Book 1 - Witchy Wednesday (A Tabitha Chase Days of the Week Mystery Large Print Paperback) ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ 4.7 (788 ratings)

The murder of a witch, a seaside town selling the supernatural, and a realtor-turned-sleuth rediscovering her purpose.

When self-proclaimed realist and realtor Tabitha Chase takes a trip to small-town Crystal Cove to sell her late aunt’s houseboat, nothing is what it seems on the surface, including a local witch’s cause of death.

Tabby’s spreadsheets and staging skills won’t solve the case, but her newly inherited psychic cat might! With the help of a fetching forensics expert and a dashing detective, Tabby hopes to clear her name from suspicion and discover the truth.

Join this witchy cast of characters in the small beach town of Crystal Cove where Tabby may be the only person who can see past the shroud of illusions.

When I was a little girl, my Auntie Lizzie told me there were two ways to get to Crystal Cove, Oregon—over the mountains on the interstate or the way she arrived: on a broomstick across the skies.

As an eight-year-old, I’d wanted to believe her stories with everything in me despite the forewarnings of my pragmatic parents. Through the years, and after many real-world obstacles, I’d come to the understanding that those stories were only the fodder of elaborate make-believe, told by people who chose to focus on the imaginary instead of looking head-on at their real-life problems. My learning had become complete a month ago when Aunt Lizzie left a note for her sister, my mom, and then jumped off Crystal Falls to her death.

Crystal Cove used to hold awe and mystique like Disneyland, but as I descended the 101 out of the Calapooya Mountains through rain so slick I could barely see the front of my car, going to take care of some postmortem details, I decided the last tiny part of me that believed in magic had officially died with my aunt.

My windshield wipers squeaked at regular intervals, and my old Honda smelled awful with exhaust, having worked harder than she had in a long time to get up and through the mountain passes. My hands were white-knuckle-locked onto my steering wheel, and I’d been squinting at the road in front of me for almost three hours. This road demanded a lot more than autopilot, but I jumped in my seat when my phone rang through the Bluetooth, letting me know I’d better clue back in.

I fumbled over my phone, not looking away from the road for even a second, and answered, “Hi, Dad. I’m almost there.”

The pause that followed made me glance down at my phone screen for one quick heartbeat. Shoot. I’d done it again. It wasn’t my dad, who knew all about my trip to Crystal Cove and had pretty much forced it upon me. Nope. It was my boss, Brendan Reiger, who had yet to hear about my impromptu trip and who I had planned to explain it to much more delicately as soon as I had the chance.

“Almost . . . where, Tabitha?” Brendan said through my car’s speakers. He had a deep, almost ominous voice. All the realtors in our Portland office thought it was the authority that came with that kind of voice that helped him make so many quick sales. We joked about how his prospective clients were likely scared for their lives if they didn’t sign on the dotted line exactly when he told them to. His voice sounded even deeper tonight, which made me momentarily forget my strategic wording and blurt out the truth.

“Oh, yes, well, I just had to take a quick trip down the coast. I, um, I had a death in the family.” I hoped he wouldn’t ask how recent the death was. I suspected if I had to explain that Aunt Lizzie died almost a month ago, he’d lack the bit of sympathy I had hoped to garner from my tough-as-nails boss.

Instead, he said, “Oh. Who died?”

I blinked hard, trying to split my attention between the rain-soaked road and this phone call. I really should have pulled over—if only I could see the shoulder. “It was my Aunt Lizzie.” My voice came out more full of drama than I intended, which only made Brendan pry more.

“Right. Were you close, then?”

I couldn’t, in good conscience, say yes. I hadn’t seen my aunt in years. But instead I searched for something that might seem like the affirmative. “She was my mom’s little sister.” Again with the drama, Tabby? Take some acting lessons already!

“And you’ll be back tomorrow? We have that showing in Stafford and I hoped I could count on you for putting up signage.”

Putting up signage. Was that what my job had become? I’d been giving the Portland real estate market all I had for the past three years. I spent late nights and early mornings drafting market reports, researching amenities, and perfecting my staging skills. At every turn, Brendan suggested I’d be his next superstar realtor, but then he’d saddle me with staging rundown townhouses, blowing up balloons for open houses, and now putting up signage.

“Um, it’s a long drive,” I said as I passed a weathered wooden sign with faded paint boasting: WELCOME TO CRYSTAL COVE. The road was shrouded with trees on either side, and my GPS showed a few miles yet before I’d reach the town center and then the marina. There were no streetlights out this far, and I continued to squint to see through the rain as I mentally berated myself for picking up the call. “So I probably won’t make it back by tomorrow.”

“By Tuesday then.” It didn’t sound like a question. When I didn’t say anything right away, he went on. “Our office has been talking to a client from Forest Park. I think they’re ready to list, and wouldn’t that be the perfect neighborhood for your first solo listing? Wouldn’t that make your dad proud?”

My heart rate sped up, both from the idea of my own listing, in Forest Park no less, and from the idea of my father being proud. He was a state senator, and with his endless connections, he’d offered to get me a job with a local realtor as soon as I’d passed the exam, but I’d refused, wanting to prove myself and make my own way in the real estate world. More than once, I’d regretted that quick decision, but now I slowly let a breath seep out of me. Maybe it was time to finally see some fruits from my labor.

I’d barely let out my breath when an obstruction in the middle of the road made me slam on my brakes. I shrieked as the form of a woman came into view. She was lying right in the middle of the rain-soaked road.

“Tabitha?” Brendan asked. “I can count on you to be back on Tuesday, right?”

“I—uh—I have to go.” I couldn’t tune into Brendan’s reply as I slammed my car into PARK, grabbed for my phone, and got out of my car. I left it running, with the windshield wipers working furiously to keep up with the rain and the headlights aimed toward the woman. As I moved closer and pulled the hood of my jacket up over my head, she appeared dead—face up but with one of her jean-clad legs out at an odd angle—spread almost to the splits and bent upward at the knee, which was clearly broken. The odd angles of this woman’s body in the midst of the brutal storm with the narrow lighting of my headlights made me momentarily see the situation as a meticulously planned horror movie. I blinked and then shook my head, reminding myself this was real.

“Hello? Hello? Are you okay?” I called. My heart rate ratcheted up as I moved closer and looked into her unblinking eyes. She had striking features—red full lips and thick eyelashes. She looked so alive. My phone was still in my hand, getting soaked, so I tucked it under my jacket and dialed 911.

A second later, a woman answered. “911. What is your emergency?”

“There’s a woman. In the middle of the road. I don’t think she’s breathing.”

The operator asked me for my location, and I tried to think as I bent closer to the woman. She wore a bright yellow poncho that looked hand-knit. It immediately made me wonder who had knit it for her—who would be devastated by the news of her passing. “Um. Off highway 101. Just past the welcome sign to Crystal Cove.”

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