A Hillcrest Witch Mystery Collection Read online

  “Aww!” Marley says, throwing an arm over Annie’s shoulder. “Thanks, Annie!”

  “How about you?” I ask Marley. “Did you figure out yours?”

  She nods. “I was outside of the van one night, washing dishes. You know how I set up that little portable water tank, and my folding table?”

  I nod.

  Cora laughs. “Don’t you wish you had a kitchen sometimes?” she asks Marley.

  “Don’t you wish your kitchen ceiling was infinity feet tall, and sprinkled with stars?” Marley fires back. “I have a kitchen, Cora. It’s the outdoors.”

  I prod Marley on. “What happened?” I ask.

  “Well, I hooked my phone up to these little speakers that I have, and I started playing music. I was playing an album that my parents used to play, when I was little. It was one of those Best of Reggae compilations. One of my favorite songs came on and I was dancing and singing, and suddenly, this crazy feeling just washed over me.”

  “I know what you mean,” I say. I’ve already told my friends about what happened to me, in the closet at the cabin. “It’s hard to explain with words, isn’t it?” I ask.

  “Pretty much impossible,” Marley says.

  “So your secret ingredient is music?” Cora asks.

  Marley nods. “I think it’s one song, in particular. I was flooded with memories of being a child, and my mom and I dancing around the kitchen with that song playing. I remembered exactly what it felt like—how I thought I could do anything in the world that I put my mind to.”

  “Maybe we can do anything we put our minds to, too,” I say.

  “I think we need to keep studying,” Cora says. “We are only on cycle one. We have a lot to learn.” She finishes her lunge, sips her water, and bounces over to the other leg.

  “You’re right,” I say with a laugh. “What about you?” I ask Cora. “What’s yours?”

  “You’re not going to believe this,” Cora says.

  “I’ll believe anything, at this point,” I say.

  Cora smiles. “Order,” she says. “I was rearranging my books according to spine height, and all of a sudden I had the feeling that you guys are talking about. It hit me so hard that I had to lie down flat on the living room floor, for about twenty minutes.”

  I nod. I’m reaching for the ball of yellow yarn, from my knitting bag, when a voice floats over the airport speakers. “Attention, guests. We will now begin boarding flight 657 to Oahu, Hawaii. We will begin boarding with our veterans, platinum ticket holders, and any guests that require extra assistance. Boarding group one can line up at the gate. Please have your boarding pass ready.”

  I glance down at the ticket at my side. “That’s us!” I say. “We’re boarding group one!”

  Marley jumps to her feet, with a happy squeal. “Eeek!” she says. “I’m so excited!”

  “Me too,” Annie says.

  Cora tucks her water bottle into her carry on, and then loops the bag’s strap over her shoulder. “Penny, I think you should break up a marriage at least once a year. I could get used to this!” she says happily.

  I roll my eyes.

  Soon, we’ve boarded the plane and have settled into our seats. The four of us are lined up in a row, and each one of us has a knitting project on her lap. It’s going to be a long flight, which means lots of knitting time.

  And chatting.

  The two go hand in hand, after all.

  I’m at the window seat, next to me is Annie. I’m glad about this, because I expect to have many Icelandic sweater related questions over the next several hours. Cora is in the seat just past Annie, and Marley has the aisle seat.

  Cora leans over Annie, so that she can see me. “Penny!” She says. “I almost forgot to ask you... how do you like your new neighbor?”

  “Oh! Right. I can’t believe we haven’t talked about this!” I say, thinking of Azure. I should have told my coven sisters about the new witch in town long ago. There has just been so much going on.

  “I know!” Cora says, looking strangely pleased. She wiggles her eyebrows. “I don’t think it’s a coincidence,” she says.

  “I don’t even believe in coincidences anymore,” I say, not quite sure why Cora is acting so coy. “And this definitely isn’t one. Azure said that she moved in part time so that she could help us protect the portal, if we need it. But, now that we’ve done the Power Spell, I don’t think we’ll—”

  “Wait, Azure? I’m not talking about Azure,” Cora says.

  Now I’m confused. “But she’s my new neighbor,” I say. “She moved into Unit B.”

  An announcement starts playing over the plane speakers, and Cora and I pause our discussion while it blares out safety instructions. Cora leans back, and I look out the window, at the paved tarmac below. Airport workers in bright yellow vests are wheeling suitcases into the luggage compartment.

  Finally, the long-winded instructions come to an end. Cora pops forward again.

  “Azure moved into Unit B?” Cora says.

  “Yes. I should have told you all earlier. She said that she’s been watching us, and is concerned that the portal is vulnerable because we’re so unskilled. I wonder if she saw how well we did with the Power Spell though!”

  “She’s the leader of the air coven, is that right?” Annie asks, as her fingers work steadily on her knits and purls. “Not the nicest young lady, if I remember correctly.”

  “Who were you talking about?” I ask Cora. I’m too distracted to answer Annie’s question just now. “Do I have another new neighbor?”

  “You do,” Cora says mysteriously.

  “Well, tell me!”

  “First, tell us how it’s going with Chris. You two seemed pretty lovey-dovey when he dropped us off at the airport! And he and your cat seem to be good friends now, too.”

  I laugh. “I think Turkey would move into Chris’s apartment, if that was an option. Turkey loves the guy. Ever since that night at the cabin—”

  “Turkey ran down the trail, to get Chris?” Annie says, as her needles click.

  I nod.

  Marley, from her position at the end of the row, leans forward. “You have one smart cat, Penny. I think we all knew that already.”

  “He heard me cry out and was worried about me, and he thought I might need help. He ran all the way back down the trail, into town. Straight to the police station—with Blueberry Muffin at his heels.”

  “You mean Cora’s boss’s Chihuahua?” Annie asks.

  I smile. “Yup. Turns out precious little Blueberry is a little heartier than her owner was giving her credit for. Turkey said that she enjoyed the run!”

  Cora laughs. “I think Hiroku is going to let Blueberry out of the carrier more often now,” she says. She’s working on a hat she’s just started. So far, it looks alot like the neckline of my sweater: a knitted circular loop.

  There’s a lull in our conversation. The passengers that boarded the plane after us have found seats, and now the plane is starting to roll down the runway. The captain announces that we are getting into position for takeoff.

  As the plane begins to pick up speed, I return to Cora’s first question. “Chris and I are doing great,” I say. “This is actually the happiest I’ve felt with our relationship in a long time. We’re in a really good place.”

  “They say ‘I love you’ now,” Marley informs my friends.

  Cora and Annie oooh and ahhh over this for a minute, while I continue to blush.

  “I don’t get it,” I say, once my friends have had their fun. “What does that have to do with my new neighbor?”

  Cora talks while she knits. “Well, the last time I talked to you about Chris, you’d just had an argument with him. I thought things weren’t going well, and I thought if you were going to enter the dating scene again, then you might be interested to know that—” She stops short, as the plane’s wheels leave the ground.

  There’s a humming sound as they are retracted into the engine. The plane angles upwards.
r />   Cora releases her knitting and grips her arm rests. “Sorry—my stomach always flips at this part,” she says.

  “I love this part,” I say.

  “As I was saying,” Cora continues, while still gripping her arm rest, “If you were to enter the dating scene again, you might be interested to know that Max is going to be your new neighbor. He’s moving into Blackbear apartments, Unit D. Hiroku helped him sign the lease.”

  For the next few minutes, as the plane climbs higher and higher into the sky, I try to process what Cora has just shared.

  Doctor Max Shire is going to be my neighbor.

  At first, I get a kind of queasy, nervous-and-excited-at-the-same-time feeling. It hits my gut, and then my chest.

  If Max is going to be my neighbor, I’ll be seeing him quite a bit. How will I handle being around him, now that I’ve entered into a more serious relationship with Chris?

  My thoughts start to spin out of control.

  But then, I look out the plane window, just at the plane pierces through a thick layer of clouds.

  We’ve reached clear skies. The plane levels out. Below us, a carpet of puffy, light clouds spread out like an ocean.

  My life is full of uncertainties. They stretch out in every direction, as far as the eye can see, just like the clouds below me. Will I stay with Chris? Will I be successful in my PI business? Will Hiroku fire me from the nannying gig? Will I fall for Max? Is it truly my destiny to be a witch?

  I don’t have all the answers.

  I don’t know if I want to have all the answers.

  As long as I can get to this place—above the clouds—I know I’ll be okay.

  I close my eyes and hear the words I’ve come to know and love, float through my mind.

  Your place of power is above the clouds.

  I take a deep breath, and then open my eyes.

  The speaker above my seat clicks on. “Ladies and gentlemen,” the captain says. “I’m happy to announce we’ve reached our cruising altitude of thirty-five thousand feet. I invite you to sit back and enjoy the flight as we make our way to sunny Oahu.”

  The announcement ends, and Marley gives a little whoop.

  I join her, and then say happily, “Hawaii, here we come!”

  The End

  The Case of the Banishing Spell (Book #2)

  A Hillcrest Witch Mystery

  By Amorette Anderson

  Chapter One

  I’m midway through a row of knit-one purl-one on my latest scarf when my cell phone rings. It’s been a slow, quiet Thursday in my supply closet turned office, and the sound makes me jump. I pick up on the second ring.

  “Penny Banks, Private Investigator. How can I help you?” I say.

  I’ve been working on sounding more professional on the phone. Usually, the person on the other end of the line isn’t a potential client, but you never know, right?

  Besides, my best friend Marley and my boyfriend Chris (my two most frequent callers) get a kick out of my business-like greeting. Sometimes Marley pretends to be interested in my help, just to pull my chain. Once she had me going for a full fifteen minutes, pretending that she was my elderly neighbor, Ginny, and her cat was missing. Marley is surprisingly good at doing vocal impressions.

  “Penny!” says a female voice on the other end of the line. “Oh! Dear. I’m so glad it’s you. I need your help!”

  “Marley?” I ask, squinting my eyes and analyzing the voice I just heard. “Is that you?” It doesn’t sound like Marley, but she’s tricked me before, so I can’t be sure.

  “Marley? No, dear. This is Dawn, from the inn.”

  “Really?” I ask.

  “Yes. Penny, there was a bloody paw print in a room we rented out. Neville and I are not at all sure what to do about it. I remembered you were a detective of sorts, and I thought maybe you could lend a hand.”

  Hunh. This really isn’t Marley.

  This really is a work call!

  An honest-to-goodness client! I sit up straighter at the thought of it.

  “Dawn,” I say, as professionally as I can manage. “I’m not a ‘detective of sorts’. I’m a detective. Period. What kind of paw print are we talking about here? Chipmunk, mouse, mole, dog... mountain lion?”

  “Now that’s a good question, Penny. It is. I think it was a dog, I believe. A large dog. Er... perhaps... this is what Neville thinks... a wolf.”

  “A wolf?”

  “I know that sounds odd. But that’s the thing—something odd is happening here at the inn. Neville and I are not very happy about it.”

  A wolf! “I’ll be right over,” I say, managing to get up off of the Swiss ball that I use as a chair.

  “We would really appreciate that,” Dawn says. “We’re hosting the Hillcrest Harvest Bonfire Dance this Saturday—you know, the one that raises funds for the Historical Society?”

  “Of course,” I say. “I have it on my calendar. You’re going to serve your caramel covered apples?”

  “Yes, dear,” Dawn says. I can almost hear her smiling through the phone. “I know how much you love those.”

  “What does the dance have to do with the paw print?” I ask.

  “It’s just two days away! We can’t have a wolf running around the property! And the room that we found the print in... it’s rented out to a very strange fellow. I’m concerned he’ll make trouble while the dance is going on.”

  “Strange fellow?” I ask, my interest piqued again. “I thought we were talking about an animal here.”

  “Well, there’s a—”

  “Wait, Dawn,” I say, reaching for a pen and a scrap of paper off of my desk, and shoving them into my bag. “Don’t say another word. I’d like to talk to you in person and take down some notes.”

  “Right. But before you make the trip, Penny, there’s one more thing I should tell you.”

  “Yes?”

  “Funds are a little bit tight right now, dear. Neville and I just paid to have the front of the inn freshly painted, and the bill was twice what we expected.”

  “Oh.” My heart sinks. I was hoping Dawn would be a paying client.

  “I don’t expect you to work for free,” Dawn rushes on. “No, nothing like that. I can pay you...”

  My ears perk up.

  Until she finishes her sentence.

  “....in raspberry jam.”

  Raspberry jam? What kind of business does she think I’m running here?

  She continues. “It’s my great-grandmother’s recipe. I make it with wild berries from up on Mill Creek Road. The harvest this year was especially flavorful. I don’t think you would be disappointed.”

  As she talks, I start thinking about Eggo waffles dripping with jam. Or hot, buttered toast smothered in the stuff.

  My mouth begins to water.

  “I can give you a twenty-ounce jar,” she says. “We made quite a lot, and I really do appreciate your time. It would last you all winter. You could have a winter filled with raspberry jam.”

  A winter filled with raspberry jam. I start to imagine it.

  In fact, I have a sort of movie montage happening in my mind: Me eating treats heaped with jam, and then licking my fingers free of the sticky-stuff. A song plays in the background. Snow falls just outside the window, and I’m wrapped in my fuzzy bathrobe, with thick slippers on my feet. Heat, blasted from my baseboard heaters, lifts my hair like a fan might for a model at a photoshoot. Glorious!

  “All right,” I say, dreamily, while the scene is still fresh in my mind. “You’ve got me there. A winter filled with jam does sound nice. But could you do me a favor and keep this between us? I don’t want word getting out around town that I will work for preserves.”

  Dawn agrees to this, and soon I’m out the door.

  All the talk of flavorful wild raspberries has whetted my appetite. Since it’s after four in the afternoon, and the bagel I packed for lunch has long since been burned off with my knitting, I swing by my friend Annie’s cafe for a blueberry scone. Then I mu
nch on it while I ride my bike down the steep pitch of pavement to the Hillcrest Inn.

  If you think eating a scone while riding a bike sounds hard, you would be absolutely correct. I’m coughing on crumbs by the time I skid to a stop in front of the Hillcrest Inn.

  It’s a good thing I always travel with a water bottle. I put my cowboy-booted feet out to balance on the pavement and then rummage through my messenger bag until I come up with my drink. I’m washing down the last of the crumbs, still balanced on my bike, when the door to the inn opens.

  The Hillcrest Inn is basically a converted Victorian house. Dawn and Neville, a couple in their late sixties, have owned it for as long as I can remember. I grew up in Hillcrest, and I’m now twenty-seven, so that’s a long time.

  It’s called the Hillcrest Inn, but no one ever stays overnight in it, like you might expect from the name. At least not often.

  Dawn, Neville, and their grown son Dawson live in the back of the inn, and the front mostly functions as a place for events in our community—weddings, reunions, meetings... that kind of thing.

  The building is blue, with white shutters. Since it’s mid-October, the aspen trees scattered around the property are dotted with butter-yellow leaves. The front porch steps are lined in orange pumpkins and maroon mums. The whole scene looks as picturesque as a postcard.

  As I guzzle water, a woman steps through the open front door, out onto the front porch. I recognize her as Sarah Pelletier. She moved to town about six months back, with a husband and a big black fluffy poodle, if I’m not mistaken.

  I’m no dog expert though. I’ve never owned one. I did a short stint as a nanny for a Chihuahua, but that didn’t last long. I was fired after I let the Chihuahua loose up at Rainbow Lake. It was for her own good, but that’s another story altogether. I guess I’m more of a cat person.

  Sarah pulls sunglasses down over her eyes, and then dusts off her tight-fitting pencil skirt as if being inside the inn made her feel dirty. She begins descending the wooden porch steps, and spots me.

  I stop chugging water, give one last cough, and then wipe the back of my hand across my mouth. Whew! I’ve just narrowly avoided death-by-scone while biking, and I don’t have time to worry about manners. I’m just happy to be alive. Plus, I don’t have a napkin.