Witch of Mintwood Mysteries 7-9 Read online

  Witch of Mintwood Series

  Books 7-9:

  Witch Wish Way

  White Witch Wonder

  Muddled Mintwood Murderer

  by

  Addison Creek

  Copyright © 2017-2018 by Addison Creek

  Cover Design © Broken Arrow Designs

  This eBook is a work of fiction in which names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons, places, or events is completely coincidental.

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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Witch Wish Way

  White Witch Wonder

  Muddled Mintwood Murderer

  Books by Addison Creek

  Contact Addison Creek

  Witch Wish Way

  (Witch of Mintwood, Book 7)

  Chapter One

  Different types of food make different people happy; we all find comfort in a variety of cakes, cookies, cheese, and spinach. (Ha. Only joking. Spinach is about as comforting as lying on a rock.) No one is more right than the next person, except when it comes to homemade blueberry pie.

  In Maine, blueberry bushes are plentiful. The tiny purplish-bluish fruits don’t start appearing until July, but then they fill the cartons and wicker baskets of the pickers with sweetness. My grandmother picked blueberries every summer. Usually she harvested so many that she ended up having to freeze some.

  One day, with the swirling chaos of everything that was going on in Mintwood weighing heavily on my mind, I decided that a good blueberry pie was necessary to starting the summer off right.

  So I had Greer make one.

  We still had plenty of blueberries in the freezer, but at first Greer rolled her eyes at the idea of using frozen fruit for her pie. I explained patiently that no other blueberries would do. The pie had to be made of berries picked from my grandmother’s bushes, or not made at all.

  So it came about that Greer, Charlie, and I—we three housemates—were sitting around the breakfast nook at the farmhouse one comfortable late spring evening, about a week after we got back from our unexpected adventure at the Iriswood Country Club.

  We had booked the weekend in hopes of a relaxing break from mysteries and witch-related stress, but that plan had gone out the window when the Country Club’s manager was found dead in a pond one evening. We had solved the mystery and then come home to recover from our little vacation.

  Now everything was back to “normal.” My much needed break hadn’t been as restful as I’d hoped it would be, but it had certainly been worth it overall.

  Now only the Witches’ Council loomed.

  Charlie had gone to see Inspector Smith in Iriswood and explained her mystery-solving methods to him. She said he’d been skeptical at first, but she had kept playing dumb—as we had planned—and that seemed to work in the end.

  Charlie had explained how she’d become fascinated by the case and had chased after every lead. Her suspicions had been aroused when she did some research into the history of the town (Iriswood is such a lovely spot) and discovered that Freddie’s father had once worked at the Country Club. It had all come about purely by accident, and in fact she hadn’t been able to believe her luck when she’d landed on the real killer.

  Charlie said that by the end Inspector Smith looked a little skeptical that she was as dumb as she was acting, but she hadn’t budged from the role and in the end he’d had to believe her.

  Charlie had bristled at the idea of acting stupid when Greer and I proposed it—she wasn’t, after all, stupid, in fact she prided herself on her brilliance as a reporter for the local Mintwood Gazette—but in the end she had agreed that it would be the easiest way to distract Inspector Smith from his determination to find out the truth. Witches and ghosts would probably have been a bit much for him, Charlie had observed with some amusement.

  Hansen Gregory, crack reporter for the neighboring Caedmon Chronicle, Charlie’s rival (in her mind) and admirer (in his), had printed a series of stories about the Country Club and what a lovely weekend the anniversary celebration had been. Charlie said it had never occurred to her to do something like that.

  “I can’t believe he’s stooping to fluff pieces,” she said with a shake of her head.

  “I don’t think it’s fluff pieces so much as wanting people to get the human side and enjoy a good story,” Greer replied.

  “We agreed to disagree,” said Charlie quickly.

  She had been having an especially hard time saying nice things about Hansen since our weekend away.

  The week we got back was a busy one for pet sitting, so I had been preoccupied with taking care of cats, dogs, and the occasional pig. Now I was looking forward to getting back to the more usual pace of one or two odd jobs a week. In the week coming up I was again looking after Cesar, an adorable dog with a grump for an owner. Mr. John had informed me via snail mail that smelled of tobacco that he was going out of town again, writing out the schedule in longhand and explaining that he would come by at the end of his trip with money after he checked to make sure I hadn’t dyed Cesar’s hair pink or anything equally appalling.

  “What about a nice teal color,” I had mumbled to myself.

  “I’m glad it’s finally going to be a quiet week in Mintwood,” said Greer.

  “Which means odds are it’ll only take a couple of hours for something to go wrong,” said Charlie.

  We sat peacefully for a while, drinking tea and watching the sunset. It was so tranquil, it was hard to believe that in less than an hour the hills and fields would be filled with ghosts.

  “The pie smells amazing,” I said, sticking my nose in the air.

  Greer was going to work at the bar later that evening, but she had agreed to make pie before she left. She’d made the crust by hand and lined the pan with butter as I watched, my mouth watering in anticipation. Now that the entire farmhouse smelled like baking blueberries, I could hardly wait for the pie to come out of the oven.

  “What kind of tea goes best with blueberry pie?” Charlie asked, casting aside her high heels for the day.

  “I have no idea, but all of them,” said Greer. One of her hands rested lazily on the head of her dog, Charger Bear. He was an excitable black lab whom Greer adored, and whom Charlie viewed as a four-legged stinky nuisance.

  “You’re probably right,” said Charlie.

  “Soooo, what’s happening with you and Jasper?” Greer asked, suddenly turning her gaze in my direction.

  Caught off guard, I nearly choked on a sip of hot tea. I flushed and tried to hide it by taking another sip, but unfortunately my good-for-nothing friends were watching me like hawks.

  Charlie jumped on me and squawked, “I knew it. You still can’t even talk about him without going bright red.” She sat back with a satisfied smile.

  “I was never expecting us to be official,” I muttered into my hot water.

  “What were you expecting?” Greer asked.

  “The worst,” said Charlie. “Just because Jasper has always been a good guy doesn’t mean she believes it. She thinks that because he’s incredibly good-looking, he’s bound to behave poorly.”

  “There was also the fact that for
a while he meant to tear down the barn. The fact that I kept right on liking him shows my serious lack of judgment,” I said.

  “That and letting Charlie move in,” said Greer.

  “Don’t worry, he’s made up for it by dating you,” said Charlie.

  I rolled my eyes.

  “When will your first date in Mintwood be?” Greer asked.

  “I have no idea. Hopefully not for a long time,” I said.

  “Are you ashamed of him?” Charlie asked.

  “Am I ashamed to be seen with the hottest guy in town? Are you serious?” I said, rolling my eyes.

  “Because that’s not normal,” Greer added. “Also, Deacon is the hottest guy in town.”

  Deacon, Greer’s boyfriend, had broad shoulders and blond hair that he liked to pull into a ponytail.

  “We all have different tastes,” said Charlie. “Each of you can have your own preference about who’s the hottest guy in town.”

  “You like dark-haired guys, right?” Greer asked slyly.

  “Always have,” said Charlie, not noticing the trap she was falling into, the name of which was Hansen Gregory.

  The handsome reporter for the Caedmon Chronicle clearly had a thing for Charlie, a thing that she just as clearly refused to notice. He flirted with her all the time and was nice to her even when she was prickly in return. Almost all she ever did was brush him off with discussions of cases and newspaper articles.

  Hansen had dark hair, blue eyes, and a strong jaw. He was a really good-looking guy. But so far that was just another fact that Charlie seemed completely oblivious to.

  “Anyway, let’s not start on that one. I want you to go on a date in Mintwood,” Greer said, getting back to her original point.

  I would have preferred to keep the attention on Charlie, but oh well.

  “I didn’t realize that there was our first date and then there was our first Mintwood date,” I said.

  “Well, you should have,” said Greer, starting the washing up. “It will be the talk of the town! Both your families are institutions around here. People will be shocked. And delighted!”

  I agreed about shocked, but I wasn’t so sure about delighted.

  “So when will your first date be?” Charlie asked.

  She was like Charger when he had a bone, but I wasn’t going to say so.

  “I have no idea. Like I said, hopefully not for a while,” I insisted.

  “But it’s not because you’re ashamed to be seen with Jasper, right?” Charlie asked.

  “Who in their right mind would be ashamed to be seen with Jasper Wolf?” I asked, taking a gulp of tea to hide my blush.

  “Hopefully no one. But in this case the only opinion that matters is yours,” said Charlie.

  “Why is that?” I said.

  “Because you’re obviously the one he wants to be seen around town with! Must I explain everything to you? He knows that whoever he dates, there will be gossip. He cared enough about you to take that plunge,” she said.

  Everyone talked about everyone else’s business in Mintwood, just like in any other small town, but Jasper was still a little different. As an eligible bachelor who had captained every sports team he possibly could in high school, and who had become a successful local businessman since then, he was better known than most young men. Every grandmother with a granddaughter of marrying age hoped that one of her own would snag Jasper. Not to mention the mothers. When people found out he was off the market, attached to Evenlyn’s granddaughter no less, shockwaves would roll through town.

  “Everyone around town wants the best for both of you,” said Charlie.

  “Of course they do. Jasper is lucky to have her,” said Greer.

  “People will be shocked,” I said. “My family was always from the wrong side of town and my grandmother was always more eccentric than anyone else. I can’t imagine anybody thinks a Wolf is going to go for a Hubb, nor do I think a lot of people will approve of it.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Charlie ordered. “Jasper isn’t any better than you are. He’s lucky to have you, not the other way around.”

  “Maybe we can be lucky to have each other,” I said.

  A ding over at the oven brought this very uncomfortable conversation to an end at last.

  “Pie’s ready,” said Greer

  She scooted out of her seat, grabbed some potholders, and pulled a perfect-looking blueberry pie out of the oven. Steam gently rose out of the pie, which looked and smelled so good that Charlie gasped.

  “Dessert is served. Let me get the vanilla ice cream,” said Greer, setting the pie to cool and going over to the freezer. The local ice cream shop, By The Bucket, sold ice cream by the quart as well, so earlier today when I had been downtown I had picked up two.

  I drank the dregs of my tea and took my cup over to the white farmhouse sink.

  Then I turned my attention to the pie.

  “Want to cut three big slices?” Greer asked me as she wrestled with the ice cream lid.

  “Sure thing,” I said. I got out some of Grandmother’s nice old China and set about cutting three big pieces of delicious blueberry pie. Once that was done, Greer handed me the ice cream and I put a healthy dollop on each plate. Then we rejoined Charlie in the nook with our big slices of blueberry deliciousness.

  “You take the first bite,” said Charlie, peering at my pie. “It was your idea and they’re your blueberries.”

  “They’re all our blueberries now,” I said, my fork hovering.

  “Actually, they’re your grandmother’s blueberries,” said Greer.

  Finally, something we all agreed on.

  My fork sliced vertically through the pie, and the next thing I knew I was bringing a large mouthful to my lips. “SO delicious,” I tried to say through a mouthful of pie. Greer and Charlie both laughed, then they dug in too.

  We ate in silence for a few minutes, but after a couple of bites of pie, Charlie, who was never quiet for long, started to talk about Miss Violetta, the new hairdresser in town.

  “She’s nearly impossible to get an appointment with now. People from other towns are coming from away to get their hair cut in Mintwood because she does such a good job. I wish her daughter would hurry up and get here,” said Charlie.

  “What if her daughter isn’t as good at cutting hair?” said Greer.

  “I’m hoping it runs in the family,” said Charlie. She examined the ends of her blond locks with a forlorn expression on her face. “I can’t have split ends all summer.”

  Greer and I were too busy eating the best blueberry pie I’d ever had to say much about haircuts.

  “Greer, you should enter the competition,” said Charlie.

  “What competition?” Greer asked.

  “The Mintwood summer fair is only a few days away,” I pointed out. “They have all kinds of baking competitions.”

  “I don’t like fairs. Too many crowds. And I only bake when you beg me,” said Greer.

  “I’m sure you could stand it if it was for a good cause,” Charlie said. “People bid on the pies and then the money goes to charity.”

  “Can’t I just donate money?” Greer asked.

  “But your pies are so good!” Charlie was getting frustrated with how obstinate Greer was being. “I’ve never had a pie this good before.”

  “Thank you,” said Greer, though I could tell she was uncomfortable with the praise.

  “I can’t believe the summer fair is already here” I shook my head at how fast the spring had gone by.

  “It marks the start of summer every year,” said Charlie. “I’m excited about it!”

  “Is Mrs. Cook still running everything?” I said.

  “Yup, this will be her twenty-ninth year in charge. She wants to make it the best one yet,” said Charlie.

  Mrs. Cook was the town busybody. Given that everyone in a small town was usually a busybody one way or another, to earn the distinction of being THE busybody meant you really took it over the top.

/>   Mrs. Cook knew everything about everyone and what they liked for breakfast in the morning. She was always in the know. She ran the town fair and believed with all her heart that Mintwood wouldn’t survive if the fair wasn’t put on each summer. It was a whole three days of fun activities that she oversaw, from the highest-level planning to the tiniest detail.

  “We must give the tourists something to do,” she had once said to my grandmother when they ran into each other and were chatting about it.

  My grandmother didn’t think any such thing. “Must we go?” she asked each year when the fair came around, sounding skeptical every time.

  But Mrs. Cook had insisted on the fair’s importance. “It’s the top fair in the state! People come from far and wide, even from out of state, to enjoy it. We really must put on an excellent fair,” she explained.

  Most of Mintwood was involved in the fair in one way or another. My grandmother had always had the job of designing the advertising, pamphlets, and posters for the event. This year Liam was doing it, and I was supposed to be helping him.

  “It’s weird that I have a job getting ready for the fair this year,” I said.

  “I don’t like the fair,” huffed Greer.

  “I don’t either, but it’s still a tradition,” I said.

  “It hasn’t been doing well,” said Greer.

  “Speaking of the fair,” said Charlie, looking hopefully at me.

  I could tell she was working herself up to ask me for something, but she didn’t get the chance.

  I was just lifting the last bite of pie to my mouth when I caught sight of my hand, which had turned a sparkly blue.

  The exact same color as the pie.

  Charlie gasped.

  Greer gasped.

  My eyes went wide.

  Out the nook window I could see Paws, the farmhouse ghost cat, streaking past chasing a mouse. He skidded to a halt when he saw us in the window, our faces full of surprise.

  “Her blueberry bushes are magic,” said Paws casually. He bared his teeth, a gesture that I could only interpret as a cat grin.