Any Last Witches?

Series: Good Cluck Chicken Magical Mysteries (Book 2)

Welcome back to Windfall, Nevada.

After moving back to her quirky hometown of Windfall, Tara Hart finds she has her plate full. Between her chicken familiar’s egg-cellent commentary, an eccentric gathering of campers out in the desert, a crazy new moneymaking scheme that threatens to bankrupt her mom, and a broomstick that refuses to fly. There’s never a moment of peace for Tara.

When a dead body turns up in the middle of the desert after choking on a hard-boiled egg, Tara ends up as the main suspect. With the town sheriff ruffling her feathers, she finds herself scrambling to clear her name before its too late.

Armed with the help of her witchy godmothers and a snarky chicken familiar, can Tara crack the case before she ends up in multiple fowl situations?

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Excerpt

I never wanted to wake up. In my dream, I was sprawled on a powdery white beach, the kind you only see in travel brochures. The sun hung high in the sky, warming my skin until it tingled. A frosty glass of lemonade dripped condensation into my palm, the tart sweetness of it lingering on my tongue as I took a sip. Waves crashed against the shore in a rhythmic song. The air smelled of sea salt and coconuts. A warm breeze ruffled the pages of the book balanced on my lap. I sighed, sinking deeper into the hammock, the woven fibers pressing gently into my back. This was paradise.

I was about to shift onto my side, letting the swaying hammock lull me into a nap, when a chicken started squawking in my ear. The alarmingly loud call jolted me back to reality. I jumped out of bed, my heart pounding in my ears, ready to battle the threat. It took a while for my foggy mind to make sense of what was going on. I blinked rapidly, clearing the sleep from my eyes.

It was Henrietta. The black silkie chicken was my familiar and for every bit of advice she gave me about being a witch, she made sure to dish up a side of snark to go with it. She sat proudly on top of the laundry basket in the corner of my room like she had just conquered Mount Everest. Her beady eyes gleamed with mischief as she let out another loud rendition of her egg song.

I glared at her. Even though I bought her a fluffy cat bed for her nesting spot, she still insisted on taking over my laundry basket. Despite nearly giving me a heart attack, Henrietta was not a bit bothered by the early morning wake-up call she just emitted.

I rubbed my eyes and stretched. “Do you have to sing your egg song every time you lay an egg?” Flopping back onto my bed, I put on my glasses and picked up my phone from the nightstand. The time flashed on the screen. I let out a long groan and buried my face in my pillow. It wasn’t even seven in the morning yet. “You know, you are the worst roommate ever.”

Henrietta paused momentarily from fluffing her feathers, tilting her head to one side. She looked up from her nest and communicated with me through the bond shared by familiars and other supernatural beings like witches. “Well, excuse me!” Her annoyed voice buzzed in my head. Anyone without magical abilities would only hear her clucking in annoyance. “It’s not like I’m letting out a fart. Let’s see how quiet you would be if you had to lay something the size of an egg every morning.”

I sighed. It was useless trying to argue with her. She had a retort for everything. I had been back in my hometown of Windfall for less than a day when Henrietta invaded my bedroom and never left. What kind of witch was I that I was assigned a chicken as a familiar instead of a normal animal, like a cat or a gerbil?

Closing my eyes, I tried to drift back to sleep, but it was hopeless. With adrenaline racing through my veins, I was wide awake now. I let out a sigh and kicked off the covers. Mom had the day off from her job at the gas station, so she was probably sleeping in. I might as well get an early start and make breakfast. It was yet another exciting day in my sleepy hometown.

Windfall was a speck on the map in Northern Nevada, hours away from the nearest town, much less a big city. It was the kind of place where you could drive for miles without seeing another soul, just sagebrush and the occasional free range cattle wandering across the road. The air always carried the faint scent of dry earth and wildflowers, a smell that somehow felt like home.

Stumbling out of my room, I headed for the bathroom to start my morning routine. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, tracing the curve of my nose and the shape of my eyes. Did I look like my birth parents? Were they tall and quiet like me, or did they have Mom’s boundless energy and knack for turning every conversation into a story? I would never know.

After I pulled on a pair of jeans and a black tee, I reached under Henrietta and grabbed the still warm egg she had just laid. Making my way to the kitchen, I mentally debated what I could make today, waffles or pancakes. The mere thought of a golden syrup drenched breakfast made my stomach growl.

To my surprise, the smell of freshly brewed coffee hit me the moment I stepped into the kitchen. The scent was earthy and comforting, mingling with the buttery smell of pancakes sizzling on the griddle. Mom was already at the stove, flipping pancakes in her floral apron. A strand of her grayish-blonde hair had escaped her messy bun, and she absently tucked it behind her ear as she flipped a pancake with practiced ease. The coffee maker let out a series of happy burbling sounds as coffee dripped into the pot below.

“Morning, Mom. You should have slept in and let me make breakfast.”

I opened the fridge and added today’s egg to the carton that contained Henrietta’s other eggs from this week. Even though these eggs were fresher than anything I could buy at the store, it didn’t feel right to eat something that I saw come out of my friend’s butt. Still, it would be a shame to let them go to waste.

Esmeralda probably didn’t have any reservations about eating these eggs. My witchy mentor and boss at the cafe where I worked loved to bake. She was sure to appreciate the freshly laid eggs. I pulled the carton out of the fridge and reminded myself to bring them with me when I went to work.

I poured a cup of coffee, the steam wafting up in tendrils, and speared two pancakes onto my plate. They were golden brown, perfectly fluffy, and smelled like heaven.

Mom placed a couple of strips of bacon on the side of my plate. “I couldn’t sleep. I booked a stall at that RV gathering outside of town for the next couple of days and I’m running out of time. There’s so much Bijoulia and Soosalu stock to organize. I can’t decide which products I want to promote the most.”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes and hid my reaction behind my mug of coffee. My mother was always falling prey to money-making schemes and MLM scams that promised to let her work from home. Soosalu clothing and Bijoulia jewelry were just two of her more recent business ventures. In the past, she had also dabbled with vitamins, essential oils, and detox shakes with some kind of sea algae. The guest room in our house was now a warehouse filled floor to ceiling with unsold merchandise from her past business ventures.

Mom joined me at the table, pouring a river of maple syrup over her stack of pancakes until they were practically swimming. She speared a bite and chewed thoughtfully before launching into her latest dilemma. “I almost have my display planned, but I can’t find my rose gold Bijoulia jewelry. Do you think someone could have snuck in and taken it? I heard that gold jewelry with gemstones are all the rage right now, what with all the stress and anxiety about the future. Gemstones have calming and healing powers, you know.”

I waited a little longer than necessary before I replied. “Did you check the guest room? You know how forgetful you are when you’re busy with work. The jewelry was probably misplaced when you were moving things around.” I doubted that anybody would want the jewelry even if we gave them money to take it off of our hands. There was nobody in the world who would mistake the chintzy gold plated costume jewelry for the real thing.

She waved a hand dismissively, her silver rings catching the morning light. “Oh, I’ve looked everywhere! But you know how it is. When you’re busy, things just disappear. And this jewelry is special, Tara. I can feel their positive energy just thinking about them.”

Henrietta waddled into the room. While she had one good leg, the toes of her other leg were curled up like a clubfoot. This gave her stride a distinctive half limp, half waddle.

She settled in a beam of sunlight that came in through the patio’s sliding glass door. Her ebony feathers glistened under the morning light as she stretched out for her morning sunbathing session. Henrietta shot me a look before she stretched out her wing. “If she really believes in all that bunk, I have a place where she can shove her gemstones.”

I shot Henrietta a look. I wanted to say something, but my mother would have me committed to the loony bin if I started having a conversation with our chicken. As a witch, I had the ability to understand speech from animal familiars, but my mom did not have any magical ability, so all she would hear was Henrietta clucking like a chicken.

I choked on my coffee, trying to stifle a laugh. Mom glanced at me, her brow furrowed. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly, wiping my mouth with a napkin. “Just thinking about how much you’ve got going on. Maybe you should take a break from all these schemes.”

Mom’s eyes sparkled with determination. “Oh, no, honey. This time is different. I can feel it.”

Even though I was adopted, my mother raised me as her own flesh and blood. Since magic could only be passed through blood, I knew my powers did not come from her. It wasn’t until I lost my job in Los Angeles recently and came back to Windfall, that I found out that I was a witch. Thankfully, I had my witchy godmothers, Esmeralda Lightbloom and Melusia Sowerworts, to teach me all about my magical powers.

“Hey, Mom, you should come to the cafe with me. I’m sure Esmeralda would love to hear about your new business.” This was most definitely a lie, but it was better than the alternative. Every time Mom had too much free time on her hands, she ended up signing over her paycheck to a new MLM scam.

The top of her grayish-blonde head bobbed in agreement. Mom reached across the table, her hand covering mine. “Esmeralda’s always been so good to you. It’s like she sees something special in you. Maybe it’s because she lost her own daughter.”

I tilted my head. “I didn’t know that Esmeralda had a daughter.”

Mom sighed, her gaze drifting to the window looking out to the backyard. “Oh, she ran away after high school. Esmeralda never talks about it, but I know it still hurts her.” Her voice softened, carrying a weight of sympathy. “She was just a kid, really. Seventeen, maybe eighteen. Esmeralda searched for her for years, but she never came back.”

I felt a pang in my chest, imagining Esmeralda’s quiet grief. “That’s awful. I had no idea.” My throat tightened. “I’ll make sure to thank her today. Maybe I’ll bring her some of Henrietta’s eggs.”

Mom smiled, her eyes glistening. “That’s my girl. She piled the dishes into the dishwasher. “I think I will join you today.” She finished loading the dishes and spun around, her eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. Before I could respond, she kissed my cheek and dashed out of the kitchen. “I should wear some Soosalu and Bijoulia,” she called out over her shoulder. “The ladies at the cafe will love it!”

Henrietta turned over onto her other side and stretched out her wing. “If by love it, she means laugh at her, then I agree.” She craned her neck and let out a sleepy yawn, her beady eyes fixed on me. “That was an egg-celent idea. I can finally get some peace and quiet around here.”

I groaned at her terrible pun and left the kitchen to get ready for work.