"I hate to be the one to tell you this, Vic, but..." While bent over the open hood of a Ford pickup in need of a new alternator, Boxy mopped his face with an oil cloth. Clean, thankfully, but I wasn't sure he would've noticed either way. He'd been fidgety all morning.

"But?" I coaxed.

"Bad things often come in threes." He started counting on his fingers. "One, all of Belle's Cove's witches are rats. Two, find out who killed RaeRae by July 3 or else the witches will stay rats. ...