Witching for a Windfall

Series: Good Cluck Chicken Magical Mysteries (Book 1)

Never in her life did Tara Hart think that she would move back to her tiny hometown of Windfall, Nevada. Unfortunately, after losing her job as a high-flying flight attendant, she has no choice but to crawl back home to her mother’s house.

She’s only staying in her one-stoplight hometown until she gets back on her feet. She has no intention of planting roots in the desolate desert town. Of course, nothing ever goes according to plan.

When she ends up as a suspect in a murder investigation, Tara teams up with two little old ladies whose innocent looks hide their true powers. To top it off, she keeps running into the handsome town sheriff who thinks that she’s involved with the murder.

Armed with nothing but her newfound magical abilities, two elderly witchy godmothers, and a snarky chicken as her familiar, Tara has to crack the case before the real killer flies the coop and she’s trapped in Windfall forever.

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Excerpt

WINDFALL 12 MILES

The green road sign taunted me. Traveling from Los Angeles to northern Nevada by way of Las Vegas had to be one of the most boring drives in America. 300 miles of going down a two-lane highway through endless beige sand and sagebrush was enough to hypnotize anybody into a coma.

My hands trembled on the steering wheel from the cups of black tar that gas stations claimed were coffee. I lost count of how many I had consumed on my journey home. Four or five? I’m sure a blood draw would reveal that I had fifty percent caffeine flowing through my veins.

After thirteen hours of driving, I was ready to collapse onto the nearest bed. Even if it was under my mother’s roof. I glanced down at the clock on my car stereo panel. It looked like I was going to make it to my childhood hometown just before dinnertime. My mouth watered at the thought of my mom’s lasagna.

Maybe coming home wasn’t going to be all bad. Mom was getting older and I worried about her all alone in that old house. I shook my head.

Who was I kidding? I failed at life and now I’m running home with my tail between my legs.

Up ahead, Windfall Wally waved his hand, welcoming weary travelers to our little town. The four-story tall neon cowboy sign flashed in time with the throbbing in my head.

Wally was the mascot for the Motherlode Casino. Not only was the Motherlode the biggest employer in town, but the casino buffet was also the only restaurant in Windfall besides Peg’s Ham and Eggs. The casino looked like a saloon in a classic western film that had seen too many shootouts. Its wooden plank walls were cracked and peeling from exposure to the unforgiving desert sun and endless sandy wind storms. The faux gold entrance and blinking lights would have been cutting edge fifty years ago.

Under the harsh afternoon light, Windfall was even more depressing and run down than I remembered. Nothing had changed in the ten years since I moved away to Los Angeles to become a flight attendant.

The same could be said for myself. Sure, I had a few annoying strands of white hair poking out of my front hairline, and there were lines at the corners of my lips, but my looks were the only thing in my life that were different. I was just as broke, unemployed, and single as the day I left my mother’s house. 34 years old and I had nothing to show for it except for the pile of boxes in the back of my rundown Honda.

As if the hunk of metal could hear my thoughts, the engine skipped a beat and then the car started bucking and jerking like a pissed-off horse at the rodeo. It shuddered one last time before stalling.

“No, no, no, no, no!” I pounded my fists on the steering wheel. Wonderful. Ten minutes away from home, and my piece of garbage car decided to die on me, leaving me stranded on one of the most desolate highways in the desert.

The engine let out a final, wheezing huff like a dying breath, followed by a plume of acrid black smoke that curled up from under the hood. I coughed as the bitter stench of burning oil filled the air.

“Wait! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. Please, don’t die on me,” I whimpered. Softly, I pet the dashboard like I was trying to calm a skittish dog.

“Come on, don’t do this to me,” I muttered as I turned the key in the ignition. Chug…chug…chug…chug. Nothing. The engine refused to come to life.

Resting my head against the steering wheel, I closed my eyes. Tears gathered behind my eyelids and threatened to spill out.

Of course, this would happen. Ten years of bad decisions and awful luck, all leading to this moment. Stranded in the middle of nowhere, in a town that felt more like a graveyard than a home.

From behind me, someone blasted their horn. The loud noise jolted me out of my self-pity session. I lifted my head and wiped my eyes to see what kind of jerk was honking at me. It was a big lifted truck. I rolled my eyes. Waving my hand, I gestured for him to pull into the opposite lane and drive around me. Couldn’t he see that the road was empty? No cars were coming in the other direction for as far as the eye could see. The truck stood still. What was the driver’s problem? He was going to be waiting all day if he expected me to move for him. I had a theory about men who drove lifted pickup trucks. The higher the rig, the smaller the man behind the wheel.

I watched in my rearview mirror as the driver’s door swung open. The person who stepped out fit every stereotype in my head. I was right again.

Male, about mid-thirties, a bit over six foot tall. Lean, but with enough muscle tone to be imposing. He wore a cowboy hat, jeans that fit just right, a neatly pressed plaid shirt, and leather boots that didn’t have a speck of mud on them. I was doubtful that neither this guy nor his spotless truck had ever been on a real working ranch. These rancher wannabes were a dime a dozen in these parts. He was probably a car salesman or an accountant who pretended to be a cowboy on the weekends.

The man walked up to my car and rapped his knuckles against my window. Staring straight ahead at the road, I tried to ignore him. He knocked again. I sighed and rolled down the window.

Cowboy-lite leaned down and gave me one of those condescending smiles that a man gave a woman when he thought she was too dumb to turn a doorknob. Who was this yahoo and why was he heading toward Windfall? Though he looked like every other boy who tortured me back in high school, I didn’t recognize him. Even if I couldn’t place him, I still understood his type, just a bit too smug and sure of himself.

“Looks like your car’s stalled.”

His smile was all charm, but his eyes were sharp, almost calculating. It was as if he was sizing me up for more than just a stranded motorist.

“Gee, thanks. I couldn’t tell.”

He rested an elbow on my car and leaned down until his head was almost next to mine, invading my space. “Need a lift? There’s a garage just up the road on the other side of town.”

Clenching my teeth, I gave him a tight-lipped smile. “I’m fine, thanks.”

“You sure? I’m heading that way myself. It’s no trouble at all. I hate to see a lady in distress.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. “There’s only one road in this town. I’m sure I can figure out where the mechanic is without your help.”

He quirked an eyebrow like he didn’t believe me. “Suit yourself.” Tipping his hat, he turned around and began walking back to his truck.

“Have a nice day,” he called over his shoulder, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Hope you make it to town before dark. Coyotes get real active around here at night.”

“Thanks for the warning,” I snapped back, my voice sharper than I intended. “I’ll be sure to carry a stick to fend off any other predators.”*

His truck kicked up a cloud of sand and dust as he drove around me. I rushed to close my window, barely managing to avoid getting a layer of sand sprayed all over the inside of my car.

“Jerk,” I muttered under my breath. The truck disappeared into the distance, but I was still stuck at least ten miles outside of town.

Now what?

Closing my eyes, I visualized my car coming back to life. In my imagination, the steady hum of a running engine filled my ears. My body thrummed with the vibration of a functioning vehicle. “Please work. Please work,” I whispered. A wave of heat surged from my chest up toward my head. Even though I held my breath, I could not hold back the body-shaking sneeze that burst out.

“That was weird.” It must have been allergies from all the dust that truck kicked up. I said another silent prayer before I turned the key, holding my breath as the engine sputtered weakly. For a moment, it seemed like the car wasn’t going to start. Then, with a reluctant cough, the engine roared to life. Well, perhaps it was more of a whimpering groan rather than a roar, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. I let out a shaky laugh.

Relief flooded through me as I eyed the dashboard warily. Not wanting to test my luck and risk having the car die on me when I braked, I gave the gas pedal a gentle tap and urged the car along at a limping pace. My car rolled down the empty road slower than a little old lady behind a walker.

Twenty minutes later, I was home. Pulling up onto the cracked driveway, I came to a stop next to my mom’s hot pink SUV. That car was a monstrosity, but its neon paint job made it impossible to miss in a crowded parking lot. The bright color was a glowing beacon in a sea of boring black and silver cars.

The air smelled faintly of sagebrush and engine oil, the scent of my childhood that was equal parts suffocating and comforting. A patchwork of dried weeds and rocks covered the yard. In the corner, near a chain-link fence, stood the rusted remains of a swing set. It creaked in the wind, a sad metronome marking the passage of time. The house itself seemed smaller than I remembered, its once-bright yellow paint now bleached and peeling like sunburned skin.

Our house, like all the others in the neighborhood, was a single-story ranch. Each property in the neighborhood had a large yard that used to be full of vegetable gardens and fenced pasture for animals, but that was before the wells started drying up. Some of the neighbors had to truck in water from the town well. Mom and I were lucky. Our well still had enough water to keep the taps running, but it wasn’t enough to maintain a garden. Now, only sagebrush and cheatgrass grew in the dry, sandy soil.

Our neighbor across the street had two cars parked on the street in front of their house. Neither car had any wheels. And now, my hunk of junk was going to join the neighborhood collection too.

I sat there for a moment, gripping the steering wheel like it might keep me from sinking. This wasn’t just coming home. It was admitting defeat, surrendering to the truth that I had nowhere else to go. Home. The word tasted bitter on my tongue. A medicine I didn’t want to swallow, but knew I needed. When I left this place, my dreams were big enough to fill the sky. Now that I was back, I carried only the weight of my failures.

“Maybe this is where you belong,” whispered the quiet voice in my head.

My body protested as I unfolded myself from the car. Every muscle was stiff and uncooperative. Stretching my arms and back, I winced as my spine cracked like a string of firecrackers. After being cramped inside my tiny car for half a day, my legs wobbled unsteadily, as if they’d forgotten how to stand. I couldn’t wait to unload everything and take a long hot shower. My comfy sweatpants and hoodie called out to me from inside my duffel bag.

I was home at last.