Witch in the Dell--And 2 New Mini Mysteries Read online

  “I’ll make sure he knows. Thank you.”

  “We nip his life of crime in the bud, maybe he’ll turn out fine.”

  “I know he will. Thank you, again.”

  “You’re welcome. Do me a favor—come back in two weeks, and give me your honest opinion of the place.”

  “Deal.” They shook hands. “I look forward to it.”

  After waving, Maggie led Spencer out of the shop, breathing in the cool, fresh night air.

  “Sorry, Spence, but you stink.”

  “You’re telling me. I need to get out of these clothes, and probably burn them.” He smiled, keeping at least a foot between them as they headed up the street to his flat. “Nice job back there. I didn’t know you could lie like a pro.”

  “Years of practice with my parents. Especially about my time here.” She shrugged when he stared at her. “If they knew the truth, they’d never let me come back.”

  “I can’t even imagine. I mean, I lie; little things like I cleaned my room when I didn’t. But about a whole summer, for years?”

  “I’ve never been caught in a lie.” Yet. “They honestly don’t believe I can lie to them. I’m not the Maggie you know, not with them, Spence. She’s quiet, obedient, and spends most of her time with her nose in a book. Okay,” she said, when he started laughing. “You know that part of me.”

  “Just hold out until you graduate. Then you can be the real you all the time.”

  “At UCLA? I can be closer to the real me, but my parents have friends there. It will be a challenge.”

  “You’re still planning on coming here, when you’re finished with school?”

  “I’m saving money for it, Spence. Every dollar I can put aside.”

  “Good. I may be selfish, but I want you here all the time, Maggie.”

  “I want me here all the time. Whatever it takes, I’ll make it happen.”

  “I’d hug you right now, but,” he waved at himself, sending off another plume of patchouli. “I’m going to have nightmares about this. Patchouli nightmares.”

  She laughed, and took his hand, ignoring the cloud of scent.

  “You’ll get past it, I promise.”

  “Never.” He pressed one hand against his forehead. “I will be traumatized for the rest of my life.”

  “Drama queen.”

  He grinned at her. “Yank.”

  She grinned back, and walked with him, hand in hand.

  This was her real life, and she’d treasure every second, until the day she came back for good.

  ***

  Peter showed up, just before nine.

  Maggie waited for him outside the shop, waving when he ran toward her.

  “Let’s go over to The Tea Spot, and we can talk about how you’re going to work off your debt.”

  He hunched his shoulders. “Yeah.”

  “There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Peter. As long as you don’t steal again.”

  “Never,” he said, lifting his chin. “Never again.”

  “Sounds good. Tea and scones are on me.”

  They headed to the tea room just down from Aunt Irene’s shop, and settled in with a pot of Earl Grey and a plate of fruit scones.

  “Okay,” Maggie said, leaning back in her chair. “What are your skills?”

  “Skills?” Peter looked a little panicked.

  “What can you do?”

  “Oh.” He stared at the table, tearing apart a scone. “I can clean.”

  “What about talents?”

  He shrugged, and just when Maggie was about to give up and assign him some cleaning duties at the house, he dug into his jacket and set a small figurine on the table.

  Her breath caught when she took a closer look. It was exquisite, and incredibly detailed.

  “Is that a fairy?” she whispered.

  He nodded. “Mum always loved them. I wanted to leave this on her birthday, but it wouldn’t hold up, in the weather. I tried carving something like the statue, but I couldn’t get it right.”

  “You would have, with time.” She gestured to the fairy. “May I?”

  He nodded, and she picked up the figurine. A closer look revealed even more detail.

  “Peter—this is beautiful. Have you ever thought of selling these?”

  “Dad thinks they’re silly. Mum always liked them. I made them for her.”

  “They would sell, and easily. You’re talented, Peter.”

  He glanced at her, his cheeks pink. “You think so?”

  “I’ve spent years hunting for antiques, and yes, I think so. How many do you have, that you’d be willing to give to me?”

  “I don’t know. Twenty, maybe?”

  Maggie’s heart sped up. “Okay. I want you to give me ten, and I’ll sell them in my aunt’s shop. After her cut, we’ll split the rest, fifty-fifty.”

  “But—my dad will find out.”

  “Will it be so bad if he does? You’ll be bringing in money, Peter, with a talent that can take you beyond this village, if you want it to.”

  He blinked at her. “It might not be so bad, telling him that. But you should take all of it, so I can pay you back faster.”

  “It will only take a few sales for that to happen. I want you to be paid for your work, Peter.”

  “I—don’t know what to say.”

  “Say yes.” She wanted to show off his work, be the one who introduced his talent. Now she understood why Aunt Irene got so excited when she found a rare piece, or a treasure hidden under years of grime. “Just say yes.”

  “Okay. Yes,” he said, smiling.

  “It’s a deal.” She held out her hand.

  “A deal.” Peter shook her hand, then let go and started devouring the scone he had just been tearing apart.

  Maggie picked up her scone, taking a sip of her cooled tea. If the idea forming in her mind worked, Peter McCain’s life was about to change.

  ***

  It only took three days for the carved figurines to sell. Maggie started out by buying the fairy. It would have to stay here, but like everything else, it would be another reason to find her way back.

  Peter’s debt was paid after the first day.

  When Maggie found him at the end of the week, and handed over his cut of the sales, he stared at the pile of notes and coin.

  “How?”

  “They sold, Peter. All of them.”

  “They—you—all of them?”

  She smiled. “Yep. All of them. You’re a hit, Peter McCain.”

  He surprised Maggie by hugging her.

  “Wait until I show Dad. He won’t call it a foolish waste of time after this!”

  “No, he won’t. Congratulations, Peter.” She took his hand. “My aunt wanted me to tell you that she’ll be happy to sell any pieces you’re willing to give her.”

  “I can start working on more today.”

  She watched him sprint down the high street, thrilled that she could be part of a talented artist’s journey. Peter was no longer just a boy who could carve; he had stepped into the role of professional artist.

  “You’re going to be brilliant,” she whispered.

  “Who’s going to be brilliant?” Spencer appeared next to her. “Ah, young Peter, the artist. How did he take the news?”

  “That he sold out? He’s off to start carving more. Aunt Irene will be the only one in the village selling his work, until he’s older, and can start really planning his career.”

  “Then she will introduce him to the right people.”

  “Exactly.”

  “You did a good thing with him, Mags. Even if I still can’t get the stench of patchouli out of my nose.”

  “Sorry.” She smiled, taking his hand as they headed for her aunt’s shop. “I know it’s not the best smell in the world.”

  “My bedroom window has been open since that horrible night, and I can still smell the bloody armpit stench.”

  “We can ask my aunt if she has a secret for getting rid of smells.”

  “I�
�ll do anything. Well, almost anything.”

  Maggie laughed, and let him go to open the door of The Ash Leaf.

  “Good morning.” Aunt Irene stood behind the tall mahogany counter she used to ring up sales. “Did you find young Peter?”

  “Yeah.” Maggie headed to the counter, dragging Spencer with her. “He was so excited. It felt good.”

  “It’s a fine thing you’ve done for him, Maggie.” Aunt Irene reached over the counter and cradled Maggie’s cheek. “I am so proud of you.”

  Heat rushed to Maggie’s cheeks, but she smiled, not caring, not with them. “Thanks, Aunt Irene.”

  “Something came for you this morning.” Aunt Irene freed her, and pulled a letter out from under the counter. “It is from Tiffany & Co.”

  “The bracelet.”

  Maggie’s hands shook as she opened the letter. After having it appraised by a jeweler in London, she had put it away, in her aunt’s safe. The pretty blue stones had turned out to be rare diamonds, worth more than Aunt Irene’s Victorian.

  It would stay there, brought out only for special occasions. There was no way Maggie would be able to take it home, not without papers. Not that she would, since explaining how she paid for a bracelet like that would open a can of worms, and probably lead to her secret bank account.

  She finally managed to pull the single sheet of paper out, and unfolded it, reading out loud.

  “Dear Ms. Mulgrew, at this time we are unable to establish provenance for your bracelet, beyond acknowledging that it was indeed made by Tiffany & Co. All records from the period the bracelet would have been commissioned were lost in a fire, long before our current technology was available. This event does narrow down the possible time of creation, which would put the bracelet in the late Victorian period. We would be happy to recommend a researcher, if you would like to continue your search for the original owner.”

  “A fire?” Spencer sounded as disappointed as she felt. “I guess that’s it, then.”

  “Not quite,” Aunt Irene said. “We have a better idea of when it was made. We can keep looking, if you like, Maggie.”

  “No. Thank you for the offer, but I’ll just enjoy it.”

  “Wait.” Spencer clutched his chest. “A mystery, and Maggie Mulgrew isn’t going to pursue it?”

  “No, smarty, I’m not. And if you drape yourself over the counter like a fainting woman, I’ll never speak to you again.”

  “I wasn’t—” He cleared his throat and stepped away from the counter. “I’m going to go—do something.”

  “See you later?”

  “Always, Mags.” He bowed, with an elaborate flourish, his composure clearly back. “I am off, to rid my world of the unkillable patchouli.”

  He grinned at her before he swept out the door.

  Maggie laughed, shaking her head. “He’s the most dramatic person I know. It makes him kind of lovable.”

  “You are good for each other. I wish—” Aunt Irene cut herself off and turned away.

  “Aunt Irene?” Maggie moved around the counter, touching her aunt’s wrist. “What?”

  “I wish I could have you here with me, Maggie. Permanently.”

  “I want that, so much. But my parents—”

  “Would drag you back. My dear, sweet girl.” She framed Maggie’s face with her hands. “I never expected to love you as much as I do. To miss you as much as I do when you’re gone.”

  Tears stung Maggie’s eyes. “I love you, Aunt Irene.”

  Her aunt pulled her into a tight hug, kissing the top of her head. “Perhaps you can attend university over here.”

  Maggie sighed. “I already asked about that. Mother looked like she was going to have heart failure. She’s already mad that I refuse to apply to an Ivy League school. But as soon as I can, I’m coming back to stay.”

  “I look forward to that day.”

  “Me, too.” She tightened her hug, letting out a sigh. “Thank you for paying to have the bracelet researched. Looks like it was a dead end.”

  “We do know it is a Tiffany & Co. bracelet, dear. There is also the possibility of finding the original owner. I will talk to a couple of acquaintances, see what they can find out.”

  “I don’t want you spending more money.”

  “They owe me a favor, Maggie. Don’t worry about the money, not for this. The bracelet is important, and if the owner is still around, they might want to know what happened to it.”

  “I’d like to know, honestly.”

  “Then I will keep pursuing it, and update you if I learn anything.”

  “Okay.” After a final squeeze, Maggie let her aunt go and wiped her eyes. “Supper tonight?”

  “We can eat at the Bonnie Prince Charlie.” Aunt Irene winked at her. “I am in the mood to antagonize Walter.”

  Maggie burst out laughing, and gave her aunt another quick hug. “Deal.”

  She left the shop and headed down to the harbor, wanting to breathe in the cool, salt-laced air, watch the waves wash over the rock beach. It was a windy day, which kept away the tourists, so she had the boardwalk pretty much to herself.

  Sitting on a bench near the gazebo, she took a deep breath, and let the sound of the water soothe her. When the wind started playing havoc with her ponytail, she freed it, and smiled when her wild hair flew around her.

  “You look like a nymph.” Spencer appeared, his blonde hair blowing in his eyes.

  “I thought you were going to conquer the patchouli.”

  “My mum took that over. As we speak, my room is being properly fumigated.” He sighed, and sat next to her. “I stopped by the shop, and your aunt told me she saw you heading this way.”

  “I’m disappointed about the bracelet, and already dreading going home.”

  “You still have almost two months! You’re not leaving early, are you?” He looked more than a little panicked as he asked.

  “Never. I wish I could stay longer.” She leaned against his shoulder, his presence calming her as much as the constant sound of the waves. “We’re going to the pub tonight for supper, if you want to join us.”

  “Love to.” He rested his cheek on the top of her head, taking her hand. “What are you going to do about the bracelet?”

  “Aunt Irene said she’d contact some people who might be able to find more information. It’ll be staying here. After finding out how much it’s worth, I couldn’t bring it back even if I wanted to.”

  “So, you won’t be letting this mystery go.”

  She could hear the smile in his voice.

  “I might do a little research once I get home.”

  “Would that include lists?”

  She smacked his arm. “Stop dissing my lists. They keep me—”

  “Organized, blah, blah, blah. You’d be lost if you didn’t have a scrap of paper and a pen.”

  “Maybe. You’d feel the same if someone took away your surfboard.”

  “Don’t even joke about that, Mags.” He shuddered, and she laughed.

  “My lists are my surfboard. Get it now?”

  “I get it. That doesn’t mean I won’t keep teasing you about them.”

  “You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t.”

  Maggie tucked her free hand in the crook of his arm, and enjoyed just sitting with her best friend, watching the seagulls dive bomb the water, and fly over the castle on the cliff.

  She may go home at the end of every summer, but this place, and the people she loved fiercely, would always be here, waiting for her return.

  Until she could call this place home for good, that would be enough.

  ~ ~ * ~ ~

  Witch in the Dell

  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 inven
tion 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.

  “Margaret Elizabeth Mulgrew!”

  Maggie cringed as her Great Aunt Irene’s voice boomed across the yard.

  “Margaret?” Spencer Knight nudged her with his elbow. They had been best friends since her first visit to Holmestead, England, ten years ago. “What did you do wrong?”

  “I couldn’t have done anything yet—I just got here. Coming, Aunt Irene!” She knew better than to ignore what amounted to a command. Even as a college sophomore, she could still be intimidated by the tall, often intimidating Irene Mulgrew. She wiped off her dusty hands and walked out of the carriage house. “What did I do?”

  She earned one of Aunt Irene’s rare smiles. “Nothing, dear girl. I knew that you would appear quickly if I used your full name.”

  “That’s foul play.”

  Aunt Irene lifted her chin. “I consider it effective tactics.”

  Maggie burst out laughing, and hugged her aunt. It was one of the many things she loved about her time here; being able to touch, to hug, without the threat of a cold response. Or worse, no response. Her parents never could understand her need for physical affection. Didn’t they provide her a home, good food, and a top notch education?

  With a sigh, Maggie pushed them out of her mind. Any thoughts of them didn’t belong here. If they discovered that she had taken a week off school to spend Halloween with Aunt Irene and Spencer, she would never hear the end of it.

  No excuse, or argument that she had cleared it with all her professors, would make any difference. They would see it as shirking her duty—to them, to her education, to the life they already had planned for her—

  “—listening to me, Maggie?”

  “Sorry. I was woolgathering.”

  Aunt Irene tucked a strand of Maggie’s wild red hair behind her ear. “An activity I highly recommend, dear girl, when I am not speaking to you.”

  “Right.” She smiled. “What were you saying?”

  “I need some salable items for the consignment shop. Halloween is a busy time in Holmestead, and I would like some extra merchandise. If you and Spencer could take a look through the carriage house, and find about a dozen items for me, I will pay you both an hourly wage for your effort.”