Beewitched Read online

  PRAISE FOR THE QUEEN BEE MYSTERIES

  Beeline to Trouble

  “Secrets in the pasts of characters [that] longtime readers have come to know play a large part in the well-crafted mystery. As usual, Reed weaves the difficult yet amusing dysfunctions of Story’s family into her just-intricate-enough plot, keeping her readers well entertained and satisfied.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “Story is a strong character, and her antagonism with the police chief provides a convincing motive for why the man would so quickly suspect her of murder.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  Plan Bee

  “An entertaining amateur-sleuth mystery starring a fascinating protagonist whose amusing asides about family and friends make for a jocular small-town tale. Fans will enjoy the dynamic duo [as they] work Plan Bee in the case of the murdered sibling.”

  —Genre Go Round Reviews

  “You will not want to put [Plan Bee] down until you find out whodunit. I love, love, love this series. The characters grab you immediately, and Story follows a wonderful, winding cozy path. Run, don’t walk, to your favorite bookstore and get your hands on this new title—and if you haven’t read the first two, pick those up as well. Then sit down in a comfy chair with a warm blanket and cup of tea (with honey) and enjoy.”

  —Cozy Corner

  “Story and her comedic sidekick, ‘Pity Party’ Patti, know how to delve into clues and uncover the most unlikely suspects using unconventional methods and flying by the seat of their pants. This is a very funny and entertaining mystery that will have readers laughing until the very end.”

  —RT Book Reviews (4 stars)

  Mind Your Own Beeswax

  “Reed pollinates this novel, like its predecessor, with a smart story, characters who leap off the page, and, of course, interesting material about beekeeping. It will keep you busy.”

  —Richmond Times-Dispatch

  “The characters are as colorful as the rainbow . . . With the perfect blend of humor and drama and a gutsy heroine . . . Readers will be thoroughly entertained by this madcap mystery.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “Story Fischer is one of the spunkiest heroines of a cozy mystery that I have had the pleasure of reading! I love the character’s strength, her fearlessness, and her smarts . . . A delicious series that is a sweet treat for cozy mystery fans!”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “The prose is witty, charming, and peppered with beautiful imagery, the plot is rich and complex, and the mystery is cleverly constructed and skillfully written, tying past events to the present in a way that adds import and intrigue to both. Story makes for a fabulous heroine and an engaging narrator. Strong, smart, snarky, and positively bullheaded in her independence, she’s a character for whom readers can’t help but root . . . Run out and buy yourself a copy.”

  —The Season

  “The second in Hannah Reed’s terrific Queen Bee Mysteries that serves up all kinds of interesting beekeeping information and honey recipes, a wacky and totally likable cast of characters, and a frenzied hive of story activity . . . I loved Buzz Off, the first in the series, and this one is even better.”

  —Cozy Corner

  Buzz Off

  “A great setting, rich characters, and such a genuine protagonist in Story Fischer that you’ll be sorry the book is over when you turn the last page. Start reading and you won’t want to put it down. Trust me, you’ll be saying ‘buzz off’ to anybody who dares interrupt!”

  —Julie Hyzy, New York Times bestselling author of Fonduing Fathers

  “Action, adventure, a touch of romance, and a cast of delightful characters fill Hannah Reed’s debut novel. Buzz Off is one honey of a tale.”

  —Lorna Barrett, New York Times bestselling author of the Booktown Mysteries

  “The death of a beekeeper makes for an absolute honey of a read in this engaging and well-written mystery. Story Fischer is a sharp and resilient amateur sleuth, and Hannah Reed sweeps us into her world with skillful and loving detail.”

  —Cleo Coyle, New York Times bestselling author of the Coffeehouse Mysteries

  “Reed’s story is first-rate, her characters appealing—Story’s imperfections make her particularly authentic—and the beekeeping and small-town angles are refreshingly different.”

  —Richmond Times-Dispatch

  “Will appeal to readers who like Joanne Fluke and other cozy writers for recipes, the small-town setting, and a sense of community.”

  —Library Journal

  “A rollicking good time. The colorful family members and townspeople provide plenty of relationship drama and entertainment . . . This series promises to keep readers buzzing.”

  —RT Book Reviews (4 stars)

  “A charming beginning to what promises to be a fun series! . . . A yummy treat for fans of cozy mysteries.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “[A] honey of a book.”

  —Cozy Corner

  “A sparkling debut . . . Delicious.”

  —Genre Go Round Reviews

  “You’ll get a buzz from this one, guaranteed.”

  —Mystery Scene

  Berkley Prime Crime titles by Hannah Reed

  BUZZ OFF

  MIND YOUR OWN BEESWAX

  PLAN BEE

  BEELINE TO TROUBLE

  BEEWITCHED

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) LLC

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

  USA • Canada • UK • Ireland • Australia • New Zealand • India • South Africa • China

  penguin.com

  A Penguin Random House Company

  BEEWITCHED

  A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

  Copyright © 2014 by Deb Baker.

  Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

  Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group.

  BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) LLC,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-101-60598-1

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / February 2014

  Cover illustration by Trish Cramblet; Honeycomb1 © Ihnaxovich Maryia/Shutterstock; Honeycomb2 © William Park/Shutterstock; Bee © vdLee/Shutterstock.

  Cover design by Judith Lagerman.

  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.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.

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  And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by t
hose who could not hear the music.

  —FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE

  Contents

  Praise for the Queen Bee Mysteries

  Also by Hannah Reed

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Epigraph

  Map

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Twenty-three

  Twenty-four

  Twenty-five

  Twenty-six

  Twenty-seven

  Twenty-eight

  Twenty-nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-one

  Thirty-two

  Thirty-three

  Thirty-four

  Thirty-five

  Thirty-six

  Thirty-seven

  Thirty-eight

  Thirty-nine

  Forty

  Forty-one

  Forty-two

  The Wild Clover Newsletter

  About the Author

  One

  It all started on Wednesday morning when the witch moved in next door.

  Patti Dwyre, my next-door neighbor on the other side, watched the action with me through my kitchen window, as a male-model-worthy beefcake hauled furniture inside the same house where my ex-husband used to live, which had been lingering on the market for well over a year. Lori Spandle, Moraine’s one and only real estate agent—and my longtime nemesis—hadn’t even given me a heads-up that the place had been sold. Par for the course.

  Since I was focused on the buff guy, Patti noticed our new neighbor’s unusual affinity first.

  “There goes the neighborhood,” she whined in that awful grating tone that has earned her the nickname Pity-Party Patti (aka P. P. Patti). “And my house is already underground.”

  Underground? What was she talking about? Ah . . . “You mean underwater,” I corrected her. “And that statement isn’t even close to true.” Patti didn’t have any financial problems.

  “It will be now.”

  I tried to pry my eyes away from the male in the landscape but failed. I might be living with my boyfriend, Hunter Wallace, but that doesn’t mean I’m blind to other males. In fact, I read in the latest issue of Cosmo that ogling keeps certain hormones ultra-active and in prime working order. Which reminds me, I should hide that magazine from Hunter. He doesn’t need any more ideas than he already has, ogling wise or ultra-active wise. The man is insatiable. Thank goodness he’s also a workaholic, or I’d never get anything done.

  “And why is that?” I asked. “Just because we have new neighbors?”

  “Nothing will ever be the same with the devil’s apprentice living on the same block.”

  “I think he’s just devilishly handsome.”

  “Not him. Her. She’s a witch!”

  “Oh, come on,” I said, tearing my eyes away from the hunk and giving the woman next to him a quick once-over. “You decide she’s a witch just because she’s wearing a gypsy skirt and a shawl?” Although I had to admit it was a little weird. Sure, it was October, and the nights were cooling off, but today Indian summer had arrived, gloriously warm and sunny. Not exactly shawl weather. “Aurora dresses just like that,” I added, “and she’s not a witch.”

  Aurora Tyler owns Moraine Gardens, the plant nursery across the street. All her plants are native, and she does extremely well for herself during these autumn months when tourists pass through our little Wisconsin town following the Rustic Road in search of homemade apple cider and spectacular fall colors. Aurora is all into new age happenings and vegan eating and whatever else comes along on the fringes of the regular and routine. She might march to a slightly different drummer, but I still can follow her tune.

  “The biggest clue that our new neighbor doesn’t belong here is the wand,” Patti pointed out, her complexion paler than usual, which is saying a lot since Patti’s skin is a shade lighter than Elmer’s glue. That’s what happens when a person gets absolutely no sun year after year. “Yes, an actual wand,” she continued, her voice getting squeaky. “That was a big clue, Sherlock, and look! She’s casting a spell of some sort, probably a curse!”

  Patti sounded on the verge of hysteria. Not like her. Not like her at all.

  My eyes bored in on the woman who was destroying Patti’s cool confidence.

  Sure enough, she was moving around the outside of her house, going from window to window, looking like she was practically wafting through the air a few inches aboveground, all light and breezy. Or was that my imagination? Since I had more than my fair share of flight of fancy (my grandmother’s term for make-believe), that was a question I asked my overactive mind pretty often.

  With a practiced flick of the wrist, my new neighbor cast the end of her wand toward the driveway that ran between her house and mine. Patti’s newfound paranoia traveled my way faster than any magic the wand could muster, and I started to wonder if she was conjuring something against me. I tried to see her face, but it was concealed by the shawl she’d drawn up over her head.

  “Go over and introduce yourself,” I said to Patti, thinking that was a brilliant idea. If Patti didn’t go up in smoke, I’d follow shortly after. “Get her story. This could be newspaper worthy. You might get reinstated to your old position.”

  Patti had been fired from her job as a journalist for the Reporter, our local newspaper. I refer to it as the Distorter, since it was trashy even before Patti worked there, though her articles had stretched the truth like a rubber band pulled taut along the entire length of Main Street. Accusations of libel followed rapidly by the three-letter word all publications fear the most (S.U.E.), and Patti was thrown out the door on her duff.

  Still, nothing in the paper has been interesting since she was canned. Patti has been determined to get her old position back, but apparently she wasn’t willing to do absolutely anything to get it back, since this very minute she was saying, “No way am I going anywhere near her! I wouldn’t touch this breaking story with a ten-foot pole. Even if the pole was made of pure silver.”

  “Silver is for protection against vampires,” I informed her, which anybody watching current vampire shows would know. I’m certainly not a true believer in the bloodsucking undead, but I’ve stored a bit of trivia. “Silver doesn’t do a thing to guard against witches.”

  “This is awful. It couldn’t be worse. What are we going to do?!”

  Patti’s whining really was getting to me, so I took a stand. “I’m going over to meet her,” I decided, moving toward the door.

  “Brass!” Patti almost shouted. “It’s brass that protects against witches.” She frantically scanned the kitchen, spotted an antique brass canister my grandmother had given to me, and slung it into my arms. “Take this with you.”

  “What is wrong with you?” I returned the canister to its place on the counter.

  Speaking of brass, though, Patti Dwyre is the brassiest woman I’ve ever known. She considers herself some sort of one-woman covert operation, dresses in black stealth-wear, and is always the first to impulsively infiltrate the most dangerous situations where violence could erupt at any moment. Patti has almost been the death of me more than once when she sucked me into one after the other of her operations.

  And here she was, scared nearly to death at the thought of a witch with a wand moving in on Willow Street. Willow, witch, wand . . . Well wasn’t that a weird coincidence. I wondered if the new neighbor had been drawn to town by the name of our street.

  Our block is a short dead end right off M
ain Street, with three houses on one side of the street (mine, Patti’s, and the until-now-vacant one next door) and Aurora’s gardening business and attached home taking up the other side. At the east end of the block, running perpendicular to Willow, is Main Street, and down at the west end is the Oconomowoc River, which winds not only through the rolling hilly countryside but kisses up against my backyard.

  It’s a sweet deal, a great place to grow up (which I had, in this exact house), and I planned to play nice with the latest additions. Being on the outs with a neighbor is the pits, especially when you have as few as I do. Believe me, this wasn’t going to be half as bad as when my bitter ex-husband had spied and plotted from over there.

  I strolled through my backyard while Patti remained glued to the action from behind the protection of my windowpane.

  “Welcome to the neighborhood,” I said to the new neighbor woman, stretching out my hand, thinking I should have put together a welcome basket for them. Maybe I still would. “Story Fischer,” I said, introducing myself. “I live next door.”

  The shawl slid down around her shoulders, revealing a woman about my age—mid-thirties—with nary a single facial wart or any trace of green wicked witch skin. She shifted the wand to her left hand and took my hand in a firm shake. I noticed lots of rings, although her wedding finger was bare. So she wasn’t married to the hunk.

  “Dyanna Crane,” she said. “But my friends call me Dy. You’re the beekeeper, then.”

  She had me pegged, which was pretty much a no-brainer. She couldn’t have helped seeing that my backyard is filled with honeybee hives, adjacent to a small honey house where I bottle and distribute Queen Bee Honey. I also own The Wild Clover, a grocery store that specializes in local products. The Queen Bee business and store go together like buttered sourdough bread and pure raw honey.

  “You’re not bothered by them at all, are you?” I said, with a big grin plastered on my face when I noted that she hadn’t scowled or shown any hostile emotions whatsoever. Whew. According to Lori Spandle, it was my fault she’d had so much trouble selling the house. We’d even tangled in town hall meetings where Lori had made serious attempts to ban my bees from the community. Guess who won every round? Me, that’s who. Although I can’t let my guard down, since the woman is tenacious, never giving up in her quest to annoy me and destroy my livelihood. We’ve been at each other’s throats since grade school, and it’s starting to get really old.