The Witches Three Cozy Mysteries 4-6

Chapter 9

Chapter 9

It was a good thing that the library allowed coffee in covered containers or I would've never made it through the many hours I spent combing through every issue of the local paper from 1966, then 1967. Then 1968.

If anything had happened with our mothers, it was long after that photograph had been taken. But I had no idea when. Since the library was only open until five, I decided not to break for lunch. Being hungry didn't exactly make me more patient as I scanned headline after headline.

I almost missed seeing my mother's name, but I really hadn't expected to see anything on the page of marriage announcements. There was no photo, just a little block of text to announce the imminent nuptials of Kathleen Stinson, no family listed, to a John Olgesen, son of Sven and Edith.

Olgesen? Not Clarke?

I took a picture of the computer screen with my phone and sent a copy of it to both Brianna and Sophie, noting the date of that paper was January 12, 1968. I took another swallow of coffee that was room temperature but still bitterly strong then continued scanning, eager for more breadcrumbs of information.

But I couldn't find any. There was no mention of my mother again under either Stinson or Olgesen, and no mention of Lula Collins or Marie DuBois.

And that marriage announcement didn't answer any questions. It just spawned a ton more questions.

The librarian had just announced they would be closing in five minutes when I finally found what might be another clue. It wasn't about our mothers specifically. It actually answered a different question I had been having for quite some time.

It was a picture of Coco's family's house, not burned down as I had been told, or at least not exactly. It looked more like something next to it had exploded, blowing in the entire side of the house closest to the charm school. I could see dark streaks of smoke damage on the crumbling stone walls, but it looked to me more like the kitchen had caught fire after whatever had happened to that wall.

And yet the charm school beside it was completely unharmed. The oak tree outside the dining room window didn't even look singed. What had happened? And on the Fourth of July of all days?

"Ma'am? We're closing now," one of the librarians said to me.

"Oh, right," I said. "Can I print this real quick?"

"This article?" she asked.

"Please," I said.

"I'll send it to the printer. You can grab it at the front desk. It looks like it'll be three pages. That's ten cents a page," she said.

"Cool. Thanks," I said, tossing my coffee cup into the trash and digging through the pouches on my backpack until I found a couple of quarters.

There was still one other patron in the library, watching the librarian behind the counter scan a monstrous stack of books that looked to be largely about trains. I queued up behind him, the quarters held tight in one hand as I looked at my phone with the other. No texts from the others. Had they seen mine?

"Amanda?"

I looked up to see the patron with the train books looking at me, and belatedly realized I was looking at Nick's grandfather.

"Mr. Larson," I said. "Good to see you."

Good, but mostly awkward. What had Nick told him exactly? Would he say we broke up? Were we ever actually dating?

"Good to see you too," he said. "No books?"

"No, I-" I started to say, but the librarian was waiting for me with paper in her hands. I handed her the quarters then took my change and thrust it in my pocket. "Just waiting for a printout, actually."

"Anything interesting?" he asked as we walked together towards the door where the other librarian was waiting, key in hand.

"Yes. Actually, it's about the house that used to stand on the property where your condo is now," I said, showing him the first page of the article. "Apparently there was some sort of explosion there on the Fourth of July in 1968.”

"Strange, I always heard it was a fire," he said, squinting at the photo. "But that wall does look like something blew it in, doesn't it?"

"It was before your time, right?" I said.

"Well, I was around," he said, his eyes twinkling at me. “I lived in Minneapolis before I joined the army. After the war I lived in Wisconsin, because that’s where my wife’s people were. No, I didn't move to this area until after my wife died. That would've been 1977. There was a home on the lot at that time, but it was a shoddy build from a substandard contractor. Pretty much sank in on itself within a decade. Then came the condos.” He tipped his head to one side. “You were asking about my neighbors before. Do you have a keen interest in local history?"

"Kind of," I waffled as we stepped out the second set of doors, out into the February evening.

Where I was promptly knocked back by an excited Irish setter.

"Finnegan!" I said, pushing his paws back down to the ground before giving him a scratch around the ears.

Then my eyes followed the leash to what I pretty much knew I would find on the other end.

"Hello, Amanda," Nick said.

"Hey," I said lamely. He was wearing a navy blue peacoat with a dark gray watch cap. His blond hair had gotten longer; I could see locks of it poking out from under the cap, twisted by the cold wind. He looked like he'd just come off the deck of a submarine after surveying the weather.

It was a good look for him.

"Finnegan and I shall head to the car," his grandfather announced, taking Finnegan's leash from Nick. "It was good to see you, Amanda. Hopefully, it won't be so long before we meet again."

"Yes," I said. My brain seemed incapable of producing more than that.

"You look good," Nick said to me, to which my response was something like, "ack."

I wished Sophie were there. I could really use a tree-load of snow dumped on top of me, swallowing me up. What was wrong with me?

"What was that?" Nick asked, the look in his eyes something between confused and amused.

"Thanks," I said, pulling myself together.

"You've got a glow to you," he said. Then, half teasing but also half serious, "is that a magic thing?"

"No," I said. Sophie might have that sort of magic, but it would never be my gift. "Maybe it's from the exercise. I got some weights for Christmas, and I've been lifting."

"Oh," he said, looking me over. But in my winter coat, there was no way he could tell if I had put on any muscle. "Does that help with the magic?"

"Actually, yes," I said. "I lift heavy. That takes a lot of focus and discipline. Breathing is very important. That translates to other things. But I'm sure you know that."

"Yes, I have a little experience with that," he said. "I confess I was getting a little worried. I hadn't seen you around in quite some time."

I felt my cheeks flush. He had been looking out for me? "Well, it's winter. I've mostly been indoors."

"But everything is going okay?" he asked. "You've not been in danger?"

"Nothing I couldn't handle," I said, which came really close to not being true.

"No more murders?"

"Not in this time," I said, and I knew he knew I was hedging every answer. He was about to ask me something else when a blast of car horn drowned him out. He turned, and we both looked to where his car was parked across the lot under one of the lights. His grandfather gave us an apologetic look as he corralled the Irish setter back into the back seat of the car.

"Finnegan is anxious to go," I said.

"Do you want a lift?" he asked.

"No," I said. "I have some thinking to do, and it's not so cold tonight, so I think I'll have a walk. Thank you, though."

"Of course," he said with a small smile. "See you."

"Yes, see you," I said. He turned and started walking towards the car. I slipped the backpack straps off my shoulders and dropped it at my feet, zipping it open to put the printout inside, then dropping the dimes back into a side pouch. But I was watching Nick out of the corner of my eye. I saw him look back at me no less than three times. Each time he saw me still watching him, seeing him looking back, and he'd give a little wave, and I'd wave back. I think by the time he got back to his car, we were both thoroughly embarrassed and yet each incapable of being the first one to leave.

But then he got into the car and pulled away with one last wave, and I was alone in the softly falling snow.

How often had he been thinking about me in the last few months anyway? Just how many times had he hoped to run into me on the sidewalk in front of our houses?

Was he finding a way to be cool with who I was and what I did?

I bit down on my own lip then thrust my hands into my coat pockets and started the walk home. I didn't want to be wondering such things. It felt like a betrayal of Edward.

And yet, hadn't I pretty much decided I could never be with Edward? And if I wasn't with Edward, why not be with Nick?

No, that didn't feel right. Somehow, it didn't feel fair to either of them. Edward wasn't so easily replaced as all that, and Nick didn't deserve to be thought of as a substitute for someone else.

They were both better off without me and all the trouble I brought with me. And I'd probably be better off with a nest of kittens like Brianna.

But unlike Brianna, I didn't think that'd be enough for me.

And maybe this relationship confusion was a family trait. Who was this John Olgesen my mother was married to in the 60s? And who was Clarke, he of no known first name, who had died by her side in the 90s? Had she loved one or the other or both?

Which one was my father?

It was a good thing I wasn't sharing the sidewalk with other pedestrians. The growling aloud I was doing in response to my own frustrating thoughts would be raising some alarms, I was sure.

Still, why was everything getting more complicated the more I tried to make it simple? It couldn't be this hard to decide what decade I wanted to live out my life in, and with which guy?

Okay, maybe it was kind of hard. I was pretty sure the intricacies of time travel gave anyone who meddled in it epic headaches.

No, Sophie had the right plan of attack. First, deal with this coven of witches who were somehow attacking us across decades of time then second, find a work/life balance.

Somehow, the second felt more impossible than the first.