Read Miss Spelled (The Kitchen Witch 1) Online
Authors: Morgana Best
Miss Spelled (The Kitchen Witch 1)
Miss Spelled
(The Kitchen Witch, Book 1)
Copyright © 2015 by Morgana Best.
All Rights Reserved.
License Notes.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should purchase your own copy from your favorite ebook retailer. Thank you for respecting the author’s hard work.
* * *
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The personal names have been invented by the author, and any likeness to the name of any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
This book may contain references to specific commercial products, process or service by trade name, trademark, manufacturer, or otherwise, specific brand-name products and/or trade names of products, which are trademarks or registered trademarks and/or trade names, and these are property of their respective owners. Morgana Best or her associates, have no association with any specific commercial products, process, or service by trade name, trademark, manufacturer, or otherwise, specific brand-name products and / or trade names of products.
By this act
And words of rhyme
Trouble not
These books of mine
With these words I now thee render
Candle burn and bad return
3 times stronger to its sender.
(Ancient Celtic)
Table of Contents
I hugged the blue hippo I’d snagged at the hospital gift shop as I made my way through the sterile halls of the patient wing. I hated hospitals. In fact, I could count on one hand all the times I had ever stepped foot in one voluntarily. Nothing good ever came from having to come to a hospital.
I was being silly, of course. I knew that Brad was safe and sound. Why he had to remain in the hospital at all was a mystery to me. He hadn’t even returned my calls. He had only sent me a text sometime in the early hours of the morning, a text that read ‘Food poisoning!’ followed by several exclamation marks.
I could only assume that Brad was overreacting, given his tendency to do so. He was handsome. In fact, he was downright gorgeous. He was the manager at a local men’s clothing store, and had even modeled for website pictures for the store’s clothing line. The problem was that Brad could be overly dramatic. A simple cold needed bed rest. A lost bowling match was rigged by the other team. He got himself uninvited to poker night with some of his male friends, whom he deemed elitists and other words I could not repeat.
It was hard to believe that someone like Brad would want to date a Plain Jane like I was. I wasn’t exactly a super model. I have dark brown hair, hazel eyes, and an unremarkable body. And yet for some reason, he’d had eyes for me ever since we had met at a party. He had a charming smile, and always seemed to know what he wanted.
Brad had even encouraged me to learn to cook. I wasn’t much into cooking. I was always busy, so it was simpler to buy food and warm it in the microwave. In fact, if the package didn’t have microwave instructions, then it didn’t even make my shopping cart in the first place. It just didn’t make sense to spend time over a stove, especially if I could make it in five minutes and not even have to stay in the kitchen. Besides, my attempts at cooking had proven fruitless at best. What’s more, I usually set something on fire.
I frowned and squeezed the defenseless stuffed animal as I studied the room numbers. Home cooking couldn’t be all that great if it could land someone in the hospital, I figured. Even if it was just an upset stomach, it was hard to think of Brad in one of these places. Surely he didn’t get stuck in this place over last night’s nachos?
Perhaps he ate something after he left my house? I know I hadn’t cooked the chicken for long, but I thought that was a good idea at the time, to save the smoke alarms going off again. I’d been pleased that it wasn’t another charcoal dinner.
I shook my head and smiled to myself. The fact that Brad had been considerate enough not to bother me at work was proof that he knew he’d be fine. It was wonderfully kind of him not to insist on me staying at his side, as he knew how much I disliked hospitals.
Finally. I sighed as I saw the room number and Brad’s name. I politely knocked on the door and then made my way in. “Hi, Brad. How are you doing?” I beamed at him, but my smile faded when he shot me a scathing look.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded.
I looked at his cell phone laying beside him. He was apparently keeping an eye on it, so he had in fact seen my messages. Why hadn’t he responded?
His lips curled into a sneer. “I knew you were thick, but are you really stupid enough not to know when you aren’t wanted?”
My jaw fell as I stared at him in confusion. Where in the world did that come from? Was it his medication making him act this way?
“You are really something, aren’t you?” Brad threw the blue hippo onto the floor. “You almost killed me, you stupid cow!”
I blinked, struck mute with shock. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew I needed to let him have it. I knew I should not let a man talk to me that way, but my mind was a complete blank. Brad had never talked to me that way. He had never called me stupid, or a cow. Tears welled in my eyes as I struggled to control myself.
This only seemed to make him all the more agitated. “Oh, don’t act like you’re some innocent victim! You put me in a hospital. I knew you were never going to be a five star chef, but how hard is it to make a bowl of nachos without having to call an ambulance?”
“Brad, I ate them too, and I’m not sick,” I pointed out in desperation. I had never seen this side of him. What in the world was going on?
“Yeah,
you
didn’t get sick. Just get out of here,” he said, as he leaned back against his pillow. “We’re done.”
“Done?” I whispered.
“Done. Over.
Finito
,” he said in a slow, mocking tone. “I only dated you because you’re so plain and desperate that I figured I wouldn’t have to worry about you getting picked up by other men. I don’t need an ugly woman who doesn’t know how to cook or even do laundry. What good are you?”
My mind couldn’t begin to process what I had just heard. I blinked at him as I tried to find the words to say. I wanted to tell him off, call him names, say something witty, anything! Yet my mind was a complete blank.
I couldn’t remember precisely how events unfolded after that. I had a dim memory of pouring a pitcher of water over him during his tirade about the time he had wasted with me. I was still reeling over it. How in the world did nachos end our relationship? It wasn’t real, was it?
Looking back, I felt like an idiot. There were so many small warning signs, little signs so easy to ignore. I never once imagined that I would have fallen for such an awful jerk. Weren’t women supposed to have some sort of radar against that sort of thing? People acted like seeing the signs was easy.
I wiped at my eyes and took a deep breath as I made my way back to work. I just wanted to get through today, and then spend the weekend hiding in my apartment with bags of jelly beans, a huge amount of ice cream, and old movies. Was there a minimum age limit for becoming one of those crazy cat ladies? Cats seemed to be so much better company at the moment. The only problem was that my apartment building did not allow pets.
I was a little relieved that there was a big meeting that afternoon. I didn’t know the specifics, only that the higher-ups were making an announcement. That would take my mind off my upsetting break-up with Brad, and I was hopeful it was good news.
Several employees had been pushing for a raise in benefits for the Complaints Department. They were requesting more full-time positions for the ones with high satisfaction ratings, which was a requirement to receive a company health plan. They were also petitioning for a pay raise across the board, to compensate for having to deal with the cursing, insults, threats and other ugly aspects of human behavior. In the Complaints Department, my colleagues and I spent hours being blamed for the customer’s misery.
Perhaps my day would improve and I would get a pay raise. I still needed to pay for a new oven, the repainted ceilings and the lingering smell of charred fish in my apartment. Last week’s fried fish dinner had been a disaster. My landlord had been far from pleased, and my timing couldn’t have been worse. It happened right after I was three days late getting in my rent.
I hurried to take a seat at the back, so I could finish composing myself while I was in the meeting. Hopefully, the big announcement today would put everybody in such a good mood that the afternoon of angry and inconvenienced callers would fly by. I needed a good distraction from Brad.
As soon as the meeting began, my hopes for good news were quickly dashed. The management seemed awfully grim, and the heads of the Complaints Department looked miserable, nothing at all like people who had just won pay raises for their department. And even stranger, the high up managers were observing as well. They never came to the Complaints Department.
My stomach clenched with anxiety when one of the managers stepped forward and addressed the crowd. I wasn’t the only apprehensive one. There were nervous whispers all around me.
“I will keep this brief,” the man began. He was wearing a too-tight suit and a bland expression on his face. His voice was monotone. He could easily have been a robot. “As you all know, there has been much discussion regarding the human resources of the Complaints Department. However, the ongoing debate over benefits and hours has been tabled due to a significant shift in structure.”
The man paused, and we all looked at each other. He cleared his throat and looked around the room. “The Complaints Department is being outsourced to an offshore company in India, effective immediately. Please clear your desks this afternoon. Payments owed, including those in lieu of notice, will be mailed to your current addresses.”
Just like that, twenty people were without a job. He could have been commenting on the weather, or the color of someone’s shirt. The man continued speaking, but to me, his voice was nothing but a blur. I was fired? The man did not look the slightest bit sorry that the higher-ups had thrown our jobs overseas.
There was an uproar from the other employees as they frantically tried to argue and protest the sudden announcement. I simply turned and went to my cubicle to decide what I needed to take home with me.
I had lost my boyfriend and my job in the same day. What were the odds? At least things couldn’t get any worse.
I wiped at my eyes once again as I forced one foot in front of the other. It had been a long time since I had made it home so early in the day. I had bought jelly beans, ice cream, and a sales bin movie on my way home. I was going to get a long, hot bath, pop something in the microwave, and drown my sorrows in empty calories and a collection of old black and white romantic comedies. Nothing beats the classics.
Tomorrow I would talk to the landlord about an extension, and fire up my résumé on every online job site known to humankind. If I was lucky, I would land something quickly. It didn’t have to be a great job; it just had to keep a roof over my head and the lights on.
I reached my apartment with a sigh of relief, glad to be done with the awful day. I rummaged for my keys and thought with a laugh that with Brad gone, at least I could promise the landlord that my cooking days were over.
That was when I glanced down and saw the corner of an envelope sticking out from under the door. I bent over and carefully pried it out so I didn’t rip it. With the way my luck was running, I would have mangled it just opening the door to get to it. My heart sank when I recognized the landlord’s handwriting.
I unlocked my door with shaking hands, flung it open, and then rushed inside, eager to open the letter and see how bad it was. I threw my bag onto a table, and opened the envelope. It was no doubt the bill for painting the ceilings in the hallway outside my apartment after the smoke damage, and I fervently hoped it wasn’t a large bill.
I ripped open the envelope and read the letter. It was not a bill. I read it the second time, and then the third, but that didn’t change the contents of the letter, no matter how badly I willed it so.
“You have fourteen days from this date to vacate the premises. The reasons include fire hazards, property damage, and repeated complaints by tenants about smoke emanating from your apartment.”
I sank to the floor, the letter in my hands. I could no longer see the letter; my vision was blurred by hot tears. I tried to take in a calming breath, but I didn’t have any more calm to spare. I crumpled the paper in my hands and threw it at the door with a cry of frustration.
Why?
Everything was gone, all in one day. I had no home. No job. Not even a boyfriend to lean on.
Everything had been taken from me. All in one ugly day. Was it karma? Had I done something wrong? Was this some sort of punishment?
As I sobbed, I tried in vain to find a silver lining. Usually, I was a super optimist and could always manage to find a silver lining in anything. But what did I have?
I was alone. My parents had died when I was fourteen, and I had been passed from one resentful relative to another. Given how much they disliked taking care of me when I was an obligation, I very much doubted that they would allow me a month or two to get back on my feet.
I thought of the cramped and dirty experience I’d had at the shelters when I turned seventeen and managed to become emancipated. I shuddered and felt a whimper escape my lips. I couldn’t go back to shelters and project housing. I just couldn’t.
I curled up until my forehead touched my knees, and I wept. As my wails grew louder, I planted my hands over my mouth so other residents wouldn’t hear me.
Now remember, no matter how hard things get, it won’t be anything you can’t handle.
Dad always used to say that to me, back when I was a teenager and when everything was the end of the world. All these years later, I could still remember the way his eyes would crinkle when he was trying to assure me that the world would not end because I wore a secondhand uniform.
How petty those problems seemed after the accident that took my parents away from me.
I didn’t know how long I sat sobbing on the floor. I thought it was all too much to bear, and then I regretted that last thought. No, that wasn’t right to say. It could be worse. I remembered the foggy cemetery, the twin headstones, and the sound of dirt as it hit the pine wood boxes. It could be so much worse.
I straightened myself up and wiped my eyes as I sniffled and stretched out my sore joints. I didn’t have any time for a pity party. I needed to clean up and get ready to deal with these problems. I still had an hour or two before the unemployment office closed. I needed to register for benefits as soon as possible.
I wiped my nose and made a mental list of things I needed to do. I couldn’t afford a mover. And unless I found a job fast, I had no proof of income or a deposit for another apartment. The landlord sure wasn’t going to give me a reference.
I was going to have to resign myself to the idea that I could only save the belongings that could fit into the back of my car. If only my car was a minivan! As it was, I wouldn’t be able to fit much into it. I had been thinking of the environment and gas mileage when I’d bought it, not about moving my belongings in an emergency. Thank goodness the car was paid off. If my car had been taken from me when I didn’t have a roof over my head—yes, things could actually be much worse.
I grimaced and started toward the door to reclaim the crumpled paper. There was probably a place I needed to sign and return it to the office. The landlord was compulsive like that when it came to paperwork. I had better get that done before anything else.
My eyes fell on a second, undamaged envelope on the floor just in front of the door. I cringed, and a wave of nausea hit me. That was probably the massive repair bill, just to add insult to injury. Tears sprang to my eyes again as I bent down to pick it up.
I at once saw that the letter was not addressed in the landlord’s harsh, blocky handwriting. I turned it over, and written in flowery handwriting was the name, ‘Ruprecht Foxtin-Flynn’.
It must be someone suing me. Surely only a high paid lawyer would have a name like Ruprecht Foxtin-Flynn. I was exasperated as I ripped open the envelope. Who in the world would be suing me? One of the neighbors?
I unfolded the paper. I didn’t have the energy to be surprised that it started with the words, ‘I regret to inform you’. No, that was pretty much in line with my whole day.
I stopped reading and went to get a soda and open the packet of jelly beans. If I was going to get slammed with more bad news, I was going to be sitting with my comfort foods on hand first.
I bit into a yellow jelly bean and tried to savor it as I studied the return address on the back of the envelope. It looked really official. Whoever was regretting to inform me of something, they looked like they were someone important.
I shoved some more jelly beans into my mouth, and unfolded the letter once more. Might as well rip off the band-aid fast and deal with the pain all at once, right?
Dear Ms. Amelia Spelled,
I regret to inform you that your aunt, Ms. Angelica Spelled, has crossed over to the other side. I am the designated executor of her will. At your convenience, I require an audience with you to finalize your inheritance. Please see the included documents as to the details of your inheritance and my contact information.
With very best wishes.
Yours truly,
Ruprecht Foxtin-Flynn.
I reread the letter and tried to remember my aunt. I felt bad that I could not remember anything to bring a sense of loss. My father had a sister, but I couldn’t remember her. Had I ever seen her?
Angelica Spelled
. Mom and Dad said something about me having an aunt who was highly eccentric, but I don’t remember them mentioning her name. They had told me that they cut ties with her a long time ago, but they had never told why they had done so.
I wondered why an estranged relative was leaving me something in her will. The only relatives I had experienced had resented me. There had been no mistaking their dislike for having to care for an extra child, especially when they did all they could to push me off onto the others.
I flipped the page. It looked fairly standard. Family photos were listed. Okay, that was good. I had always wanted to make an album. If I was lucky, there would be pictures of my parents when they were younger. Next on the list was bone china. That was going to be harder to deal with. I could hardly live in my car with bone china. Hopefully, it was antique, and I could sell it. Then I read the next item that I had inherited.
All remaining property, including house, contents, and store
.
I read it about five times, waiting for it to disappear and be something like a doll house and not a real house—but it was a real house. And a store? My aunt had left me a store: an income-producing store?
I read everything carefully. Was I dreaming? There was no way. There was no way that I’d lost my home, job, and relationship, and then inherited a house and my own business, all in less than a day.
I stared at the hand-written phone number on the corner of the envelope and rubbed my chin. No, it couldn’t be real, right? This was the part where I called and Ruprecht Foxtin-Flynn would turn out be a con man trying to get me to send money to an overseas address, or he’d ask for my credit card number for ‘processing fees’. I, Amelia Spelled, was not that person who got an inheritance from a mysterious relative.
I chewed on my bottom lip thoughtfully and checked the time. Then, I reached for my cell phone.