A Witch on Mintwood Mountain (Witch of Mintwood Book 4) Page 4

  “Your article in this morning’s paper is fascinating,” said Aunt Harriet.

  “Thank you,” Charlie beamed.

  “But since it isn’t a ghost, I don’t see why you’d indulge Farmer Franklin’s idea that it was,” Greer said with a question in her voice.

  “It might be a ghost. I say we go there tonight and check it out. Maybe a ghost is on the loose,” said Charlie excitedly.

  “A ghost wouldn’t steal like that,” I said. “The idea of a ghost running around disappearing tools and wreaking havoc doesn’t make any sense.”

  “I thought you said dark ghosts could,” said Charlie.

  I had indeed said that, and I cursed myself for admitting it, but what was going on at the Franklin place didn’t sound like the work of a dark ghost to me.

  “There has to be another explanation,” I said.

  “Maybe, but I’m not going to find it sitting here in the breakfast nook. Let’s go tonight. Please?” Charlie begged.

  “We have to get there before Hansen does. Do you know he actually wrote an article questioning whether ghosts were real?” Charlie rolled her eyes. “It’s just shoddy journalism.”

  “Poor Hansen. If only he could write the truth,” I said.

  “Exactly,” agreed Charlie.

  “I don’t actually think I can make it tonight,” said Greer. “I’ll see you guys here afterwards, though.” Then she busied herself by burying her nose in the entertainment section of the paper and not looking up again.

  “You can’t make it, you say? Why ever is that?” Charlie needled.

  “I have plans,” said Greer, sounding embarrassed and ducking her head.

  “They must be important plans to miss going on an investigation with your roommates. Whatever do these plans involve?” said Charlie.

  “I’m going to eat dinner,” said Greer.

  “What kind of dinner?” Charlie asked.

  Greer threw down the newspaper. “You know very well that Deacon is making me dinner at his place tonight. Before you ask, we haven’t made anything official. Also, you might be the most annoying individual I have ever met!”

  “Actually, I was going to ask if it was a date,” I grinned.

  “And since you threw the newspaper down, we can see that your face is now going bright red,” Charlie pointed out.

  Greer glared at her. “If you don’t stop it I’m going to throw away the chore chart.”

  Charlie gasped. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Watch me,” said Greer.

  “Sometimes you say the meanest things,” Charlie sniffed.

  “I have to go check on the Ivy cats,” I said, breaking the flow of the banter.

  I pushed my chair back from the table and headed for the living room. It was still early morning, and although Ms. Ivy’s three cats spent most of their time outdoors, she still wanted me to stop in and check on them regularly. Besides the three cats, I also had to check up on Truffle, the Hodges’ pig.

  I had never taken care of a pig before, and had told Mrs. Hodges as much. She had assured me that Truffle was confined to her pen and easy to take care of, and anyhow, they were only going to be gone for a couple of days and I’d manage just fine. I was skeptical, but she had begged me, so at last I agreed.

  The cats were all grateful to be fed; Neely was grateful from a distance. Truffles, who was probably used to more human attention than I was giving her, snuffled around delightedly in the mud when she saw me.

  When I was finished with the animals, I decided to check in and see how Liam was doing at the Twinkle Costume Shop, stopping on the way to get us both Danishes from the café. Liam was still basking in the glow of winning the ribbon-cutting ceremony, and his window display was still the best on Main Street.

  As I drove through town I saw several posters for Mayor Clabberd on lawns and in storefronts. He was busy campaigning for re-election for like the seventh time, which he insisted on doing even without anyone to campaign against.

  Never a dull moment in Mintwood.

  When Liam saw me walk in holding the bag from the Daily Brew, he mock fainted with joy.

  “You’re the best,” he gushed.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “No really,” he shot back, taking the Danish with delight. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. I was just wishing for one of these, but my mother is on her lunch break so I couldn’t leave.”

  “Is the store still busy enough to suit you?” I asked.

  A couple of weeks ago, a group of women who had turned out to be witches had come to town and mobbed every store on Main Street, including Liam’s. They were all gone now, and I didn’t think anyone in town regretted it.

  Including me.

  “It’s busy enough,” Liam said, settling behind the counter. “So who are you going to vote for in the mayor’s race?” He quirked an eyebrow at me.

  I laughed. “Is that a question?”

  “I think the townspeople are kind of disappointed, because it would be great to have the gossip and drama that a challenger would bring. Give a little flair to life in good old Mintwood, it would,” said Liam.

  “Maybe somebody will still decide to run against him,” I said.

  “I’d love to see them try,” said Liam. “He’d squash them like a bug. Something tells me even he would appreciate it. Although, if he doesn’t resolve this ghost issue at Farmer Franklin’s he might have trouble on his hands.”

  I tried to act casual as I said it, going so far as to sit down in one of the chairs Liam had scattered around for customers who wanted to sit and wait while their friends shopped. Meaning, men used them while their girlfriends or wives shopped.

  “Why do you say that?” I asked. Once gossip went Main Street, you knew the information was all over town.

  “It’s all over town that we have a ghost problem. Farmer Franklin is telling everybody who will listen that a ghost is to blame for his missing tools,” said Liam. He had already polished off his Danish and turned his attention to the coffee.

  “It’s not ghosts. That’s just silly,” I shook my head.

  “Hansen Gregory says it is,” Liam pointed out, as if Hansen Gregory’s word was all that counted. “I’m surprised Charlie isn’t following suit. Her article was much more measured, but there really is no other explanation. Nobody else thinks there is, either, given that no one out of the ordinary is at the farm and yet tools keep vanishing into the night.”

  “It’s probably just kids stealing the tools,” I shrugged.

  “No, it isn’t. Farmer Franklin has looked for footprints. He can do that kind of thing. And there are none. The only explanation is that a ghost floated across the field and took the tools,” said Liam stubbornly.

  “You’ve always loved a good story,” I said, shaking my head and smiling at my friend.

  “I have always loved a good story, especially when it’s true,” said Liam, pausing to take a sip of coffee.

  “And why do you think this means Mayor Clabberd will have opposition this time?” I asked, bringing the conversation back to its starting point.

  “Because no one wants this to be a ghost town. If he isn’t going to do something about what’s happening at Farmer Franklin’s, I think somebody else will,” Liam said.

  “I’m sure they’ll get to the bottom of it, and I’m sure Mayor Clabberd will remain mayor. What on earth would he do if he wasn’t our mayor?” I asked.

  Both Liam and I stared into space contemplating that difficult question.

  “No, I can’t see him as anything else,” said Liam at last.

  “Exactly. He’s not going to lose this election,” I said.

  Liam shrugged and raised his eyebrows again. Obviously he wasn’t so sure.

  I ran the last of my errands at Keith’s Mountain Mucking and walked right into Deacon as I was leaving the store. A little dazed, I reeled backwards and nearly fell over. It wasn’t until I righted myself that I saw who was with him.

  Jasp
er Wolf and I hadn’t spoken since the fight we’d had about my not being careful enough while I was doing my silly investigations, as he called them.

  On my part, I was waiting for an apology that had yet to come. He could have sent flowers, or chocolates, or flowers and chocolates, or maybe a pizza delivery (pepperoni, please) right to my door. But there had been nothing.

  I glared at him, lost my nerve and looked away, felt my face going bright red, waved at Deacon, and stumbled past the two of them as they looked on in bemusement.

  “Good to see you, too. You handled that swimmingly,” Deacon yelled after me.

  I wanted to turn around and shake my fist at him, but not as badly as I wanted to run away. Besides, I ran the high risk of tripping again if I attempted any fancy footwork.

  I cursed the butterflies in my stomach for the entire time I was walking back to the car. How did Jasper manage to send me into a tither every time I saw him? Even, or especially, when I was mad at him. I was getting tired of it, but I didn’t have a clue what to do about it.

  Just as I was getting to my car, I passed some people who were gossiping about Mintwood Mountain.

  “I heard on the radio that they’ve gone up there to find those lost hikers. I guess they got an anonymous tip about bodies,” said a woman.

  “Anonymous tips are so strange. Why wouldn’t you just come forward? There can’t possibly be anything weird behind it,” and another woman. “It’s not like at Farmer Franklin’s, where ghosts are involved.”

  “Yes, I completely agree,” said the first woman. “Poor Detective Cutter going climbing and scrabbling around mountains – he deserves better at this point in his career,” she sniffed.

  I wished I could tell them that there were plenty of motivations for leaving anonymous tips, including talking to ghosts about investigations into their own deaths. But that wasn’t possible, so I simply got into the Beetle and hurried home.

  If the police were already at the mountain, it shouldn’t be long before there was news that the missing hikers had been found. I wondered what would happen after that, especially about Chloe. People knew that three hikers had disappeared, and there were only two bodies under that cliff.

  Charlie had gone to work by the time I got home, but Greer and Aunt Harriet were at the farmhouse, and we decided to spend the afternoon clearing out some of the stuff from Grandmother’s office. Three hours and what felt like a hundred piles of paper later, it seemed like we had done more harm than good.

  “My mother never met a piece of paper she didn’t want to keep,” said Harriet, shaking her head and smiling.

  “It’s an impressive collection,” I said.

  Eventually, Greer gave up and went down to make dinner. My aunt and I stayed to sift through papers for a while longer, but when Charlie came home we went downstairs for a family-style spaghetti dinner. Fortified by a delicious meal, Charlie and I then left for Farmer Franklin’s.

  On the way out the door I invited Paws to come with us, but he just looked at me. “You mean you want me to go along and look for the fake ghosts?”

  Yes.

  “They might not be fake,” said Charlie.

  “They aren’t ghosts,” said Paws.

  “Can’t you just give me a straight answer?” I asked.

  “No,” said Paws.

  So off we went without him.

  Before heading to the farm, we stopped to check on Truffles the pig and the three cats.

  “Pigs are so cute. Can we get one?” Charlie asked. We were driving away from the Hodges’ place after Truffle had spent half an hour showing herself off.

  “I’m sure Paws would love that,” I said.

  “He just wants all of your attention, even if he won’t admit it,” said Charlie knowingly.

  “Won’t Farmer Franklin object to us coming by his place when he’s not there?” I said.

  “I told him we were going to. This is his night to play poker with his buddies,” said Charlie. “He said he wants this case solved and the sooner the better. As in, the faster we can get proof of ghosts, the better.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Liam thinks this is going to cause a problem for Mayor Clabberd’s re-election,” I said.

  “It might if it gets worse. The ghosts would have to do more damage, but I could see an angry constituent throwing his or her hat in at the last minute,” said Charlie. “He wanted a challenger, but not one with any merit.”

  I didn’t believe she could really see that, but Charlie was all in for town politics, and that was part of what made her such a good reporter. She really believed in the importance of everything that was happening in Mintwood, including ridiculous ribbon-cutting ceremonies.

  “I’m sure that if anything else goes wrong, Mayor Clabberd will explain it at the town hall meeting,” said Charlie.

  “I’d forgotten about that,” I said.

  Town hall meetings were held about once a month. Sometimes more people went, sometimes fewer. All the townspeople had been hoping that someone would run in opposition to Mayor Clabberd so there’d be something to gossip about, including fireworks at a town hall meeting.

  Hey, it was cheaper than going to see a movie.

  And ever since what had become known as the Silo Murder had been solved, good Mintwood gossip was sorely lacking.

  “It’s a contested mayor’s race or somebody starts dating somebody else and the pairing is shocking,” Charlie had said about the dearth of gossip material.

  “Yes, let’s make people’s personal lives town fodder, that’s what I said.”

  “It’s better than being bored,” said Charlie.

  “You could start dating somebody, and they could talk about that,” I offered.

  “That’s very generous of you, but no thank you. I’m busy enough working as a reporter,” Charlie said, putting on her haughty air. “They can gossip about Greer and Deacon if they want.”

  I was pretty sure the word about Greer and Deacon hadn’t gotten around yet. In fact, that was one of the reasons why they were having dinner at his place: to keep everything quiet. The gossip hadn’t yet gone Main Street.

  “Well then,” I said, “we’re back to the beginning. All we can do is hope that somebody decides to run against Mayer Clabberd.”

  “I’ll really enjoy watching them get stomped on,” said Charlie, her eyes shining at the prospect.

  “You want somebody to run just so they can lose?”

  “No, I want them to lose in style so I can write about it.”

  “I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  Farmer Franklin’s farm was massive. I had only ever driven by it, never stopped, except in the summer when he ran a farm stall out by the road that sold vegetables and homemade ice cream. My grandmother used to take me there, and I loved the cold chocolaty sweetness in the summer.

  “Does he still do the farm stand?” I asked.

  “Sure does,” said Charlie. “The stand’s sign was one of the things that was stolen, in fact.”

  “Was that the ghost too?” I asked.

  “Looks like it,” said Charlie.

  “Did he keep all the stuff that’s gone missing in the same place?” I asked.

  “I guess it was all in the barn, but not all in the same place,” said Charlie.

  “Does he lock the barn?” I asked.

  “You know very well that nobody locks anything around here, and it’s never been a problem in the past,” Charlie said.

  “Very well then,” I sighed.

  “Are you starting to believe it was ghosts?” Charlie asked.

  “No, I would know if it had been ghosts,” I said. At least I thought I would.

  Charlie parked her car next to Franklin’s old pickup truck and we got out and looked around.

  The farm was large and sprawling, with a big white house and several barns. Yes, several. One was definitely filled with cows, because I could hear the mooing (and smell something else), while another was attached to stables for
horses. In the distance was a field, and beyond that the usual woods that framed practically everything around Mintwood.

  “Does Farmer Franklin have help?” I asked, thinking that this place was too big for one person to take care of.

  “Yes, his son lives down the road. He helps, and they usually hire a couple of other guys when there’s a harvest,” said Charlie. “His wife used to keep a really big garden, but she passed away a couple of years ago. I think their daughter does it now.”

  “Does he trust the people he’s hired to help?” I said.

  “Oh, yeah. It’s his son’s best friends. Besides, why would anyone go to the trouble of stealing a hammer?” Charlie asked.

  “That’s a good question,” I said. If we answered it, we just might know what had happened at the Franklin place.

  “Want to show me where the hammer was?” I asked.

  Charlie led me toward one of the barns. On the way we passed several chickens and a pigpen, and in the distance I could see a goat pen attached to the barn we were heading for.

  “Is that the goat barn?” I asked.

  “Yes, that’s the one where he keeps his tools, and it’s also the one that the goats are attached to,” she said. “There’s a dog kennel adjacent to it as well.”

  “Does he have horses?” I asked.

  “I think he has several. And several dogs. One of the dogs is really cute. His name is Humphrey, and he’s not only cute, but really smart,” she said. “There they are,” she added, pointing to a pen where several dogs were milling around. The dog pen was large enough to fill the first floor of my farmhouse, and I could even see a cat perched on top of the fence keeping the dogs company. Or keeping an eye on them in case they caused any trouble?

  Charlie led me into the barn, which, as she had predicted, was unlocked. In fact, there wasn’t even any lock to lock the door with.

  “Does anyone in Mintwood not have a barn?” I muttered.

  “We don’t. We have a dilapidated shed,” Charlie said.

  “We could start calling it our barn,” I said.