Dark Corner

Chapter 10

A Twitch of the Nose

It was almost dawn when Mrs. Twiggs and I made it back to the Leaf & Page where Abigail and Tracker were waiting. We found them in the kitchen, which showed battle scars of white flour and yellow eggs.

“Sorry, I got into a fight with the mixer,” Abigail said, taking off her batter-stained apron. She appeared as if she had lost the battle. “But I got the scones in the oven. I followed your recipe exactly, Mrs. Twiggs.”

Pixel bounded into the kitchen. “Mm. Me smell blueberry.” He gave a sigh of relief. All was right in Pixel’s world. He leaped onto the kitchen counter to make sure Abigail hadn’t forgotten any ingredients.

“You don’t look so good,” Abigail said to Mrs. Twiggs, who sank down at the kitchen table, her head in her hands.

“I’m fine, dear.”

“Where have you been?” Abigail placed a teacup in front of Mrs. Twiggs.

“There’s been some trouble at the Biltmore.” Mrs. Twiggs paused. “Actually, there’s been a tragedy. Mrs. Lund is dead.”

“The woman from Richmond University? The woman you met yesterday?”

“Yes.”

“What happened?” Abigail asked, sitting down across from Mrs. Twiggs.

“I had a premonition she was in grave danger. It told me to go to the storage room.” Mrs. Twiggs teared up. She took a lace handkerchief from her sundress pocket and dabbed her eyes. “We found her dead, a sword through her heart.” And then she started to cry, her shoulders shaking.

I leaped onto the table, rubbing against her and purring. “Mrs. Twiggs, it’s okay.”

“I could have saved her, Terra, maybe if I would have called the police first or gotten there quicker.”

“Mrs. Twiggs, she was gone before your premonition was over.”

“How do you know, Terra? How do you know that?”

“You haven’t learned yet how to read your visions. The stronger you get, the further in the future you will be able to see.”

“I felt I was in that room with her, Terra, when she passed.”

“She reached out to you, Mrs. Twiggs, as she turned from this world to the next.”

After pulling the scones out of the oven, Abigail sat back down across from Mrs. Twiggs. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Twiggs. I’ve got everything ready for today’s opening.” She paused and then said, “By the way, Charlotte’s sleeping upstairs in the extra bedroom.”

“Why? What happened?” Mrs. Twiggs asked.

“She got into a fight with Miss Hartwell and stormed out of the house. She doesn’t know anyone else, so she came here.”

“Oh dear, that’s a shame. What could they have fought about?”

Abigail shrugged. “She didn’t really say. I think she wanted to be around someone her own age. We watched a movie, hung out, and I told her to stay over.”

I ran up the stairs to the second floor until I reached the bedroom. I knocked my head against the door. It was locked. I crouched down to peer under the door but couldn’t see anything from that vantage point. I smelled Charlotte or at least the scent she left. I knocked on the door gently, and then I knocked louder. I don’t know why I felt the need to check to make sure she was in her bed and safe. When she didn’t answer, I shook off the feeling and returned to the kitchen in time to hear Pixel say, “Me help.” He pulled his paw back from the hot scones.

“It’s time to open the shop. Thanks for all your help, dear.” Mrs. Twiggs smiled at Abigail and then went into the front room where she walked over to the picture of Albert. She raised her fingers to her lips, kissed them, and then held her fingers to his lips. He smiled down at her as she opened the front door. She greeted each customer warmly and many of them with a hug while Abigail took orders for morning tea. Mrs. Twiggs maintained her pleasant spirits during the morning rush, but I could tell Mrs. Lund’s death was on her mind.

Around lunchtime, Mrs. Loblolly strolled in, wearing a bright daisy sundress. Lately I had noticed all the ladies of the Biltmore Society dressing similarly. They were donned in bright sundresses, flowered hats, and kitten-heeled sandals. Then I remembered it was late April, almost May Day. The ladies were preparing for the Wiccan holiday.

Mrs. Loblolly hugged Mrs. Twiggs. “How are you, Beatrice? I’m so excited.” She looked around the room and then appeared disappointed. “I don’t see her.”

“Whom are you talking about, June?”

“Mrs. Lund. I was to meet her here to talk about my family history during the Civil War.” She held up a family bible. “I brought our history with me.”

“Oh, June, I didn’t know.” The teacup in Mrs. Twiggs’s hand shook.

“What are you stammering on about, Beatrice?”

“Come by the fire.” They sat in the wing-back chairs on either side of the marble-encased fireplace. “Mrs. Lund is dead.”

“Beatrice, what are you talking about?”

Mrs. Twiggs hesitated before saying, “She was killed in the storage room of the Biltmore. I was there last night. I saw her.”

“Oh, Beatrice, this is horrible.” Mrs. Loblolly reached across and took Mrs. Twiggs’s hands in hers. “What happened?”

Mrs. Twiggs shook her head and pulled out her handkerchief again, dabbing at her eyes.

The silver bell over the transom tinkled in greeting as Miss Hartwell came in wearing sensible rubber shoes and an inexpensive navy-blue dress. Her mousy brown hair was tied back in a bun. The makeup she wore was applied sparingly to take away from her sunken eyes and crow’s-feet. She looked worse for wear since I had last seen her. I had never seen her in such disarray.

“Miss Hartwell, thank you for coming,” Mrs. Twiggs said as she rose out of the chair. She gave her a hug. “Please have some tea.” Mrs. Twiggs poured her a cup.

“Thank you, Mrs. Twiggs. I wanted to check on Charlotte,” Miss Hartwell said.

“Abigail, go upstairs and see if Charlotte can come down,” Mrs. Twiggs said.

I followed Abigail up the stairs. Before she could knock on the door, it swung open. Charlotte stood in front of us in the same clothes she had on the day before.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“Miss Hartwell is asking about you.”

Charlotte sighed, shrugged, and said, “She wants me to stay at the estate. I’m not comfortable there. It’s not my style.”

“Come talk to her,” Abigail said.

We joined Miss Hartwell, Mrs. Twiggs, and Mrs. Loblolly in the kitchen where Mrs. Twiggs had put out a tray of sandwiches. Mrs. Twiggs stared at Abigail. I wondered too how much Miss Hartwell knew of the secret of the Ladies of the Biltmore Society.

“Charlotte, I think you should come back to the estate,” Miss Hartwell said. “I need your help in sorting through Mrs. Tangledwood’s things. You might want a memento.”

Charlotte shrugged.

“Mr. Bridgestone, your aunt’s attorney, wants to sit down with you to review the conditions of the will,” Miss Hartwell added.

Abigail nudged her. “Okay,” Charlotte said.

“He wants to meet early tomorrow. It’s probably best if you stay at the estate,” Miss Hartwell said.

Charlotte turned to Abigail with an eye roll. “Okay, fine,” she said.

Mrs. Twiggs escorted them out the door and flipped the closed sign. Abigail grabbed her laptop and plopped down on the sofa in the living room. I jumped on the back of the couch. Abigail appeared to be watching a TV show. “What is this, Abigail?”

“I’m doing research. It’s called Bewitched. I’ve been binge-watching it,” Abigail said. “Wait, Terra, you’ll like this episode. She goes back to Salem.”

I was intrigued, so I snuggled down with my head on her shoulder. It did not look like the Salem I remembered. Nor did the people behave as they had in my day. We watched several episodes after that one. I was intrigued by the human portrayal of witches. Abigail twitched her nose, and a Diet Coke flew to her hand from the refrigerator.

“No, Abigail,” I said. “That’s not how it’s done.”

“Come on, Terra, lighten up.”

“Who’s that?” I asked.

“That’s Samantha’s husband, Darrin.”

“He doesn’t look like the Darrin from the last episode.”

“There’s two Darrins.”

“She has two husbands?” I asked.

“No, they switched Darrins midseason.”

“Oh.” Television comedies made no sense to me. I’d only seen them once or twice. If the elders back in Salem Town had seen flying pictures through the air, everyone watching would have been on trial. Then a thought occurred to me. “You could learn from Samantha, Abigail. She’s always getting in trouble performing magic in front of humans.”

Pixel joined me on the back of the couch. “Grumpy Cat,” he said.

“No, we’re not watching Grumpy Cat again.”

“Grumpy Cat, Terra.”

“After we finish this show, okay?” Sometimes it was best to give in to Pixel.

“Okay,” he said, but he was fast asleep in seconds. The last episode we watched, Samantha the witch was flying on a broom. Abigail grunted and gave me a dirty look. I let out a meow laugh and fell asleep.