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Authors: Kimberly Frost
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get close enough to smear paste on her. I need something I can splash from a goodly distance away.”
Merc cocked his head.
“What do you think? Mix some water in? That’s what I do when I get a batter that’s too thick.”
Merc licked his paw.
I poured half a cup of water into a small metal mixing bowl and dumped the mash in it. I stirred it all up then put it in Tupperware and sealed it with a rubber lid.
“We’ll start at the cemetery and see if we can follow her tracks. How are you at tracking?”
Merc didn’t answer, but he was more energetic after his nap, and he hopped down and headed to the door to wait for me.
“I still probably need an incantation, you know.” I shook my head. Momma and Aunt Melanie’s spells always sounded pretty, like song lyrics, but I’d gotten a C-minus in poetry. I’d never heard that witches had to know poetry, so I didn’t think iambic pentameter was necessary for a spell, but I figured I’d better at least make it rhyme.
With my passionflower mash tucked under my arm, I let Merc out the front door and locked it.
“Merc, what rhymes with grave? How about brave? ‘Now you’ve got to be brave, and just go on back to your grave.’ ”
Merc batted roughly at his whiskers in a gesture that looked suspiciously like the way Zach thunked himself in the forehead when he thought I’d done something really dumb.
I opened the passenger door, and Merc hopped in.
“What? You don’t think I should mention grave? You think it’ll upset her? I guess maybe she might not know she’s dead. Like all those people in The Sixth Sense . And we don’t want to upset her; she might decide to do something mean to us. Not that it’d be intentional.” I closed his door and walked around the car.
I got in and glanced over at him as I turned the key in the ignition. “All right. What rhymes with ‘go back to sleep’? Hmm. ‘Now, no more counting sheep, it’s time to go back to sleep.’ Ugh. Too corny and who really counts sheep anyway?”
I drove to the Duvall cemetery. As cemeteries go, it’s nice. Most everybody in town has kin in the ground there, so it’s always a competition to see who keeps the family plots the prettiest. Some people literally are pushing up daisies. But plenty have roses, sunflowers, and hydrangea. My favorite area is the plumeria section where the Gaffney family is buried. It smells prettier than a bottle of perfume over there.
I walked up and down the rows looking for Mrs. Barnaby’s grave. I found it at the east edge of the cemetery with all the flowers ripped loose and the ground broken open. I shivered and looked at Merc. His fur stood straight up on his back, and he hissed and backed away.
“C’mon. You’re brave. Let’s go,” I said, marching past the grave, following clumps of dirt to the field behind the cemetery.
“We don’t even need a bloodhound,” I said, looking at the smashed grass. “This is going to be no problem.”
Daylight faded, and the air was hot and stagnant. What was with this stupid freak heat wave? Sweat trickled down my neck and made my shirt stick to my back. I grimaced. I needed a tall glass of iced tea or a mojito. I wiped the sweat off my forehead, sighing.
“This is a fine cat on a hot tin roof, huh?” I said to Merc, trying to keep things light and positive. I looked over and realized he was gone. “Merc?” I called out. I waited, and when there was no answering meow, I scowled. He’d deserted me. “You better not be lying in the shade under a plumeria plant!”
The trail had gotten thinner and the grass taller. I picked up a switch and started to beat the brush. The last thing I wanted was to get bitten by a copperhead. I hadn’t thought to put on boots. I looked sullenly at my bare legs, shaking my head. Shorts and open-toed shoes were just plain foolishness for a hike through knee-high grass. I slapped a mosquito on my thigh irritably.
“I shouldn’t even be doing this. It’s not my fault
Merc cocked his head.
“What do you think? Mix some water in? That’s what I do when I get a batter that’s too thick.”
Merc licked his paw.
I poured half a cup of water into a small metal mixing bowl and dumped the mash in it. I stirred it all up then put it in Tupperware and sealed it with a rubber lid.
“We’ll start at the cemetery and see if we can follow her tracks. How are you at tracking?”
Merc didn’t answer, but he was more energetic after his nap, and he hopped down and headed to the door to wait for me.
“I still probably need an incantation, you know.” I shook my head. Momma and Aunt Melanie’s spells always sounded pretty, like song lyrics, but I’d gotten a C-minus in poetry. I’d never heard that witches had to know poetry, so I didn’t think iambic pentameter was necessary for a spell, but I figured I’d better at least make it rhyme.
With my passionflower mash tucked under my arm, I let Merc out the front door and locked it.
“Merc, what rhymes with grave? How about brave? ‘Now you’ve got to be brave, and just go on back to your grave.’ ”
Merc batted roughly at his whiskers in a gesture that looked suspiciously like the way Zach thunked himself in the forehead when he thought I’d done something really dumb.
I opened the passenger door, and Merc hopped in.
“What? You don’t think I should mention grave? You think it’ll upset her? I guess maybe she might not know she’s dead. Like all those people in The Sixth Sense . And we don’t want to upset her; she might decide to do something mean to us. Not that it’d be intentional.” I closed his door and walked around the car.
I got in and glanced over at him as I turned the key in the ignition. “All right. What rhymes with ‘go back to sleep’? Hmm. ‘Now, no more counting sheep, it’s time to go back to sleep.’ Ugh. Too corny and who really counts sheep anyway?”
I drove to the Duvall cemetery. As cemeteries go, it’s nice. Most everybody in town has kin in the ground there, so it’s always a competition to see who keeps the family plots the prettiest. Some people literally are pushing up daisies. But plenty have roses, sunflowers, and hydrangea. My favorite area is the plumeria section where the Gaffney family is buried. It smells prettier than a bottle of perfume over there.
I walked up and down the rows looking for Mrs. Barnaby’s grave. I found it at the east edge of the cemetery with all the flowers ripped loose and the ground broken open. I shivered and looked at Merc. His fur stood straight up on his back, and he hissed and backed away.
“C’mon. You’re brave. Let’s go,” I said, marching past the grave, following clumps of dirt to the field behind the cemetery.
“We don’t even need a bloodhound,” I said, looking at the smashed grass. “This is going to be no problem.”
Daylight faded, and the air was hot and stagnant. What was with this stupid freak heat wave? Sweat trickled down my neck and made my shirt stick to my back. I grimaced. I needed a tall glass of iced tea or a mojito. I wiped the sweat off my forehead, sighing.
“This is a fine cat on a hot tin roof, huh?” I said to Merc, trying to keep things light and positive. I looked over and realized he was gone. “Merc?” I called out. I waited, and when there was no answering meow, I scowled. He’d deserted me. “You better not be lying in the shade under a plumeria plant!”
The trail had gotten thinner and the grass taller. I picked up a switch and started to beat the brush. The last thing I wanted was to get bitten by a copperhead. I hadn’t thought to put on boots. I looked sullenly at my bare legs, shaking my head. Shorts and open-toed shoes were just plain foolishness for a hike through knee-high grass. I slapped a mosquito on my thigh irritably.
“I shouldn’t even be doing this. It’s not my fault
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