Kitchen Witch Wars and the Chopped Up Chef

  Kitchen Witch Wars and

  the Chopped Up Chef

  By

  Heather Pherris

  Copyright © 2020 Bombshell Bliss

  ALL RIGHT RESERVED, Except for review quotes, this book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, without the written consent of the author.

  This story is a work of fiction. Any names, people, places, or circumstances are merely a product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  Cover Design: www.stunningbookcovers.com

  MESSAGE TO READERS

  Thank you so much for reading Kitchen Witch Wars and the Chopped Up Chef.

  We hope you like reading it as much as we liked creating it. If you would like to know more about the Kitchen Witch Wars Series and be notified of all our new releases, plus have the opportunity to get free books make sure you sign up for our Bombshell Bliss Books Newsletter.

  www.BombshellBliss.com/newsletter

  Chapter 1

  The family of Adonia Crowe wish to announce her passing from this world. Beloved wife, mother, grandmother, and friend, Adonia had a special kind of magic that made the world a bright place. Rest in peace.

  The final act of love from a family in mourning, an obituary in the local newspaper that no one would understand or think too much about. Yet there was meaning. It was important. It’s just that no one knew it yet...

  Chapter 2

  Coffee on the counter. Sun barely risen. Another morning in sleepy little Moondance Cove. Christelle Seabright sat and stared out of the window of her tiny kitchen. Every now and then she brought the coffee cup to her lips and took a sip, but she didn’t really taste the swirling liquid within. Just as she didn’t really read the words on the newspaper that was lying in front of her, open to a random page that she hadn’t glanced at.

  Christelle knew she had to get started on the day’s work, but she was tired and moody, and she didn’t want to. What she wanted to do was... well, anything else. Cooking for other people’s dinner parties and events was fine, she was good at it, it paid the bills and put a roof over her head, but it wasn’t exciting. Excitement was somewhere else, excitement was something else, and excitement was calling to her. She just didn’t know how to answer.

  “Let’s get going!”

  The voice startled Christelle momentarily – it came from her living room and was loud and shrieking, a kind of nails-on-the-blackboard sound that always made her wince – and then she settled back down. That bird. A parrot left to her by her grandmother who had passed away just a few months before. Those things lived forever, and Christelle imagined she would be passing this one, named Sol, to her own grandchildren one day, assuming she ever had any.

  With a sigh, Christelle slugged the last of her bitter coffee and groaned as she slipped down from the tall stool at her counter.

  “Coming, Sol!” she called out, smiling to herself despite the silliness of it all. The bird was only a mimic, wasn’t he? Conversation was not his strong suit. Yet Christelle found herself chatting to him day after day. She would, as she always did, wheel his large birdcage from the living room to the kitchen so she could have some company as she cooked and baked.

  The newspaper stayed behind on the counter as Christelle went to retrieve the bird. It was only a local rag, and Christelle didn’t read it every day, she just didn’t have the time; there was always so much going on. Since it had been thrown at her door by the paperboy on his route earlier that morning to now only a handful of words had been read. No more than that. And certainly nothing was going to stick in Christelle’s mind – she wasn’t interested in the comings and goings of Moondance Cove and every time she saw the paper, she remembered that she wanted to cancel her delivery. Every time. And then she would forget, and the news would come again.

  Today was the same as any other in that regard.

  Christelle came bustling into the kitchen with Sol and settled him down in the corner where he had a view of what she was doing and also out of the window at the street outside.

  “Right then, three dishes for the same potluck party but for different people coming up, Sol,” said Christelle as she washed her hands. “Three dishes that people will pass off as their own even though I made them.” She stopped what she was doing and shook her head. “Now, come on, Christelle, you can’t think like that. You’re getting paid, aren’t you?”

  “Money, money, money!” shrieked Sol.

  Christelle laughed. Sometimes she wondered if that bird knew more than he let on after all. She grabbed at the newspaper that was lying in her way and scrunched it up before stopping mid squeeze. Obituaries were staring back up at her. Perfect, nothing like a reminder of death to start the day.

  Christelle stopped scrunching and started smoothing out. She would keep this issue of the newspaper in a cupboard for the next time she had to clean Sol out. It would make perfect birdcage liner.

  Decision made and job done, Christelle got down to work. She had food to make. The first job was to place her special quartz crystal above the stove. It would bring her good luck and make her dishes takes perfect – since everyone loved them so much, it seemed to work.

  Chapter 3

  Later that day, when the dishes had been collected by her grateful customers, Christelle surveyed the disaster zone that was her kitchen and considered clearing it all up. She knew she should. She knew she had to because she was doing all of this all over again tomorrow, this time for a kid’s birthday party so she would have to bake an impressive cake as well.

  But she didn’t want to. If only she had a magic wand and she could wave her hand and have the kitchen tidy itself in seconds. Now that would be worth good money. She sat and imagined the fun she could have if she didn’t have to clean up after herself and a smile spread across her face. There she went again, fantasizing about being magical. It was a game she had played since she was a kid and it didn’t seem like it was about to stop anytime soon.

  Christelle shook herself and dislodged any thoughts of magic. For now, it was a sleeves up, elbow grease at the ready kind of chore and she had to get on with it. And she did, for a minute or so, before there was a knock at the door.

  “Who could that be?” she asked Sol but really no one as the bird would have no clue.

  “Answer the door, answer the door!”

  “All right, I’m on it, I’m on it!”

  Christelle flipped a tea towel over her shoulder and wiped her mucky hands on her apron before shuffling in her slippers to the door. Whoever it was would have to be quick.

  “Orchid!” exclaimed Christelle, “How are you?”

  “Frustrated, tired, in need of a drink, in need of a chat...” replied Christelle’s friend and hairdresser, Orchid Payne. She winked. “Thought maybe you could help solve my problems at the bar?”

  Christelle thought of the mess in her kitchen. She thought of the magic wand that would mean it was all complete. She thought about saying yes to her friend and leaving everything just the way it was. And then she thought about her little catering business and how hard she had worked to gain a good reputation and semi-regular clients, and she knew she couldn’t go.

  “Ah, sorry, Orchid, I’d love to, but I’m up to my eyeballs in mess and I’ve got a full day on tomorrow. Maybe another time?”

  “But it’s Friday night!” complained Orchid. “And you said last Friday that we would go out this Friday. I thought we had a date!”

  “Ah...” It was all coming back to her now; she had agreed to go for a drink with Orchid today. “It’s just...”

  “Never mind, I had a feeling you might have forgotten, so I came prepared.” Orchid opened her huge
purse and showed Christelle the contents which included rubber gloves and a bottle of wine. “I’ll help you clean up; you help me vent about my week, and we’re both happy. Happyish, anyway. What do you say?”

  Christelle smiled. “I say that’s perfect,” she said, before stepping aside and letting Orchid into her home.

  “I thought you said the place was a mess,” said Orchid, peering into the kitchen. “It doesn’t look so bad to me.”

  “Oh, come on, Orchid, it’s a complete tip-” But when Christelle walked into the kitchen herself she saw what Orchid meant. The room was relatively clean. Not completely – there was still some mess to deal with – but it certainly seemed cleaner than when Christelle had left just moments before to open the door. She looked over at Sol who started whistling nonchalantly and looked the other way.

  “Well your version of a mess and mine are clearly two completely different things,” said Orchid, laughing. “Not that I’m complaining. The sooner we get this ‘mess’ dealt with the sooner we can have a long overdue catch up, right?”

  Christelle nodded, her voice not wanting to make an appearance. She blinked a few times to make sure she was seeing what she was seeing. The only explanation had to be that she had done more work on her own than she had realized when the doorbell rang. That was it. It had to be. There was nothing else for it but to stop worrying and start cleaning although Christelle couldn’t shake the strange feeling that seeing the room so much tidier than she had expected had given her.

  Between the two of them, Christelle and Orchid had the kitchen spick and span and sparkling in no time – they were so quick that the bottle of wine Christelle had placed in the refrigerator wasn’t quite cool enough to drink.

  “No worries,” said Orchid, “Let’s sit down. I’ve been on my feet all day and so have you.”

  That was true, and it was only now that Orchid suggested it that Christelle realized how tired she was. The couch in the living room seemed suddenly very inviting.

  “So, bad day?” asked Christelle as Orchid sat down beside her and flopped backwards dramatically.

  “You wouldn’t believe it!” came the intense reply. Then a pause. “Actually, it wasn’t so bad. I’m just tired of hairdressing. Tired of being a hairdresser. I want to be more; you know how it is. There’s something more out there, I just don’t know what it is.”

  “I hear you,” agreed Christelle. “That’s just how I feel.”

  “So, we should leave. Start a business together. Do something new and exciting.”

  “Orchid, you know that’s not going to happen.”

  “I know nothing of the sort. In fact, I-”

  There was a loud and annoyed squawk from the kitchen and Orchid was drowned out.

  “Just a second,” said Christelle, “I’ve forgotten Sol. He hates being on his own.”

  “I know how he feels,” whispered Orchid as Christelle left the room.

  She was back in moments. “Here he is,” she said.

  “Here I am,” screeched the parrot.

  Orchid wasn’t impressed; there was something about the bird she just couldn’t put her finger on, but it made her nervous all the same.

  “I’ve started heating up some leftovers from my work today,” Christelle told Orchid. “Homemade vegetarian sausages with a spicy dip and some halloumi squares covered in panko breadcrumbs. Hope that’s okay.”

  Orchid brightened up. “Okay? That’s great! Your food always puts a smile on my face, no matter what. Oh, that reminds me, I’ve got a lead for you.”

  “A lead?”

  “Yes, a job. Catering for a funeral.”

  Christelle shuddered. “You know I don’t like doing funerals. Everyone’s so grief stricken, I feel uncomfortable asking for money. Plus, I never know where to look. I get embarrassed.”

  Orchid shrugged. “Well, they’re willing to pay well, I know that much. The daughter of the dead lady is my boss. I said I’d pass on her number.” Orchid fished around in her pocket and produced a scrap of paper with some digits scrawled across it. “Here,” she said. “Call her. You might even be helping me out too; she might finally notice me being around.”

  Christelle took the number despite her misgivings. She had a lot of work on, and although extra money was always good, she didn’t really need it right now. And this was a funeral, so she would rather not take this job.

  But she promised Orchid she would call and the look of gratitude on her friend’s face was real and sudden. Christelle tucked the number into her jeans’ pocket for later. Or never. She would see how she felt about it in the morning. But she probably would call. After all, it would help Orchid out.

  “Now,” she said, “Let’s eat!”

  Chapter 4

  The next morning began in just the same way as the dozens – hundreds – of mornings before it since Christelle had started her catering business. Coffee, made strong, the world coming to life outside the window, and the nagging feeling that she should be doing something more than this. Christelle made a good living, she was doing all right, but just as she had said to Orchid the night before, it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t right. She was at a dead end.

  And Orchid had agreed. It wasn’t enough, and neither was her own job in the salon. What she wanted to do was own it, take over the business from the owner who had mentioned a few times that she might need to move on herself, to help out with her mother’s business when she retired.

  Of course, the mother was dead now, so perhaps Orchid would have her chance to do what she wanted to do. Yes, it was a shame that someone had died, but it was important to look at the positives, and Orchid’s promotion, her chance to live her dreams, was one of those positive things.

  Christelle stretched and slipped her hand into her pocket. She felt the scrap of paper scrunch and crackle beneath her fingers. Would she call? Should she call? She would think about it. But first she had work to be getting on with.

  She turned around and surveyed the sparkling clean kitchen. Time to get it messy.

  “Don’t forget me!”

  It was Sol. Of, course it was. There was no one else.

  And Christelle had forgotten. The bird was in the kitchen, but he hadn’t been cleaned out yet – that would need to be done first or she would never hear the end of it. Literally. Her work would be affected; even having the parrot in the kitchen when she was cooking was a no-no really, and if the inspectors ever came around and saw... Anyway, now was not the time to worry about that; now was the time to make a move and shift her butt and shake off the night.

  “Okay, Sol, I’m here, I’m coming.”

  Christelle opened the drawer where she had stuffed yesterday’s newspaper and dragged it out, struggling a little as it stuck. The drawer was far too full, and the paper was lumpy and bumpy where she had initially screwed it up. She yanked hard and it finally came free, but it took the front of the drawer off with it and sent it flying across the room where it smashed into the wall and landed inelegantly in the sink.

  “Oh, just great!”

  Christelle was going to retrieve the drawer front and try to fix it, but when she glanced down at the newspaper, she was still gripping in her hands she saw something that made her stop what she was doing. It made her stop breathing. It was that name – the name of the dead woman. Adonia Crowe.

  The family of Adonia Crowe wish to announce her passing from this world. Beloved wife, mother, grandmother, and friend, Adonia had a special kind of magic that made the world a bright place. Rest in peace.

  Christelle fished in her pocket for the scrap Orchid had given her. There it was. The name of the woman she was supposed to call about the funeral. Luciana Crowe-Hedges.

  No way.

  That couldn’t be a coincidence. Could it?

  Orchid’s boss’s mother had died, Christelle was meant to call about catering the funeral but didn’t want to, yet here was a massive great sign pointing her in the direction of making that call after all.

  Christelle w
as very much of the mind that the universe worked in mysterious ways. Was this one of them?

  Before she realized it, her cell phone was in her hand and she was dialing the number. She had to speak to Luciana Crowe-Hedges, and she had to do it right now.

  Chapter 5

  Ten minutes later and Christelle’s life had changed immeasurably, although she had no idea that it had. All she knew was that she had made an appointment to visit Luciana Crowe-Hedges at her home – a luxurious mansion on the edge of town – to discuss the catering arrangements for her mother’s funeral.

  “Oh, and when you get here,” Luciana had said, “I’d like to show you something. It’s an old recipe, something my mother was particularly well known for, but it’s not something any of the family understand. We thought... we wondered if you might be able to decipher it? We’ve love for the dish to be featured at the funeral. It just seems so fitting.”

  Christelle had no option but to agree at that point even though she could already feel the pressure mounting. What if she couldn’t work out what the dish was meant to contain either? What if she failed?

  “Check your book! Check your book!”

  It was Sol again. Christelle turned, phone still in hand, and gave the bird a long, hard stare. “You don’t think I’ve already thought of that?” she asked, not expecting a response. The bird shuffled around on his perch and said nothing, but if Christelle didn’t know better, she would have sworn the parrot shrugged. Christelle shook herself after a moment or two of watching Sol, just in case he did it again, and then stood on tiptoes to retrieve the book from its resting place on a shelf in the kitchen.

  The book.

  The Book.

  Christelle stroked its ancient, cracked leather cover and smiled. This book, her own grandmother’s recipe book, had made Christelle into who she was today. And even if that person wasn’t entirely happy one hundred percent of the time, she was at least doing something, going somewhere, albeit slowly.