Deja Brew Read online

  Deja Brew

  Natalie Summers

  Copyright © 2019 Natalie Summers

  Deja Brew

  By Natalie Summers

  I love you, Dad, and I miss you so much. It’s been six months and it still hurts.

  All rights reserved.

  Book 1 of The Magic Bean Paranormal Cozies.

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  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  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

  Hi Reader!

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Leaning against my car, I looked up at the building in front of me. It was two stories, made of some type of old cobblestone. That was one of the main differences I had noticed when I entered Arizona. All the buildings went from being made of wood to being made of stone. I supposed that made them less flammable. The sun had gone down long ago, and the streetlights cast yellow glows across the sidewalk. Nothing like going somewhere new in the dark.

  I checked my phone, the note I’d written. The address was right. I had the key. But I couldn’t find a door. Well. No, that wasn’t right. I had found a door, but it was closed and locked and obviously to the coffee shop; I could see inside. There was another storefront, also dark, but there wasn’t any indication of another door to get anywhere else.

  I even peeked around the sides. Nothing. Next up was the back of the building, which would require hopping a small fence. I was starting to regret the trip already, which made me feel worse. It was bad enough that my Mom had left me this apartment, and it’d taken me six months before I’d actually been able to come look at it. Cancer sucked. I still missed her every day.

  One day her lawyer had shown up with a will, and a deed for this place that was apparently above the coffee shop, apartment B4. I knew the town—Elder. She’d grown up here, although she’d never mentioned any family. It really had only been an offhand mention once or twice. It had always been just her and I growing up, and she didn’t like talking about her past.

  The storefronts were good sized, but given the time they were obviously closed. In a smaller town, people often worked regular hours. During Mom’s last year I’d worked as a temp, anywhere and everywhere, as long as I was close to her or the hospital she was in. I’d done a bit of everything, from small towns to big cities. Sometimes she’d been hospitalized for a long time.

  Pulling my key ring out of my pocket, I double-checked that the small silver key was still attached. I assumed it let me into the apartment, although since it didn’t look like I would make it there, who knew what it actually did. Maybe I would have to find a B&B or something for the night.

  My thumb brushed the butterfly key chain dangling from the ring as I put the keys back in my pocket. Mom had always had it on her, a small jewelry-clad butterfly, as far back as I could remember. Even before she’d died, she’d wanted me to have it. Looking at it, I bit back a wave of sadness. Grief wasn’t like they portrayed it on TV. It never really went away, it just wrecked your life less. Sometimes.

  I shoved the thoughts out of my mind, dragging my attention back to the present. There was a time for sadness, but new beginnings weren’t it.

  Provided I could figure out the new beginnings.

  “Worth a try,” I said out loud, trying to pump myself up. I headed over to the fence which was probably four feet tall and stuck my feet in the small spaces between the bars to haul myself over. I wasn’t the most graceful human, but I made do. I could have broken the lock, but I didn’t want to risk it.

  Triumphantly, I found a door and a small patio in the back. Hopefully, they led upstairs to where the apartments were. I moved forward, the key in my hand now. There didn’t seem to be a keyhole. Frowning, I pushed on it, surprised that it opened with no resistance.

  Pushing open the door, I held my breath. The small hallway was silent, with just a staircase in front of me. It was worth seeing where it went, wasn’t it? With a shrug to myself I headed upstairs, my nerves prickling, hyperaware of the stillness. It felt almost like a gravesite, a heavy sort of silence that pulled at your very soul.

  Part of me wanted to run screaming, find a B&B for the night and come back the next day when it was light, and people would be around. But it seemed more sensible to focus on going up and seeing where the staircase took me. If it was somebody’s private residence, I could figure that out too. Twenty-odd hours in a car could certainly fray my nerves.

  At the top of the stairs was another hallway, one that seemed to lead to a series of doors. One of them was labeled BF, another BC. Two others didn’t have numbers or names on them at all. I shifted uneasily. It was B4, right? Not BF? I didn’t have the original document with me—it was somewhere in my luggage, crammed in my car. But it looked familiar, and it felt warm. I had never been there, but it felt like home. Like I would open the door and find my Mom on the other side, cooking her favorite soup for dinner.

  I reached a hand out to the door, tracing my finger over the BF that looked surprisingly worn. I knew I’d never seen it, I knew I’d never been exposed to it. I’d never been to this town in my life, and we’d never lived in an apartment like it. Nor above a storefront. Maybe it was just nostalgia for the life I had lived.

  “Who are you?”

  The shrill voice caught me off guard. I jerked back from the door like I’d been burned and whirled around. A short woman, probably in her late 60s, stood there with narrowed eyes and her wispy gray hair all akimbo. She didn’t look pleased to see me.

  “This is private property,” she said tartly.

  “Oh,” I said, surprised. “Oh, no.”

  The woman didn’t look impressed.

  I took a few seconds to shake my brain back into working order. “I am—” I paused, not sure how to phrase it. “I’m the new tenant for B4. Or BF.”

  I saw a flash of alarm on her face although it was quickly masked. Not quickly enough. “That’s impossible.”

  “Do you know who lives here?” I asked. I glanced down at my phone. Maybe I had the wrong address. “Anyone I can talk to?”

  The woman lifted her chin as if she was being challenged. “There’s no way you inherited the place.”

  “I have the key right here,” I said, trying not to get irritated. I respected my elders, but it was more difficult when you were tired and feeling somewhat homeless. “Maybe I have the wrong place. Is this –”

  “Did you break into my shop?” the old woman asked, suddenly switching direction.

  I glanced at the unlabeled doors. Maybe they led below? “Your shop?” I asked instead.

  She didn’t look impressed. “The coffee shop is mine,” she said. “The one you would have had to come through if you wanted to get on the second floor.”

  “Not really,” I said, and it was the truth. “I hopped the fence and came in through the back door.”


  She made a skeptical noise. I wasn’t sure if she thought I was lying because I’d broken in and was trying to hide it, or something else.

  “If I really was going to steal something, I’m really going about it in the worst way,” I added. “Especially getting caught.”

  “You could be a bad thief,” she muttered, although she sounded less aggressive and more contemplative. “You still shouldn’t be here.”

  She was like one of those cranky neighbors in a television show, except she didn’t seem to have a redeeming quality. Instead, she just seemed irritated with everything. Then again, I’d only known her for five minutes. Maybe she didn’t react well to people she thought were intruders.

  “Is this 4th avenue and Bell?” I asked.

  “Yes.” Another lift of the chin. For an older woman, for someone shorter than me, she seemed stronger and more stubborn.

  “Then this is my place,” I said. I hadn’t driven however many hours to get turned away when I had a right to it. No matter how tenuous it was.

  “I’ll report you,” she threatened.

  “I don’t even know you!” I said, incredulous. If this was an indicator of how friendly the neighborhood inhabitants were, I wasn’t sure I wanted to meet them.

  There was the sound of the door scraping open, and footsteps.

  “Did you bring others with you?” She looked alarmed now as if she was about to be attacked. Her words were harsh.

  “I have no idea who those people are,” I said frankly. If they even were people.

  She gave me another doubtful look. I was pretty sure if I told her the sky was blue, she’d argue with me. Agreeing with me would have been agreeing with the enemy.

  “What’s going on?” another woman said. She sounded young, about my age, maybe a year or two older. When she appeared at the top of the stair, it was with short, spiky bright purple hair and a ring in her nose.

  Definitely wasn’t who I had expected, inasmuch as I had expected anyone.

  The woman sniffed, her disdain turning from me to the purple-haired woman. “Good, you’re here,” she said, giving me a disdainful look. “Make this ruffian leave.”

  “Ruffian?” the woman asked, glancing over at me. Then a second woman appeared, jogging up the stairs. She was taller, her face sharper. She had long red hair, pulled back into a ponytail to frame her severe face. Still, there was something friendly around the edges. Or something that might be friendly.

  “Take care of her,” the woman snapped. Apparently, she wasn’t pleased I hadn’t been kicked out right away.

  I held my hands up, feeling backed against the wall. “I’m the legal owner of this apartment,” I said, trying to keep my confidence up. “I have the deed to prove it.”

  The purple-haired woman glanced at me, surprise on her face. “Legal owner?”

  “I supposedly inherited this apartment,” I said, getting a bit exasperated. “My mom left it to me in her will, and I wanted to come see what it was like.” I’d planned to move here, too. To see where my Mom grew up. But I was regretting that choice.

  The woman looked at me, her eyes contemplative. “I’m Wren,” she said, extending a hand. “She’s Theo,” she said, nodding towards her redheaded companion.

  “You’re not going to make her go away?” the old woman asked, her voice hitting a level of peevish I wasn’t aware existed.

  “Mildred,” Wren said, barely sounding patient. “Her claim of staying here appears more legitimate than yours. You know you don’t own this apartment.”

  The look Mildred—the old lady—gave her could melt ice.

  Wren just raised an eyebrow back. Then she glanced over at Theo, who was watching the whole situation in silence.

  “I’ll go get Mom,” Theo said, nodding to Wren. Wren gave her a thumbs-up in return.

  Inwardly I sighed. When had moving into a new apartment got so complicated? I almost wanted to drop the whole thing, back down, but that would have been giving up something my Mom had left me. I wasn’t great at giving up on anything, really.

  “Can I help you with anything?” Wren said, not looking my way. It took me a few seconds to realize she wasn’t talking to me, she was talking to Mildred instead.

  “You horrid child.” Mildred stared at Wren like she could light her on fire, but Wren didn’t move. She huffed and then pushed open one of the doors, heading down a different set of stairs.

  “Is she always like that?” I asked, my heart calming down some.

  Wren shrugged. “She has her moments,” she said, an inside joke there I didn’t understand. “So how can I help you?”

  “My mom died six months ago,” I said, heading off the apologies with a shake of my head. “In her will she left me the deed and key to this place.”

  “Who’s your mother?” Wren asked.

  “Her name was Samantha Dorman,” I said, hating that I spoke in the past tense.

  Wren’s eyes widened. “Samantha?”

  I felt another flash of alarm. “Yes?”

  The door opened again, and I heard mixed voices down the staircase I had come from. “Up here,” Wren shouted. She seemed distracted now.

  I moved until the apartment door was to my back, and I was out of a direct line of fire.

  “There she is,” Theo said. She reappeared at the top of the stairs, with a woman behind her that could have been her mother. She was tall, with a shock of dark red hair that fell past her shoulders. “How may I help you?” she asked, which was apparently the question of the hour.

  “I was given the deed and key to this apartment after my Mom died,” I said, some of my impatience sneaking into my voice. I made myself take a deep breath.

  “Show her a picture of your mother,” Wren said, something odd in her voice. “Her name’s Samantha.” She directed the last remark towards the new woman.

  I gave her a sharp look. “Why?”

  “Please.” It was the older woman who spoke.

  Reluctantly, I scrolled through my photos on my phone. There was one from a few months before they had diagnosed her with cancer. We’d gone on a trip to the Grand Canyon, and there was little happier in her life than at that moment. That felt like forever ago.

  The moment the tall woman saw the photo, her face went white. “It is her.”

  Wren shifted uncomfortably, and Theo’s glance was assessing.

  “You knew my mother?” I asked. Mom had never talked about her past, and I had never really pried. It hadn’t seemed relevant, really.

  “I’m her sister,” the woman said. “Lizbeth.”

  I opened my mouth and then closed it. “Sister?”

  Lizbeth inclined her head. “Well, foster sister,” she amended. “We weren’t biologically related, but we grew up in the same house.”

  My first reaction was skepticism, but as far as lies, it seemed a strangely accurate one if someone was trying to get me to fall for something.

  “You look like her,” Lizbeth said, sadness in her eyes. “She’s dead?”

  I nodded, the pain sparking through me again. “Died of cancer about six months ago. She told me I looked like her when she was younger.”

  “She left this apartment to you?” Lizbeth didn’t seem to expect that. She seemed surprised by it if anything.

  I nodded. “The paperwork’s in my bag downstairs. I can go get it?”

  There was a shake of her head. “No,” she said, her eyes warm. “We can worry about that in the morning,” she said. “You’ve come from far away, haven’t you?”

  “Washington,” I said, slightly dizzy over the turns in the conversation. “Close to where I grew up.” Something akin to pain flashed over Lizbeth’s eyes, but it was gone as quickly as I saw it.

  “Well, I’ll let Wren show you around,” she said, injecting fake cheer into her voice. It was subtle but obvious although I was too tired to work out why. For all that it was only 9:30 in the evening, I’d been going since four that morning.

  “Do we know where Mild
red went?” Lizbeth asked, glancing at Wren and Theo.

  “I’ll go check on her,” Theo said, with a roll of her eyes.

  Lizbeth smiled at her, and then turned back to be. “I’ll make sure that Wren gives you her contact information,” she said. “If you need us, you can get in touch with us. And of course, we’ll get in touch with you about the house.”

  It took me a second to figure out that by ‘house’ she was talking about the apartment in front of me. I’d done the same thing, when I’d lived in an apartment in college. It’d always been home. I let out a long exhale. “I have a couple bags in the trunk –”

  “I’ll get them,” Wren said, heading down the stairs. “Can you unlock your car?” she shouted before disappearing out the door.

  I wasn’t sure if clicking it would work from that far away, but I did it anyway. I didn’t really want somebody else to handle my bags, but it was probably too late to object.

  It was only a few more minutes before Wren reappeared with the bags, holding them up triumphantly. “You packed lightly,” she said, sounding oddly cheerful about the fact.

  “Yes?” I hazarded. There was more, but it was the suitcases I needed.

  “You’re going to live here?” Wren asked, looking at me.

  “Pardon me?” I asked, caught off guard.

  Wren studied me, then dropped the topic of conversation with a smile.

  “If you need anything,” Lizbeth said, her voice warm, “please, please call us.”

  “I’ll even write it down for her,” Wren said, grinning at Lizbeth. “Thanks, Auntie Beth.”