A Wonder Springs Cozy Mystery Omnibus: Books 1, 2 & 3

by B. T. Alive

  A Wonder Springs Cozy Mystery Omnibus: Books 1, 2 & 3

  Copyright

  A Wonder Springs Cozy Mystery Omnibus: Books 1, 2 & 3 ©2021 B.T. Alive. (v1.0)

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the author. Reviewers may quote brief passages in reviews. Please do.

  DISCLAIMER: THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. ANY RESEMBLANCE TO ANY ACTUAL PERSONS, PLACES, THINGS, PSYCHICS, SMALL VIRGINIA TOWNS, SMALL TOWNS, SMALL VIRGINIANS, BED AND BREAKFASTS, VICTORIAN ALIENS, INCIDENTS, WORKS OF ART, PRODUCTS, COMPANIES, RELIGIONS, TELEPORTS, OR ANYTHING ELSE, IS COMPLETELY ACCIDENTAL AND UNINTENDED. SERIOUSLY.

  For more information, visit:

  https://billalive.com/cozy

  But not now. Read the book first.

  Title Page

  A Wonder Springs Cozy Mystery Omnibus: Books 1, 2 & 3

  by

  B.T. Alive

  Murder with a Psychic Touch (Book 1)

  by B.T. Alive

  Part I

  Chapter 1

  The letter wafted the scent of old cedar chests, and lilacs, and spring.

  The address — my address — was penned in a script that was impossibly gorgeous, and the thick, cool, creamy ivory paper gave me a tiny jolt at every touch.

  Not a “magic” kind of jolt. I only get that if I touch… well, you’ll see.

  This was just a feeling of excitement, and curiosity, and maybe a teeny bit of dread. There was no return address.

  If I’d known that by this time tomorrow, I’d be neck-deep in solving a murder, in some tiny town I’d never heard of, with my whole view of what was and wasn’t possible pretty much shattered… would I still have opened that letter?

  Are you kidding? Absolutely.

  Besides, I’d kind of just burned a few bridges here in Philly.

  Not that I was really worried. No way.

  Hence my decision to drop in here at my favorite hipster coffee joint, just as if nothing had happened. Nothing a late-morning latte couldn’t fix.

  There was this lady behind me in line, though, and she was worried. She was an older lady in a cute spring sundress, and she was clutching her purse and creasing her forehead.

  “Hey!” I said, all cheerful. “I love your outfit.”

  Her frown cleared into a gracious smile, and her eyes shone.

  Nice.

  Honestly, her dress looked a bit chilly for April in Philadelphia. But I had to admit that I might just be jealous. When was the last time I’d gotten to wear a sundress?

  I hate it, but I’ve had to get used to long sleeves, long skirts, long pants. To prevent accidents.

  Anyway. Just then, the truth was that I may have had a minor setback, but I was determined to just sit and sip and relax and think, and figure out my next move. Everything was going to be fine.

  “Excuse me, Summer?” said the hunky barista behind the counter, all husky and friendly. He had nice eyes and broad shoulders, and I couldn’t decide whether it was flirty or creepy that he’d snagged my name off my credit card. “I’m really sorry,” he said. “There seems to be a problem with your card.”

  Oh crud. Not again. Not now.

  I’ll be honest. I did consider giving his arm the Magic Touch.

  But I nixed that idea. Sure, the effects might ease my embarrassment, but I’d still have to pay for the coffee.

  Besides, I had no excuse. For a sales rep who pulled in as much as I did, it was just ridiculous that I couldn’t stay on top of my credit cards.

  Plus, I didn’t want to try anything fancy in here; the little coffeeshop was packed with too many other people who might see. The nice sundress lady was watching me with increasing concern.

  “No worries!” I said, and I flashed my best closer smile. “I know I’ve got cash.”

  Actually, all I really knew was that my other cards were definitely maxed out. And the cash section of my Italian leather wallet was currently holding a golden paperclip.

  But I cracked open my cavernous purse and started digging. I’m tenacious.

  And at the very bottom, in the prehistoric bedrock layer of stained pennies and used-up chapstick and ancient receipts possibly dating back to high school, I snatched out a crumpled ten.

  This earned me an approving grin from Mr. Name-Reader. I paid, got my precious change, grabbed the coffee, and scurried to a seat to open my letter.

  I know, I know, I should have saved the letter until after I’d done some planning to conquer my semi-immediate crisis. That would have been some excellent adulting.

  But you’ve got to understand. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gotten any kind of letter. Much less on stationery that could be an invitation to a royal wedding.

  It’s not like I got Christmas cards. Dad’s small family were all dead, and Mom’s family, if she had one, hadn’t written me. Ever.

  Just like her.

  I mean, who even sends cards or letters anymore besides family? During the holidays, I almost couldn’t bear to check my lonely mailbox. I wasn’t just an only child; I was practically an orphan. Aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents… if I had any, I had no idea where they were. And I’d looked.

  The envelope’s paper was so thick and high-quality that I had trouble opening the thing. Or maybe it was just the tremble in my fingers.

  When I did get it open, the first things to slip out brought a stab of disappointment: folded sheets of ordinary printer paper.

  But then I touched a single sheet of sumptuous stationery, also folded once.

  As I opened it, an ornate letterhead shone at the top, but what riveted my gaze was the opening line.

  My dearest Summer—

  Dearest?

  My solar plexus tingled down to my stomach. Who was this? No one had ever called me “dearest”.

  Then the moment was totally ruined.

  At the counter, a harsh male voice snapped, “You forgot your entire wallet?”

  It was Mr. Hunky Barista, scowling. I’d barely recognized his voice.

  The woman in the sundress was bent and digging through her purse, her long gray hair spilling onto cheeks going beet red.

  “I already started making your tea!” the barista barked. “Seriously, do you have dementia?”

  The woman cringed. Like he’d slapped her.

  “Hey!” I called.

  The jerk startled and caught my eye. As I marched over, he flushed and looked down. “Sorry, it’s just, the manager—”

  “Don’t you dare apologize to me,” I said. I slapped down the rest of my last ten.

  It was a grand gesture, but I did feel a slight twinge, that being pretty much all my cash. No, wait, I had some at home. Probably.

  “Come on,” I told the woman. “Sit with me.” I patted her back (the dress material was thin, but enough to protect her) and I ushered her toward my booth.

  Her eyes were wet, and her thin lips were clenched all wrong. I felt guilty for not doing more to ease her pain, but there really were a lot of people around.

  “Listen, that guy’s a turd,” I said. “Forget it.”

  “I know, I should,” she said, and the grief in her trembly voice tore my heart. “But my husband… he did. Have dementia.”

  That did it.

  I whispered, “Forget it.”

  And I clasped her bare hand.

  She had cold, soft, old-person skin. The veins on the back of her hand moved gently beneath my thumb.

  But I felt the jolt. Like a static shock.

  The woman blinked and looked confused. But her upset flush began
to fade.

  How did I feel? A little trembly myself… I never get used to the Touch.

  Gently I guided her into the opposite bench at my booth. “Thank you for sitting with me!” I chirped, with practiced ease.

  She was still looking lost. She glanced down at her tea in surprise; she probably didn’t remember ordering it. “You’ll have to forgive me,” she said. “I’m feeling a bit… spacey…”

  I brushed this aside with a genial wave. “I don’t blame you, I’ve been talking your ear off! Don’t think I even gave you my name.” (Cue the killer smile.) “Summer Sassafras.”

  “Oh, what a lovely name!” she said, like she really meant it. “I’m Sheila. So nice to meet you.” She held out her hand.

  But I jerked my hand back, cranking up the smile wattage. “Sorry, I’m still getting over a cold,” I lied. “Oh look, your tea’s ready.”

  Thankfully, the barista had slunk off and was nowhere in sight. As Sheila went to retrieve her drink from the empty counter, I finally slipped out the letter.

  My dearest Summer—

  I know this may seem sudden, but I wish to extend you an invitation.

  Come to The Inn at Wonder Springs, Virginia.

  I would appreciate if you came at your earliest convenience.

  The matter is somewhat urgent.

  You may be in danger.

  And you deserve to know the truth about your mother’s family.

  —Grandma Meredith

  Gradually, I realized that Sheila was talking at me.

  “Are you all right? Summer? Hello?” she was saying. Somehow she’d come back and I hadn’t even seen her. She looked concerned again, even frightened.

  “I’m fine,” I lied. “Everything’s fine.”

  “Are you sure? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  Chapter 2

  I tried to stay calm.

  Of all the surprises in that bizarre letter, I’d felt the most shock at the final word.

  Meredith.

  At the name, a strange resonance had quivered in my chest, like the tingle of a long-forgotten song.

  Had I heard that name before? Why couldn’t I remember?

  Somehow it felt like long, long ago… like seeing a photo of your toddler self, and the feeling you get from the old front yard in the photo behind you. Do you really remember? Or is it something else… the memory of a memory? The ache for when everything felt real?

  If it hadn’t been for that wisp of memory, as if this woman might be some ancient family friend from back before Mom had left, I’d have chucked the whole thing as an obvious prank.

  I mean, come on. Some random lady just writes me out of nowhere, with hints about “danger” and knowing my mother’s family? The whole thing almost had to be fake.

  And what kind of name was “Wonder Springs”? The town probably didn’t even exist.

  Except, crud, that printer paper that had fallen out was a printout of directions, printed from an ordinary map website. There it was, ridiculously prosaic: Wonder Springs, some tiny town in the mountains of Virginia.

  The directions went straight from my apartment, and the travel estimate was at least five hours west and south from Philly. And the wretched traffic through D.C. and Northern Virginia might add hours more.

  Oddly, “Grandma Meredith” hadn’t thought to leave a phone number. I grabbed my phone to search for this theoretical Inn, so I could at least call and see who I was dealing with.

  And… my phone locked up.

  I dropped it, instantly, so I wouldn’t fry it. My phone clattered to the table.

  The Touch thing really hasn’t been great with tech. I’ve burned through way too many phones.

  I can use tech, sparingly, but when any tech I’m touching locks up, I’ve got seconds or less to break the connection. Otherwise, I’ll do permanent damage.

  It’s kind of sad that I can function in modern society without skin contact, but if I had to stop using electronics, I’d be done.

  I have no idea why electronics are less “sensitive” than people. I can use devices, but only if I stay calm.

  Right now, I was very much not calm.

  If there was even a chance this Meredith woman could help me find my family… I would certainly drive down to Virginia. I’d do much more than that.

  Across the table, Sheila was looking like she really wished she could remember how she’d wound up sitting with this freaked-out Millennial who was now dramatically dropping hardware.

  “Sorry,” I said. “My phone gets hot. I should probably get that looked at—”

  “Is everything all right?” she said.

  “Yes, sorry. It’s just this…” I touched the letter. “A bit unexpected.”

  “Oh?” she said. She eyed the letter with interest. “Such lovely handwriting. What’s it about? If you don’t mind my asking.”

  Or even if I do, I thought.

  I hesitated.

  That’s the problem with not having actual relatives. You catch yourself running decisions past total strangers.

  “It’s an invitation,” I said. “To this Inn down in Virginia.”

  “How nice!” she said. “For when? Will you be able to get the time off work?”

  “No worries there,” I said. “I just quit.”

  (I told you I had a semi-immediate crisis.)

  “You quit?” Sheila said. She pursed her lips with disapproval. Her whole friendly demeanor cooled considerably. “My son’s been trying to find work for months.”

  “Trust me,” I said. “He wouldn’t want to work with Nyle.”

  Nyle.

  I could see him now, grinning his scrawny grin through his overstyled, graying beard. Of all my work rivals over the years, Nyle Pritchett had been my arch-nemesis. The sneaky little creep had been #1 sales rep in our region for eons, probably since I was in high school. And I’d come so close to beating him for the top spot… so close…

  “No workplace is perfect,” Sheila said firmly. “Was this man your boss?”

  “Not until this morning,” I said. “Seriously, he got my promotion. I should have been his boss! I had the numbers. I’d finally beaten him in sales.”

  Her frown was skeptical. “Then why did he get promoted?”

  “Politics!” I said. Which was true, partly.

  Nyle was a wheedler, a crooner; I couldn’t understand the power he had over people, ranging from women who should have been way out of his league to alpha male clients at the top of their game.

  But power he had. That scarecrow with his padded suit shoulders could close a conference room packed with A-level executive piranhas without breaking a sweat. I hated that I’d had to work twice as hard just to be the silver medal to his gold.

  That, and maybe bend a few rules.

  Whatever. At least I’d never have to see that dude again.

  “I see,” said Sheila. “And how will you support your way of life?” This from the woman who would never remember that I’d spent my last few bucks to pay for her tea.

  “Listen, I couldn’t keep working there,” I said. “Taking orders from him? Watching him ride a rocket up the corporate ladder? I’d rather die.”

  “There’s always someone to envy,” Sheila intoned.

  “Yeah, but I don’t have to live with them,” I said.

  I got up. I reached for my phone, then remembered about the Touch and, using the letter, pushed the phone off the table into my purse.

  Sheila raised her eyebrows.

  “Thanks for the chat,” I said. “I’ve got to go, but this has been super clarifying.”

  That was one advantage of running your questions past strangers instead of relatives. You could keep running.

  “And if your son’s any good at selling incredibly complex software contracts to mind-numbingly boring government managers,” I said, politely, as I hoisted up my massive purse onto my shoulder, “I’d be happy to give him a recommendation.”

  “He’s a foot model,” sh
e said, shortly.

  “Oh,” I said. “In that case, I’d be happy to give him my spare toenail clippers. I don’t know why, but I’m always buying an extra pair—”

  “He’s following his dream,” she snapped.

  “I hope he’s wearing comfortable shoes,” I said.

  “Excuse me—”

  “Sorry, that was mean,” I said. “You must get stupid jokes all the time.”

  “I’m very proud—”

  “Goodbye, Sheila,” I said. And I touched her cold hand.

  The jolt hit me harder this time. I’d expected that; I didn’t know much about the Touch, but I’d learned it was better to wait as long as possible between uses to avoid… unpleasantness.

  I decided to jet while she was still sitting there dazed, instead of waiting until she blinked and looked around and wondered who I was all over again. It might seem harsh to leave her in a booth by herself, but it was better this way. In a minute or two, she’d blink, look around, and assume she’d been daydreaming. Alone.

  I’m always amazed at how scary fast we can explain away what we don’t understand.

  Which was maybe what I’d almost done with this letter.

  As I fought the midday traffic back to my apartment, I started to see the bright side of a drive down to the country. True, I knew I should probably be setting up job interviews. Especially considering my maxed-out credit cards and empty purse.

  But what if this nice old Meredith lady was for real?

  I glanced at the letter, which lay where I’d tossed it on my passenger seat.

  And you deserve to know the truth about your mother’s family.

  Come on. Would you have started scouring the job sites?

  Besides, I was getting too excited. If I tried job hunting now, I’d probably fry my laptop.

  I decided to head out right away. I had a full tank of gas, right? Well, enough to get down there. And I had to have some cash in a drawer somewhere. Enough for a short trip. I’d swing home just long enough to pack the essentials… in particular, my cat, the esteemed Mr. Charm.