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  MUFFINS, MAGIC, AND MURDER

  Cowan Bay Witches Cozy Mystery

  JESSICA LANCASTER

  Copyright © 2019 Jessica Lancaster

  Original text copyright © 2017

  All Rights Reserved

  First published in 2017 under A Pinch of Death.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, copied, or stored in any form or by any means without permission of the author. Your respect and support of the author is appreciated.

  All characters, events, brands, companies, and locations in this story are used fictionally and without intent of slander. Any resemblance to actual people are purely coincidental.

  NOTE: Written in British English, utilising the grammar rules of British English. Example; Mr and Mrs - instead of Mr. and Mrs.

  PARANORMAL MYSTERIES

  Cowan Bay Witches Cozy Mysteries

  Muffins, Magic, and Murder (Book 1)

  Cupcakes, Crystals, and Chaos (Book 2)

  Pies, Palmistry, and Poison (Book 3)

  Treats, Tarot, and Trouble (Book 4)

  Witchwood Cozy Mysteries

  Cryptic Curses in Witchwood (Book 1)

  Secret Spells in Witchwood (Book 2)

  Monster Magic in Witchwood (Book 3)

  Reaper Rituals in Witchwood (Book 4)

  Bad Blood in Witchwood (Book 5)

  Wicked Witches in Witchwood (Book 6)

  CO-AUTHORED BOOKS

  With Hugo James King

  Murder on Silver Lake (Book 1)

  Murder on Red Rose Drive (Book 2)

  Murder at Maple House (Book 3)

  Join Jessica’s e-mail list for new releases by signing up!

  MUFFINS, MAGIC, AND MURDER

  When a witch is found dead, the Cowan Bay coven is under suspicion.

  Local witch, Gwen owns a café in the village centre, not only to sell pastries and baked goods but also to conduct witchy business—and she’s attracting the wrong crowd.

  With finicky Detective Hodge pressing the women for information, and a new village doctor settling in, Gwen must discover who the murderer is before they strike again.

  Can the coven save themselves while one witch down?

  A paranormal cozy mystery set in a coastal English village. An amateur female sleuth, a coven of witches, and an anxious pet cat. Written in British English. No swearing or gore.

  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

  A Note from Jessica

  MORE FROM JESSICA

  ABOUT JESSICA LANCASTER

  CHAPTER 1

  Screeching my name from the top of his lungs. I dropped my toothbrush in the sink and yanked on the handle of the bathroom door.

  “What?” I panicked, toothpaste at the corner of my mouth. I looked to my black cat, sat on the floor, licking at his paws. “August! What is it?” I asked, pulling my fluffy pink dressing gown around myself.

  August, a short-hair black Bombay cat. My familiar. And a vocal one too. He peered at me from the floor. “You could’ve drowned.”

  My eyes rolled back before glancing back at him. “I was brushing my—” I sighed, “never mind.” I grabbed at a hand towel to wipe my mouth.

  “Why were you taking so long?” he asked, greeting me as he rubbed his side against my leg. “I’m hungry.”

  “I might be a witch, August, but I’m not a mind reader,” I said, pulling the sleeve of the robe. “It’s only seven-thirty.”

  “Only,” he droned. “Where’s breakfast?”

  “You’ll be breakfast for one of the neighbourhood dogs if you continue,” I snapped back, a smile crossed my lips as he scoffed and skulked across the bedroom.

  “You don’t even like dogs, Gwen,” he said.

  I flicked the light switch off in the en-suite bathroom. “Maybe my next familiar will be a dog.” I raised my hands in a shrug. “Who knows what will happen?”

  He turned his head, his eyes looking through small slits. “I know you’re kidding, and if I had hands, I would write the Witches Council about your threats, and your clear intention on starving me.”

  “Oh hush,” I said. “I’ll feed you now.”

  Every witch had a familiar, but most weren’t quite as sassy as August was. I’d had familiars previous to him, but we didn’t like to talk about those. As well as familiar, most witches belonged to covens. My coven was situated in Cowan Bay; a small Cornish village on the coast.

  There are five witches to a coven, and contrary to some belief, we weren’t old crones with warts, or had houses built from gingerbread where we fattened children for feasting. Although, I did own a café, and it is known to widen the waist.

  I lived alone, with the exception of my cat, August. I was also once married, and had a son, but I divorced, and my son moved to London for university.

  At least August still relied on me, he had to, unless he could fix himself up a potion for opposable thumbs.

  “I’m waiting,” August purred. His voice was that of a young man, not quite deep and with an air of sarcasm.

  I made my way down the stairs to the front door where letters laid on the mat. It was the beginning of a new month, so of course that meant I’d be receiving plenty of bills for both my house and the café I owned.

  Crystal Café had been mine for ten years, it started off as a hobby, baking cakes and helping people in the community, adding a little extra zhush to improve and alleviate people’s health and well-being. I hired a cook, Ralph, and a waitress, Abi, but my best friend in the entire world, and funnily enough, not a witch, Rosie also worked there. It was a real team effort.

  For breakfast, I was getting the waffle iron hot. Whipping up a nice batter to start the day. It would often make several waffles, but I was only one woman, and at the most, I could stomach two waffles soaked in strawberry syrup and whipped cream.

  The kitchen was a large box room with a window out onto the rear garden and beyond that the large rolling hills. I had a lovely bright and spacious conservatory built onto the back of the house a few years back, it was my go-to breakfast nook of peace.

  Before finishing my waffles with some chopped strawberries, I placed a fresh bowl of water and a tray of cat food out for August. “It’s tuna,” I said, tapping the side of the dish with the fork.

  I carried my food and coffee into the conservatory to eat. It was only 7:43 A.M. and the morning sky had already blossomed into a light blue. A perfect way to spend the morning. I pulled the letters from the pocket of my dressing gown and threw them across the coffee table. “I’ll get to you later,” I said, snuggling the lip of the cup to my mouth and embracing the hold caffeine had over my body.

  Sipping coffee and eating the strawberry topped waffles, I realised strawberry season was coming to an end. I loved to use strawberries in my cakes, one of my signature dishes to tide over the village was a strawberry cheesecake. I wouldn’t say I was the best baker, but I’d won the village bake off three years in a row and it had nothing to do with magic; it’s against the witch’s code to use magic on humans without their consent.

  Everything I knew about magic and witchcraft came from my mother, and her mother, and their mothers before them. At the age of sixteen, I started writing everyth
ing into a book, a book of shadows. My book was inside a cupboard, locked with both a little magic and a key. Every morning before work I’d take the book with me, and every evening I’d put it back. Everything was written inside it, from recipes, to spells, potions, and an abundance of other information.

  It was a pity I’d never be able to teach my son. He knew, of course, everyone in the village knew, but he would never be able to continue the craft in the family line. I knew it annoyed him, but for selfish reasons.

  I’m a clairsentient witch, someone who can feel the emotional state of people, often in flickers of pictures from the past. That was my natural gift, but not every witch has them, and also one of the reasons why my marriage broke down.

  A sharp snapping breath took me back. I knew Peter was cheating before he even knew. I guess when you’re touching people you feel them, you know what they’re feeling, and when they stop feeling for you and start feeling for someone else, it’s not healthy. I’m not saying this happened over night, I didn’t pack his bags and kiss fourteen years of marriage away, in fact, I never even told him what I’d felt until I knew he’d cheated.

  My plate smashed on the floor as I tried placing it in the sink. Too busy lost in thought, I carelessly missed the mark.

  “What’s gotten into you?” August asked, jumping on the kitchen counter, his gorgeous yellow eyes glowing at me.

  “I’m thinking,” I said.

  He stepped with caution on the counters. “Jack will be back when he needs his clothes washing.”

  “This place just feels so big now,” I said in a huff. “What if he doesn’t want to come back?” I grumbled as I gathered a brush and dustpan to sweep away the broken plate.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m a housecat, you’re not downgrading, I like my space,” August chuckled. “And he’ll come back, the boy’s only been gone a week.”

  I chuckled. “Says the cat who never goes outside.”

  “Why would I leave?”

  “Fresh air?” I knelt slightly, picking the larger pieces of plate to throw away.

  “I’m not a savage living to eat mice in the garden.” He stuck his tongue out and swotted a paw on the counter.

  A hum broke from my throat as I pinched my eyes to a squint and stared at him. “You’re a witch’s cat, and that means you need to be useful.” I emptied the broken plate into the bin. “I guess it means you’re not out causing mayhem or getting the other cats pregnant, the last thing I need is someone footing me with a bill because I didn’t have you neutered.”

  August jumped from the counter. “No way.” He ran off.

  I’d had August for fifteen years, ever since he was a kitten, before him I had another cat, a ginger mackerel tabby called Freya, but a car ran her over; one of the reasons August didn’t want to leave the house.

  As it was officially the start of autumn it meant I could get back to my autumn wardrobe. I wore a green chiffon batwing blouse and pair of brown flared trousers. They complimented my shoulder-length blonde hair just right. I threw a dusting off cappuccino eyeshadow in the upper crease of my eyelid and a touch of burgundy matte lipstick.

  In the mirror I adjusted the pentagram amulet necklace around my neck, stroking at the different types of crystals embedded on the spokes.

  “Okay, August, I’m leaving soon,” I called.

  My book of shadows was kept in the kitchen, the only cupboard door with a key to access. It was a heavy book with dark blue accents on the spine and a dirty gold cover.

  “August,” I called once more as I approached the front door.

  On the hanger by the door I grabbed my leather bag and pulled out some keys.

  August appeared at the top of the stairs scratching at the bannister.

  “Don’t do that; I’ll get the catnip.”

  The one thing about catnip and August was its ability to mellow him and inhibit him from speaking. I rarely used the stuff, but I did have a nice stock of it.

  “When will you be back?” he moaned.

  “Later,” I replied. “Don’t make a mess, and remember—”

  He let out a long-winded sigh. “Only meow if someone comes to the door.”

  A smile pinched at my cheeks. “Exactly.” August tended to forget he was a cat, especially when people might stop by from the village and knock on the door. “No more instances like the last one. I don’t want to tell Mrs. Foster from the newsagents she was hallucinating—again.”

  CHAPTER 2

  I owned and drove a red Honda Civic, and I had for almost four years now. It was perfect to get me around the village and do the weekly shop.

  Cowan Bay was a fishing village covered in large white brick terraced housing, they were dotted around in clumps of flat land, often in layers up the hills. The drive from my house was peaceful, there were only two other houses on this route, one of them belonging to my dear friend Marissa, and the second had been unoccupied until recently, but as I passed, I’d noticed a van in the driveway.

  It was 9:13 A.M. when I found myself parking outside the café. It had opened thirteen minutes ago, but I took an extra moment to look out onto the bay. There was a giant stretch of wooden harbour petering off into the sea with boats gently bashing around in the gentle sea waves. I didn’t have any so-called sea legs, but I recall my mother telling me my father did.

  Seagulls ran amok over the bay, their incessant squawking was one of the reasons I decided not to live closer, mixed in with the strong smell of salt water in the sea air and with winds that could knock an old lady over, I preferred to be in the comfort of my home surrounded by land.

  I carried my book of shadows on one arm and my large handbag in the nook of my elbow of the other. I admired the sign outside, the large white script lettering of Crystal Café, and on the interior window a matching sign made out of a blue neon light. The bell above the door chimed it’s tiny ding as I entered.

  Two elderly women, Margery and Ethel sat at their regular table beside the window with the sign. They were both at least in their eighties, and found my café made for quite the place to spend their free time.

  “Morning,” they both said.

  “Morning you two,” I replied. “Having the usual?”

  Margery pushed her wire-thin frame glasses up on her face. She was a larger woman who had one hand constantly resting on a walking stick. “Ralph’s cooking us up some eggs, the new doctor said I need to increase my protein intake.”

  “New doctor?” I asked.

  Ethel slapped her lips together. “Oh yes. He’s quite the handsome devil, but—but—but he said I have to stop eating battered fish.” Her eyes grew wider. “I—I—I almost gave him a whack around the lughole, talking to me like that, I’m pushing eighty-three, if I want some fish and chips, well, I’ll bloody have it.”

  My eyebrows knitted together as I nodded my head and hummed in concern. “I’m sure he’s just looking out for you.” I noticed they both still had their morning coffees, so the advice the new doctor was giving clearly fell on deaf ears. I left them and headed to the serving counter where Ralph stood with his back to me as he fried eggs on the hot plate. “Fried?” I asked.

  He turned. “Oh, Gwen.”

  “I thought they’d be poached or boiled,” I said as a smile touched my face. I glanced back to the two women at their table.

  “I said that,” he laughed, scratching at his bald head, “but they don’t take orders from anyone.”

  “Well, if they ask for cake, make sure it’s the sugar-free one, I’m not having them blame us if they end up in hospital with a hypo.”

  He nodded. “Got it.”

  The café had several tables and chairs, enough to accommodate fifteen people. Most would only come in for a to-go cup of coffee and a cake, but we had our regulars who would stop by for breakfast and early lunch.

  This was also the place where I could conduct my own witchy business. I had a backroom with PRIVATE in large white lettering across the centre of the black back door. Pitch black fil
led the room completely, there were no windows for natural light and nothing came from beneath the door either. I flicked the light switch, quickly closing the door behind me.

  This room was used to give readings; stocked with crystals, tarot cards, runes, an assortment of herbs and other ingredients. It was only a box room, and each wall filled out with shelving units. At the centre of the room was a small circle table dressed in a thin purple cloth and on top of that a pedestal for my book of shadows.

  A knock came at the door as I settled into a chair at the table.

  The door swung open and in barged Allegra, a plump woman with a thick head of frizzy black and grey hair. She wore layered clothes, already one to sense the seasons change, an array of dark colours over her body, a complete clash to her milky white skin.

  “Morning,” she said, taking a deep breath as she heaved herself across the threshold of the door. “Figured I’d pop in.” She slammed the door shut. Allegra was the eldest coven witch, and in a circle when we cast she was also the representation of spirit. I represented air.

  I jumped from my seat. “Morning,” I greeted with a hug.

  “Bless the Goddess, I’ve been watching the café for almost thirty minutes.”

  “Oh.” I pulled away. “What’s wrong?” I offered her a seat at the table.

  “The coming full moon ceremony has stirred something in my waters,” she said as she fanned herself with the back of her hand. “I’ve been keeping tabs on all the coven.”

  We both sat as Allegra offered me her hand across the table. I stared for a moment before accepting it. Immediately, the knot of stress in her stomach clenched, it was true, her waters were stirring and not in a pleasant way. “If you want I can fix you up a tea, straighten you right out.”

  She shook her head. “I’ve already had a spot of calming tea, but I can’t shake it, and I can’t see anything either, there’s a block.” She removed her hand from my touch. “Well, maybe it’s just nerves, you know how I get around the full moon, I’m just winding myself up, I can feel it.”