Read Online A Haunting Is Brewing: A Haunted Home Renovation and a Witchcraft Mystery Novella by Juliet Blackwell - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Juliet Blackwell
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Spooners were dying from the flu and Reginald decided to impart their energy into the dolls? But why?”
“Maybe he was grief stricken, didn’t want to let them go? Imagine losing your entire family in a few short days. But, once their physical selves were actually gone, perhaps Reginald couldn’t live with what he’d done: trapping part of their souls in the dolls.”
“I suppose it’s possible.”
We both leaned back as the espressos arrived. I sipped the brew, savoring its warmth and bitterness.
“It’s also possible his motives weren’t as pure,” said Lily.
“Meaning what? He hated his family and wanted to control them?”
“Not all families love each other, Mel.” Something in her tone of voice suggested that, unlike myself, Lily had not grown up surrounded by love.
“If so, what does that mean for the present situation?”
“That there are spirits trapped in those dolls and they need to be released. It’s also possible that they somehow influenced whoever killed Adam.”
“Or inspired him to kill himself.”
We finished off our espressos and sat for another long moment of silence, both feeling glum.
“What now?” I asked.
“Retail therapy.”
“Excuse me?”
“I have the perfect dress for you at my shop.”
“Thanks, Lily, but my odd fashion sense notwithstanding, I’m not really much of a shopper.”
She grinned at me. “You haven’t been to Aunt Cora’s Closet yet. I’m great at matching people with the right clothes. And the store’s just down the street. C’mon, Mel: Trust me.”
Chapter Eight
Aunt Cora’s Closet was jammed with racks of dresses, tops, and skirts. Shelves were crowded with gloves, scarves, shoes, and purses. Large urns held parasols and umbrellas, and metal trees boasted hats and berets of all types. In one corner was a stand offering herbal teas and natural botanical remedies for afflictions such as sleeplessness and anxiety. A sign behind it read: AN IT HARM N ONE, DO WHAT YE WILL.
I recognized this as the amiable Golden Rule of the Wiccan Rede.
“How’d it go?” asked Maya, standing behind the register at the horseshoe cabinet full of jewelry, which also appeared to serve as a checkout counter. “You two figure it all out?”
“Not hardly. As much is learned, much more is confused,” said Lily with a rueful smile. “Mel, this is my other coworker here in the shop, Bronwyn.”
“What a
pleasure
!” Bronwyn gushed. Purple gauze fluttered out behind her as she crossed the shop floor to give me a vanilla-and-cinnamon-scented hug. “Oh my
goddess
! Maya’s told me all about you and the wonderful work you’re doing at Spooner House. I was so very sorry to hear about the tragedy.”
“Thank you,” I said, a bit startled but flattered by her warm welcome. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Something bumped against my legs and I jumped. I looked down to see a pig. I jumped again.
“Don’t be afraid!” said Bronwyn. “That’s our little Oscaroo. He wouldn’t hurt a fly!”
“It’s a . . . you have a . . .
pig
?”
“I told you I had a pig,” said Lily.
“I thought you were kidding. Wow, it’s a real pig. He’s so cute.”
“His name’s Oscar. He won’t relax until you fuss over him.”
I leaned down to pet the little oinker. He looked up at me with pink piggy eyes that seemed to gleam with intelligence. I couldn’t help but note that this stood in stark contrast to my own pet, a former stray named, simply, Dog. Dog had one special quality: He saw ghosts. The fact that he sensed them, as I did, made me feel less crazy, less alone when confronting spirits. But other than that, Dog wasn’t the brightest bulb in the chandelier. He wasn’t even much good at being a dog: didn’t chase balls, or fetch sticks, and he got carsick. But we loved him beyond reason.
Oscar-the-pig, for his part, seemed to be following the conversation.
“This is the dress I was thinking would be perfect for you,” said Lily as she held
“Maybe he was grief stricken, didn’t want to let them go? Imagine losing your entire family in a few short days. But, once their physical selves were actually gone, perhaps Reginald couldn’t live with what he’d done: trapping part of their souls in the dolls.”
“I suppose it’s possible.”
We both leaned back as the espressos arrived. I sipped the brew, savoring its warmth and bitterness.
“It’s also possible his motives weren’t as pure,” said Lily.
“Meaning what? He hated his family and wanted to control them?”
“Not all families love each other, Mel.” Something in her tone of voice suggested that, unlike myself, Lily had not grown up surrounded by love.
“If so, what does that mean for the present situation?”
“That there are spirits trapped in those dolls and they need to be released. It’s also possible that they somehow influenced whoever killed Adam.”
“Or inspired him to kill himself.”
We finished off our espressos and sat for another long moment of silence, both feeling glum.
“What now?” I asked.
“Retail therapy.”
“Excuse me?”
“I have the perfect dress for you at my shop.”
“Thanks, Lily, but my odd fashion sense notwithstanding, I’m not really much of a shopper.”
She grinned at me. “You haven’t been to Aunt Cora’s Closet yet. I’m great at matching people with the right clothes. And the store’s just down the street. C’mon, Mel: Trust me.”
Chapter Eight
Aunt Cora’s Closet was jammed with racks of dresses, tops, and skirts. Shelves were crowded with gloves, scarves, shoes, and purses. Large urns held parasols and umbrellas, and metal trees boasted hats and berets of all types. In one corner was a stand offering herbal teas and natural botanical remedies for afflictions such as sleeplessness and anxiety. A sign behind it read: AN IT HARM N ONE, DO WHAT YE WILL.
I recognized this as the amiable Golden Rule of the Wiccan Rede.
“How’d it go?” asked Maya, standing behind the register at the horseshoe cabinet full of jewelry, which also appeared to serve as a checkout counter. “You two figure it all out?”
“Not hardly. As much is learned, much more is confused,” said Lily with a rueful smile. “Mel, this is my other coworker here in the shop, Bronwyn.”
“What a
pleasure
!” Bronwyn gushed. Purple gauze fluttered out behind her as she crossed the shop floor to give me a vanilla-and-cinnamon-scented hug. “Oh my
goddess
! Maya’s told me all about you and the wonderful work you’re doing at Spooner House. I was so very sorry to hear about the tragedy.”
“Thank you,” I said, a bit startled but flattered by her warm welcome. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Something bumped against my legs and I jumped. I looked down to see a pig. I jumped again.
“Don’t be afraid!” said Bronwyn. “That’s our little Oscaroo. He wouldn’t hurt a fly!”
“It’s a . . . you have a . . .
pig
?”
“I told you I had a pig,” said Lily.
“I thought you were kidding. Wow, it’s a real pig. He’s so cute.”
“His name’s Oscar. He won’t relax until you fuss over him.”
I leaned down to pet the little oinker. He looked up at me with pink piggy eyes that seemed to gleam with intelligence. I couldn’t help but note that this stood in stark contrast to my own pet, a former stray named, simply, Dog. Dog had one special quality: He saw ghosts. The fact that he sensed them, as I did, made me feel less crazy, less alone when confronting spirits. But other than that, Dog wasn’t the brightest bulb in the chandelier. He wasn’t even much good at being a dog: didn’t chase balls, or fetch sticks, and he got carsick. But we loved him beyond reason.
Oscar-the-pig, for his part, seemed to be following the conversation.
“This is the dress I was thinking would be perfect for you,” said Lily as she held
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