Broomsticks And Bones Read online

  Broomsticks and Bones

  A Spellbinder Bay Cozy Paranormal Mystery - Book Two

  Sam Short

  www.samshortauthor.com

  Copyright © 2018 by Sam Short

  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.

  v.1

  Created with Vellum

  For Katie. A metal detecting fan and all round good egg.

  Also by Sam Short

  The Spellbinder Bay Series

  Book One - Witch Way to Spellbinder Bay

  Remember to read the complete Water Witch cozy paranormal series, too! The first series by Sam Short.

  Book one — Under Lock and Key

  Book Two — Four and Twenty Blackbirds

  Book Three — An Eye For an Eye

  Book Four — A Meeting of Minds

  Contents

  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

  Also by Sam Short

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Being careful to avoid the delicate flowers, whose lilac petals peeked through the dune grasses which whipped her bare calves as she ran, Millie Thorn wove a lazy path through the dunes, heading for the beach below the sea-front cottage she called home.

  Reuben flew in lazy circles above her, his complaints making an irritating soundtrack to accompany her run. "I told you," panted Millie, her trainers sinking into the soft sand. "Exercise is good for us. We've been lazy since I moved into Windy-dune Cottage."

  The Cockatiel swooped low, his wingtip brushing Millie's face. “We’ve been lazy? It's not me whose bottom has got bigger," he squawked, gaining height again. "I keep myself svelte. I think it's good to have pride in oneself."

  Millie veered left, following a new trail which would take her directly onto the sweeping expanse of beach. "I do have pride in myself, Reuben," she said. "The last four months have been hectic, that's all. You try moving to a new town and then finding out you're a witch. Then finding out your dead mother was a witch, too — a secret she’d kept to herself! It was quite a shock. No wonder I turned to junk food for a brief period."

  Reuben dive-bombed her again. "I'm a demon who spent six human lifetimes in a terrible dimension known as The Chaos before I was brought to this world by a kindly witch who placed my spirit in the body of a bird. That's incalculably worse than what you've gone through, and I didn't turn to vices to help me through life. I think it's good that you've taken up running, though. Your bottom looks a lot bigger from up here than it does at ground level."

  Millie picked up speed as the downward gradient steepened. "You may be my familiar," she said, "but must you be so familiar? Say something nice, Reuben, or the pizza I promised you for tonight’s meal is off the menu.”

  Reuben's concerned squawk carried on the wind, startling a passing seagull, which changed course and headed towards the ocean. "Something nice?" he said. "Erm… your hair is the colour of the finest mahogany burnished by a tropical sun, and your eyes are velvet pools of melted chocolate — set in a face which even the angels covet — despite the slight bend in your nose and the cleft in your chin."

  Millie smiled, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow. "That was actually very nice. The nose and chin part aside," she said. "I'll pretend you meant it." She slowed her pace as the soft sand of the dunes gave way to the firmer sand of the beach. “I haven't heard you mention angels before," she said. "Are they real?"

  Reuben laughed as he flew in circles above his witch. "Seriously?" he said. "Are you seriously asking me if angels are real?"

  “Of course I am!" snapped Millie. "I don't see what's so funny about the question. Four months ago, the weirdest thing in my life was my landlord, and since then I've learned that witches, ghosts, vampires, werewolves and mermaids — to name a few, are real." She stopped running, and looked up at the little bird. "Of course my question was serious!"

  With a soft beating of wings, Reuben landed gently on Millie's shoulder. "In answer to your serious question," he said. "No. As far as I'm aware, angels are not real."

  "Thank you," said Millie, surveying the storm-ravaged beach. "That's all I wanted to know."

  "That really was some storm, wasn't it?" said Reuben.

  Millie nodded. "The worst in a century according to the meteorologists," she said.

  The breeze swept a strand of hair into her eyes as Millie took in the sight before her. Huge swathes of sand had been pushed aside by powerful waves which had battered the shoreline, and in some areas of the beach the underlying hard-packed gravel which had once been covered by sand, was now visible.

  Plastic, wood and other debris had been pushed far up the beach, the high-tide line having encroached further inland than it had done for a very long time, or would do again.

  Reuben took off, gaining height as Millie began running. Her thigh muscles cramped and tight, she promised herself once more that running wouldn't become one of those fleeting hobbies she’d taken up in the past, only to drop a week later. Learning to play the flute being the most short-lived.

  "There's a man dancing!” shouted Reuben from above. “In the sand dunes. He must be some sort of weirdo. Spellbinder Bay does seem to attract them."

  Millie squinted her eyes in order to see through the harsh glare of the morning sun on the wet sand. Reuben was right. There was a man, visible in the steep valley between two tall dunes — and he did seem to be dancing. It wasn't much of a dance, certainly not the sort of dance you’d see in a nightclub at two-o’clock on a Saturday morning, but the man was doing his best — punching his hands vigorously into the air above his head as he lifted his knees high, his head bobbing from side to side. Changing direction, Millie made a beeline towards the man — he looked like he could be fun, and she needed some fun.

  Noticing Millie's approach, the man ceased dancing and bent down to pick something up from the sand. Recognising what the lengthy piece of equipment in his hand was, Millie's interest increased a notch or two. She slowed to a walk as she neared him, and put a cheery smile on her face. "You're a metal detector!" she said. "Did you find something? Is that why you looked so happy?"

  The man adjusted his hat, folding the peak so it shielded his eyes from the sun. "I'm not a metal detector," he said, his wrinkles deepening as he smiled. He tapped the long piece of equipment in his hand, a large disc at one end, and an electronic box fitted below the handgrip at the other. "This is a metal detector. I'm a metal detectorist. I only took this hobby up last month, but even I know that's an important difference to establish from the outset.”

  “I’ll start again," said Millie, gazing into the hole the man had dug using the shovel at his feet. "You're a metal detectorist! Did you find something interesting?"

  The man's eyes widened as Reuben fluttered from the sky and landed on Millie's shoulder. "That's amazing!" he said. "It's a cockatiel, isn't it? It's beautiful."

  "An astute fellow," wh
ispered Reuben into Millie's ear. "I like him already. We should invite him back to the cottage for coffee and some of those muffins you baked. Not the lemon-fancies, though. There was nothing fancy about those — believe you me!”

  Millie smiled, ignoring her familiar’s insult. "Yes," she said. "He's a cockatiel."

  "Does he talk?" said the man.

  “Don't you dare," hissed Millie, sensing that the bird was about to prove just how well he could speak. She nodded at the detectorist. "He knows a few words," she said. "Ask him who's a pretty boy."

  The man took a step closer to Millie, and increased the pitch of his voice by an octave or two. "Who's a pretty boy, then? Who's a pretty boy, then?”

  Millie winced as Reuben's claws dug into her flesh. "I suppose I am, although I prefer the term handsome, but in answer to your question — Reuben is a pretty boy! Reuben is a pretty boy!"

  His eyes widening and his smile transforming into a worried frown, the man stared curiously at the cockatiel. "What did he say?" he asked. "That was… out of the ordinary. He didn't even sound like a bird."

  Millie sighed. "It's just learned behaviour," she said. "It's his party trick."

  "Well, it's a heck of a trick," said the detectorist. "That was very curious. Very curious indeed.”

  "He's a curious bird," said Millie, crouching to get a better view of the hole the man had dug. “Now you’ve seen my curiosity — how about you show me yours? Did you find something exciting, or do you always dance around holes you've dug in the sand?”

  The man gave Reuben another intrigued look, and turned his attention to the hole. “If I tell you, do you promise you won't tell anybody else?"

  Millie made the shape of an X on her chest. "Cross my heart. I won't tell a soul."

  Dipping into the pouch which hung from his waist, the man withdrew a circular yellow disc which glinted in the sunlight. "Gold!" he said. "It's only my third time metal detecting, and I’ve found gold!"

  "What is it?" said Millie. “A coin?"

  Rotating the disc between his fingers, the man smiled. "Yes. And there’s another in the hole I've just dug." He pointed to the hard-packed sand which made up the walls of the small excavation. "Look," he said. "Sticking out of the side."

  Sure enough, peaking from the sand was the rim of a coin, the yellow metal vivid against the dark sand. "It's your lucky day," said Millie. "Two gold coins."

  "There's no luck involved," said the detectorist. "That storm cleared inches of sand from the beach and shifted a lot of sand from the top of the dunes, too. Metal that was too deep to find in the past can now be detected. I used my head, though — while all the other detectorists are searching the areas of the beaches where the tourists drop their jewellery and money, I came to this empty stretch of beach. I checked the history books — this part of the coast was notorious for shipwrecks before the lighthouse was built. Some of the ships were said to have been carrying great wealth, and it seems I've found some of it — and I'm sure that’s not the last of it, either.”

  “Shipwrecks up here?” said Millie. “We’re standing in sand dunes. Even a very high tide won’t reach this spot.”

  “The history books say there was a superstorm,” he said. “Hundreds of years ago. The sea pushed two galleons almost a mile inland and smashed them to smithereens. Most of their cargo was never retrieved, and one of those boats was said to have been carrying French gold. It seems the storm we’ve just had has made it possible to find some of that gold. This piece of beach might make me rich." He paused. "I shouldn't have said that, should I? Now you’ll want some of the gold to keep my secret." He gave a deep sigh. "How does twenty-percent sound? You don't tell anybody about what I’ve found, and I'll give you twenty-percent of my finds.”

  Millie laughed. She didn't want to tell the man exactly how much money she'd inherited from the generations of witches who'd inhabited Windy-dune Cottage before her, but she did want him to feel safe in the knowledge that she wasn't about to blackmail him. "I don't want any of your gold," she said. "It's all yours, and I crossed my heart — your secret is safe with me."

  The man narrowed his eyes. "You don't want gold? What sort of person doesn't want gold?"

  Millie smiled. "I had a bit of luck myself," she said. "I was left an inheritance from a family I never knew I had. You keep your gold. I don't need it."

  Tension visibly leaving his shoulders, the man bent over and prised the gold coin from the wall of the hole. He placed it in his pouch, and stared along the beach. "If I want to find more," he said. "I'd better get moving. Eventually the wind will replace the sand which the storm removed, and make the gold impossible to find again, but before that, other detectorists are certain to be along. I need to work quickly — so if you don't mind…"

  "Rude," whispered Reuben in Millie's ear. “Forget the muffins. Definitely give him a fancy.”

  Millie smiled at the man. “Of course," she said. “I’m Millie, by the way. Millie Thorn. I live in Windy-dune cottage — the cottage you can see up there, above the sand dunes."

  “I’ve heard of you,” said the man. “You inherited the lighthouse, too, didn’t you? After Albert Salmon had committed suicide. He left it to you.”

  Millie nodded. The fact that Albert had been murdered was not common knowledge, and the fact that he’d written his suicide note and changed his will after he had died, was certainly not common knowledge — the human population of Spellbinder Bay would probably not have reacted well to the fact that ghosts walked among them. Especially ghosts who changed their wills after shrugging off their mortal coils. She smiled. “That’s me,” she confirmed.

  "I’m Tom," said the man. "Tom Temples, and I live alone in a tiny rented apartment on the outskirts of town. I'm hoping this gold will change that, though. I'm not getting any younger, I retired last year, and my pension isn't good. This gold may be the chance I need to finally own a home."

  “Well, Tom,” said Millie, breaking into a gentle jog. “I wish you luck!”

  “Cheerio,” said Tom, “and thank you for promising to keep my secret. Some of those other detectorists can be very jealous. Very jealous indeed. Especially when a beginner finds gold. Some of them have been doing it for decades and never had a whiff of the yellow stuff. They’d contract the dreaded gold fever if they heard about this spot! And who knows what that could lead to?”

  Chapter 2

  Millie allowed the makeup brush to drop from the air, where it hovered next to her cheek, as Reuben fluttered in through the open roof window and landed on the bed next to her.

  The cockatiel looked up at his witch. “I saw you!” he said. “You were using magic to control that brush! You said you’d never use magic for frivolous tasks! You said that witches like Judith, who use magic for the simplest of jobs, are lazy! Hah! Caught you red-handed, you lazy witch!”

  “I was practising,” countered Millie. “That’s all. Anyway, you can’t accuse anybody of being lazy. You spend most of your life in front of the television.”

  Reuben hopped along the bedcovers. “Not today! I’ve had a wonderfully exhilarating day on the beach, watching Tom Temples digging up treasure. He found loads more after you left — coins and jewellery. And he shared his lunch with me. I think he found it odd that a cockatiel would enjoy chicken sandwiches. He murmured something about cannibalism, although I fail to see how he came to that conclusion. Chickens and cockatiels are very different creatures! I can fly, for a start!”

  Millie narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t speak to him, did you, Reuben?”

  The cockatiel looked away. “I may have offered the suggestion that mayonnaise would have livened his sandwiches up a little, but that aside — no. I didn’t say much. Not much at all.”

  “You’ll get us in trouble, Reuben!” warned Millie. “You shouldn’t speak in front of non-paranormal people!”

  “Relax… take it easy, witchy woman,” said Reuben. “The concealment spell covering Spellbinder Bay will make him think there was absolutely
nothing out of the ordinary about discussing the merits of a petrol engine over a diesel engine with a cockatiel.”

  “The concealment spell —” Millie paused and took a deep breath. “Wait! What did you say? You discussed engines with him, too?”

  “Yes. TV shows, also. He likes Springer, I like Kyle. We agreed to disagree,” said Reuben. “Although I know who’s right. Springer is a has been. Kyle is the present and the future of cringe television.”

  “I hope that concealment spell works as well as it’s supposed to. For your sake,” said Millie, retrieving her makeup brush from the floor.

  “It works as well as that stuff you’re plastering on your face to conceal that pimple which burst into life overnight,” said the bird. “I can hardly see it! Your fake face works wonders, Millie. Your vampire date will never know what despicable horrors lurk on your chin.”

  “Two things,” said Millie, gathering her hair into a ponytail. “One — it’s not a fake face. It’s my face, with the best features enhanced. Two — I’m not going on a date with George. I’m going to a pub quiz in The Fur and Fangs, and Judith will be there, too. We’re a team. It couldn’t be further from a date!”

  “Oh yes,” said Reuben. “The famous pub quiz team. The Dazzling Duo — although there are three of you.”

  “There was only two of us when we named ourselves,” said Millie. “And when George joined us, he thought we should keep the name. He thinks it’s ironic. Or something.” She shook her head. “I don’t know. I think we should just change duo to trio.”