Witch and Tell

Book 7: Witch Way Librarian Mysteries

by Angela M. Sanders

Genres: Mystery; Cozy Mystery; Female Sleuths

Synopsis

Small-town Wilfred, Oregon, is poised to step into the limelight, and the citizens behind the renovation of the old movie palace—into a brew pub—certainly want that to continue. Until librarian and apprentice witch Josie Way discovers a dead body . . .

Local librarian Josie Way’s life is in shambles. Her magical abilities are on the fritz, and her relationship with sexy sheriff Sam has cooled way off since she told him she’s a witch. On top of that, Josie senses a bad energy she can’t explain, which seems to be interrupting her connection with the spellbound library books, usually her sure-fire way to get to the bottom of any mystery.

When she wakes to a fierce pounding in the library’s atrium, she hurries there—only to find a corpse. But after she goes for the phone to call Sam, she returns to the atrium to find the body gone—and all the doors and window are still locked. And that’s just the beginning of a mystery that features Josie as the prime suspect, several shady characters, and possible long-lost relatives. It’s just like the beginning of an old movie, but Josie will need a lot more direction than her grandmother’s magic lessons will provide . . .

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 288

Sample

Lalena’s text was urgent: I need to see you. Can you meet me at my place?

I wasted no time setting aside The Body in the Library, the Agatha Christie mystery I was rereading, and locking my apartment in the old servant’s quarters in the Victorian mansion that served as Wilfred’s library.

My cat Rodney trotted ahead of me as I hurried down the hill on foot. It was a warm day, the kind of August afternoon in which Oregon excelled. The breeze through the woods smelled of pine needles, and the sky was rich blue and streaked with clouds, like the Florentine endpaper in leather-bound novels.

Rodney’s sleek black form darted through the tidy double row of trailers that made up the Magnolia Rolling Estates and passed under the rosebushes surrounding LALENA’S PALM READINGS HERE sign. I rapped on her screen door and opened it to find her at her kitchen table, her head flat on its linoleum surface, tarot cards splayed around her.

“Lalena? I got here as soon as I could.”

Rodney dashed through the door to greet Lalena’s terrier mutt, Sailor. He jumped to the couch and batted Sailor’s head before settling next to him.

“Josie.” Lalena raised her head. The colorful scarf she’d wound around her head and her vivid lipstick didn’t distract me from her unwashed hair and tired eyes. “Thank you for coming. Help yourself to iced tea.”

I poured each of us a glass from her refrigerator and joined her at the table. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s about Ian. I don’t know what to do.”

Ian Penclosa was Lalena’s boyfriend. They’d met less than a year ago when he moved to town to open a rare books stall in Patty’s This-N-That. They were an unusual couple—Lalena, bubbly and open; Ian, shy and intense—but it had been love at first sight. On walks through town, Lalena kept a hand on Ian’s shoulder while he maneuvered his wheelchair through the streets.

“What happened to him?” I asked.

“We haven’t talked for two days.”

I leaned back in relief. “That’s all? You had me worried.”

She raised her head and leveled a sour look at me. “Two days is an eternity. We’re soulmates, Josie.” She collapsed on the table again but held up a tarot card. “This morning I drew this. The Ten of Swords.”

I took the card from her fingers. It featured a man flat on his belly, stabbed through his back with an armload of swords. It was hard to put a positive spin on this one. “Maybe he’s getting acupuncture?”

“It means death. Termination. Something bad has happened.” She snatched the card from my fingers and threw it on the floor, where it skittled to a stop under the refrigerator.

I tried again. “It’s still a new relationship. Maybe he’s having a little freak-out. Maybe he just needs to back off for a while before moving forward.”

“That’s not it,” she said. “Just last week we were talking about what it would be like to grow old together.” Her gaze took a faraway look. “We were going to take a cruise on the Bosphorus. Ian had been studying the pagan religions of Turkey.”

This would be par for the course for Ian, as a dealer in books on parapsychology and the occult. For his birthday breakfast, Lalena had fried hash browns shaped like pentacles.

“Maybe all you need is a good talk. Clear the air,” I said.

“Look how well that worked for you.”

Ouch. Lalena was right, although she’d never know the details. Since I’d told Sam, Wilfred’s sheriff and my boyfriend, that I was a witch, our communication had collapsed. I was heartbroken.

She reached across the table and touched my hand. “I’m sorry. That was low. Have you heard from Sam lately? I know he’s been out of town.”

I looked at the tabletop and shook my head. Sam was in D.C. on an art theft case, but he had a phone and computer. Still no response to my texts and calls. “We’re not here to talk about me.”

She straightened and rubbed her throat as if a lump were forming there. “It’s worse than I’ve made out. Ian….”

I nodded. “Yes?”

“Ian won’t talk to me at all. I reach out, nothing.” Anguish crept into her voice. “I don’t know what’s wrong. I don’t know if it’s me, or if something’s happened to him.” She pulled her phone from the counter behind her and tapped its screen. “He left me this message the day before yesterday.”

Ian’s voice came from the tiny speaker. “Lalena . . . listen, I’ve got to go. I’ll be in touch. Take care.”

“That’s it.” She set the phone face down on the table. “I don’t know what to make of it. It’s not so much that he had to go somewhere, but that he wouldn’t tell me about it.”

How I felt her pain. “Let’s start at the beginning. When did he start to shut down? Or did it happen all at once?”

She drew a long breath. “Three days ago. I’ve thought about it over and over. We were at Darla’s Café, and he was in the middle of relating some old doctor’s theory of garden fairies when he went blank.” Lalena’s expression froze as she mimicked Ian’s face. “Mid-sentence. It was so weird, as if he’d seen a ghost.” She contemplated this a moment. “Bad comparison, since he’d be psyched to see a ghost. Anyway, you know what I mean. We finished dinner, but something had changed.”

“That doesn’t sound like him.”

“It gets worse,” she said. “We had a date the next day to hit up some estate sales for books. He never showed. Then I got this message.” She lifted her phone. “I had a client, so I couldn’t pick up. Raylene Burns, you know, from the feed store. She has a new beau and needed a psychic consultation.”

I nodded. Raylene’s romantic exploits were conversational fodder around town. Word was, she had her eye on the horse supplements salesman. “Was it something Ian was talking about? Or saw at the café?”

She lifted Sailor to her lap. “I don’t think so. There was nothing around us but diners. The regulars, plus a few construction workers from the renovation at the Empress.” Her shoulders fell. “Oh, Josie. I don’t know what to do. I’m worried. What if something happened to him?”

Our tumblers of iced tea had turned lukewarm, and condensation puddled on the tabletop. I turned the glass in my hand and nodded across the trailer park. “His van is still in his driveway, so he couldn’t have gone far. Maybe he took a cab to the airport for an emergency trip home. Lots of cab companies have vans that accommodate wheelchairs. Have you been in touch with his family?”

“I haven’t met them.”

“We could track them down. Where’s Ian from?”

She hesitated a moment before saying, “I don’t know. The East Coast somewhere.”

That much I’d gathered from his accent. Although my research skills were good, they weren’t good enough to query the entire eastern seaboard. Lalena’s mournful expression led me to add, “I wish there was something I could do for you.”

She pushed her tarot cards into a pile. “There is something you could do. You could look for him. Would you do that?” She bit her lip. “I’m . . . I’m embarrassed to ask myself, and I’m worried.”

And hurt. I got that. “Sure. I’ll ask if anyone’s seen him lately. I bet it’s all a simple misunderstanding.”

“I’d appreciate it so much. Thank you.” She gathered the tarot cards. “Mostly, I want to know he’s okay. But, if he is, could you find out why he’s been out of touch?”

This part I was less comfortable with. “What if it’s personal? It should be you who talks to him.”

The hurt in her eyes was palpable. “And say what?”

I understood. I relented. “All right. But I’m not digging too deeply. If he doesn’t want to talk, I’m not pushing it.”

“You’re a good friend, Josie.” She set Sailor on the floor and came to my side of the table. “Stand up. I want to give you a hug.”

Crushed in Lalena’s arms, I glanced at the couch, where Rodney stared with unblinking amber eyes, seem ing to say, Good luck with this one.

As I left Lalena’s, I decided that now was as good a time as any to buttonhole Ian. It was Sunday, my day off, and other than a trip to the P.O. Grocery to stock my refrigerator, the day was open.

I hadn’t said anything to Lalena, but I wondered how well she really knew Ian. He wouldn’t talk about his life before coming to Wilfred, and I wasn’t the only person who’d noticed his trick of changing the conversation when it ventured into his past.

I understood Lalena’s draw to him. When he smiled, his demeanor became almost childlike. His eyes warmed from onyx black to tiger’s-eye brown, and friendly lines appeared. His laughter was goofy, and he ordered glasses of milk at the tavern. Orson, the bartender, kept a gallon of two percent at the ready for him.

I hadn’t always felt that way about Ian. His usual expression was impassive, unreadable. My magic came from books—they talked to me—and although most of the books Ian sold sang Gregorian chants and lectured on divination, a few had hissed and crackled in a way that sent prickles down my arms.

That is, if the books spoke at all. Something had been interfering with my magic lately. Instead of the books’ clear voices, their messages often came through with static. Sometimes I couldn’t even make them out. It worried me.

One thing I could do now, though, was to help Lalena. Chances were good that if Ian was in town, he’d be at the This-N-That antiques mall. Most of the other dealers stocked their booths after hours, but Ian kept a corner of his area free for a small desk where he filled internet orders and chatted with customers.

The bell at the This-N-That’s door chimed as I opened it. The ceiling fan rippled my hair.

“Welcome, Josie,” Thor said from his seat on the counter. He threw back the edge of the cape he habitually wore, even to elementary school.

“Where’s your eyepatch?” I asked. Despite having two working eyes, Thor wore his eyepatch everywhere.

“Buffy broke the elastic, and Grandma won’t buy me a new one.”

Thor’s younger sister Buffy popped from the other side of the counter, holding a collapsible fan in one hand and rubber bands in the other. “I’m making him another one.” A calculating look crossed her face. “It’s a warm day. Perhaps you’d like me to follow you around the store and fan you?”

“For a modest fee, of course,” I said. These kids were constantly on the prowl for money.

“Naturally. You would want to pay a poor little girl for her work, wouldn’t you?” Buffy actually batted her eyes.

“No, thank you. I’m fine. Is Ian in?”

Realizing she couldn’t turn a buck with me, Buffy retreated behind the counter. Thor picked up his comic book. “Nope.”

Ian’s stall was directly to the left of the cashier’s counter. I was relieved to feel the books’ energy as they murmured hellos only I could hear. I brushed fingers over a row of leather-bound spines with gold embossed titles and felt a tingle of magic rush through my palms as the books gasped and sighed. A treatise on alchemy lectured with a German-inflected accent.

“Books,” I whispered, “where is Ian?”

Gone, disparû, verschwunden, vanished, the books replied.

The books’ message wasn’t reassuring, but it was so good to hear their voices. Besides the drop in my ability to siphon magical energy from books, other strange things had been happening. Candles snuffed out by themselves. Mirrors refused to return my reflection for the span of a few blinks. Flowers deadened in their vases overnight, and I periodically smelled wafts of sulfur. And the crows—rivers of crows. They crowded the branches of the oak outside my bedroom window and cawed, even at night when they should be roosting.

Something—or someone—was stealing my magic, and I was unsure how to prevent it.

Rodney twisted around my ankles and rose to stand on his back legs so I could scratch his chin. He was an honored citizen in Wilfred and let in just about everywhere except the café, which, because of county health regulations, banned animals. That didn’t stop him from sneaking in from time to time to cadge a forkful of salmon.

“Josie, I was hoping I’d run into you. I just got back from an estate sale and have a few things that might interest you.”

Babe Hamilton stood outside Ian’s stall, holding a box. Her stall was stocked with vintage textiles. I’d already bought enough linen napkins to host dinner parties for twelve. A stranger could see Babe’s style in her chic eyeglasses and simple but well-cut dresses on her comfortable frame. I knew her taste from the amazing fabrics and old French torchons she somehow harvested within a few hours’ drive of Wilfred.

“Let me take that box,” I said. Babe was hardly elderly—I pegged her as in her sixties, a bit older than my mother—but linens were heavy. Besides, I wanted to get first dibs on whatever the box held.

“Thank you.” Babe led the way to her lavender-scented shelves. “You can set it on the floor.”

I rested the box next to a table holding chenille bedspreads. “Have you seen Ian lately?”

She wrinkled her brow. “No, come to think of it. Not here or at home.” Babe lived in the mobile home behind Lalena’s at the Magnolia Rolling Estates. “Not for a few days.”

The This-N-That’s doorbell chimed again, and Buffy and Thor’s voices greeted the newcomer. “Hi, Wanda. Will you require our help?” Buffy asked. “We offer guided tours at a reasonable price.”

Where did Buffy get her patter? She sounded like a shopping network host, not a seven-year-old girl.

“No thanks, you little shysters. I can find my way around just fine.”

I didn’t know Wanda well, just that she was the new custodian at the retreat center and Duke’s sister. Duke, Wilfred’s jack-of-all-trades extraordinaire, was a town fixture, and all it had taken was his recommendation to secure his sister a job.

My upbeat mood faded when I saw Wanda’s face. She stepped back, as if startled. She smiled, but it was the kind of smile someone affects when the dentist asks if everything’s okay. She pointed at my feet. “I see you have a cat.”

“That’s Rodney,” I said. I looked down. Rodney had vanished. “At least, he was here a second ago.” Something in her tone of voice led me to add, “He’s friendly.”

Wanda’s smile labored on. “Is that so?”

“Have you by chance seen Ian Penclosa up by the retreat center?”

Wanda shook her head and ran a finger through scruffy, steel gray hair. “We have a short-term visitor, a young lady, who came a few days ago. That’s it. But about the cat. Does it run free?” Her voice was remarkably clear and loud. Had she not gone into janitorial work, she might have had a career on the stage.

“Yes,” I said. What was she getting at? Babe shrugged and ducked back into her stall. “But like I said, he’s perfectly friendly.”

She made a sound I couldn’t quite read and backed for the door. Then she was gone. Whatever she’d come to the This-N-That for apparently could wait.

Very strange. Maybe she was allergic. I retreated to Ian’s stall to let the books soothe me with their murmurs of runes, ancient texts, and crystal balls. Rodney reappeared and leapt to Ian’s corner desk. He purred as I stroked his back and ran a finger up his tail. “I think Wanda’s afraid of you, little guy.”

Rodney flicked his tail, knocking one of Ian’s business cards from its holder, a plastic skull, to the floor. I picked it up. Ian. Where could he be?

“Buffy, Thor,” I said.

“Yes?” Thor slipped down from the counter and trotted around the corner to Ian’s stall. He now wore Buffy’s homemade eyepatch, which featured a heavily lashed eyeball crayoned on it.

“Would you like to earn some money?”

Buffy joined her brother. “How much?”

“Five big ones. Each,” I said.

Thor nodded vigorously, but Buffy replied, “Ten.”

“Seven fifty.”

Thor and Buffy looked at each other. Buffy said, “Okay. What do we have to do?”

“Find Ian and let me know where he is. I’ll be at the café for dinner at six, ready for your report.” Neither of the kids budged. “What are you waiting for?” Their grandmother Patty ran the cash register. It wasn’t as if they were needed.

“Cash, please,” Buffy said.

I took a five-dollar bill and change from my purse. “Part now, the rest later.”

“Ten-four,” Thor said, and made for the door.

Summer nights in Wilfred were worth waiting for all year. The day’s heat settled into a soft warmth that encouraged thrown-open windows, and crickets chirped in the meadow. Sundays were especially nice. The aromas of roast beef and fresh pie drifted through screen doors, and kids played outside until porch lights switched on and mothers called them in.

Until lately, my Sunday evenings had been spent at Sam’s. I’d looked forward to them all week. Sam was a wonderful cook, and I was turning into a decent prep chef. We’d take our plates to the small porch off the kitchen and watch the lights in Wilfred, below the river, twinkle on as the sun set. A baby gate across the steps was enough to keep his toddler son Nicky playing at our feet but was no barrier to Rodney, who leapt over it and plopped nearby, flicking his tail.

That was then. Tonight I was at Darla’s Café, awaiting the fried chicken special. Alone. The patio was no substitute for Sam’s kitchen porch, and the neighbors surrounding me—friendly as they wer. . .