Something Wicked, page 3
“I’m not interested in selling.” I started to push the cart, hoping she would get the point and move out of my way. Once she realized I didn’t intend to stop, she relented in letting me pass.
“I’m not finished with this conversation. I’ll let you think about it and come by later this week with a proper offer letter.”
I kept walking, using my newly kindled rage to make the trip a lot easier. Part of me wanted very badly to have the last word and shout something over my shoulder at her, but what little I’d gleaned from our encounter suggested Dierdre Miller was the kind of woman who would not yield on having the final word in every conversation.
As far as I was concerned, that was a battle she was more than welcome to win.
Chapter Five
I woke up the next morning to discover the heat was off but that a large, fur-covered orange boulder was functioning as a space heater under my comforter. Every instinct I had told me not to get out of bed because, based on my frozen nose, there was nothing good to be found out there.
But I had to go start the fire to get the house warmed up, and then figure out why on earth the heat wasn’t working. I silently prayed there wouldn’t be anything wrong with the furnace because just the thought of replacing the furnace in a big house like this made me want to cry.
Against my better judgment, I climbed out of bed, fumbling for my slippers and the warm robe, which had once been my dad’s, that I’d hauled with me from Seattle. It was still dark outside, so I staggered around the unfamiliar room, bumping into furniture, until I found the light switch.
I flipped it, and nothing happened.
Well, that at least explained why the heat wasn’t working. The power must have gone off overnight. Wrapping my robe more tightly around me, I made my way to the main floor, clinging to the bannister so I didn’t fall in the darkness, and headed right for the kitchen. I’d need to check the fuse box next, but that was in the basement, and I thought it best to get a fire going before I stirred up whatever ghosts and spiders were hanging out down there.
Thankfully, I remembered how to stack kindling and wood in the big double-sided fireplace, and was able to find long matches next to the hearth. With a little newspaper and a lot of luck, the fire started on the first try, casting a warm orange glow over the kitchen. It didn’t yet do much to make me actually comfortable, but by the time I checked the box downstairs, it should have started to work its magic.
Bob had followed me down from the bedroom and now settled in like a little ginger loaf on the hearth, blinking happily into the flames.
“Don’t burn yourself, buddy.”
He made a small chirping noise.
“Don’t suppose you want to come downstairs with me? Just to keep me company?” I asked hopefully. Not really sure what protection I thought a big orange tomcat could offer me, but it was probably better than nothing.
Bob lowered his head and closed his eyes, putting an immediate end to my query.
“Go figure.”
Using the light from the fire, I was able to find the flashlight Auntie Eudora kept by the kitchen door and whispered my thanks that the batteries still worked as I opened the door to the basement.
The air was even colder down there, and in spite of there being several large basement windows, with no natural light outside this early in the morning, they did nothing to help the dark, spooky atmosphere I descended into.
“Okay, ghosts, I won’t bother you if you don’t bother me.” I held the flashlight out in front of me like a weapon, not really sure what I thought I might need to defend against. I was only half kidding about the ghosts. This house was old, and without a doubt the kind of place a wandering, lonely spirit might want to call home.
My rules with ghosts were, funnily enough, the same as my rules with spiders: you can share my space with me as long as I never have to see you.
I scanned the flashlight beam around the basement, thankfully not seeing spirits or arachnids anywhere, and at long last landing on the huge breaker panel on the far wall. I hustled over, quickly found that several of the breakers were off, and flipped them each back on. As soon as I did, the furnace hummed to life and all the lights came back on.
It was a bit odd that more than one breaker would go overnight, but I chocked it up to old house weirdness. There was bound to be plenty more of that over the coming days and weeks as I learned to adjust to the place. Maybe it had gotten used to sitting dormant in the months since Eudora died, and I’d pushed my luck by running multiple electronics last night, and boosting up the heat before I went to bed. This house had a mind of its own, as most houses over a hundred years old did, and I had no doubt Lane End House would be showing me a lot more secrets as she got used to me.
With the lights now on I was able to get a better view of the basement, and my breath caught in my throat. It was absolutely crammed full of a bevy of intriguing things, some of which I remembered from childhood, others that I’d never seen before.
There was so much stuff to be seen it was actually impressive I hadn’t accidentally tripped over anything on my way to the breaker box.
Several plastic totes against one wall were clearly labelled with different holidays: Easter, Halloween, Christmas, and the ones that were see-through told me they were all likely stuffed to the gills with decorations. I’d mostly spent summers here, but Auntie Eudora had proudly shown me all the work she put in to decorating for various occasions. It had been a really big deal to her.
Actually, decorating was an enormous deal to the entire town. Raven Creek was renowned for the efforts the town put into decorating for each and every major holiday. I’d usually only seen the efforts for Fourth of July, but I knew that every business and almost every home leaned into their holiday themes in a serious way.
It brought a lot of outside attention to the town as people would visit often just to see how the shops and houses were decorated from year-to-year. That, coupled with Raven Creek’s advantageous location close, but not too close, to Seattle, to hiking trails, to great birding, and tourist-draw towns like Leavenworth, meant there was no end to tourist traffic throughout the year, though it definitely centered around the summer and the holidays.
I made up my mind, seeing those boxes, that I would decorate the house to the nines for Halloween in her honor. I wasn’t particularly gifted with creativity, but she had enough stuff in those boxes I could probably muddle through for my first year.
Behind the boxes and practically hidden in the shadows, was an honest-to-goodness carousel horse up against the wall behind the stairs. Its paint was peeling somewhat, but it was still in pretty great shape. I was about to wonder how the heck she’d managed to get it down the narrow basement stairs when I remembered there was an exterior storm entrance to the basement with big double doors. It was the only logical way for something that size to have gotten in here.
Along the opposite wall were built-in shelves, stacked to the literal rafters with a variety of different jars. At first, I assumed it must be a bunch of canning items—old peaches and pickles down here for heaven knows how long—but as I got closer, I had trouble understanding what I was seeing.
The jars were mostly filled with dried herbs, each meticulously labeled and each label explaining the uses of the herb inside. “Basil, banishes negativity, aids in keeping love,” read one. “Spearmint, used in spells of courage,” reported another.
I picked up the one labeled “Thyme, repels nightmares.”
What on earth?
The shelf next to all the herbs was equally packed, though this one with metal tins, each bearing the name of a different type of tea and noting its country of origin. I doubted Eudora would keep her stock from the store here, it was just too cumbersome to haul back and forth if she didn’t need to, so this must have been her private reserve, or blends she was thinking of trying for the shop.
I glanced down at the jar of thyme again. I’d often joked about Eudora being a witch, and knew how common that legend was around town, but I was starting to wonder if maybe there was more than a grain of truth in that particular rumor.
Chapter Six
After feeding Bob and taking a hot shower, I was ready to head back into town and finally see what awaited me at The Earl’s Study.
I hadn’t been able to get the jars out of my mind. More than the appearance of the carousel horse, dozens of jars of herbs, all labeled with their magical properties, brought up quite a few new questions.
If I let myself dwell on it, it also brought more than a couple of answers as well.
Eudora being a witch would just make sense. She spent so much of her time outside puttering around the garden when she wasn’t at the shop, and she never seemed to be sick a day in her life until the tumor that took her from us. All of her closest friends had found lasting, loving relationships, and everyone who crossed paths with her was genuinely the luckier for it.
Then there was me, divorced, newly single, and all alone in a new town. I could have really used some of that patented Auntie Eudora good-vibes luck right about now.
And if she had been a witch, had she just been a green, hippie-dippy, earth-loving Wiccan type, or was she, you know, an actual witch? As in, casting spells, talking to cats, or whatever it was “real” witches did.
I shook my head. What was I even talking about? There was no such thing as a “real” witch. Aunt Eudora must have just been interested in new age things like natural healing and whatnot. Still, it left me with some unanswered questions about my aunt that piqued my curiosity.
I’d have to do some more digging around the house if I wanted those questions answered, but for the time being there were larger fish to fry, and one of those was seeing if I had a salvageable business I could open this week.
Eudora had done well at the store, supporting herself and a small group of employees, but now I had to wonder how much of that had been clientele and how much had been … magic?
“Stop it, Phoebe, you’re being silly,” I said aloud, scolding myself. “She didn’t use magic to force people to shop at her store, that’s just insane.”
Bob blinked at me from his place next to the front door, as if to ask, “Are you sure?”
“Don’t you start with me, mister.”
“Brrow,” he replied.
Before I could commit myself to a longer conversation with my aunt’s cat, I grabbed my jacket and purse and headed to my car. Fifteen minutes later I had a full tank of gas and was parked behind The Earl’s Study in a small lot designated for employees.
The shop was sandwiched between a small bakery and a plant store, the ideal neighbors for a tea-slash-bookstore. Maybe it really was just a good business, no magic necessary. Anyway, I had to hope so because I didn’t know the difference between a love spell and a business spell—or any spell at all, for that matter.
Using another set of keys the lawyer had given me, I let myself in through the back door and locked it after me, recalling my unpleasant experience with Dierdre Miller the night before. I had no interest in being surprised by any other helpful townspeople today.
In spite of the shop having been closed for the past six weeks since Eudora died, it was nice and cozy warm inside, a welcome change from the relative chill outdoors. The air had a faintly musty quality to it, much like Lane End House had, but nothing that couldn’t be solved by some dusting and a nice scented candle. It didn’t feel abandoned—just briefly forgotten.
The shop was divided into two distinct areas, though it was all connected by a big brick arch that led from the bookstore into the tea shop. I’d entered through the bookstore, and it was brightly lit by the huge floor-to-ceiling windows facing out onto the main street. Dozens of bookcases built of dark brown wood were squished together and loaded to capacity with thousands of used books.
Although, ostensibly, the shop carried any type of book, based on the shelving labels the customers here leaned heavily on mysteries, biographies, and romance. Hundreds upon hundreds of brightly colored paperbacks invited passersby to touch, investigate, and read. There was a big fireplace on the far wall—currently unlit—surrounded by a big loveseat and several overstuffed leather chairs that looked like they would envelop you in a hug the moment you sat down.
Everything about the space said, “Come in, and stay as long as you want.”
Near the window were a handful of wire bins, each loaded with old Harlequin romances, and dime-store noir and fantasy books, most of which looked a little beat up. “One Dollar Each,” proclaimed a label on the front, “Or Fill a Bag for Ten Dollars.” A little blue recycle bin stuffed with plastic grocery bags was placed in between the two bins. Clever. I’d have to remember to keep an eye on estate and garage sales going forward to help keep the bargain bin stacked, it was probably a pretty popular offer.
I tugged off my jacket and headed into the tearoom through the brick arch. Things on this side were a bit brighter than in the bookstore. No dark wood or leather in here, just soft green paint, white café tables, and a glass-front display at the cash register, where I knew Auntie Eudora had stocked an assortment of baked goods, some from her own kitchen but most ordered special from the shop next door.
She was known for making cookies that contained some of her tea blends—her Earl Grey shortbread was famous—but she left the more difficult stuff to the experts. I’d have to make sure I looked at her records to find out how much her order had been, and get that going again.
On the wall behind the cash register were more of the same metal tins I’d found in the basement, labeled the exact same way with their names and countries of origin on the outside. Along the counter were smaller glass jars, showing off the blends inside, and these were the ones Eudora custom made.
“Lavender Iced Tea Mix”
“Lemon Meringue Pie”
“Cinnamon Hearts”
I lifted the lid off the “Cinnamon Hearts” jar and was instantly greeted with a blast of cinnamon scent, followed by the aroma of rich black tea. There were actual mini cinnamon hearts mixed in with the tea blend.
She had one she made around Christmas that had broken up bits of candy cane and little mini chocolate chips blended with a peppermint tea base. I had to hope they weren’t all just creations of her fantastic mind and that she’d written the recipes down somewhere. Repeat customers would expect those sorts of seasonal favorites, and I hadn’t the faintest clue what made Lemon Meringue different from Grapefruit Curd.
I unlocked the office tucked in at the back, where I’d first come in, and left my jacket and purse in there. I’d need to do a more thorough walk-through to make a list of what cleaning and ordering needed to be done, and there was an enormous pile of mail sitting on Eudora’s desk awaiting my attention.
Imogen, Eudora’s only full-time employee, had been coming into the shop every other day to make sure everything was secure and the place wasn’t falling apart, but she’d left it up to me to decide when we would reopen, allowing a grace period after my aunt’s death. Since she was still getting her normal fulltime wages when we were closed, she made an effort to email me regular updates and make sure everything was in order. She had even offered to run the place while waiting for me to arrive, but I’d needed to see it all for myself first.
Not to mention that all the store’s insurance had been under Eudora’s name, and the last thing we needed was an employee or customer getting injured while the space was technically in between insurance policies.
Based on what was here and what Imogen had done while I was gone, I felt pretty confident we’d be able to reopen as soon as tomorrow, the day after at the latest.
I took another look at the massive stack of mail and the dusty, old, desktop computer where I’d need to go through the store’s records, and decided the first move for the day would be to go next door to Sugarplum Fairy, the bakery, and get us back on their daily delivery schedule, as well as getting myself the biggest coffee they offered.
I left my jacket, took my purse and the shop keys, and headed out the front door, enjoying the little bell that jangled over my head when I entered. Sugarplum Fairy was an Instagrammer’s dream come true, with its soft pink facade, adorable little café tables outside—in spite of the chilly, gray October weather—and Parisian canopies over the windows. In the window display nearest me was a stunning wedding cake covered in delicate sugar flowers and positively glittering in spite of the limited sunshine outside.
In fact, the whole of Main Street had a charming European quality, with brightly painted storefronts whose abundant woodwork and fine details gave the impression of their having been dropped here from little Irish or English villages. All the Main Street lights were styled after old gas lamps as well. Between the picturesque buildings and the town’s famed holiday decorating, it was no surprise that people made an effort to stop here.
Much like nearby Leavenworth, or a town like Solvang in California, it gave the illusion of having been transported from somewhere far away or long ago. Raven Creek, however, lacked the uniformity of Leavenworth, which had gone full Bavarian, or Solvang, which was Danish inspired.
The Sugarplum Fairy was distinctly French, while The Earl’s Study would have fit nicely into any small English village.
The pink theme of the Sugarplum Fairy continued inside, making me feel as if I’d just stepped into a mound of cotton candy, an illusion that was aided by the smell of caramelized sugar in the air. Glass-front display cases formed an L-shape along two of the walls, with an impressive array of colorful baked goods already inside—everything from rainbow-colored macarons to glistening fruit tarts, to the more commonplace glazed donut; this shop had something for everyone.
Behind the counter was a very expensive-looking espresso machine, which made me sigh with anticipation. Good coffee was only a quick drip away.
