Greensmith Girls: Lainswich Witches, #1

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Chapter One

Rowen Greensmith didn’t hate her family. It was just that they were very time-consuming people and, well, distance makes the heart grow fonder. As soon as she was able, she had moved away. It wasn’t out of malice towards the people she had lived with her whole life. Getting out of the little three traffic light town had simply been her best shot at a successful future.

Of course, it was debatable how successful she was now. Rowen lived in a cramped little apartment above an Italian restaurant. She survived off a steady diet of instant noodles and shopped for clothes exclusively at thrift stores. Her svelte figure was more due to necessity than fad diet. Her wardrobe she owed to her ability to sew a hem. Even her auburn hair was a few shades lighter, thanks to color from a drugstore box. No, it would not be fair to say that Rowen was thriving. There were a great many lifestyle choices she was making that her family would shake their heads at.

When Aunt Lydia called, Rowen cringed. Aunt Lydia never called this early when she did call. Fortunately, for the sake of Rowen’s sanity, that wasn’t often. It was difficult to tell who thought what of her back home. Some of them seemed genuinely impressed that she had moved out to the big city for her career. Most of them were patronizing about it; it was like they knew she would be back—not today, not tomorrow, but soon.

Rowen paused in getting ready for work to pick up her cell phone. Hi, Aunt Lydia! She managed the brightest voice she could.

Lydia met her cheer with a very dire, There’s two dead bodies.

Aunt Lydia could be a touch dramatic, but this was hardly a typical phone opener for her.

I’m sorry? Rowen was certain that she had misheard or that some context would help. She was mistaken on both counts.

Your Aunt Nadine sold a young woman a dead body. Now that poor woman is dead, too. Aunt Lydia started to cry.

It took a full thirty minutes for Rowen to drag the story from her. Apparently, there had been a garage sale at the family home. They did them every few years. Rowen remembered them from her childhood. The whole town always flocked over for a look at the Greensmith house and the Greensmith witches who lived there.

Rowen and her cousins would play on the lawn. Her aunts would read tarot cards and crystal balls for a nominal fee. Grammy ran the sale side of things. She had a shrewd head for business. Of course, she was getting up in years now. It would be her aunts running the show, and apparently, they had sold a woman a corpse.

The corpse in question had been found in a chest which had been found in the basement. It couldn’t be opened. Not even Aunt Nadine could open it, and Aunt Nadine had her ways. So, the chest had been sold to a Miss Rebecca Abernathy as a sort of antique coffee table. The idea that it couldn’t be opened must have added to the mystique, though. Given the weight of the thing, she must have treated it like one of those storage auctions and hoped something valuable was sealed inside. When they found Miss Abernathy, the lid of the chest had been partly sawed off with a handsaw. Inside was the mummified body of a man.

Miss Abernathy wasn’t far from the box. All the evidence so far pointed to death by strangulation.

You need to come back home, dear, said Aunt Lydia.

Rowen fumbled for the appropriate response, but a baffled Why? was all she could come up with.

This is a family crisis! We need to pull together! Aunt Lydia sighed deeply. It’s what your mother would have wanted, she added, as if Rowen’s mother were dead and not just living off the grid with her naturalist jerk of a new husband.

To be fair, Rowen’s mother would have wanted her to go. She had never much liked participating in familial nonsense, but she had always thought it was healthy to push her daughter directly toward it. I’m not sure I can get off work, said Rowen in the way of an excuse. It was the best kind of excuse since it was true.

Aunt Lydia didn’t push the matter, but she did seem disappointed in Rowen. All right, she said in way of goodbye, the words leaving her in one great sigh. "Well, let me know if things change. It really would mean a lot to the family if you could make it down here. It would mean so much. Just... so, so much."

Rowen hung up the phone with a heavy feeling in her chest. She would have to call Aunt Nadine later and make sure she was handling this all right. She probably was. Nadine was sensible in just about every way her sisters weren’t.

Surely the family wouldn’t get into trouble over this. It was too bizarre even for the Greensmiths. Members of their clan were no angels. A few members of their family had spent the night in lock up, but that was only for minor things like mild criminal mischief. The town had to know they were innocent. They had known the Greensmiths for generations.

Rowen couldn’t quite convince herself of that, though. The townspeople had always been a little wary. If there was one thing she had learned from working in journalism, it was that people were easy to panic.

Oh! Work! Rowen thought as she remembered that she needed to get going.

She slipped on her shoes and hurried downstairs. The wedge heels didn’t really go with her high-waisted jeans, but it would have to do. Her office was just down the street. She jogged there and still barely made it in time, arriving out of breath and with tousled hair a few minutes later.

Maybe journalist was too kind a job descriptor for Rowen’s profession. More accurately, she worked for an online news source that dealt in gif-filled blog posts and click-bait news articles. Rowen wasn’t a writer or anything. She was more of a glorified intern. She fetched coffee and doughnuts. She internet-searched things for her bosses and called up people for interviews. Sometimes she got to do leg work for stories. That was her favorite, but it was usually pretty mundane, like plastic surgery gone wrong or conspiracy theories on decade-old crimes. It wasn’t what Rowen wanted to spend her life doing, but it was okay.

Sorry I’m late, she said, still breathing heavily as she approached her boss.

Ted was at his desk. He was a big man with suspenders and a very obvious toupee. Everything about him just oozed sleaze. Back in the day, he’d had a lot of success in the tabloids. He’d made his living working on the ridiculous ones that told stories about Swedish housewives living in wedded bliss with iguana men. He didn’t much like this new trend toward online gossip, but it was what sold.

Ted didn’t look up from his computer screen as she came over, still spouting apologies. No big deal. He pointed at the monitor. Isn’t this where you grew up?

Rowen looked down to the screen. She frowned to see that word of the bodies wasn’t just local news. Most things like this didn’t make it beyond Lainswich’s own Channel 2. That was how the people who lived there liked it.

Nadine Greensmith, Ted said slowly. She a cousin of yours or something?

My aunt, Rowen corrected.

This is crazy, said Ted, shaking his head with a laugh. Rowen could only imagine what he was thinking. He was getting nostalgic. This was like something right out of one of his old papers. Deborah forwarded this to me. Have you been in touch with your family?

I talked to one of my aunts before I came here, yeah. Rowen shrugged, eager to downplay this and move on with her work day. That’s why I was a little late.

Ted chewed at his bottom lip, his expression growing thoughtful. He closed the article and leaned back in his desk chair. It amazes me this isn’t national news yet. You know? On television and all that.

Yeah, said Rowen, not really in agreement. Her hometown had an uncanny way of slipping under the radar. Some might call it supernatural.

We could do something with this, said Ted, as if their website had ever dealt in news of a serious nature. Maybe this had reawakened some long-dormant pipedream of breaking into the big leagues with something utterly ridiculous. He looked at Rowen and asked the question she had been expecting. How would you feel about heading back home?

Rowen cringed. How had she seen this coming? I’d rather not, but I guess—

Great! crowed Ted, reaching out and slapping her on the arm with one of his meaty hands. I have to make a few phone calls, but it shouldn’t be a problem. Looks like you’re headed home, kiddo. You’re going back to Lainswich.

Chapter Two

Her hometown of Lainswich was a tiny town in the middle of nowhere. It was the sort of place you drove through on your way to some more worthwhile destination. Maybe you stopped there for a pit stop—a sandwich or some ice cream in one of the small, quaint diners. Nearly all of the shops were family-owned.

Standing at the bus stop, Rowen felt like she was a teenager again. The place hadn’t changed at all. The stone buildings were the same. The street lights were the same. Even the people were the same. Rowen recognized no less than two people while she waited for Aunt Nadine to pick her up. If they recognized her, they said nothing. Of course, they wouldn’t. Most of the townsfolk avoided the Greensmith girls.

Less than fifteen minutes later, Aunt Lydia came to pick her up. Her old Buick had two wheels up on the curb before she rolled to a stop. That Aunt Lydia had ever passed a driver’s test had to be some kind of awful black magic. Get in, girl! she shouted through the window when Rowen hesitated.

Rowen sighed and climbed in. Aunt Lydia launched herself over for a big bear hug causing the air to rush out of Rowen’s lungs.

Oooh! exclaimed Aunt Lydia. "You look so much like your mother. It’s wonderful to see you. I’m so happy you found the time to come, dear. So, so happy."

Lydia looked much as she always had. Maybe her hair was a little grayer than it had been last time Rowen had seen her. It still formed a wild, frizzy halo around her round face. Her baggy, patched skirt and duster made her look like some sort of mad homeless woman. She really didn’t do herself any favors in the appearance department. It was like she actively tried to look the part of a witch.

I’m glad to see you, too, Rowen gasped once she’d caught some of her lost breath and managed to separate herself from her aunt. I was expecting Aunt Nadine, though.

Aunt Lydia’s grin became a frown. The police are questioning her again. She shook her head, sadly. Like she had something to do with this tragedy. How can they think that? Hmm?

Rowen shrugged. I think it’s pretty standard. They have to question anyone involved, even if they didn’t do anything wrong. That’s just how this stuff works.

Aunt Lydia wouldn’t hear it. She took the car off the curb and pulled out into the light traffic of Main Street. It’s just awful, she insisted, speaking mostly to herself this time and ignoring the honk from a truck she’d cut off.

I’m not going far, Rowen told her, holding tight to the handle above the door.  The hotel I’m staying at is the one near—

A hotel? Aunt Lydia scoffed and glanced over at Rowen like she was crazy. You’ll stay at home with your family, dear girl. Don’t be ridiculous.

I’m here to work, Rowen reminded her. I need space and a quiet environment to concentrate in. She already knew that wouldn’t work. It might have worked on Nadine, but there was no way Lydia would see reason.

No, no, no. Aunt Lydia waved a hand dismissively, nearly swerving into an oncoming car to do so. You’re coming home, and that’s final. Everyone is excited to see you.

The word ‘everyone’ made Rowen wince. This was going precisely how she had expected it to go. What a nightmare.

––––––––

The Greensmith place really was lovely. It had been in the family for generations. One of their ancestors had built it even before the town had been founded, and it had held up well through the generations. Given the reputation of the Greensmith family, it was easy to see why.

The house was gray and large with three stories before the attic. The paint was peeling, but the expansive and well-tended garden surrounding the house gave it a Gothic look. It was a gorgeous place. Rowen had missed it. She had never had a problem with the house, after all. Her problem was with her family.

They were spilling onto the front porch now. Three of Rowen’s cousins bounced on the front steps excitedly, giggling to one another. Margo and Terry sat whispering a conversation while casting dubious looks in her direction. Grammy stood behind all of them, leaning on her cane and watching.

Aunt Lydia parked the car. The prodigal daughter has returned, she sang as she got out of the driver’s seat.

Rowen’s cousins all laughed. At one time, they might have all come down the stairs to intercept her with hugs. Now they just observed her from a distance, as if uncertain. Rowen had to admit it was an odd feeling seeing everyone after so long. Her cousins had changed a lot. They had all grown into women.

Willow and Peony were Nadine’s kids. They looked a bit like twins with their pale blond hair and full cheeks. They even shared the same stylish sense of fashion: tight flower-print blouses and pleated skirts. Their