disappeared when not interacting with anyone who would see them. I kept that thought to myself, though.

  “I’m coming,” Jane said immediately.

  “Me, too,” Bailey added.

  “Ditto,” said Rory.

  I sighed. “I guess that means I’m coming, too. But we need to be discreet about it, okay? We’ll just go for a stroll through the town, and Mr. Richards will report back to us.”

  “Works for me,” Bailey said, excitedly.

  “That work for you, Mr. Richards?” I asked him. He saluted me and vanished through the wall.

  8

  The sun was starting to set as we made our way into the town’s center. The street was nearly deserted, which was nice as it would mean fewer questions directed at us as to why we were wandering about aimlessly.

  We had no real direction in mind, I figured we would just walk down the main street, and Mr. Richards would check in with us with any new information.

  We arrived at the main street and stopped to wait on the sidewalk a few blocks away from my work. I hoped Mr. Richards would at least let us know what his plans were, so we weren’t just walking around in aimless circles.