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  Rags to Witches

  A Westwick Witches Cozy Mystery

  Colleen Cross

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Rags to Witches (Westwick Witches Cozy Mysteries, #2)

  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

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Copyright

  Rags to Witches: A Westwick Witches Cozy Mystery

  Copyright © 2016 by Colleen Cross, Colleen Tompkins

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written consent of the copyright holder and publisher. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law.

  Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Categories: cozy mysteries, witches wizards, paranormal cozy humorous mystery, cosy mystery, funny mysteries, female lead sleuth women amateur sleuths private investigators, cozy mystery books, suspense thrillers and mysteries best sellers, female detectives

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-988272-13-9

  Published by Slice Publishing

  Also By Colleen Cross

  Get the latest on Colleen’s New Releases at www.colleencross.com

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  Rags to Witches

  A Westwick Witches Cozy Mystery

  Westwick Witches Cozy Mysteries series

  Colleen Cross

  Rags to Witches: A Westwick Witches Cozy Mystery

  Westwick Witches Cozy Mysteries series

  Win, lose, or draw...

  A Westwick Witches Cozy Mystery

  Cendrine West can’t catch a break. She’s close to landing a new job, and things are getting cozy with sexy sheriff Tyler Gates. All that changes when she is kidnapped by renegade witch Aunt Pearl, who is hell bent on avenging a friend’s untimely death. Its Las Vegas or bust...for all the wrong reasons.

  Rocco Racatelli is a hunky Vegas kingpin—and the next mob target. Lady Luck has dealt him a losing hand and he wants revenge. When Aunt Pearl is a little too eager to help, project Vegas Vendetta quickly escalates into an all-out mob turf war. As the witches are thrust into Sin City’s seamy underworld, bodies pile up and secrets are exposed.

  It’s not just the Las Vegas heat that’s scorching...Rocco is intent on winning Cen’s heart. But she only wants the man she left behind in Westwick Corners. All she has to do is solve a murder, out-magic her ornery aunt, and take down the Las Vegas mafia. What could possibly go wrong?

  When organized crime meets unorganized magic, anything can happen! As the body count climbs, it’s clear that Cen needs more than a miracle in the desert to set things right.

  "...A bewitching, supernatural treat. If you love witch cozy mysteries you'll love Cendrine West and her wacky witch family!"

  If you love funny cozy mysteries infused with a dose of humor and the supernatural, you’ll love this paranormal witch cozy!

  Rags to Witches

  A Westwick Witches Cozy Mystery

  Colleen Cross

  Chapter 1

  I needed a job. I needed gas, and I needed a break.

  The odds of getting any of those were stacked against me. My gas tank was empty and the Westwick Corners Gas N’ Go’s solitary gas pump was broken. The ancient pump had no intercom, and I abhorred the thought of walking all the way to the cashier in my three-inch heels.

  I was already running late for my job interview at The Shady Creek Tattler. It was humiliating to admit that my own newspaper, The Westwick Corners Weekly, was just days from bankruptcy. The last thing I wanted was to work for the competition, but I needed money. I was conflicted. I didn’t want to turn my back on Westwick Corners, the almost-ghost town we were trying to revitalize. But I needed to earn a living.

  All of the decent jobs were an hour away in Shady Creek. I had realized too late that Westwick Corners was too small to support much of anything, including the newspaper I had bought from the retiring owner last year. The Westwick Corners Weekly had been an impulse purchase. My plan to buy myself a dream job had become a never-ending money pit.

  My last hope of remaining solvent was the part-time reporter job in Shady Creek. At least I could eke out a living while I got my newspaper back on track. But even that was in jeopardy if I couldn’t fill my gas tank. I waved my hands frantically towards the reflective glass windows, hoping the cashier inside would see me and get the gas pump going again.

  Nothing.

  I swore under my breath as I scanned the asphalt. My spirits lifted when I spotted a skinny freckle-faced man-boy standing beside a gigantic RV. The gas station attendant looked about fifteen going on twenty, and wore a too-big Gas N’ Go shirt and baggy shorts. I hadn’t seen him around town before, so I guessed he was a recent arrival. Which was weird in itself, since we rarely had visitors, let alone new residents. Gossip usually preceded any new residents by at least a few days.

  I waved the attendant over, but he ignored me as he checked the air on the RV tires. That wasn’t a surprise. Anyone moving to Westwick Corners was usually running away from someone or someplace. Almost-ghost towns weren’t exactly high on the list of top places to live, but they made perfect hiding places. Nobody ever came looking.

  My hopes soared when the RV door opened and Aunt Pearl stepped out. She waved frantically and practically flew towards me. Few seventy-year-old women moved as fast, but Mom’s oldest sister had a secret advantage. Like the rest of us West women, she was a witch.

  “I won, I won!” My ninety-pound aunt screeched to a stop on the concrete island and teetered before losing her balance and falling against me.

  “Watch out!” The gas nozzle flew from my hand as I jumped back to avoid her. The nozzle bounced off the side of my rusty and dented Hond
a. And, suddenly, it worked.

  Gas spewed on the cracked asphalt like a Texas gusher. I had one of those automatic gadgets that attached to the nozzle and had locked it in the “on” position. Just my luck that the nozzle had unjammed at the exact moment it fell from my hand.

  More money down the drain.

  I scrambled to grab the gas nozzle as it spiraled out of control from the pressure of the spraying gas. All I succeeded in capturing was fuel. It sprayed all over my brand new dress and blazer that I had bought especially for my job interview.

  I winced as the spray stung my freshly shaven legs. Gas accumulated in puddles at my feet. I stood in shock, soaking wet, furious, and at a loss for words.

  That got the attendant’s attention, and he hurried towards us. “Hey, you gotta pay for that!”

  The nozzle bucked from the fuel pressure and gyrated wildly. I finally grabbed the nozzle, but before I could turn it away from me it drenched me again from head to toe. The only saving grace was that I still wore my sunglasses.

  Gas sprayed up my nostrils and covered my sunglasses. I dropped the nozzle as my hands flew to my face to block the spray. I wiped my finger across the sunglass lenses, but everything, including Aunt Pearl, was blurred.

  “Don’t hurt me!” Aunt Pearl screamed as she stepped backwards and waved her arms in the air.

  “Grab the nozzle, quick. Help me, I can’t see!” My arms flailed as I groped blindly for the nozzle. My right hand finally closed around the nozzle, but when I tried to pry my gas gadget from the pump handle, my fingernail bent backwards.

  “Ouch!” I dropped the nozzle and it sprayed my ankles as it fell to the pavement. I groped for the handle, but couldn’t get a grip strong enough to hold on. My fingers grew numb at my fruitless attempts.

  I flailed my arms, trying to grab the handle with my limited vision. That set me off balance and I tripped and fell off the concrete island.

  After what seemed like an eternity, the pump suddenly stopped. I ripped off my sunglasses and wiped fuel from my forehead with the back of my hand.

  The attendant stood by the gas pump, nozzle in one hand and my nozzle lock gadget in the other. “Don’t touch anything. I’ll pump it for you.”

  I mumbled thanks as I rose to my feet, soaking wet. I shivered, despite the late summer heat.

  “That’s a lotta gas. Five gallons gone to waste.” Aunt Pearl snapped her fingers. “Just like that.”

  Aunt Pearl was somewhat of a pyromaniac, so wasted gas bordered on travesty.

  “You could have helped me.” I slowly shook my head as I looked down at my ruined dress. Words couldn’t describe the despair I felt right now. Everything I did seemed to take me one step closer to financial ruin.

  “You need to help yourself, Cen. You’ve got what it takes, if only you applied yourself. One way or another, you’ll come to terms with your supernatural talents.” Aunt Pearl patted my back. “You have a choice.”

  “I am not cheating.” I turned to the attendant, but he had retreated to the RV, out of earshot. “I don’t want any unfair advantages, that’s all.”

  “Witchcraft isn’t cheating if you’re a witch. Stop pretending you’re someone you’re not.”

  I was already in a bad mood. The last thing I needed was an argument with my ornery aunt. “I just want to be like everyone else.”

  “Well, you aren’t, so you better get used to it.” Aunt Pearl snorted. “Why are you wasting time with a day job? Anyone else with your talents would be making good use of them. Instead, you just let them go to waste.”

  “I want to earn an honest living.” The words came out before I could stop them.

  “Being a witch is somehow dishonest?” Aunt Pearl’s anger cut through her words.

  It irked her that I hadn’t kept up my magic lessons at Pearl’s Charm School. I always meant to, but other things seemed to get in the way. And it didn’t feel right, using special talents that regular people lacked. I hadn’t done anything to earn them. I just had the good fortune to be born into the West family of witches.

  “I’m late for my interview. Can’t you just reverse everything and put some gas in my car?” Aunt Pearl was an extremely talented witch. It would be effortless for her.

  “I could. But why should I?”

  “Aunt Pearl, please. I’ll make it up to you.” I needed this job.

  She shook her head. “You kids today have such a sense of entitlement. Nothing worthwhile is ever easy, Cen.”

  “But it’s so easy,” I protested. “For you.”

  “It could be for you too. Practice makes perfect, Cendrine. All you have to do is apply yourself. Why is that so hard?”

  The gas station attendant finished pumping my gas and held his hand out for payment. I glanced at the meter and reached inside my passenger window and grabbed my wallet out of my purse on the front passenger seat. I fished my last twenty-dollar bill out and tossed my wallet back into the car. I handed him the money, annoyed that most of the fuel I had just paid for was in a puddle on the payment. Hardly any fuel had actually made it into my gas tank.

  “Uh, Cen, this is Wilt Chamberlain.”

  I nodded at the skinny man-boy, who was freckled, white, and looked nothing like the famous basketball player from years ago. He was older than I had originally guessed: probably in his early twenties. His skin was so pale it was almost bluish, save for a diamond-shaped birthmark on his forehead. It was the color of rust and sat dead center on his forehead, like a target.

  “Next time, ask for help.” Wilt replaced the gas nozzle in the holder. “Now I got to close down the pump and clean this mess up.”

  “There’s no time for cleaning,” Aunt Pearl waved at the RV. “We’ve got to get on the road.”

  “Huh?” I frowned, wondering what my aunt was up to now.

  Aunt Pearl waved her hand. “Forget the interview, Cen. I have a job for you.”

  I shook my head. “I am not working at Pearl’s Charm School.”

  She smiled brightly. “That’s not what I had in mind. I have a mission for you. It’s undercover.”

  I shook my head. “Not interested.”

  We watched Wilt walk back inside the station. He pulled out a giant key ring and locked up the station door.

  “Hey! You haven’t given me my change yet!” I glanced at the gas pump. According to the pump, my total gas bill was less than ten dollars, and that included all the gas I had spilled. Whatever had ended up in my tank wasn’t enough to even leave town, let alone make it to Shady Creek.

  “Wilt!”

  He purposely ignored me.

  I grabbed the gas nozzle and waved it in the air like a weapon.

  He didn’t bite. “Sorry, we’re closed.”

  I placed the nozzle in my gas tank. I switched the pump on, this time without the accessory. It was no use. Either Wilt had shut off the pump or it really was out of gas.

  I swore under my breath as I turned to a smirking Aunt Pearl. “Why won’t you help me?” My eyes locked on the red gas can she held in one hand.

  “Forget about the gas. I won the lottery, Cen. I’m rich. I can afford just about anything. Including unlimited gas.” She swung her gas can back and forth in an arc.

  I nodded towards the RV. “You’ll need it with that tank. Where did you get it?”

  Aunt Pearl seemed almost giddy, which I supposed would be what any lottery winner would feel like. Except I doubted her story. My aunt liked to get attention, and I just assumed the lottery story was a giant lie, supplemented with white magic props like the shiny RV and even the gas.

  The gas.

  Aunt Pearl’s five-gallon gas can made a sloshing noise, which meant it contained gas. Five gallons would get me to Shady Creek and my job interview. Problem solved.

  “Aunt Pearl! Is that a full can of gas? I need a favor.”

  “You’re a witch, Cendrine. Make your own gas.”

  “Not now, Aunt Pearl.” It was Aunt Pearl’s version of tough love. It bothered her to
no end that I neglected my witchcraft lessons.

  “Oh, I forgot. You don’t know how.” Aunt Pearl stuck out her lower lip in a fake pout.

  I wanted nothing more than to prove her wrong. But I wasn’t even good at that. All I had to show for myself was a failed business, loose change, and bad luck. Everything I did seemed to backfire. My life truly sucked, and I had no idea how to make it better.

  Chapter 2

  I glared at Aunt Pearl. Just because the West family’s supernatural talents were a poorly kept secret around Westwick Corners didn’t mean we had to flaunt them. For generations, we had operated under a “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy. Given Wilt was new in town, he probably had no idea about our witchcraft. Until Aunt Pearl, of course.

  “Stop worrying about trivial things and hop aboard. I’ll drive you to your job interview.” Aunt Pearl gave me a sickly sweet smile that I knew was fake.

  Wilt frowned, obviously disappointed at the idea of me coming along for the ride.

  I was afraid to ask. I did anyway. “Why do you need an RV?” I also wanted to ask my aunt why she needed Wilt to accompany her, but it seemed rude for me to ask with him standing right there.

  Aunt Pearl rolled her eyes. “I don’t need it, Cen. I want it. It’s my very own hotel on wheels. Pearl’s Palace, I call it.”

  She had obviously conjured it up, but I couldn’t confront her in front of the gas station attendant. The fact that the West family were witches wasn’t exactly a well-kept secret in Westwick Corners.

  Since Aunt Pearl was forever showing off her magic, I wondered how much this guy had seen. The brand new thirty-foot RV didn’t exactly blend in, and it probably cost more than I made in a couple of years. If it was real, which of course it wasn’t. Just like Cinderella’s coach, it would vanish in a poof after a certain amount of time. Which, if you were a passenger, made it a ticking time bomb of sorts.

  “I’ll drive you,” she said. “Shady Creek is on the way to Vegas. It’s no trouble.”

  Against my better judgment, I agreed.

  Aunt Pearl opened the RV door and motioned me inside. “Hop in. I’ve got another passenger to pick up, and then we’ll head to Shady Creek and drop you off.”