Hoodoo and Just Desserts (The Witch Sisters of Stillwater Cozy Series Book 1) Read online

  “The Sheriff will have my ass if I don’t have these thoroughly looked over by my shift in the morning,” she explained, rubbing her eyes as she yawned. I crossed my arms, looking over my usually well manicured sister. Her curls were tousled, as if someone had given her a five minute long noogie. Her lipstick had smeared, and she may have looked vaguely reminiscent of a clown if she didn’t look so dang sad. ...A sad clown, then.

  “Well, conking out on the couch isn’t going to get the work done. I hope you’re aware of that fact,” I muttered, reaching out to open the top file. She was lightning fast, slapping my hand away and gathering up the folders. She held them protectively to her chest, looking at me in a mix of delirium and distaste.

  “These are confidential, Mazie. You can’t just be flipping through them,” she admonished, rising to her feet and staggering towards the kitchen, which sometimes doubled as her office. I trailed behind her, casting a glance at Moody who still seemed entertained by the scenario.

  “If they’re so secretive, don’t you think it would have been wise to keep them at the station? I can’t believe the Sheriff gave you permission to bring them home,” I mused aloud, grabbing an apple off of the counter and biting into it. My chewing slowed as I realized just how guilty Fern looked, but she quickly looked away from me and back to the files. “You didn’t tell him, did you? Guess your teen rebellion streak survived the years after all,” I chuckled.

  “I’m not being rebellious. I’m being exhausted. They are two entirely different things. I’ll be sure to set my alarm super early, and I’ll have the files back at the station before the big dog even notices they’re missing,” she insisted, hesitating for a moment before waving a hand towards the coffee supplies on the counter. They floated for a moment before shooting off to prepare the perfectly brewed pot of coffee. I knew it had to be a serious situation for Fern to be using her magic, even at home. It was something she was loathe to do, even when it came to the occasional challenges I proposed—who could clean their half of the living room faster. It seemed juvenile, but it got things done, and was an entertaining way to do so. Just the same, I usually magicked the vacuum cleaner across the floor, while Fern insisted upon doing everything the old fashioned way.

  I grabbed the coffee pot as soon as it had brewed, pouring up a mug and adding the usual Irish cream and sugar that I knew Fern was a sucker for. She looked at me with a grateful expression, accepting the mug as I pressed it into her hand.

  “I shouldn’t be doing you any favors. Throwing me under the bus with Moody; you know how well... moody, she can be,” I chuckled, resting my hip against the kitchen table and idly watching as my sister sorted through the numerous files spread across the table. She didn’t seem to hear my complaint, though it was probably better that way. I wasn’t entirely sure she could handle any critique at the moment. From the shaking of her hands, it looked as if she were ready to fall apart. “You know, you’re not the only detective in the office. You should stop taking on so much extra work. You’re going to work yourself to death someday, then who will keep me entertained?” I pressed, giving her shoulder a gentle nudge. She finally looked up, smiling faintly.

  “God knows I live to cater to your whims, Mazie. I should just quit my job altogether, and... I don’t know, learn to juggle or something,” she chuckled, and although I was tempted to mention the clown similarities I had noticed before, I managed to refrain.

  “You’re not coordinated enough to juggle,” I said instead, striding to the refrigerator and grabbing a can of soda. Moody stared at me from the counter, and I breathed a sigh before rummaging for the food I know Fern had been sure to buy. Upon laying hands on the specialty brand cat food, I poured it up into Moody’s food bowl and leaped away as the cat barreled over. “You know, I think mouse traps would be cheaper than this fancy junk you ask us to buy,” I observed, putting the food up. Moody leered at me for less than half a second before burying her face back in her food bowl. “Do you want me to stay up and keep you company, sis? Looks like you’ve got a long night ahead of you,” I offered gently, noticing that she seemed to be drifting off every few minutes. Every time she got too deep in slumber, she seemed to catch herself, surging upright and frantically searching through her files.

  “No... no, it’s okay. I wouldn’t ask you to do that. Go on to bed, Mazie. I can wake you up before I take off back to the office,” she offered.

  “No thanks,” I said with a wan smile, leaning in to kiss the top of her head before trudging upstairs. I trusted that Moody would keep my sister company, at least. I was simply ready to turn in for the evening, finally getting out of those scratchy work clothes.

  Things were tough, but they always had a way of working out. I was confident of that much.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Drifting in a state of half-wakefulness, I was certain I could feel someone watching me. There was also an uncomfortable pressure on my chest, and I had to contain the desire to scream for Fern. Fern was likely at work. It was just me and Moody, and—oh. I blinked my eyes open, scowling a bit as I met the feline’s intense gaze.

  “Is there something I can help you with?” I asked sleepily, resisting the desire to toss her on the floor. Not a hard throw, mind you. Just a little nudge to get the overweight cat off of my chest. It was getting difficult to breathe. Moody seemed to care little about my own troubles, however, setting about grooming herself. I stared, the desire to throw her clear across the room growing with each passing second. When she sat awkwardly down and began to lick her hind end, I settled for pushing her off of me a bit unkindly. “Don’t you have mice to catch? Cat things to do? I don’t know,” I muttered, in a bad mood for having been woken from my slumber. Moody considered me with a sharp snort, hopping gracefully off the bed and slinking towards the door.

  “We’re going to be late for work,” the cat announced, lingering near the door with a smug expression. As smug as a cat could look, anyway. I glanced at the clock, narrowing my eyes upon seeing that it only read five AM.

  “First and foremost, we am most certainly not going to be late. Second of all, what is this we business?” I demanded, debating whether or not to duck my head under my pillow and try to catch at least another hour of sleep.

  “I always come to work with you,” Moody pointed out, sounding bored with the conversation already. I wasn’t faring much better.

  “You told me you were on vacation until further notice,” I retorted. Her very short tail flicked from side to side in obvious agitation, and she sighed as if she were dealing with the most inconvenient nuisance this side of Stillwater.

  “Consider this further notice. Now come on. I want to get there early and get a head start on any vermin that may have set up shop,” Moody said impatiently, darting out the door. I gazed after her, my head pounding painfully. It didn’t seem as if I would be going back to sleep any time soon—even if I was in any physical shape to drift back off, Moody could be persistent when she put her mind to it. Sighing, I threw the blankets off and shuffled over to the closet to grab my second, clean, work outfit. I would have to do laundry when I got home, but that was a problem for future Mazie. I also grabbed a fluffy towel and a wash cloth, stepping out of my room with a mighty yawn. Moody stood at the bathroom door, watching me expectantly.

  “You know I can’t shower with you watching,” I muttered, edging past the nosy feline into the bathroom. I turned the knobs to make the water as hot as I could stand, stripping out of my nightclothes and stepping into the shower once it seemed to have warmed up enough. A quick adjustment to the knobs—it was a bit too hot—and I swore I was in my own personal slice of heaven. In most cases, I would take a shower long enough to wash all my stress away, but I had an impatient housemate waiting outside the door for me. I could hear her darting back and forth through the hallway, her toenails clicking on the hardwood floor. I rolled my eyes, lathering up my hair and making quick work of washing myself off. I was grateful that Fern hadn’t used up all the hot water in
her morning shower; it was a rare occurrence, but it happened enough to make me concerned.

  “Hurry up,” Moody petulantly called out from beyond the bathroom door. I sighed, rinsing the soap off of myself before reluctantly cutting off the water. Stepping out of the shower onto the bath mat, I used my magic to slam the bathroom door shut before toweling myself off. “Very mature,” Moody called from the other side, though I couldn’t be bothered by what the cat thought of me at the very moment. I blow dried my hair, although I knew it would probably damage my already frizzy hair. I was in a rush, and I wasn’t about to leave the house with my thick hair absolutely soaked. Drying my hair took a bit longer than I would prefer, but soon enough, I had slipped on my uniform and stepped out of the bathroom.

  “You know, you should have to wear a uniform too,” I said blearily, still a bit tired from the wake-up call. Moody rolled her eyes, trotting happily down the hallway. I trailed behind her, knowing that it was what she expected. I didn’t really feel like putting up much of a fight that morning. Keeping her out of the bathroom had been victory enough for me.

  “When they make them in my size, be sure I’m the first to know,” the cat said, her voice laced with sarcasm. I sighed, glancing into the kitchen on my way through the house. Fern lay slumped over the table, snoring softly while the plethora of documents were scattered all around her. I smiled a bit at the sight, somewhat relieved that she was getting some sleep at least. The fact that she certainly should not have been there struck me belatedly, almost as I was stepping through the front door. I wheeled around quickly, slamming the front door shut with Moody stuck outside. “Hey! What the hell!?” The feline screeched, immediately clawing at the door. I ignored the obnoxious sound, carefully creeping into the kitchen where my poor, exhausted sister was sleeping. I hesitated for a long period, not quite sure what to do about the situation. Somehow, I was sure her boss would be no more angry if she caught a few more hours of sleep. She was already up the creek without a paddle.

  “Fern,” I whispered, reaching out to touch her shoulder. She mumbled in her sleep, shifting away from me and revealing a small puddle of drool on one of the confidential folders. I groaned, deciding that she at least deserved some kind of gentle wake-up call before she took off into a day full of scolding and punishment. “Fern,” I repeated, closer to her ear this time. A loud snore cut itself off as she seemed to finally hear me, blinking her eyes open and looking at me with a frown.

  “What on Earth are you doing up?” She mumbled, reaching up to rub the sleep from her eyes.

  “Do you know what time it is?” I countered, receiving a strange look for my efforts.

  “It is... oh my gosh! The Sheriff is gonna kill me,” she shrieked, leaping to her feet and struggling to gather all the folders once more. In a rare show of clumsiness, she dropped them all, papers scattering across the kitchen floor. She looked at me with desperation in her eyes, dropping into a crouch to try and retrieve everything. “Help,” she pleaded. I was tempted to remind her that it was supposedly classified information, but it obviously wasn’t the time to be snide.

  “Okay, sure. Are the papers labeled?” I asked as I moved to gather a pile of various police reports. Fern grunted, not seeming to have heard me. “Are the papers labeled, Fern!?” I repeated loudly, and she glanced up with an expression of fear.

  “Just... put them in a folder. Any folder. I’ll get them properly sorted out once I’m in my office,” she ordered a bit sharply, though I knew better than to hold it against her. I couldn’t blame her for panicking—in spite of the rebellious streak I always joked about, Fern almost never got into any kind of trouble—especially not at work. As we stuffed the last of the papers into random folders, I shoved them into her hands and smiled reassuringly.

  “No one is gonna notice. By the time anyone else looks at these, you’ll have them properly sorted! No problem!” I grinned, sounding much more confident than I actually felt. Fern wasn’t even attempting to put up a front, looking nothing short of miserable as she tucked the folders into her bag and slinked towards the door. She paused outside, staring at the door as if it had been turned upside down or something equally ridiculous.

  “Did you let Moody out?” She asked mildly, and I was immediately overcome with guilt. As Fern yanked the door open, Moody leaped into my waiting arms, hissing and spitting at a poodle that had wandered up to our doorstep.

  “You horrible, horrible owner! You know the Clark’s let their stupid dog run loose! It could have killed me,” Moody hissed, sinking her claws into my skin. I rolled my eyes, gently shooing the small dog. It gave a cute little yip before trotting away—not before raising its leg to mark the mailbox. Oh. So it was a boy dog. Mystery solved.

  “He seems nice,” I deflected, wishing Fern luck before carrying Moody over to my car. I sat her on the roof as I unlocked the door manually—Lordy, would I kill for one of those little remote... thingies; but my car was a clunker from the 80’s. As I pulled the door open, it gave a slight creak, startling Moody once more. I grabbed her unceremoniously, tossing her in the car.

  “Hey!” She yowled, glaring at me from the passenger seat. I smirked a little, slipping into the car and starting the ignition. My loud music from the night before blasted from the speakers, and both Moody and myself gave a little hiss. I reached out to turn it down, offering the feline an apologetic glance.

  “First you slam my beautiful tail in the door and leave me with this sad little nub. Then, you try to ruin my hearing. I’m on to you, Mazie,” she grumbled, and I could only laugh as I drove in the direction of the museum. I would be the first person in that day, which meant I could let Moody into the museum to take care of any pests long before we had visitors. Maybe I’d have a bit of a chat with Augustus, considering how surly he had seemed the last time I spoke to him. It was bad enough, in his opinion, that these tourists walked the battlefield in such unfit attire. However, he’d been especially more dour since finding out about the waterpark that was to be built on the back property. I was sure he didn’t quite grasp the idea of bathing suits, as much as I tried to explain. I knew he wouldn’t like what he saw, just the same.

  Pulling into my usual parking spot, I managed to find the right key on the first try for once. I opened the door and allowed Moody to leap out, walking alongside her to the front of the museum. I unlocked the door, pushing it open so the cat could run inside. She wasn’t an apex predator by any means, that much was clear from the way her stomach very nearly touched the ground. Just the same, she was pretty good at taking care of pests, and it kept me from having to deal with the aftermath of a mousetrap. The interior of the museum was chilly, but it was just nearing six am, so I didn’t expect much else. After all, we couldn’t afford to keep the heat running all night—save the temperature controlled chambers where the artifacts were kept. I hummed to myself as I strode through the museum, pausing just before stepping out of the back exit to adjust the thermostat. Once the heat kicked on, I heard a muffled “Thank God” from Moody, smiling to myself as I pushed out of the back door of the museum. The battlefield was remarkably still, and for reasons I was unsure of, the ghosts were nowhere to be seen. It was a bit odd, considering that Little Timmy usually made a habit of greeting me every morning. Maybe the Colonel’s sullen mood had rubbed off on the others, but somehow I doubted that. Mary Jane and LT didn’t have what it took to give me the cold shoulder.

  Shaking my head, I busied myself with picking up a bit of trash that was laying near the door. Teenagers liked to sneak into the battlefield at night and have weird little parties. I didn’t get the appeal, and my boss had tried to put a stop to it, but... teenagers, you know? I was startled as I looked towards the Colonel’s statue for the first time and saw someone who appeared to be standing in front of it, observing it very closely.

  “Hey!” I called out, hesitating only a moment before beginning to cross the field. The man, or what looked like a man, didn’t budge, so I tried to sound a bit more stern. “We�
�re closed right now. You’ll need to come back later for the tour, alright?” I called out as harshly as I could manage. Still, nothing. Either this guy had nerves of steel or something... something was very wrong. The puddle of red at his feet wasn’t as obvious until I was nearly upon him, then again, neither was the piece of bronze poking out from between his shoulder blades. I stood there in a state of confusion for a moment because... what? Was this some kind of prank? I steeled myself, circling around the statue to view the man from the other side. His expression was frozen in fear, and his skin was already beginning to turn faintly grey. Just the same, I would recognize that face anywhere. It was Dickney. Charles Dickney.

  “Oh my God,” I shrieked, stumbling away from the statue as if he would push himself off of the sword impaling him and attack me. That wouldn’t happen though. Of that much, I was positive. “Oh my God,” I repeated, fumbling in my pocket for my cell phone.

  “Wow. I like the new decor. Really adds a touch of class to the place,” Moody piped up, suddenly at my side.

  “Shut up,” I hissed, waiting for the police operator to answer the phone. Before she could even blurt out the whole ‘911, What’s your emergency?’ spiel, I was already screaming into the phone. “Charles Dickney.... I found him impaled on a statue at the civil war museum! He’s... he’s...

  Dead.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  To say I was relieved to see Fern in one piece would have been the understatement of the century. Granted, I realized it was a bit melodramatic to think the Sheriff would have actually hurt her, but when you’re running on fumes and find a dead body, things have a way of seeming very dark. I rushed towards her and embraced her, burying my face in her fiery curls. She hummed comfortingly, giving me a quick squeeze before pushing me back just slightly.