Purr-suasive Witches (A Wonder Cats Mystery Book 11) Page 5

  Blake had called me earlier to wish me luck at their barbecue.

  “I don’t want to do this,” I mumbled over the phone.

  “I know you don’t. Your personality doesn’t lend itself to this kind of situation,” he said bluntly. “You aren’t a social butterfly.”

  “No. I’m not,” I grunted.

  “But one good thing about that is that you have that gift of blending into the background. A real wallflower,” Blake said.

  “You really know how to make a girl feel confident!” I snapped.

  “That’s exactly what makes a good detective: someone who can be present but not really noticed,” he said. “There are very few who have that ability. You do, at least when you aren’t speaking.”

  I smiled despite my annoyance. “I think that was some kind of compliment.”

  “It was.” He cleared his throat.

  “How are things coming with the murder-suicides? Any groundbreaking discoveries?” I asked, changing the subject as I rubbed my blushing cheeks.

  “Funny, but no. In fact, Jake and I were just discussing the total absence of groundbreaking discoveries. Like the scenes had been scrubbed. Which is strange, since both deaths occurred in the homes. And the instant sale of the Gingerbread House was also very strange, since it—”

  “What? It sold again already?” I huffed. If that didn’t add insult to injury. “It’s only been a couple of days.”

  “I know. I find it odd. But there have been stranger occurrences in Wonder Falls than that,” Blake said. “Just the other day, a man who had been reported missing more than two months ago was found. He’d decided he wanted to live off the grid and did so by utilizing the city’s sewer systems. He’d come up underneath the stores, where he proceeded to steal what supplies he needed. The human mind can adapt to any situation if the desire is there. Uh oh.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “We’ve got a call. I have to go. See you tonight?” Blake asked.

  “Sure. I’ll tell you all about my horribly awkward and uncomfortable time at the barbeque.” I rolled my eyes.

  “Just remember, be yourself. Blend in. You’ll find out more that way,” he encouraged before hanging up the phone.

  I hung up too and sat there for a while. It was almost time to go meet Bea. She was driving. The Gingerbread House was only about fifteen minutes away at a casual stroll. That meant that with Bea driving, it would take at least a half hour, maybe longer, to get there.

  When I’d asked her if Aunt Astrid was coming with us, she’d said no; Cedar and Ethel had arranged to have her picked up. That was another thing I didn’t like. We all live within walking distance of each other and yet they wanted to only pick up Aunt Astrid? Rude.

  Earlier, I had asked Treacle for a favor.

  “You know where the Gingerbread House is, right? The one with the anthill?” I said as I stroked Treacle’s fur.

  “Yes,” he said while purring.

  “I want you to go there and get a look at things. Tell me what’s going on when I arrive. If there is anything shady or strange or unusual. I’ll meet up with you later.”

  “I can do that,” he said, stretching as I opened the kitchen window for him to slink outside.

  “Stay out of sight. For all we know, that brand of witches eats cats,” I said before I slid the window shut and locked it behind him.

  That had been about two hours ago. Finally, I heard Bea honk the horn out front. I grabbed my party side dish, smoothed out the front of my T-shirt and jeans, and headed out the door.

  “You look nice,” Bea said. Her belly was nearly touching the steering wheel.

  “Thanks. So do you. Do you want me to drive, or are you teaching the baby to do it?” I said as I pulled the door closed.

  “I know. I can’t believe I’ve still got a couple months to go. You’ll have to roll me down the street. What is that?” She eyeballed the plastic party tray covered with tinfoil.

  “We had to bring a party side dish,” I replied.

  “I told you I’d bring something for the both of us,” Bea said.

  “What are you trying to say?” I asked as she pulled out of my driveway and headed in the direction of the party.

  “Well, you aren’t known for your culinary talents,” Bea said sadly. “I just didn’t think you’d want to make anything.”

  “That I wouldn’t want to or couldn’t?” I asked, lifting my chin.

  “Come on, Cath. You know you can’t cook.”

  “Sort of like how you can’t drive? Come on, Granny. The speed limit is our friend. No need to stay so far back from it.”

  “Very funny. Safe driving is no accident.” Bea smirked.

  I chuckled when she laughed, and we ended up laughing together. That was until I realized where we were heading. I had walked down this road a dozen times and driven down it more than that, all to pass by the Gingerbread House and try and get a glimpse in the windows.

  “Wait a minute. What’s the address of this shindig?” I asked.

  “It looks like it is that house right there,” Bea said slowly. “Oh, Cath. They bought your Gingerbread House.”

  “But it only just recently became vacant. The murder-suicide, remember?” I huffed.

  “I do remember,” Bea added.

  “We’re talking a matter of days. How did that happen? I’m suspicious already. I don’t think these witches deserve my party side dish,” I grumbled as we pulled up in front of the house. I saw a couple more cars in the driveway.

  “At least we aren’t the first ones here,” Bea said.

  My guts tightened up as Bea and I walked to the door. She was talking quietly to me, but I wasn’t sure about what. I was sure I was going to have a panic attack, because I didn’t want to be here, and I knew that Bea, who was always much more sociable than me, would attract conversation like butterflies to a flower. Meanwhile, I’d be somewhere off by myself counting ceiling tiles or cobblestones.

  Without hesitating, Bea opened the door and walked right in.

  “Is that proper to just walk right in?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. I have to go to the bathroom again.” Bea rolled her eyes.

  “Okay.” I looked around. It was like the set of a bad 1960s horror film: lots of red and black fabric and drapery and tacky pentagrams and black candles were scattered around. It was such a beautiful little cottage that I couldn’t believe the horrible way it had been arranged on the inside, as if a group of high school kids from the drama department had decorated the place for their senior Halloween party.

  “Is this for real?” I muttered.

  “I don’t know, but I see a powder room over there,” Bea said and left my side to waddle to the bathroom.

  I stood by myself for a second, my party plate in my hands. Finally, a woman who looked like the Pillsbury Doughboy in a flowery summer dress came up to me. She smiled with lips that were thin and slightly discolored, pushing the corners of her mouth deep into her cheeks.

  “Hello! Let me guess. You must be Cath,” she said while extending a plump hand toward me.

  I held the tray in one hand and accepted her greeting with a nervous smile. “Hi,” I muttered. “My cousin Bea is here too. She’s in the bathroom.”

  “I’m Luann. Welcome to our little coven.” She giggled. “Let me take that from you. Come on in, and I’ll make all the introductions. Of course, you’ll already know your Aunt Astrid. She’s out in the backyard with Cedar and Ethel.”

  “I’ll bet she is.” I couldn’t help saying it.

  “What?” Luann asked, blinking her tiny eyes.

  “Nothing.” I forced a smile that I knew crinkled my eyes and shrugged. When in Rome was all I could think. “There’s Bea.” I let out an audible sigh of relief as she came hobbling in our direction.

  I made a quick introduction and then made an excuse to hang back a little. “I have to pee too.” The words rolled out of my mouth so elegantly.

  “Sure. Well, you know whe
re it is. Bea, let’s get you and your little bundle something to eat. When are you due? Is it a boy or a girl? Do you have any other children?” Luann wasn’t shy with the prodding.

  I went into the powder room and waited an appropriate amount of time before leaving. There was a red candle burning on the edge of the sink with a homemade label on it that read Dragon’s Blood. How original. It did smell nice. I was alone in the bathroom just enough time to look through the cabinet beneath the sink. It was filled from top to bottom with nothing but toilet paper.

  “I knew they were full of it,” I said.

  Finally, I opened the door and peeked around. Everyone had gone outside. With the house relatively empty, I thought I’d go exploring. A staircase led to what I could only imagine were the bedrooms. Along the wall were black-framed portraits of sinister-looking men and women from the Victorian era. High collars and stiff-shouldered jackets adorned the males and females, who had been forever immortalized by the wet-plate photo process from back then.

  And yes, their eyes did seem to follow me as I walked up the steps.

  10

  Little Skull

  Thankfully, the rooms upstairs were not as tacky as the living room downstairs. I couldn’t imagine that whoever owned the place could have unpacked everything. I didn’t see any boxes or storage bins anywhere. The first room I looked in was horrifying. It held a plain bed with a faded white bedspread and a woven area rug beneath it. The dresser had a round mirror attached to it. The window had Irish lace curtains hanging in front of it. Sure, it doesn’t sound scary, I know. But add an ancient ventriloquist dummy, sitting on the bed looking right at me with one eye missing, and the whole image becomes a horror.

  Without lingering, I walked down the hallway to the next room. It was also very plain. Nothing stood out as particularly scary, but it seemed very out of character for the rest of the house. It was so pretty outside that every time I passed by, it felt like it was welcoming me, urging me to come sit on the porch, enjoy a cup of hot cocoa or ice-cold lemonade. Instead, these tacky people gave the house the feeling of a hooker in a funeral parlor.

  The bathroom looked like it was under some kind of construction. Tiles were chipped off the walls. There was a bucket in the bathtub. The shower curtain was torn. The faucets might have been elegant and beautiful at one time but now were old and coated with calcium. There were several utility buckets filled with the soaps they were pedaling at the arts and craft show in Silver Valley Park. Did they even make that stuff, or did they just buy a bunch of cheap, gross-smelling soap and sell it to people?

  The real shame was that this house was adorable from the outside. When it went up for sale, I’d thought it was probably just as cute inside as it was outside. I knew an old couple had sold it to the newlyweds before moving to Florida. Now the newlyweds were dead, and the place that was obviously a fixer-upper wasn’t being fixed up.

  It made me sad and a little angry. What was with this coven that they’d cheapen the appearance of a nice little home? Didn’t they want to live here in Wonder Falls for at least a couple of years? Why else buy a house?

  At the end of the hallway was one last door. The crystal doorknob sat above a long keyhole. I gave the knob a slow turn, but it was locked. So I did what any guest in someone else’s house would do: I dropped to one knee and peeked through the keyhole. It was darker inside the room. I detected a hint of a musty smell, as if the room hadn’t been aired out in a while. It might have been just a room to hold old furniture, books, clothes, and blankets. I assumed it was nothing more than a storage room until I heard something shift inside.

  Something was moving. Maybe it was a mouse. Maybe a squirrel or raccoon had gotten inside and had made its home somewhere among the boxes and furniture. I leaned closer to the keyhole, squinting to try and see something inside. I put both hands against the wooden door to support myself as I strained to see what was in there. But as I looked down for a second to inch even closer, I gasped. From underneath the door, two long, bony fingers were quietly and insidiously stretching and scratching toward my foot.

  Without thinking, I fell backward, kicking my legs as if those two gray digits could somehow detach themselves from whatever they were attached to and scurry up my leg—or worse, drag me through that tiny slit beneath the door. From behind the door, I could hear someone or something breathing, grunting, and I was struck with a terrifying thought that whatever was attached to those fingers was looking right at me. Terror shook me by my shoulders as I got to my feet and hurried back toward the stairs. I held my breath as I stopped myself at the top of the flight for fear someone might see me come barreling down like a bat out of hell.

  With the tingling feeling of eyes on me, I refused to turn around. If I did, I knew I’d see red or yellow glowing eyes staring back at me from the crack beneath the door. Instead, I casually walked down the steps as if I’d been at the house a thousand times. I looked at the wonderful woodwork that would have been so pretty had the walls been painted a soft yellow or some other happy color. Instead, the room was coated with neglect and accented with vulgar, stereotypical trinkets. And if that wasn’t bad enough, I saw something that I would never forget. As I made my way to the kitchen to go out to the backyard, where my family had been ushered, I saw a skeleton… of a cat.

  “What in the world?” I mumbled as I looked closely at the sad little skull and delicate, needle-like claws. “What kind of witch would keep a skeleton of our most trusted familiar?”

  My question was answered as soon as I looked to the left of the bones. The Sect of Symmetry coat of arms depicted a crone strangling a cat in one hand while holding a statue of the inverted triangle that is supposed to symbolize the Earth.

  I decided I didn’t want to be scared of this group. I was angry and annoyed. There was something wrong with the whole place. And when I walked into the kitchen, I was in for another shock.

  This part of the house was up to snuff with high-end appliances. It boasted beautiful cabinetry and a huge marble counter covered with fresh fruit, veggies, and sweets of all sorts. I could smell cookies baking, and they smelled just about done. But the scent of cookies and the fresh fruit didn’t appeal to me. In fact, all the combined scents made me feel like I had motion sickness. My stomach folded over itself, and a rising in my throat made me worry I was going to make a scene. I needed some fresh air, and I needed it fast.

  “Hello there. You must be Cath.” I heard a scratchy female voice from across the room.

  I looked up to see an older lady chewing on what looked like a vanilla bean staring at me. Now, if I was going to listen to little kids describe what a witch looked like, it would strongly resemble this woman. She had gray hair piled on her head in a bun. One eye was bigger than the other and bulged slightly from the socket. She had a long, hooked nose. Her skin was dotted with liver spots, and while she wasn’t stirring a caldron, she was stirring something in a crockpot.

  “Yeah.” I forced a grin but was keenly aware that my stomach needed a cool drink of water and some fresh air.

  “I’m Hannah. Everyone is waiting for you outside.” She nodded with a sugary sweet grin and went back to chewing on her vanilla bean.

  I managed to mutter a thank-you and quickly went outside. If I felt like that after just meandering through the house, I could only imagine what Bea was feeling. With her senses so highly tuned, she had to be lying down somewhere, if she hadn’t passed out altogether.

  Quickly, I opened the sliding back door and stepped out into the fresh air. Almost immediately, my head cleared and my stomach settled. And there was Bea, with a heaping plate of fruit, standing next to Luann, smiling, and patting her belly happily.

  “There you are,” she said when she saw me appear. “I thought I’d lost you.” She quickly slipped her arm through mine and squeezed.

  “You know I’m never far behind. Not with our little guy in the oven. Someone’s got to make sure you’re eating right for him,” I joked innocently as my head clear
ed and my stomach settled down.

  “Him? Are you having a boy? I thought you said you didn’t know the sex of the baby yet,” Luann snapped, her smile tight, her eyes intense.

  “We don’t. Cath is just hoping that if she refers to the baby enough as ‘him,’ it will be a boy.” Bea chuckled. I didn’t like how Luann was looking at us and especially at Bea’s belly.

  “You can’t change destiny. You might be destined to have a girl,” Luann pushed.

  “I hope not. Girls can be so high maintenance,” I replied with my own sugary-sweet smile. “Besides, we’ve got enough estrogen to go around. A little testosterone would be a pleasant change.”

  “Oh, Cath. Come on. You know we just want the baby to be healthy,” Bea said.

  “You’re right. I want the baby to be healthy,” I replied as I looked around the yard. There had to be a cooler around with some bottled water or something cold to drink in it.

  Luann gave one of those quick, fake smiles and excused herself to go into the house.

  “Where is your mom?” I whispered. “We gotta get out of here.”

  “Why?” Bea asked and bit into a slice of watermelon.

  “If you saw what I saw upstairs in this place, you wouldn’t be asking me.” I quickly described the scene and mentioned the gawdy, stereotypical décor in the front room when we walked in.

  “Sure, they are weird,” Bea said.

  “Bea, didn’t you hear me? There is something locked away in the bedroom upstairs that has long, bony fingers that tried to touch me from underneath the door. I’m going to have nightmares for weeks,” I protested in harsh whispers. “Plus, they have the skeleton of a cat in their front room.”

  “What?” Bea swallowed hard.

  “Yeah. And I don’t think these people are just an innocent clique looking for some kind of sorceress support group. I think they want something from us.”

  I finally spotted my aunt. She was the center of attention, standing with Cedar, Ethel, and two other ladies I hadn’t met yet. Luann had rushed over to a mailbox of a woman wearing a skort and a huge, baggy T-shirt; she had given up on concealing her ample bosom. They looked at me while they talked.