Murder Above the Fold by ReGina Welling

Author:ReGina Welling
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Willow Hill Books
Published: 2019-11-26T11:06:46+00:00

Chapter Ten

“Get out the phone book, Clarie, and find out where Perry lives. It’s about time we had a private conversation, don’t you think?”

Clara grinned and held her cell phone aloft. “Nobody uses phone books anymore, Maggie, unless they’re missing a sofa leg or something. See, so much faster.” She tapped on the screen and read aloud, “Weatherall, Perry and Linda. 102 Church Street. Bingo.”

“Well, that’s handy, I suppose,” Mag admitted begrudgingly.

Clara withheld the I told you so bubbling into her throat and instead summoned Pyewacket, who entered from the backyard with Jinx on her tail. A few stray leaves in her hair when she morphed out of cat form proved the two of them had been enjoying some proximity to nature, and Clara doubted there was a live field mouse within a three-mile radius.

“Mind the store for us while we’re gone, please. We shouldn’t be long.”

“And keep Hagatha away from the greenhouse, or else,” Mag said, narrowing her eyes.

“We know, we know—kitty kibble for a month.” Jinx finished with an uncharacteristic eye roll.

Mag followed Clara down the cobbled path, through the backyard, and onto the trail leading into town. Church Street, which as its name suggested, was home to not one but two different houses of worship: the ambivalently-named Church of God, and a Unitarian Universalist congregation that touted acceptance of all religions.

Mag wasn’t exactly sure how that worked out in practice, but they did celebrate the solstices and pronounced Samhain correctly, so she figured they were on the right track when it came to modernized Paganism. She’d have suspected old Haggie had something to do with it, but slowly introducing the beliefs of witchkind into popular culture was too subtle for the Hagatha she knew.

Why use a candle when you could light the whole sky with a fireworks show worthy of the Fourth of July?

The winding path through the woods would deposit them near the front of the clock tower. From there it was a hop, skip, and jump through the cemetery, where the eastern exit opened onto Church Street. Faster than walking through town, but their chosen route was rife with déjà vu. Mag couldn’t tamp down the image burned into her brain of the expression on Marsha’s face when Chief Cobb had pulled her out into the light.

“Creepy, huh?”

“No matter how many times I come face to face with what one person can do to another, it’s always unsettling.” Mag shook her head sadly.

By the time they’d reached the far end of the graveyard and spilled out onto a provincial, white-birch-lined street, sunset pinked the sky. Mag and Clara had managed to shake off most of the lingering heebie-jeebies and were raring to confront their prime suspect.

“102. It’s that Victorian with the wrap-around porch.” Clara pointed, her steps quickening, and left Mag tottering two paces behind. She jabbed the bell, and the door opened with a whoosh just as Mag caught up.

“Hello. Can I help you?” A woman in her early forties—not their intended interrogation subject at all—answered the door.

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