Spell by Midnight (Witch of Mintwood Book 3) Page 12

  Charger sped up and came tumbling down the stairs, deliriously happy to see me.

  “Oh, Charger,” I groaned. The dog had terrified me. Oblivious, he sat there wagging his tail.

  “What’s going on?” Charlie and Greer both appeared at the top of the stairs, their faces pale.

  “I thought Charger was an intruder,” I said.

  “I think he must have been sleeping in our hallway, and we went into the other one and didn’t realize he was there,” said Greer.

  “Did you find anything?” I asked, straightening up from rubbing the dog’s ears. Charger gave me a hopeful look, as much as to say, “Please continue.” I ignored him; I had more urgent things on my mind.

  “Your grandmother’s bedroom door was slightly open. I don’t think that’s how you left it, but I checked inside and nothing looks out of place,” said Greer.

  “Other than that, we found nothing,” said Charlie. “What did you find?”

  I pressed my pointer finger and my thumb together to reveal that I’d found a whole lot of nothing as well.

  “Maybe you should check your grandmother’s room and then we’ll call it a night,” Charlie suggested. She sounded tired, and though there was a bit of color coming back into her cheeks, she still looked pale.

  My own heart rate was only now returning to normal, but I nodded and headed past my friends and up the stairs.

  I flicked the hall light on at the top and headed for the bedroom. My grandmother’s room didn’t have an overhead light, just old lamps, so I turned a couple of them on and looked around to see if anything was missing. I had been in the room quite recently, of course, and after checking the dresser, the bed, and the closet I decided that everything was where I had left it. I had my hand on the lamp switch, ready to leave and go to bed, when I glanced again at my grandmother’s dresser.

  The bundle of letters I had found among my her sweaters when I was looking for the wand was gone. The top of the dresser, where I had set them, was empty.

  A shiver ran down my spine. I looked around the room, but I knew it was hopeless. The letters were gone.

  Back downstairs I asked my friends, “Did either of you move a stack of letters from my grandmother’s room?” I already knew the answer, but I had to hear it out loud.

  Greer and Charlie both shook their heads. “Why?” asked Charlie.

  “No reason. I must have misplaced them is all,” I said.

  “Okay, well, showers are definitely in order and I want mine to be really long and hot,” said Charlie tiredly.

  While I waited for my turn in the shower I went to talk to Paws.

  “Is anything missing?” said the cat.

  “Not much,” I said. “The place doesn’t look much like it’s been gone through.”

  “You just felt like someone was here? Without any evidence at all?”

  “Yeah, kind of like those imaginary mice you’re always chasing,” I told him. “I figured with you here, no one would make it past the ghosts.”

  “They may have come during the day,” said Paws. “If they did, we wouldn’t necessarily notice. The more likely explanation is that no one was here at all except for that stupid dog, and you’re all being overly dramatic.”

  “Something definitely felt off,” I said. “Charlie felt it too.”

  “Non-witches are just as entitled as witches to have feelings that are wrong.”

  “I’m sure if a cat had those feelings, you’d think they were totally valid,” I said.

  “Cats don’t have feelings. Our hearts are steel, weapons to be bent to our will,” the cat ranted.

  “Oh, go put on some pearls,” I muttered.

  “If it was a witch and she didn’t use magic, it’s possible she made it onto the property. But really, the only way . . . what did you say was missing?” said Paws.

  “Letters to a woman named Ellie. I found them in Grandmother’s room when I was searching for the wand, and I meant to read them, but with so much going on I didn’t get around to it.”

  “What did you have going on that you were too busy?” Paws sniffed.

  “I was trying to find a certain wand that all the ghosts said I had to have,” I said, a little resentfully.

  “Ah, that. Yes, that was important. I just needed to make sure it wasn’t too easy for you.”

  “Thanks ever so,” I said.

  “You’ll forgive me eventually,” said the cat knowingly.

  “Maybe for that, but what about everything else?” I said.

  “I’ll talk to the other ghosts. We can do a bit more to protect the farmhouse for now,” said Paws.

  “Thanks,” I said. “Like what?”

  “You’ll see,” said the cat.

  “Of course I will,” I muttered.

  I stood up to walk inside and Paws said, “Lemmi, be careful. This is serious business now.”

  “Despite what you may have thought, Paws, I’ve always treated it like serious business.”

  Charlie and Greer were waiting for me when I went back into the living room.

  “Someone was here,” I said, my heart thumping in my chest. “Someone was in the house.”

  I told them about the missing letters. Neither of them was happy about it.

  “We’ve searched the place up and down. I checked my room. I don’t think they’re here anymore,” whispered Charlie.

  “I agree,” I said. “There isn’t anything we can do about it now.”

  “Good thing you found your grandmother’s wand before someone broke in,” said Greer.

  “Yes, and good thing I took it with me. They didn’t take much, just some letters my grandmother had stashed away. They probably couldn’t find her jewelry in the basement, there’s so much stuff down there. Besides, you two are each wearing a piece of it,” I said.

  I went to sleep that night with a feeling of deep unease.

  Chapter Eighteen

  It turned out that Paws’ idea of protection was to march the ghosts around the front yard all night in formation. Even the tea ladies took turns. A protective ghost army was comforting in theory, but in practice the idea that Karen and Mrs. Goodkeep were the only things that stood between us and certain death did not make me feel better.

  Despite my long day and my wish to be served breakfast in bed, I got up bright and early. It was time for a little field investigation.

  Horace Smith, the cousin of the man who had died, was now a very successful businessman. Charlie was pretty excited when she got a call from Jasper saying that Mr. Smith had agreed to meet with us.

  “Did you tell Jasper I was going along?” I said. Charlie’s face reddened.

  “I didn’t think you’d like that, and I didn’t think he’d really want to know,” she said.

  “He’d want to know so he could tell me not to do it,” I said.

  “Exactly,” she said. “I thought it best to not stress him out any more than he already was.”

  “That was very thoughtful of you,” I said.

  “That’s me, Miss Thoughtful,” said Charlie.

  The arrangement was that Charlie and I would stop by Horace Smith’s real estate office, so we drove over there after lunch and were shown into a large corner room.

  There had been a picture of Hank Smith in the paper. The man who died had been thin and sported a wiry frame, nothing like the cousin who stood before us now.

  “What brings two nice young ladies like you in to see me? Looking for a house to buy? Looking to sell one?” said Mr. Smith.

  “Actually, neither,” said Charlie. “I’m Charlie Silver and this is my friend Lemmi. I’m a friend of Jasper Wolf. He said you might be willing to talk to me. I’m a reporter at the Mintwood Gazette,” she said.

  Mr. Smith didn’t exactly flinch, but he did look a little less friendly.

  “Jasper told me you might be coming by, but I had hoped you were interested in real estate,” he said, shaking his head.

  “We’re very sorry for your loss,” I said.
Mr. Smith didn’t ask who I was; he seemed satisfied that I was with Charlie.

  “Sorry to barge in on you like this, but we’re trying to get to the bottom of what happened to your cousin all those years ago,” said Charlie.

  “I thought that’s what the police were for,” said Mr. Smith a little combatively. “And besides, accusations are flying around, and I want no part of it. My cousin’s memory shouldn’t be tainted with gossip until the truth is known.”

  Did he think we suspected him in his cousin’s death? Did he have something to hide? Even though he didn’t sound all that friendly, he moved back around his desk and said, “Please have a seat.”

  Charlie and I sat across from him and watched while he steepled his fingers and said, thought for a moment, then said, “What would you like to ask me?”

  “Just a few questions about your cousin, especially whether he might have had any enemies,” said Charlie.

  The big man shrugged. “I’m afraid I’m not going to be of much use,” he said. “I can tell you with confidence that my cousin was very well-liked. He was the smooth talker of the two of us, only it was sincere, and that quality was very disarming to his potential clients and business partners. People are used to real estate agents trying to get a good deal for themselves, but Hank always wanted everybody to be happy. Because of that, he sometimes didn’t make the best deal for himself, but it did make him popular and respected in the community.”

  “What was your role?” said Charlie, her notepad balanced on her knee.

  Mr. Smith laughed a little. “Let’s just say I lacked the finesse of my cousin. I got work done, but I’m more hard-nosed, and it was only after we got into business together that we realized how differently we operated. Don’t get me wrong, we worked very well together, but differently.”

  “Were you involved in the barn deal?” asked Charlie.

  “I was involved in pretty much every deal behind the scenes,” said Mr. Smith.

  “It looked like you were going to get the deal until your cousin disappeared,” said Charlie.

  “Deals aren’t final until they’re final,” said Mr. Smith.

  Mr. Smith’s office lacked anything personal, but I could tell that everything in it, from the leather chairs to the thick carpet, was very expensive. He had done well for himself over the years.

  “Did you find it strange when he disappeared?” said Charlie.

  Mr. Smith shrugged. It was clear he had regrets about this topic. “I didn’t think it was that far-fetched that he left.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He didn’t have a family here. He had a thriving business, but no life outside of it. I envisioned him going to Europe to find himself and all that. It’s not something I ever had any interest in, but he was always reading self-help books and such. I thought he might’ve gone and done that. The emails only confirmed it. He sent one saying that he loved Europe and was staying indefinitely. He said not to worry, so I didn’t. He was never that talkative, so I didn’t think much of his just sending an email.”

  It turned out that the email message sent to Hank’s secretary Juliet hadn’t been the only one. A series of messages had been sent to Horace and his secretary too, signed by Hank, explaining that Hank was going to Europe for an extended stay. Given that Hank Smith was dead in Mintwood at the time, someone else had obviously gained access to his email and used it to cover up a murder.

  “The last one he sent said how happy he was. It seemed a bit strange, but not strange enough that I thought I should do anything about it. Now I see I should have,” said Mr. Smith regretfully.

  We didn’t stay much longer. The man clearly had a lot of work to do; his secretary kept popping in to ask questions and tell him he was missing calls. Charlie and I thanked him for his time and headed out.

  As we were leaving the real estate office, a car door opened nearby. At first I didn’t see who it was, but then Hansen Gregory stepped into view.

  Charlie skidded to a stop and glared daggers at her nemesis. “What do you think you’re doing here?” she asked.

  “Charlie, you’re going to have to get used to the idea that the fact that you’re interested in a story doesn’t mean you get it exclusively,” smiled Hansen.

  “I don’t have to get used to anything if I don’t want to,” Charlie shot back. “How did you know to come here, anyhow?” she added, her curiosity getting the better of her annoyance.

  “Pretty sure Reporting 101 is talking to the nearest relative of the deceased,” he said. “Unlike Mary Caldwell, Mr. Smith said he’d be more than happy to speak with me.”

  “Who was your connection?” Charlie demanded.

  “Didn’t have one. Just called him up, man to man,” said Hansen. Now he was downright grinning.

  Charlie shrugged him off. “He didn’t have anything interesting to say anyway.”

  “I’d take your word for it, but you’d probably lie to get me to leave,” he shot back.

  Charlie wrinkled her nose as if she was about to argue, but thought better of it and simply said, “Suit yourself.”

  “Hansen Gregory is a menace,” said Charlie. The other reporter had strolled into the building, his hands tucked into his pockets as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

  “Pretty sure he’s trying to do his job, just like you,” I said.

  “He isn’t like me. He can’t see ghosts,” said Charlie. “And by the way, I’ve been thinking about that. I’m worried that if we keep solving cases, people will start to ask questions.”

  I thought of Detective Cutter. “Some people already have,” I said quietly.

  “Have you ever felt like we’re drawing more attention to ourselves than we need to?” wondered Charlie.

  With that we got back in the Beetle and drove away. I felt like I had a lot to think about.

  Chapter Nineteen

  There are a few universal truths in life. One is that magic is difficult and hard to contain and spells take time to be perfected. When a new witch is practicing spells poorly, there’s a good chance the house will be lit up like a rainbow.

  In this case it was a farmhouse and me in the starring roll as new witch, trying to practice after the Horace Smith visit.

  “You have to stop trying to get better before you make everything a lot worse,” said Paws, racing around the farmhouse to yowl at me.

  I was standing in the back yard next to the old shed where we kept the canoe. I looked at the ghost cat in surprise.

  “You’ve been awfully confusing recently,” I said, tapping my wand against my hand. I stopped when I saw Paws wince. “You want me to practice magic but you won’t give me the wand. You hid it from me! You want me to get better at spells but then you tell me to stop, mid-wand-swish.”

  I was just getting into my rant when Charlie and Greer came racing out of the house, their faces also filled with concern.

  “I thought you weren’t home,” I said.

  “We just got back and saw you trying to turn the house into a glorified decorative Christmas tree,” said Greer.

  “The magic was kind of working. I was so wrapped up in it I wasn’t paying attention to what was going on,” I said.

  “That’s great. You using spells and not paying attention. Did I just hear you correctly right now? Cats really are the smartest animal,” said Paws.

  “It’s hard to learn new spells and concentrate at the same time,” I said plaintively.

  “The solution is not to light the house on fire and then put it out. The solution is never to light the house on fire in the first place,” explained Greer with exaggerated patience and a twinkle in her eye.

  “I wasn’t going to light the house on fire. Besides, if all of you had your way, I’d burn down that porch,” I said, just a little defensively.

  “If you could contain the fire to the porch and you want to burn it down before it collapses . . .” Charlie shrugged.

  “Then where would Paws sit?” said Greer.

&nbs
p; “Further away,” I said. “Who has a match?”

  The cat did not look impressed.

  “How long did it take her grandmother to learn this stuff?” Charlie asked, staring at Paws.

  I braced my hands on my hips. “Yeah, how long did it take?”

  “Four or five years,” said the cat reluctantly.

  “I can’t believe you said that with a straight face. You expect me to learn in a day what she learned in five years?” I cried. No wonder I was having trouble.

  “I expect you to learn one or two spells. And I expect you to learn them in the time you have,” said the cat.

  “Wow, you really can’t sound stern, even when you’re trying to,” said Charlie.

  Paws twitched his tail. “Who says I’m trying?”

  “Are you going to leave me alone so I can practice and save the farmhouse from attack, or not?” I said.

  Both my friends looked at the cat.

  “I don’t think she’s going to burn the house down, if for no other reason than that she can’t manage the magic of it,” said Paws.

  “You never know, I might surprise you.” I gave them all an evil grin and turned back to face the old shed, wand at the ready.

  My friends left me to it, and eventually I worked late into the night.

  At first my mind was on the woman who had come by selling fans, and what I would have to do if she came by for any more magical reasons. But eventually I managed to focus on my wand work, helped along by the arrival of Gary, who showed up just as Greer and Charlie were leaving. A few hops behind him came Tank, a cigar dangling from his lips.

  After my initial consternation, I decided it was no stranger than Paws wearing pearls.

  “I didn’t know you two were friends,” I said.

  “Why would you know, of all people?” Tank said.

  Because I own the farmhouse?

  “Yeah, why would I know,” I said out loud.

  “I see you’re practicing,” said Gary.

  Tank stationed himself at the human ghost’s feet and puffed away on his lung destroyer.

  “Trying to,” I said ruefully. “You know, those are terrible for you,” I said, turning to glare at the rabbit.