Witch One Dunnit? (Rachael Penzra mystery) (3 page)

   It all seemed much more humorous after we’d landed safely. 

   Mr. Goldberg was at the airport as arranged.  He introduced himself and did a reasonably good job of not staring at my oddly-colored eyes.  He was a small, round man in the midst of the towering people surrounding us.  That worked out well, because I am a small, round
woman
. 

   “How was the flight?” he asked conversationally, while leading me over to the car rental counter.  The wonderful thing about small-town airports is how everything is located within a short walk in the same building.

   “A little bumpy,” I admitted.  Why couldn’t I just come out and say I’d been scared half out of my wits in the small, lurching aircraft?  Why? Because I was now in Minnesota and most of the people don’t express extreme emotion easily.

   “I imagine.  Looks like we’re in for a little weather.” 

   “The pilot said we were flying ahead of the
real
storm.”

   “Well, we’ll have you safely tucked into your new home before the brunt of it gets here,” he promised.  It was amazing at how quickly I’d relapsed into the infamous fascination with weather.  “The car rental just needs your signature and we’re on our way.  We’ll stop off at a grocery store before we leave town.  The house has some staples in it, but I thought you might like to pick up a few fresh items.”

   I took his words to mean I’d be wise to stock up on enough food to keep me alive for a few days… just in case…  My memories of childhood winters were quickly returning.  “Aren’t there any restaurants in town?”  I asked. 

   “Certainly.” He sounded insulted I’d asked.  Where did I think I was going?  The boondocks?   “But if we
should
be in for a good storm, it won’t hurt to have some groceries on hand.  Of course I’ve arranged to have your driveway plowed.”  He laughed with false heartiness.  “You won’t be snowed in for the duration, you know.”

   By then we were at the car rental counter.  I signed my name in the right places, carefully making sure the car was insured for any unexpected trips into the ditch.  It had been a long time since I’d tackled driving on snowy roads.  We then collected my lone suitcase and plowed out into the snow and wind.  The parking lot lights, triggered by lack of natural light, were already glowing.  As the snow swirled around them, creating misty, moving halos, I shivered—as much with delight as cold.  I’d forgotten how invigorating a good snowfall could be.

   As I followed the lawyer, me in my freshly brushed-off Toyota, him in his four-wheel drive pickup, I was surprised at the amount of traffic on the road.  Where was everyone in such a hurry to get to when the weather was so bad?  When we pulled into the grocery store lot, I realized where at least half of the drivers had been headed.  I commented on it as we entered the store.  “You’d think people around here would stay well-supplied with staples, just on general principle.”

   “Oh, we do,” he said as he stuffed numerous bags of snack foods into his cart.  “Of course we have to pick up extra milk and such when a big storm comes, but it isn’t really what all this movement is about.  There’s something about the barometric pressure, I think.  Everyone gets restless before a storm.  Even wild animals are out in force.”

   I followed his—and the animals’—example and stocked up on goodies, taking care to provide myself with the obligatory milk, eggs, bread and butter so I didn’t look piggish.  My heart, though, was involved with the hot chocolate I bought to go with the fresh-fried pastries from the bakery department, a dozen because I could always freeze some. (Ha. Like that would ever happen.) I was suddenly in a hurry to reach my haven. I had several unread mystery books in my suitcase, ones I’d forced myself to leave alone until this trip.  We stood in a long line, paid for our supplies, and plowed back out to our cars.  We had to brush them off again.

   The trip wasn’t fairly long, and the going was slow.  I was pleased the little Toyota held the road on the snow-packed highway without any trouble.  It wouldn’t, of course, go through too much deep snow, being low-slung, but that wasn’t a problem (yet) and the plows were already out in force.  I didn’t see much of the landscape.  Not much of it was visible, and I was concentrating far too deeply on the art of following in the ruts ahead of me. 

   I was relieved when we finally turned left off the highway and drove a short distance to a small town.  Our already slow pace dropped to a crawl as we passed dark store after dark store.  The restaurant Saul had told me about was brightly lit and looked welcoming through the falling snow.  These folks didn’t allow a little snow to get in the way of doing business, and from the looks of the parking lot, business was booming.  Maybe Saul was right, and people got restless when the weather was bad.  Personally, I wanted to do nothing more than reach my new home and burrow in for the duration.

   Just when it seemed we were about to run out of town, Saul slowed down and parked on the street directly in front of a large house.  Following his hand signals, I pulled into the driveway and parked in front of the garage.

   The lawyer got out of his truck and hurried to the side of my car.  “I’ll open the garage door and you can drive right in.  There’s a walkway leading from the garage to the house.  I’ll close the garage door behind you, and unlock the house for you.”

   I did as ordered, noticing a nice SUV as I drove into the garage. I climbed out of the car, dragging out my suitcase and my large shoulder bag.  I could get the groceries later. When I opened the small garage door, a gust of frigid air promptly slammed it back at me, sheltered though it was from the worst of the howling wind.  I pushed again and stepped onto the walkway, suddenly aware of how much the storm had worsened since we’d started out.  It was quickly turning into a full-fledged blizzard.  Shuddering, I hurried along the walk to the house.  The walkway’s slatted roof didn’t seem to offer much protection. Finally Saul got the door open and held it for me. 

   The light switch was just inside the doorway.  I found it easily enough and turned it on to dispel the gloom.  The kitchen glowed in front of me, all brightness and warmth.  I stood there mesmerized, trying to take in details, until the lawyer stumbled in behind me. 

   “Brr!” he shook his snow-covered jacket.  “It’s decided to come down in earnest.  Well, what do you think?”

   “It’s lovely.  It’s so cozy for such a big room.  How big
is
the house?  I couldn’t really tell from outside.”

   He set the keys on the counter and then bustled past me, forcing me to follow him.  I was still somewhat in shock.  Whatever I had envisioned when I thought of Aunt Josie’s house, this wasn’t it.  “It’s a real Victorian mansion,” he said, leading me into a hallway.  “Here, this is where the store starts, just past the stairs.  See?  You can snap this chain across the hall to keep people out of the rest of the house.”  He pointed to a black velvet-covered chain.  It was modestly linked to one wall like something you’d see in a museum, isolating delicate displays from the unwashed public.  “It has pocket doors, too. You have to remember that most of the downstairs is used as a shop.  Your aunt did a marvelous job of achieving a homey atmosphere.”

   We entered the living room.  There was a couch, displaying fancy pillows with tags proclaiming them to be aromatic, carefully enclosed in clear plastic bags.  There were lovely wooden shelves holding books and miscellaneous objects.  The small tables were artfully scattered around the room, holding candles and statues and more, far too much for me to take in at once.  Everything bore a discreet price tag. 

   Suddenly I felt a wave of dizziness, almost pain, making me nauseous.  I put my hand on the doorjamb and stood perfectly still. Nerves, I told myself, not a stroke, not a heart attack.  I’m excited and tired. Almost as quickly as the sensation had struck, it dissipated.  I felt a little panicky, but the feeling didn’t return.

   My guide apparently hadn’t noticed my upset, or had interpreted it as stunned delight.  We continued on to the dining room. I peeked under the sheet covering the table.  It was set with what were obviously expensive ceramic dishes, and the built-in sideboard displayed more items.  The fourth room, what might once have been a library, was filled with fancy soaps and scented oils, more books, more candles. Aunt Josie had maintained an extensive inventory. 

   “I’ll show you the living quarters upstairs,” the little lawyer said, glancing towards the window where the storm threw snow against the glass before swirling away to prepare for another attack.  He hurried up the stairs, with me right behind him.

   “I think you’d better get going before the weather gets any worse,” I told him, panting in his wake.  “I can manage here.  You said all the utilities are turned on, and that’s really all I need.  You can call me and answer any questions I have in the next few days.”

   “Not to worry.  A little snow is nothing new to me.  I’ll show you around a bit, then I’ll be on my way.”  He sounded calm, but he picked up the pace.

   We’d emerged into the upstairs hallway.  There were three bedrooms, a large bathroom, and a room clearly serving as a small living room, complete with its own fireplace.  I ooh-ed and aahh-ed and started back downstairs, feeling like a pied piper as he followed me down, chattering away about the house as he came, determined to do his duty, but definitely wanting to be on his way before he and his junk food were trapped either here or in a motel. 

   With a few last-minute instructions he left me waving good-bye as he hurried out to his truck.  I closed the door and leaned against it for a moment, feeling stunned, almost emotionless. 

   Suddenly, seemingly from out of nowhere, a huge surge of energy filled me and I yelled, “Yes!” leaping into the air with my fist held high.  It was such theatrical a move—and so totally unlike me—it sobered me a little…but
only
a little.  The house was everything I’d ever desired in a home.  I loved it.  I understood why the codicil in the will had virtually forced me to at least
look
at the house.  Aunt Josie had known me well enough to understand that while I might have chosen, from far away, to stay with my safe and boring little niche, her dying wish (not to mention all the money) would nudge me into at least giving it a try.  Thank heavens I had.  I couldn’t think of anything that would prevent me from staying
at least
a year.

   I wandered around the store portion of the house first.  I felt fine.  Whatever had hit me earlier seemed to have been simple fatigue.  The store, I was certain, would be my
least
personal area, but as I peeked and touched things, I could see even there I’d feel comfortable and protected.  In the kitchen, I found I had a working fireplace, complete with baking and warming ovens on each side.  The fireplace in the living room seemed to be for show, the opening filled with a fancy fire-guard.  I was tempted to start a fire in the kitchen then and there, but held back, still uncomfortable with the idea the house was mine to do with as I wished.  I sniffed at the herbs hanging from hooks set in rafters, aware I was beginning to feel like someone in a Home and Garden magazine, yet unable to stop my gawking delight with everything new I discovered.  I’ve cleaned some expensive new homes in my profession, well-planned ones, and very attractive, but none of them touched my heart the way this old building did.

   I went out and brought in the groceries.  Then I went upstairs, dragging my heavy suitcase behind me.  It seemed imperative I decide on a bedroom and unpack as soon as possible.  Placing my books on the bedside table would establish my territory.  It didn’t take more than a peek into the rooms to see which bedroom had been my aunt’s. I coveted it, of course, as the largest and best one.  I tried to whip my usual shy diffidence, but for once it resisted.  I
wanted
that room.  I stood inside the doorway, trying to conjure up some sense of my aunt’s spirit lingering in the room.  If her spirit was there, I’d feel it was still
her
room, no matter whose name was now on the deed to the house, and I’d choose a different bedroom for myself.  Fortunately, if her spirit was still there, it remained completely indifferent to my infringement on its territory. 

   I moved in.

   It wasn’t until I went back into the sitting room I realized how assertively I was behaving.  I was acting as though I was in charge, as though I knew what I was doing.  Well, I
did
, but I’d never been aggressive even when I knew I was in the right.  I’d been changing as I matured, I understood that, but it was the first time I’d noticed myself outwardly
behaving
as if I’d changed.

   “I’ll light a nice fire upstairs,” I said aloud, speaking to the howling elements outside.  There’s nothing as alive as contrasts.  The fire in the fireplace, controlled and warming, would be a perfect balance for the storm raging beyond the walls, completely wild and free.