The Witch is in the Details

  The Witch is in the Details

  by

  Constance Barker

  Book 2 in the Calamity Corners Witch Cozy Mystery Series

  Copyright 2019 Constance Barker

  All rights reserved.

  Similarities to real people, places or events are purely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Thanks for Reading

  Catalog of Books

  Chapter 1

  Greenpoint Books, relocated to Amity Corners, NY, reopened a month before. Nancy Ann Szymanski moved the joint from Brooklyn to Upstate as the area was near a big-ass house she’d inherited from her aunt, also Nancy. She’d finally figured out what to do with the eight computers and modular desks she’d been forced to take from a nearby private learning center. All she wanted was the bookshelves. They said all or nothing. So now Nann looked over the four facing desks, computers booted, monitors bright. “It looks more like a library than a bookstore now.”

  Zinnia, who owned the gallery on the opposite side of Amity Center (and lived in the apartment upstairs from it), cocked her head, examining. “Nah. You don’t find racks of hoodoo supplies in a library. This place has character. So you’re renting the computers?”

  “Five bucks an hour,” Nann nodded.

  “Kinda steep.” Zinnia thought it over. “What’s to keep people from ordering books on Amazon or Barnes & Noble?”

  “Nothing. But if you want to pay for shipping and all that instead of ordering a book from me, I still get five bucks.”

  “Mmm.” Zinnia tried to cover a doubtful look. “Any customers?”

  “Yeah, I had a guy this morning who wanted a loaf of bread and asked if we had milk in the cooler. Did this used to be a grocery store?”

  Zinnia shook her head. “Furniture store. That was twenty years ago.”

  Amity Center sat on the main drag of Amity Corners, housing Nann’s shop, Zinnia’s gallery and a tattoo shop in between. Locals called the three-story structure Cemetery Center; the town, Calamity Corners. Other than a few convenience stores, a liquor store, a couple nail salons, there were not many businesses open on Cemetery Street. Up the hill and to the left was the truck entrance to the decrepit paper mill. At the end of the street was the cemetery. The paper mill being decrepit, and also the only major employer in town, went hand in hand with the lack of businesses. Calamity Corners was a little on the depressed side.

  Both turned at an unfamiliar sound—the bell on the front door. Nann was surprised to see a dapper older man, three-piece suit, full head of hair walk in, a young woman in a navy power suit in his wake. Both carried briefcases. Zinnia’s eyes bugged. Nann hadn’t seen an expression like that on her face since the last full moon. Zinnia turned into an alligator (or maybe a crocodile, no one really knew) on the full moon. But the lunar phase was waning crescent, a couple weeks before full.

  “That’s Roger Paine, CEO of the mill,” Zinnia whispered.

  Zinnia was on the employee committee that was attempting to buy the papermill from Nationwide Paper. Even though she was not an employee, she’d inherited company stock from her father. Over the past couple months, the committee had put together a business plan and locked in financial backing. All that work was for nada if the company decided not to sell.

  “Hi!” Nann held out her hand. “I’m Nann. With two n’s at the end. What can I do for you?”

  Wrinkles bunched around the man’s eyes as he smiled and shook. “It’s kind of embarrassing, actually, but I dropped my cell phone in the toilet this morning. The B&B I’m staying at said you’re the only internet café around. I need to send some e-mails.”

  The young woman with him rolled her eyes, but gave the man a hug. “Happens every time we travel.”

  “We charge five dollars per hour for internet access,” Nann said. She saw Zinnia’s wince from the corner of her eye.

  Paine didn’t hesitate, pulling a ten out of his wallet. “I don’t think it’ll take more than an hour, but keep the change, just in case.”

  Nann printed a receipt with a temporary password. “Let me know if you have any trouble. I’ll have to call someone if you do. I know nothing about computers.”

  The man laughed and walked back to the rank of computers. His companion lingered, gazing around. “This is Greenpoint Books? I’ve ordered from you before. I thought you were in Brooklyn.”

  “Freshly arrived,” Nann said. “I’m shocked to see a repeat customer.”

  The woman smiled. She shared some of the man’s features, the dark hair, the amber eyes. “I’m Cindy Paine. We’re here for a demonstration. Employees of our mill are looking to buy it from us. Oh, I know you.”

  Zinnia turned multiple shades of red. “Hi.”

  “Zinnia, right? You’re the one leading the charge.”

  At that moment, Zinnia’s phone made a noise. “Customer. I have to go.”

  She ran out of the store faster than her short legs might reveal. “Zinnia may be short, but she makes up for it in shyness.”

  Cindy gave her a wry look. “Maybe so, but she’s put together an intriguing plan. If it’s alright with you, I’m going to browse. I love bookstores. Oh, the color scheme. I don’t even need to ask where anything is.”

  Nann was a little surprised when Cindy walked straight back to the purple walls and black fixtures of the occult section. Only a little, because Greenpoint Books was world-famous for its spooky collection. She tried to recall any mail orders for Cindy Paine, but couldn’t come up with anything. These days, of course, most of her e-mails were angry complaints that the 1313 Cemetery Street address could be found nowhere in the Five Burroughs.

  “Oh, I love occult and paranormal books—aren’t they just fascinating?”

  Nann walked over to Cindy. The woman examined the sachet powders, spell kits and mojo bags with a smile, slowly turning the squeaky rack. “If only these really worked. Do you believe in magic, Nann?”

  “Well, if magic is making yourself, your family and your community a better place, then yes I do.” As a practicing Druid, it was kind of her motto.

  “Wow, I love that attitude. Do you have a copy of Mystic Self-Defense?”

  “I couldn’t be an occult book specialist without one. Did you want a first edition, or a later paperback reprint?”

  “Oh, I have a first edition in my collection. I just think I need to re-educate myself.”

  Nann pulled it off the shelf. “Really?”

  Cindy looked away. “Well, I’ve always heard that this part of the country was filled with witches and magic and pagan ceremonies. And I’m from the voodoo capital of the world. Never hurts to be prepared.”

  Nann was well aware of pagan ceremonies. There was a sacred circle for a wicker man in her backyard. That, and barbeque. “You need candles or anything? I dress them myself.”

  “Just the book for now. I’m sure I’ll be back if I’m in town long enough. The mill employees are giving a demonstration of their
new business plan tomorrow. You should come.”

  Nann walked her to the check-out counter. “Oh, I don’t know.” The mill was creepy as, well you know, as well as being near the lair of an extradimensional monster she’d had to banish.

  Roger got up from his computer as Nann bagged the book. “More occult nonsense?”

  “Oh, come on, Dad.”

  “I do agree that you should come to the demonstration. It might mean a lot for this town, a lot for your business.”

  “It’s a really green plan. I’m guessing you’re into saving the environment,” Cindy said. “Say you’ll come.”

  Nann sighed. “Will there be snacks and coffee?”

  AFTER RETURNING HOME and feeding Pokey, her familiar potbellied pig, Nann sat in the Lady Lair, her Aunt Nancy’s secret underground room for practicing magic. And watching TV—there was an enormous flat-screen down there, recliners, a mini-fridge for snacks and Cokes. Her mind was on the Piper, a child-stealing creature summoned to Calamity Corners. She still didn’t know who in the area had the magical skill to call a Piper.

  Not long after Nann arrived, the Lady Lair had been broken into. All of Aunt Nancy’s important papers were taken. Back then, she thought the theft was about scamming Nann out of her inheritance. Now, Nann realized that Aunt Nancy’s correspondence with other Druids was taken as well. What could it mean?

  “There’s still the Rolodex.” Pokey could communicate with her, via an empty channel on the radio. His voice drifted down from the dining room where the radio sat on a banquet.

  Nann side-eyed the cylinder of cards stuffed with additional scraps of paper. Post-it notes fell from it like snow as she dragged it across the altar. “Why couldn’t she keep her numbers on a cell phone like everyone else?”

  “Cell phones get dropped in the toilet,” Pokey said. “Not too many people take a Rolodex to the bathroom.”

  “Good point.” She eyed the pig, who sat on one of the recliners, hooves hanging over the armrest. “Do you know anyone around here who could summon extradimensional creatures?”

  Pokey had been Aunt Nancy’s familiar as well. The two were separated when Nancy was diagnosed with dementia and came to live with Nann and her mother in Brooklyn. A year after Aunt Nancy’s death, the pig returned to Founder’s House, the big place on the bluffs above Lake Ontario Nann now called home. “Nancy knew a lot of weirdos. There used to be a witch in the swamp, but she passed away a long time ago. She was more of the love potion type, not the demon-summoning type.”

  “How about her Druid friends?”

  Pokey angled his head back and forth. “I dunno, Nancy was kinda the Arch Druid. Not officially or anything, but we always had the Samhain party here. Burned a few wicker men in the spring.”

  “Who’s the Arch Druid now?”

  The pig thought it over. “Not sure. Either Willamina Root over in Syracuse, we did Beltane there a few times, or Bessie Niedermeier in Utica. Like I said, it’s not an official thing. You don’t get a special hat or anything for being Arch Druid. They’re just the go-to Druids if you have problems.”

  Nann went through the Rolodex and found both. A pattern emerged. Both cards were written with green ink and what was probably a quill. She found a few more in the stuffed card holder. But, like the former witch in the swamp, Druids were not big on summoning stuff. They had the power and the means. A glance at the rack of grimoires behind her evidenced that. They just didn’t do it.

  Druids, rather, tuned into nature, tried to uplift themselves and their communities, recycled, gardened, and danced naked during the four yearly holidays: Samhain, which was coming up, Imbolc around February first, Beltane, on Mayday, and Lughnasadh, which she’d missed because she was too busy putting the bookstore in order. There were smaller celebrations on the equinoxes and solstices. Most Druids really did up Yule, for instance, but Ostara and Easter were always a couple weeks apart.

  After a few hours, she came to realize that even if she found some super-powerful extra-dimensional-creature-summoner, she probably wouldn’t recognize it from their name and address. She would have to look elsewhere. “They have all the Star Trek movies on Netflix this month. You wanna watch?”

  Pokey turned around in his recliner to face the TV. “Not ‘Wrath of Khan,’ though. It always makes me cry.”

  Nann curtsied, giving the altar a whispered blessing, and crossed to the seating area. As she picked up the remote, the house reverberated with the sound of a gong.

  “What was that? I nearly pooped on the chair!”

  “Oh. My. Gawdess. That’s the burglar alarm for the store.”

  CRICKET, HER TINY SUZUKI Jimny, knew the Bluff Road better than Nancy. As a new driver, she thought it was best to give the car the wheel. Cricket beeped her horn twice and tore through the tight curves. Nann did her best to hang on. A few minutes’ drive brought them to the straight roads of Port Argent, the town already asleep. She sped on for Calamity Corners. Well, sped might be pushing it. The little car with the big tires could go anywhere. She just couldn’t go very fast.

  Nann stared at the lock to her store. Parts of it lay on the sidewalk. The old wooden frame was cracked apart. She cupped her hands around her eyes and pressed them to the glass. No one inside. The spell continued to secure the place. Because she watched a lot of mystery shows, Nann didn’t touch anything. She dialed 911.

  It didn’t take long for a county sheriff’s car to park behind cricket. Nann recognized the deputy who emerged: Keith Schwenk.

  “Nann, right?”

  He remembered her, which gave her a little shiver. The deputy was an average-looking guy, except for his eyes. They were the darkest green she’d ever seen. “Deputy Schwenk. Hi. I got a—” she waved at the broken lock. “Crime thing.”

  Keith adjusted his ball cap and examined the lock. “Someone really did a number on this. Anything missing?”

  “I haven’t gone inside. I don’t think they got in.”

  His brow creased, looking at the lock. You could see through the gap. Nothing remained to hold the door closed.

  “Are you going to dust it for prints?” She looked closer. “Is that blood? We could get DNA.”

  “The detail work on the knob won’t allow for a good latent. The county budget wouldn’t pay for a DNA test on an attempted break-in. And, I hate to tell you this, but Amity Center is considered a historic building. Locks like this go for around four hundred bucks. They won’t let you put any old handle on it.” His look turned quizzical. “Don’t you think we should make sure nothing was taken?”

  Nann knew very well that no one but her could enter with the security spell in place. She didn’t want to seem overly weird. “You’re right. Let’s take a look.”

  Keith pulled a flashlight from his utility belt and pulled the handle. The door didn’t budge, of course. He turned the knob, jiggled it, pulled. Planting his feet, he braced himself for a hard tug. The door didn’t even give a rattle.

  “Here, let me try. This door can be tricky.” Nann opened the door with no problem.

  The quizzical look deepened toward suspicious.

  “You must’ve loosened it.”

  “Uh-huh.” He led the way in, shining the light around. Nann moved to the light switches behind the check-out desk. The bookstore looked like it had when she left. Keith nodded to her. “Cash drawer?”

  “Locked.” Nann fished the keys from her conjure bag. For show, she unlocked the register drawer. Hundred fifty bucks for making change. “All here.”

  The deputy checked both bathrooms and her office. “You’re right. Nobody here. I’ll write this up as a vandalism report. Maybe your insurance will pay to replace the lock.”

  He scratched for a few moments with a pencil and handed her a ticket. “Here’s the incident number. I’ll have the report ready by morning.”

  “Thanks, Deputy.”

  “Call me Keith.” He glanced around the store. “I’ve been meaning to drop by here. Sorry it had to be like this. I’ve b
een on the night shift.”

  “Anytime.”

  “And by the way, you might want to get a real burglar alarm.”

  Nann blinked. “Sorry?”

  “I don’t know if you have one of those phone app things or what, but you don’t want to run over here if there’s a break-in. What if someone had been here? You could get hurt.”

  On the one hand, her security spell worked better than any burglar alarm, and on the other, she was on a budget so tight it could crush rock. “I’ll think about it.”

  Chapter 2

  Vadoma Tinker ran Tinker’s Auto down the street. She went by Tink. Tink was Fae, calling herself a shop goblin. She was like the elves from the old cobbler fairy tale, but with Chevys instead of shoes. She bobbled a few pieces of the lock in her hand, thinking.

  “Keith said I need to replace it with a vintage lock.” Nann shifted her weight between feet. “It’s a historic building.”

  “Keith?” Tink gave her the eye. “Keith who? Keith the cop? It’s Keith now?”

  Nann shrugged. “Can you fix it?”

  “The frame’s no problem, but this mechanism? It’s pretty corroded. I might need some parts. I don’t do a lot of work with bronze.”

  “Is that blood?” Nann pointed to a smear on the frame.

  Tink made a deep frown. “Could be. Or rust. Or dirt. Or bird poop.”

  “Hey, guys, ready for the demonstration?” Zinnia walked out the central door, the one that led to the apartments upstairs. “Holy schmoly, what happened?”

  “Someone took a crowbar to Nann’s door.” Tink looked over her shoulder. “Demonstration? What are we protesting?”

  “Not protesting...a demonstration of the mill’s new business plan,” Zinnia said. “The board is here.”

  Tink nodded and stood up. “I thought I smelled money.”

  “Do you want to go, Tink? It’s really green now. You like that. They reconfigured and reused a lot of really old machines.”

  “I hate that stinky, polluting pile of brick.” Tink stood about six feet tall. She looked down on Zinnia, who stood about five feet tall. “You know I can’t stand that papermill.”