Witch Haunt: Bigfoot Bay Witches, #4

By Cat Larson

A-haunting we will go…

It was a clear, sunny day, and I had a lovely afternoon planned.

A visit to the local historic hotel. A nice lunch. A walk in the park with my fiancé-turned-frog.

But you know what they say about best-laid plans in Bigfoot Bay.

What ghost up, must come down.

Turns out I can communicate with spirits. Lucky me.

Before I know it, I'm investigating the suspicious death of a family friend and turning up more dirt than a graveyard.

Secrets are like weeds – root out one and another pops up in its place.

Too bad for one particular hoity-toity resident spreading rumors about me.

What ghost around, comes around.

The Bigfoot Bay Witches cozy mystery series:
Witch on Ice – Book 1
Bewitched Brew – Book 2
Witch Bane and The Croaking Game – Book 3
Witch Haunt – Book 4
The Witch is Back - Book 5
The Big Day Brew-HaHa - Book 6

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cat Larson
• Release date: Jul 17, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201501327

Book preview

Chapter One

Snakes filled the fireplace then exploded into a patchwork of reds and golds. I rubbed my eyes hard, peering closer.

Something wrong with the fire, dear?

Mrs. Fairchild leaned forward, examining the hearth. When she glanced back at me, I shook my head and smiled.

Oh, no… just enjoying the warmth. It’s heavenly.

That it is. She kneaded her hands together. April, my foot! It’s nearly a month into spring, and it still feels like the dead of winter.

I nodded while taking a discreet peek at the roaring blaze then breathed out a sigh. Only burning logs. They popped and crackled, appearing exactly as they should. Nothing resembled the reptile fireworks display I’d witnessed moments earlier.

It was a figment of the imagination. An illusion my eyes had conjured up, probably due to… Ah, who was I kidding?

Why even bother attempting to fool myself into believing it’d just been a trick of the flame? My inborn witchy gift was fire-reading, and with each new day stuck in my hometown, it was becoming harder and harder to deny. I was growing tired of dusting sand off my head every night.

So, yeah… I was acknowledging that I’d uncovered a nest of snakes in the middle of Bigfoot Bay hotel, but so what? A fat lot of good it did me when I had no clue what the heck it even meant. My so-called talent would be a lot more helpful if it also came with an owner’s manual.

Would you care for more coffee?

No, thank you. I still have plenty left. I took a dainty sip of what Mrs. Fairchild, aka Mom’s best friend, considered coffee. It tasted suspiciously like tea.

She topped off her cup then set down the carafe. I wouldn’t have put it past my mother to encourage her crony-in-crime not to serve me any wicked brew since it disturbed our family’s sensitive constitution. And by disturbed, I meant it weakened our powers, especially when too much was consumed.

Which, in my opinion, was the best reason of all to drink it. The stronger, the better, I always said. Give me a cup of joe that had the consistency of melted dark chocolate, and I was happier than a wereclam at high tide during a full moon.

But, unfortunately, Violet had yanked the sand out from under my shell.

Since my sister was missing (her fault), and the spell to locate her was contained in the family grimoire that I couldn’t even read, seeing only blank white pages (my fault, according to my mother), I was bullied into easing up on the java.

And I had. Considerably. Excruciatingly. Not that I was convinced it was doing anything other than turning me into an honorary member of the living dead. Mom said I wasn’t trying hard enough. I said I was just torturing myself. Only time would tell which one was delusional.

Spoiler alert: It ain’t gonna be me. Not if I could help it.

I’m so happy you’ve finally come to visit.

I’m really sorry it took so long. Any longer and my mom would’ve sent me the Inconsiderate Daughter of the Year Award.

She waved her hand. Pfft. You’ve only been back… oh, almost six weeks now. She busted out a laugh. "Okay, I guess it has taken a while."

I nibbled on my bottom lip. Um…

But don’t you worry about that for a second. And don’t let your mother make you feel guilty about it.

Ha! I’ll be sure to make that happen.

You just needed some time to get all settled back home, is all. Her lips twitched up.

Oh, it’s only temporary—

I heard through the grapevine you opened up Violet’s shop for business. How nice. I’m sure that means a lot to her.

Yes, I did about a week ago. But only very limited hours as a trial run. There’d already been a crazy number of customers to show up. When I’d flipped that door sign over from CLOSED to OPEN, I had to double check that it hadn’t actually read: Free adorable puppies and unlimited handmade ice cream inside. I guess Sage was right—people had missed the shop.

And it’s going well so far? she asked.

As well as it can. I still haven’t a clue what I’m doing. The stationery and soap are straightforward enough… I paused, frowning. But was that even true? Considering that one of Violet’s fancy rose-scented octagon-shaped bars had once doubled as a thief-revealing amulet, I wasn’t so sure. However, I continued. The herbs are in a league of their own. I haven’t an ounce of my sister’s expertise in that area. I’m terrified of selling someone the wrong thing.

What if I accidentally gave a hair-growing tonic to a woman hoping to relieve dry facial skin? A minor problem, you say? Tell that to the lady walking around sporting a full beard and mustache.

Don’t worry so much. I’m sure you’ll do just fine until Violet… returns. She peered at me over the rim of her coffee (tea) cup. Speaking of things taking a while.

I just nodded, because what else was I supposed to do? My mom and Mrs. Fairchild had always been thick as thieves, but how often did they get the chance to talk now that my parents were stranded in another country? I didn’t know what had already been disclosed regarding my sister’s absence. I’d only just myself told Mom the full story of how Violet had turned my fiancé, Fernando, into a frog during one of her impulsive tantrums then fled the scene of the crime in order to avoid my wrath. At least that was the picture I held in my mind, the one that made the most sense.

Mrs. Fairchild set her cup down then slapped her hands on her thighs. Well, I’m sure it won’t be much longer. Before we know it, Violet will come back home refreshed and rejuvenated from her extended vacation. She deserves it after how hard she works.

I got a strong feeling she wanted to say more but was playing it cool. Did she even know that my parents were trying to get a flight home early because they were concerned about my sister’s well-being?

I tugged on the purple hair strands I’d had since birth, trying to ignore the fact they were multiplying. For the first time in my life, new ones had sprouted up several weeks ago. Now, what in the world did that mean?

At any rate, she continued, smiling. Since the store’s now open, I’ll have to pop by for some more of that lovely orange peel tea. I’ve tried other brands from the market and they just don’t measure up. Whatever Violet does to make her tea taste so delicious, I hope she never stops doing it. That sister of yours is sure something.

Yeah, she’s something all right, I mumbled.

Now Edward, on the other hand. He wasn’t much of a citrusy guy, more like a black licorice type of man. He absolutely adored her Dark Thunder blend. He s-said… Her voice cracked, eyes tearing up at the talk of her late husband. He…

I reached over and touched her arm. I’m so sorry, Mrs. Fairchild. It’d been over a year since Edward Fairchild passed away, but the surviving emotion was obviously still fresh. And it didn’t take a psychic to know that she still missed him a great deal. "If you need to talk about anything, feel free. I can’t imagine how difficult—ah!"

I jerked back, her face crinkling at my reaction. Samm?

My eyes bugged out of their own accord, and I quickly slammed them shut, squeezing hard enough to cast stars.

Samm, what’s wrong? You’re scaring me.

Now, she was the one touching me, comforting me. I pried open a lid which caused me to gasp again.

You can see me? he asked, appearing (almost) as astonished as I must’ve looked. Which was a gazillion times less than I felt.

Say something, Mrs. Fairchild said.

You can see me? her—did I mention dead?—husband repeated at the same time. Wow! Someone can see me!

Holy Hades. Holy mother of Persephone. I… I… I scrubbed my eyes hard enough to water a fruit farm. Holy freaking Underworld and all the—

Samm! Mrs. Fairchild grasped my arms.

I… I’m okay. I gave her a tiny smile which earned me an enormous frown. She was probably seconds away from shaking me like a coconut tree. The, uh, coffee must’ve gone down wrong.

Brilliant answer, Samm. I wanted to smack my forehead, considering I hadn’t even touched a drop of the herb bathwater in who knew how long, not to mention I hadn’t so much as coughed.

She swung around. What are you looking at?

Just your husband’s ghost. No biggie.

Samm! he yelled out, and I dropped my attention to my lap. This is simply marvelous! You can really see me!

I can hear you loud and clear too. No need to shout, I grumbled under my breath. I slowly lifted my gaze to his beaming face. Could a ghost’s face beam? Well, this one surely could.

Did you say something? Mrs. Fairchild stared back at me, a heady mix of concern and confusion in her eyes.

Whoa. Um… I dragged my fingers down my probable colorless cheeks. I felt a bit dizzy there for a while, but I’m fine now.

Was I? Was I really? I glanced up to his face again. He stood behind his widowed wife, hands resting on her shoulders. Mr. Fairchild was like a ginormous box of fat-filled, sugar-laden chocolates; I just couldn’t stay away for my own good.

He smiled at me. I like to comfort her when she’s feeling down.

Uh…

His form was slightly blurry as if viewing him through a mister, but still too solid for my peace of mind. This was not happening. Witch or no witch, I did not have The Sight. I pivoted and forced myself to focus on the fire instead. I’d rather see snakes.

I zeroed in on a photo of the Fairchilds on the mantel, appearing every bit the happy couple I remembered them to be. I should probably get going, I said. I’m feeling a little faint again.

No, they both dictated in unison.

Mrs. Fairchild scooted her chair closer, no doubt bringing her ghost husband along for the ride. You just admitted to feeling faint. You think I’m going to let you leave in this condition? You are not going anywhere until I’m convinced you’re a hundred percent, and that’s that.

Ha! She told you.

I turned then, narrowing my eyes at his grinning mouth. He didn’t have to be so gloaty about it.

Well, I’m sorry if you don’t like it, but that’s just the way it’s going to be, she said, standing. Let me get you some water.

No! I blurted out. I did not want to be alone with my first dead person. And I wasn’t giving you a dirty look, I promise. I’m really sorry if it looked that way.

Okay. She eyed me warily.

I’ll just drink my, er… coffee. I took a sip. Blech. And now it was cold to boot. I did my best to avoid concentrating on anything other than her face, but it was a little challenging to completely steer clear of the looming spectral body behind her. If anything, I should be the one getting you the water. I never meant to so rudely interrupt you earlier.

Nonsense, Samm. Actually, you did me a favor, bringing me out of my doldrums. Edward would never want me to spend even a second of my time moping around, crying over him. He’d want me to move on and live happily.

She’s right, he said. That’s true.

Besides, she continued, I feel so much better now anyway. It’s like all I need to do is think of him and he’s right next to me. I swear I can even physically feel his touch sometimes. Isn’t that crazy?

In my peripheral, I caught sight of his big ol’ phantom hands massaging her shoulders. Crazy? Uh… not really.

Tell her how much I love her. Tell her how she’s never alone. Tell her I’m always around looking after her. Tell her that I still wrap my arms around her every night. Tell her—

She knows, I hissed. Hadn’t he been listening to what she’d just said?

What was that, Samm?

Um, just reiterating that it’s not crazy at all to feel that way about your husband. You both loved each other very much. And still do. I’m sure wherever he is—right behind you—he’s still looking out for you, making sure you’re okay.

Yes. She smiled wide. He is. She patted her shoulder absentmindedly. Or at least I assumed.

I was about to ask if she could see him too, if she’d just felt too foolish to admit it, but I stopped myself. Of course, she couldn’t see him. She’d questioned what I was looking at earlier, and Mr. Fairchild seemed quite surprised that anyone could see him. And since he was no longer urging me to relay his undying (no pun intended) love, I figured he was satisfied with what I had passed on to her.

Mrs. Fairchild?

We both turned toward the woman who’d entered the room. Not sure what Mr. Fairchild had done. I was pretty sure he could’ve spun his head around like Linda Blair, if so inclined. Ker-eepy.

Yes, Nancy?

Sorry to bother you, but Mrs. Beaumont is here and would like to chat with you about the room she booked for tonight. For her business meeting. Nancy sighed. You know her. For whatever reason, she’ll only speak to you. As if everyone else were incompetent, her tone insinuated.

Okay, thank you. Tell her I’ll be with her shortly.

Mr. Fairchild snorted. Eva Beaumont likes to be discreet about her indiscretions, he said. The fewer people aware, the better. No doubt this room she reserved is meant for a rendezvous with someone other than her husband. Business meeting, my stiff foot. She—

I flashed him a look. I get it.

Get what, dear?

I mean… I should get going. Perfect timing too since you have guests to tend to.

Mrs. Beaumont? Oh, she won’t take too long. You can wait here by the fire.

Under normal circumstances, I probably would’ve taken her up on that. The little lounge was quite cozy, a quaint sitting room situated off the main lobby. Just being here made me feel like I’d tumbled back to the 1800s.

Hey, what do you call a ghost who haunts fireplaces? he asked.

What?! I mouthed.

A toasty ghosty!

I groaned as the phantom amateur comedian doubled over in laughter. As I was saying… under normal circumstances.

I need to meet Sage soon anyway, I said. And I’m all better now, no need to worry. I smiled wide. Not a trace of dizziness.

Hmm. Okay. She rested her hand on mine. But promise me you won’t wait another six weeks to visit again.

Yes, promise, Mr. Fairchild said. "Do you know how deadfully boring it gets when no one can see or hear you? I’ve been dying to talk to someone and—"

I promise, I said before he could throw out any more bad puns.

And promise me you’ll take care of yourself, she said.

Absolutely.

Her expression indicated that some doubt remained, but who could blame her? I hadn’t exactly exhibited sane behavior during our social call.

I followed her out, casting glances over my shoulder to see if a certain someone was tagging behind. He wasn’t.

Beth! Mrs. Fairchild shouted, waving over her daughter, who’d just come in the hotel’s front entrance with a man at her side.

I easily recognized the woman I hadn’t seen in over a decade, although due to having ten years on me, we’d never hung out in the same crowd growing up.

Sammara Hain? I thought that was you! How are you? Beth grasped my hands, giving me a warm smile as her mother left to deal with Mrs. Beaumont.

I’m doing well. And you?

Everything’s just wonderful. I’m surprised I haven’t run into you before now, but you know how it is, and the hotel does keep me hopping and—

Ahem, the sharp-faced guy beside her interrupted.

Oh! Of course. She quickly dropped my hands and attached to his arm like a barnacle. Sorry, honey. His lips ticked up, and I felt a rush of irrational dislike toward him. I was being unfair; I’d never even officially met the man yet. Let me introduce my husband, Randall.

Call me Randy, he said in an accent I couldn’t place.

Randy, this is Sammara Hain. Violet’s older sister.

Ah, right. I should have known immediately. The resemblance is uncanny.

Yeah, okay. Besides the fact that our facial features weren’t even that similar, I had pale blonde hair with purple streaks while my sister had flaming red hair. Hardly a spitting image. What a schmoozer.

Please, call me Samm, I said to Beth, who was beaming like she’d won the man lottery. I turned to her husband in all politeness. Nice to meet you, Randy.

He stuck out his hand, and I shook it. Believe me, the pleasure is all mine.