Witch School Dropout: A Witch Squad Cozy Mystery #7

by M. Z. Andrews

  “Yeah, so we need to do a spell to get the spirit out of the dog before the victim’s wife finds out what we did,” explained Alba.

  Clara smiled at us kindly, but patronizingly. The way a mother looks at her children when they ask to help with something that they’re not quite old enough to tackle yet, like chopping vegetables with the big knife. “Yes, that’s really quite the predicament,” she lamented. “I can lend you the book, but I’m afraid that reversal spells can only be completed by the light of a full moon.”

  I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my apps until I found the little square that had a picture of a moon on it. A screen that read Phases of the Moon popped up for exactly two seconds before disappearing to reveal a screen much like my weather app, except this app only told of lunar cycles. I scrolled and quickly discovered that there wasn’t supposed to be a full moon until the weekend after Mr. Bailey’s funeral. “Ugh,” I groaned and held the screen up to Alba’s face.

  She glanced at it for only a brief moment but knew by the tone of my voice that we were out of luck. “That’s not gonna help us out with your meeting with Whitman.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “But maybe we can figure that part out. Let’s take the book, and we’ll do the spell this weekend.”

  Clara nodded and led us over to a cobwebbed corner of the upper library. “This is the reversal section. There’s the book on spirit reversals.” She pointed to an especially dusty book on the shelf. Apparently, that was an unpopular book, which was a subtle stab that more conscientious witches knew better than to use a substitution in their spells. “Remember. No ingredient substitutions.”

  I was pretty sure we’d never make that mistake again. “We learned that lesson the hard way, Clara.”

  She lifted her thin white brows. “You’re here to learn. And learn you have.”

  I cracked a half smile at her Yoda-like comment. As we moved back towards the stairs, a vacant spot on a shelf caught my eye. The book that had been missing the day we’d checked out the Spells for Spirits book was still missing. “This book didn’t come back, yet,” I pointed out.

  Clara nodded. “Their three days aren’t up yet.”

  “When must it be returned by?” I asked.

  “Later this afternoon, I believe,” she answered.

  “But you can’t tell us who checked it out?”

  “That’s right,” she said with a perfunctory smile.

  “So if it’s due back later today…” I said, counting backwards on fingers in my head. “Then it was checked out right before Mr. Bailey died.”

  Alba looked at me with interest. “You think there’s a correlation?”

  “There could be. I mean isn’t that sort of coincidental?”

  Alba scratched the tip of her turned up nose. “Yeah, very interesting.”

  “Who has access to this library Clara?” I asked looking around.

  Clara’s eyes widened. “Anyone who goes to school here.”

  “Faculty and staff too?”

  She nodded.

  “What about alumni?” asked Alba.

  “Yes, of course. Alumni are always welcome to use our facilities.”

  “But you can’t tell us who checked out that particular book?”

  “Correct.”

  If this were a movie, someone would be slipped a folded-up Grant at this point, but it wasn’t a movie, ghosts had no need for money, and I was fresh out of fifty dollar bills. I couldn’t think of a single way to motivate a ghost to talk, so instead, I looked at the shelf and noticed that Annabelle Abrahams was the author of the books on either side of the missing book.

  “Riggght,” I said agreeably, stretching out the word, stalling for time so my brain could catch up with the information I was quietly gathering. Absentmindedly, I opened the new book we wanted to check out and pulled the card from the front of the book. Then a thought crossed my mind, and before I handed the card to Clara, I glanced down at it and noticed that the people who’d checked it out previously were listed on the card. This was an old library. No electronic records for them – only old school procedures! So there was a way to figure out who had checked out the missing book! All we needed to do was come back after the book had been returned to the library and look at the card in the front of the book. Simple!

  I signed for the new book and then tugged the girls hurriedly back down the stairs. When we were safely outside, I sucked in a deep breath of fresh air. “I think I know who wrote the missing book. Annabelle Abrahams. We look her up on the spell app and figure out what spellbooks she’s written. There were two up there. Maybe we can figure out what the third one was. Plus, I think if we come back tonight or tomorrow, the book will have been returned, and we’ll be able to figure out who checked out the book by looking at the card in the front of the book.”

  Alba smiled at me slyly. “I knew I was friends with you for a reason, Red.”

  I laughed. “It wasn’t because no one else wanted the job?”

  “Well, maybe it was that too,” she said, her brown eyes twinkling.

  18

  “Explain to me how we’re going to pull this off without Detective Whitman getting suspicious,” I asked Alba as I put a hand up to shield my eyes from the bright glare of the mid-day sun.

  “Easy, Red. Leave your phone on the table during the interview. I’ll be on the other end of the line with the dog,” she began carefully outlining the way we were going to make the conversation between Detective Whitman and Mr. Bailey work.

  Seated on the pavement under the cool shade of a red oak tree, Mr. Bailey cleared his throat. “Uh-hum, excuse me. Before we go too much further, I’d prefer not to be referred to as the dog, if you don’t mind.”

  Alba winced as she glanced back at him. She almost forgotten that he was even there. “Oh, right. Sorry, Mr. Bailey.” She looked back at me. “When we hear what Detective Whitman wants to know, Mr. Bailey will tell me the answer, and I’ll text it to this phone,” she said and held up Jax’s phone.

  “Okay, so my phone is on the table, and Jax’s phone is under the table in my lap.”

  “Right. Easy peasy. Are we ready?”

  I let out a ragged breath. “As ready as I’ll ever be. Can we get into trouble for this?” I asked, wrinkling my forehead.

  Alba laughed. “The only thing we’ll get in trouble for is putting Mr. Bailey’s ghost into that dog. You just keep the detective in the dark about that, and we should be fine.”

  “I’ll do my best. Come on, let’s go.” It was later in the day, and we were loitering in front of Habernackle’s, trying to work out the final plan for the meeting between Detective Whitman, Mr. Bailey’s ghost, and myself. Sweets, who had come down earlier to meet with Char to go over the menu for the reception, was already inside.

  My eyes swung down towards Mr. Bailey and I felt a pang of pity and of guilt. He was sitting properly as a dog with his rear end glued to the concrete and his front end propped up on his two front paws, but I could see the hollow vacantness in his eyes as he stared off beyond us. He wasn’t a man and he wasn’t a ghost. He was a dog now. What did that mean for him? How was he supposed to feel about that?

  Aside from sitting properly, Mr. Bailey didn’t act like a dog. At least not like Char’s dog. Char’s dog was a high-strung Chihuahua with so much pep in his step that Char had given him to Sweets to mind for a few days because she couldn’t handle his energy at a time like this. Funny enough, if Regis had a human counterpoint, Char would be that person because she was as equally high-strung and energetic as her pet.

  The new “Regis” as we would be forced to call him in public, was this depressed, slow moving, jittery version of his old self. He had no mannerisms at all to even resemble that of a dog, and I thought if Char looked hard enough at Regis she might notice that there was a ghost of a man inside, literally.

  If we didn’t want to be discovered, we were going to have to work a few things out before going inside. I bent over and clipped a leash to Mr. Ba
iley’s collar before he had even realized I’d moved. The second I did so, however, he looked up at me with his big, beady eyes. “What’s this?” he asked, startled.

  “I’m sorry Mr. Bailey, but this has to look real. We wouldn’t be bringing Regis into the restaurant without being on a leash. Char would know something was up.”

  “Char,” he breathed. It hadn’t occurred to him that he might bump into his wife for the first time in his new form.

  “Yeah,” I said in a remorseful tone.

  The four of us bowed our heads as if feeling the weight of guilt for what we’d done.

  “B-but, I’m not a dog!” he objected. Pushing his rear end up, so he was standing on all fours, he backpedaled several steps until the leash I held in my hand was taught and his nylon collar tugged at his neck.

  “We know, Mr. Bailey,” said Alba. “But they don’t know that yet. Until we get your spirit out of Regis’ body, they all have to think you’re Regis!”

  “Yeah, Mr. Bailey, you don’t want Char to know you’re inside of there, do you? You’ll freak her out,” said Holly.

  There was a long pause as he thought about everything we were saying.

  “Just a few more days,” said Jax. “We’ll do our best to get you out of there.”

  His pointy nose dipped towards the pavement. He knew he had no other choice. “Fine,” he said softly.

  I squatted down in front of him. “Thank you, Mr. Bailey. We’ll try and make this fast. But we are going to need you to try and play the part. Char has to believe you’re Regis.”

  He nodded in half-hearted agreement but didn’t speak.

  I stood up and took the leash in hand and let the girls lead me inside. The second the door brushed past the little bell at the top, Chesney came sprinting down the stairs and made a beeline for his buddy Regis. Chesney put on the brakes just before he got to me and immediately started sniffing. Mr. Bailey looked up at me uncomfortably. I nodded my head at him as if to say you’re a dog; please play along.

  I swear I saw Mr. Bailey roll his eyes at me and then I nearly choked when he made four little yipping sounds and then laid down on the hardwood floor and put his head on top of his paws.

  Chesney noticed the change in his old pal, Regis. He scuttled behind my leg, crouched down low, and whimpered. “Oh, what’s the matter Ches,” I said, bending over to pet his soft auburn fur. “It’s just your old pal Regis.”

  But Chesney wasn’t budging.

  I heard Alba laugh nervously, and I stood up next to her. “Poor Regis just isn’t himself without Mr. Bailey,” she practically yelled to Detective Whitman who was sitting at a table, waiting for us. She looked at me and with a nervous smile said, “I’ll just take him upstairs to relax for a while.”

  “Good idea,” I said. Turning my head, I shot her a casual wink.

  As we walked towards Detective Whitman sitting alone at a table, we noticed another group of people stand up. One of the men opened up his wallet and threw down a few bills. “Sergeant Bradshaw!” I said with surprise.

  “Mercy, girls, how are you?” asked the distinguished, silver-haired man we’d met several months ago during another murder investigation. He’d been the reason we had Habernackle’s in the first place.

  “We’re doing well, you?” I responded, truly happy to see him.

  The men he was with began migrating towards the front door. “Doing well, just came down to join my buddies for a cup of coffee. Not much else to do when you’re as old as we are.”

  “Maybe it’s time you started dating again?” I suggested with a tiny wink. I would have suggested he take out my grandmother, but I knew she wouldn’t be hanging around Aspen Falls long enough to start dating.

  He chuckled in that stiff manner that reminded me he was a military man. “I’m not quite ready for that yet. Not sure that I’ll ever be.” He gave a nod towards Detective Whitman who was quietly observing from his seat. “Looks like you’ve got someone waiting for you. I better get going. It’s sure good to see you girls again.”

  “Good to see you too,” said Jax with a broad smile.

  Holly, Jax, and I joined Detective Whitman at the round table, and each of us slunk down into a chair. I intentionally took the one directly across from the detective.

  “Where are Sweets and Char?” I asked, looking around.

  “Char left. Sweets is in the kitchen,” he answered. He tipped his full head of brown hair backwards as if he were pointing with it.

  Jax stood up. “I’ll go get her!”

  Detective Whitman reached out almost reflexively and grabbed Jax’s wrist before she could flit off to the kitchen. “She already gave me the guest list. I have what I need.” He eyed me then and then looked at the girls again. “Could the two of you possibly give Mercy and I a little privacy? Maybe keep Sweets company in the kitchen?”

  Holly and Jax exchanged looks of disappointment. “Sure,” Holly said slowly before joining Jax on her feet. “I’ll just go help Alba upstairs. I mean, I’ll keep her company.”

  “Oh yeah, me too,” agreed Jax as they walked away clinging to each other’s elbow. “Good luck, Mercy.”

  With my phone under the table, I quickly dialed Alba’s number and then put it upside down on the table while holding Jax’s phone at the ready in my other hand.

  “Okay. I’m ready,” I said to Detective Whitman.

  “Is Mr. Bailey present?”

  I cleared my throat uncomfortably and nodded. I worried that the detective would see the little beads of sweat around my hairline and know that I was deceiving him.

  “Is everything alright, Mercy? You seem a little nervous.”

  I giggled uncomfortably. “Do I?” I asked as if that were an answer.

  He snorted a little out his nose and nodded at me.

  “Oh, well. I’m just still in shock about the fact that Mr. Bailey was murdered. He was such a nice man.”

  “Almost everyone that’s been murdered in Aspen Falls has been a nice person. I think we both know that there are just a lot of deranged people out there. We just have to get to the bottom of each case and put those people where they belong.”

  “I suppose,” I whispered with a heart as heavy as a ton of bricks.

  Detective Whitman pulled a pen from his pocket. He flipped it over easily in his fingers and pressed the retractable side against the table, making a clicking sound. “So, I’ll just address my questions to Vic, and then you can tell me what he says, alright?”

  “Okay.” I glanced down at the phone on the table and silently hoped that Alba and Mr. Bailey were able to hear the questions.

  “First of all, I’d just like to express my deepest sympathy, Vic. We all miss you and wish that this hadn’t happened. But I can assure you that we’re doing everything we can to find your killer.”

  Even though Mr. Bailey wasn’t in the room, I knew he appreciated the Aspen Falls Police Station’s work. “He says thank you,” I said stiffly. This whole thing felt awkward.

  “Vic, I assume Mercy has told you about the autopsy results and the suspicions we have down at the station?” he asked, looking at me pointedly.

  I let out a small nervous breath. At least that was a question I could answer. Maybe they’d all be questions I could answer. “Yes, I told him everything you told me on the phone.”

  He pressed his lips together in a tight smile. “Great. Now that we know that you were killed by some kind of magical means, does that bring any memories to light about the day you were killed?”

  I already knew the answer to that question, too. We’d grilled Mr. Bailey a hundred times trying to figure out what he remembered. “No.”

  “So you have no idea who did this?”

  I pretended to wait for a pause as if I had to hear the answer for myself from Mr. Bailey. “No, he doesn’t.”

  “It appeared as if you had a heart attack. That’s what we thought it was for a while. Do you recall any symptoms prior to collapsing?”

  I looked down at
Jax’s phone casually and saw three little dots moving on the screen meaning that someone was typing on the other end. Finally, the words appeared. I looked up at Detective Whitman. “Mr. Bailey said that it felt like a heart attack. He said he had shortness of breath and chest pains.”

  “When did the symptoms start?”

  “When he got home from the party.”

  “Why did he drive back to the bakery if he wasn’t feeling well?”

  “He thought he just needed to move around. He thought maybe it was stress and that to relieve the stress he should be at work.”

  “Was anyone at the bakery when he got there?”

  “No.”

  “The medical examiner said he found an unusual substance in your mouth.”

  My heart stopped beating for a split second and I choked on my saliva.

  “Are you okay, Mercy?” asked Detective Whitman.

  I nodded as I struggled to stop coughing. “Yeah,” I choked out. “Swallowed wrong.”

  He waiting for me to stop coughing.

  Finally, I was well enough to speak again. “Mr. Bailey said he had eaten a little spaghetti with marinara sauce before he went into the freezer,” I lied.

  Detective Whitman nodded and jotted that down.

  “Vic, can you think of anyone that might want to hurt you?”

  I paused again, as I’d been doing, pretending to be a translator, but I knew what the words on the screen would say, so I didn’t even bother to read them. “He can’t think of anyone, but I can.”

  19

  Detective Whitman looked at me in surprise. He put his clicky pen on top of his notepad, leaned back against his seat rest, and crossed his legs. “You have a potential suspect in mind?”

  I fixated my green eyes upon his face. I hoped my expression conveyed just how serious I felt. “I do. Louis Albertson. He was upset with Mr. Bailey at the party.”

  Detective Whitman didn’t even pretend to be surprised. If others from the party had already relayed what they’d seen, then surely he’d take my accusations that much more seriously. “Upset about what?”