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  Broom for One More

  Morgana Best

  Broom For One More

  (Sea Witch Cozy Mysteries, Book 3)

  Copyright © 2018 by Morgana Best

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN 9781925674750

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

  * * *

  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)

  Contents

  Glossary

  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

  Connect with Morgana

  Next Book In This Series

  Also by Morgana Best

  Excerpt from Witches’ Brew

  About Morgana Best

  Glossary

  The author has used Australian spelling in this series, so for example, Mum instead of the US spelling Mom, neighbour instead of the US spelling neighbor, realise instead of the US spelling realize. It is Ms, Mr and Mrs in Australia, not Ms., Mr. and Mrs.; cosy and not cozy; 1930s not 1930’s; offence not offense; centre not center; towards not toward; jewellery not jewelry; favour not favor; mould not mold; two storey house not two story house; practise (verb) not practice (verb); odour not odor; smelt not smelled; travelling not traveling; liquorice not licorice; leant not leaned; have concussion not have a concussion; anti clockwise not counterclockwise; go to hospital not go to the hospital; sceptic not skeptic; lasagne not lasagna, aluminium not aluminum; learnt not learned. These are just some of the differences.

  Please note that these are not mistakes or typos, but correct Aussie spelling and terms.

  * * *

  AUSTRALIAN SLANG AND TERMS

  Big Smoke - a city

  Blighter - infuriating or good-for-nothing person

  Blimey - an expression of surprise

  Bloke - a guy

  Blue - an argument

  Bluestone - copper sulphate (copper sulfate in US spelling)

  Bluo - a blue laundry additive, an optical brightener

  Boot (car) - trunk (car)

  Bonnet (car) - hood (car)

  Brown - “a brown” means a brown snake of the (highly venomous) Eastern Brown variety. Example: “I saw a brown in the paddock.” People usually refer to Eastern Brown snakes simply as “browns” or “brown snakes.” Eastern Brown snakes are the second most venomous snakes in the world.

  Bunging it on - faking something, pretending

  Cark it - die

  Cask wine - cheap wine that comes in a cardboard box

  Cling wrap - Saran wrap

  Come good - turn out okay

  Copper, cop - police officer

  Coot - silly or annoying person

  Dibber Dobber - or simply Dobber - an informant, from “to dob on someone” meaning to inform on someone.

  Drongo - an idiot

  Dunny - an outhouse, a toilet, often ramshackle

  Fair crack of the whip - a request to be fair, reasonable, just

  Flat out like a lizard drinking water - very busy

  Galah - an idiot (also an Australian native bird)

  Garbage - trash

  G’day - Hello

  Give a lift (to someone) - give a ride (to someone)

  Goosebumps - goose pimples

  Icing - frosting (on a cake)

  Laundry (referring to the room) - laundry room

  Like a stunned mullet - very surprised

  Mad as a cut snake - either insane or very angry

  Main street - a general term for the main street in a town. Not the UK “Main Street.”

  Miles - while Australians have kilometres these days, it is common to use expressions such as, “The road stretched for miles,” “It was miles away.”

  Mow (grass / lawn) - cut (grass / lawn)

  Stone the crows! - an expression of surprise

  Takeaway (food) - Take Out (food)

  Torch - flashlight

  Tuck in (to food) - to eat food hungrily

  Ute /Utility - pickup truck

  Vegemite - Australian food spread, thick, dark brown

  Wardrobe - closet

  * * *

  Indigenous References

  Bush tucker - food that occurs in the Australian bush

  Koori - the original inhabitants/traditional custodians of the land of Australia in parts of NSW. Murri are the people just to the north. White European culture often uses the term, Aboriginal people.

  Chapter 1

  “Help me!” I screamed as I ran down the hallway. The monster from the green lagoon had broken into my house and was drinking my coffee. I didn’t even know the monster from the green lagoon was real, let alone under-caffeinated.

  I put down my mug, looking for something I could fight a monster with, like that ugly lamp I pretended to love that my grandmother had given me one Christmas.

  Then I caught my reflection in the mirror once more and stopped screaming. It was me. I was the monster. Well, I suppose that’s true of everyone who has not had enough coffee.

  I had decided to pamper myself, so a French Green Clay mask covered my face and twenty-four heated rollers sat resplendent in my hair. I know the electric rollers were a kind of 1980s thing to do, but the humidity at the Gold Coast made my hair hang limp and flat. I winced at my reflection once more, and then walked back to the living room where a glass of chardonnay was waiting to welcome me.

  Coffee was not going to be enough.

  I stretched out on the sofa, uttered a sigh of contentment, and reached for my wine. Just as I did so, a grunt startled me. I sat upright. Persnickle, my wombat, was standing on the old sofa against one of the front windows, making a deep growling sound at whatever he could see outside. I abandoned my wine and hurried to the window.

  A bunch of runners all dressed in orange were running along the road that ran past my house. For some reason, Persnickle particularly hated the colour orange unless it was in the form of carrots. He could not abide anything orange. Before I could stop him, he launched himself right through the flyscreen of the front door and bounced
down the footpath. I tore after him, my bathrobe flapping in the wind. I thought he would stop at the front gate, but he crashed right through the wood and took off after the runners.

  I had no choice but to follow him. “Persnickle! Persnickle!” I screamed. He was chasing the runners. Goodness knows what he would do if he caught one. I knew they were from the Netherlands, and had recently booked the entire nearby East Bucklebury Spa Resort and Colonics Centre, a resort which doled out nothing but raw juices and colonics. It didn’t sound like my idea of fun. Still, it obviously did something for running ability because Persnickle wasn’t gaining on the runners.

  A large bus pulled up beside me. The driver waved as the occupants leant out and took photos of me. “Stop!” I yelled at them, waving my fist. That only seemed to send them into a further flurry. It looked as if every passenger had either a smartphone or a proper camera. I took a deep breath and tried to run faster. My breath was coming in ragged bursts and my throat was on fire.

  Finally, Persnickle overtook a straggler. The hapless man fell to the ground, one orange shoe cast aside. He was yelling something, presumably in Dutch, and I figured it wasn’t complimentary. Persnickle wasted no time devouring his shoe. The bus came to a stop beside me, and the occupants all filed out. I soon realised they, too, were speaking in Dutch, so they must have been the non-running sector of the resort party.

  One of the women hurried over to me. She was accompanied by a man who appeared terrified. “Green reptile woman, the wild animal is eating the shoe,” she said in broken English.

  “He’s not a wild animal; he’s my pet.” I told her.

  She clutched her throat. “You speak well!” she said. “You speak well for a wild Australian woman from the outback.”

  I realised I must have looked a fright, with my furry dog slippers, my flapping bathrobe, my bright green face and my hair in rollers. Then again, why would people from the outback wear electric rollers? I thought that a flaw in her argument. I was about to point that out when the driver pulled her back inside the bus. The bus drove away, the occupants hanging out the windows taking photos of me.

  I realised I didn’t have Persnickle’s leash, so I took off my bathrobe cord and looped it around his neck. “Come with me, you naughty wombat,” I scolded him. “I’m going to have to pay for that shoe and fair enough, too. Running shoes aren’t cheap.”

  Persnickle merely grunted by way of response and little bits of orange fabric fell out the sides of his mouth.

  “You know, I’m going to have to take you to the vet,” I told him. “He’s going to need to check you out. There could be poison or some sort of nasty glue in those shoes.”

  Persnickle’s eyes filled with fear at the mention of the word vet. “Serves you right,” I added.

  After I dragged Persnickle back home, I locked him in the living room while I took off my face mask. It had gone rock hard and deep crevices had formed in my face.

  I took one of the rollers out of my hair, and then let out a scream. My hair came with the roller. I removed the other rollers as fast as I could, and to my dismay they had snapped off most of my hair.

  My remaining hair, the little that was left, was standing upright as if I had put my hand in an electric socket. There was no way I could fix this. It was all I could do not to burst into tears. Most of my hair was missing. What a day this had been! I sure hoped it was going to get better. One thing was certain—I couldn’t go out in public with my hair like this.

  I would have to buy a wig, but I didn’t know where to buy one in person. Even if I did, I couldn’t leave the house in my current state. To make matters worse, an online delivery would take days to get here. It was then I remembered that just before I left Melbourne, I had gone to a fancy dress party dressed as Morticia Addams. Surely I still had that costume.

  I hurried to one of the spare rooms, and as luck would have it, the wig was in the last box I unpacked. It was a nice, full-length, black wig. I threw it over my damaged head of hair and hurried back to the bathroom to look in the mirror. It wasn’t quite my style, but it was certainly an improvement. I took off the wig and scrubbed all the green slime off my face. I quickly threw on some make-up and some clothes and put the black wig on again. It wasn’t too bad. It actually looked like real hair and not a wig, although I didn’t look anything like my usual self.

  I walked back out to get Persnickle’s car harness and his leash, but he ran behind the sofa when he saw me. “You come out right now,” I scolded him. “This is all your fault. If you hadn’t chased those people dressed in orange, this would never have happened. You’re a very naughty wombat.”

  After a bit of wrestling and several carrot treats, I managed to catch Persnickle. I thought about calling the vet clinic to make an appointment, but I figured they would tell me to come another day, and for all I knew, it could be important.

  I had never noticed a vet clinic in town, but once Persnickle was secured in the car, I did a quick search on my iPhone. It turned out there was only one vet in town, a Dr Chase Evans. Given that it only took five minutes to drive from one end of town to the other, I didn’t have much trouble finding his place, but it was the end of a swampy road in quite an isolated position. I would have thought the vet clinic would be in the middle of town.

  There were no cars in the parking area, and I was afraid everyone had left for the day despite the fact it was only three in the afternoon. Still, strange things happen in the country. Persnickle had obviously been there before, because he was quite reluctant to get out of the car and even a carrot would not tempt him. After a lot of grunting, I managed to strong-arm him out of the car. I dragged him to the door and to my relief, it wasn’t locked. “Hello, is anyone here?” I called out.

  No one was in the waiting room, and there was no bell on the desk, although the door did sound an alarm as I walked in, but no one came to my aid. I wondered if all the staff were in surgery.

  I cleared my throat loudly, and then cleared it again. I noticed the door at the end of the corridor was ajar and it did not have the word ‘Surgery’ written on it like two of the other doors. I tentatively walked down the short corridor, and knocked on the open door.

  The room was large and well decorated, and smelt of wet dogs. Large, framed photographs of various animals hung on the wood-panelled walls. The only sound was the bone-chilling screech of black cockatoos in the skies above.

  Still, something wasn’t right.

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  I gasped as a man loomed in front of me. He floated towards me, his feet not touching the ground.

  Chapter 2

  The scream froze in my throat. There, on the ground behind a large wooden desk, was a trousered leg.

  I felt as though I were dreaming. Everything slowed down. After what seemed an age, I edged forward, pulling Persnickle behind me. I looked over the desk and saw a dead man.

  The ghost saw himself too, gasped, and then vanished.

  I stood there, staring in disbelief, when a voice called out behind me. “You’re not allowed in there!”

  I spun around to see a woman in a vet nurse uniform. “He’s, he’s dead,” I stammered, pointing to the body on the floor.

  “What?” She stared at me, her mouth agape for a few moments, before collecting herself and rushing past me. She gasped momentarily when she saw the man and then hurried to feel his pulse.

  I wasn’t a vet nurse, but even I knew there would be no pulse to be felt. She stood up. “What happened?” she asked breathlessly.

  I clutched Persnickle’s leash. “I just got here. There was no one here, and my wombat had just eaten a Dutch man’s running shoe. I thought it was an emergency, so I came straight here.”

  For some reason, she seemed puzzled by my words. “He’s been shot,” she said, somewhat unnecessarily. “Have you called the police?”

  I shook my head. “I just got here. Just then, literally that second. I only saw him nanoseconds before you came. Where were yo
u?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

  She appeared to take no offence. “I had to pop into town,” she said. “There were no bookings for the next hour. You didn’t phone first?”

  I shook my head again. “No, I thought it was an emergency because my wombat just ate a running shoe,” I said, more slowly this time.

  “Did you see anyone else?”

  “No, I didn’t,” I said. “There were no other cars or anything. This door was open, though, so I knocked and then I saw him. Is he the vet?”

  For the first time, she seemed overcome by sadness. “Yes, he was.” She dabbed at her eyes. “I’d better call the police.”

  After she called emergency, she ushered me into the waiting room. “We had better avoid the office in case we destroy evidence,” she said. “I’m Georgia Garrison.” Tears streamed down her cheeks.

  “I’m Goldie, Goldie Bloom, and this is my wombat, Persnickle. I’m sorry about your boss.” I didn’t know what else to say.

  Georgia took a seat beside me and clutched her stomach. “Is there anything I can do for you?” I asked her.

  She was trembling. I doubted she had been the one to shoot him, because I didn’t think anyone could act quite so well.

  Georgia dabbed at her eyes more furiously and then said, “No. Thank you. Why did you say you were here again?”

  I had already told her several times, but I think it was the shock of seeing her boss like that. “My wombat hates the colour orange and some of the Dutch people—you know, the ones staying at the health resort?” She nodded, and I pushed on. “He ate a shoe belonging to one of the runners. He ate the whole shoe, and I didn’t know if there were toxic ingredients in it, so I brought him here to be checked over.”