Witching Hour Dead
Colleen Cross
Witching Hour Dead : A Westwick Witches Cozy Mystery
Copyright © 2020 by Colleen Cross, Colleen Tompkins
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Categories: cozy mysteries, witches wizards, paranormal cozy humorous mystery, cosy mystery, funny mysteries, female lead sleuth women amateur sleuths private investigators, cozy mystery books, suspense thrillers and mysteries best sellers, female detectives
eBook ISBN: 978-1-989268-64-3
Published by Slice Publishing
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-989268-55-1
Contents
Also by Colleen Cross
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
Also by Colleen Cross
Also by Colleen Cross
Westwick Witches Cozy Mysteries
Witch You Well
Rags to Witches
Witch and Famous
Christmas Witch List
Witching Hour Dead
Witching for Love on Valentines Day
Katerina Carter Fraud Legal Thrillers
Exit Strategy
Game Theory
Blowout
Greenwash
Red Handed
Blue Moon
Nonfiction
Anatomy of a Ponzi Scheme
Witching Hour Dead
The annual Westwick Corners Wine Festival is a time for popping of corks and, Cen hopes, time for Tyler to pop the question and propose.
But when a festival goer turns up dead, it’s clear that merlot, magic, and murder don’t mix!
Chapter 1
It was an unseasonably cold day, even for October. I was holed up in my office on a Friday afternoon. I had the baseboard heater turned up to the highest setting, half-pretending I was on a tropical island under an umbrella sipping Pina Coladas. In reality, I was racing to meet a deadline. But speed-editing my feature story on the upcoming annual Westwick Corners Wine Festival wasn’t going all that well. My brain kept drifting off to Pina Colada land, so I wasn’t getting much done.
I am the procrastination queen, which is why I was stuck here in my dingy office on the top floor of a hundred-year-old building. The creaking floorboards, hissing pipes, and all sorts of mysterious noises were the only things that kept me company. It was creepy working alone sometimes.
I had missed lunch and found it hard to concentrate with my stomach rumbling, so I decided to go out to get a snack before the café down the street closed. I had just grabbed my jacket when the outer office door slammed, stopping me in my tracks. I wasn’t expecting anyone.
A pony wall separates my outer office from the rest of the floorspace. The top part of the wall was frosted glass. It was a 1940s update that I had planned to change eventually, but I’d grown to love it. It reminded me of a Sam Spade detective agency.
The Westwick Corners Weekly isn’t exactly cutting-edge journalism, so I’ve never had to worry about stalkers or other crazies. Until now, that is, when an unidentified intruder stood one pony wall away from me.
I don’t lock my doors. Being risk averse, I would like to, but it’s simply not ‘done’ in Westwick Corners. Small towns have their own kind of peer pressure.
My walk-in traffic was basically zero, especially at this time of day, so who could possibly be in the outer office? There had been a few transients in town lately. Suddenly I felt nervous about my unannounced visitor. I stifled the urge to ask who it was and instead exchanged my jacket for a broom out of the cleaning closet. The element of surprise would give me an advantage.
I tiptoed toward the door leading to the outer office and waited.
A shadow suddenly darkened the frosted glass door. A huge shadow!
Then the door opened.
A surprise attack was my only chance. I brought the broom down hard and fast.
“Cen! What the—?”
“Oh, my goodness, Tyler! Are you okay?” I lowered the broom.
My hunky sheriff boyfriend crouched on one knee in the doorway, holding one arm above his head in a defensive pose. “This really isn’t how I imagined it.”
“Imagined what? You could have announced yourself.” My face flushed as I daydreamed again. Tyler and I were on a South Pacific beach. He was down on one knee, asking me to marry him. He opened the ring box and…
Tyler looked up at me with those warm brown eyes of his. “Cen, we live in a safe town. You know I’ll protect you. Just chill…”
I always felt safe in his arms, yet I could have easily broken them if I had struck any harder. I put the broom down.
That’s when I noticed the brown paper bag in his hand that almost blended in with his sheriff’s uniform. The contents of the bag smelled like banana muffins.
“Are those—”
“Your favorite muffins, yes.” Tyler pulled himself up to a standing position and offered me one. “You do know that dating a cop does not give you the right to use deadly force.”
I reached into the bag and closed my hand on a still warm muffin. “I know…sorry. I just—uh, this building is a bit spooky now that I’m the only tenant.” The building had once housed lawyers, accountants and other professionals. Our almost ghost-town had seen better days and now barely eked by. Most people shopped and did business an hour away in Shady Creek. In fact, that’s where most of them were right now this Friday afternoon.
Tyler leaned in and kissed me. “I realize you’ve got a deadline and all, but you seem a little edgy. You know everyone in town. What are you
