Still, my hands shook a little when I wrote down what Rowan wanted. A blueberry scone and a tea of my choice. I could see it in my mind’s eye already. Blackberry currant.

  A woman came in just as I turned around to start Rowan’s order. She was tall with a mop of brown hair and a tremulous smile. She wore a sleeveless dress the color of wood. I figured that Rowan wouldn’t mind if I met her first, so I introduced myself and held out my hand.

  To my surprise, she bypassed my hand and hugged me. “Welcome,” she said. “I’m Carol.” She handed me a golden envelope and kept her eyes on me as I opened it up. The card inside was gorgeous, an image of the woods with a solitary ray of light piercing the leaves. Inside, Carol had written, “I’m so sorry for your loss. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.” It was incredibly thoughtful, and I told her so.

  “Carol owns the card shop across the street,” Rowan said. “She’s always been a great friend of the shop.”

  “Thank you, Rowan,” Carol said. She sat down at his table, ordering a lavender tea and a raisin scone.

  She brought out her phone from her purse.

  “Would you like to do the Wordle together?” I heard her ask Rowan.

  Rowan’s response was quiet. I almost missed it. “I believe that’s more of a solitary endeavor, Carol. I’ll leave you to it.”

  I gave the orders to Sage, who added, “Carol will want honey and cream for her tea, and my father likes clotted cream with his scone. I’ll get that ready for them. You go get their tea.”

  More people started coming in. They were different from my customers at the university café. There, students came in looking for a table, preferably one with an outlet so they could study there all day. That place crackled with an intensity of endless espressos and academic overwhelm, a potent cocktail that zapped your bones and made you wish to reach an even higher level of performance. At this place, no one brought in their laptops. Jacob, a carpenter, carried a Scrabble board. He seemed like he would be the perfect match for Carol—two people who cared about words—but she kept her seat at Rowan’s table. But others joined his table and they started a game. A trio of ladies brought in their knitting. A woman, Miranda, came in wearing the most gorgeous shawl I had ever seen. She seemed genuinely pleased at my exclamations about it and handed me a booklet with pictures of her offerings. Another woman came in wearing pajamas and slippers.

  “Don’t mind me!” She laughed when she saw my face. “I’ve just tumbled out of bed for tea and a scone.” Her hair, wild and wayward, validated her story. “Amelia,” she said. “Astrology. At some point, I’ll need to know what time you were born so I can start on your chart.”

  I imagined texting my mother and asking for that information. I should probably start with that question before I told her about the move. Once she knew I lived in Whittaker, I might never hear from her again. It seemed fitting that I should find out when I was born before I was completely disowned. I filed that in my head as something to consider doing.

  Other people handed me business cards and brochures—Angie’s Candles, Sophia’s Soaps, Terry’s Paintings, Lydia’s Life Work. Apparently, Lydia was a therapist for witches, and according to the other Scrabble players, she was known for bingos. Other people brought in goods for the shop—Clara came in with some eggs for Sage and an invoice for me. Noel presented Sage with some honey, and his wife, Daisy, showed off her preserves—fig, blueberry, and lemon. It was like this shop was a little village, a hub of creativity. I made them all tea and brought them their scones and muffins and felt quite content.

  Then there was a woman who looked in the shop but didn’t come inside. She was tall and appeared to be in her forties, a chic and severe figure wearing outsized sunglasses. Her hair was styled in a chignon, and she wore bright red lipstick, a white blouse, and a black skirt that went to her knees. She carried a cup, and every moment or so, she would take a sip. Then she would turn her head ever so slightly to look in the shop while she continued to walk. The first time she passed by, I just watched her. The second time, after lunch, I waved and gestured for her to come in. I watched her shoulders slightly rise, but she pretended not to see me.

  “This lady seems to have an interest in the shop,” I told Sage, who was back in the kitchen, now making sandwiches. Rowan had come in for lunch, and he had requested cucumber and watercress with cream cheese on white bread with the crusts cut off.

  Sage put down her knife. “Let me guess,” she said. “She was drinking something and acting like it was a precious elixir. And her hair was pulled back so tight, it almost made your head hurt to look at it.”

  “Yes!” I said.

  “Mary Whittaker,” Sage told me. “She used to be married to Hugh until she grew tired of his wandering eye. Then she gave him an ultimatum, and he chose divorce. She’s not happy about that or about anything at all. Her café is always busy. She’s right smack in the middle of Main Street. She’s still a Whittaker, even if she’s not married to Hugh. She still has that name. That gives her automatic power in this town. And yet she feels the need to spy on us. We’re not a threat to her. It’s ridiculous.”

  I wondered how Mary would feel if I walked into her café and ordered a tea. Would she order me out? Would the tea be so scalding hot that my tongue would be burned for weeks? Or would she sit down and have a chat with me? That seemed highly unlikely, but as a new entrepreneur on Main Street, it felt like something I would need to do.

  At the end of the day, Rowan dropped in. He stood in the café and applauded as if he were giving us a standing ovation.

  “I’m so proud of you,” he said, his eyes misting up. “And Addie would have been so proud, too.”

  “Both of you have been so helpful,” I said. “Let me finish up here, Sage. You go off with your dad.”

  “It’s done,” Sage said, smiling at me. “Another of my gifts.” I went to look in the kitchen, and when I returned, the black-and-white linoleum gleamed in the main room. I thanked her profusely, and she shrugged as if it were nothing.

  They invited me to come to dinner that night, but I declined. I knew it was going to be an early night for me. And I truly wanted to do something that I knew Sage and Rowan wouldn’t like, but I had to do it anyway. I wanted to visit the police station and have a talk with the chief about my aunt.

  5.

  Chief Davis was a big man, old enough now that his muscles were beginning to soften. But his hair was free of gray, as if he had never had a worry in his life. When I came into the office, he stared at me as if I had just ruined his day. Even though it was 3:30 in the afternoon, he looked like he was ready to call it a day and go home.

  “How can I help you?” he asked, but his tone didn’t sound like he truly wanted to be of assistance at all. There was no “Welcome to Whittaker!” No inquiries about the tea shop. No niceties at all.

  “I wanted to ask you about my aunt,” I said. “Adeline Kelly,” I added in the silence. “I wanted to find out more about her death.”

  It felt like the words just hung in the air. Chief Davis looked at me as if I had just asked him whether he wore boxers or briefs.

  “It was an accident,” he said. “Your aunt was wandering in the woods in the dark. She fell and hit her head, and that led to her death.”

  He was so definite, so “that’s the end of the story, now move along and go home.” It rattled me. It made me want to ask more.

  “Was there an investigation?” I asked. I didn’t like that he said the word “wander.” It made my aunt sound silly, like a person who flitted about aimlessly. I had officially met my aunt only last night, but I already knew that wasn’t true.

  “The medical examiner made his determination. It was an accident,” Chief Davis said. His blue eyes turned steely and conveyed the following message: “Stay out of our business.” But Adeline was my aunt, and my talking cat familiar had told me that she had been murdered, and although I wouldn’t say this to him, I definitely trusted Rumor more than I trusted Chief Davis.

  “All right,” I said, standing up and extending my hand. There was no use asking anything further right now. I would just quietly investigate on my own.

  He squeezed my hand hard enough that I wanted to jump up in the air and yell “Ow!” but I didn’t. Instead, I did what I knew he would hate the most: I pretended it didn’t happen.

  “See you around,” I said in the cheeriest voice I could muster. I gave him a merry wave and hoped that my hand didn’t look red or swollen and that my fingers stayed attached. “Come in for tea sometime,” I added, “on the house.” I had some coupons and business cards in my purse, but I couldn’t imagine handing them to him now. His face looked like I had just invited him to drink snake soup.

  As I left the station, I wondered whether I had learned anything. A list popped up in my head. Chief Davis was not on my side. Chief Davis didn’t want to work. Chief Davis wasn’t interested in my aunt. Those were the three line items I came up with.

  Now that I had completed the one task I felt compelled to do, I slowed my step and window-shopped. It would be good for me to be familiar with Main Street, as I now worked there, and who knew? I might make some friends. I might discover some clues. The opportunities seemed endless.

  I first came across a boutique with designer shoes in the window. The woman in the store caught my eye and quickly looked away. She was right. It was not a place for me. The heels were much too high, and I imagined the prices matched their height.

  Next was a movie theatre advertising the latest summer blockbuster. A young girl sat in the ticket booth, intent on her phone. I cleared my throat and she stepped out of her social media spell for a moment and reluctantly looked up at me.

  “I have some coupons for you,” I said. She looked dubious. “Great pastries,” I said. “Tea is my specialty, but I could also make you some coffee. Do you know my store? It’s at the end of Main Street.”

  She said thank you and returned to her phone as if it were a long-lost friend. Did she see me as a witch? I couldn’t tell. But I certainly wasn’t as compelling as her phone.

  At the pet shop, I stopped to see the kittens and puppies in the window. They took one look at me and started to talk.

  “Take me home!”

  “Pay no attention to her. You want me!”

  “Please adopt me and my sister. We need to stay together.”

  The kittens and puppies kept crying out their demands until an elder cat silenced them.

  “She won’t be taking any of us home. She’s the niece of that witch who came in to buy food for her familiar. Can’t you see it in her face? She understands us.” The elder cat looked straight at me. “I’m sorry for your loss. Your aunt seemed quite nice. But I imagine you’ve inherited her cat.”

  “But you could adopt more!” one of the kittens squeaked.

  The elder cat twitched her whiskers. “I suppose you’re too young to know. But a witch and a familiar have a sacred relationship. And if she ever needed another cat, she’d take one from the woods.”

  I took a quick look around. No one was near. “I don’t know anything about the cats of the woods. But I do have a familiar. And I do think that’s enough.”

  Several kittens gave me reproachful looks and turned away from me. One began grooming, lifting his leg up in the air and focusing on his fur. A puppy looked down at the ground. Another settled off to sleep. The elder cat kept her eyes on me. She blinked.

  “We’ll see you when you come in for food,” the elder cat said.

  “If you’re still here,” I replied.

  “I’m seven years old,” the elder cat said. “I’ll be here.”

  I gave them a wave goodbye and ventured into the next store, Whittaker Books.

  As I walked in, I immediately noticed the display table with a sign that promised “All About Hugh!” Apparently, Hugh Whittaker wrote mysteries. The table was full of his books. I picked up the one closest to me and opened it. It was dedicated to “My Sweet Angel.” On the back, I studied his photograph. Hugh Whittaker was a good-looking man with salt-and-pepper hair, a cleft in his chin, and impressive cheekbones. His gaze gave the impression that whoever looked at him was his special someone.

  Intrigued, I carried the book over to the cash register, where a woman who looked to be my age sat behind the counter. She wore a Whittaker Books T-shirt, and her honey-blonde hair was styled in a side braid. She looked like she was about to stand up and greet me, but then she changed her mind and stayed in her chair.

  I pretended not to notice and handed her a business card and a coupon. “My name’s Ella. I’m the new owner of Addie’s Tea.” I pointed at her name tag pinned to her shirt. “And you must be Chloe.”

  “Right,” she said. “I run the store for Hugh.”

  She said that with a proprietary air. The message came through loud and clear: “Stay away from my man.” That was fine with me. I had no intention of getting involved with a Whittaker or anyone else at this point. Besides, Hugh seemed way too old for me—and for Chloe, too, in my opinion. I offered her my friendliest smile.

  “I’ve never read any of his books,” I said, “but now that I’m a Main Street merchant, I wanted to get acquainted with everyone and the town.” I handed Chloe the book to ring up, and she frowned at me.

  “You should start with Book 1,” she said. “This is his latest. He took a bit of a detour here, but he realized later that he made a big mistake. We’ve talked a lot about it. His next book will be much better.”

  “Wow, that’s interesting,” I said. “You get to talk about Hugh’s books with him.”

  “Oh, he consults me on everything,” Chloe told me. “He knows he would be lost without me.” She made no move toward the cash register. “Shall I go and get you Book 1? Or the box set of the first three?”

  But this book felt like it was the one for me. I handed it to her. “I like to do things differently.”

  She studied me then and let out a sigh. “I don’t want you to get any wrong ideas about Hugh. If he were here, he would tell you this story is just not as good as the others. Of course, it’s still much better than most books out there, but I really think you should start at the beginning. Or if you truly won’t read them in order, start with another or wait for his next book. That would be the wise thing to do.”

  When I didn’t move, she reluctantly rang up my purchase.

  I noticed a display of Mary’s Café mugs on a stand by the register. The sign read, “Curl up with a good book while enjoying a great cup of coffee.”

  I asked Chloe, “If I made up some mugs for Addie’s Tea, would you carry them?”

  It felt like she didn’t have to take a moment to think about it. “It’s not Hugh’s brand.”

  I thanked her for the book and started on my way.

  “Now, I don’t want you to return that book if you don’t like it,” Chloe said. “I tried to warn you. He was really not himself when he wrote this book.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I said.

  Once back on the pavement, I looked down the street and considered my options. It felt like I had enough energy to visit only one more store today. Would it be the Italian restaurant right next door, where I could see a man with a handlebar mustache flipping pizza dough through the store window? Or the toy store? That could be fun. But in the end, I chose obligation and challenge. I decided on the woman who looked through our windows several times a day. I went to Mary’s Café.

  6.

  Mary’s Café was located midway down Main Street. When I walked in, the jukebox blared “Season of the Witch.” I thought that was pretty hilarious, but Mary did not look amused. She stood behind the counter like a dragon ready to spit fire at me if I dared to keep walking toward her. But I took up the challenge. I put on a huge smile and gave her a dorky wave. With that gesture, I tried to convey this message: “You don’t need to bear any ill will toward me. I’m just a nerd who brews up tea and who doesn’t know much about being a witch yet.” Despite that overture, her face stayed stuck in monster mode.

  I continued to walk. Was it my imagination or did the song grow softer? Were the customers truly abandoning their electronic devices to turn their attention on me? I blinked and looked again. Vision confirmed. If a popcorn salesman were anywhere around, he’d be busy filling orders.

  Mary continued to glare at me. She raised her voice so that our audience could hear. “Have you lost your mind?” she demanded. “Why would you even think of coming in here?”

  “I thought we should officially meet,” I said. I placed Hugh’s book on the counter and began fumbling around in my purse for a coupon and a card. It was something for my shaky hands to do.

  “What have you got in there?” Mary laughed. “A wand? Are you here to cast a spell on me?”

  Then she spied Hugh’s book.

  “What are you doing with that?”

  “I plan to read it,” I said. “Fun fact: I love to read. What can you tell me about you?”

  When she didn’t answer me, I placed a business card and a coupon in front of her.

  “I wanted to give you my card and a coupon for a free pastry and tea. So you can come in sometime instead of just walking by the shop and looking in the window.”

  Mary gave me a smile that chilled my bones. “For your information, I take my constitutional several times a day. My café is so successful, I need to step away from the busyness every now and again. It has nothing to do with you.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “Don’t you dare do any hocus pocus with that book. You keep away from my Hugh.”

 

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