How to Stone a Crow (Witch Like a Boss Book 2) Read online

  Then it stopped.

  I staggered back, collapsing into a chair that cost more than my bi-annual grocery budget. Sweat popped out on my forehead and I wiped it away with my sleeve, using the rest of the fabric to dab at my tears. “Well, that was intense.”

  “True.” Jac twisted his lips and cupped his elbows. “There’s authentic and then there’s authentic. Whatever is doing this is just taking things a bit too far.”

  “If this is the feeling trapped in an old dentist office, it’s no wonder they used to call it the murder house.”

  “The whole thing is concerning,” Patrick said, winning himself the award for understatement of the year. “The readings on my machine don’t make any sense.”

  “And I couldn’t see a thing.”

  Wes and Jac exchanged a glance. “Why should you expect to see something.” Wes gave a little gasp and dropped his voice to a whisper. “Do you think it’s a ghost?”

  “Something like that.” I stood up and moved to Patrick’s side. “We might need to consult some other witches around Briarton to work out how to help you.”

  Wes swept an arm out. “The more the merrier.”

  “As long as any consultants comes as part of your fee,” Jac said, his brow knitting together. “We’re already suffering financially.”

  I remembered the post-dated cheque and bit down on a retort. If they couldn’t cover the expense, they weren’t the only ones about to suffer.

  “Do you think it’s connected?” I asked Patrick as we left the store, never so glad to get out of anywhere in my life.

  “To Pru?” He shook his head. “The change in Andrew’s behaviour is weird but otherwise he’s your bog-standard poltergeist. Whatever is in that store…” He shuddered.

  I hadn’t even reached the corner when Genevieve pulled up to the curb, opened her car door, and screamed at me to get in. Not wanting to be the sole recipient of her fun invitation, I gestured to Patrick, and we tumbled into the back seat, slamming the door after we’d pulled away from the curb.

  “What’s so urgent?” I asked when the supreme paused her car at the lights. “Is the house on fire?”

  “No such luck.” Genevieve flicked her hair out of her eyes, the strands dampened by the line of sweat on her forehead. “Violet’s gone missing.” She turned and stared me straight in the eye. “And I hope Paisley’s got a good alibi.”

  Chapter Seven

  As the car drew closer to our destination, the twist in my stomach drew tighter. I hadn’t been able to get much information out of Genevieve—just enough to fill me with anxiety.

  Kelburn Manor was set halfway up the eastern hillside of Briarton. Built by the richest man in Briarton, at the time and since, he had meant it as a family home for him and his new bride. Instead, as the rumours and legends would have it, she was found dead just days after construction finished. Scarlett O’Malley’s battered body had been laid to rest on what would have been their wedding day. Benedict Kelburn had lived alone and died alone, the grand mansion never turning into a home.

  Its old wooden face had been restored in the sixties, then again in the nineties, but still always seemed on the verge of tumbling down and becoming one with the earth again.

  Upstairs, the large dormer windows appeared like unblinking eyes as we turned into the long driveway. The entrance door was small by comparison—a puckered mouth set with prim disapproval.

  Genevieve parked so close to the house I thought she would bump into the porch. With a flail of her hand, she jumped out, ran to the door, then stopped.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked, more as a stalling measure than because I wanted to know. Being drenched in inexplicable sadness sounded more appealing than finding out what had caused my supreme to shake with distress.

  “You should go first.” Genevieve stepped back and gave a firm nod, agreeing with herself. “You’re the pair with investigative experience.”

  Sure. I was also a ‘fraidy cat. A sideways glance at Patrick told me he felt the same.

  A yelp from inside broke through my reluctance and I rushed through the front door, eyes narrowed against the horror that must surely await them.

  Instead, a young girl glanced up at me in surprise. In one hand was a squeezy toy—the source of the noise—and in the other was a teatowel. “Hello?”

  “I’m—”

  Before I could get a good start on the sentence, a man thundered past me and scooped the girl up from the floor. “I’m Gareth,” he briefly explained as his captive tried to struggle free. “The upstairs tenant.” He held out a hand for me to shake and the girl popped out of his arms, running to stand near the door.

  “Desdemona and this is Patrick. Where’s Violet’s husband?”

  “I just drove him over to his sister’s place. He’s out of his mind with worry.” Gareth walked to join the girl, who I guessed must be his daughter, and pulled her into a hug.

  “What happened to Violet?”

  Gareth put a hand to his head and stared at the floor, his eyes unfocused. “I don’t know. We heard the baby crying, just like usual.” He gave me an apologetic shrug. “She’s got a great pair of lungs on her. I have to sleep with earplugs to get a good night. Then…”

  “The cry changed,” Wendy filled in when her father failed to finish his sentence. “We came downstairs and Sara was on her own, really upset.”

  “Carson came back a minute later. He’d been at the shops getting some milk. We toured the house a few times, calling out, but… Nothing. Until the poltergeist turned up.”

  He gathered Wendy into his arms. “Stay back,” he warned me, his voice muffled where his mouth pressed against her shoulder. “It’s dangerous. That could be blood.”

  Until he gestured, I’d overlooked the graffiti on the walls. Six-foot-high letters spelled out the words, “Bad witch.”

  An image splashed into my mind—a room decorated by the Manson family after one of their deplorable killings. I turned away, sweat beading on my forehead as my stomach churned, making me regret my carb-heavy lunch.

  “It’s not blood,” the girl said with a full helping of eight-year-old scorn. “It’s raspberry sauce.”

  “And how do you know that?” Gareth stared at his daughter with a knotted brow.

  “Because I tasted it, that’s why. Look.” She ran a finger along the lettering, scooping at least a teaspoon’s worth into her mouth.

  “Wendy Doris Hardy, you spit that out right now. You don’t know where it’s been!”

  Wendy shrugged. “It’s been on the wall, Dad. And in that bottle.”

  I followed her pointing finger to a container discarded in the hall rubbish bin. A supermarket brand of raspberry sauce with twenty-five percent extra free, according to the label.

  An idea slunk into the back of my brain. “Are you sure this was the work of a poltergeist?” I whispered to Gareth. “Could somebody inside the house have done it?”

  “No, Desdemona.” His eyes sparked with anger. “Wendy didn’t write all over the walls and neither did I.”

  I’d been thinking more along the lines of the disappeared woman being responsible, but a quick scan told me that theory wouldn’t be any more welcome.

  “You’re the only two families here, then?” The house was so large, I imagined another four family groups could reside there without ever bumping into each other. “There’s no one staying with you?”

  “There’s obviously something staying with us.” Gareth swept his arm out. “And since the words appeared as I was standing here, watching the wall, it’s not a guest I want to retain.”

  I held my hands up, taking a step back as I examined the dripping handiwork. “Wait a minute, you left your daughter alone in the house while you drove Carson and Sara to safety?”

  Gareth’s expression turned from anger to downright fury. “No, I did not. Wendy’s meant to be with our neighbour.” He switched his glare to his daughter. “Not eating syrup off the walls. I suppose Mrs Prendergast still thin
ks you’re playing in her backyard.”

  Wendy pulled her mouth down at the corners. “I’m not responsible for what Mrs Prendergast thinks is happening.”

  Gareth gestured at the words again. “Can’t you do something about this rather than standing here, questioning us? Isn’t there a witchy potion to get rid of unwanted tenants?”

  Patrick took a photograph with the flash on, making us all jump. “Just want to record this before it changes too much,” he said, tipping a wink to Wendy. “And stop eating the evidence, okay?”

  “Okay.” Wendy suddenly turned shy, stepping into the shadows behind her father.

  “Is it safe to come inside?”

  I rolled my eyes at Patrick before I could stop myself, then hid a grin as Genevieve hustled through the entrance. “Oh, my.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “This doesn’t look good.”

  “Great words of encouragement from our leader.” Gareth shook his head. “I hope you keep your composure better when Carson is around.”

  “Has your machine picked up anything?” the supreme asked, ignoring him as she turned to Patrick.

  “I haven’t run it yet.” He stepped back, frowning as the words dribbled farther down the walls. “Do you think this means she’s an evil witch or an incompetent one?”

  “I think this means, we should stop witch-shaming of either kind until we can find Violet, alive and well, and ask her opinion. Hm?”

  “Actually,” a female voice called from the doorway. “You can all stop doing anything at all, right this minute.”

  “Evelyn.” Gareth took a step towards her before a spark of fire in her eyes melted his confidence. “Shouldn’t you be at home with Carson and Sara? They need you at a time like this.”

  “They need the police at a time like this and that’s exactly who I’ve called.” Evelyn’s nostrils flared and her cheekbones burned with colour. “I’m not having some slipshod coven investigation put my sister-in-law’s life in danger when we can have trained officers scouring the area for her.”

  “But…” Gareth’s mouth fell open as Evelyn turned the full force of her rage on him, the words falling out unused.

  “That’s a great idea.” Genevieve slapped the woman on her shoulder, then turned to me and Patrick. “And our investigators can help out at any time. Don’t hesitate to ask.”

  “Can they help rehouse me and my daughter?” Gareth asked. He waved a hand at the staircase, leading to his rooms. “Only I don’t feel safe staying here and we don’t have any family or friends in Briarton with spare rooms.”

  “Of course.” The supreme beamed and pushed me forward. “Desdemona has plenty of room for you in her house. Just grab whatever you want to bring, and we’ll take you there right now.”

  “We… What?”

  Before I could protest, Wendy beamed a smile at me and skipped upstairs.

  “It’s probably just as well,” Genevieve said, standing back and surveying the jammy graffiti with a sigh. “With Paisley as the prime suspect, you don’t want to become entangled in the investigation.”

  “Paisley?” I shook my head. “How could an upset cat engineer a whole person disappearing?”

  “Well, up until five minutes ago I’d say it’s your job to find out but now…” She patted my arm. “Just concentrate your energy on the other case. Who was it? Pru and Andrew?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “No buts, dear. Evelyn, it was good to see you again. Maybe one day, when this is all sorted out, you could try to attend a coven meeting. It’s been a while.”

  She swept out the door and had the engine turned over before I remembered the supreme had given us a ride. “Wait.”

  Patrick and I sprinted to catch her, with me managing to hook an arm through her open window before she got halfway down the drive. “Yes. What is it?”

  Now out of earshot of Violet’s sister-in-law, I leant my entire upper body into the car. “Are you serious? There’s two—maybe three—poltergeists at work in Briarton all of a sudden, but we’re not allowed to investigate?”

  “I didn’t say that. You can investigate Andrew all you like and if it turns out to be connected, which it almost assuredly will, then you can solve the mystery before Violet comes to any harm.”

  Genevieve looked over her shoulder as Gareth and Wendy exited the house, appearing as confused as I felt. “It’ll be especially easy since you have two eye-witnesses living with you—or as close to an eyewitness as this case will get. And you have the prime suspect kipping on your sofa. How much more do you need to get started with?”

  “But didn’t you just—”

  “Evelyn has every right to call the police. The fact there’s evidence of supernatural involvement doesn’t prevent a perfectly rational human explanation from being possible as well.” She tapped her fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. “I have every confidence in you.” She waved me back from the car.

  “You gave us a lift here.”

  “True but your new house guests will have a vehicle, so you don’t need me.” Genevieve twiddled her fingers and put her foot down.

  “We’re ready,” Wendy said, dragging a backpack along the ground behind her. “If you don’t have any plans for tea, can we get fish and chips?”

  “No, you can’t,” Gareth said with the air of a man who’d already lost. “They’re too unhealthy.”

  “Fish is great for you. My teacher said. Don’t you want me to get my full range of omega-3s?”

  Patrick raised an eyebrow at me and hid a chuckle. “If you can give us a lift to your temporary home, it’ll be my treat.”

  Chapter Eight

  We picked up Patrick’s car from its park on the main road a few hours later. The greasy residue of deep-fried chips still coated my fingers, no matter that I’d already given them a good wash. A spell to get them squeaky clean would be good but I kept in mind that I shouldn’t be wasting my magic on trivialities—especially when it seemed there was something very wrong in Briarton.

  My mind wandered over our brief stint at home. I’d pulled Paisley into a side room, determined to tell her the bad news about Violet before she heard it anywhere else, only to discover I was already too late.

  the black cat had explained with a plaintive mew.

  Annalisa had protested before I had the chance to ask.

  The thought might have been emphatic, but the panther stopped me from asking any further questions. Fair enough to have privacy during a normal day, but with suspicions abounding, it made my jaw ache.

  Still, concentrate on Pru and Andrew was what my supreme had told me, so concentrate I would.

  When we entered Pru’s house, I was surprised to see Jared was already there. “Helping to clear up,” he explained, holding a dustpan in one hand and a large shard of broken crockery in the other. “Tables don’t just right themselves.”

  “Thank you.” I gave him a shoulder bump. “I’d almost forgotten how thoughtful you can be when you’re not refusing to seek any help for your totally obvious problems.”

  “Nice compliment.” Jared grinned at me, his teeth poking way too far over his lipline. “Hard to see at first, sandwiched as it was between all those past grievances.”

  “You’re back?” Pru stood in the connecting door between the kitchen and dining room, pulling at the neck of her blouse. “What did you find out?”

  “Not a lot, so far,” I admitted. “Once we’ve helped you clear up in here, would you mind taking us through everything you know about Andrew’s case?”

  “There wasn’t a case.” Pru adjusted her horn rims and leant forward. “The police just did a cursory examination of the scene. I don’t know what more I can tell you.”

  Patrick stepped up with his expertise. “Before the police referred his death back to the coroner, they m
ust’ve ruled out alternative causes. Do you know if he had an autopsy?”

  “I guess so. I don’t really know.”

  “What about the scene of the accident? Did they tell you anything about the crash site?”

  Pru turned pale and clutched her hands together. “I can show you where it happened if that’s what you mean. There’s nothing there.”

  “Even if there had been, I wouldn’t expect it to last fifteen years.” Patrick gave her an encouraging smile. “What about the car? Did you send it to a wrecker’s yard?”

  “Oh, no. Apart from a dent in the front end, it was barely damaged. He…” She fiddled with her neckline again. “He went through the windscreen. No seatbelt.”

  I thought of the old car I’d had up in Auckland. It must have been over twenty years old, but it still beeped like a roadrunner if I didn’t have my seatbelt done up. “Did he often drive like that?”

  “No. I can’t imagine…” Pru put a hand to her forehead, taking a moment to gather herself. “It seemed strange at the time but then, everything felt strange back then. Andrew was always a stickler for rules and regulations. I mean, the proposal he’d been working on was about improving health and safety in the workplace.” She shook her head. “The police were adamant though. He wasn’t buckled up.”

  “Perhaps the belt was faulty.”

  I’d barely got the words out before Pru shook her head again. “That’s not it. You can see if you want.” She turned toward the back of the house.

  “Wait, a minute.” Patrick put his hand up. “You mean, the car is here?”

  Pru frowned. “Where else would it be. I couldn’t sell it to another person, not when it’s the last thing Andrew touched.”

  I was flabbergasted. “You drive around in it?”

  “Oh, I can’t drive.” Pru flapped her hand. “In Briarton, there’s not really a need, is there? I can walk pretty much everywhere.” She rubbed the side of her neck while her eyes stared at something I couldn’t see. “The car’s in the garage, exactly where it has been since the police returned it.”