Witch One Dunnit? (Rachael Penzra mystery) (6 page)

       I filled their orders of coffee and tea, offering a large plate of chocolate chip cookies I’d baked that morning.  At the rate company was showing up and accepting my hospitality, I’d decided I needed to have something on hand to meet their demands.  For a four day visit, I was entertaining more people than I’d normally have in my apartment back home all year.  I’m not big on socializing, and none of these people were close friends, so I was enjoying studying them, hopefully with more subtlety than they were studying
me
.

       “You don’t resemble your aunt at all,” Moondance informed me, as she regally accepted my offer of Lemon-raspberry tea.  “She was a beautiful woman.”

       I, admittedly, am not beautiful, but I do have a
few
good points.   Somehow Moondance’s insult was more infuriating than most, and I think it had something to do with the fact she wasn’t
trying
to be insulting.  There’s nothing more painful than an innocently-tendered blow to the ego.  Children do it all the time.

       Ronnie laughed out loud.  “Moondance will never win the Ms Tact award, but I think it’s safe to assume she didn’t mean her remark to be as insulting as it sounded.  Your aunt had a very unique look.  She was pretty in her way, and you’re pretty in
your
way.”

       Ronnie was obviously a politician-in-the-making.

       Cheryl stopped giggling at Moondance’s faux pas long enough to add, “Josie was, like, gorgeous!  I mean, she was a great lady, you know, she had kind of a Katherine Hepburn thing going.”

       “I was most certainly
not
being insulting!”  Moondance sounded a little confused about the minor uproar caused by her comment.  “I’m sure Rachael has many beautiful inner qualities as well as being an attractive woman outwardly.”

       There wasn’t a lot I could say to that, one way or another.  Since I
do
own a mirror, I’m fully aware I’m not much in the looks department.  There’s nothing blatantly wrong with my looks.  I don’t have a huge nose, or buck teeth ... Nothing that would classify me as flat-out
ugly. 
And if my memory is the least bit accurate, I was, in fact, considered cute when I was younger.  As I’ve matured, though, I seem to have gone from cute to...well…plain.  Forgettable.  Dull.  I suppose it doesn’t help that my face hasn’t seen a splash of make-up in more years than I can remember, and I style my hair using the “this is irritating me so I’ll chop a little off” method of hair dressing.  

       “The power of a storm is rarely given proper appreciation by practitioners,” Moondance intoned, interrupting my vanity-induced musings.  “I make it a point to place myself in a position to absorb as much of its power as possible.”

       “A storm is for walking into,” Elena said quietly.  She had the slightest of accents, noticeable more in a slight twist on syllables than anything else.  “As you say, Moondance, it is a
pure
form of power.  But always be careful when you choose to take in such an entity.  You have a tendency, my dear, to be just a little careless.”

       I wondered if she was trying to give Moondance a subtle warning, or if she was just stating the obvious – that Moondance might not be smart enough to get out of the way when Mother Nature was wreaking havoc. 

   Aunt Josie had mentioned Elena-the-fortune-teller to me.  According to my aunt, Elena had appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and quietly joined the coven.  I remember Aunt Josie saying she’d never met anyone as talented at telling fortunes, but she felt Elena wasn’t terribly comfortable with her skill. My aunt had considered having the woman do readings in the shop, but had been worried Elena might be a little
too
accurate for her customers to handle.

       “Was there something special about this particular storm?” Percy asked, nervously.  “I don’t like storms.  Blizzards aren’t so bad, but thunderstorms scare me to death.”  He shuddered dramatically.

       “No,” Elena chuckled, looking like someone’s sweet old grandma, until you looked into her amber eyes.  Then it was like looking into eternity.  “But every force of nature has special gifts, and of course a storm is full of energy so its gifts are more easily assimilated.”

       “Man!  I never thought of it like that,” Cheryl admitted in her dingy manner.  I had the feeling she didn’t think of many things.

       “We worthless humans must learn the ways of the Goddess to gain this wisdom,” Moondance lectured her.  “She’s always ready to teach us.  We must be willing to learn.”

       “I’ll have try standing in thunderstorm to gain energy next summer,” Ronnie decided.  “I could use a little power.”

       “Lightning has a lot to spare,” I assured him, rising to refill the cookie plate.  One of life’s little lessons I’ve learned is never to make a single batch of cookies.  At the very least double the recipe.  I’d tripled this one. It’s always good to have the wisdom of one of your life tenets upheld.

       Moondance tried to talk me into joining them for the farewell the coven had planned for Aunt Josie, but she took my refusal in stride after Elena reminded her that spirits who’ve had their wishes disobeyed do not harbor friendly feelings (anymore than their live counterparts) and I’d been told to forego this particular experience through my aunt’s wishes.  “Oh, but it’ll be so lovely,” Moondance sulked.  “I’ve created a beautiful paean to Josie, praising her leadership and wisdom.”

       “You can save Rachael a copy,” Elena said.  She turned her unusual deep-set amber eyes on me.  “Moondance writes numerous poems.  She’s even published a book of them.  Your aunt sold some in the store, in fact.”

       “They’re often quoted on the Internet,” Moondance said, complacently.

       I swallowed and kept a straight face, and noticed that the three younger people studiously kept from glancing at one another.  The Internet is a wonderful invention, but somehow the thought of Moondance, with her flowing clothing and naturalistic speaking, cruising the web in her spare time, carefully typing in her poetry for a chat room, was a little difficult to handle.  Still, I managed to tell her I’d have to look them up, carefully noting down her web page.  Aunt Josie had a state of the art computer and scanner/printer in the small room I thought might once have been a pantry.  I hadn’t looked into machine yet, but didn’t doubt my competency to work with it.  When Michael, with his single-mindedness, had been interested in computers during his high school years, I’d learned more about them than I’d ever wanted to know.

   The truth is that while I find cruising the net to be great sport, I also find it to be a little disturbing.  I can be wandering around Facebook (where I also keep track of my children) reading about innocuous subjects, and suddenly be struck with an almost physical blow of anger, hate, or fear.  It’s upsetting, but interesting.  What could be so intense about the color of a tie, or a cartoon, or a dislike of a particular movie?  And how can those
emotions
pass through the net with such force?

       “I myself,” Ronnie interrupted my thoughts.  “Would prefer to follow my religion skyclad.”

       If I was supposed to be shocked, I wasn’t.  I’d always found the practice of nudity in Wicca to be a little precious.  “Given the climate in Minnesota, I’d think a long time about it before I committed myself to such a practice,” I told him.  “Remember, the Druids supposedly
painted
their bodies blue; they didn’t get that way from hypothermia.”

       “But we could be indoors,” Cheryl said, missing my attempt at humor by a country-mile.  Of course
she
wouldn’t mind parading around in her birthday suit.  Her suit was still fairly new.  Mine, on the other hand, was old, worn, stretched, and more than a little wrinkled. 

       “None of that matters,” Moondance insisted with a dramatic wave of her hands.  She didn’t promote the idea of prancing around in the nude, I noticed, and guessed her flowing garments covered a few, if not a multitude, of body faults.  What they
didn’t
cover was a rather hearty double-chin.  “The mind is on more spiritual things than sex at such a time.”

       Ronnie sent Cheryl a sidelong glance, and I guessed some people’s minds weren’t above dwelling on sexual matters at
any
time.

       I then received an unwelcome blast of emotion, and immediately, albeit reluctantly, identified the source.  While Ronnie was busy giving Cheryl a lecherous leer, Percy was looking at
Ronnie
in much the same manner.  Poor Percy. He had yet to figure out (much less accept) that he
was
gay.  Although if he kept looking at men in the manner he was currently looking at Ronnie, the rest of the world would know it before he did.  

       “Skyclad isn’t even an old concept,” Moondance persisted.  “I try to maintain traditional values and not glom onto every passing new fad.”

       “So Moondance,” I said, desperately, ready to change the subject. “Give me an example of one of your poems,”

       Big mistake.  If Aunt Josie had been carrying books of her poetry in the shop, it had been out of pure pity.  To say her poetry was
bad
would be being generous, and I was in no hurry to find out how she’d massacred Aunt Josie’s memory with her artistic endeavors.  Yet another good reason not to attend the coven’s farewell ceremony. 

       They finally left, leaving me feeling the need to lock the doors, draw the drapes, and cowering as I sucked my thumb in some dark corner until it was time for me to head for the airport.  I didn’t know if I was just an interesting way to pass a winter day for these people, or if Aunt Josie had simply been a tremendously social person.  I hoped it wasn’t the latter.  The population of Balsam Grove was only 622 people.  It seemed as though most of them had already visited me. 

       At least they hadn’t brought up any more uncomfortable questions about Aunt Josie’s death.  The theory that it might not have been accidental was something I wasn’t in a big hurry to dwell on.

   To my great relief, there were no more visitors that night.  I passed a quiet evening, just the sort I had spent years dreaming about enjoying.  I sipped hot chocolate, sat by the fire, and read a good mystery novel.  No thoughts of murder beyond the pages of my book crossed my mind.  This is what I wanted my life to be, nice and peaceful. It didn’t take any real thought to know I would go back home until Danny was graduated and on his way.  Then I’d pack and move to Minnesota.  I would gladly work the summer months if it meant having long peaceful winter days all to myself. 

         ....

       Three months later I couldn’t believe I’d blithely stated how happily I’d work the long days of summer.  It was barely the middle of June and already I had seen enough tourists to last me a lifetime.  Half the trouble was the fact I was ignorance about my business.  I had hired Lucinda’s daughter, Shelly, to help in the shop.  Since the girl attended college out East and couldn’t rush home for an interview, it had been sight unseen.

       If I’d met her first, I’m not sure I would have hired her.

       Shelly was into the dark arts, and I have to admit her interest made me a little uncomfortable.  It was one thing to be a witch, and to meet the members of the local coven, but to be with one – especially with one this young and serious – day in and day out?  Maybe the uncomfortable feeling was the result of my upbringing.  I’m not terribly comfortable with
anyone
who’s overly religious.  Apparently complete absorption in beliefs is something I need to work on, since it
shouldn’t
be a problem.  I decided having Shelly around would be good for my spiritual development.

       “Do I get a discount on things?” was Shelly’s first question when she arrived at work.  Whatever her spiritual desires, she had her material interests set firmly on the ground.

       I pretended to consider the question, although I’d already decided my employees would get a discount. I agreed to a 20% discount “
just for yourself, not your mother.” 
She looked a little smug about my caveat, so I assumed she’d follow the agreement because she liked having the upper hand over her mother, even in such small a thing as an employee discount.  She wasn’t an attractive girl, but she could have looked much better than she did.  All she needed to improve her looks was to smile and wear a pleasant expression on her face.  She didn’t do either, preferring to keep her face stern and her attitude one of dark brooding. To my mind, a witch should look
content
.