Witch in the Dell--And 2 New Mini Mysteries
Witch in the Dell
And 2 New Maggie Mulgrew Mini Mysteries
Cate Dean
Copyright, 2017
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author, except for use in any review. This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, locales, and events are either pure invention or used fictitiously, and all incidents come from the author’s imagination alone.
Sign up for Cate’s list: http://catedeanwrites.com/join-my-list/ to learn about new releases.
Curse of the Emerald
A Maggie Mulgrew Mini Mystery
Cate Dean
Copyright, 2017
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author, except for use in any review. This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, locales, and events are either pure invention or used fictitiously, and all incidents come from the author’s imagination alone.
Sign up for Cate’s list: http://catedeanwrites.com/join-my-list/ to learn about new releases.
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
Copyright Page
Witch in the Dell - And 2 New Mini Mysteries (Maggie Mulgrew Mysteries)
Night of the Patchouli | A Maggie Mulgrew Mini Mystery | Cate Dean
Witch in the Dell | A Maggie Mulgrew Mini Mystery | Cate Dean
Find all my books here: http://catedeanwrites.com/my-catalog
Excerpt from Once Upon A Curse
Witch in the Dell | And 2 New Maggie Mulgrew Mini Mysteries | Cate Dean
About The Author
Also By Cate Dean
Maggie Mulgrew stared up at her tall, formidable Great Aunt Irene.
At ten years old, Maggie thought she would be able to handle meeting the woman her mother always referred to as the Tyrant of Holmestead, England. Now, confronted with her aunt’s frown, and her narrowed blue eyes, Maggie wasn’t so sure.
“Smaller than I thought you’d be.” Aunt Irene’s voice made her jump. She stilled, ready for the verbal lashing for letting her nerves show. “Scrawny as well. We can take care of that this summer.” She reached one hand out, and Maggie flinched. Horrified, she lowered her head and stared at the ground, bracing herself. “Margaret. Look at me, please.”
Swallowing, Maggie obeyed. The kindness in Aunt Irene’s gaze had tears stinging her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I won’t embarrass you again.”
“Embarrass me?” She leaned down, bracing both hands on her knees, and looked Maggie right in the eye. “Whatever have you been taught, to think that being nervous when meeting a stranger would embarrass me?”
“I—my parents prefer control.”
To her shock, Aunt Irene rolled her eyes and straightened. “What they need is a good boot up the arse.”
Laughter burst out of Maggie.
Horrified—again—she clapped one hand over her mouth.
“There is the child I expected,” Aunt Irene said, and smiled at her. She laid one hand on Maggie’s wild red hair, speaking again before Maggie could gather herself for a derogatory comment. “You inherited my wild waves. I can give you some tips on how to manage them.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“If you don’t start speaking up, Margaret, I will be forced to spend the entire summer bent over to hear you.”
A smile crept across Maggie’s face. “I prefer Maggie,” she said, her voice louder. “And I like my hair.”
“As do I. It shows personality. Maggie.” She gently cupped Maggie’s chin. “I want you to be happy here. I want you to be ten years old, and explore, get into things, ask a thousand questions.”
Tears threatened to spill over. “I’d like that,” she whispered.
“What was that?” Aunt Irene cocked her head, searching the ground. “Was that a cricket, trying to communicate with me?”
Maggie let out a watery laugh. “It was me.”
“Ah, so it was. More volume, my dear girl.”
“Yes, Aunt Irene.”
“Much better.” Aunt Irene freed Maggie’s chin, then headed across the wide back yard toward the huge Victorian. “Come along, and we’ll get you settled in. You’ll have your choice of rooms upstairs. Choose wisely; it will be your room for good.”
Her own room—one she got to choose.
Maggie ran after her aunt, catching up to her as she reached the back door.
Part of her had dreaded this visit, afraid she’d have to tiptoe around her aunt. Most tyrants she’d read about had nasty tempers. But it looked like Mother had been exaggerating—or creating the woman she wanted her aunt to be. Mother did have exacting standards.
“Enough,” she whispered, following her aunt inside. “This summer, you’re going to have fun.”
Even if it took every ounce of effort she had.
***
When Aunt Irene brought Maggie to Holmestead for the first time, Maggie thought she had died and gone to heaven.
Holmestead wasn’t a Sherlock R Us tribute, like she’d thought. Instead, she walked through a village with cobblestone streets, quaint, colorful storefronts, and happy people wandering along the sidewalks.
“It’s perfect,” she whispered—and heat rushed to her cheeks when she realized Aunt Irene had heard her.
“It is, isn’t it? I can hardly imagine living anywhere else. I am delighted that you find it as lovely.”
She held out her hand. Nervous, Maggie took it, half expecting to be tricked. But Aunt Irene just closed her long fingers over Maggie’s hand, her grip gentle. The contact, and the warmth of her aunt’s smile, made Maggie feel safe.
It also gave her the courage to speak up. “Mother told me it was an ugly, tatty village.”
Aunt Irene shook her head, “Your mother is one of the most negative, narrow-minded, unbelievably selfish people I know.” Her eyes widened, and she looked down at Maggie. “Forgive me, my dear girl. I should hardly speak like that about your mother.”
“It’s okay.” Maggie swallowed, and finally spoke the thoughts that had filled her mind since she was five. “She and Father aren’t like other people.” Tears stung her eyes, and she blinked them back. “I don’t think they wanted me,” she whispered.
“Oh, Maggie.” In the middle of the sidewalk, with people watching, Aunt Irene wrapped her arms around Maggie. “You are wanted here. I hope you know that.” She rubbed Maggie’s back. “I had to threaten extortion to get your mother to say yes.”
Maggie let out a watery laugh, and pulled back. “You blackmailed her?”
Aunt Irene smiled, and winked at her. The imposing woman was gone, replaced by a loving, funny, outspoken aunt. “It was my great pleasure. I wanted to meet you, make certain you were all right.” She hugged Maggie again, then let her go and took her hand. “I also made another arrangement, while I was threatening her.”
“What?”
They started walking again, and Aunt Irene glanced down at her, not looking as sure of herself. “I demanded to have you every summer, for as long as you wanted to visit.”
“Every summer?” Maggie whispered. She could hardly believe she’d be allowed to escape, for three months out of the year.
“It will always be your choice, my dear.” Aunt Irene stopped, turning to face Maggie. “I hope your choice will be to come and see me.”
“Yes.” She threw herself at her aunt, letting the happy tears slip free. “Yes, yes, yes!”
“My dear Maggie.” Aunt Irene kissed the top of her head. “I was so afraid you would b
e cold, and distant.”
She sniffled, and tightened her grip on her aunt. “To their constant disappointment, I’m nothing like them.”
“Then we shall spend this time together finding you.”
Maggie lifted her head, meeting her aunt’s amused, crystal blue eyes. “I’d love that.”
“Good.” After a final kiss and a squeeze, Aunt Irene let her go. “Now that we have that sorted, what would you say to a nice sit down with some tea? I can open the shop a bit late today.”
Remembering the stilted, uncomfortable teas she’d been to with her mother, Maggie hesitated. “I’m not really dressed for tea.”
“You do not have to be dressed for tea, unless you are making an event of it. We shall do that, when you are older. A proper afternoon tea, at Brown’s. But tea here, my dear Maggie, is an important part of the day. My morning cuppa gets me through to lunch. Fancy dress is optional.”
Her smile warmed Maggie, and before she could second guess herself, she slipped her hand into Aunt Irene’s, nervous at making the overt move.
Aunt Irene squeezed her hand, and headed for a building with a beautiful bow front window.
The Tea Spot was all white lace, blue and white stripes, and scuffed plank floors that creaked when Maggie walked on them. She fell in love at first sight.
Aunt Irene led her to a table close to the window, and waved at the pretty woman heading toward them.
“A pot of tea and two scones, Julia.”
“Is this your wee niece, then?” Julia smiled down at Maggie. Her soft voice and rich Scottish brogue made Maggie want to pinch herself, to be sure this was all real. “Welcome to Holmestead, Margaret.”
“Thank you.” Maggie forced herself to sit up straight, her hands in her lap. Manners, her mother always told her, were the best impression. She wouldn’t correct Julia about her name. No, she wouldn’t.
“She prefers Maggie,” Aunt Irene said, smiling at her.
“Maggie, it is, then. A lovely name, for a lovely girl.” Julia rubbed her arm, and Maggie blushed at the attention.
“It’s a pleasure to be here,” she whispered.
Julia raised her eyebrows, and glanced at Aunt Irene. “A polite one, isn’t she? Spencer will knock that out of her in no time.” She winked at Maggie and walked away, greeting people as she headed back to the smooth, marble counter.
“Who’s Spencer?” Maggie whispered.
“No need to keep your voice down, Maggie. You are not in a library.” Before Maggie had a chance to let that sink in, she continued. “Spencer Knight is the son of a friend. Your age, I think, and able to make mischief out of nothing. You will be spending time alone while I am working, and I wanted you to have someone your age around.”
Spencer Knight. His name sounded romantic, dashing almost. Maggie sighed, and propped her elbow on the table, staring out the window at what would be her home for the next three months.
“Still with us, my dear?” Aunt Irene’s voice snapped her out of her daydream, and she jerked her arm back, mortified that she’d broken one of Mother’s primary rules. No elbows on the table. Ever. “Your tea is on the way.”
Maggie twisted around in her chair, and her mouth fell open when she saw the gorgeous tea cart headed their way.
“That’s for us?”
“I asked Julia to make your first tea a bit special.”
Wide eyed, Maggie watched Julia transport a beautiful china tea pot, two matching cups, saucers and plates, and another plate with scones piled on it. She also added two other items, items Maggie had never been allowed to touch. Strawberry jam and clotted cream.
“Thank you, Julia,” Aunt Irene said. “Go on, take what you want. You must be starving, since you fell asleep before supper last night.”
Maggie reached for a scone, hesitating. “May I have a little bit of jam and clotted cream?”
Aunt Irene frowned, and Maggie braced herself for a reprimand.
“I would like to clear the air from the start, Margaret.” Uh, oh. It was going to be a big one, since her full name had been invoked. “You never have to ask if you can have something to eat, or go outside, or run in the park.” She closed her hand over Maggie’s, anger sparking in her eyes. “You are free here, child. Free to play, free to breathe, free to be who you are. The only thing I will ask of you is to let me know where you’ll be.” She pulled a portable phone out of her purse, and handed it to Maggie. “This mobile will help. You will have no excuse for being able to contact me.”
“I—” Maggie stared at the mobile, secretly thrilled that she’d been given such responsibility. “Aunt Irene?”
“Yes, Maggie.”
“I’m not sure what to do with so much freedom.”
Aunt Irene burst out laughing. “Be a child, my dear Maggie.”
Maggie smiled, letting it fade as she lowered her head and piled on the jam and clotted cream. She would do her best, but she wasn’t sure how to be just a child.
***
Maggie finally met the mysterious Spencer Knight three days after she arrived.
When she caught him sneaking into Aunt Irene’s house.
Aunt Irene had already gone to the village, so when she heard a noise in the foyer, Maggie knew it wasn’t her. Heart pounding, she tiptoed toward the door between the living room and the foyer. She stopped long enough to pick up a heavy silver candlestick from the sideboard, almost gasping at the weight. Weapon in hand, she inched the door open.
A boy about her age crept across the foyer, and smiled as he reached for the ornate umbrella stand.
“Don’t move.”
He froze, his fingers over the handle of Aunt Irene’s favorite umbrella—then he startled Maggie by grinning at her over his shoulder. “You have her hair. Brilliant!”
“Who are you?”
He straightened, and she got her first good look at him. He was a few inches taller, with sun streaked blonde hair that fell to his shoulders, and a tan that told her he spent quite a lot of his time outside.
“If you lower that deadly candlestick,” he said, “I will be delighted to tell you.”
“I—oh.” Her mother would be mortified if she saw Maggie right now, brandishing what was probably a priceless piece of silver. “Sorry.” She set the candlestick on the floor, kept a good distance between them. He may have a charming smile, but he still had yet to explain why he happened to be breaking into Aunt Irene’s house. “Now, who are you?”
With an exaggerated bow, he answered her. “The one and only Spencer Knight.”
“You’re—Spencer?” Great. Aunt Irene would never allow her to play with a thief.
“You can’t be anyone else but Maggie, not with that hair.”
She just managed not to roll her eyes. “Why are you breaking into my aunt’s house?”
Spencer lifted his chin. “I was sneaking, not breaking in.”
“And the difference is?”
“Sneaking means the door is already unlocked. Since it was, I am therefore not breaking in.”
Maggie stared at him, shocked to find someone her age with the same adult vocabulary. Maybe Aunt Irene could look past the breaking—sneaking in, because she wanted to—
“Hello?” He waved his hand in front of her face, and she finally blinked. “You in there?”
“Yes.” She swatted his hand away. Instead of being annoyed, he grinned at her again. “I didn’t expect you to—” sound as much like an adult as she did. But she wasn’t about to actually say that. “Have a tan.”
“I surf.”
She raised both eyebrows. “You can surf in England?”
“There are loads of places. My dad and I spend at least a week every month in summer, hitting the best beaches.” He eyed her. “What do you do, hide indoors?”
“I read. My parents don’t approve of interaction with unruly children. Their words, not mine, so stop staring at me like I’m crazy.”
He blinked. “Sorry. I was trying to figure out what kind of parents wo
uldn’t let their own kid play with other kids.”
“Parents who don’t want to clean up a disgusting mess.”
Spencer smiled. “Their words?”
Maggie couldn’t help herself, his smile was contagious. “Yep.” She clapped her hand over her mouth. She never said words like that. Her mother would be horrified—
“You all right, Maggie?”
“I’d get grounded for saying that in front of my mother.”
“Right.” Spencer grabbed her hand and started pulling her across the foyer, headed for the front door. “Now I understand why Ms. Mulgrew had my mum send me over here.”
“Wait!” Maggie tried to tug out of his grip. “I have to leave a note, or call my aunt, tell her where—”
“She already knows where you’re going, Maggie Mulgrew.” Spencer glanced over his shoulder and wiggled his eyebrows. “With me.”
***
The day flew by.
Spencer took her around the village, telling her about some of the locals.
“Mr. Tucker,” he said, pointing to a bookshop with the charming name Only Old Books. “Don’t try to talk to him. He doesn’t like kids, or people in general, as far as I can tell.”
That only had Maggie more determined to break through Mr. Tucker’s shell.
“Spencer Knight.”
He stiffened at the voice, and looked nervous for the first time since she’d met him.
“Mrs. Phillips.” He turned, latched on to Maggie’s wrist. “This is—”
“Did you think I would ignore what you and your delinquent friends left in front of my shop?” She reached for Spencer; he let go of Maggie and danced backward. “I should report you, Spencer Knight!”
“I didn’t do it, Mrs. Phillips. I already told you, I was in Cornwall with my dad! You can ask him!”
“I will do that, young man.” She gave him a final glare before she marched down to the shop Maggie remembered from her first day here. Holmesania.
From what she had seen in the window, it was a disorganized mishmash of cheap, tacky souvenirs, all featuring Sherlock Holmes.
“Are you okay, Spencer?” He looked pale, and stared after Mrs. Phillips.
“Yeah.” He shook himself and gave her a weak smile. “She terrifies me.”