G
emma Stone paused, shifted the bucket of fish to one hand and squinted at her notes again. The paper lying on the grass nearby had gotten wet, the ink smeared so she could hardly read it. Luckily, she’d gotten through almost all of the twelve steps she’d found online to clean out a fish pond. Now, all she had to do was get the fish back in the pond without killing them.

The late morning sun was warm on her back and shoulders, almost too warm for mid-April. A light breeze ruffled her gold-red curls. Gemma set the bucket of fish down on the ground and stretched, rocking gently from side to side. The sky was as blue and clear as she’d ever seen it. Somewhere up the street a dog barked and laughter reached her ears. She remembered seeing balloons and a big sign announcing that there was a birthday party for one of the neighborhood children and smiled.

Taking a deep breath, Gemma stretched again, this time reaching over her head as far as she could, thinking how much she loved the small town of Gypsy Hill, Virginia, where she’d grown up and her little street, Elmwood Drive, in particular. Peaceful. Quiet. Home. The hum of traffic on the interstate in the distance was about the only sound out of place.

A sloshing noise brought her attention back to the bucket of fish at her feet. Evidently, fish were much more sensitive than she had imagined. They had been luxuriating for the past few hours in this bucket full of old, dirty pond water, when they weren’t trying to jump out. She’d given them names - Crazy Fish One and Crazy Fish Two - even though she couldn’t tell them apart and ended up placing some netting over the top to keep them inside. Of course, when she read the directions, yet again, they’d warned her of this.

Now, before she could put them back in the pond, the water had to be de-chlorinated and the correct temperature and a whole host of other things.

Cleaning out the fish pond had been her dad’s job every spring. Her mother’s job was just to enjoy watching him and maybe add a few plants now and then. Since they were both gone, the fish pond, and the flower beds and keeping the grass cut was now her responsibility.

Let it go? Get rid of it? That’s what her best friend, Holly Blake suggested. Move into one of the warehouses downtown that had been converted into condos. That just wasn’t an option right now, but maybe in the future. She really was just getting used to being on her own and the house where she’d grown up was comforting, despite the upkeep.

The fish swam around and around and around as if seeking escape. “Give me a minute, Crazy Fish,” Gemma said, thumping the side of the bucket with her knuckle. She knelt down on one knee to re-read the notes again. “You’re about to go back into a clean pond.”

Wet grass soaked the knee of her jeans and then she felt herself sinking into the mud created by all the water she’d spilled. Yuck! She was glad this job only had to be done once a year.

With the fish finally secured in what she hoped was shock proof water, she glanced at her watch. She had maybe an hour to get ready to go with Holly to look at houses. Holly’s big wedding to Mitch Ward loomed on the horizon and the happy couple needed a place to live. Gemma smiled to herself as she gathered up her tools and headed toward the house.

“I’ll come back out and check on you in a few, Crazy Fish,” Gemma said over her shoulder.

Trotting down the bank toward her house, she crossed the sun-drenched patio, opened the wooden screen door and stepped into the kitchen.

She could almost hear her mother yelling, “Don’t let the door slam.”

Making sure it closed softly, Gemma latched it with the old fashioned hook. On the way through the kitchen, she paused to get a bottle of water out of the refrigerator. She had just taken a long, deep swallow when what sounded like thunder rumbled overhead.

“Thunder,” she said aloud, cocking her head to listen for more.

In answer, a sudden clap of thunder rattled the window panes. Gemma jumped, squealed in surprise and almost dropped her water. Through the big kitchen window over the sink she could see nothing but angry black clouds filling the sky. The power flickered out, the sound of the refrigerator interrupted for only a moment, and then it was back.

“Well, if that doesn’t shock those fish nothing will,” Gemma muttered.

On the tail end of another volley of thunder, the doorbell chimed. Since her front door was so rarely used, Gemma thought it was her cell phone. The doorbell sounded again, more insistently, and she hurried through the living room. Possibly someone was just lost, needing directions.

The next rumble of thunder was not as loud, sort of like bowling balls rolling across a carpeted floor. Gemma shook her head. Some sort of a freak spring thunderstorm? It had been a beautiful spring day just moments before.

The sight of the shadow against the beveled glass of the front door brought Gemma up short. At first, she thought it looked like someone very tall. A man? Nick? He always came in the back door. Then she realized it looked more like someone wearing a tall hat with a wide brim. More curious than anything else, Gemma opened the door.

For a moment, she simply stood there...staring at a witch.

Oh, the woman was pretty enough, no warts or rotting teeth. She even looked vaguely familiar with strawberry blonde hair curling around a heart shaped face and the bluest eyes Gemma had ever seen. It was her clothing, a black cape which almost touched the ground over a deep purple dress. And there was that hat, a witch’s hat with a wide brim, a gold buckle on the band and a crooked point at the top.

“Hello, dear. I’m looking for Gemma Stone,” the witch said, her voice melodious and rather sweet.

Gemma blinked, shook her head, blinked again. This couldn’t be a witch. Gemma didn’t believe in witches. And it wasn’t Halloween.

“I’m sorry,” she finally said. “I’m Gemma Stone.”

The witch smiled, a radiant loving smile that Gemma recognized right away. Her mother.

“My you’ve grown into a beautiful young woman,” the witch said. “You look so much like your mother.”

Gemma swallowed hard, not really sure what was happening. “You knew my mother?”

There was that smile again. “I’m your mother’s sister,” she explained. “I’m your Aunt Maisy.”

Gemma clutched the door knob and struggled to remember if her mother even had a sister. It wasn’t a big family to begin with and they’d completely lost touch with them when they moved from California to Virginia. No one from the family came to her parents’ funeral and Gemma had been too distraught to even care. She was surrounded by friends and neighbors, the family they’d built here in Virginia.

“I have a picture,” she offered, placing her small valise on the ground near her feet and reaching into a large purse. “I was afraid this might happen. You were just a little girl the last time I saw you, just barely toddling around.”

She handed Gemma a photograph, dog eared and slightly yellowed. Gemma recognized her parents and that had to be her grandparents standing behind them along with a woman who looked remarkably like this witch. All of them were smiling down at Gemma, front and center in a frilly white dress, lacy socks and white shoes.

“Turn it over,” the woman said softly.

Gemma’s hands trembled as she turned the photo over. The date was just before her second birthday and the people listed on the back were indeed her parents, her grandparents and Maisy.

Chapter Two

“P
lease forgive me. Where are my manners?” Gemma finally found her voice and opened the door wide to allow her aunt to step inside.

A soft meow reached her ears and Gemma looked down to see a black cat making figure eights on the porch where Maisy had been standing. Maisy shot her a questioning look and Gemma nodded.

“Come on, kitty,” Maisy said and the cat followed her inside.

“I think I’m kind of in shock,” Gemma said, still a little stunned by the whole situation. “I had no idea you were even in Virginia and...”

Maisy brushed her words aside with a pale, slender hand. “I’ve just been traveling around the country on my own and I remembered my sister had moved to Virginia and,” she shrugged. “Here I am.”

“Well, please make yourself at home. Can I get you something to drink or...”

The older woman waved her delicate looking hands frantically in the air. “No, please, don’t go to any trouble for me. I’d just like to rest for a while if that’s okay.”

“Yes, absolutely,” Gemma said. “There’s a spare room right off the living room here and...”

“If it’s okay, I’ll just put my feet up for a bit.” As she spoke, Maisy took a seat on the far end of the sofa and placed her feet on a large ottoman. It was the exact spot where Gemma’s mother loved sit and read. The black cat jumped onto the back of the sofa behind Maisy’s head and stretched out, licking its front paws.

Her cell chimed, a reminder that Holly would be there soon to pick her up so they could go look at houses.

“Aunt Maisy, I’m sorry but I have to get ready for a meeting and I’m already running late,” Gemma said, already moving toward the stairs.

“If it’s okay with you, I’ll just wait here...”

“Yes,” Gemma said. “Yes. That will be fine.”

Gemma had a million questions for the older woman, such as
why are you dressed like a witch
? But they would have to wait. She had to get ready to go look at houses with Holly. Rushing through her shower, Gemma dressed in navy blue slacks and a white blouse. She was brushing on mascara when she heard a familiar voice

“Gemma,” Holly shouted, pounding up the stairs toward her.

“In here,” Gemma shouted back.

Holly burst into the room, her sleek, black hair swinging gently, just brushing her shoulders. “Um, do you know there’s a witch in your living room?”

“I do,” Gemma said, taking a brush to her wild curls one last time.

“It’s not Halloween,” Holly said.

Gemma chuckled. “She’s my Aunt Maisy. My mother’s sister. And evidently, she brought her cat along. I don’t know his name.”

“How come I never heard of her or her cat before?”

Gemma shrugged. “We lost touch with the family when we moved out here from California. She’s just been wandering around the country and she ended up here, according to her. I’m sure she won’t be here long.”

“Gemma, how do you even know she’s your aunt?”

“She had a picture of my parents and me when I was really little.”

“And why is she dressed like a witch?”

Again, Gemma shrugged. “That I don’t know. Maybe she’s just eccentric. And I’m pretty sure she’s harmless.”

Holly looked doubtful.

“Either way, we’re going to look at houses. I’ll sort all of this out when we get back.”

Holly still looked skeptical.

“Really,” Gemma said, giving up and pulling her hair up in a ponytail. “It’ll be fine. Got your camera? I know Mitch wanted pictures.”

“It’s in the car.”

“Okay. If only Mitch hadn’t been so dead set about using Katie Mack as your realtor, this would be almost perfect.”

Holly laughed. “It was the only thing he really insisted on. I couldn’t refuse.”

“Okay, well I get to make faces when she’s not looking,” Gemma said, slinging her purse over her shoulder.

“I’m just glad he didn’t insist that we use her to help us find our shop downtown,” Holly said, following Gemma down the stairs.

“Which reminds me, we’re supposed to meet Esmerelda Hunt tomorrow at two,” Holly said.

That was another person they’d gone to school with. Esmerelda was Katie’s cousin, a year or two older and completely opposite in looks and personality.

Aunt Maisy was right where Gemma had left her, sitting up straight but her eyes were closed.

“Aunt Maisy?” Gemma said softly.

The older woman opened her eyes and seemed disoriented for a moment. “Yes.”

BOOK: Home Sweet Homicide: A Cozy Mystery (A Gemma Stone Murder Mystery Book 5)

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