Magic, Mayhem and Murder Read online

  Table of Contents

  Books by January Bain

  Title Page

  Legal Page

  Book Description

  Dedication

  Trademark Acknowledgements

  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

  Read more from January Bain

  More exciting books!

  About the Author

  Totally Bound Publishing books by January Bain

  Brass Ring Sorority

  Winning Casey

  Chasing Lacey

  Romancing Rebecca

  TETRAD Group

  Racing Peril

  Racing the Tide

  Manitoba Tea & Tarot Mysteries

  MAGIC, MAYHEM & MURDER

  JANUARY BAIN

  Magic, Mayhem & Murder

  ISBN # 978-1-78686-490-1

  ©Copyright January Bain 2019

  Cover Art by Erin Dameron-Hill ©Copyright July 2019

  Interior text design by Claire Siemaszkiewicz

  Totally Bound Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

  The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

  Published in 2019 by Totally Bound Publishing, United Kingdom.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the authors’ rights. Purchase only authorised copies.

  Totally Bound Publishing is an imprint of Totally Entwined Group Limited.

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book”.

  Book one in the Manitoba Tea & Tarot Mysteries series

  Charm McCall, armed with a library full of Agatha Christie stories and her unique witchy gifts, knows how to solve a small-town murder…

  Charm, the oldest of the McCall triplets by a whole day—or one minute before midnight if one’s being picky—is the designated driver for her whole town. Why, if it wasn’t for her, Snowy Lake would incinerate or fall into Hudson’s Bay. With her unique abilities, she’s all set to keep her family and town safe and on its proper course.

  That is, until a hot Mountie moves into town, a busload of strippers breaks down on Main Street and Mrs. Hurst goes and gets herself murdered with poisoned jam. Jam crafted by Charm’s family at the Tea & Tarot café. Now it’s up to her to solve the murders—yes, plural, when another local business owner ends up dead.

  Charm knows just what to do. What’s breaking a few laws if she can sleuth out the culprit? She knows the people of Snowy Lake better than any new lawman possibly could. So why can’t he just leave her be to get on with things?

  And why does he have to be so darn hot?

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to all those who enjoy small town magic combined with a whodunit. It is my very great pleasure to offer a book that comes straight from my heart. Memories of my early childhood greatly influenced the creation of this story, making it the book I feel born to write.

  As always, thanks to those involved in the process, my incomparable editor, Rebecca Baker Fairfax, and the amazing team at Totally Bound Publishing. You guys are the best.

  And to my darling husband, thank you for being the man of my dreams.

  Trademark Acknowledgements

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Blogger: Google LLC

  Bunn: Bunn-O-Matic Corporation

  Jeep Cherokee: Fiat Chrysler Automobiles N.V.

  Facebook: Facebook, Inc

  Fancy Feast: Nestlé Purina PetCare

  Fly Me to the Moon: Bart Howard

  Frankenstein: Mary Shelley

  GoodFellas: Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc.

  Greyhound Bus: Greyhound Lines, Inc.

  Icarus at the Edge of Time: Brian Green

  It’s A Wonderful Life: RKO Radio Pictures Inc.

  Jackson: Billy Edd Wheeler and Jerry Leiber (as Gaby Rodgers)

  Justified: Sony Pictures Television

  Kleenex: Kimberly-Clark Corporation

  Lexus: Toyota Motor Corporation

  Minnie Mouse: The Walt Disney Company

  New Shepard: Blue Origin, LLC

  Parallel Worlds: Michio Kaku

  PBS: Corporation for Public Broadcasting

  Pop-Tarts: The Kellogg Company

  Sparkling Cyanide: Agatha Christie

  Stetson: John B. Stetson Company

  Sunday Morning Coming Down: Kris Kristofferson

  The Elegant Universe: Brian Green

  The Fabric of the Cosmos: Brian Green

  The Future of Humanity: Michio Kaku

  The Hidden Reality: Brian Green

  Twitter: Twitter, Inc.

  Volkswagen: Volkswagen AG

  Wuthering Heights: Emily Bronte

  YouTube: YouTube, LLC

  Chapter One

  The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and science. —Albert Einstein

  Thirteen years ago

  “Will she let us stay?” Tulip’s eyes widened, her nose and cheeks reddened by the freezing wind. My triplet shivered, wiping her dripping nose on the back of her red mitten. I straightened the collar on her worn jacket and tucked the thin scarf around her neck. The snow was falling more heavily now, already filling in the tracks the three of us had made walking from the street light to the front stoop, the warning still ringing in my head. ‘Don’t knock until you’ve counted to a hundred if you know what’s good for you.’ Twelve, thirteen, fourteen…

  “I’m not sure, but if we’re really, really good, she might. At least for tonight,” I interrupted my counting to answer her.

  “Yeah, don’t you be backtalking her like you did to Mommy,” Star said, staring accusingly.

  “I never did that!” Tulip’s bottom lip started to quiver.

  “Hush, no one is at fault,” I said. If she started bawling, I didn’t know how long I could hold off. My throat had a lump in it big as a baseball. Thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three.

  Star scre
wed up her face but held her tongue, though only after I gave her my sternest older-sister look. I’d been born at one minute to midnight, making me the oldest sister by a full day. Not that birthdays were ever celebrated, though we’d had eight already. Mommy said we were too much trouble on a regular day. No way was she holding a two-day party for a trio of brats.

  I tugged the paper sack holding all our possessions closer to my chest, thinking of the one precious book and the half-box of Pop-Tarts Mommy had tucked inside for our supper. Maybe Granny would have a toaster or a stove element to warm them up? Or maybe she might have some juice or pop? My throat was dry. Even water would taste good.

  Star stamped her feet to stay warm, her pink running shoes leaving an intricate pattern from the soles as she packed the snow. Her scarf had icicles forming from her warm breath hitting the frosty air and her cheeks shone bright red. No frostbite—not yet anyway. But the wind was picking up, blowing showers of ice crystals off the roof and onto our bare heads.

  Sixty-six, sixty-seven. I glanced across the open field between Granny’s house and the house next door, visualizing wolves coming out of the evergreens of the thick forest and circling the town. We’d been dropped off on one of the coldest days of the year. Minus forty-seven, according to the loud man on the radio in our old van. I’d caught the name of the town on the welcoming sign leading in. Snowy Lake, population 1259. I was proud to be the first one to learn to read, first one to do most things. Then I could help my little sisters, when they’d let me.

  Eighty-nine, ninety. I was shaking now, could barely keep from kicking at the door with my foot. But a promise is a promise. If Mommy came back and saw me doing wrong, I’d get a swat for sure. You know she’s not coming back, right? a small voice inside me piped up, making tears well. No! Don’t ever say that. Hard as times had been, Mommy loved us deep down inside. She’s coming back. One day. When things were better for her, she’d be back. She promised. And if I kept my solemn promise to look after my sisters, then everything would be okay. It had to be.

  “Okay, let’s not forget who we are. The awesome McCalls. Okay, time’s up.”

  Just as I reached one hundred the back-porch light came on, a beacon in the darkness, spotlighting the three of us huddled in the dark.

  “Land’s sake alive, what are the three of you doing outside waiting in the snow?”

  I spoke up, holding out the bedraggled piece of paper with the slightly smeared ink. “Granny Toogood, my mommy said to give you this.”

  If she was surprised at me calling her Granny, she didn’t show it. She took the offering and read it with an intense expression. I peeked at her while she read. Dark curls gleamed around a soft face. She was wearing a nice pair of blue slacks with a matching blouse over a slim body, no stains or holes. She must be rich. She was shorter than Mommy, too. When she glanced down at Star, Tulip and me, the expression in her blue eyes was kind, as though she was very sure of something. I liked her immediately. I badly wanted her to like me, too. Then maybe she would feel obliged to help my sisters.

  “Well, let’s get you all inside then,” she said, refolding and tucking the letter into her pants pocket.

  I waited until my sisters had clamored in the doorway before I glanced back at the forest. The pack of wolves had vanished.

  Chapter Two

  Present day

  “Mrs. Hurst called. She wants a reading today. And don’t forget it’s our turn to host the Northern Lights Coven,” Star yelled out from the kitchen of the Tea & Tarot café where she was supposed to be watching a batch of apricot jam simmer. Seven to one she had her head buried in that dog-eared notebook she dragged around, working on yet another song.

  At least Mrs. Hurst liked our apricot jam, her only saving grace. I wasn’t alone in thinking that. No one in town could handle more than a small dose of the old curmudgeon, who managed to find fault with even the most perfect of sunny days. I paid closer attention as Star added, “Oh yeah, and Judith Finch wants a stronger love potion. Says the last one’s not working.”

  “She needs a heck of a lot more than a love potion if she wants to capture Laurence’s attention—the guy’s ten years younger and headed for parts unknown,” I muttered under my breath, sorting through the newly arrived assortment of crystals, tarot cards, seer stones, spell books, fragrant incense cones, tiny drawstring velvet bags—nice, royal blue this time—and dozens of tiny fancy jars for housing sweet-smelling unguents for the tourists.

  Tulip, my presumed helper, had drifted off as per usual. She was busy clicking away on her laptop. My daily prediction—if it wasn’t for me and my military maneuvers, the Tea & Tarot café would fall into utter ruin. At least I had the meeting of our coven to look forward to. Life being what it was in Snowy Lake, it required a lot of female support.

  “Who do you think you were in another lifetime, Charm?” Tulip took that moment to look up from her ceaseless blogging to ask another of her inane questions. Okay, maybe not fair. A lot of people counted on her to make sense of their dreams. Oh, and she was darn good at reading omens in clouds. Has a nice following too.

  “Probably Cinderella. Looks like I came back as a drudge yet again. Must have liked it so much last time, eh.” I softened my complaint with a smile directed at my triplet and hurried into the kitchen to make sure the other hapless McCall wasn’t leaving the jam to scorch.

  “Star!” I yelled. There she sat perched on a stool, ubiquitous pen in hand, dreamily gazing off into space. The fruit she was meant to be tending was giving forth its essence of sunshine and happiness, the fragrance waltzing through the air, making my mouth water. Okay, a mid-morning snack of a fresh muffin with apricot jam was in order. I was also the self-elected quality control officer of our fine establishment, hence my curvy hips.

  “It’s fine.” She rolled her eyes. “I just stirred it. It’s almost ready to go. Just needs the pectin added. And the jars are in the oven, sterilized and ready for filling, thank you very much.”

  “Good,” I grunted. I took the cheery red oven mitts with the white hearts embroidered on the backs, reached into the oven and brought out the huge black roasting pan full of steaming hot jars. I placed them on the counter on clean tea towels, ready for service. Hmm, she’d even remembered to place the lids and inserts in a pot of hot water on the back of the stove. Will wonders never cease?

  “Okay, you stir in the pectin and I’ll line up the jars. Ladle sterilized?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Star saluted, knowing full well it rankled.

  “We’ve only got today to set things in order,” I chastised her. “Granny’s coming home tomorrow and I want everything properly done and in place. She’s worked hard enough for us over the years—time we made her days easier.” Even though at sixty-five she appeared to have the energy of a bulldozer, I didn’t take chances with my family.

  “You’ll get no argument from me.”

  “Yeah, right!”

  Star was nothing but a conflicted bundle of nerves and energy. Uncertain of which direction her life should be headed—Nashville, LA or stay. Well, join the club, missy. Every thinking, breathing human being feels that way, at least some of the time. I should know. I can read minds. Or at least so far as to help someone find things. Images and the like, but I sensed their longings too. And we weren’t so different, we humans. Well, except for Mrs. Hurst, who I sincerely wished would stop the readings already. Her mind would try a saint. All the positive energy I directed her way seemed to get lost in some gigantic black hole hovering over her starched hair.

  A soft chirp of greeting alerted me to company. Ling Ling, our gorgeous white Himalayan with pretty apricot-colored ears, pranced into the room, tail high and waving like a victory flag. Star reached down and stroked her soft fur, to be rewarded by loud purring.

  “Someone needs to take baby Ling Ling to the V.E.T. at three. It’s on the calendar.” Star pointed to the white board I’d attached to the wall to keep track of everything and anything to do with Tea & Tarot and
family.

  Ling Ling shot across the linoleum as if a horde of berserker fleas were after her, nearly colliding with the doorframe before her fluffy white tail vanished.

  “Now you’ve gone and done it! You know she can spell, right?”

  “Yeah, sorry. I’ll find her and take her.”

  “Good luck with that. Best reschedule and keep quiet about it this time.” I shook my head at my sister’s forgetfulness. She flipped me the bird for my trouble. “Okay, let’s get at it. I’ll fill the jars and you apply the screw tops as quickly as humanly possible. I don’t want one speck of dust finding its way inside.”

  “Ah-h sure, but first, what do you think of this?” She picked up her scribbler. “I’m calling it The Ballad of Snowy Lake Johnny. Here goes.” And with that lovely lilting country and western voice of hers, she sang, “A sweet, wild man came a’ callin’—told me he’d keep me from fallin’. He said my heart was safe in his hands. He’d be my man and my biggest fan.”

  “Star!” No luck interrupting—I was serenaded with the next verse.

  “Then Sara Jean turned his eyes sweet blue. And though he’d sworn to love me true. He turned his back and left me dry. For a new woman who made me cry.”

  When she got to the chorus, she began singing with entirely too much glee, “Snowy Lake Johnny’s a sweet, wild man. He turned my head and warmed my bed. All before we found him dead.”

  “You know, that chorus might be considered rather incriminating in the wrong circles, sis.”

  “What do you know?” Instant anger at my proper consideration. Whoops. Should have prefaced it with a compliment or three. But no one could flounce out of a room like Star. I thought I knew the back of her better than the front.

  I got down to work. In short order, the jam was ladled into its fancy jars and properly sealed, left to set overnight on bright yellow-checked tea towels. I’d apply the jars’ decorative labels as soon as I printed them. With a final look of satisfaction at my lined-up soldiers, I rejoined my siblings in the café that doubled as a storefront. A half-dozen cozy round tables with stools took up one side of the cramped space, including the small booth for readings, while our sundries for sale were laid out on a series of shelves and took up the other half. Upstairs, one suite was rented out and I lived in the other one. Being one day older gave me jurisdiction over Star and Tulip, who still lived with Granny Toogood in her house situated three blocks away on Moosehead Drive.