Murder in Moon Water Read online

  Murder in Moon Water

  Witch Itch Mystery – Book Two

  CeCe Osgood

  Copyright© 2018 CeCe Osgood.

  All Rights Reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, businesses, events and incidents are either the product of this author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Hello from CeCe

  Chapter One

  Still astonished by what had happened, Abby Little raised her arms aloft and twirled around as she gaped at her new surroundings.

  Sure, the decor could be described as "little old lady" because of the pineapple print wallpaper, the faux Tiffany lamps and the maple leaf patterned sofa with its matching armchairs, but all of that really didn't matter.

  She could live with it. She could absolutely, positively live with it. "Because it's mine," Abby chirped, "it's all mine. Well, and the kiddo's too. She is the one who made it happen."

  Jill, Abby's fourteen-year-old daughter, had entered her mother's name in an online contest, and when the call came announcing Abby had won the grand prize, both of them were stunned.

  With another twirl, Abby waved her hand. "And this is it."

  The grand prize was a cozy cottage of honey-colored stone with two bedrooms and one bath.

  But, of course like everything else in life, there was a catch, and it was a fairly sizeable one.

  Abby had to agree to live in the cottage for a full year before the property would be legally hers and could then be sold or leased out to someone else.

  Since the cottage was located in the tiny town of Moon Water, Oregon that meant moving a whopping fifteen hundred miles from the flat plains of Nebraska to the forest-covered mountains of Oregon.

  At first, Abby refused to even consider such a radical move, especially since Jill was only three and half weeks into her first year of high school. However, to her surprise, Jill urged her mother to accept the prize. Abby soon learned why.

  Jill loved horses, and the high school in Moon Water had an equestrian club with an outstanding reputation since three of the club's members had, over the past decade, qualified for the Grand West National. To be a participant in the GWN was Jill's dream.

  Realizing how committed her daughter was, Abby decided to accept the grand prize. And besides, her practical, cautious side could see owning the cottage as an excellent investment.

  She'd have to fork over for taxes and insurance, but there'd be no monthly mortgage payment. Currently, she was renting and every time she signed the check she felt like she was throwing her money into a giant shredding machine.

  Once she'd made up her mind, Abby tried to keep that mind positive, although she was, from time to time, flooded with apprehension about moving to a small town where she knew absolutely nobody.

  Compounding that worry was the possibility of finding a job in such a small town.

  Last night after a three-day road trip, Abby and Jill had arrived in the tiny mountain town and had driven right by the town square. The shops were closed up tight, and the one working streetlamp was so dim the square appeared bleak and uninviting. Abby stifled a sigh and wondered if moving here was a mistake.

  Then she saw the honey-colored stone cottage.

  Lilac heather bloomed next to the stone, celosia and pansies lined the walkway and reddish-purple Boston ivy vines curve up over the front porch’s white railing reaching up for the roof. Her heart lifted, and she knew she'd made the right decision.

  And that sentiment had been reaffirmed when she woke up this morning. The mountain air—Moon Water was situated halfway up Mount Dapple—had given her the most peaceful night's sleep she'd had in the almost two years since divorcing Charles, Jill's father.

  With one more twirl around the cozy living room, Abby headed to the kitchen. "Coffee," she cooed. "I’m coming for you."

  As she entered, her eyes skipped from the harvest gold appliances to the pale green linoleum floor and the beige formica countertop, evidence that the cottage, built in the twenties, had been remodeled sometime in the seventies. "I guess," she chirped to the kitchen, "You're not old. You're hip, you're retro, you're vintage."

  Her eyebrows slashed into a frown. "What? No dishwasher. How the heck did I miss that last night?"

  Easy. She and Jill were exhausted from the three-day road trip. Yawning and weary, they'd voted for a quick, cursory tour of the cottage last night before crawling under the lovely star pattern quilts and falling asleep.

  Abby plucked a can of coffee out of an enormous basket loaded with goodies. Selene, the welcome wagon lady who they'd met at the cottage last night, had presented it to them. She'd also stocked the refrigerator with plenty of food and beverages, including plenty of fresh cream for coffee.

  Abby surveyed the kitchen for a coffeemaker, worried now because she had sold or donated many of her household items. She'd been advised that the cottage was fully equipped.

  She figured it must have been a vacation rental for a while before the owner donated it as the grand prize in a fundraiser for Moon Water's community health clinic.

  A quick search of the cabinets proved her wrong. "Don't you hide from me ever again, Mr. Coffee," she said as she stuck the glass pot under the faucet to wash it out.

  While the dark roast brewed, she slipped outside to inspect the backyard. A stretch of weedy grass contoured out from the back steps leading to a garden and a small storage shed to one side.

  Beyond that, the terrain sloped upward until it became shades of evergreen forest, with sprinklings of red, gold and orange autumn leaves.

  Abby was used to the flat plains of the Midwest, so this mountainous environment was new to her. New, magnificent, and a little scary.

  Returning to the kitchen, she sipped caffeine and made plans for the day. In an hour, they needed to be at the high school to get Jill enrolled.

  A sudden insistent banging on the front door startled her so much she sloshed coffee on her robe. Panicking, she set down her mug and grabbed her phone, hoping 911 worked in a town this small then scurried toward the front windows with her finger hovering over the talk button.

  After a recent horrific encounter with a psycho killer back in Nebraska, she was hyper-alert to any sign of danger.

  She pulled back a curtain to see a stoop-shouldered, older man with tufts of wiry hair on his balding pate.

  "You," he yelled, catching her peeking out at him. "Who are you?"

  She quickly unlocked the deadbolt and cracked open the front door."I-I'm Abby, Abby Little," she stammered. "I moved in last—"


  He cut her off. "I've never seen you before. You've got no right to be here. Get out!"

  Stunned, she glared at him. "I will not. I won this cottage. It's mine."

  "You won it? Don't take me for a fool, young lady. People don't win houses."

  "Well, yes, normally they don't, but I did. I won the grand prize and"—she waved her hand wildly—"this is it. Two bedrooms, one bath and an ancient kitchen."

  "What a lying bunch of—"

  "I'm not lying."

  She scowled back at him, not backing down for a second with the old grump. Usually, she tried to be civil and polite to her elders, but this was her home, and her daughter's home, and she wasn't going to take any guff from anyone.

  Shaking his head in disgust, he went into a rant. "In my day, you worked hard and earned money to buy a house. You young people, you have no idea what it's like to work for a living, do ya?"

  "I do too. It just so happens I got lucky for once."

  He sniffed, started to go down the steps then whirled back to face her, shaking a bony knuckled finger. "Don't you dare leave any garbage out over night. Animals get into it. I've had to clean up trash strewn all up and down this street."

  "I don't do that. I don't leave it out at night."

  With a dismissive scoff, he tromped down the steps, muttering to himself. Abby watched him walk to the cottage next door.

  "Oh, no," she groaned, her flat palm slapping the wall next to the door. "I should've known this would happen."

  "What would happen?" Jill called out, yawning as she shuffled down the hallway to head straight into the kitchen.

  Abby closed the front door and trailed after her daughter. "There's always a catch. We luck into this sweet little cottage in a nice neighborhood and, by golly, there's a fly in the pie."

  "If there's pie," Jill said with a touch of snark, "I want some, with or without the fly." She yanked the fridge open.

  "Smart aleck."

  "Grouch." Jill surveyed the contents of the fridge.

  "Me? You should see who's living next door. Mr. Curmudgeon himself."

  "Eat some protein. It'll put you in a better mood."

  Jill snagged a bag of cheese sticks from the middle shelf then turned to her mother. "Your hair," she gasped.

  "What's wrong?" Abby's hand flew up to her temple.

  "It's the reddest I've ever seen it."

  Abby tugged at a tendril. It had been a kind of cinnamon red on the trip here, but now it was like a ripe tomato.

  When she was a preteen, she'd hated the color so much she'd resorted to dyeing it a dark brown. That was back in the seventh grade when her classmates taunted and teased her for being tall, five foot nine and a half, and having such an unruly mop of red hair.

  A neighbor lady had solved the hair problem by introducing her to henna. Lately though, the henna had stopped working for some reason.

  "Have a cheese stick," Jill said, tossing the bag to her mother before she snagged a pastry from the welcome wagon basket and trundled off to take a shower.

  A frenzied forty-eight minutes later both of them were ready to leave the house.

  They were walking out to the car when Abby spotted the old man from next door clipping the leafy hedge separating their front yards.

  She gave Jill a warning look and both of them moved stealthily toward the car. They were almost there when he called out, "Good morning. Welcome to Honeyberry Woods."

  Abby mouthed "get in the car" to Jill then turned her gaze to him, not sure how to handle the grouch now that he was being so friendly. "Thank you. It seems to be a nice neighborhood."

  "That it is. You'll like it here," he said with an affable grin. "Some real nice people around here."

  He gestured at a sprawling bush bearing clumps of purplish berries. "This here is a honeyberry bush. Its berries make some of the best pies. Anytime you want some, help yourself. There's plenty."

  Abby suppressed the desire to ask him if he had an evil twin brother. The old guy who'd yelled at her a half hour ago certainly wasn't this fellow.

  He lifted a hand, waved. "I'm George. George Perkins. What's your name?"

  She gave him a finger wave. "Abby Little. That's Jill in the car. My daughter. Guess we better be going. I've got to get her to school. See ya."

  Climbing behind the wheel she turned to Jill. "Be careful around that guy. Seems to be sort of a split personality."

  Chapter Two

  Jill's enrollment at Moon Water High School went smoothly, and she was thrilled when the assistant principal assured her she could join the equestrian club.

  With a peck on her cheek, Abby said goodbye and drove off to meet Selene Adamas, the welcome wagon lady who had greeted them last night at the cottage.

  Following Selene's directions, she drove to the town square which consisted of one-story clapboard, timber and brick buildings that appeared to have been built in the twenties or thirties. Most had been renovated and re-purposed; some had flower boxes and inviting exteriors. Last night, the shops in the square seemed bleak and foreboding, but in the daylight, they were much more appealing.

  The square surrounded a small park with a white circular gazebo in the center, a banner for an upcoming Halloween event strung across the roof.

  As she parked her car, Abby spied a "permanently closed" sign on the door of one shop, the Moon Water Bakery, and frowned. The bakery would have been her best prospect for a job. Back in Martindale, a suburb of Omaha, she'd owned Burt's Desserts until it was destroyed in a fire.

  Abby crossed the street on her way to Dill's Diner, an old-fashioned eatery painted a tasteful mulberry red with white trim.

  The diner was smaller inside than she expected, with only six stools at the counter and a dozen or so tables.

  Selene was seated at a four-top near the front window. Last night when they first met, Abby thought Selene looked like a fairy godmother in her black cloak with her silvering hair up in a loose chignon.

  Today in her baby blue sweatpants, crew-neck top and matching sneakers, she looked ready for a hike up Mount Dapple.

  After they perused the menu and ordered, the conversation meandered from Abby's three-day road trip to the joys and perils of living in a small town. "What I've noticed the most, so far," Abby said, "is how much I like having almost no traffic."

  "I heartily agree."

  "How long have you lived in Moon Water, Selene?"

  "Seems like forever." Selene stirred a teaspoon of sugar into her coffee. "First time I came here it was a teeny tiny town, now we're over three thousand, more during tourist season, which makes me fret."

  Her nose scrunched up. "I guess I shouldn't say that. Mr. Steed's bookstore survives thanks to the tourists. During the off season, I try to help him bring in the locals by hosting book discussions or putting together craft shows or the occasional psychic fair."

  Abby's lips twitched with amusement. "Psychic fairs? Is that popular here?"

  Selene nodded. "Well, we do have a bit of a reputation."

  "Why is that?"

  "Because of how the town got its name, Moon Water. Originally, the settlement was called Willard's Town, but then shortly before the Great Depression, there was this strange occuren—"

  "Ladies, who has the crepes?" The waiter said, edging up to the table and lowering a tray.

  Shortly after he left, Abby tasted the dish she'd ordered: salmon crepes with dill sauce. "Delicious," she murmured. This tiny town had unexpected surprises. Their conversation drifted from food to the town's economy, which is when Abby brought up the need to find a job.

  "Tomorrow, we could walk the square, Abby, and I'll introduce you to the shop owners. Someone might have an opening."

  "Thank you. I'd like to meet them." She forked into the last bite of her crepes. I did meet my neighbor, George Perkins, this morning."

  Selene's shoulders sagged a little. "Ah, yes. George."

  "Does he have a twin?"

  Selene tilted her head, puzzled.
/>   "That's just me being a bit snarky. The first time I met him he was not very sociable. Quite the opposite in fact. Then, an hour later, we met again, and he was like a different person. Very friendly and nice."

  "George can be like that. Erratic, moody. See, he lost his wife not long after they moved here, and then recently I heard his dog, Winston, passed away."

  "Poor old fellow," Abby said, making a mental note to invite him over for coffee and pie. No doubt he was lonely.

  Abby told Jill at dinner what Selene had said about George. "Hopefully, we can be friends with him." Then Jill confessed she was having mixed feelings about the school. "The teachers are okay, but no one else said a word to me."

  "It's been one day, sweetie. Give it time."

  Later, Abby walked into her bedroom. She was pleased by the furniture and decor, except for the flimsy lace curtains. If she angled her head just right, she could see right into George's living room. Which meant he could see into her bedroom. She made a mental note to buy new curtains tomorrow. Thick ones.

  She was closing them when she glimpsed a shadow moving past a lamp in the living room next door. A troubled feeling sent a quiver through her, and she hurried out to her front porch. Was there something going on next door? The lamp in his living room was out now, and there was no sound of a disturbance. Her rational mind told her not to get carried away. "It was George turning off his light." She walked back inside.

  And yet, the shadow was taller than the hunched over old man.

  After a hearty internal debate, she went back out on the porch, trotted down the front steps and headed toward the cottage next door.

  A sudden movement near the hedge separating the front yards startled her. Then she saw two glimmering eyes staring up at her.

  The creature inched forward. Its long body and short legs instantly recognizable. A mini-Dachshund. "Aww. Who are you?"

  The dog toddled toward her, stopped then did a short dash in the direction of the cottage next door before halting again.

  When she didn't come after him, the dog trotted back to her and put a front paw on her sandal. She reached down to pet it, but then the dog repeated its earlier behavior, but this time it ran to the far side of George's cottage. Abby followed, and the dog raced down a dirt path to the fence gate, which stood ajar.