Wonder Wand Way (Witch of Mintwood Book 10) Page 2

  “The really key point that you’re missing is that there’s no proof,” I said.

  Charlie and Greer both stared at me as if I had two heads. It was as if they really couldn’t believe I had said that. Maybe now it was the other way around, and they didn’t think I was being serious. Clearly neither of them had thought of that little nugget before.

  I just shrugged.

  To me it was the most obvious thing in the world. The rumors were everywhere, especially in Mintwood. Rumors mattered a little, but not a lot, where witch theory was concerned.

  In a small town, a rumor could start and fester. Someone would proclaim something because they thought they knew, and off the rumor would go, regardless of whether there was any truth to it. Small towns were the easiest places in the world to spread rumors, because everyone knew everyone else. In a larger town it was easier to get some distance from the gossip that pinged off the buildings like a teenager’s poorly hit baseball. Everyone didn’t know everyone else, and rumors didn’t spread as quickly.

  But Mintwood? This was a small town, rumor mill USA.

  I was plenty guilty of encouraging the rumor mill myself. In fact, I loved it. Our friend Liam and I had our love of gossip as one of the biggest things we had in common.

  So, bottom line, I didn’t mind that there were rumors going around. I especially didn’t mind that they were about witches. It could have been a lot worse; it could have been about something serious. But it wasn’t.

  Witches were all unbelievable good fun, at least in my mind. So there would be so real repercussions from an article like this.

  “Fine. You act relaxed about this. Someday we are going to wake up to a Chronicle article about real witches, though,” said Charlie.

  “You’re just going to be annoyed that Hansen scooped you,” I said.

  “I can’t very well break the news on witches when I live with one. We’d get no peace. I’m sure there would be paparazzi and attention everywhere we went. My face wasn’t made for sunglasses,” Charlie moaned.

  Greer and I exchanged looks, not entirely certain what Charlie meant by that or how it was relevant. Since she seemed serious, though, neither of us wanted to dispute it with her. In the end Greer just shrugged, and I smiled a bit.

  We accepted Charlie for Charlie. Cleaning charts and all.

  Later that day we decided to go into town.

  When I stepped outside, I was struck by the chill in the air. The crisp air brushed my cheek, and the light was different, too. A burnt orange tinge touched everything, and the day had a clear brightness that we hadn’t seen in a while.

  In short, the air smelled of dryness and the changing seasons.

  “And just like that it’s fall,” I murmured. I felt like I had simply waved my wand and summer was gone until next year.

  One of our stops would be to see Mrs. Cook, who ran the summer fair every year and who wanted us to do her a favor. She hadn’t said what the favor was, because she wanted to make her request in person. Greer thought she wanted to use baked goods to bribe us.

  I couldn’t say that I minded being bribed with baked goods.

  Initially we had planned to visit Mrs. Cook without Charlie, who, after all, had work to do. When she finished her article early, though, she decided to join us after all.

  “I’d like to get out a bit and see the townsfolk,” she said.

  “What you really want is to get a feel for what people think of Hansen Gregory’s article,” Greer said accusingly.

  “So what if I do,” said Charlie, shrugging. “It’s in my nature.”

  The three of us piled into my Beetle and headed off to see Mrs. Cook. The best way to get to her house was past the Babbling Brook Barn, and that little bit of the drive hurt. I found myself wincing as we passed the driveway. Even with just a tiny glimpse from down the road I could see that Jasper’s big truck was there.

  We were so close to each other, and yet . . .

  Both Greer and Charlie were nice enough not to acknowledge that they had seen me looking in that direction. It wasn’t as if anyone was surprised.

  Mrs. Cook met us at the door with her little Yorkie dog, who stared up at us vacantly. I’m not gonna lie; I don’t understand little dogs. I mean, they’re fine. If they make other people happy, great.

  But really, why not just get a cat?

  “Thank you so much for coming,” said Mrs. Cook. “We could really use your help.” She held the door open and stepped back to let us walk in, but before we could, the little dog had to get out of the way. It took an awful lot of steps to do so.

  “Happy to help. Happy to come over,” I said.

  “Come into the kitchen,” said Mrs. Cook, leading the way. “It’s the warmest room in the house.”

  Mrs. Cook lived out in the woods, and the view from her kitchen was of a thick patch of trees past a small back yard with a fenced-in lawn.

  The little dog went to sit in the corner, still looking vacant, while the rest of us crowded around the kitchen island. Mrs. Cook busied herself finishing the tea, leaving a plate of cookies in front of us to tide us over until the tea was ready.

  “I hope you like chocolate chip,” said Mrs. Cook.

  “Do I ever,” said Charlie. She set her notebook down and took a cookie. She didn’t go anywhere without her notebook, but sometimes she did have to let it out of her hands, if not out of her sight.

  Mrs. Cook eyed Greer until the bartender also took a cookie. Greer had won the baking competition at the fair last summer and was known far and wide as the best baker in town.

  “I hope you like them. They’re only amateur,” said Mrs. Cook.

  Greer took a bite and smiled. “They’re delicious. I would expect nothing less.”

  “They’re my mother’s recipe. I’m glad you like them,” said Mrs. Cook with a smile.

  Then she set a pot of hot tea in front of us and started pouring.

  A good cup of tea is a multipurpose treat that I can always appreciate. On this occasion I wrapped my hands around the mug; they had gotten cold on the drive over, and a cup of hot tea was the perfect remedy.

  “I heard that there were a lot of goings-on at the wedding you all went to recently,” said Mrs. Cook, obviously fishing.

  “Yes. Unfortunately I think it kind of ruined the weekend for the bride and groom,” I said.

  Mrs. Cook clucked her tongue. “It’s so sad.”

  “At least there’s been a lot of news recently. Like in today’s Chronicle,” said Charlie.

  Greer took a second cookie and rolled her eyes.

  “Oh, I don’t read the Chronicle, dear,” Mrs. Cook explained. “There’s an old rivalry there. Back in the day we would never support Jimmy M’s paper.”

  “Who was Jimmy M?” Charlie was already intrigued. If asked, I would have had to admit that I was as well.

  “Jimmy M founded the Chronicle,” said Mrs. Cook. “I have to tell you that I thought he was trouble from the beginning. Didn’t really care about the content of his articles. He just wanted to sell papers.”

  “So you might call it a rag?” Charlie said carefully.

  “Oh, yes. Certainly that. Like you wouldn’t believe,” Mrs. Cook laughed. “Everyone loved it, though. Lapped it right up. It was the best selling newspaper for a while, so much so that the Gazette had to find a way to compete. They weren’t going to start making stuff up, but that’s when they moved toward town gossip and that sort of thing. They found that there was a real appetite for everything about the social scene. When Jimmy M died, his daughter sold the paper. The new owners are much more concerned with content. I always remember Jimmy, though, and I still don’t read the Chronicle.”

  Charlie opened her mouth and had nearly gotten out her next question when Mrs. Cook added, “Heard Hansen Gregory is an excellent reporter, though.”

  Charlie closed her mouth with a snap.

  “That’s all fascinating,” I said. “I never knew the paper had such an interesting history.” />
  “Yes, it’s rather fun, isn’t it?” asked Mrs. Cook.

  She took a cookie herself and smiled at Greer. “I’m so pleased you like them. Now, to be honest, that isn’t why I wanted you three here, though.”

  “Why did you want us here?” I asked.

  “I have a favor to ask. You know I’m on a lot of town committees still. Sure, I retired from the fair, but there are still several others. It’s important to stay involved in Mintwood, you understand. What’s happening now is that we’ve been trying to deal with Bright Lights Mintwood Cinema, and we just can’t make any headway on it,” she said.

  “That explains all those people I saw going in there the other day!” cried Greer, suddenly sitting forward.

  Mrs. Cook nodded. “We were touring the building, hoping to get some brainstorming ideas about how to fix things. What we’ve determined is that we really just have to clean everything up. It’s quite the project.”

  “What do you plan to do with it once it’s cleaned up?” Charlie asked.

  “We’re going to auction off the antiques. I think there’s a good market for them around here. Then we’re going to put the proceeds toward improvements for the building itself. Then we’re going to lobby Mayor Clabberd for more money. We aren’t sure what’s going to happen with the building yet. We’re negotiating, but there’s some disagreement about that,” she explained.

  “What do you need us to do? I’m excellent at keeping order. Comes from bartending. We could help with the auction,” said Greer.

  “Well, what we were actually hoping was that you three would clean out the place,” said Mrs. Cook. “The old cinema still has all kinds of leftover furniture and equipment in it, but those of us on the committee are too old to be prodding through such things. Besides, Lemmi’s grandmother loved it in there.” She paused and gave me a little smile. “Do you know her picture’s on the wall? Sure is. She was the first volunteer in the place. Also the longest running.”

  The fact was, I had heard about my grandmother’s involvement with the cinema for my entire life. She had loved to tell stories about her cinema days. Even as a young girl she’d sneak into movies and enjoy them by herself when her shift ended. That is, she did it alone until she got a boyfriend. Then she’d sneak in with him. She loved telling stories about events at the cinema.

  I remembered her talking about how people would line up around the block to see a new picture. Most of the young people in town would come at least once a week to enjoy the show. My grandmother loved it all. Everybody knew her, and she had the best time.

  “I would love to help,” I said without a second thought.

  Mrs. Cook beamed at me. “Fantastic news! Wonderful! I’ll inform the Restoration Committee. We were hoping that you’d say yes, and now you have. If you find anything that you know your grandmother would have loved, it’s yours.”

  I paused to digest what she was saying.

  “Thank you so much. I’m looking forward to it. When should we get started?” I asked her.

  Mrs. Cook shrugged. “The sooner the better as far as we’re concerned. I have a set of keys for you, so you can go over there any time. The police have been informed that people will be working there, so they won’t wonder if they see lights on.

  “Just put everything into three piles in the lobby: stuff you think we should keep, stuff to sell, and stuff that’s definitely junk. Once you get that out of the way, we can discuss next steps. We might employ cleaners, or we might try to do it ourselves, we’re not really sure. We also have to talk to the junkyard about taking so much stuff over at once. Keith and a couple other fellows have trucks that they said we could borrow to move it all.”

  Clearly this was a major production, and Mrs. Cook was thinking through all the phases. Charlie always took heart when she dealt with someone like that.

  “I hope the cinema doesn’t get torn down. It really is a town landmark,” said Charlie.

  “Nobody wants it torn down,” Mrs. Cook reassured her. “We just aren’t sure what to do with it. This town does just fine in the summer, but the rest of the year it really struggles. The business from June through August really has to last us. We’re hoping that maybe a revived cinema building would bring in some business at other times of the year.”

  “It’s a little hard to fathom what else could go in that spot,” said Greer.

  “We’re working on that as well,” said Mrs. Cook, “but we’re taking it one thing at a time. We need to make sure the building is structurally sound before we make any big future plans. Of course, we’ve had an engineer in and he says it’s fine to work in. I don’t want you to worry. Still, cleaning it out and trying to turn it into something marvelous are two different things.”

  We chatted for a while longer, then excused ourselves. Now that I had something else to do, I didn’t want to linger. Going through years of junk left in the old cinema building was an opportunity I wasn’t going to pass up. Not only was it a part of my family’s heritage, it was a chance to distract myself from a certain someone.

  That’s how I was going to refer to him in my mind from now on: certain someone. Because that could somehow get him out of my head.

  Not blooming likely.

  Chapter Four

  “You don’t have to be involved if you don’t want to. I know you both have work to do,” I said.

  We were driving home in the Beetle. I had succumbed to my feelings and decided to go the long way around so as to avoid any chance of seeing Jasper, anything he owned, or anything that could remind me of him.

  In short, I wasn’t going to drive past the Babbling Brook Barn a second time. Maybe tomorrow or the next day, but not today. It was all too new and too raw. I was too confused. My chest still felt like it had had the wind knocked out of it.

  Once again my friends didn’t comment.

  “I’d love to help,” said Charlie. “I already finished my big article for the week, so I have a light workload for the next couple of days. Besides, I have to think about how to handle Hansen,” said Charlie.

  “I mean, I love a good antique hunt,” said Greer.

  “Have you heard from Deacon?” I asked.

  “We’ve texted, but the reception is spotty. I’m going to see him tomorrow. Usually he works a bit on the weekends, but he didn’t last weekend given the wedding and the skeleton find, so he has a lot to get done today. I said the same thing about my own life. I need to unpack and do laundry,” she said.

  “I have a feeling the washing machine is going to be very busy today,” said Charlie dryly.

  Usually, given that we all had unconventional schedules, we managed to share the washing machine just fine. When we all went away together and came back at the same time, it was a different story. On top of that, we had been away in the woods. Most of my clothing was muddy and smelled like pine.

  “I guess we better get to work. Should we go over to the cinema after dinner?” I said.

  “Sure,” said Charlie. “We should also let Liam know what we’re doing. I know any antiques would interest him. He might want some of the stuff, especially if we find any costumes stored away in there.”

  “Why would we find costumes?” Greer asked.

  “You never know. Usually places like that also have a stage. If there were theater performances, there may be some costumes that were left behind,” said Charlie hopefully. “This afternoon I’m going to look up the history of the cinema in my notes. I want to go in with my eyes open.”

  She sounded excited. Between the successful séance and this new activity, I should have been happy too, but I just wasn’t feeling it that much. There was a hollowness in my chest and heart that couldn’t be overcome with old furniture and stories.

  We spent the day recovering from our weekend away. I didn’t have any pets to check on at the moment, so it was mostly just laundry and unpacking for me. Greer went to the bar to work for a couple of hours and agreed to meet us in downtown Mintwood after dinner to get started a
t Bright Lights.

  Given that it was just Charlie and me eating at the farmhouse, we threw something together before we left, ate it quickly, and headed out. Pasta with Parmesan was always a winner in my book.

  Paws was sitting on his crate when we came out of the house. He scrutinized us so intently us as we left that I finally called out and asked him if he wanted to come. He said he was busy, but before we’d left the driveway his head was on his paws and he appeared to be sleeping.

  “This is going to be a lot of fun,” said Charlie when we got to Main Street.

  She glanced at the Daily Brew, which was closed for the day, but I noticed that Liam still had the lights on in the Twinkle Costume Shop.

  “Shall we go say hi?” Charlie asked.

  I readily agreed. Greer hadn’t showed up yet, so we had a few minutes before we were supposed to be at Bright Lights anyhow

  Just as we got to the Twinkle, the door opened.

  To my surprise, it was Detective Cutter’s deputy, Tom, who came out. Tom was burly, tall, and soft all over. Not exactly the conventional picture of a police officer. When he saw us he stopped dead and his face went bright red.

  “Oh. Hi,” he gulped.

  “Hi, Tom,” said Charlie cheerily, unaware that Tom was blushing. “How are you?”

  “Good. What brings you out so late this evening?” he asked.

  Charlie frowned. “We’re allowed to be out. There’s no curfew.”

  “He’s just asking. He’s not interrogating us. We’re clearing out the cinema,” I said, turning from my friend to Tom.

  Tom nodded. “We heard about that. Detective Cutter and I were notified not to worry if we saw strange lights on and such. The Detective instantly knew it would be you doing the work,” he explained.

  I made a face.

  “Anyway, nice running into both of you. Should be getting home. Mom will wonder why I’m late for dinner.” He bustled past us.

  “What was his problem?” Charlie looked after him as Tom disappeared into the night.

  When we entered the shop, Liam was at the register, apparently counting money. It was almost closing time.