This Magick Marmot Read online

  Praise for Sharon Pape and her novels

  “Pape has a sure-handed balance of humor and action.”

  —Julie Hyzy, New York Times bestselling author

  This Magick Marmot

  “Magical, mystical and marvelous fun! This Magick Marmot is a delightful whodunit with just the right touch of magic to keep the pages turning.”

  —Debra H. Goldstein, Anthony and Agatha nominated author of the Sarah Blair mystery series

  “Sharon Pape’s This Magick Marmot will keep you spellbound […] This Magick Marmot kept me reading well past the magickal hour of midnight. With spells, charms, and ghosts, Sharon Pape has conjured up another enchanting mystery.”

  —Kym Roberts, author of the Book Barn Mysteries

  “Another magickal romp with Kailyn Wilde, her aunt, their ancestor Merlin and Merlin’s marmot as they investigate the murders connected to a ten-year-old drowning. A pure cozy delight!”

  —Marilyn Levinson aka Allison Brook, Agatha nominee and author of the Haunted Library mystery series

  Magick & Mayhem

  “Magic, Merlin, and murder are a great mix for this debut cozy. Up to her ears in problems, both magickal and mortal, Kailyn’s a fun and adventuresome heroine. Crafting a spell, summoning a familiar, and solving a murder shouldn’t be this hard—or this fun.”

  —Lynn Cahoon, New York Times and USA Today best-selling author

  “Sharon Pape’s Magick & Mayhem is spellbinding, with magical prose, a wizardly plot, and a charming sleuth who, while attempting to protect a cast of sometimes difficult and always surprising characters, has a penchant for accidentally revealing her own powers and secrets to exactly the wrong people.”

  —Janet Bolin, Agatha-nominated author of the national best-selling Threadville Mysteries

  “Magick & Mayhem is a charming, must-read mystery with enchanting characters. A fun and entertaining page turner that I couldn’t put down.”

  —Rose Pressey, USA Today best-selling author

  Other Books by Sharon Pape

  Magickal Mystery Lore*

  Magick Run Amok*

  That Olde White Magick*

  Magick & Mayhem*

  Sketcher in the Rye

  Alibis and Amethysts

  Sketch a Falling Star

  To Sketch a Thief

  Sketch Me if You Can

  *Available from Lyrical Press, an imprint of Kensington Publishing Corp.

  Table of Contents

  Praise for Sharon Pape and her novels

  Other Books by Sharon Pape

  Dedication

  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

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Acknowledgments

  In case you missed the first delightful Abracadabra mystery, keep reading to enjoy a sample excerpt of the series launch…

  About the Author

  This Magick Marmot

  An Abracadabra Mysery

  Sharon Pape

  LYRICAL UNDERGROUND

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  LYRICAL UNDERGROUND BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2020 by Sharon Pape

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  All Kensington titles, imprints, and distributed lines are available at special quantity discounts for bulk purchases for sales promotion, premiums, fund-raising, educational, or institutional use.

  Special book excerpts or customized printings can also be created to fit specific needs. For details, write or phone the office of the Kensington Sales Manager: Kensington Publishing Corp., 119 West 40th Street, New York, NY 10018. Attn. Sales Department. Phone: 1-800-221-2647.

  Lyrical Underground and Lyrical Underground logo Reg. US Pat. & TM Off.

  First Electronic Edition: April 2020

  ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0874-9 (ebook)

  ISBN-10: 1-5161-0874-4 (ebook)

  First Print Edition: April 2020

  ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0875-6

  ISBN-10: 1-5161-0875-2

  Printed in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To Loki—welcome to your furever home.

  Chapter 1

  Tilly stood in the doorway, surveying my bedroom. Dresses covered the bed, shoes littered the floor. I was standing in the middle of the mess in my bra and panties, no closer to a decision than I had been thirty minutes earlier. Sashkatu, who had no interest in fashion or human dilemmas, had fallen asleep on the high ground of my pillow, safely beyond the tide of clothing. The five younger cats had run for their hidey-holes when the second dress hit the bed.

  “I expected to see you all decked out by this time.” My aunt sounded disappointed. “If you don’t get moving, you’ll miss the whole cocktail hour.”

  “You just want to hear the reunion gossip,” I teased her.

  She lifted her chin in mock indignation. “I’ll have you know that I merely wish to learn how everyone is doing in their chosen field of endeavor, who married whom and how many little ones they have.” In her defense, I couldn’t think of a single time she’d relished hearing ugly gossip, with the exception of gossip about our nemesis, Beverly. But I couldn’t fault her there.

  She moved a few of the dresses aside and sat on the edge of my bed. “It’s not like you to be this indecisive. Any one of these would look smashing on you. But that isn’t the real problem, is it?” She arched one eyebrow at me.

  She was right of course. From the day back in January when I received the first email about my ten year high school reunion, I’d been dealing with a mixture of nostalgia, curiosity and dread. Now that the Welcome Back Dinner was upon me, dread had claimed top billing. It thrummed in my veins like the background music in a thriller. I’d considered skipping the entire weekend, but that wasn’t a practical solution in a town the size of New Camel. If I didn’t show up for the reunion, the reunion would co
me and find me.

  I plucked a red and white flowered sundress off the bed and shimmied into it. I would look festive even if I didn’t feel that way. “This reunion is going to be like reliving the night of the prom.”

  “Come here so I can zip you,” Tilly said. I went over to her and scrunched down so she could pull the zipper to the top. “Ten years is a long time. I guarantee you that most of the kids won’t bring it up or even think about it.”

  I sat down beside her. “Scott and I were friends for as long as I can remember, Aunt Tilly. He was never a risk taker. His voice was always the voice of caution. And poor Genna was traumatized because she was in the water too and doesn’t remember anything.”

  Tilly took my hands in hers. “Scott is at peace. You must find a way to let it go dear girl. Now,” she continued in a more Tilly-like tone, “that dress is simply begging for your fabulous red patent leather peep toe sling backs. If I didn’t have arthritis and bunions, I’d be strutting around in them every day.” An image of her strutting around in one of her muumuus with my shiny red heels on her feet made me smile. I kissed her cheek.

  “That’s more like it. My work here is done.” She consulted her watch and sprang to her feet so quickly that I heard her knees pop and creak. She winced, but didn’t complain. “I’d best get home before Merlin runs out of patience waiting for dinner and orders a dozen pizzas.” She wasn’t using hyperbole. We’d been down that particular road before.

  Half an hour later, I slapped on what felt like a serviceable smile and walked into the lobby of the Waverly Hotel, which had opened less than two months earlier. All the finishes were high-end, so dazzling and bright they made me a little dizzy, even though I’d already been there with Travis for dinner. Maybe the malaise had more to do with the reunion itself than the lights ricocheting off the shiny surfaces. I sank into one of the elegant armchairs, until I felt properly anchored to the ground again. Once I felt better, I had no problem finding the room where the cocktail hour was being held. I just followed the noise.

  The reunion invitation had specified that the Friday night dinner was strictly for alums. It was described as a time to catch up with old friends without boring our spouses and significant others. Saturday night would include everyone. Travis had beamed with relief when I told him he wasn’t expected to attend the Friday night shindig—his word.

  The cocktail hour was in full swing. A highly polished bar ran the length of the room, shelving on the wall behind it filled with gleaming glassware and liquor bottles of every shape and color. Small tables were scattered around the rest of the space, but no one was seated. There was too much catching up to do.

  Before I could take another step into the room, two of my closest friends from kindergarten through high school, spotted me and shrieked like adolescents at a boy band concert. They rushed over to me, trying not to spill their cocktails on the way. Seeing them brought back a rush of good memories that made me glad I’d come.

  We were as different as three girls could be. Charlotte was always ready for a party, always over the top in everything she did. She took words like no or can’t as suggestions and went full tilt for whatever her heart demanded. Genna liked a good time too, but she also had a serious side. Her ability to argue any point made her queen of the debate club and put off many a young man. I was the most conservative and circumspect of the group, because I had to be.

  They’d both gone off to college in California, and the west coast weather and vibe had wooed them into staying out there. At first we tried to keep our relationships going by email, phone and an occasional visit, but it became clear to me early on that life was pulling us in different directions. The threads that had drawn us together as kids, unraveled as we spread our wings.

  Genna caught me around the shoulders. “The third musketeer!” Her mother had dubbed us the three musketeers back in elementary school and taught us the famous phrase that came from the story about them. We used it whenever possible, to the chagrin of many a teacher.

  “One for all and all for one!” Charlotte sang out, stumbling in her stilettos and plowing into me. Instead of pressing her cheek to mine, she came in hard and we smacked cheekbones. She grabbed onto Genna for balance, their drinks splashing everywhere. We all would have gone down in a heap, if not for the silent spell I remembered from childhood:

  We stand up tall; we do not fall,

  I know we have the wherewithal.

  The spell stopped us on our downward spiral, suspending us in midair for a split second before reversing our course. As soon as we approached vertical, our equilibrium kicked back in. It all happened so fast, I was probably the only one who noticed the blip. If someone had seen it, they were apt to blame their alcohol intake.

  When we didn’t hit the floor, my pals dissolved into giddy laughter and I joined in. Genna was breathless. “I was sure we were going down.”

  “It’s the alcohol,” I said, “it messes with your inner ear and how you perceive things.” They were both inebriated enough to take my word for it.

  “Are you okay?” Charlotte gingerly touched the spot on my cheek. I pulled back, surprised by the pain. “We have to get this girl some anesthetic,” she said threading her arm through mine and steering me toward the bar.

  Genna ordered me a club soda and lime. “That’s not going to make her feel better,” Charlotte protested. Genna reminded her discretely that I couldn’t drink. As far as anyone knew, I abstained due to stomach issues. I hated to lie, especially to close friends, but I was forbidden from telling anyone about the ins and outs of our magick. “It’s for our safety,” my grandmother Bronwen had explained, when I’d railed against the restriction. Since it only took a little alcohol to loosen Charlotte’s lips, I realized my family had been right to enforce the rule.

  Genna asked for another Dirty Martini.

  “Sorry, I forgot,” Charlotte murmured. “Sorry about your cheek too.” Her tone was so pitiful and out of character, it bought us another round of laughter.

  “Hey, I’d know that laugh anywhere.”

  The voice came from behind us. I turned around to find Adam Hart grinning at me. His face was fuller, his forehead higher as his hairline started to recede. He was my first boyfriend in high school. I recalled a movie date, a dinner date, a few study dates, and a couple of kisses I had to initiate. He was that shy. No hearts were broken when it was over—perfect first boyfriend material.

  Genna and Charlotte excused themselves and left us to chat. When I asked Adam how he was doing, he held up his left hand with its band of gold and pulled up a picture on his phone of his two young daughters wearing tutus and ballet slippers.

  “They’re adorable. Looks like you got started right out of the gate.”

  He returned the phone to his shirt pocket. “Stacy and I met at freshman orientation and we married the summer after graduation. Those were the longest four years of my life. How about you?” he asked, glancing down at my hands. “Hasn’t anyone swept you off your feet yet?”

  “There’s someone hard at work on it. You’ll meet him tomorrow night. Will I get to meet the woman who’s made you so happy?”

  “She’ll be there. You’re going to love her.”

  A guy whose name eluded me clapped Adam on the back. “Look at you,” he said with a short bark of a laugh, “gaining weight and losing hair ahead of schedule.”

  Adam turned to him with a wide grin. “Says the guy who had to attend summer school so he wouldn’t get left back.”

  “Hey man, I was all about priorities—studying women instead of chemistry and math.”

  I left them to their put-downs. I’ve never understood the way men insult and ridicule each other. If we women did that with our friends, we’d be friendless in no time. I went looking for a place to discard my glass. Between the air conditioning that was cranked up to frigid and the cold drink, my fingers were getting numb. A moment l
ater, a busboy came by carrying a tray of discarded drinks as if I’d cast a spell to make him appear. Could I have subconsciously summoned him? I’d have to look into it. According to Morgana, any skills I left untried, by the time I reached thirty, would lie dormant for the rest of my life. I chafed at having a deadline, but it had made me more alert to possible new talents I should take out for a spin.

  I spotted a knot of women across the room—the three other founding members of the Green Love Circle we started as juniors. The club arranged for people in the environmental field to address the student body several times a year. It also raised money and awareness to shut down puppy mills and promote no-kill animal shelters. I was headed in their direction when Ashley Rennet stepped into my path.

  My heart clenched. She and Scott had been voted most likely to wed. I hadn’t seen her since his funeral. According to the grapevine, she’d gone off to college in Maine as planned, but dropped out after the first semester. I felt bad about not reaching out to her back then to see how she was doing, but I’d lost Scott too and I didn’t know how to comfort either one of us.

  In my mind, I had imagined Ashley losing weight, her face wan, dark circles beneath her eyes. I was relieved to see I was wrong. She looked exactly as I remembered her. However heartbroken she may have been, she’d made it back to herself. That was before I noticed Scott’s class ring on its silver chain around her neck, the way it had been all senior year – engaged to be engaged. It was possible she’d just put it on for the reunion, but it was more likely she’d never taken it off.

  She had to know it would deter men from asking her out. And if a man did approach her, when he asked about the ring, her explanation would surely have sent him running. The ring was like a silver cross worn to keep vampires away. In Ashley’s case, she wore it to keep her life from moving on.

  Anticipating this encounter, I’d come up with a few neutral things to say that wouldn’t be likely to upset her. But when I opened my mouth, they all gushed out at once. “It’s so good to see you. You look wonderful. How are you? Where do you call home these days?”