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

by B. T. Alive

  The man approached, and his over-groomed appearance matched his voice. He looked to be late thirties, maybe early forties, and though his hair was prematurely gray, he had parted and gelled it with a stylish short young cut. He wasn’t handsome, really, but his summer “casual wear” outfit looked expensive enough to make a confident entrance at any country club in Northern Virginia.

  I instantly hated him.

  Or at least, I felt a strong inclination to dislike. In my old life in Philly, I’d endured endless sales meetings with exactly this type. They could gleefully blabber through hours of your life, then close the meeting with a firm “maybe”.

  On the plus side, he wasn’t going to kill me. Probably.

  “I’m sorry if you were startled,” he said, as he got close enough to inflict his cologne. Although he’d speed-walked over here, he hadn’t broken a sweat. He gave me a quick, appraising look. “I’m a tourist, must have wandered in here by mistake,” he added, with an ingratiating smile. “I’ve been driving all day, just got here ten minutes ago.”

  Behind me, a new voice said, “Really? Then why do your feet hurt?”

  Ah. That would be Tina.

  As you know, Tina’s my cousin. I’d never really had a best friend, but over the several weeks since I’d arrived in Wonder Springs, she’d been edging perilously close to “bestie” status.

  Solving that murder together had probably helped. Also nearly dying in that elevator. (Shared trauma leads to bonding? Who knew?)

  Also, like her mom, Tina happens to be an empath. Which meant that if this dude’s feet hurt, her feet hurt.

  With a slight wince, Tina took a tough stance at my side, with arms crossed and a firm glare at the intruder.

  For his part, the guy took in Tina with open surprise. Like most men, he pretty much failed to conceal his appreciation for her short, perky, curvy frame, her wide, dark eyes, and her heart-shaped face framed by bountiful black hair and bangs that were criminally cute.

  Not that I was jealous.

  No, seriously. I had been, but I was over it. Jealousy would be petty when I had Cade.

  Anyway, after his initial transcendent encounter had subsided, the intruder managed to process what she’d actually said.

  “What did you say?” he said. “About my feet?”

  Tina winced again, harder. “Seriously, have you been walking all day?” she said. But then her glare softened to concern. “If you come up to the Inn, we can get you a footbath.”

  “You can?” he said. “That sounds amazing.”

  “Tina!” I snapped. “It’s dark, this creep’s been sneaking around the orchard, and he just lied about it.”

  “Oh, right!” she said. She scrunched her face in a scowl. Sort of. Her face wasn’t used to it, so she looked not so much “threatening” as “mildly constipated”.

  I, however, was a natural scowler. “Listen, mister,” I said. “We have no idea who you are.”

  He scowled right back, with a sudden menace that made the skin of my neck crawl. In a low growl, he muttered, “You want to know who I am?”

  He reached for an inside pocket in his sport coat.

  I froze.

  And a gigantic bloodhound exploded past me and lunged at the guy, roaring deep-throated barks like the boom of a cannon.

  Chapter 4

  “Jake!” I cried. “Down! We can handle this!”

  But the dog kept barking like the world was on fire.

  And the intruder freaked out and ran off into the woods.

  Secretly, I felt a bit trembly with gratitude. Yes, I’d been in a tight spot or two a couple of months back, but I had no idea how to defend myself if some stranger pulled a gun.

  However, the last thing I needed was for Sheriff Jake Jackson to start playing bodyguard for me every night.

  Yes, the bloodhound is our sheriff.

  At least, he is when he’s in human form. I don’t know all the legal ins and outs, which probably don’t come up much because the whole shifter thing is, like all the rest of these powers, supposedly top secret.

  He’s also Cade’s dad. Yes, it’s weird.

  I don’t even see Sheriff Jake as a dog that often, but as he stood there panting now, something seemed… off.

  His eyes, which looked so unnaturally large and human that I couldn’t believe that anyone would really think he was just a dog, were bloodshot and encrusted at the corners. His nose was wet and runny, and as I watched, he rasped in a cough.

  “Jake?” Tina said, with concern. “Are you feeling all right?” She crouched and reached to scratch behind his ears.

  But he loped off into the woods after the vanished intruder.

  “I hope he’s all right,” Tina said, as she stood. “I’ve never seen him like that.”

  “I’m sure he’s fine,” I lied. “I don’t know why he had to butt in.”

  Tina arched an eyebrow and smiled.

  “I mean it!” I said, castigating myself that after all this time, I still haven’t learned how pointless it is to try to hide how I’m feeling from an empath. “Okay, yes, I’m glad that dude didn’t hurt us, but I wanted to know what he was doing here.”

  “Why?” Tina said. “What’s the big deal?”

  “Because a very old man just threw down a creepy prophecy.”

  I told her the whole thing, repeating the rhymey lines of doom word-for-word. As I talked it through, standing out here in the cooling night, the trees now seemed all brooding in the dark, and the old man’s words even more fraught with menace.

  But Tina shrugged.

  “You said this was Mr. Wilson?” she said. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

  “Really?” I said. “So he doesn’t prophesy for real?”

  “No! Not usually.”

  “Usually?”

  “He’s an amateur. He never trained,” she said. “I don’t think he even believes it himself. From what Mom told me, he’s only ever versified when his conscious mind was blocked.”

  “You mean, like, drunk?”

  “Or super sleepy. Although Mom did say he used to have a drinking problem, but he quit stone cold after that one Fourth of July in the Seventies when he told everyone Nixon would resign.”

  “But Nixon did resign,” I said.

  “I know! But Mr. Wilson really liked him. I guess he decided that telling the future might be super depressing.”

  “How is this supposed to be reassuring?” I said. “It sounds like getting zapped into a daze is exactly when he would tell the future.”

  “Sure, that’s true.”

  “But he predicted a murder, Tina! How can you say not to worry?”

  “Because it’s super vague! Sure, I’ll pass it on to Mom and Grandma, just in case, but Grandma hates a vague prediction, even when she dreams it herself. It’s not like you can do anything about it.”

  “I’ve got to do something,” I said. “I can’t just sit around helpless!”

  Tina cocked her head and studied me, her wide, dark eyes alert and still.

  Then a wince of empathy flashed across her face. “Oh, Summer,” she said, brimming with compassion. “Are you really that worried about Cade and Ms. Graves?”

  I groaned in frustration. “What, you read thoughts now, too? I thought you only got feelings!”

  “It’s a really specific feeling,” Tina said, gently. “And you’ve had it before.”

  “Great,” I said. “It’s not easy being besties with an empath.”

  “Oh, I know!” she said, her sympathy utterly sincere. “Mine’s my mom.”

  “Tina, look,” I said. “I know you think Una’s just this lonely old lady who treats Cade like the son she never had—”

  Tina’s eyes went wide. “You were going to confront her?”

  “Tina! How could you possibly feel that?”

  “I don’t need empathy, it’s obvious,” she said. “You’re all worked up, and where else would you be going on this path?”

  “You’re here.”<
br />
  Tina waved a dismissive hand. “You know I go for night walks all the time.”

  “But—”

  “Oh! And you were meeting him tonight, weren’t you? And he canceled? Oh, Summer. I’m so sorry.”

  “You are,” I said. “But what about Cade?”

  “Summer, trust me. He hates all this weirdness too.”

  “What? Did he tell you that?” I said.

  I admit, sometimes I wished that Cade wasn’t quite so close with my gorgeous cousin.

  But I knew I was being stupid. Cade and Tina had been friends since they were kids. And against all odds, Cade really did want me.

  Just not enough to deal with Una.

  “He didn’t have to tell me anything,” Tina said. “Can’t you see it? If Cade alienates Una, he won’t just lose his job and his free rent. He’ll lose this orchard. He’d be devastated.”

  “She’s not worth it,” I said. “There’s other orchards.”

  “Summer. He’s been here for years. He planted the newer trees with his own hands. And you’ve seen how he… heals them…”

  “I know, I know!” I snapped. Normally I loved thinking about Cade’s secret power, and how he chose to use it here in solitude and peace. But now those very trees, which had first seemed so welcoming and then shifted to a brooding threat, at last felt smothering, as needy as Una herself, greedy to keep Cade all their own.

  Suddenly, I couldn’t stay stifled under these branches. “I got to go,” I muttered, and I turned back the way I’d come, striding down the path toward Main Street.

  Without a word, Tina walked by my side.

  We passed through the alley and turned onto Main Street, walking on the cobblestones up the slope toward the Inn. In the night, the shops on either side seemed to light the way like courtiers holding lamps, with the Inn seated glittering on its throne.

  Even though I’d been seeing the Inn now for months, not to mention that I was upset, the sight could still catch my heart: the wide, round plaza, the exultant fountain, and the sparkling wonder of the Inn itself, with its banks of high windows gleaming lights of welcome, and the whimsical towers lifting their secrets to the sky.

  “You do know the orchard’s failing, right? As a business?” Tina said, completely frying my Inn buzz. “She’s basically paying him to stay around.”

  “And live in her house,” I said.

  “In a separate room! On a separate floor,” she said.

  “She’s old enough to be his mother.”

  Quietly, Tina said, “And you know what happened to his actual mother.”

  Yes, I knew. My own mother may have walked out on me and broken all contact before I was old enough for kindergarten, but at least she might be alive somewhere. Cade’s mother had died. Of cancer. When he was still a kid.

  Which would have been traumatic for any kid. But Cade had this extra layer of guilt, due to his particular… abilities.

  “All I’m saying,” Tina said, “is that it’s a tough situation all around. For you too. But he’ll make it work. You can trust him.”

  “I hate trust,” I snapped.

  Tina faltered back, caught off-guard by my vehement response. I was surprised myself. We’d reached the plaza fountain, and we stood there eyeing each other, the gurgling water absurdly cheerful.

  “I mean it,” I said. “I mean, who trusts me? Just this morning, Grandma gave me all this ‘helpful’ advice about how my sales course was way overpriced for Wonder Springs. She doesn’t trust me. She thinks I’m twelve and that my seminar’s going to bomb.”

  “What? Come on, you’ll do great,” Tina said. “I’ll bet you sign up half the town.”

  A warmth surged in my chest, and a muscle in my lower back unclenched that I hadn’t even known was tight. Maybe, on top of the Una thing and the possibly-unpreventable-murder thing, I was more stressed about this free “masterclass” tomorrow night than I was willing to admit.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Of course,” she said. “Besides, what’s the worst that can happen? Even if you blow it, you’re totally safe.”

  “Tina!” That back muscle seized up again, hard as rock. “I’m not safe. I’m dependent. I hate feeling so helpless.”

  Tina frowned. “How are you helpless? You’re staying and eating at the Inn for free. Just like me and Mom and—”

  “Yes, I know, it’s a sweet deal, Tina. Living off Grandma’s largesse. I’m grateful, okay? This place is amazing. But she could change her mind tomorrow.”

  “Summer!” Tina said, horrified. “She’s not just being nice. She needs us. You and I are in training, and Mom and Uncle Barnaby work all night, every night, and anyway, you’re family.”

  “That’s not how my family worked,” I muttered.

  Tina looked crestfallen.

  Finding your long-lost relatives in your late twenties… it’s complicated.

  Tina sat on the low stone rim around the fountain. The water, sparkling in the moon and the fountain lights, splashed against the stone like a puppy calling her to play. But she frowned with thought.

  “I really don’t understand,” she said at last. “You’re actually worried about money?”

  “Haven’t you noticed that I’m still borrowing your skirts?” I said. “Sure, I’m not going to starve, but I’m drowning with the minimum payments on my old credit card debt. I work nearly minimum wage all day, and for what? To pay off my mountain of treasures that got burned down.”

  In case you forgot: I only came to Wonder Springs in the first place because my creepy Great-Uncle Vincent dispatched my also-creepy Uncle Enoch (yes, they’re both my actual relatives… this family, I swear…) to my apartment to recruit me for his Grand Cause.

  (Well, also, Grandma had finally found me and written me a nice letter.)

  Since Uncle Enoch’s pitch included wilting my plant, threatening to strangle my cat, and nearly giving me skin cancer where he grabbed my wrist, I declined his job offer.

  In retaliation, my uncle burned my entire apartment down.

  And if you ask whether I had renter’s insurance… seriously, I will slap you upside the head. And then zap the memory.

  I was too busy maxing out my credit cards, okay? When you make six figures but you can’t touch anyone, shopping sprees are a valid life strategy. Not that I’m saying they work.

  “I thought you had those payments under control,” Tina said, worried.

  “I do! They’re fine.”

  “Did you talk about this with Grandma? Maybe she could—”

  “I don’t want her to fix it, Tina!”

  “Why not? I’m sure she has enough—”

  “I want enough! I want enough to take care of myself, by myself. I swear, if I won the lottery, I would put it all in bonds and live on rice and beans and one-percent interest and never need a handout again.”

  Tina wilted a little.

  Then she brightened, and she stood up.

  “If it means that much to you,” she said, “I’ll come.”

  “What?” I said. “Come to what?”

  “Your class!” she said. “Obviously.”

  “Um,” I said, unsure how to take this. “What exactly are you thinking?”

  “Oh, come on,” she said. “Can’t you use an empath?”

  Oh. Oh.

  At first, I tried to resist the idea. What was the point of speechifying about never needing anyone again if two seconds later my cousin was going to leverage her secret power to help me close sales?

  But then I got over it.

  When we were solving murders together, Tina’s empathy was one of our strongest assets. She could sense a suspect’s secrets like no one else. Having that power in the sales room could be amazing.

  Tina beamed. “I’m feeling a yes here.”

  “Okay, okay,” I said. “Thank you.”

  “Yay!” She clapped (for real) and bounced on her toes. “This’ll be so fun! We’ll have to work out some signs. How about semaphore? Yo
u know, those signals they do with the flags? We’d have to use our arms—”

  “No,” I said.

  But in spite of myself, I was grinning. Tina could get excited about anything if it mattered to the people she cared about. And even though she personally might not get my visceral craving for an independent income stream, she’d do her absolute best to help me fill my new course. I could trust her on that.

  Trust.

  Murder lurks in one you trust.

  “Summer, are you cold?” Tina said. “Did you just shiver?”

  I was starting to wish I’d never met that Mr. Wilson.

  Maybe I’d never see him again.

  (Right…)

  Chapter 5

  That night, I slept badly. I don’t usually get nightmares, but when they come, they make up for lost time with a vengeance.

  But when I woke the next morning, my spirits got a gentle lift.

  For starters, my room at the Inn always raises my spirits. It’s like stepping back in time to a tiny Regency boudoir… it has deep-silled windows with diamond-paned glass, a luscious old cherry headboard and matching dresser, both curiously carved, and one whole corner is a reading nook by a window, with a built-in seat and shelves overflowing with old hardcover classics.

  But far more important is my beloved cat, Mr. Charm.

  Mr. Charm is a beautiful, conceited, lazy Ragdoll. (No really, that’s his actual breed: “Ragdoll”.) Ever since we’d come here, he’d spent an astounding amount of his time lounging in the adorable basket bed that crowned our cherry dresser.

  Now, as I looked over, he cracked open an eye my way, stretched, and then leapt lightly to the vintage hardwood floor and up again onto my bed. He curled his warm body onto my chest and nuzzled my cheek, purring like the crackle of a hearth.

  I love that cat.

  And no, touching him never seems to zap him or wipe his memory, and all I feel is calm. If it weren’t for Mr. Charm, the isolation of the Touch might have withered me to a lonely husk.

  “Let’s get you some food,” I said, and I picked him up and cradled him in one arm as I went to my cabinet. “What do you think, Charm? I’m going to rock this class tonight, right?”