The day of the barbeque, I watched the hours tick by one minute at a time. Attending was the last thing I wanted to do, and I felt like we were all willingly walking into some kind of trap. Aunt Astrid had given me a bar of the soap Cedar had made. I didn’t think it smelled good at all. It was sickly, as if it had been made with rotten meat or baked garbage with a squirt of cheap air freshener over it. I tossed it soon after Aunt Astrid gave it to me and didn’t think twice about it.
Blake had called me earlier to wish me luck at their barbecue.
“I don’t want to do this,” I mumbled over the phone.
“I know you don’t. Your personality doesn’t lend itself to this kind of situation,” he said bluntly. “You aren’t a social butterfly.”
“No. I’m not,” I grunted.
“But one good thing about that is that you have that gift of blending into the background. A real wallflower,” Blake said.
“You really know how to make a girl feel confident!” I snapped.
“That’s exactly what makes a good detective: someone who can be present but not really noticed,” he said. “There are very few who have that ability. You do, at least when you aren’t speaking.”
I smiled despite my annoyance. “I think that was some kind of compliment.”
“It was.” He cleared his throat.
“How are things coming with the murder-suicides? Any groundbreaking discoveries?” I asked, changing the subject as I rubbed my blushing cheeks.
“Funny, but no. In fact, Jake and I were just discussing the total absence of groundbreaking discoveries. Like the scenes had been scrubbed. Which is strange, since both deaths occurred in the homes. And the instant sale of the Gingerbread House was also very strange, since it—”
“What? It sold again already?” I huffed. If that didn’t add insult to injury. “It’s only been a couple of days.”
“I know. I find it odd. But there have been stranger occurrences in Wonder Falls than that,” Blake said. “Just the other day, a man who had been reported missing more than two months ago was found. He’d decided he wanted to live off the grid and did so by utilizing the city’s sewer systems. He’d come up underneath the stores, where he proceeded to steal what supplies he needed. The human mind can adapt to any situation if the desire is there. Uh oh.”
“What’s wrong?”
“We’ve got a call. I have to go. See you tonight?” Blake asked.
“Sure. I’ll tell you all about my horribly awkward and uncomfortable time at the barbeque.” I rolled my eyes.
“Just remember, be yourself. Blend in. You’ll find out more that way,” he encouraged before hanging up the phone.
I hung up too and sat there for a while. It was almost time to go meet Bea. She was driving. The Gingerbread House was only about fifteen minutes away at a casual stroll. That meant that with Bea driving, it would take at least a half hour, maybe longer, to get there.
When I’d asked her if Aunt Astrid was coming with us, she’d said no; Cedar and Ethel had arranged to have her picked up. That was another thing I didn’t like. We all live within walking distance of each other and yet they wanted to only pick up Aunt Astrid? Rude.
Earlier, I had asked Treacle for a favor.
“You know where the Gingerbread House is, right? The one with the anthill?” I said as I stroked Treacle’s fur.
“Yes,” he said while purring.
“I want you to go there and get a look at things. Tell me what’s going on when I arrive. If there is anything shady or strange or unusual. I’ll meet up with you later.”
“I can do that,” he said, stretching as I opened the kitchen window for him to slink outside.
“Stay out of sight. For all we know, that brand of witches eats cats,” I said before I slid the window shut and locked it behind him.
That had been about two hours ago. Finally, I heard Bea honk the horn out front. I grabbed my party side dish, smoothed out the front of my T-shirt and jeans, and headed out the door.
“You look nice,” Bea said. Her belly was nearly touching the steering wheel.
“Thanks. So do you. Do you want me to drive, or are you teaching the baby to do it?” I said as I pulled the door closed.
“I know. I can’t believe I’ve still got a couple months to go. You’ll have to roll me down the street. What is that?” She eyeballed the plastic party tray covered with tinfoil.
“We had to bring a party side dish,” I replied.
“I told you I’d bring something for the both of us,” Bea said.
“What are you trying to say?” I asked as she pulled out of my driveway and headed in the direction of the party.
“Well, you aren’t known for your culinary talents,” Bea said sadly. “I just didn’t think you’d want to make anything.”
“That I wouldn’t want to or couldn’t?” I asked, lifting my chin.
“Come on, Cath. You know you can’t cook.”
“Sort of like how you can’t drive? Come on, Granny. The speed limit is our friend. No need to stay so far back from it.”
“Very funny. Safe driving is no accident.” Bea smirked.
I chuckled when she laughed, and we ended up laughing together. That was until I realized where we were heading. I had walked down this road a dozen times and driven down it more than that, all to pass by the Gingerbread House and try and get a glimpse in the windows.
“Wait a minute. What’s the address of this shindig?” I asked.
“It looks like it is that house right there,” Bea said slowly. “Oh, Cath. They bought your Gingerbread House.”
“But it only just recently became vacant. The murder-suicide, remember?” I huffed.
“I do remember,” Bea added.
“We’re talking a matter of days. How did that happen? I’m suspicious already. I don’t think these witches deserve my party side dish,” I grumbled as we pulled up in front of the house. I saw a couple more cars in the driveway.
“At least we aren’t the first ones here,” Bea said.
My guts tightened up as Bea and I walked to the door. She was talking quietly to me, but I wasn’t sure about what. I was sure I was going to have a panic attack, because I didn’t want to be here, and I knew that Bea, who was always much more sociable than me, would attract conversation like butterflies to a flower. Meanwhile, I’d be somewhere off by myself counting ceiling tiles or cobblestones.
Without hesitating, Bea opened the door and walked right in.
“Is that proper to just walk right in?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I have to go to the bathroom again.” Bea rolled her eyes.
“Okay.” I looked around. It was like the set of a bad 1960s horror film: lots of red and black fabric and drapery and tacky pentagrams and black candles were scattered around. It was such a beautiful little cottage that I couldn’t believe the horrible way it had been arranged on the inside, as if a group of high school kids from the drama department had decorated the place for their senior Halloween party.
“Is this for real?” I muttered.
“I don’t know, but I see a powder room over there,” Bea said and left my side to waddle to the bathroom.
I stood by myself for a second, my party plate in my hands. Finally, a woman who looked like the Pillsbury Doughboy in a flowery summer dress came up to me. She smiled with lips that were thin and slightly discolored, pushing the corners of her mouth deep into her cheeks.
“Hello! Let me guess. You must be Cath,” she said while extending a plump hand toward me.
I held the tray in one hand and accepted her greeting with a nervous smile. “Hi,” I muttered. “My cousin Bea is here too. She’s in the bathroom.”
“I’m Luann. Welcome to our little coven.” She giggled. “Let me take that from you. Come on in, and I’ll make all the introductions. Of course, you’ll already know your Aunt Astrid. She’s out in the backyard with Cedar and Ethel.”
“I’ll bet she is.” I couldn’t help saying it.
“What?” Luann asked, blinking her tiny eyes.
“Nothing.” I forced a smile that I knew crinkled my eyes and shrugged. When in Rome was all I could think. “There’s Bea.” I let out an audible sigh of relief as she came hobbling in our direction.
I made a quick introduction and then made an excuse to hang back a little. “I have to pee too.” The words rolled out of my mouth so elegantly.
“Sure. Well, you know where it is. Bea, let’s get you and your little bundle something to eat. When are you due? Is it a boy or a girl? Do you have any other children?” Luann wasn’t shy with the prodding.
I went into the powder room and waited an appropriate amount of time before leaving. There was a red candle burning on the edge of the sink with a homemade label on it that read Dragon’s Blood. How original. It did smell nice. I was alone in the bathroom just enough time to look through the cabinet beneath the sink. It was filled from top to bottom with nothing but toilet paper.
“I knew they were full of it,” I said.
Finally, I opened the door and peeked around. Everyone had gone outside. With the house relatively empty, I thought I’d go exploring. A staircase led to what I could only imagine were the bedrooms. Along the wall were black-framed portraits of sinister-looking men and women from the Victorian era. High collars and stiff-shouldered jackets adorned the males and females, who had been forever immortalized by the wet-plate photo process from back then.
And yes, their eyes did seem to follow me as I walked up the steps.