Black Cat Crossing

by Fitz Molly

  Our previous discussion seems forgotten as he glances up, no trace of reticence present. “You’re not open during it?”

  “I’ve found it better not to be. Several shops on Main Street sell our cider and baked goods. Bramble needs time to make extra for the weekend. This allows her to do that. We close at dusk.”

  He finishes another biscuit, wipes his hands. “There’s plenty here for me to tend to.”

  “There’s always more work.” I get up and refill our cups. “You might as well take an hour and see the opening night of the festival. Everybody attends. Our customers like familiar faces and it won’t hurt to leave a few things until tomorrow.”

  “Are you going?”

  “I am.”

  As he scrapes up the last of his eggs, he nods. “If there’s nothin’ critical on the list by dusk that still needs doin’, I’ll accompany you.”

  This pleases me. “Leave the dishes. You let the animals out of the barn and feed and water them.”

  Handing me his plate, he takes his cup with him. The kitten follows him out.

  Runa looks at me. “I know,” I say, filling the sink with hot water. “But I like him. Inviting him on the walk is no big deal.”

  She lets loose a snort. Bramble arrives, coming through the kitchen door, and I hand her a clean cup. She thanks me and pours herself coffee. “Seems like we’re busier than ever this season.”

  “I haven’t done this week’s books yet, but I agree.” I smile, glancing out the window over the sink. “Dad would be happy.”

  She touches my arm. “Yes, he would. This place is a lot for one person, though.”

  “I’ve got you, and now Broden.”

  “We could still use more help.”

  She’s right. “I’ve asked Nonni to run the store again today. Poppi said he’ll stock shelves.”

  A quirk of one blond brow tells me that’s not enough. Before I can respond, the screen door flies open and Broden stomps in, looking like a storm cloud.

  Grabbing the dish towel, I quickly dry my hands. “What is it?”

  “You need to come.”

  My first thought is of the animals. “Is Sweet Pea okay? The others?”

  “The animals are well,” he says, taking my elbow and leading me through the door. “But Fairytale Land is not.”

  Chapter Four

  The carriage is missing!

  “Who could move a six-hundred-pound pumpkin?” I cry, scanning the area.

  Broden checks the ground, Runa sniffing it as well. “There are no track marks and it would take a dozen people, a huge winch, a truck…it’s simply not possible we wouldn’t have been alerted.”

  Almost as upsetting is the fact someone spray-painted “witch” on the Three Little Pigs’ house in bright red and threw mud into the mermaid pond.

  I stand in place, staring at the spot where the pumpkin carriage was and then at the miniature brick house the kids played in just yesterday. The spray-painted word is obviously meant to upset me, but it’s the work it will take to remove the stain that irritates more.

  Broden attempts to save the fish in the pond as I comb through possibilities. I cannot for the life of me figure out who or what could move that pumpkin carriage.

  “Magick,” I whisper. It’s the only answer.

  “Oh dear,” Bramble murmurs as she catches up. Her fingers cover her mouth when she sees the destruction and empty ground where the carriage rested.

  The kitten saunters past and sits at my feet, staring at the space with us. Bramble’s face turns fierce and she backs away. “I told you that cat was bad luck!”

  “Don’t worry about this. You’d best do your baking.” I lift the kitten to my chest and scratch under its tiny chin. “Broden and I will handle it.”

  With a heavy harrumph of displeasure, she turns on her heel and stomps off.

  “Don’t mind her,” I tell the kitten, then I help Broden finish cleaning the pond and returning the koi fish to it.

  “I’ll go let the animals out of the barn,” he tells me, wiping his brow with his arm. “Are you going to call the police?”

  I trudge toward the house. “I’ll do it now.”

  The call to the Story Cove PD goes straight through, but my cousin, Robyn Wood, isn’t in the office yet. I relay to the dispatcher what happened and request she let Robyn know as soon as possible about my predicament. She assures me she will and I’m disconnecting when Broden rushes in with that look on his face—the same one from earlier.

  My stomach falls. “Now what?”

  “It’s Sweet Pea.”

  My stomach lurches and then plummets to my toes. “What about her?”

  He wipes a hand over his face and the whiskers along his chin. “She’s gone.”

  “Gone?”

  “She’s not in the barn with the rest.”

  They’ve taken my favorite pet sheep. I will not forgive this. “Who would do such a thing?”

  I rush outside, even though I have no idea what to do. Without any clue who committed the vandalism and kidnapped my Babydoll, I spin in circles.

  Broden comes to my side and touches my arm. “We should look over the property while we wait for the police to arrive. Maybe she simply slipped out and wandered off.”

  We both know this is a lie. But it gives me something to do and I march toward the field.

  The other animals are fanning out, munching on grass. They watch us approach. I greet each one as Broden puts buckets of various grains, bruised apples, and foodstuffs in the feeding bowls and troughs.

  And then I hear it—so soft it’s barely a murmur on the wind.

  I grab Broden’s arm. “There!”

  Runa barks. He scans the area, following my finger to the spot in the woods where her baa sounds again.

  Dropping the bucket in his hands, he races with me to the tree line. We call her name, Runa finding her before we do and alerting. We stomp through undergrowth and hurry around young saplings and ancient conifers.

  She is trapped in a snarl of ivy and vines. Broden untangles her and I fall to my knees to wrap my arms around her neck. Together, we carefully lead her out of the woods and back to the pasture.

  As she sees the other animals, she lets out a happier cry this time and dashes as fast as her hooves will carry her to reunite with them. That’s when I see the bright red paint on her flank.

  “What is that?” Broden squints. He can’t make out what it is but I know.

  It’s the outline of an axe.

  Chapter Five

  “I’ll get shampoo,” Broden says as I steam at the audacity of whoever has spray-painted Sweet Pea.

  She doesn’t seem to even be aware of it at the moment, but I’m sure the experience wasn’t pleasant. As I stroke her wool and handfeed her an apple, I seethe, imagining what she must have gone through and who could have done this.

  Broden sprints back and once again, everything in me sinks when I see the look on his face.

  “What is it now?” I’m not sure I can take more bad news.

  “Some of the fairytale items are missing or damaged.”

  “From the cabin?” My anger reaches a new level. “Which ones?”

  “The apple is gone, the mirror shattered.”

  “How did you not notice that when you got up this morning?”

  “Because everything was right as rain then.”

  Meaning they stole the apple and busted the mirror after he left the cabin. “Were they still here when we were searching for Sweet Pea?”

  He gives me a grim nod. “Quite possible.”

  I make an ugly noise in the back of my throat and throw one of the apples from the trough across the pasture as hard as I can. Heart thumping, I scan the farm, wondering if the culprit or culprits are watching.

  Runa offers a soft whimper. A voice from the drive calls to me. “Snow?”

  I whirl and see my cousin, and lead detective of the SCPD, lifting the latch on the gate and walking toward us.

  Rob
yn’s in her official uniform, her hair pulled taut in a ponytail and devoid of makeup. Like me and the Sherwoods, however, she has a natural beauty.

  I introduce her to Broden and she gives him a curious look. “Heard you had a new farmhand,” she says to me. She eyes Sweet Pea’s flank. “What happened?”

  I fill her in, seeing cars pulling into the lot, customers wanting to shop.

  Sending Broden to open the gate, I walk Robyn around to the scene of each crime. “I have a stinking suspicion my stepmother has a hand in all of this.”

  Robyn makes notes in a small notebook and snaps a few pictures. “You have any proof?”

  Not the kind she needs. “Yesterday, we discussed how she buried an axe in my back.” I point at Sweet Pea. “Who else would send me that message?”

  Nonni and Poppi rush up to us, having heard the news. Poppi shakes his head in disgust. Nonni hugs Sweet Pea and tells her not to worry, she’ll get the paint off her leg.

  “I need more than a conversation,” Robyn says. “Did she actually threaten you?”

  Does she ever? “You know she’s the queen of innuendo and passive-aggressive behavior.”

  Robyn sighs. “I need real evidence.”

  “Then I’ll get it for you. I’m going to confront her.”

  The hand with her pen comes up, making a stop sign. “No, you’re not. Let me handle it. I’ll talk to her, see if she has an alibi, but how could Esme move that giant carriage? It doesn’t make sense.”

  Bramble appears. “That no-good kitten is scratching Magick Mama! You need to get rid of her!”

  I have to close Fairytale Land for the day until things can be cleaned up. “Oh, for curses’ sake,” I say. “The tree will be fine. Just chase her off.”

  Grumbling about black cats and bad luck, Bramble tramps back to the bakery. Nonni squeezes my arm and follows to mind the store.

  Frustrated, I wave my fingers and magick flows to the outline of the axe. It disappears from Sweet Pea’s wool with ease. This surprises me—I expected it to need several treatments, even if I am using magick. Paint is no easy thing to remove from coarse wool.

  Robyn’s phone rings and she steps away to take it. Broden fences off the area and I try to put on a happy face to greet the arriving customers.

  My cousin catches up with me as I’m telling a disappointed family Fairytale Land is closed for minor repairs. “Sorry, I have to scoot. That’s the sixth report coming from town about people who won’t wake up; they seem to be in some sort of coma.”

  “Coma?”

  “Started yesterday. Doc has no idea why. They’re dropping like flies. I’ll be in touch as soon as I have any leads on your case.”

  I excuse myself from the family and walk with her toward her vehicle in the parking lot. “Is it anyone I know?”

  “Betsy Donovan and her kids came down with it this morning. This latest is about the Grovers.”

  Betsy Donovan and Mr. and Mrs. Grover…

  My pulse skitters. My throat tightens. “I just saw them yesterday. They were all fine.”

  Robyn gets in her car. “Let me know if you come up with any other ideas about our culprit.”

  Across the distance, I see Bramble chasing the kitten away from Magick Mama. The tree has dropped dozens of apples overnight.

  Something is afoot and I fear what it is. “Be careful,” I say to Robyn.

  But she’s already gone.

  Chapter Six

  The day is packed, some folks show up simply because they’ve heard about the vandalism. As long as they buy a pumpkin or a mum, I don’t care. Many are disappointed Fairytale Land is closed, but we have plenty of baked goods, cider, and crafts to take their mind off it.

  My mind circles around who could have done all this under my nose. What kind of magick they used, if it’s an enchantment. I have no opportunity to call my cousins and get their opinions, but I’m determined to confront my arch nemesis and make her confess if she’s the guilty party.

  Esme has no magick that I know of. She likes the idea of it and constantly tried to highjack mine when I was a girl. I thought I’d cut those cords, along with our relationship, but now I’m not so sure.

  Broden and I have to press more cider, Poppi and Uncle Odin carry bushel after bushel of apples to people’s cars. Kids feed the animals and pick out pumpkins. The bits of gossip I hear have to do with the strange comas and those afflicted by them. Doc can find no medical reason. None of the patients appear to be in distress, only sleeping.

  Sounds like more magick to me.

  The traces of enchantment are often hard to follow to the source, but I bet if I look hard enough, I can find them in these freaky events.

  We close at sundown, allowing Bramble to bake in peace. Broden and I clean up after the day’s constant stream of visitors. I remove the spray paint from the brick house, toss out the broken mirror pieces carefully. I’ll have to hunt for a new one, and wonder if Belle’s boyfriend might have an antique in his inventory that would fit the bill. He buys and sells vintage items all over the South, and while a bit eccentric, he seems to have left his introverted ways behind since my pretty, vivacious cousin entered his life.

  The “poisoned” apple I stored under the glass is easy enough to replace with a newly harvested version. I wave my hand over the substitute to keep it fresh for as long as I need it as a prop, but I feel it resist the magick and stare at it for a long moment.

  Broden watches me closely. “Why would our miscreant steal an apple?”

  “Wondering the same thing. It’s not valuable.” I cover the replacement with the glass dome, wondering how long it will last. “To make a statement?”

  “What kind?”

  “My mother named me after Snow White. My stepmother did her best to make me feel ugly, including giving me this scar.”

  I point to my face and Broden steps closer, studying the thin white line as one might assess the bruise on a piece of fruit. His thumb brushes my cheek as he traces its outline. “How?” he asks quietly.

  His nearness eases some of the anxiety thrumming through my body. “We were making applesauce in the kitchen and she was cutting the apples. The knife slipped.”

  The derision in my voice lets him know it was no accident. “You think she had something to do with all this?”

  “Yes, and I’m going to prove it. Got your walking shoes on?”

  He glances down at his boots. “Aye.”

  Downtown is hopping when we arrive, and Main Street is roped off so folks can wander without worry of traffic. I insisted Runa guard the farm in case the thief returns, but the kitten has followed us.

  Well, she’s followed Broden.

  Normally, I love this part of the festival the best. Seeing all the shops decorated for Halloween, chatting with friends, buying a few gifts to tuck away until Christmas makes me happy.

  Tonight, instead of enjoying the crisp night air, the fact that dozens of folks are strolling the sidewalks with cups of my warm cider in their hands, and the festive environment, all I can think about is Esme and her cold, ugly heart.

  I miss my dad the most during this season that runs into the holidays. The recent events at the orchard anger me, and the fact he and my mom aren’t with me any longer makes a deep ache fill my chest. This time of year makes me feel more like an orphan and miss them so incredibly much, it’s difficult to breathe some days.

  Esme couldn’t hide Cinderella’s carriage just anywhere. I have to find it and prove she’s involved in this masquerade.

  “That tree of yours sure produces a lot,” Broden says as we pass Travis and Amy Drucker who raise their cups to us.

  “The fact she boasts seven different types of apples makes her quite unique. Her cider has won ribbons and accolades from all over the state.”

  The kitten barely sidesteps a kid pulling a wagon full of pumpkins. In the park, there are tents set up with caramel apples, popcorn balls, roasted peanuts, and peach everything—from pies to preserves—for sale. I�
�m keeping an eye out for Esme, and slowly working my way to her place a few blocks over. So far, she’s MIA.

  A woman in a matching knit scarf and gloves, too much makeup and big hair makes her way through the crowd. Abilene May Roberts, the Junior Ladies’ Garden Club president raises a brow at Broden before glancing at me. “Snow, darling, how’s my favorite tree?”

  “Producing well, thanks.”

  She leisurely peruses Broden. “And who is this roguishly handsome young man?”

  It’s all I can do not to gag. “Broden Campbell, this is Abilene May.”

  She stretches out a gloved hand. “Well, hello, Mr. Campbell.”

  Before he can shake it, I tug him away. “Sorry, we can’t stay and chat, Abby.” She hates the nickname. “My cousins are waiting for us.”

  I hustle Broden into a passing crowd.

  “Well, I never.” I hear her say behind us.

  “I take it she’s dangerous?” he teases as we reach the sidewalk.

  Peeking over my shoulder, I catch her glaring after us through the throng. “She and the other members of the Garden Club have this wild idea that Magick Mama should be owned by the town and used as a tourist attraction.”

  He tosses a glance back as well. Immediately, her glare fades and she winks at him. “Seems to be quite the crowd pleaser already.”

  “They want to charge people to take their picture next to her and kids to climb her. I’ve been offered money to sell her saplings.”

  Nearing my cousins’ shop, Ruby hails us from the sidewalk. The sisters have set up a table full of Halloween soaps and candles. A fun orange tablecloth and some of my miniature pumpkins and gourds add to the décor.

  “Evening, Ruby,” I say

  She hugs me, the worsted wool of her cloak rough on my chin. “Are you two enjoying the walk?”

  I never lie to my cousins. They’re like sisters to me, and I love them dearly. “Good crowd,” I say, deflecting the question and eyeing a spiced cider candle I love. I could use a new one since mine is down to the last vestiges of the wick.