Mrs. Morris and the Witch

By Traci Wilton

Halloween is the biggest holiday of the year in Salem, Massachusetts—but when B&B owner Charlene Morris finds the dead body of a witch, it spells trouble . . .
 
Charlene, recently widowed, has renovated her historic mansion just in time to greet guests arriving for the town’s annual Halloween festivities. She’s lucky to have a helpful staff to provide support—as well as a handsome ghost named Jack standing invisibly by her side.
 
Unfortunately, while the revelers head out on haunted tours, have their fortunes told, or grab a drink at Brews and Broomsticks, a killer walks among them. When Charlene discovers Morganna, a local Wiccan, dead in her shop, she starts getting cozy with the local coven, looking for clues to locate the crafty culprit. Salem may be famous for the false accusations of witchery in centuries past, but this time someone is genuinely guilty—of murder . . .
 
Visit us at www.kensingtonbooks.com
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kensington Books
• Release date: Apr 28, 2020
• ISBN: 9781496721549

Traci Wilton

Traci Wilton is a pseudonym of Traci Hall and Patrice Wilton. Patrice Wilton is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of more than twenty books, some indie-published and some published by Amazon/Montlake. Traci Hall is the USA Today bestselling author of more than 50 books, published independently as well as by Medallion Press and Samhain Publishing. Visit them online at www.TraciWilton.com.  

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"All Hallows’ Eve—Salem’s most celebrated night of the year, Charlene Morris said to Jack Strathmore, seated next to her on a love seat in the privacy of her personal suite. And my first Halloween as a bed-and-breakfast owner." She wasn’t sure which was more elegant: Doctor Jack Strathmore, dressed for cocktail hour in a dark blue Armani suit, or her recently acquired historical mansion.

Less than two months ago she’d moved from Chicago to get away from the memory of her dead husband and had bought this seven-bedroom house sight unseen. It was ridiculously underpriced, and her sleazy realtor, Ernie Harvey, had neglected to mention the place came with a resident ghost.

It’s been crazy, but we did it, Jack. Opening night, right on time for Halloween. Fully booked too, she added proudly.

He unfolded his legs and stood, the action bringing a chill she’d come to associate with Jack’s particular energy. "Not we, Charlene. You did it. Congratulations, my dear. You’ve made this place into a home. Well done."

Regarding him from her seat, she thought back to the first night they’d met—she’d been awakened by a howling wind and rain pelting against the windowpane. When she’d opened her eyes, she’d seen a shadowy someone watching her. Terrified, she’d tried to run away and hide, but there was no hiding from a ghost.

Her frightened brain had fought hard to be rational—she did not believe in spirits or ghosts—yet here Jack remained. Charming, extremely handsome, with thick, wavy black hair and the bluest of eyes. Jack liked to dazzle—hence the Armani suit. He’d told her once that he created his image for her, right down to the detail of the striking silver at his temples.

Thank you, Jack. I can’t wait to see what the buzz is all about for Halloween. She checked the time on her cell phone, both excited and nervous about the private ghost tour she’d booked for her houseful of guests, following happy hour she’d organized to start at four. Fifteen minutes. Charlene wiped her damp palms on a tissue—she couldn’t bear for anything to go wrong.

Jack peered down at her with amusement. You’re lovely, as always. Are those silver spiders hanging from your ears?

She reached up to touch one, missing the familiar weight of her diamond studs, a gift from her deceased husband, Jared. Yes—this is my nod toward a costume tonight. She’d chosen black skinny jeans, a black turtleneck cashmere sweater, and a looped Halloween scarf with pumpkins and black cats. Her long dark hair was loose around her shoulders.

It’s just right, Jack said. Perfectly you.

Hiring a tour bus to take them out to see ghosts when she had one right here might seem counterintuitive, but she didn’t want to exploit the fact that her B and B was haunted. The idea of having paranormal seekers and crazed ghost hunters clamoring around didn’t sit well when she wanted Charlene’s to be the most elegant place in town, not the cheesiest.

Our guests should be coming downstairs soon. Please behave. You know how awkward it is for me when you whisper things and I can’t answer.

Neither of them knew why Charlene was the only person who could see and hear Jack, and he thought it amusing to try to trip her up.

After leaving her suite of rooms, with Jack right behind her, Charlene entered the kitchen. Minnie, her housekeeper and cook, opened the oven to release the scent of cinnamon, spice, and everything nice. Smells great. You need any help?

I’ve got it all under control. Minnie’s full face was flushed, and she mopped perspiration off her brow with a paper towel before taking a sip of water from a ceramic mug. Gray curls, quick to laugh, Minnie Johnson and her husband, Will—his dour face and lean body the complete opposite of his cheery wife’s—had been her first real hires, and both priceless. Will has the wine and champagne chilling on ice. Iced tea and lemonade in the fridge. I’ll make fresh coffee.

Perfect. We don’t have a lot of time, as Kevin will be here between five and five thirty. Charlene snagged a cookie from the tray. The kids will love the ghost-shaped cookies and the gooey witch hats. Minnie had formed chocolate cake mix and pudding into a cone, set with orange icing.

The Jensens, Ted and Katherine, had arrived from England for Halloween because their son, Peter, had studied the witch trials in school. Their precocious daughter, Hailey, was very much about dressing up in costume. Charlene adored having children in the house as she and Jared hadn’t been fortunate enough to have their own. It remained her greatest regret.

You bet they will. Minnie set her mug down with a clatter. Is that concern on your face?

I don’t want anything to go wrong. She and Minnie exchanged a look, but neither woman brought up the last party, which had ended in disaster. Jack’s murderer had held a knife to Minnie’s throat, right where they were standing.

Everything will work out, Minnie harrumphed, her big bosom lifting and falling with her exaggerated sigh. The guests will mingle and have some cheer before the big night you’ve planned for them.

Charlene hadn’t done much. I can’t believe how this place goes wild for Halloween. All weekend there’s been the Psychic Fair and Witch Festival. Yesterday was a parade. Tonight is the Witch Ball at the Hawthorne Hotel.

Will and I have gone to that ball a few times, Minnie said, placing cookies on trays. There’s a prize for best costume. You should go at least once to check it out.

Maybe next year. Charlene adjusted a loop on her Halloween scarf and peered out the kitchen window at the yard beyond. Even at dusk it was a gorgeous piece of property, with a lawn in the front and around the side leading to a screened porch and private garden in back.

The mansion had seven bedrooms on two floors—four double rooms and three single—her suite behind the kitchen on the main level, and an ornate wine cellar below.

She’d spent the past few months selecting furnishings for each room, buying from estate sales, combing through antique shops, and bargain hunting online. Now, she just had to keep her beautiful home and business filled with happy guests—to satisfy the bankers—and stay out of the poorhouse.

Minnie gave her a sly look. Kevin was extremely nice to offer this tour tonight, being Halloween and all.

Kevin Hughes was a bartender at a popular bar in town, Brews and Broomsticks. Sandy-blond, midthirties, and a Salem native, the part-time tour guide was also single.

I got lucky there. Kevin knows so much about the rich history of this place, really fascinating stuff that doesn’t make the books.

Well, he’s a fine gentleman, and must have taken a liking to you, Minnie said with a wink.

It’s not that! Charlene hurriedly explained, glancing around guiltily for Jack, who had a jealous streak.

Kevin feels protective, after what happened at last week’s party. He’d played the bartender role to keep her guests preoccupied as the police arrested Jack Strathmore’s killer—had it been only a week ago?

She felt a chill beside her.

I am glad he’s watching out for you, Jack’s husky voice whispered in her ear. But is it more than that, Charlene?

Since she couldn’t tell him to scoot, she used her hip to get Jack to move. She gave him a reproving look, which was answered by his sardonic smile. Handsome devil.

Jack folded his arms. If somebody had told her a few months ago that she’d not only talk to a ghost but live with one, and anticipate their private moments alone . . . she’d have said they were three-ring-circus, stark-raving-mad kind of nuts.

She smoothed a strand of hair behind her ear, the silver spider dangling. Jack’s jealousy of other men was pretty irrational considering he was dead. He’d been jealous of Detective Sam Holden, too, but with more reason. The detective was smart, witty, broad-shouldered, masculine. And alive. That was a really big plus. Who knew that would need to be a benchmark?

Charlene turned her back to Jack and spoke to Minnie. After the tour, Kevin is giving us an hour of free time at the Witch Festival. The guests will love that.

You should get your fortune told. Minnie took cheese balls from the refrigerator. "I had mine done while I was still in high school, and the psychic predicted I’d marry a man whose name started with W, and have a full life. She set the cheese platter on the counter next to the pretty tray of cookies. Spot on."

Wish I’d had mine done, Jack lamented. Maybe I wouldn’t have married Shauna. Or gotten myself killed. Perhaps I would be out dancing with you tonight.

Charlene offered a look of comfort. It wasn’t right that he’d died so young. A strong, vibrant man, dead in his forties. Like Jared. Life was not fair.

Minnie, oblivious to the nuances in the room, asked, So what do you think of Kevin? Her eyes lit with mischief. He could be the special someone you deserve.

Jack scowled, and she wanted to hug him—he didn’t have to worry. Kevin, while charming and fun, was younger than her and not her type. She seemed to prefer dark-haired men.

I’d like to know how you feel too. Jack sat at the kitchen table that Minnie had pushed to the side and stacked with goodies, and rested his chin in the palm of his hand.

Damn him for always appearing so elegant, and a teensy bit snooty, as though being deceased gave him special powers. Which of course it did. She couldn’t slip through closed doors and walls or go flying around the widow’s walk at night.

I like Kevin very much, she told them both. He’s easy to be around, a good conversationalist, and funny. But would I ever get romantically involved? No—he makes too good of a friend.

Minnie exhaled so hard she blew a gray curl off her own forehead. Delegated to the friend zone already?

Jack sank backward, pleased.

Just then the front door opened, and Charlene was grateful for the reprieve. The Jensen family entered with laughter, which warmed her heart. Eleven-year-old Peter was dressed as a pilgrim—a costume he’d had made for his play at school and now got to use again. Hailey, eight, was dressed as a fairy with purple wings. Katherine wore a queen costume with a red velvet cape while Ted had taken the easy route in a black sweatshirt with a white ghost on the front.

Hello, Charlene said as they gathered in the foyer. Did you have fun?

We certainly did, Katherine grinned. Thanks for your suggestions—we enjoyed the tours very much.

Hailey lifted a decorated cardboard ghost, all glitter and sequins, while Peter showed her his plastic pumpkin filled with candy.

Charlene shared a smile with Katherine, who said, Kids had a great time but ate way too many sweets. I, however, am ready for a glass of wine.

Minnie has everything set out in the dining room, Charlene assured her.

Ted sighed and herded the kids up the stairs to drop off the crafts and treats. Get a drink, Katherine. I’ll get these two monsters sorted and be back down to join you.

Katherine waved at her husband and followed the savory smells.

Charlene spent the next thirty minutes conversing with her guests. Minnie passed by with a second platter of mini quiches. Will followed with a silver tray offering wine or champagne. A side table was set up against one wall, across from the large ornate fireplace that burned with cinnamon-scented logs. Above the mantel was an elaborate mirror that she’d found in town at Vintage Treasures.

Everyone mingled and found comfortable niches in which to perch and chat with fellow guests. Three single guys, Phil, Matthew, and Dylan, had rented her top rooms and now clustered together against a wall. Phil and Matthew, both with light brown hair, were in their midtwenties and drank whiskey, while Dylan, just twenty-one, had a local beer.

Dylan had called her in a panic, hoping for a room so that he could meet up with a girl he’d met online. He’d taken the bus into Salem without realizing that all of the hotel rooms would be booked because of Halloween. Something about him reminded her of how nervous Jared had been when they’d first dated.

Charlene greeted Detective Sam Holden’s younger sister. Sydney, did you and Jim have a nice afternoon?

Petite Sydney had chestnut brown hair, and she’d been the first to book a room at Charlene’s Bed and Breakfast—on Sam’s recommendation. Charlene accepted a glass of champagne from Will as the trio took a seat on the sofa.

We did a couple of tours. Saw the House of the Seven Gables, then grabbed lunch at a place called Sea Level. Good food. Sydney chose a spinach tart from one of the trays that Minnie offered. Right, honey?

Her husband, Jim, with his curly red hair, reminded Charlene of Prince Harry, and always seemed on the verge of a joke. Putting his glass of dark ale aside, he answered Sydney’s question. The oysters were as good as what we get on Fisherman’s Wharf.

Charlene recalled that the Taylors lived in San Francisco, where Sydney was a nurse and Jim a firefighter. Another great place is Cod and Capers at Pickering Wharf. Sharon Turnberry runs it. If you get there, let her know I sent you and she’ll probably give you a discount.

Sounds good. I wish we had more time here, Sydney sighed. So many places to explore.

You’ll just have to come again. Charlene stood. For repeat customers, I’ll entice you with a free night, if you return within a year.

We just might do that. Jim put his feet up on the ottoman, Silva’s usual napping spot, and leaned back in the cushiony chair. Where had her cat disappeared to, anyway? The silver Persian tended to go into hiding when people were around.

Sheila and Sal Harris, teachers and history buffs from Oregon, waved her over from where they hovered by the cookies. The pair was in their midfifties, of medium height, with short gray hair. Like many married couples, they had grown to look alike.

Before Charlene could connect with them, Kevin knocked and entered the foyer. The bus is outside, he said.

The party was just getting started, but they were on a time restraint. Charlene raised her voice to be heard. Drink up, everyone. Our bus is here. Dress warmly, as we’ll be walking. The streets are broken up in places, so I have some flashlights by the door if you’d like.

One by one, the guests disappeared to their rooms to get whatever they might need, and Charlene searched for Jack. He’d kept to himself for the past hour, which was unusual. Was he sulking because he was going to be left alone for the night? He had Silva to keep him company; the cat could see Jack but not touch him, and it made Silva crazy.

She glanced at the fireplace—no Jack—and then the gilded brocade chair he liked to sit in. Her gaze lifted to the mantelpiece, and the enormous mirror. Seven feet wide and five feet tall, with elegant rope beading in a gilt frame, it was her pride and joy.

Kevin followed her gaze. That was a great find. You’ve done a tremendous job in such a short time.

Thank you. Charlene was about to turn away when suddenly Jack appeared in a flash of blue next to the mirror. She gasped in surprise as Jack laughed; then she placed a hand on Kevin’s back, encouraging him toward the door. We should get going. I’ll get my coat.

Kevin studied her closely. Is anything the matter?

She dared to peek back. As clear as day, she saw Jack’s smirking face as he challenged her not to give herself away.

No, nothing. Charlene reached for her coat on the coat-tree, safe in the knowledge that she was the only human that could see her ghost. At the doorway, she glanced back. Jack winked at her and then was gone.

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Charlene’s laughing guests streamed down the porch steps to the twenty-five-passenger minibus. The shiny black vehicle was decorated with spiders, witches, and paper ghosts. Kevin held her elbow as she boarded. Charlene, take a seat here at the front, he said. This is our driver, Mac. She smiled at the gray-haired older man behind the wheel in a cheap black suit and orange bow tie.

Nice to meet you, Mac. She put her large handbag down on the front seat and scooted over to the window, so she could see the driver and keep a friendly eye on her guests. She’d picked up a dozen black flashlights for cheap and was glad to see that everybody had one.

Are we ready? Kevin asked, stirring up the crowd.

The family from England cheered the loudest, Sydney and Jim right behind. Hailey and Peter bounced in their seats, and the three single men in the back looked ready to bolt.

Charlene stood, careful not to bang into the overhead compartments, and did a quick body check to make sure everyone was accounted for. This first set of guests would always be special. She brought out her cell phone to snap a photo.

Smile, everybody! Charlene captured Matthew and Phil giving each other devil horns—they were friends from Boston who had never experienced a Salem Halloween, though they lived so close. Dylan offered a sheepish grin, not wanting to admit to having fun. Sheila and Sal scrunched shoulder to shoulder in the third row. Sydney and Jim sat one behind the other so they could each have a window seat. Same with the two Jensen kids, though Katherine and Ted were side by side. Charlene made it twelve—a lucky dozen.

I want to see a witch! Hailey said to her parents. One with a broomstick and big pointy hat.

Peter snorted. There are no such things as witches, the older brother declared. The reenactments we saw today proved it. The ones you see at the fair are nothing but fake. But there might be real ghosts. He put his hands in the air and made a frightful face, trying to spook his sister, who huddled closer to the window.

No witches, you say? Kevin had overheard Peter’s remark and spoke into the lapel mic at his black shirt collar. Black jeans and leather boots, scruff at his jaw and his hair a tousled sandy-blond mess of short waves. He was cute, Charlene admitted. No doubt about it.

Kevin tapped the mic. What’s your name, young man?

Peter whipped around on his bench seat. Peter Jensen. That’s all they talked about on the Witch Dungeon tour today. How those girls lied.

Kevin rubbed his hands together, facing the group from a standing position, and leaned his hip back against the seat.

Mac started the engine. I’m glad you brought this up, Peter. I’m Kevin Hughes, everyone, and I was born and raised here in Salem. You’ll hear a lot of stories about my hometown. He paused dramatically. And I can guarantee you—we have witches.

Dylan hooted and smacked the seat as Phil and Matthew exchanged disbelieving looks. Right, Matthew said, heavy on the sarcasm.

Don’t laugh just yet, Kevin warned theatrically. They walk among us. You’ll never know if the man on the sidewalk next to you is a witch. Or the woman who sells you a cup of coffee in the morning. Your neighbor, maybe. Witches come in all shapes and sizes, young and old.

Hailey squealed and covered her mouth, her eyes wide. Are they bad?

Kevin smiled reassuringly at the frightened girl with the purple fairy wings. No. There is no need to be afraid. And on our way, I’ll tell you why. The sky was dark, and the fall air had a crisp bite, with clouds blocking out the nearly full golden moon.

A very long time ago, Salem was a small village with bakers, farmers, mercantile shop owners, and churches. Back then, religious leaders were very strict and there were major consequences for not following the rules. Girls, I’m sad to say, were not valued or equal like they are now.

Why not? Hailey squeaked. They thought boys were smarter?

Something like that. Kevin spread his arms to encompass the group. They were wrong, of course. But the leaders of the community made the rules, and no one questioned them. To do so would bring forth punishment, and their lives were difficult enough.

The bus slowed to a stop, then Mac made a right turn down a neighborhood street. Kids with buckets and bags hustled door-to-door, trick-or-treating. Kevin saw Hailey glance out the window, and reached into his pocket for a few mini candy bars that he tossed to the Jensen kids.

Smart, Charlene thought. A small bribe to keep their attention.

We’ll never know exactly what happened in those days of the witch trials, but we’ve put together a reasonable accounting. The men in charge of the church used the scariest things they could come up with—witches and magic—to keep their parishioners in line.

What does that mean? Hailey asked her mom.

It is like you being grounded for talking back, Katherine answered.

Exactly, and if a parishioner didn’t go to church on a Sunday, he was promised hellfire and brimstone, Kevin said with an exaggerated shiver. A much worse fate. He waited for the bus to round the corner, then spoke again. "Now we know—but our ancestors didn’t—that witchcraft and magic have been around just as long as the Christian church, maybe longer. In fact, Wicca is a recognized religion."

Sydney leaned forward, her arm on the seat in front of her. Her hair was tucked under a knit cap, and she wore a down quilted jacket. One of my coworkers is Wiccan, at the hospital I work at in San Francisco.

Modern-day witches are just like you and me, Kevin explained. Not like in the movies. Remember the Disney films, and the witch who brought a poisoned apple to Snow White? And poor Hansel and Gretel. He hunched down to peer out the window, as if to assess where they were. Our witches are just regular folks.

Hailey sat back with disappointment. I want to learn magic. And make you disappear, she told Peter in a whisper. Their mother gave them a stern look.

Kevin chuckled. Salem is infamous for its history, and we are very proud of it. People who practice witchcraft have been made welcome for at least the last hundred years. He gave a deprecating grin. Us locals never get tired of talking about it, and people flock to listen.

Tourism saved Salem, Dylan said from the back of the bus. According to my econ teacher, he said.

Your teacher’s right. Kevin threw Dylan a mini candy bar. There are spell books in some of the shops that might be interesting to anyone wanting to learn more. Wiccan practitioners have told me that they live by the rule of three—whatever you do comes back to you threefold, which means that if you are kind, kindness comes back to you three times over.

Peter paused in thought. If I’m bad, then I get three times bad? He scowled at Kevin. Not sure that I like that.

His parents turned in their seats and laughed at Peter with affection. You? Our perfect angel? Katherine teased. You’d only get three times the homework.

He folded his arms across his narrow chest. That would suck. Guess I just wouldn’t be bad.

That’s the idea, Peter, Kevin said, tossing a candy, which Peter caught like a pro baseball player. No matter what spiritual path you follow, that seems like a decent rule of thumb.

Charlene agreed fullheartedly and put her hand out for a treat. Kevin dropped a chocolate kiss into her palm.

"Okay, everyone—to our right is the Hawthorne Hotel. It’s haunted by a young boy, so the legend goes, but is more famous for an episode of Bewitched which was filmed on the premises. Who here has watched that TV series?"

I did, Sheila said. What woman wouldn’t like to wrinkle her nose and get the housework done?

She attempted to wrinkle hers, and her husband, Sal, laughed. Forget it, honey. It’s not working.

It certainly made the Hawthorne Hotel a popular destination. Kevin lowered his voice. Many people have heard the sound of a child crying above their beds, and yet no guest has had a child with them in that room when it’s been reported.

That’s pretty terrifying, Katherine said.

Kevin kept his tone dramatic. Some say the kid died from a fever, and his parents could only slide food into his room but were forbidden to enter.

How awful, Charlene said, her heart aching for that poor child. Like Jack, he might be stuck in this hotel for an eternity, never free, never to know the peace that Heaven offered.

On a brighter note, Kevin said, they have a gorgeous bar—not as nice as Brews and Broomsticks’s—but it’s all dark wood with an elaborate fireplace, perfect for a hot drink on a cold night.

Mac stopped at a red light and then turned the bus onto Charter Street. We’ll park up here and get out at the shops. The streets will be crowded. Mac won’t leave the bus, so if there is anything you want to leave behind, it’ll be safe. He glanced at his watch. I can give you twenty minutes to poke around before we start our walking tour. We will meet at Morganna’s Witch House. It’s directly up the street, not even half a block. That makes it six o’clock. Please be prompt as we have a lot to take in.

Do we have time for a beer? Dylan asked.

Kevin zipped his jacket halfway. The tour will begin with or without you. We’ll go to the cemetery where many people have captured orbs in their photos. Orbs are like spectral energy. Sometimes when I’m doing a tour, I see something moving out of the corner of my eye. Charlene wondered if Jack could be caught on film. We’ll pass by a frightening old house from the sixteen hundreds, haunted by a little boy in the attic window, Kevin added.

It won’t be too scary, will it, Mum? Hailey asked.

You can hold my hand, Katherine said.

Kevin looked at each of them with sincerity. I believe in ghosts—but they can’t hurt you.

Charlene recalled their brief discussion at his bar one night about spirits and ghosts. Ghosts were