The Witch Who Heard the Music (Pixie Point Bay Book 7): A Cozy Witch Mystery Read online

  The Witch Who Heard the Music

  Pixie Point Bay Book 7

  Emma Belmont

  Contents

  EMMA ONLINE

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Sneak Peek

  FREE BOOK

  Copyright

  EMMA ONLINE

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  1

  If Maris Seaver hadn’t known she was standing in the Towne Plaza of Pixie Point Bay, she’d never have recognized it. The normally tranquil scene and a throwback to a bygone era had transformed into a bustling maelstrom of activity. Excitement buzzed in the air like cicadas in summer.

  “It’s amazing, isn’t it?” said a familiar voice.

  Maris had parked in front of the Main Street Market, but it wasn’t Howard that greeted her. It was Helen Tellur, a member of the crochet club, By Hook or Crook. It was located next to the general store and looked out on the Towne Plaza—and its members had to be thrilled. There was no end to the action or people that the busiest busy-bodies in the world could watch. Helen’s horn-rimmed glasses framed dark blue eyes that seemed to dance with delight.

  Maris smiled at the tall, elderly woman. “It’s a bit on the crazy side.”

  Helen grinned as she nodded. “Have you ever been to one of these?”

  Maris shook her head. “It was after my time.” She glanced at the poster in the window of the market, the same one she had on display at the B&B. “The Fifth Annual Blues on the Bay Music Festival.” Though she’d visited her aunt as a youngster, her adult work had taken her far away. It’d been years since she’d been back. She regarded Helen. “Are you a blues fan?”

  “Oh, definitely,” Helen said. As the elderly woman gazed at the plaza, Maris noted the large canvas tote bag she carried. Her latest doily projects were likely inside. “I mean, even if you weren’t, how could you not like this?” Helen peered at her. “Are you?”

  Maris smirked a little. “Only by association. Aunt Glenda was the real fan.”

  In the parlor at the B&B, an old Victrola was accompanied by Glenda’s vast collection of blues albums. Her aunt had played them for her while they’d amused themselves with board and card games or dabbled with the Ouija board.

  “Your aunt was instrumental in getting the festival started,” Helen said.

  Maris stared at her. “I didn’t know that.”

  She turned back to the plaza, where a sound system was being installed in the red Oriental gazebo, and a second stage was being built at the far end. Large tents sheltered booths where food and drinks would be sold, as well as t-shirts, trinkets, and music. There were even tables where the musicians would sign autographs. It was a massive undertaking—one for which she had a new appreciation.

  Helen nodded her gray head. “Yes, she was quite the driving force, your aunt.”

  Maris had to smile at the thought. “She was that.” It was actually a trait they shared.

  Helen glanced at the crochet club. “Millicent is on the festival committee, so naturally we’ve been privy to some of the goings on.” When she turned her gaze back to Maris, she arched her eyebrows. “Perhaps next year we can look to the younger generation for some organizational help. Maybe even, shall we say, carry on a family tradition.”

  Maris knew she was being buttonholed, but the fact that Glenda had been involved with the start of the festival really did put it in a new light. Of course she had her hands full at the B&B during the festivities, but perhaps in the weeks leading up to it, she could find time to help.

  “Who is the committee head?” Maris inquired.

  Helen grinned at her. “A new one is elected every year. You just have to put your hat in the ring. This year it was Aurora Puddlefoot.” She nodded to herself. “Marvelous with management.”

  Maris thought back to visiting the proprietor of the largest store on the plaza. Three stories tall, with everything from souvenirs to clothing and furniture, Magical Finds had at least a dozen employees.

  “Yes,” Maris said, “I could see that.”

  “Well,” the older woman said, “I won’t delay you any longer.” She turned to go, but paused. “Unless, of course, you were stopping in for some crocheting.”

  “Unfortunately not,” Maris said. She indicated the market as she repositioned the purse on her shoulder. “I’ve got a bit of shopping to do.”

  “Yes,” Helen said, nodding. “I’m sure we’re all quite busy right now.” A smile lit up her face. “Good day to you.”

  “Have a good one,” Maris replied.

  The market was busier than usual too. Shoppers, mostly tourists, were everywhere. As she took her cart up and down the aisles, Maris even noticed that Howard had hired on some new help. Young people were busily stocking shelves and answering questions from the customers. But luckily, by the time she was finished gathering everything that the B&B needed, the front counter was empty and the retired physics professor and owner of the market waved her over.

  “Good morning, Maris,” he said, his smile lifting his white mustache and deepening the crow’s feet at the corners of his dark eyes. Though he still bore an uncanny resemblance to Einstein, his hair was neatly brushed today and his mustache combed and trimmed.

  “Good morning, Howard,” she said, as she unloaded the boxed goods first. “I’ve never seen the store so busy.”

  “I have,” he said, quickly ringing up the goods. He gave her a wink. “This time last year.”

  Maris chuckled. “Well, I can see that you’re prepared.” One of the new employees rolled a bucket and mop past them. “The extra help is a great idea.”

  As Howard bagged the groceries, he said, “It’s a necessity.” He indicated her basket as she unloaded the vegetables. “The B&B must be full.”

  “Absolutely,” she said. “This week’s been booked for months. At first I had no idea what was going on.” She laughed a little. “I told Cookie it must be a new holiday that I don’t know about. She clued me in. In a way, a new holiday is exactly what it seems like.” Suddenly she remembered the one item she hadn’t found. “Oh, I almost forgot. I couldn’t find any scrub sponges. Are you out?”

  He was putting a loaded bag into the cart, but paused to look at her. “No scrubbies?” He set the bag down, and held up one finger. “Let me just check in the back.” He zipped over to the door behind the counter, and disappeared.

  As soon as it closed, Maris heard the usual sounds of rummaging that accompanied one of her requests. At first it sounded like boxes dragging along the ground. But then there was a bump, as though something had fallen against the door.
Grunting then ensued, along with more scraping sounds and a few more bumps. But Maris didn’t worry. Not only was this the time-honored process, but Howard always came up with the goods, no matter how obscure. She bagged the rest of the groceries and put everything in the cart.

  But when Howard finally emerged, Maris had to stare at him in surprise. Not only was his hair going in every direction, he was sweating and breathing hard. His shocked expression and empty hands said it all.

  “It’s missing,” he gasped. “It’s gone.”

  Maris cocked her head at him. “The scrub sponges?” To say she was shocked was an understatement. He’d never let her down. But he obviously had a lot to deal with and she didn’t want to add to the pressure. She held up a hand. “No problem. They’re not a–”

  “No,” he whispered harshly, stumbling back to her, “not the scrubbies.” He put both hands on the counter and leaned forward. “My crystal ball.”

  Maris couldn’t help but gape at him. She’d suspected that the older man might be one of the magick folk, but she’d never imagined him reading a crystal ball. He must have realized she was staring at him.

  “I know,” he said. “I am a physicist, after all, but…” He shrugged his shoulders. “It’s hard to argue with the results—such as they are.”

  Maris closed her mouth and did her best to stop gawking. He’d just confided to her that he was a crystal ball reader, a clairvoyant. Although etiquette dictated that one never asked about magic abilities, she and Cookie had managed to ferret some out. It was the unspoken rule that it was never discussed in public, so Maris took it as a measure of how upset he must be. She paused for a moment. What he’d said was curious. She glanced over her shoulder and dropped her voice.

  “When you say, ‘the results, such as they are’, is that important?”

  He glanced around as well and leaned forward. “It’s cracked.” He wiped a hand down his face. “Years ago, I dropped it.” He shrugged again. “But what can you do? It’s not like I could just get rid of it.”

  “Right,” Maris said slowly, not sure why one wouldn’t get rid of a crystal ball.

  His pained expression returned. “And now it’s just…just gone.”

  “Are you sure though?” she asked. “Maybe it’s just–”

  “I’m absolutely positive,” he said. “I never move it, not since… Well, you know.”

  Maris glanced at the closed door behind the counter. She could only imagine the jumble of goods and supplies in there. “Would you like me to have a look? Maybe I’ll be able to–”

  Howard quickly shook his head, causing his tousled white hair to shudder. “No.” But then he paused, as a tentative look came over his face. “But maybe you could use that, shall we say, ‘sleuthing’ ability of yours and find out where it’s gone.”

  Sleuthing ability, Maris thought. Apparently Howard had his suspicions too.

  She smiled a little as she nodded. “I can do that.” She dug in her purse and produced a credit card from her wallet. As he rang up the bill, she put the last bag in her cart. She signed the screen on the digital tablet, and put away her card. Howard ran his hand down his face again and simply stood there looking forlorn. “I’ll let you know what I find.” He finally looked up at her. “I promise.” She put the last bag in her cart and glanced at the door. “So I take it there are no scrubby sponges.”

  His face fell. “No. I’m sorry, not without…” Another shopper rolled their cart into line a few feet away. “Without the you know what.”

  “Ah,” Maris said, wondering if the rummaging and the fractured crystal ball were related.

  She’d been about to leave, when he dashed along the long wood counter and quickly retrieved one of the root beer candies that were her favorite. He handed her the brown and beige spiral stick in a tissue paper.

  “A barber pole for the little lady,” he said. Though he tried to smile, it was a bit lopsided. It made her appreciate their little ritual even more.

  “Thank you, Howard,” she said, taking it. She fixed him with an earnest gaze. “I’ll be in touch.”

  2

  Before heading home, Maris crossed the plaza to Delia’s Smokehouse to pick up her to-go order. As she passed the red gazebo, she could see the dozens of cables that had been laid and how they snaked every which way. Large speakers flanked the oriental structure, pointing toward her, while the interior held microphone stands and low speakers at foot level facing inward. Most of the cables from the equipment led to a large desk-like station with a dizzying array of knobs, slide controls, and digital readouts. A man who wore headphones was adjusting them with both hands, while a woman on the stage went from mic to mic saying ‘test, test.’

  Two men crossed her path carrying folding tables, both heading toward the collection of booths. A woman with a clipboard seemed as though she was organizing a group of people who were carrying tablecloths and display stands.

  Maris had to smile to herself. Aunt Glenda would have been so pleased. Not only would she have enjoyed the music, the whole town seemed to be involved. It generated business for everyone concerned, and the quiet little Victorian plaza was simply coming to life. Though she didn’t know how she could help, it might be fun to get involved with the next festival.

  But as she neared the smokehouse, thoughts of music, gazebos, and booths wafted away, replaced by the restaurant’s delicious aromas. Smoky and spicy, with a hint of the seafood for which the region was famed, the fragrances were positively mouthwatering. The wood siding exterior had several large windows that revealed quite a multitude inside. Though Maris hadn’t planned for it being so crowded, she was glad that she’d ordered ahead.

  Inside it seemed that every seat was taken and there were even a few people waiting. Nevertheless, Eugene Burnside spotted her entering and quickly came over. Despite being in his seventies, with hair and mustache a pure white, he moved his short and portly frame around like a much younger man.

  “Maris Seaver,” he said, smiling at her. His eyes turned into hazel-colored half-moons. “Good to see you. It feels like a month of Sundays.”

  “It does indeed,” she agreed. Getting the B&B ready to be fully occupied had taken a bit of time, not to mention work. “How have you been?”

  “Superb,” he said. “Couldn’t ask for more. Business is jumping, Delia is cooking up a storm, and the festival starts tomorrow. It just doesn’t get any better.”

  Coming from anyone else, Maris would have suspected hyperbole. But Eugene was different. It wasn’t his restaurant work or the fact that his daughter had taken over the place that kept him young—it was his attitude. He had to be the most positive person she’d ever met.

  She smiled back at him, and indicated the packed room. “I’ll bet even Delia is having a hard time keeping up with this.” She noticed that, like Howard, they’d hired some extra help. One young man was bussing tables, and there seemed to be a new waitress as well.

  He shook his head and grinned. “There’s no stopping that girl of mine, but I’m afraid she won’t have time to come out and say hi.” He went to a small table at the end of the waiting area and picked up one of the white paper bags that had been stapled closed at the top. Under the staple was her name and the bill. “Four Shrimp Po’ Boys?”

  “That would be mine,” she said, reaching into her purse for her wallet.

  Eugene set the order on the hostess podium as a young couple passed him on the way out. “Thanks folks,” he called out to them. “Keep your pepper dry.”

  Although the man grinned and waved at him, the young woman looked vaguely puzzled. Maris hid her smile as she brought out the wallet.

  Eugene reached under the podium, frowned, and then crouched down to look underneath it. “That’s odd.” He stood and looked at the table with the to-go orders. “Where’d it go?”

  Maris took out her credit card. “Where did what go?”

  Eugene scratched his head. “The credit card reader.”

  The waitress passed
them and went to the small group that was waiting. “I can seat you now.”

  They followed her from the waiting area, while Eugene moved the white bags and looked behind them. For a moment, as Maris watched the diners wending their way through the packed diner, she wondered if some extra staff at the B&B might help next year.

  Eugene went back to the podium, and looked behind it again. “I always leave it here.” Then he glanced back at the table, as a young family came in. He smiled at them. “I’ll be right with you folks.” He fetched a few menus and handed them out. “It’ll just be a few minutes.”

  When he returned, Maris asked, “Would cash be quicker?” as yet another group came in.

  “I’ll be right with you folks,” he said, smiling and passing out more menus.

  Maris took out some cash.

  “Oh, the cash,” Eugene said, and looked around him. Only then did Maris realize there was no cash register.

  Eugene glanced at her, thought for a second, and shook his head. He picked up her order and handed it to her. “I’ll put it on your tab,” he said, then added, “If you don’t mind that is.”

  As an older couple exited, the man said, “Best crab salad I’ve ever had. Please give our compliments to the chef.”

  “Thank you, sir, I’ll do just that,” Eugene said, beaming at him. “Keep your pepper dry, and we’ll keep our cookers smoking.”