Free Annette Blair by My Favorite Witch

Winthrop’s wife, Addie, and the pet crow she carried on her shoulder.
    The following day they planned to return to the Rainbow’s Edge library, but when Kira got in his car that morning, he shook his head. “Black again?”
    Kira looked down at her pantsuit. “I like black.”
    “No kidding. This is the third day in a row you’ve worn it.”
    “You have a problem with black?”
    “You dress in black, but I’d be willing to bet the bank that you seethe with hidden depths of color.”
    “Get real.”
    “I like color.”
    “So do I. In quilts and stained-glass windows.”
    “Right,” Jason said. “Coffee?” He pulled into a doughnut drive-through.
    “Diet cola,” Kira said. “And a chocolate glazed, if you don’t mind, to round out the nutritional value of breakfast.”
    “Good choice. I’ll have the same.”
    They quietly ingested caffeine and sugar as they drove toward Rainbow’s Edge.
    “Here we are,” Jason said.
    “Let me at those history books.” Kira got out before he could come around and open her door.
    That day was also a wash, ghost-wise, though they learned about Addie’s death, Nate’s expensive taste, and his more expensive women.
    On Thursday they continued their ghostly research, getting pizza for lunch, and eating in the mansion’s big old kitchen, complete with Italian tiled step-in hearth and ancient copper kettle.
    Kira began to feel in sync with the hockey jock. Their shared enthusiasm for history was somewhat amazing, and made it all quite fascinating.
    By one o’clock, after finishing every book they could find about Rainbow’s Edge over the past few days, the spookiest event they had found was a prank played by a little boy in 1924. It had caused some notoriety at the time, and gave the impression, for a very short while during the mansion’s history, that Rainbow’s Edge did have a ghost—a little boy crying for his mother.
    “What if we were to recreate the prank, exactly as it happened,” Kira said as they sat on the porch steps of Rainbow’s Edge appreciating the Indian Summer day. “At least it would be true mansion history, not a misrepresentation of facts.”
    “If we did that, wouldn’t we have to find the hidden staircase the kid said he was locked in?” Jason asked. “We never saw one.”
    “We never searched for one.” Kira looked toward the family cemetery on the property. “Odd how the crow thingkeeps popping up. Both writers saw fit to describe Addie’s pet crow. Her husband, the main historian, implied very strongly that she was thought odd and frightening by the general population.”
    “I hadn’t realized that.” Jason rubbed his nape. “But I chose the books about the house more than the people.”
    Kira already knew Jason’s body language, and that neck thing was a sure sign of distress or exhaustion. “Are you worried about finding the hidden staircase,” she asked, “or are you disappointed that we haven’t found any real evidence of ghosts?”
    “A bit of both I guess. And there’s that obelisk of a gravestone. Look at it.” He pointed toward the cemetery not too far distant.
    The headstone in question lay facedown like a huge, bright white marble blight on an otherwise perfectly bucolic scene.
    “Raising it is going to be a pisser,” Jason said. “To make matters worse, the entire headstone seems to have been carved from one solid chunk. The pedestal alone must be four by five. We need to get it lifted and back into place. Gram says it’s been tried over the years, with no success.”
    “Too bad you never looked at the place before you sent those inv—”
    “Can it, Fitzgerald.”
    “Right. Look, there are seven crows on the obelisk. That’s significant.”
    “Enough with the crows.”
    “Crow augury has been practiced for centuries. It’s practically a science. Crows can have mystical significance in certain numbers. Do you know what seven means?”
    “No,” Jason said, “and I’m not certain I want