Batter and Spells Read online

  Batter and Spells

  Sweetland Witch Series

  Zoe Arden

  ReedFoster Press House

  A Cozy Mystery Book

  Contents

  Copyright

  Like my page

  For You Personally

  Dedication

  About The Author

  Personal Word from Zoe

  .

  Prologue

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  Chapter One

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  Chapter Two

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  Chapter Three

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  Chapter Four

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  Chapter Five

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  Chapter Six

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  Chapter Seven

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  Chapter Eight

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  Chapter Nine

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  Chapter Ten

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  Chapter Eleven

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  Chapter Twelve

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  Chapter Thirteen

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  Chapter Fourteen

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  Chapter Fifteen

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  Chapter Sixteen

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  Chapter Seventeen

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  Chapter Eighteen

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  Chapter Nineteen

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  Chapter Twenty

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  Chapter Twenty-one

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  Chapter Twenty-two

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  Chapter Twenty-three

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  Chapter Twenty-four

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  Chapter Twenty-five

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  Chapter Twenty-six

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  Chapter Twenty-seven

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  Chapter Twenty-eight

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  Chapter Twenty-nine

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  Chapter Thirty

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  Chapter Thirty-one

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  Chapter Thirty-two

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  Chapter Thirty-three

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  Chapter Thirty-four

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  Chapter Thirty-five

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  Chapter Thirty-six

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  Chapter Thirty-seven

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  Chapter Thirty-eight

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  Chapter Thirty-nine

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  Chapter Forty

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  Epilogue

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  Preview of Next Book

  Also By . ORDER OF BOOKS

  For You Personally

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2017 by

  Zoe Arden

  and

  ReedFoster press House

  All Rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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  * * *

  DEDICATION

  * * *

  This book is specially dedicated to YOU- the reader!

  First of all, I would like to thank you for picking my book and reading it.

  Your interest to do so spurs me on to write even better stories, stories that will be capable in bringing us to a world of fun, mystery and suspense, albeit just for a little while.

  Your support has always meant a lot to me and I hope you will continue to enjoy reading what I have written.

  Thank you!

  “ The true mystery of the world is the visible, not the invisible. ”

  Oscar Wilde

  Have you checked out my other cozy mystery books?

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  * * *

  * * *

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  * * *

  It was from reading Agatha Christie’s mystery books that inspired Zoe to write cozy mystery novels. Zoe liked the fact that cozy mysteries are able to offer readers a form of escapism that typical detective stories can’t.

  Like what Marilyn Stasio, who has been the Crime columnist forThe New York TimesBook Review since the late 1980s, recently wrote: “The abiding appeal of the cozy mystery owes a lot to our collective memory, true or false, of simpler, sweeter times.” It is Zoe’s desire that her writings will evoke that nostalgic memory in all of us; those memories of the good old days.

  What sets Zoe apart in her writings is her fusing of Mystery with Paranormal elements, a combination which will bring about fantasies that are intriguing and engaging. Her stories contain unexpected twists and sometimes light-hearted moments that will make one smile at Zoe’s quirkiness, fun and wittiness in her writings.

  Much Love,

  * * *

  PERSONAL WORD

  FROM ZOE ARDEN

  * * *

  Hello, lovely reader!

  In my stories, you will find a unique juxtaposition of mystery and paranormal themes, an attempt which I believe will be enthralling.

  You will discover how a mystery case is being cracked through peeling off layers and layers of suspense and clues.

  And fantastical creatures play a part in this…how can it be?

  That’s for you to find out.

  Thank you once again, for being such an incredible support in my writing career.

  Much Love,

  .

  "Circumstances? What circumstances are you talking about?" I asked. Then I noticed the manila envelope in her hand, the same black block lettering scrolled across it.

  "Is that another threat against Tazzie?" I asked.

  She shook her head.

  "No, it's just..." She sighed and pulled something from the envelope. It wasn't a note; it was a picture. Eleanor and I looked at it.

  Tazzie Singer stood in the photo with her hair flying out behind her, a strong gust of wind blowing against her and the man she was kissing. He was holding his hat to his head while he kissed her. They looked happy. The man was Mayor Thomas.

  Hadley shrugged. "It came this morning. There was a note with it that said to give the photo to Sheriff Knoxx or else."

  "Or else what?" I asked.

  "Or else something bad would happen to my mom." Her face was sour, grim. "I'm sure it's just a joke, but my mother's older, not in good health. Even if someone only meant to frighten her... I don't want to get anyone in trouble, I just don't want anything to happen to my mom."

  "You haven't done anything to feel guilty about," Eleanor reassured her.

  There was a series of loud noises from outside. A moment later, Sheriff Knox
x reappeared. "We got him," he cried triumphantly. I could almost see the goblin in him as his square jaw set into a grin. He suddenly noticed Hadley there, the picture she'd shown us back in her hands.

  Sheriff Knoxx grabbed it, his eyes widening.

  "Where did you get this?" he demanded.

  "It was sent to me," Hadley said, showing him the envelope with her name on it.

  Otis was suddenly in the doorway. A very frustrated looking Mayor Thomas was with him.

  "Sheriff Knoxx, Mayor Thomas says he refuses to come down to the station with us and answer our questions."

  Sheriff Knoxx turned to him. "It's too late for that."

  "What do you mean?" asked the mayor.

  "I mean, Mayor Quinn Thomas, you don't have a choice anymore. You're under arrest for the murder of Thaddeus Black."

  * * *

  Prologue

  .

  The assassin waited in the shadows for Tazzie Singer to walk by. He double checked his target list, folded it, and placed it inside the lining of his coat. She wasn't the highest paid target on his list, but she was close. Thaddeus Black would fetch five thousand more, but Tazzie would be easier. She was older. She wouldn't be expecting him.

  Thaddeus Black had struck the assassin as too aware of his surroundings. He had large black pupils that seemed to always be moving, searching, like he expected trouble. It probably came with the job he'd worked at for twenty years. Curse removal was a dangerous thing. It made people cautious. Paranoid was another name for it. Sometimes too paranoid. Sometimes it was just the right amount.

  He would have his work cut out bringing down Thaddeus, but he could do it. It might even be fun, force him to get more creative. Nothing so simple as he planned to do with Tazzie. Watch her, zap her. Bang, done. Collect his money. Twenty thousand dollars was nothing to sneeze at.

  He heard Tazzie's heels clacking on the ground as she strolled casually down the sidewalk toward him. The sky was dark. The tree tops of Mistmoor Point glowed brightly in the moonlight. He would not normally have thought to take her right here, right now, but sometimes the most open places were the best places to do these things. People felt comfortable out in the open. They never realized that the open left you unprotected. He had every vantage point available to him.

  If he were S.H., strictly human, he would have used a gun, perhaps a knife. Something he could play with. But as a warlock, he didn't condone those things. They were too easy, too disrespectful to the intended targets. Tazzie was a witch, a powerful one, though not as powerful as she once was at a hair over sixty.

  Her powers had started to decline in recent years. She found herself needing a wand more and more often, even for the most basic of spells. Charming a broom to sweep the floor used to be a simple snap of her fingers; now it took work. The other day, she'd had to dig out her wand just to get the gum off her shoe. It was sad to see a witch deteriorate like this. In a way, he'd be doing her a favor.

  All this, the assassin knew from his reconnaissance. He was nothing if not meticulous in his research.

  He waited for Tazzie to pass the large oak tree where he was hiding. The oak trees in Mistmoor were five-feet thick and layered with rich browns throughout the trunk. Equally thick, molasses-colored branches sprouted out, dark green leaves growing almost like vines.

  The election was tomorrow. Tazzie was busy fussing with her briefcase. White papers stuck out at all angles. She tried to shove them back in, talking softly to herself as she went.

  "For witch's sake, just stay where I put you,"

  she muttered under breath, obviously frustrated with how things had gone today. Thaddeus Black was still ahead of her in the polls, just slightly, but enough to leave her feeling unsettled.

  Frankly, he thought that she was the better candidate. He even suspected that she would end up beating out Thaddeus in the long run if left to her own devices.

  In some ways, the assassin admired her. A woman in her sixties taking over for the town's mayor, her own husband, after his death. It couldn't have been easy. Her daughter, Kayla, was helping her campaign, but Kayla knew little about campaigning.

  Kayla was an interesting study herself. It was always best to know those closest to your targets, so he'd paid particular attention to her. Especially since she was close to two of the targets. You never knew when it might be necessary to use that information. It must have been an awkward situation for Tazzie's only daughter, helping both her mother and boyfriend campaign for mayor. She had promised to remain neutral, though he could tell she was rooting for her mother. She felt guilty about it, though.

  Kayla's boyfriend, Grayson Redfern, was supportive of her. He reassured her over and over again that it was fine if she supported her mom. He understood. The assassin almost believed he meant it. It was just bad luck that Tazzie and Grayson were both on his target list, though Grayson Redfern's bounty was significantly lower. His employer offered only five thousand apiece for him and Amanda Hollyberry. He wasn't even sure it was worth it. Especially Amanda. She was quite powerful and could do a lot of damage if he wasn't careful.

  Tazzie moved in front of the tree trunk now, her low, practical heels still clanking like they were stilettos. Her eyes were focused on nothing. A daydreamer lost in the night sky.

  He came out from behind the tree just as she passed him. His shoes made no sound. They were slippers on flower petals. He slowly and silently repeated the spell he'd learned especially for her, swirling his pointer finger at his side until a mist had formed. He reached into the pocket where he'd placed his target list and withdrew the stylus. It wasn't a wand. It was lighter and thinner, smaller, and it could do more damage than most wands could in their lifetime.

  He didn't need it; it was just a precaution.

  "Calabra!" he shouted.

  It was just bad timing that at that exact moment, Tazzie Singer decided to bend over and pick a penny off the sidewalk. She muttered to herself as she did it.

  "Find a penny, pick it up, and all day long you'll have good luck." She said it rhythmically, like a song. The bolt of lightning shot right over her back. She stood back up, penny in hand, and placed it tidily into her pocket, smiling. She had no idea of the narrow escape she'd just made.

  That was when the assassin made the first mistake of his career. He let his frustration get the best of him. "Warthogs!" he yelled.

  Tazzie turned around. Their eyes locked. He was wearing a disguise, but he did not like the fact that she had seen him, disguise or not.

  "Oh," she said uncertainly. Her eyes took in the stylus, the hat atop his head, the thick-rimmed lenses covering his eyes. "Oh," she said again.

  "Excuse me, Ma'am," he said, tipping his hat to her, attempting to put her at ease. It did not work. She stepped back, her senses already heightened. He felt the smile he'd forced turn upside down. He lunged for her. She screamed.

  "Give me your money!" he cried, realizing already that he'd failed.

  This was a neighborhood street. A quiet street, not suited to the type of noise now being made. Doors were opening. People were peering out their windows. They were already dialing the sheriff's station. Lincoln Maxwell would be arriving within minutes.

  "Give me your money!" he cried again, louder, making sure everyone heard.

  He had to make this seem like anything other than what it was. A mugging gone wrong. Tazzie Singer yelled, muttering spells and clawing at his face. She stomped on his foot. The low heels she wore were deceptive. There was steel in them, a witch's trick. He felt it crush his toes as she bore down on him.

  The assassin let out a guttural cry, the first of the evening that he hadn't faked. He pushed Tazzie Singer. She pushed him back. He hadn't expected that. He'd thought she would fall over, but she was strong. Feisty.

  "Get away from me!" she demanded.

  He aimed the stylus at her. He had to decide whether he should do it and get it over with, or wait and try again. His employer would not be pleased if she did not die tonight but they
would be less pleased if she was killed in the wrong manner. A manner which would lead back to somewhere it shouldn't.

  Tazzie tried to rip the hat off his head, which alarmed him. If she pulled too hard, his toupee might go with it. Once that happened, she would be quick to realize the rest of him was also fake. The nose, the double chin.

  People were on their porches now.

  "Is that Tazzie Singer?"

  "Are you okay, Tazzie?"