Tricks and Treats Read online

  Tricks and Treats

  A Poppy Blue fantasy

  Magenta Wilde

  Acknowledgments

  Tricks and Treats,

  book three in the Poppy Blue paranormal fantasy series.

  Text copyright © 2018 Magenta Wilde.

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, businesses, places and events written about herein are either the creation of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum software.

  Thank you, as always, Stephen for your support and your advice.

  Even though I rolled my eyes a lot of times when being dragged to garage sales and auctions when I was a child and teen, my mother’s three-truckload haul that summer when I was five proved to be invaluable inspiration this go-around.

  Also, thank you to the readers.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  About the Author

  Also by Magenta Wilde

  1

  “Ouch! What on earth?”

  I stumbled into my magick shop, my beloved Blue’s Boutique – and there are … oh, God, there are no words for it.

  I caught myself before I took a fall, but still managed to bang my foot into a heavy box. As I lifted a leg to nurse a throbbing big toe, I surveyed the scene around me.

  My first thought was that someone broke in.

  But nothing is missing. Instead, there is so much more here. So, so much more. When I closed my store last night, there was a floor there.

  And I could walk.

  Now, not so much.

  I began sifting through boxes and bins. Instead of my usual stock – think candles, cauldrons, gazing balls, soaps, jewelry – these containers are filled with what amounts to endless quantities of, well, stuff. I peer in one box and pull out an old fur stole, one of those 1950s ones with the fox’s head still attached. Yuck.

  In another bin there are wooden cigar boxes, a black horse figurine with strange golden eyes (which doesn’t look half bad), some ceramic Christmas village houses, what may be the world’s saddest wreath straight out of 1988, baskets galore, old cassette tapes, vintage perfume bottles, something that might be an old torture device or perhaps an antique sex toy, and more. So much more.

  I roll my eyes and huff out a sigh as I realize who is the culprit behind this most unwelcome delivery.

  2

  “Good morning, Poppy! How is my sweet, sweet daughter?”

  I turned and faced my mother. She was all bubbly and cheerful this late October morning, her blonde hair fluffed and puffed just so, her false eyelashes aflutter as her glittery blue eyes survey what I know are her finds.

  “Been shopping, Mom?” I asked through gritted teeth.

  “Well, yes, in a way.” Her tone was especially chipper.

  “Or did you just raid a Dumpster?”

  Her gaze turned dark. “I’ll have you know, I have hit the mother lode with this.”

  “Oomph!” It was my employee, Vanessa Morgan, arriving to start her day. “What is all this?” she asked as she took in the chaos. Her azure eyes grew wide as she looked around. She directed her gaze to my mother. “Fiona, are you selling items from your store in here now?”

  “That would be nice,” Mom nodded. “How about it, Poppy?”

  “No. I sell magical items and some more unique tchotchkes, but I’m not turning my store into an extension of your shop.”

  My mother and Tom Wheeler – he was now her new husband, but they’d been a couple for many, many years – ran a resale and collectibles shop, dubbed Thingamajigs, next door. Their store shared a gravel parking lot with mine. They sold their wares from the front half of the building and lived in the back portion.

  “Where did you get all this,” I asked. “And why is it here?”

  “Well, that’s an interesting story, Poppy.” Mom turned to Vanessa. “Can I get a cup of coffee?”

  The voluptuous blonde – who was another of my mother’s finds, and worked at both stores – began navigating the carnage of cartons to comply with my mother’s request when I held out a hand to stop her.

  “Wait, Van. Mom, you only get coffee if it’ll fuel your efforts to get this crap out of my store.”

  “Poppy! How dare you speak to me this way! I was at an estate sale in Brevort, and they offered me the whole lot for five thousand dollars –”

  “You seriously paid for all this?” Vanessa said as she peered into the box nearest her. “Is that an old retainer in there?” Her expression was akin to having caught a whiff of a bad fart.

  Mom planted her hands on her hips, affronted. “Yes. Yes, I did, and let me tell you two, I may have paid five thousand dollars for it, but I’ll sell it and bring in twice that – at least twice that, and likely much more.”

  “Well, I don’t care if you get ten, twenty or thirty grand for it, I don’t want it in my store. And why is it here in the first place?”

  “They told me I could have it for that price if I agreed to take it all. The guy even offered to help deliver it, just to be done with it, because he was planning to leave town.”

  “That doesn’t sound suspicious at all,” Vanessa said as she tiptoed around boxes and gingerly lifted their flaps to peer inside.

  “See, Vanessa thinks it was a good idea,” Mom said.

  “I think we may go get you a cup of coffee just so you pick up on our sarcasm better,” I replied.

  Vanessa took the cue and headed to my back office to presumably brew some java or to escape the junk littering my floor. Six of one, a half dozen of another.

  Mom began to open her mouth to make another point when Tom and our newest employee, Jordan Keep, walked in through the side door.

  Tom, who normally looks like Santa Claus post-diet and sans beard, wore a look of disbelief. Normally he radiates an easy-going and jolly nature, but his blue eyes had been leached of their twinkle and I suspected horror was rapidly settling in.

  Jordan’s face was a mask of shock, like he’d been given an exclusive preview of Armageddon.

  The lanky teen had run off from his home near Manistique after graduating high school and made his way to our Michigan Upper Peninsula town of Sault Ste. Marie.

  He’d been struggling, often sleeping in his car until mother, Vanessa and I had conjured him with a spell. We’d been looking for a good hire for our two shops, and the universe had provided well. Not only was he a good worker, but he also had a magical – as in true sorcery – ability to organize and put things where they belonged, and make it look attractive at the same time.

  Jordan was the reason my shop looked so fetching for Halloween. I considered myself fairly talented with some artsy things, but he brought t
he décor to a whole other level. Jordan even made Mom and Tom’s messy house and cluttered store look practically magazine-ready. He’d also become their lodger, living in the upstairs apartment space above Thingamajigs.

  Jordan was proving a happy and loyal addition in a record amount of time, but the look on his face had me thinking now might be a good day to offer him a raise. Or to lock him in my store until the chaos was managed. His elbow grease and his Feng shui sorcery would be sorely needed to make my boutique look decent again.

  “Poppy,” Tom uttered, as he looked over his glasses at me. “What on earth are you doing with all this?”

  “Yes,” Jordan said, “what are you doing with all this?” His hazel eyes landed on a display he’d worked so hard on – silvery netting with hand-cut matte black stars, bats and moons. Now it was partially dismantled because someone had tossed a large box near enough to dislodge it – and his mouth gaped open and shut with disbelief. I couldn’t help but think of a fish out of water gasping for breath as I observed his dismay.

  Vanessa rounded the corner, bearing paper cups and a carafe of coffee just in time to see me point a steady finger at my mother.

  “That’s your culprit,” I said. “While you went to Traverse City overnight, Mom went to Brevort and spent five grand to clean out an estate sale.”

  “Five grand!” Tom whipped his head in Mom’s direction. “Fiona! What were you thinking?”

  “Pshaw!” Mom waved him off. “You should have seen how things were priced. I got all this for a steal!”

  “You paid all that for all this?” Tom sputtered, as he waved a hand around my store. His neck was beet red by this point. I hopped over several boxes to get to my counter, and procured a box of home-baked treats, and darted over the same boxes to present him with cookies.

  “I paid that for all this,” Mom agreed, “and much more.”

  “Then where is the rest?” Tom asked, thanking me as he plucked two treats and jammed one whole into his mouth. Tom had a sweet tooth like no one’s business. He chewed, crumbs flying, as he composed himself.

  “In our storage locker,” Mom said.

  “We have a lot of room in that storage locker,” Tom said. “You couldn’t fit it all in there?”

  “No, not nearly enough room was there,” Mom answered. “I had to put the overflow somewhere, so I decided to put some in our spare bedrooms, and the rest could go here.”

  “Why here?” I asked.

  “And why our spare bedrooms,” Tom said, polishing off his second cookie. “We just got everything looking nice.”

  “He was in a hurry, so I had to think fast,” Mom explained.

  I had turned to set the box of cookies back on my counter, but instead I offered it to Tom. “Here. Keep it,” I said, as Jordan plucked a sweet out of the container. “You two will need it. I’m hoping it gives you the energy to solve the problem.”

  Jordan looked around. “Even though it’s a lot of stuff,” he said, “it shouldn’t take that long to clear it away. I don’t think so, anyway. We’ll be crowded for a bit, but it’s doable. We can move a lot of it to your storage area, if that’s okay, Poppy.”

  “So long as it’s temporary, sure,” I agreed. “But when I meant dealing with this matter, I was referring to Mom’s lack of boundaries, not all this junk.”

  Mom, annoyed that I referred to her as a problem, huffed out a disgruntled sigh and turned on her heel to storm out of my shop. I could tell she was angry, since a burnt toast smell lingered in her wake. It cloaked the mingling scents of cigarette smoke and Youth Dew that usually surrounded her.

  “Oh, yes, she’s mad now,” Tom nodded.

  “So am I,” I seethed. “And once this is resolved we’re going to change my locks like we’d talked about a while back. I want new locks for my store and for my home, and you, you, and you – I’m making that clear to all of you –” I said as I pointed in turn to Vanessa, Tom and Jordan – “will all get spare keys for the store, and Tom will get a spare key for my house, but none of you will let Mom get her fingers on those keys. That’s an order. She will not be allowed to drag in truckloads of stuff whenever she feels like it, and she will not be allowed to let herself in my home when I am alone and possibly in a compromising position with Roger. Am I making myself clear?”

  “Yes, ma’am!” Jordan said as he bobbed his head vigorously while bending over to pick up a big box. I grimaced as I watched dust motes float around in the morning light. “Can I redo my Halloween display when we’re done clearing the mess?”

  “Yes. Definitely.” I clapped my hands together. “Good. Now let’s clear this crap out of the store, so customers can buy things – not trip over them.”

  The four of us made quick work to clear my store of Mom’s haul. I’d considered calling a friend at the college to see if we could find a couple of students game to make a few bucks by helping, but Roger Montgomery – whom I’d been dating for a few weeks – came by for lunch. He ran out with Tom to buy a large storage shed and set it up behind the Wheeler house.

  Once that was in place the six of us – I made my mother help cart things across the lot or risk me selling any remaining boxes for a dollar a pop – walked the containers to their new home. In a moment of small compassion — and, yes, all other space at the Wheeler house, storage shed and Thingamajigs was taken — I agreed to store a few cartons in my stockroom.

  Finished, we stood huffing and sweating in the cool October air. My mother went back into Thingamajigs to fume, and once she was out of sight Tom went to his truck and pulled out an unmarked paper bag.

  “What’s that?” I asked. “A wonderful new product called Mom-Away?”

  Tom shook his head. “No. And she’s not that bad. I also picked up some locks. One set for your store, and another set for your home.”

  “Ah,” Roger said, his pale blue eyes intensifying, “does this mean there won’t be any chance of Fiona letting herself in some morning when we – um – would rather be alone?”

  “You got it,” I smiled as I wrapped my arms around his broad, solid frame. He in turn pulled me close and I enjoyed his warmth and hint of aftershave.

  “We’ll have to find a way to celebrate,” Roger smiled.

  “I can think of a way I’d like to celebrate,” I whispered, tilting my head up, close to his ear.

  “Poppy!” Tom chastised. “Not in front of me. I’m not your father by blood, but I still see you as a daughter.”

  My hands had developed a mind of their own and had been starting to travel a bit on Roger, intent on wriggling their way under his shirt. That level of exploration was long overdue as far as I was concerned. Each time we’d gotten close to taking our relationship to the next level, my mother had interrupted.

  “C’mon,” Tom complained. “Keep your hands where I can see them!” At Tom’s further admonishment I pulled back and simply kept my arms around Roger’s waist. Never mind where my mind was wandering. (Hint: It was a couple inches below his belt buckle.)

  “Okay,” I smiled. “I’ll be good. For now,” I added as I winked at Roger. “Please tell me you can change those locks soon.”

  “I’ll do the shop ones once Fi goes grocery shopping later today,” Tom said. “I can come by your house later and install the other ones then.”

  “I’m game to do it, too,” Roger added, “if Tom can’t.”

  “I’ll do it,” Tom said. “Poppy promised me a cake, and I’m coming to collect.”

  “Ah yes, the payment,” I smiled. He’d never let go of a debt that involved frosting. “What kind would you like?”

  “German chocolate.”

  “Okay, you got it. I’ll get the ingredients this week and bake one just for you, Tom.”

  “You got a deal. And a lock-changer.”

  3

  “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this,” I said as I watched Tom change the lock on my side door. He’d already installed new ones in front, and I was counting down the moments until my moth
er would no longer have a spare key.

  “No problem. I understand you not wanting your mother to barge in at any old time.”

  “Where did you tell her you were tonight anyways? She doesn’t suspect anything, does she?”

  “She shouldn’t,” Tom replied. “She was headed to the salon to get a facial and massage.”

  “Did you suggest that to her, or did she decide that on her own?”

  “I suggested it.”

  “Oh no, that means she might get suspicious.” I felt a sliver of panic wheedling its way up my spine.

  Tom shook his head. “Nah. She was fuming about the estate sale, so I told her to go and calm herself by taking some R-and-R. I think we’re safe.”

  “Why was she fuming? It’s not like any of her stuff was tossed out. It was simply moved.”

  “She’s mad because we didn’t recognize her genius.”

  “Genius? What’s so genius about buying a ton of stuff at a glorified yard sale?”

  “Your mother thinks she got a good deal on that estate sale, so she wants us to praise her dedication and ingenuity. When you demanded the overflow be moved from your shop, she took it personally.”

  “And I took it personally that she’d dump all that in my store. Without consulting with me first, no less.”

  “If she had mentioned it to you, what would you have said?” Tom paused to look at me, his gaze genuinely curious.