Murder So Magical: Witches of Keyhole Lake Mysteries Read online

  © 2017 Tegan Maher

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, in any form, by any means electronic or mechanical, including but not limited to photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system currently in use or yet to be devised.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or institutions is entirely coincidental.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal use and may not be re-sold or given away to others. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase a copy for that person. If you did not purchase this book, or it was not purchased for your use, then you have an unauthorized copy. Please go to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting my hard work and copyright.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Other Books in the Witches of Keyhole Lake Series

  Thank You!

  Connect with Me!

  CHAPTER ONE

  Shelby, Emma, and I meandered through the second story of a large, turn-of-the-century Victorian house looking for pieces of furniture or decor that would work for an upcycle project I had in mind. At that point, something that would work for any project at all would have been great.

  We'd been to three sales that day and four the day before, and let me tell you, I was learning fast that the phrase "estate sale" was more often than not just a fancy way of saying, "Great-Aunt Minnie kicked the bucket and we're unloading her stuff for whatever we can get for it."

  That morning, we'd gotten up early and driven an hour to Eagle Gap. The first sale of the day had looked promising, at least in print. There'd been a picture of an RV in a wooded setting and a list of several items that sounded like they had potential. Silly me; I thought the RV was actually, you know, a recreational vehicle for sale in addition to items from the actual home. In reality, the sale was for the RV and its contents, because the chain-smoking little old lady who had lived in the RV for fifteen years—along with her ten cats—had died and her kids didn't want to go anywhere near it.

  I didn't blame them; the camper smelled like a combination ashtray/litter box and the stench of that mixed with BO hovered like a cloud around the entire thing. I hadn't gone inside even though the auctioneer did everything but drag me in, promising that I could get it for a song. Yeah, I had no doubt that was the truth.

  Thankfully, they had the contents sitting outside. There was a super nice dresser—the only thing in the sale worth a plugged nickel—but the smell had permeated the deepest layers of the wood. I'd opened one of the drawers and the overwhelming stench that wafted out had nearly knocked me over. Next!

  The second sale had been okay, at least compared to the first. It had been in an actual house, and the little old couple who'd lived there had kept their property in plastic-on-the-couch condition. It was great for their adult kids because they made a small fortune, but not so great for me, since I was looking for beat-up pieces that I could breathe some love and life back into and transform into something entirely different.

  That brought us to the graceful old house we were currently exploring. It was an open-house sale that we'd happened upon as we were driving. Nobody was pushing us to buy anything; we were free to roam at will, and each item had a price tag so you didn't have to ask. There was a woman about my age sitting at a desk by the front door, cashing people out and answering the occasional question.

  I'd made my way through the downstairs and most of the second floor when my kid sister, Shelby, sidled up to me. "C'mon, Noelle," she said with that perfect blend of teenage whining and exasperation. "There's nothing here either. It's all either too expensive or made of pressed board. And it's hot in here."

  I heaved a sigh; as bad as I hated to admit it, she was right. I turned back toward the stairway but before I'd made it two steps, Emma, Shelby's best friend, called to us from a room across the hall. "Hey y'all—I think I found somethin'. Come over here!"

  Emma was standing in the middle of a near-empty room; the only items in it were an old, solid-wood door propped up against the wall by a little end table with an inch of dust on it. The door was weather-beaten, but obviously hand-carved and had two vertical, diamond-shaped windows, each about half the width of the door. Both were broken, but I instantly pictured mirrors in them rather than glass.

  The end table wasn't anything spectacular but it had nice lines. The flat, scratched top had scrolled edges, and it had a single drawer, and long, curved legs. Both pieces looked like they were made from the same wood.

  I crossed one arm, then rested my other elbow on it, chin in hand as I looked the two.

  "Wow," Shelby said.

  "I know, right?" Emma's eyes were glittering with the thrill of a successful hunt, and I nodded, catching her enthusiasm.

  "I'm seeing a vanity, with mirrors instead of glass. Lose the back legs of the end table and attach it to the door. Maybe add some lighting," I said, my imagination running wild.

  "Or an entry piece," Emma and Shelby said together.

  I narrowed my eyes at them. "Did you do that on purpose?" They'd fallen into the irksome habit of communicating telepathically since Shelby had gotten full use of her powers a few months before.

  Shelby held up her right hand. "No, I swear it was just a jinx. No hocus-pocus involved except for the magic of friendship." She smiled and batted her eyes at me, then elbowed Emma. "You owe me a Coke."

  "Cut me a break," I said. "Ferreal though, they're good finds. How much are they?"

  Unlike everything else in the house, they were dusty and dirty and didn't have price tags.

  "I don't think they're actually for sale," Emma said, "But it seems like they're getting rid of everything. There's not much left so I'm sure if we ask, they'll sell it."

  "And from the looks of them, you'll probably get 'em dirt cheap, too." Shelby knocked on top of the end table, then, after making sure nobody was watching from the hall, snapped her fingers over the top to reveal the wood beneath the dust. "It's solid wood, but it's scratched to pieces. You're gonna have to sand the crap out of it to get some of those scars out."

  "That doesn't bother me," I shrugged as I spotted the woman from downstairs strolling down the hallway. "Excuse me?" I called, stepping toward the door.

  She returned and took a couple steps into the room, her face open and friendly and her brow raised in question. "Yes?"

  I motioned toward the
door and table. "How much are you asking for those?"

  She furrowed her brow. "They weren't actually for sale. We pulled them from the attic with a bunch of other junk and must have missed them when we made the run to the dump earlier."

  The idea of more items like those landing in the dump made my heart clench a little, but at least these two pieces were salvageable. Still, I didn't want to pay a fortune for them, so I said, "They're not bad. They need a ton of work, but I think I can make something out of them."

  She laughed. "You don't have to work that hard for a good price. Like I said, we were gonna toss 'em on the junk heap anyway. They're all yours."

  I grinned and held out my hand. "Thanks, I'm going to make something great with them!"

  The light in the room shifted and turned the crystal doorknob into a prism that reflected light down onto the table, and that should have been my sign. As my Aunt Addy always says, ain't no such thing as free.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Both pieces were heavier than I expected, but that was good; sturdy furniture was rare these days. Shelby and I carried the door down and slid it into the back of the truck, then she and Emma went back for the table while I pulled the tie straps out from behind the seat of the truck.

  The woman had followed us down and was jangling her keys.

  I gave her a half-smile. "You in a hurry?"

  She grasped her keys in her hand to quiet them and pulled in a tired breath. "Sorry. It's just been a long week. This was my aunt's house and my friend and I have been here for two weeks sorting through things and gettin' the house ready for sale. I shipped everything I want to keep back to my place and told the realtor to sell whatever was left with the house. I just wanna go home. We're pullin' out as soon as my friend gets back from town."

  I clipped one end of the strap to the hook in my bed, then looped it around the crystal doorknob a couple times and laid the other end of the strap beside it.

  "Where's home?"

  "Virginia."

  "Ah. That's not so terrible then," I said. "I'm sorry to hear about your aunt."

  She shrugged. "Thanks, but I didn't know her. I was adopted and had never even heard of her until a few weeks ago. She wrote me a letter, telling me she'd been looking for me since I was a baby. It took me a couple of weeks to arrange time off, and by the time I got here, she'd passed." She paused and leaned her elbows on the bed of the truck, looking out over the sloping lawn. The sun was starting to set behind oaks draped in Spanish moss. "I wish I would have known her. I was an only child and my adoptive parents are both gone. This looks like it would have been a great place to spend time. As it is, it was a little creepy the first couple nights. I wish she’d have found me sooner."

  I followed her gaze as a breeze lifted a curl off my forehead and cooled the back of my neck. I tried to imagine a life without Shelby or the rest of my family and shuddered. They were my world. "That has to be tough, knowing she was here all the time and you didn't find out until too late."

  She nodded. "There were a few boxes of pictures and books in the attic that I'm taking home with me. Maybe I have some family left after all. She was pretty cryptic in her letters." I glanced over her shoulder when the door opened. Shelby and Emma pushed through with the table, Shel walking backwards.

  "Folks around here have come to offer their condolences and some have even helped out. I've heard some crazy stories about her." One side of her mouth quirked up. "Everyone says she was sharp as a tack and a real hoot, but a little eccentric."

  The girls sat the table down behind the truck as and stood, stretching and bending to work the kinks out.

  "Our aunt was a little eccentric, too," Shelby said. "I think it's a good thing. If she was eccentric and—as you say—a hoot, she was probably doing what made her happy and didn't give two shakes of a rat's behind what anybody thought. By the way, I'm Shelby, and this is Emma."

  "And I'm Noelle," I said, offering my hand. "Noelle Flynn."

  "I'm Tabitha Williams. My friends call me TJ." Her eyes were bright and I could see the same good humor and wit that people claimed her aunt possessed.

  The drawer to the table had slid out, and I reached down to shut it. When I did, something caught my eye. I opened it further and pulled out a black velvet bag. TJ's attention was still on the girls so she didn't see it.

  "TJ, this was in the drawer." I held up the bag.

  "It's probably just more jewelry,” she said, waving it off. “My aunt made all sorts of it and sold her pieces at local craft shows and flea markets."

  I loosened the drawstrings on the bag and upended the contents into my hand. Sure enough, four rings fell out. I smiled when I saw them; my aunt had worn one that Uncle Calvin had made for her from a spoon handle. These were a little fancier though. Each was bedazzled with colored stones set into the original swirls in what used to be the end of the spoon handle.

  TJ sighed. "Told ya. She had so much jewelry. Don't get me wrong—she was skilled, but it's not really my style. Even if it was, I could wear a new piece every day and not make it through the entire collection in a year." She smiled. "I guess in the scheme of things, it was a better hobby than collecting cats."

  Shelby and Emma came closer to look at them.

  "Those are really cool!" Emma said, plucking on out of my hand. "I like the green one. Emerald's my birthstone."

  Shelby picked up one with pink stones. "I like this one."

  They put them on their thumbs and held out their hands, letting the sun catch glint off them.

  They say styles repeat every few decades—though so far the 80s have stayed in the past where they belong—but the sixties and seventies were all the rage around Keyhole, so the hippie-style jewelry fit right in.

  I examined the remaining two and was pleased to find one with blue stones. The final one had purple ones, which was Rae's favorite color.

  Laughing, I turned to TJ. "It looks like you've got buyers if you're willing to sell."

  She waved me off. "Just take them. They were in the table, and I gave it to you fair and square. Consider them a bonus, like finding money in the dryer."

  That was sweet of her, but I didn't feel right doing it. The rings were obviously sterling, and though the stones were surely fake, just the silver gave them some value. "Nope. I insist. Give me a number."

  TJ rolled her eyes. "Fine. Ten bucks each."

  Well worth it. I dug in my wallet and handed her two twenties, then slipped the blue ring on my thumb and dropped the other back in the bag.

  A green hybrid SUV turned off the road into the driveway and pulled to the front of the house. A tall woman wearing a ball cap and aviators stepped out, smiling but curious as she took the few steps to join us.

  "Everybody, this is my friend Moira." Introductions were made again as we loaded the end table and strapped it down.

  "TJ was just telling us that you two had an interesting first night in the house," I said.

  She raised her brows and huffed. "Did we ever! Creepy noises all night. I told her it was just the house settling, but it wasn't one of my better nights away from home."

  I looked back toward the house. I hadn't gotten any weird vibes, but I hadn't really been paying attention, either. All old houses had a certain presence; I was so used to them I tuned it out. Something serious would have set off my senses, and I didn't see any ghosts, so they were probably just imagining things.

  "I'm sure. Plus, it was a new place, and then knowing her aunt had just passed ... no doubt it was a creepy situation."

  I pulled the tie-downs tight around the table, securing it on its side to the front of the bed, then checked that the door wasn't going to slide out the back.

  "Well, I think that'll do it," I said as Emma and Shelby waved to TJ, then argued over shotgun.

  TJ smiled and held out her hand. "It was nice to meet you. Drive safe."

  I shook her hand, then Moira's, noting that both of them had perfect manicures and were wearing the kind of expensive jeans meant
to look fashionably old and holey. I smiled a little inside because I managed to pull off the same look for $3 at the Goodwill. Still, they seemed very nice so if they wanted to blow their money on new jeans that looked old, I wasn’t judging. "Y'all too. Good luck with the pictures and books. I hope you find more family."

  "Me, too."

  I climbed in the truck and growled when I realized Shelby and Emma were still arguing. "Rock, paper, scissors it and let's go," I said. Thankfully it worked out so that Emma was in front, since she'd been stuck in the back on the way there.

  By the time it was settled, TJ had already locked up the house and they were idling, waiting for us to pull out. I waved and hung a left out of the driveway, pointing the truck in the direction of Keyhole Lake. They hung a right, and we took our own opposite ways toward home.

  CHAPTER THREE

  We hadn't eaten anything but mystery-meat taquitos from a gas station since breakfast that morning, so our bellies were starting to think our throats had been cut. I stopped at an all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet on our way through Eagle Gap; it was a rare treat because we didn't have one in Keyhole Lake.

  There was a large family—they had to be related because the similarities in their features were striking. They all had dark hair and were built like brick shithouses. They each had a plate piled high with food and were laughing and cutting up with each other as the tore their way through it. Even the kids in the group were eating like they hadn't had a meal in a week.

  The waitress seated us and we didn't burn any daylight filling our plates. We ate in silence for the first five minutes or so, careful to keep our fingers near our own plates lest we lose one in the feeding frenzy just for reaching for the salt. Shelby was the first to finish and pushed back her chair to make a second trip.

  Even though she was almost seventeen and had learned some decent defensive spells over the last several months, I still kept my eye on her. The waitress was carrying a huge tray of drinks to a table of Red-Hats so Shelby took the long way around, which took her past the large family. As she approached, several of them smiled at her, but when she squeezed between them and the tables in the next row over, their smiles faded and the table went silent.