Witch Slapped (Witchless In Seattle Mysteries Book 1)

Win laughed softly. “You have the right impression. She was independent and funny and determined to make contact with the dead. She believed in the afterlife and ghosts and that’s all there was to it.”


My heart softened for this woman I’d never know, but who had stayed the course despite, I imagine, her fair share of mockery.

“Even though she’d never actually made an afterlife connection?”

“She confided something in me during the course of our conversations. It was the deciding factor in choosing her as a way to contact you—aside from the fact that she was wide open when it came to believing. Those are always the easiest people to contact.”

His statement left me confused. “Then why didn’t you just contact me directly? If anyone’s wide open, it’s a former medium.”

“Because believe it or not, Miss Medium, you were like a firmly shut door. I’m assuming your troubles back home had soured you, closed you off or something. I couldn’t get your attention no matter what I tried. And I did it all. Made scary ghost noises, flickered the lights, I even attempted a message on your hotel bathroom mirror.”

That was a fair assessment of where my head was and sort of still is. I was heartsick at the idea I’d never be able to communicate with the dead again. It had been my way of life for so long, it felt like I’d lost an arm. It made sense I’d also lost my fine-tuning.

“So what did MZ confide in you that made you choose her?”

“Madam Zoltar said she knew it was wrong to give people the impression she really could talk to their dead relatives, and even take their money for it, but what she hoped they took away from a tarot card reading or séance was comfort. As in the case of Chester.”

I smiled. “Forrest mentioned Chester and Madam Z spent a lot of time together.”

“According to her, she would often check up on some of her customers in the hope she’d helped them move forward by telling them their loved ones would only rest easy if they began to live their lives to the fullest again. She picked up on small clues about the recently departed and she’d use those clues to convince her clients she’d made contact with the other side. Her heart truly was in the right place.”

My chest tightened in guilt. I’d never thought too highly of non-witch psychics and mediums, as someone who really could make contact with the departed, but I guess I’d never looked at it from the angle Madam Z did.

“Also, something else worth mentioning. I offered her money, but she wanted nothing from me in the way of financial gain. She was just thrilled to talk to me—thrilled I was proof the afterlife existed. Now that I’ve heard Liza say she was struggling, I wish I could have done more.”

The gentle admiration in Win’s tone made me smile to myself. “You know, about that. What was the deal anyway? I mean, aside from doing some séances for her? Was she just going to knock on my hotel room door and tell me you’d come to her and asked her to change your will to my name as your sole beneficiary?”

Now his voice was sad. “She was going to make the deal with you for me.”

I tilted my head as I looked around the disheveled room in thought. “How much time did you spend with her?”

“Only a few days before this happened. But I enjoyed every bloody minute. She was a good egg, Madam Z.”

My heart clenched in reflexive sympathy. “So you were the first to find her. I’d forgotten about that in all the confusion. I’m sorry, Win.”

His sigh was forlorn in my ear. “I showed up for our usual morning chat while she sipped her tea, and found her on the floor. That’s when I ramped up my efforts to contact you through Belfry.”

But now I was only half listening. Something had caught my eye. Dropping to my knees on the cold concrete floor, I peered under the water cooler’s base. Using the tissue I’d used on the door handle, I wrapped it around my fingers and fished out the shiny object, giving it a closer look.

A pen. A brown and gold Montblanc pen. I held it up. “If Madam Z was on the verge of broke, why would she have an expensive pen like this?”

“It could be anyone’s, Stevie. Maybe a customer’s?”

I nodded my head. “Yep. Maybe. But I can tell you this. I don’t know too many people in Ebenezer falls who can afford a Montblanc.”

“I’m impressed, Mini-Spy. How did you know it was a Montblanc?”

“Someday, when I’ve recovered from unloading my last batch of baggage, ask me about my mother, Dita,” I joked, tucking the pen in my purse, ensuring the tissue paper was still around it.

I wondered if I could get Sandwich to test it for fingerprints. If this was happening back in my heyday, I’d just read the pen’s aura and find out whom it belonged to.

I rose and sighed. “Do you know if she kept a list of clients?”

He barked a laugh. “I don’t know if you noticed, but Madam Z wasn’t much for organization. Though, she did tell me she took lots of notes on clients.”