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  The Patsy’s Patsy

  Witch’s Kitchen Book 3

  Brooke Shelby

  Hudson Digital Press, LLC

  Copyright © 2019 by Brooke Shelby

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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

  Contents

  Cozy Mysteries by Brooke Shelby

  Romances by Brooke Shelby

  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

  Mailing List

  Cozy Mysteries by Brooke Shelby

  The Witch’s Kitchen Series

  The Plague Doctor and the Pussycat

  A Murder in Hope’s Crossing

  The Witch and the Poisoner

  The Patsy’s Patsy

  Romances by Brooke Shelby

  The Billionaires Series (Steamy)

  The Baker’s Billionaire

  Billionaire’s Karma

  Billionaire’s Accident

  Billionaire’s Bet

  Billionaire Unmasked

  Billionaire’s Trust

  The Billionaires Series

  The Tech Titans Series (Steamy)

  Weapon of Love

  The Billionaire’s Killer

  Chasing the Cure

  Fixing the Cure

  The Character Assassins

  The Character Assassins: Part II

  The Romance in the Tropics (Clean)

  Island for Two

  1

  The quaint little mountain town of Hope’s Crossing, Massachusetts, had seen some violent times, some volatile times, and some wonderful times. Nearing the end of the second month of summer, however, the tourist gem in the valley near Mount Greylock had been seeing some strange developments. Apart from several street market evenings and some light entertainment arranged by the town council, the colorful streets were bustling with transients, some of whom decided to stay a while.

  Maggie Corey noticed this peculiar movement, but she chalked it up to good tourism. Besides, her herb and curio shop benefitted greatly from the rise in attendance. Corey’s Herbs and Simples flourished during summer, Maggie’s first summer here since she arrived a few months before to take over her late aunt Clara’s shop and home.

  The beautiful novice witch, a secret that was not ever to be divulged for her own good, was brushing her long red hair. With consummate expertise, her fingers impaled the coiling tresses as she rapidly braided her hair into her usual practical style. Maggie slipped on her yoga pants and a T-shirt while she breathed in the smooth, temperate air that crawled in through the open windows of her bedroom.

  Bramble, her big black cat and familiar, was doing what he did best—lazing. On her crocheted bed cover, he licked his right paw, lying flat on his back, paws up in the air. He watched his witch draw her curtains and fluff the cushions on her bed before leaving the room.

  “What are we having, my dear?” he shouted after her as she disappeared into the corridor. “I hope it involves fish. I am in a fish mood today!”

  Maggie smiled. She had already planned on making him a fish dish, especially as he had been hinting for days without any subtlety. Bramble had the subtlety of a MAC truck, but Maggie loved playing dumb to watch him reapply his wishes in different ways. She was easily amused. They had both enjoyed the peace and quiet that followed after she had finally helped identify a villainous murderer from town a month ago. It had been the second time that Maggie Corey, already an outsider due to nefarious influence over the townspeople, had been implicated in crimes she had nothing to do with. As before, it had taken a lot out of her demeanor and emotional well-being to be antagonized at every turn, not to mention damaging her reputation every time. Although many people had by now realized that Maggie was not a bad person, there was still a persistent air of hostility that prevailed wherever she was involved.

  The past few weeks had been blissfully uneventful and she had been enjoying an upturn in her shop’s profits. Not only was her herbal store a hit with wannabe witches on holiday, but since her absolution (again), even locals frequented her shop more often.

  “I love this, Bramble,” she grinned, wearing a particularly wild apron. She held up a spoonful of what was still to be cooked and winked at her familiar. “Hmm, tuna and shrimp.”

  “Just put the thing in the oven. You can be such a cruel tease,” he hissed playfully, his mouth watering in anticipation of her Tuesday tribute.

  “Won’t be long, I promise,” she consoled him as she slid the baking dish into the humming oven. “Should be done just before we open the shop.”

  He eyed her apron as she wiped her hands on it. It was a ridiculous rag of parrots and dice. Parrots. And dice. Of all things, he could not amalgamate the two random things by any means to present a theme or purpose.

  “What the hell are you wearing?” he finally felt compelled to ask. “What is that all about? Tropical roulette?”

  “It’s not supposed to mean anything, Bramble,” she laughed. “Not everything has to have a meaning. It’s just …” she lifted up the skirt and scrutinized it, “art.”

  “Art?” he exclaimed like the antiquarian snob that he was. “God, hardly!”

  “Oh pipe down. I like it. It is cheerful and God knows we need some cheer,” she defended, her own consideration steering her in Bramble’s direction the more she examined the apron. “I got it for a steal.”

  “Of course you did! I bet they couldn’t give that away,” he teased.

  Maggie laughed and nodded. He was probably right, she reckoned, but she loved this apron. Like her, it was out of sorts; out of place, somehow, and it needed acknowledgment nonetheless.

  When she finally dished up Bramble’s delicious tuna and shrimp soufflé, her phone rang. Licking her fingertips hastily, she headed to the counter to take her cell phone out of her purse.

  “Hello?” she said, still licking the scraps of food off her thumb.

  “Hey!” the man sang the word. “You know, no matter how I follow the directions, I just can’t seem to find my way to you, babe.”

  Maggie felt as if a fist of hate had punched her with the power of a sledgehammer, leaving her instantly sick. Physically, she felt as if she was going to throw up and her mood crashed to the floor when she heard her ex-husband’s voice.

  “Didn’t I tell you to get lost?” she asked as her heart exploded with anger and frustration.

  “Oh come on, babe,” he spoke in fluent Thick Skin, “you know you miss me.”

  “Give me a goddamn shotgun. I won’t miss you at all,” she mumbled.

  “Listen, how do I get to your new place
?” He simply carried on whining as if nothing ever happened; as if he had never cheated on her with her best friend or leeched off her like an unwanted parasite while they were married. “I’m like, totally lost.”

  “Good. Stay lost,” she snapped and hung up the phone. Maggie’s hands were trembling at his audacity and his relentless disrespect and disregard for her.

  Bramble smacked his lips as he cleared the bottom of the bowl. He looked up at Maggie with his pristine green eyes.

  “Shall we try out some curses?”

  “No, Bramble!” she retorted quickly, but she smiled at the thought.

  “Well, we have covered most of the magical studies so far. You know practically everything there is to know about kitchen witching. Curses, though, we have hardly touched on,” he winked devilishly.

  “I know and I don’t care,” she answered promptly. “Dabbling in the Dark Arts is sure to bring me bad luck, so that is a subject I would rather avoid.”

  “Bad luck?” he scoffed. “That is what it is there for, my dear. Bad luck, directed correctly, could solve so many problems. But hey, that’s just my opinion as a daemon.”

  “Duly noted,” she replied with no intention of ever passing into that world. “Can you believe that Gareth thought he was coming for a surprise visit? Luckily the house wards are holding fast to avoid that fool ever finding me.”

  “That, and your passionate will never to see him again, my dear Maggie,” he added. “Never forget the power of will. It will serve you more than anything else, more than any magic tricks. Simply practice your will and you’ll be amazed at what you accomplish.”

  Maggie had never heard that sermon before. Bramble had instructed her in the finer points of spellcasting and herbal knowledge, but they had never discussed the components of magic before.

  “Look at this! Just look at this!” Maggie shrieked when her phone’s voicemail alert sounded.

  “What does it say?” Bramble perked up.

  “I don’t care!” she barked.

  “Yes, yes, but also consider this; if you know what he is up to, you will know how to avoid him,” Bramble explained. “Just see what he wants and then you will know how to steer clear of him.”

  “I hate it when you are right,” she sighed, picking up her phone to play the message.

  “You must hate it all the time,” Bramble winked, grooming himself in an elaborate pose that forced Maggie to turn her back. “The feline is always right.”

  “Hey, babe, we got cut off,” Gareth started the message.

  “Can you believe this loser?” she gasped, shaking her head.

  “I have checked into Thorny Thatch Bed & Breakfast until I find out where exactly your house is. Come see me tomorrow at 10 a.m. sharp. We both know you want to, so I will be waiting for you here. Don’t be late.”

  “Unbelievable!” Maggie shrieked, blocking his new number and slamming the phone down on her canvas carry bag. “The cheek that idiot has!”

  “Now we know where he is. Now we know what he expects from you. See? Valuable information,” Bramble nodded proudly.

  “What am I going to do?” she frowned, tapping her nails on the kitchen table. “Except for cursing him.”

  A knock at the front door jolted her up. Her heart raced and she felt as if she was going to lose her composure—that good old horrible feeling she had all throughout her marriage. Bramble gasped as he watched her open the drawer and grip the hilt of a meat cleaver.

  “Um,” he said, clearing his throat.

  “Just gonna scare the bastard,” she winked with a wicked smile. Maggie felt more confident now that she had a plan to repel her former yoke and without hesitation, she jerked open the door.

  “You should have stayed home, pal!” she growled as she branded the meat cleaver by her side.

  Before her, she watched a shrieking little girl and a big, grizzled man recoil. His hand pushed his daughter back protectively as he looked on in confused horror.

  “Uh, all right,” Sheriff Carl Walden, in plainclothes, replied casually.

  “Oh my God, Carl! I am so sorry!” Maggie gasped, mortified.

  Carl’s face had never exhibited so many emotions at the same time and Maggie felt like sinking into the ground in embarrassment. Nellie, his ten-year-old daughter, could not help but go into a fit of giggles.

  “So, what’s with the meat cleaver? Cooking, I hope?” he shrugged, trying to sound unfazed, but he was trying not to laugh along with the infectious giggles of his daughter. “Expecting someone special?”

  Maggie blushed and ran her tongue over her lips, shaking her head.

  “Nice apron, Miss Corey,” Nellie smiled.

  “Ha!” she heard Bramble exclaim from inside the house. “Told ya!”

  Maggie could not discern if the girl was jesting or whether she had perhaps cultivated an eclectic taste in art, but Carl’s request took precedence over her contemplation.

  “Aside from you running around with meat cleavers this early in the morning, I was hoping to ask a favor of you,” he told Maggie. “I know you are just about on your way to open the shop, but I thought I’d ask anyway.”

  “Sure, of course,” she replied.

  “I was caught off-guard a little by an emergency at the station and I was hoping … wondering if maybe I could ask you to, um,” he stammered.

  “My dad wants to ask you to babysit me for a few hours, Miss Corey,” Nellie explained and then looked at her struggling father. “Geez, Dad. Miss Corey doesn’t bite.”

  He scoffed and chuckled awkwardly, but Maggie’s reply saved him the embarrassment.

  “Of course I can do that. It is Tuesday. Always real slow at the shop, so it shouldn’t be a problem.” Maggie smiled, running her hand over Nellie’s beautiful dark hair that matched her eyes so perfectly. “Besides, Nellie would be the perfect reason for me not to have to use this.”

  She quickly flashed the cleaver before setting it on the hallway table.

  “Problems with more townspeople? I hope not,” Carl remarked.

  Maggie sighed. “No, worse. My ex-husband is in town and he insists on seeing me. He doesn’t seem to understand the word ‘no’ or even other commands I cannot say in front of Nellie.”

  “Sounds like a problem,” Carl agreed, looking a bit feisty, even a tad jealous. He instantly assumed his police officer stature and attitude. “Sounds like someone I should keep an eye on.”

  “I would really appreciate that, Sheriff,” Maggie admitted, acting ever so slightly like a classic damsel in distress. “He will not listen to my wishes.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll check him out and keep him in check. He will listen to my wishes,” Carl assured her, his obvious protectiveness adding to Nellie’s suspicions that he had a crush on Miss Corey.

  She was but a child, but she was not blind to unspoken affection and the slight exchange between the adults amused her greatly.

  2

  After Carl left for the investigation his superiors had asked him to assist on, Maggie was tasked with watching the cute and very astute Nellie Walden. She remembered when she first came to Hope’s Crossing, hearing about her late aunt Clara who had helped heal young Nellie and a bunch of other kids who had a bout of deadly measles. After Maggie had been exonerated from being a suspect in her own aunt’s murder, the little girl had gifted her with three hand-fashioned wreaths that still adorned Maggie’s porch to this day.

  Nellie had an affinity for so-called unorthodox things, mostly called ‘evil’ in the small- minded community of Hope’s Crossing, but Maggie adored her. Even from that first meeting, the two girls had struck up an alliance of tastes and they got along swimmingly. Today, however, was the first time they had spent together without other people involved, and Maggie was elated not to have to deal with Gareth.

  Nellie was very fond of Maggie’s big black cat, and in turn, the feline loved the undivided attention he always received from her. After all, familiars loved being important, especially cats. Halfway
through the day, after Nellie had helped Maggie stack the shelves and stock the back room, they sat down for some tea.

  “I hope you are not bored, Nellie,” Maggie told the little girl as she poured her some Earl Grey. “Not a lot goes on here today. Not even the tourists are up yet.”

  “No, I am having a lot of fun, Miss Corey. Bramble loved the toy I brought him!” the young girl smiled as they watched the cat sleep on top of the ball-shaped bell Nellie had bought him to play with. “But now he is all sleepy.”

  “Yeah, he loves to nap,” Maggie remarked, sipping her tea.

  She opened another bag and started to empty the contents onto her worktable. The girl perked up and looked suspiciously at the herbs. Reluctantly, she looked at Maggie with a quizzical expression.

  “Um, Miss Corey,” she started slowly, “what is that? Is it legal?”

  Maggie burst out laughing. “Why, of course it is legal!” she chuckled, looking at Bramble napping on the bell and cushion. “Although sometimes I don’t think it should be.”

  “Why?” Nellie asked zealously. “What does it do?”

  Maggie winked. “Let me show you.”

  She took some in her hand and reached over to Bramble. Gently, she waved it in front of his nose, her face painted with a huge smile. Maggie was in her thirties, but right now, she looked like a naughty ten-year-old about to play a prank.

  Bramble’s nose moved. It twitched. A slow, subconscious, and almost imperceptible sound escaped him.