To Scratch a Witch, page 3
As Bea had once said, Milltown was two miles long and two blocks wide, or at least the commercial district was. There were plenty of homes and vacation rentals stretched out among the hills overlooking the town. While Bea lived on the northern edge in a more modest neighborhood, the southern end of town, closer to the old sawmills which had given the town its name, was much richer, with mansions tucked in amongst the pines.
AJ enjoyed the drive down the street, admiring the buildings. Milltown had severely suffered the economic downturn of the 1970s, and it hadn’t been developed at that time, when so many other places had been. This meant that a lot of the original buildings from the 1900s still graced the area, only being revitalized in the last twenty years.
Due to people like Roland, many of the properties had been placed on the historic registry, including AJ’s house. There were rules she had to follow in terms of renovating the place. However, it also meant that it couldn’t be razed to the ground and ugly condos put up instead, something she’d seen happen again and again in her old neighborhood in Seattle.
Reed’s Reads turned out to be in one of the more modern buildings, probably constructed in the 1950s, close to the southern-most public beach access. The single-story building was done in stucco, painted a soft orangish-pink, while dark red tiles covered the roof. Huge signs in the parking lot warned of No Walk Offs, Yes, That Means You.
AJ understood that could be a problem, particularly this close to the beach access. Tourists would park their cars in the bookstore parking lot and then go to the beach, leaving no place for customers. The city tried to address this and provide adequate parking closer to the beach. However, the number of tourists had swelled considerably, and the population of sixteen thousand could triple on a holiday weekend.
The bookstore windows had all been painted over from the inside, or filled with signs, such as the one next to the dark red door, “Get your summer beach reads here!” It looked cute enough on the outside, the walls and the roof in good repair.
However, AJ immediately felt claustrophobic stepping inside. Bookcases stuffed with books lined the small entranceway. The smell of mold tickled the back of her throat. How long before her eyes started watering? At least the floor was made up from Spanish tiles, that same dark red as the roof, with charcoal gray grouting. Probably to hide the dirt better.
Just past the small hallway to the left stood a desk with a register and a sullen young man sitting behind it. He didn’t bother to look up from his phone to greet his customers.
Bookcases marched across the floor, with narrow aisles between them. They blocked the light and made the room feel tight and pinched. Books had been haphazardly crammed into the shelves, some vertical, some horizontal. More books were heaped in piles on the floor beside the bookcases, making excellent fire hazards. In fact, some of the bookcases themselves appeared to be made out of towering stacks of books and would probably fall over in a stiff wind. Faded yellow tags taped to the shelves categorized each section. However, they were badly out of date as more books had come in and been shoved into place.
This wasn’t a place where books were treated lovingly. Nor was it a place that knew much about soap and dusters.
All of it offended AJ’s sense of order. She hadn’t been that much of a reader for most of her adult life as she’d been too busy with her job. She’d work ten to twelve hours a day, heat food up in the microwave, watch an hour of something brainless on the TV, then drag herself off to bed, only to do it again the next day.
Since being down in Milltown, she’d started reading again, though primarily ebooks. She couldn’t stand anything that had even the slightest hint of paranormal in it. She had enough of that in her real life, thank-you-very-much. Instead, she found herself drawn to murder mysteries and true crime. She’d tried medical thrillers, but in the last one she’d picked up the main character had gone from “nosy busybody” to “too stupid to live” in a hurry. Thrillers left her cold—were there really that many world-wide conspiracies being hatched?
Still, she went to the back of the shop to browse what appeared to be the mystery/thriller section, while Bea stayed out front to look at the art books (of course).
The books AJ found were all older. She doubted that anything on the shelves had been published in the twenty-first century. Many of the books were in disrepair, the covers torn or the pages swollen with water damage. More than one had sections underlined and pages folded down to mark a previous owner’s favorite passages.
The smell of mold was stronger back here between the stacks. AJ was going to need a shower when they left, to get rid of it. She left her area and went to find Bea in short order. This wasn’t a comfortable place for browsing, not unless one was intent on digging through piles of dreck for a questionable diamond.
Bea was looking through shelves that were unfortunately located underneath one of the painted-over windows, making it difficult to see the books. Bea had to tilt her head to the side so that she could read the titles. Her mouth was pressed together tightly in disappointment and she kept shaking her head.
“Find anything?” AJ asked as she came up.
“Nothing,” Bea said, sounding disgusted. “Nothing interesting. No books on theory, just pictograms of other artists. Coffee table books.”
“You know art theory?” AJ teased. Bea’s works tended to be more abstract than realistic.
Bea just rolled her eyes. “You have to know the rules before you can break them,” she said haughtily. “You ready to go?”
“Yup. Need some fresh air,” AJ said firmly.
They left the bookstore without exchanging a single word with the young man behind the counter. He’d obviously deemed them not worth his time.
As soon as they got clear of the building (and AJ took several deep breaths of clean ocean air) she said, “I thought you told me that Phoebe Reed was prosperous.”
Bea nodded. “That’s what I’ve always thought. That she was too good for the likes of the rest of us, as her bookstore was doing so well.”
“That,” AJ said, indicating the building behind them, “is not doing well.”
“Maybe she has a really good online business,” Bea said. “That’s how some of the folks in town survive the winter months. Their online stores do as well, if not better, than their brick-and-mortar ones.”
“Maybe,” AJ said. She doubted it, somehow.
Phoebe Reed’s store wasn’t prosperous. It was barely limping along on cheap books that no one wanted, or would only pick up if desperate. It wasn’t a welcoming place. No community would form around it.
While most of the Bridgewater Inn’s business was from tourists, there was still a large contingent of locals who supported the café inside the inn, who regularly came in for breakfast or lunch. They made up at least thirty percent of that part of the business.
Whenever AJ ran a special for tourists, she also tried to run a special for the locals as well. It just made good business sense to keep both sides as happy as possible.
As they got into the car, Bea asked, “Where should I drop you off?”
AJ grinned at the way Bea tried to suppress her eagerness. “Trying to get rid of me, huh? On your last week?”
Bea gave a heavy sigh. “It isn’t like that, and you know it. I just…I haven’t painted enough today.”
“It’s okay. I get it. Drop me off to close the inn, I’ll walk back to my house from there.”
“You sure? I could drive you all the way there,” Bea said.
“Yeah, I want the walk. Fresh air and all that,” AJ said. Though her clothes really didn’t smell of mold, she did want some time to walk and think for herself.
“Only if you promise to go straight home and not check in on the inn, ‘just to see how things are going,’” Bea said, still parked and with no intention of going anywhere until AJ had made her promise.
AJ grimaced. Was she that easy to read? Sure, she’d been thinking about it. Taking an entire afternoon off just felt…wrong. Decadent, but in a lazy way, not in a virtuous way.
Was decadence ever virtuous?
“Yes, Mom,” AJ said after glaring at her little sister for a while. “I will go straight home and not do any more work today.”
“Good,” Bea said. “Maybe you can try to have another vision or something. See who the killer is. Or who their next victim is going to be.”
AJ grimaced at that. “I can’t force a vision,” she said. “Believe me, I’ve tried. Ended up with a headache bordering on a migraine.” It had been over the summer, while she’d been practicing with her scrying bowl.
“Is that why you can’t figure out who killed Gladys?” Bea asked as she finally started the car.
“Yeah,” AJ said. “That, and I’m still having an awful time seeing into the past.”
To date, all of AJ’s visions had been of things to come. Ursula, her mentor, found that surprising. The past, at least according to her, was easier, as it was already set. For AJ, she considered her past to be behind her. She had no desire to look back. Until that changed, chances were, all of her visions would be future facing.
“So what will you do with the rest of the day?” Bea asked as she slowly proceeded back down Main Street.
“Practice my readings, I guess,” AJ said.
Bea scowled at her. “An afternoon off means an afternoon off. No working on either job.” She thought for a moment, then brightened. “I know! I’ll drop you off at the Storm Brew Café. Fred is probably there. You should ask him about Phoebe and Reed’s Reads.”
“That’s…actually a good idea,” AJ said. Fred was the town gossip, particularly since Dewey had been murdered earlier that spring. Fred supposedly managed one of the local grocery stores, but he never put in any hours there. Instead, he generally held court at one or another of the coffee houses, continually working on The Great American Novel (yes, the words were always capitalized that way when he said them).
Over the summer, AJ had lost track of the number of times he’d rewritten the first few chapters, emphasizing this theme or restructuring the plot. And he’d already been working on that missive for eight years? Ten?
However, Fred might know something about Phoebe and why numbers were going to strangle her.
Give AJ something she could use. Before it was too late.
Chapter Four
AJ said her goodbyes and got out of the car across the street from the Storm Brew Café. It was easy to cross the street at this time, as traffic was always lighter during the week. Plus, fewer people were in town overall, particularly as fall approached. In the height of summer, it was like a game of Frogger when someone tried to cross anywhere other than a crosswalk. AJ clutched her raincoat to her as she walked, against the sudden gusts that tried to sneak in and steal her warmth. Perimenopause had really messed with her inner thermometer. Now, she frequently felt cold more intensely than she had when she’d been younger.
Either that, or another of those damned hot flashes would sneak up on her and she’d be sweating. Fortunately, she’d learned to dress for the pacific northwest weather as a kid, which always meant layers.
The Storm Brew Café, like many of the buildings on Main Street, had been someone’s residence at some point. Clean black-and-white checked tile covered the floor of the entranceway, all the way from the door to the grand staircase that was roped off, while scratched and scarred wooden floors branched off to the left and right.
To the left stood the counter and a few tables. From there, delicious smells emanated, like grilled cheese and rich coffee. On the right, in what had probably at one time been a formal dining room, were the comfy couches and chairs. The gas fireplace was lit up, warming the area. Fred was on that side, busily scribbling in his notebook, occasionally glancing up at the street, as if seeking someone, anyone to distract him from actually having to write.
Even though it was already past noon, AJ decided to pick up a snack as well as a decaf coffee. The café made its own granola and served it with a lovely unsweetened yogurt, which sounded perfect just then.
Juli was behind the counter, as cheerful as ever, the opposite of the Seattle sullen barista. She’d trimmed her dirty blonde hair recently so it no longer fell into her eyes, while the other half of her head was still down to just stubble. Piercings decorated her eyebrow, nose, and lip, and tattoos covered most of her right arm, a full sleeve in progress.
Maybe all those accouterments made her cool enough to be a good barista, to make up for her bright smile and the little heart she’d drawn over the “i” of her nametag.
“What’ll be today?” Juli asked brightly.
AJ wondered again what sorts of pharmaceutical aids Juli relied on to remain so determinedly chipper.
“London Fog decaf,” AJ said. “And an order of granola.”
“You got it!” Juli said.
“How’s the sleeve coming along?” AJ asked as Juli started to grind her beans.
“Got most of the scales of the fish filled in,” Juli said, beaming. She showed AJ the carp that appeared to be swimming/dancing with a red ribbon, heading down from her elbow to her wrist in some sort of private ritual that only Juli understood. The ribbon was still bright red from when it had been inked at the beginning of summer. Now, the black outline of the carp’s scales were mostly filled in with glimmering shades of pink, green, and white.
“Nice,” AJ said, nodding.
“You let me know if you ever want to get some ink done,” Juli said. “I can get you a deal.”
“Thanks,” AJ said. “You’ll be the first I ask if I ever get that itch.”
Six months ago, AJ didn’t know she had magic. Didn’t expect to be living in a small town. Wasn’t about to start up a psychic business.
Never say never had become her personal philosophy.
AJ took her drink and her small bowl over to where Fred was just putting pen and notebook to the side. AJ caught his eye and held up her cup, asking silently if she could join him.
Fred made an entire show about considering her question, whether or not it was a good time for him to break the flow of the words.
AJ maintained a polite smile when he finally waved her over, instead of the serious eyeroll he deserved.
“Just taking a short break,” Fred informed her. “Been writing for much of the afternoon, actually.” He picked up his own coffee cup and took a sip.
Fred’s gray eyes glanced curiously at her. His appearance hadn’t changed over the six months that AJ had known him: he still had a protruding chin and a forehead that sloped away, with a thin fringe of dark brown hair clinging to the bottom of his shiny white scalp. He wore a nice blue-and-white checked flannel, jeans, and heavy work boots that had never seen a lick of dirt.
AJ just nodded politely and steadfastly did not ask him about his writing. She’d be there for the next three hours, unable to get a word in edgewise. Fred could talk a blue streak when it came to writing. At the same time, she’d be surprised if Fred ever managed to finish his Great American Novel.
“So do you have any news for me today? Or just here to ask questions?” Fred said, giving her a smirk.
“A question, actually,” AJ said. She glanced around the room, as if to check and make sure that no one was going to overhear her.
That drew Fred in, like a fly to honey. “Do tell,” he purred, obviously salivating for anything juicy.
“Bea and I stopped at Reed’s Reads earlier today,” AJ said. “Now, it was my understanding that Phoebe Reed is quite well off, and that her business was booming. But that shop, well, it didn’t strike me as a money maker.”
“You’re right,” Fred said. “That shop? Really. It’s an eyesore. You know that Phoebe doesn’t go to the Chamber of Commerce meetings anymore, right?”
AJ nodded. She’d never seen Phoebe at them, though she hadn’t been to many, just over the summer, once a month.
“Some of the members took her to task about a year ago, shaming her for the condition of her store,” Fred said smugly. “I heard there was quite a row.”
“Interesting,” AJ said. She bet that Bea hadn’t attended that meeting, and so hadn’t heard about it. It must have happened during the winter months, and Bea only attended meetings during the summer. “So how is she making her money? Online store?”
“No one knows,” Fred said with a sly grin.
“Not even you?” AJ asked. “You know everything that happens in this town.”
“True, true,” Fred said. “Though I didn’t know you had psychic powers,” he said, giving her a quick glare.
“What do you mean?” AJ said, ready to deny them.
“You’re reopening Ursula’s psychic business this weekend,” Fred said. “I saw the ad you took out.”
“Oh,” was all that AJ could say. Though the newspaper wasn’t supposed to come out until the next day, she wasn’t surprised that Fred had already seen a copy.
“Did you have some sort of vision about Phoebe? Or the bookstore?” Fred asked, studying her keenly.
AJ had never been good at lying. Bea was much better at it than she’d ever been.
“Something like that,” was all that AJ replied. She didn’t have to tell him the full truth.
“Ooooh,” Fred said. His eyes gleamed. “I can see I’m going to have to stay on your good side, if I want the early scoop.”
AJ couldn’t help herself. She snorted at him. “That’s assuming that the vision I have makes any damned sense.”
Fred just nodded sagely. “Yes, that’s the life of an artist. Interpreting symbols, trying to give meaning to signs hauled up into the open by your subconscious.”
AJ gave Fred a curious look. “Artist?” she said. “No, my sister Bea’s the artist.”
Fred waved his hand in the air, as if scattering all her words. “Being a psychic, in touch with the deeper world, means you’re an artist too. Maybe you need to spend more time immersing yourself in the world of symbols, so you can more readily determine the meaning of what you see.”
