Miss Spelled (The Kitchen Witch 1) (4 page)

Chapter 7

I couldn’t believe my eyes when Ruprecht slowed his car and pulled into a driveway. It was the same house I had seen the day before, the Victorian home on one floor, with the tin roof. There was that charming little porch on the side, and the front of the house was partially obscured by pretty blue wisteria in full flower.

Ruprecht parked and got out, and I pulled up alongside his car so he would be able to get out when the time came.

“Here it is,” Ruprecht said with a smile, waving an age-spotted hand toward the home. “What do you think?”

“I love it,” I said, as I clasped my hands together. I was overcome with delight. “I saw it yesterday, and I loved it then. It had a pull with me.” I didn’t feel the need to tell Ruprecht about my GPS malfunctioning, and how it had brought me past my destination and right to this house.

As I made my way to Ruprecht, past the heavenly scent of the lilac-flowered buddleia trees, he held out a key to me. “Do the honors,” he said.

I took the key and laughed, momentarily forgetting that a man had died in my cake store that day, on the first day I had ever worked in it. I slid the key into the lock that sat above the gold door handle, and turned it to the left. There was a satisfying click as a thick deadbolt slid out of place. I turned the handle and went inside.

I gasped. It was magnificent. The hallway was grand, the typical hallway of an Australian Victorian home that ran from the front to the back door in a straight line. The ceilings were twelve feet high, all pressed metal. The cornices were truly ornate. The floorboards looked like the original tallow wood boards. They were polished and covered in part by a long carpet runner in an arabesque pattern of blues and greens. The paint on the upper part of the hallway was salmon-pink: not to my taste, but hey, I was hardly going to complain. I was still pinching myself that I had a roof over my head, and a mortgage-free one at that.

Ruprecht gave me the tour. The first door on the left opened onto the living room. There was a wide bay window overlooking the front lawn, and an open brick fireplace sat at a funny angle across the far corner. At the back of the room was a door leading into a dining room. This room was smaller, but large enough for the huge table already in it. I was so lucky that the whole place was furnished.

Several bedrooms ran off the right side of the hallway. I think I counted four. Aunt Angelica’s old bedroom was on the left of the hallway at the back of the house, so I thought I’d claim the bedroom at the front of the house as my own. It had a beautiful leadlight window and a small bay window overlooking the front garden. It didn’t have an en-suite bathroom, although the main bathroom was right next to it.

The main bathroom had a delightful claw-foot bath and white tiles. It had clearly been renovated in recent times. The ceiling was again pressed metal, complete with a magnificent ceiling rose.

“And this is the library,” Ruprecht said, opening a door off the hallway. He gasped. “My mistake; I must be thinking of a different house.” He shot me a funny look.

“There’s a library?” I asked.

Again the funny look. “Um, err, I don’t remember,” Ruprecht said, hurrying on down the long hall.

I was pretty sure he was lying, but I had no idea why. It made no sense. Was he suffering from memory loss and not wanting to admit it?

The kitchen was the second to last room on the left. It was somewhat dated, but again, I was the last one to complain. At least it didn’t have smoke damage all over the ceiling. Behind the kitchen was a cute little room. Every room in the house had a fireplace, so, when Ruprecht showed me out the back, I was surprised to see a tiny wood box under the back veranda and no wood shed.

“Where did Aunt Angelica keep her firewood?” I asked Ruprecht.

He nodded to the wood box. “There.”

I scratched my head. “That’s only big enough for two or three days. Didn’t she get a whole load delivered at once? I can’t see anywhere to put it.”

Again, the same funny look crossed Ruprecht’s face. “I’ll explain it all before winter. There’s plenty of time to think of that. You have so much on your mind now.” He wrung his hands in a nervous gesture. “Well, I can leave you to it,” he said, one eyebrow twitching. “I’m sure you’d like to get a few things settled. I’ll check in on you in a day or two.”

I smiled and nodded. “Thank you,” I said. “For everything.”

Ruprecht simply waved his hand through the air. “Don’t mention it!”

I walked him to the front and watched him drive off before I started unpacking my car.

It didn’t have much, only my clothes, make up, laptop, and few boxes of various belongings. Still, the car was bursting at the seams. I figured you never really know just how much stuff you have until you move.

By the time I had unpacked my belongings, such as they were, it was all beginning to sink in. I had moved from a big city on the coast to a small, inland country town in the middle of nowhere. I had gained a mortgage-free house and a business—even though that business did involve baking—and I was sure I had found new friends. I had even seen a hot guy. Who knew small country towns had them? It all more than made up for losing Brad, losing my job, and getting evicted. Still, a man had died today, and I was still shaken.

When I’m upset, I usually have a glass of wine, a lot of ice cream and/or chocolate, or a long, hot bubble bath. I had no wine or ice cream, and I’d had no time to do any shopping. I’d packed a large supply of jelly beans and my coffee machine, along with plenty of coffee. I figured a bath would be just the thing. I was keen to try out the old tub with the claw feet in the bathroom.

I don’t know how long I stayed in the bath, but by the time I got out and pulled on my pajamas, the sky outside was dark. I went into the living room and turned on the TV, and was delighted to see that Aunt Angelica had Netflix. Before I could decide what to watch, there was a knock on the door.

I went to it slowly, and opened the door a crack.

“Camino,” I said.

“Yes, you got it,” the elderly woman said. I had met her at my aunt’s funeral, and the strange but beautiful little ceremony beforehand. Tonight Camino was dressed in a similar fashion, though there was a splash of color in all the white by way of a purple blouse. She held a cardboard box before her, open, with two cats sitting inside.

“Would you like to come in?” I asked, wondering if everyone in these parts took their cats with them when visiting.

“Certainly, dear,” Camino said. “Thank you.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have much,” I said. “I could find some coffee, I’m sure. There are jelly beans, too.”

“No, thank you,” Camino said, as she set the box on the floor and then sat on the couch.

I sat opposite her in a huge, old armchair upholstered wildly in primary colors.

“You don’t already have a pet, do you?” Camino asked. “A dog?”

I shook my head. “No, I couldn’t have them in my old apartment. Any pet. They were very strict about it.”

Camino nodded hard, and snorted. “I’ve been taking care of these cats since your aunt crossed over. They were your aunt’s, and I’m afraid they miss her something awful.”

“I’m sure it must be hard,” I said, feeling sorry for the poor creatures.

“Well, to cut to the chase, dear, I need you to have them. I take in a lot of animals. I live next door. You passed the house when you drove up. I like to take care of animals, but you can only have so many in your home before you have to start wondering if you’re living in a zoo. They were your aunt’s, and now they are yours.”

I looked at the box. Both cats were large adults. One was fat, orange and white, and the other, slender and all black.

“I’ve never really had a pet,” I said, “although I’ve always wanted pets.” I was delighted.

“Cats are easy to care for,” Camino said.

“What are their names?”

Camino pointed to the orange cat. “Willow,” she said. She pointed to the black cat. “Hawthorn.”

“My aunt must have liked her trees, huh?”

“I guess so,” Camino said.

“I hope the cats like me and don’t run away or anything.”

Camino shook her head. “They’re your familiars now, dear.”

“I’m not familiar with them at all, though, is what I’m saying,” I argued. I wanted to be a responsible pet owner, after all. “I’m not familiar with them, or cats in general.”

“No, honey.” Camino laughed heartily. “They were your aunt’s familiars, and now they’re yours.”

I shook my head. Perhaps old age had made her slightly potty. “I’m sure she was familiar with them, but I’m not. I’m sorry.”

Camino stood up. She looked at me and tilted her head slightly. “You don’t know anything about this, do you?”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I don’t know anything about raising cats.” I said, throwing up my hands.

This just seemed to amuse Camino more, and she began to laugh again. She went for the door. “Just feed them, and keep water in their bowl, and they’ll do most everything else,” she said before she left.

I shut the door behind her and then went back to the couch. I looked down into the box and the cats looked up at me. Willow meowed, and Hawthorn jumped into my lap.

I needn’t have worried; the cats seemed delighted to see me. They purred all over me. “Want some dinner? Has Camino already fed you?”

The big ginger cat meowed. “Okay, come with me,” I said. I found some cans of cat food in the tiny kitchen. I opened them and set them on the white linoleum tiles. I filled two bowls with water, and then I went to my bedroom.

The cats followed me in. One, the big one, of course, sat on my stomach, and the other tried to lick my face. I tried to roll on my side, but that angered the one sitting on my legs, and he swiped at me. And so I lay perfectly still in the darkness, staring up at the ceiling. I thought of my mother. I didn’t know why I did, and I wondered if it was something to do with wanting to think of my aunt but not knowing anything about her.

So instead I thought of my mother. I thought of one time when I was nine, and my father had let me watch a scary movie. My mother had told him not to do it, but my father was stubborn and laughed it off. He said I was old enough not to be scared by a silly movie.

Yet it
had
frightened me, and when I was put to bed that night, I called out within a minute of my light being turned off and my door shut. The shadows on the walls all at once had seemed menacing. I felt like I was being watched.

My mother came in, and I could see by her face that she was mad at my father, not at me.

“What’s wrong?” my mother asked me.

“The movie scared me.”

Her tone softened. “I knew it would.”

“Do you get scared?”

My mother didn’t answer for a long time. Finally, she looked at me and nodded. “Sometimes I do.”

“When?”

“I can tell you about one of the times I was the most scared. I was about as old as you are now, maybe a little younger.”

“Okay, tell me,” I had begged.

“I was walking home from violin practice,” my mother began. “Practice was at Mrs. Seymour’s house. She lived a few blocks away. I didn’t want to learn to play the violin, but my mother made me take the lessons.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Sometimes we parents think we know better than our children.”

“Don’t you?”

“Usually,” my mom said with a laugh. “Now hush and listen. I always cut through yards to get to her house, and back to mine, but one day, as I opened a gate and went into a yard I had cut through a hundred times, I heard a loud barking. Whoever had lived in the house had a new dog. I saw him, coming at me. He was big with sharp, white teeth. I turned to go for the gate, but somehow I couldn’t open it. My hands weren’t working. I felt the dog close behind me. I turned, and his face was right near mine. I was shaking. He opened his mouth, and then he licked me.”

I had giggled.

“That’s when I knew not everything scary was worth worrying about,” my mother continued. “The movie was scary, but it’s not real, so it’s not worth worrying about, right?”

When my mother left the room, I still felt as if something was watching me. I didn’t want to call her back, so I pulled the blankets over my head.

Right now, I had the same feeling. I dislodged myself from the cats, and crossed to the curtains. I pulled one aside, and under the streetlight, there was a figure, the tall, dark figure of a man. A chill ran right through me, and I jumped back from the curtain. When I looked again, he was gone.

Chapter 8

From time to time as the morning went on, I sat by the bay window looking out over the front garden. I was awaiting news from the police station to tell me when I would be able to reopen the cake store. I was concerned that the police would find something deadly in the cakes that had killed Brant McCallum, but that was unlikely, since I hadn’t baked them.

I had walked the three blocks to the local store to buy necessities such as microwave dinners, chocolate, and ice cream, and then spent the morning exploring the garden. I was thrilled to have a garden of my own.

In one of my moments sitting by the bay window, the sound of my new cats tearing through the house shattered my quiet contemplation. I leaped to my feet and headed in the direction of the screeching cats. They were not in the hallway, and for a moment all was quiet. Then the sound started again, pulling my attention to a door on the left of the hallway.

I opened the door expecting to see another bedroom, but it was a library. I did a double take. How had I overlooked this room? Sure, the house was rambling, but I thought I had seen all the rooms. I was sure this was the one that had made Ruprecht pause. Yet, he had said that the room wasn’t a library. I thought we had then gone into the room, and found it was another bedroom, but then again, I must have been confused. Perhaps Ruprecht had shut the door and we’d gone on to the next bedroom.

If that were the case, why would Ruprecht try to hide the library from me when I would find it anyway? I had no idea. Even trying to figure it out was giving me a headache.

I rubbed my forehead and walked into the room. There were shelves upon shelves of books. I walked over to a shelf and picked up the first book I saw. It was a heavy book, brown leather with the words,
Aristotle, Metaphysics
, embossed in gold writing. I quickly put it back. The next book was entitled,
Papyri Graecae Magicae: the Greek Magical Papyri in Translation
. I put it back, too. Aunt Angelica sure wasn’t into simple romances.

Before I could look at any more books, the cats ran past me. The orange and white cat, Willow, sniffed and clawed at one of the bookcases. He then stood on his hind legs, almost as if he were trying to reach for a particular book. I walked toward him quietly, hoping not to startle him. Just then, I noticed the black cat, Hawthorn, walking along the shelf just above Willow.

I wasn’t sure what to make of the crazy cats, so I shrugged it off and turned to go back to the living room. I had just reached the door when there was a loud thud. I swung around to see the two cats sitting on the floor next to a book. For a moment, I felt like the cats were smiling up at me.

“Well, you two are already proving to be mischievous!” I said, as I crouched down to pick up the book. I could barely make out the title, so I took it over to the window. In the light, I could just make out the words,
Book of Shadows
.

“How strange,” I said aloud. What looked like a pentagram could be seen etched into the soft material of the book. I flipped open the pages and was at once surprised to see handwriting. I continued skimming through its contents, and all I found were scribbles and doodles.

Then, I realized exactly what I was looking at: a recipe book. Several herbs and other recognizable ingredients, such as sugar and coffee, were scattered throughout. I quickly slammed the book closed and sighed. I glanced down at the cats, who were both sitting at my feet, watching me intently. “Oh, you two really are going to be a handful, aren’t you? You can sniff about the house all you like, but don’t drag any more recipe books off the shelves!” I wagged my finger at each of the felines, and then realized I was already turning into a crazy cat lady.

I walked back toward the bookcase. As I extended my arm to put it back, I caught another glimpse of the pentagram. I didn’t really know much about symbols and old secret societies and such, but the shape did remind me of something specific: a TV show I used to watch called
Ghost Chasers
. I carefully studied the pentagram, feeling the etching with my fingers as I recalled some details of the show. I remembered how they spoke of the pentagram. They said it was an ancient symbol of protection and power, although I never really understood what that had meant.

Just then, there was a loud thud on the other side of the room. I looked to see if the cats were at it again, but they still remained by my feet. The sound pulled my memory back to the show’s biggest attention-grabber: how the ghost hunters would call out and ask for a reply when they suspected an entity was present.

The eerie atmosphere of the old Victorian home was enough to scare even the biggest of skeptics. I laughed at the thought of ghosts or other apparitions haunting my new house. In a half-joking way, I repeated the show’s famous line, “If you can hear me and wish to make contact, please knock once.”

Suddenly, there was a loud knock at the front of the house. I clutched my stomach as the hairs on the back of my neck stood tall. My skin quickly filled with goose bumps. I went cold all over.

I quickly made for the front of the house. I reached for the door with trembling hands, and then stood there, hesitating.

I waited by the door, wondering if the sound would come again. It did, but this time, it sounded like an actual knock on my front door. I bit my lip and grasped the knob firmly, turning it slowly as I pulled the door open.

“Good morning, ma’am,” Sergeant Greer said. He was accompanied by Constable Stevens, the female cop. “May we come in?” he asked.

“Yes, of course,” I replied, motioning for them to enter. I was relieved that they weren’t ghostly entities. They walked in, one after the other, and then followed me toward the sofa and chairs.

“Would you like to sit down?” I asked. I wasn’t used to speaking to police, so didn’t know the protocol. I had watched reruns of
Midsomer Murders
many times, but that was England, not Australia.

“No, thank you,” Constable Stevens replied.

“We’re here to let you know what our investigation has turned up,” Sergeant Greer said.

“Oh,” I replied, and waited for him to continue.

Sergeant Greer chewed his lip. “We weren’t able to find anything in your cakes.” He sounded disappointed.

“Not a single trace of poison, mold, unsanitary food, or anything else,” the female officer added, grinning broadly.

“Right. Which is why we’re going to close the investigation and allow you to reopen the store,” Greer said.

I was pleased to hear such positive news, but I wondered what had actually happened to Brant McCallum. “Uh, then how did he die, if you don’t mind me asking?”

The male officer leaned forward and spoke in a stern tone. “The official report has his cause of death listed as ischemic heart disease, and the manner of death is natural causes. That is why we have no other choice but to allow you to reinstate your business.”

“Heart disease?” I said, confused.

Greer shrugged. “It’s basically the category that most common heart failures are listed under. The coroner wasn’t able to pinpoint exactly what caused his heart to fail that day. She told us she did the exam twice to confirm his findings, because according to McCallum’s charts, the man didn’t have a history of any heart defects or disease.”

“Oh,” I said, turning away. As I did, I caught a quick glance of Willow and Hawthorn as they sat in a far corner of the room. I wondered if they had been sitting there the entire time I had been speaking with the police. It was strange how they were just sitting there, focused on the conversation. I turned back to the two police officers and frowned. “Obviously, I’m happy that the shop isn’t to blame in any way, but it’s still very upsetting that a man died right in front of my own eyes. Poor Thyme, too.” I felt tears coming on, so I sniffled into a tissue. “I’m sorry. I think I’m just still in a state of shock or disbelief or whatever.”

“That’s understandable,” the female cop said, still smiling widely. “Death is a difficult thing for everyone. If you need any help at all, just call this number.” She handed me a small, white business card. “This is a doctor who speaks to victims and their families, families of offenders, and anyone else who’s been through a traumatic experience such as this.”

“Oh, I think I’ll be okay, thanks,” I said. “I was just hoping to have a sense of closure in the matter. I was worried that it was my fault somehow, and it’s great to hear otherwise, but it just doesn’t make much sense. He was perfectly fine until he bit into that cake. How could it have nothing to do what happened to him?”

Sergeant Greer shook his head. “It seems like it was just a freak coincidence, to be honest. We don’t have the toxicology screens back on the victim yet, but every one of those sample cakes was tested, not just the one he took a bite out of. Not one of them contained any traces of chemicals or drugs, or anything else of the sort. His heart just gave out.”

I studied the officer’s eyes as he spoke. I was sure that he believed everything he was saying, but I struggled to do the same. I glanced over at Constable Stevens, who was still wearing her usual over-the-top smile. “I suppose things like that happen every day in the world,” I admitted, “but I’m just not used to them happening around me.”

“It was probably just a one in a million kind of thing,” the woman replied. “Don’t let it scare you.”

I raised an eyebrow at the cop’s words. I wasn’t sure why the woman would have said such a thing, but it didn’t sit well with me for some reason. What was there to be scared about in such a nice town?

“Thank you for your time,” Sergeant Greer said, and the two officers turned to leave.

Once I closed the door behind them, I went back into the living room. Willow and Hawthorn were peering out the bay window, staring at the cops as they left.