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  “That ghastly event. Have they no sense of style?” Evangeline asked.

  “They’re young. I’m sure they’ll look back on it with delight,” said Jacob.

  “If we could get back to my original point, I’d really appreciate it,” said Evangeline, giving us the stink eye. Now she definitely reminded me of Cookie.

  I was about to spill my guts and tell her everything when I stopped myself. “I don’t have to explain anything to you. You aren’t my mother. If I remember correctly, you disapprove of my grandmother,” I said. Then I gave myself a quick pat on the back for standing firm.

  In the face of the annoyed gaze she leveled at me, it was all I could do not to shrink away, and I knew Pep and Lark felt the same way.

  “You came out of the basement. That’s Down Below. No witches or warlocks are allowed Down Below. If someone breaks the rules, yes, it is my business. It’s everyone’s business,” she said.

  “It would be rather shocking if that was indeed where you came from. I thought that’s where I saw you coming from, which is why I strolled over,” said Jacob.

  Before I could think of what to say to Jacob, a harsh voice intervened, demanding, “Just what do you think you’re doing here?”

  Chapter Nine

  We were standing near the kitchen door, and when Cookie had come into the kitchen to prepare cold sandwiches for lunch, she’d had no trouble seeing our little grouping through the window.

  You always had to be careful with Cookie’s sandwiches. She was liable to stick strange things in between the cheese and the turkey. Once I’d eaten a sandwich and found a diamond ring. Another time it had been a bottle cap. I reminded myself to look out if and when we ever got around to lunch that day.

  At the moment, Cookie was storming out to the back yard and glaring at everyone indiscriminately.

  I could see Mr. Blacksmith and Steve watching the spectacle from around the doorjamb.

  “I pay rent to live here. I’ll talk to other residents if I want,” said Evangeline evenly.

  “I just thought I’d have a nice stroll on the lawn,” said Jacob.

  Barely looking at him, Cookie said, “I wasn’t talking to you.”

  “Your errant grandchildren, who have never been raised properly, were just Down Below. What are you going to do about it?” said Evangeline, a clear challenge in her eye.

  “Tell me something I don’t know. Is that really all you trespassed for?” said Cookie.

  Even Evangeline was a bit taken aback by Cookie’s cavalier response, but my grandmother didn’t look the least bit surprised. Either she was the world’s worst liar—unlikely—or she had known perfectly well what we were up to.

  “If you knew they were going to the basement, it was your responsibility to stop them,” Evangeline said.

  “I didn’t know ahead of time. It’s not as if they give me a schedule of their day. That would be boring,” said Cookie.

  “Why aren’t you disciplining them then?” Evangeline demanded.

  “Because I’m wasting my time talking to you,” Cookie answered.

  Evangeline’s face soured. I had always liked her until she had her falling out with Cookie, but since then I hadn’t seen much of her. Now I didn’t like her for her obvious desire to get me in trouble, and I wondered if she had always been like that and I just hadn’t noticed.

  “I think we can all just let this one go,” said Jacob. “Down Below is sealed once again, and we’ve all gotten a chance to stroll around the yard on this lovely day and say hi. Fine morning all around.”

  “Yes, wasn’t it excellent?” said Cookie. “Now if you don’t mind, I’ll finish making lunch.”

  “Sandy pizza again?” Evangeline asked.

  “Gourmet sandy pizza, thank you very much,” said Cookie.

  My grandmother was a famously bad cook. Famously bad meaning that if you tasted her food you’d more than likely want to spit it out. Not even Rose would eat it.

  Speaking of the cat, she came racing around the mansion at that very moment, but when she saw the tenants she skidded to a halt and looked unsure of herself for once. All eyes turned to the white animal. She didn’t exactly blend in.

  “Is something going on?” Cookie asked.

  Rose didn’t say anything.

  But just then we heard a car door slam.

  Without a moment’s pause, we all went racing around to the front of the mansion.

  When we got there I stumbled to a shocked halt. Standing in front of a shiny silver car was the Vice Chancellor of Witches and Warlocks.

  The Vice Chancellor was very important in witch society.

  What was he doing at Haunted Bluff?

  We were entirely unprepared for the arrival of such an important warlock at the mansion.

  I wondered where my mother was right at that moment, and if she had known about this visit. A visit from the Vice Chancellor was definitely not something she’d want to miss. As the one who ran the household, she would usually be the one to greet such a guest. Everyone agreed that we didn’t want Cookie acting as the family representative if it could possibly be avoided, but my mother wasn’t here, so we’d just have to wing it.

  The man standing before us was a very famous warlock, almost as famous as the younger man standing next to him. Grant Hastings had gotten out of the same sleek silver car that the Vice Chancellor had arrived in.

  The Vice Chancellor had never achieved such a lofty nickname as His Majesty of Magic; that degree of fame and admiration was Grant’s alone. Still, one could argue that Nathaniel Nutcracker had been the first famous warlock, even if Grant had now eclipsed him.

  Mr. Nutcracker had channeled his fame and his success as an investigator into a career in politics, having now served as the Vice Chancellor of Witches and Warlocks for many years. I had heard of him mostly from the Spooky Times and my mother complaining. The Vice Chancellor was both beloved and reviled, but either way he was famous in our world.

  Out of the side of her mouth Lark said, “I hope he’s not here for a surprise inspection. I don’t think he’ll like what he finds.”

  “I don’t think so either,” said Pep.

  I glanced at Grant but his face was unreadable.

  “Mrs. Garbo,” said the large and jovial-looking man, who was dressed in a green- and blue-striped suit with an orange bow tie. He stepped forward and extended one wide hand to Cookie.

  “It’s been a long time since you visited Haunted Bluff,” said Cookie.

  “Very busy at the government,” he replied with a smile.

  “The constant campaign. Not worth coming here for votes,” said Cookie.

  To my surprise, her eyes were cold and distant. She could be standoffish, for sure, but I had never seen her so frosty. And she had once dressed up as a snowman.

  “It’s worth going everywhere, if only from time to time.” Mr. Nutcracker smiled again, unfazed. “I heard your life was at risk and thought I’d better come as quickly as I could, to make sure everything was handled properly. I was in the area anyway.”

  “I thought the benefit of having someone as talented as Grant here was that he would never have to be overseen,” said Cookie. Ice chips spewed out of her eyes and danced in the air between them.

  If Mr. Nutcracker felt the arctic cold, he didn’t show it.

  “No one is questioning Grant’s work. Least of all me,” he said genially. “Sometimes it just helps to have a high member of the government around. Everything will run more smoothly. Besides, it was high time I came back to Shimmerfield, since this is the location of Down Below.”

  Inwardly I gasped at the mention of Down Below so soon after we had been sneaking around down there, but I just managed not to show my surprise and, indeed, alarm.

  Several supernatural black suit and white button down types had gotten out of the three black cars lined up behind the Vice Chancellor’s. They were now standing behind him, watching their boss and looking nervous.

  One of them was holding
a glass of water, I assumed in case Mr. Nutcracker got thirsty. Another had a clipboard and kept shifting from foot to foot. Clearly there was a schedule they were supposed to be following.

  Unfortunately for them, Cookie never liked schedules.

  “A lot has changed since the last time you were here. When was it? Nineteen ninety-nine?” said Cookie.

  “Yes, I believe that was the date,” said Vice Chancellor Nutcracker.

  Suddenly I felt like the world was spinning around me. The last time the Vice Chancellor had been at Haunted Bluff was for my father’s funeral. And my cousins’ father’s funeral. And Kip and Corey’s father’s funeral.

  My eyes narrowed on this man. Cookie must have felt the change in perception as her three granddaughters figured out who he was.

  Grant might not have understood the significance of the date, but he certainly understood the hostile environment Mr. Nutcracker had stepped into. To be fair, he himself had stepped into the same environment, except that Cookie had been nicer because as far as she was concerned, Grant was supposed to marry me.

  “Would you like to see the haunted house?” Cookie asked.

  Mr. Nutcracker didn’t even get a chance to respond before the supernatural with the clipboard stepped forward and said, “Mr. Nutcracker only has time for the first floor. If you could restrict your tour to that area, we would greatly appreciate it. Mr. Nutcracker has a one o’clock meeting.”

  “Well, that’s all fine and dandy. I was about to have lunch anyway,” yawned Cookie.

  “I hate to keep you from lunch,” said our visitor with a twinkle in his eye that was not returned.

  “Not to worry. I’m sure I’ll have a chance to eat shortly,” said Cookie.

  She waved us off, and for once I obeyed her since for once I had no desire to listen to her. Usually I felt the need to chaperone her, but if she said something offensive and sent this man away I didn’t think I’d mind in the least.

  “You can’t send them away without introducing them first. Your granddaughters, I presume?” said Mr. Nutcracker jovially.

  Once that empty formality was over, Pep, Lark, and I went to the kitchen, happy to escape the scene in the courtyard. Evangeline and Jacob had long since melted away, and Grant had stayed with the Vice Chancellor.

  That was just fine with me.

  The first thing we did once we’d reached the safety of the kitchen was to eat our sandwiches and review what had happened Down Below, leaving the topic of Vice Chancellor for after he was no longer at Haunted Bluff.

  The phrase “something fishy” was used a lot.

  “It just doesn’t make any sense. Do you think the Judge is the one who killed the driver and made off with the crown?” Pep asked.

  I shook my head. “From Peter’s description, Jefferson Judge doesn’t sound like a lawbreaker.”

  “Maybe he was biding his time,” said Lark.

  “Maybe, but why kill the assassin who was looking to kill Cookie?” I said.

  “There’s a chance it didn’t have anything to do with saving Cookie’s life,” Lark mused. “The two events could have been unrelated. Maybe whoever killed Blu did it to take the crown. Blu was a getaway driver. The guy you saw with him yesterday was going to steal the crown while Blu killed Cookie, then they were both going to get away.” She took a big bite of her turkey sandwich and chewed it thoughtfully.

  “Instead, the other guy steals the crown, doesn’t want to share with Blu and doesn’t care about Cookie, so just kills Blu to make his getaway,” I said.

  “That could all fit. It leaves a couple of problems, though. Like where is Judge now, and is someone else going to be sent to kill Cookie?” said Pep.

  “We have to find out more about Blu and his plans. We should also ask Orwell if he has any other information about the guy from yesterday,” I said.

  “You know what that means, don’t you?” said Lark.

  I shuddered. “It means we have to go to the Spider Mounds. Won’t that be fun.”

  For a few minutes we ate in silence, except for the trail of voices getting louder as the Vice Chancellor and his entourage got closer to the kitchen.

  “What’s going on out there?” Pep whispered, clutching her head.

  “I don’t know, but I think it’s high time our mothers stopped gallivanting around the countryside and came home,” whispered Lark.

  They often went away for a day or two to haunt hunt, but this time there hadn’t even been a plan for them to do that until it became crystal clear that the hunters needed help against the antics of the Root of All Evil.

  “Is there a good way to get in touch with them?” Lark asked.

  “We could do an enchantment. It might miss, though.” I chewed my lip. The best way would be to go and get them ourselves.

  “Should we. . .” Lark trailed off.

  “No way. We’d get in so much trouble. Besides, we’d owe the owls a lot,” said Pep.

  “There’s a lot at stake,” I said.

  Pep and I both knew, without having to be told, that Lark had meant we could fly, which wasn’t something witches did regularly. Flying was a pain in the rump, so much so that not even my mother or Meg liked to do it. There were also strict rules governing the use of owls.

  Oh, yes, that’s how flying worked. You needed an owl to fly directly in front of you so you could perform an enchantment to copy the owl’s flight. It was a difficult bit of enchantment casting, but not impossible.

  “Think Cookie will go for it?” Lark asked.

  “We could get her drunk and see,” said Pep.

  “So just wait until after dinner,” I said.

  “That’s low. I like it,” said Lark, brightening. Then her face fell. “We can’t leave her alone. Not if she’s the one the assassin was after.”

  “It would help if she could tell us why someone wants to kill her. Just assuming her personality alone isn’t enough,” I said.

  “I’d argue that her personality is plenty,” Pep muttered.

  “We can’t leave her and we can’t let her go alone, either,” I said.

  “So which one of us goes?” Lark asked.

  “None of you, at least not alone.” Cookie hobbled into the kitchen. Apparently the voices we had heard were her goodbyes with the Vice Chancellor. Her face was streaked with lines and annoyance. “Where’s a sandwich for me?”

  We pointed to several sandwiches still left on the platter and she hurried over to scarf them down.

  “Someone has to get Mom,” I said.

  “I know that,” Cookie snapped. “You can’t very well leave me alone here with Uncle Daft.”

  Uncle Taft was our crazy great-uncle. He had tried to warn us about the Root of All Evil, but we hadn’t listened to him. Ever since then he’d gotten crazier and crazier until there was basically no talking to him.

  “There are all of the supernaturals,” said Lark. “We can ask Mr. Blacksmith to look after you.”

  “What is one vampire going to do in the face of a powerful assassin?” Cookie took a large slurp of lukewarm tea.

  “You’ll be here to protect him,” I said.

  “We all go together. That way I can look after you,” she said. “You could use some lessons in flying anyway. Especially if you think of yourself as a detective. Besides, it’ll make Lizzie jealous.”

  That also meant we wouldn’t have to leave Cookie at home by herself.

  I grinned. “Okay, thanks,” I said.

  “We leave at sundown,” she said. “Now, tell me exactly what you were doing in that basement.”

  “Wouldn’t you prefer not to know?” Lark asked meekly.

  “What I would prefer is to live alone with someone to give me foot massages and bring me tea. Probably in the opposite order. We don’t always get what we want, do we?” she asked.

  I sighed and told her exactly what was going on. When I was finished, she nodded her head. “Jefferson Judge going missing is surprising. He’s known as annoyingly responsible
where supernaturals are concerned.”

  “Do you think it has anything to do with Blu’s murder?” I asked.

  Something flickered behind Cookie’s eyes. “I don’t know.”

  Before we could ask her anything else that she didn’t want to answer, she stood up. “Grant asked to see us. We’d best get moving.”

  Cookie walked out of the kitchen, but Lark, Pep, and I lingered for a few moments.

  “You know, there’s another explanation for all of this,” said Lark. “Cookie seemed very unconcerned about Blu’s death.”

  “What are you getting at?” said Pep.

  “I think she’s wondering if Cookie killed Blu herself,” I said.

  Chapter Ten

  Given that Grant had made a speech about bringing the murderer to justice, I felt like we had a right to be concerned about whether Cookie was a cold-blooded killer. I filed the thought away for future examination.

  On the way to meet Grant, we found the foyer filled with delivery boxes. Aunt Meg had been on a decorative tear recently, ordering everything she could possibly find to get the haunted house ready for the holidays.

  Lark just shook her head at the sight. “Between murders, disappearances, and important visits, I have no idea how I’m going to find the time to unpack all this stuff.”

  “I can help when we’re done talking to Grant. I need something to distract myself until nightfall anyhow,” I said.

  Lark gave me a grateful smile.

  Grant was waiting for us in the library, where he sat listening to three deputies report on what they’d found so far. Jason gave Lark another sidelong look when we walked in, and soon afterwards two circles of pink appeared on his cheeks.

  Grant was nodding in response to the reports, and looking very serious.

  Cookie was sitting in the ring of chairs facing the big bay window, pretending to read.

  “How’s the history of witch nobility?” I asked her.

  “Don’t try to catch me in a lie. I know very well that’s not what I’m reading,” said Cookie, closing the book with a snap. “Cats and Witchcraft will just have to wait.”