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

by B. T. Alive

  Gold inflames a heart with lust,

  Murder lurks in one you trust.

  My full-body gold rush died, and a terrifying dread prickled all over my skin.

  Old Wilson hadn’t been talking about Harriet. He’d been talking about me.

  Who else did I trust more than myself?

  And I was standing here thinking exactly like Harriet, ready to let the mindless bloodhound tear her into shreds. All I could see was all that gold, so close… and no people in the way. Only things.

  Damn it.

  “Jake!” I called. My voice cracked, but I called again, “Jake! Down! She’s one of us.”

  That’s how Aunt Helen had called him off me, on that first night when I’d gotten to Wonder Springs and this big scary bloodhound had growled in my face. One of us. Even Harriet was still human.

  Besides… how would I have ever explained my new wealth to Grandma and Tina and Cade? To my whole new family that was loving me for free?

  “Jake!” I snapped. “I mean it! Now!”

  The bloodhound huffed, like a forceful half-sneeze, and then he finally released her like a limp rubber chicken. His rage seemed to evaporate. He sauntered over toward me, his tail power-wagging, whimpering a little like he expected a treat. He seemed entirely doggish; even his eyes were dull.

  “Oh boy,” I said. “I really hope we can fix you, Jake.”

  He gave a cheerful yip.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” I said. “Actually, I’ll take that as, I have no idea what you’re saying, because you fried my brain and now I’m totally a dog, and everyone’s going to kill you.”

  “What did you do to him?” Harriet rasped. She was still lying prone, with her bloody hand pressed against her side, and she was rubbing her throat with her other hand and coughing hard. “That… monster…”

  “Hey,” I said, and I walked over. “You all right?”

  “I… think so…”

  “Great,” I said, and I zapped her freaking ass unconscious.

  Chapter 41

  Zapping someone unconscious is fairly painful for me, so as I sat on the stone and rested, and waited for my arm to stop feeling like it was on fire, I planned my next move.

  I didn’t know for sure how long Harriet would stay out. I had nothing to tie her up with, not even in my purse… unless you counted the sheriff’s discarded clothes. Hmm.

  Turned out, he’d been wearing these long, old man dress socks. It took me awhile, and way too many accidental zaps that only got increasingly painful, but I did manage to tie Harriet’s ankles together and her hands behind her back. I had no idea if my knots would hold forever, but that would have to last her until I sent back reinforcements.

  “Long day, Harriet,” I said. “Who would have thought when you woke up this morning that you’d be waking up again in Sheriff Jake’s unmentionables?”

  Actually, I was the one stuck retrieving the old dude’s unmentionables, as well as his pants, hat, tool belt, gun, and, lastly, his shirt, when I finally got it off him. For the record, trying to unbutton a man’s dress shirt from an active bloodhound, while avoiding any and all skin contact with said bloodhound, should be an Olympic sport.

  On this occasion, I would not have gotten a medal. I only did touch him a few times, but he jolted hard each time. Every accidental touch seemed to destabilize him worse. He was mostly dog, but not quite, and even in the dim light I could catch the sudden sporadic shifts of his confused body: here a furry shoulder balding to skin, there a human ear reverting to the dog. Honestly, it was incredibly disturbing. By the time I’d gotten the dumb shirt off, he was still mainly dog, but his eyes were starting to look human again. Also, he had sprouted a fringe of short gray hair across his furry scalp.

  “That’s pretty freaking weird,” I said, as I piled his old man stuff into an armload I could carry. “I think you need a long vacation.”

  He yipped.

  I helped myself to Harriet’s handy-dandy helmet light, and I also thought it prudent to bring along her long gun. It was so massive that I had to I drape it over my arm and keep it pointed at the floor, like some British dude at a foxhunt.

  “Jake! Get back!” I snapped, as he pranced around sniffing at my new toy. “Are you trying to get shot?”

  He backed off.

  Finally, I approached the open coffin, and I took one last loving look at the golden pile of Jamie’s unimaginable wealth.

  I may or may not have considered slipping a bar or two into my purse. Finder’s fee, right?

  But Jake’s ears were starting to turn human and old-mannish on his doggy head, and his gaze was getting uncomfortably alert, even judgy.

  “Hey,” I said. “It’s not a crime to look.” Then, with a sigh, I heaved up the lid, and I slammed the coffin shut.

  Too late, I realized that the noise might have woken Harriet. But no, she was still passed out, rasping her slow, sad breaths.

  Just in case, I made sure to click that padlock closed. And I shoved the keys deep into my purse.

  “I wonder why they used a coffin,” I mused. “I guess, if you’re going to stash your hoard in a secret tunnel, you might as well try one last trick to hide it.”

  Jake trotted to the tunnel entrance where we’d crawled in, and he yipped, impatient.

  “Okay, okay,” I said. “You first.”

  Although my companion was a dog, sort of, the way back was pretty much easy. I had the bright light from the helmet, and the flares were showing the way, and every new step took us farther from the murderer, who was passed out and hogtied in socks. It’s amazing how the little things can boost your mood.

  But when we finally got back to the door into the basement, we didn’t quite get the welcome I’d expected.

  “Help!” Jamie shrieked, ducking behind Tina and clutching her shoulders. “The killer! She’s got a gun!”

  “It’s me, you nitwit!” I said. “Everything’s fine!”

  “Really?” she said, peeking out.

  At this point, Sheriff Jake, who’d fallen behind at the last minute to sniff out a particularly fascinating chunk of rock, leapt into the room. His tail was wagging, his tongue was dangling, and rather a lot of his nose and jaw had reverted to human. Oh, and he’d sprouted back his mustache.

  “OH… MY… GAWWWW—” Jamie screamed. She might still be screaming, if I hadn’t zapped her out. She pitched forward and slumped into Tina.

  “Are you sure that was necessary?” Tina said, as she struggled to lay Jamie down gently on the concrete.

  “Oh, you want to let her remember that?” I said, nodding at the… whatever, at Jake. “Jake!” I said. “No! No licking Jamie’s face!”

  Tina studied the creature with a long look, and her nose wrinkled in disgust. (Note: it takes a lot to gross Tina out.) Then her eyes widened. “Oh no! Did you touch him?”

  “You all could have warned me!” I snapped.

  “I thought he had!” Tina said. “Come on, we’d better take him to Cade!”

  “I’ll do it,” I said. “I need you to call those state troopers. We caught the murderer.”

  “Yay! I was wondering about that gun!” she cried. Then she frowned, anxious. “But who was it? Not Elaine, right?”

  “Harriet.”

  “It was Harriet?” she gasped.

  “She’s a telepath.”

  “Ohhhhhh,” Tina said. She nodded, her face dawning with understanding. “A telepath. Wow. That actually explains a lot. She really has always been a bit of jerk. Super into gossip.”

  “I’m so glad you approve,” I said. “And I need those troopers to go down there and get her right now. Before she wakes up, unties herself, and does some other gossipy thing like kill someone. Tell them to follow the flares.”

  “On it,” she said. She pulled out her phone, then paused. “You’re sure it was Harriet? I mean, why? And how?”

  “She read Una’s mind,” I said, “while she was doing Una’s hair and chatting her up in her salon. She read
it all: Una’s fight with Cade, and how she was changing the will, and probably even her plans to go on a bender that night while Cade was out with me. Harriet had to act lightning fast; if she killed Una that night, she could frame Cade. He wouldn’t know yet that Una had already changed the will, but since she’d told him that she planned to, he had a massive motive to kill her first.”

  “Right,” Tina said. “So Harriet knew that Cade would be gone and that Una would be drunk. She could just steal Mr. Wilson’s truck, climb up the ladder, and sneak in Cade’s open window. But still, why? What did she get out of it? Is she related?”

  “No. She called up Paris and cut a deal. Later, Paris tried to back out; Harriet must have convinced her to ‘talk it over’ in the park, and then walked her up and shoved her over the cliff. But in Harriet’s original plan, Paris made sure not to fly in here until after Una was dead. In fact, Paris even conned that random airline dude into taking a selfie with her to prove she couldn’t have been in Wonder Springs.”

  “But what was their deal all about?” Tina said. “The land?”

  “Kind of,” I said. “Harriet told Paris she wanted the land for her salon.”

  “Didn’t she? Why else would she want this property?”

  “Because down in that tunnel, there a coffin full of gold.”

  Tina gaped. “Gold?”

  “Yeah. Like, millions.” I sighed.

  “Hey,” she said. “Don’t feel like that.”

  “Ugh,” I said. “Could you not—”

  “You wouldn’t want that gold,” Tina said, dead serious. “Jamie and I went through all these notebooks here. The Graves fortune… it was all old tobacco plantations. Hundreds of slaves. Then, before the Civil War cratered the southern economy, they sold everything off at premium prices. After that, they kept their fortune in safe, quiet investments… none of them ever worked again.”

  “Yikes,” I said. I glanced at Jamie, who was lying on the floor and still looking haunted. “How’d she take all that?”

  Tina shook her head.

  I wasn’t quite sure what that was supposed to mean, but Jake started growl-muttering something that sounded like soup, so I ditched the helmet and gun and I hustled him up the stairs with Tina. At the front door, as she rang up the state troopers, she promised she’d be along shortly, as soon as she’d shown the troopers the way down to the tunnel.

  I was still carrying an armload of sheriff paraphernalia, and it turns out that it is not so easy to walk an excitable, partially shifted bloodhound home when your hands are full and you’re not supposed to touch him anyway. Not to mention that you have to sneak him around all these back ways and alleys to avoid scarring one of our fine residents or tourists for life.

  (You might ask, Couldn’t you just wipe their memory if anyone saw? Good question. The problem is, you can’t zap more than one person at a time. With multiple witnesses, things get dicey fast.)

  It must have taken more than a half hour, but at last, I snuck Jake into the back door at the police station. The second we got inside, he howled and ran off, heading straight for Cade’s cell.

  I hustled after him. At the front desk, Imelda was gaping as he passed.

  “My fault!” I called, as I rushed past. “Fixing it!”

  I burst into Cade’s cell room… and our gazes locked. He was gripping the bars, watching me like he’d been waiting for me, like he’d missed me more than he could say.

  Wow. I’d missed him too. At least, judging from the lurch in my pulse.

  Then Cade’s gaze fell to his morphing dad.

  “You touched him,” Cade said.

  “Why didn’t you tell me this would happen?” I snapped. “Why does nobody tell me these things?”

  Cade crouched, took a deep breath, and reached his hands through the bars toward his father, who was currently a dog-man creature that was yipping and prancing and snuffling a dog’s nose over a big, bushy mustache. The shifting mix of dog and man was making my stomach hurt, especially the human ears and eyes embedded in the furry dog skull.

  “If I’d had any idea my Touch would do that…” I said. “I mean, okay, Harriet was pointing a gun—”

  “Harriet?” Cade looked up, distracted. “The hair dresser?”

  “Yeah, yeah, she’s the murderer. Old news,” I said.

  “Harriet?” Cade said again. “I mean, she has always been kind of a—”

  “Can you just heal him?” I said.

  “I don’t know.” Cade frowned with concentration, and he reached to place a hand on his father’s furry back. “He was already sick to begin with. He’s very… disrupted. I’ve never seen him look anything like this.”

  Slowly Cade rubbed the furry back, and then he held his other hand over Jake’s head. The creature was restless, whimpering and squirming. “Shhhh,” Cade soothed. Softly, he began to sing.

  But Jake only squirmed harder. Soon, Cade stopped.

  “Are you okay?” I said. “You look exhausted.”

  “He’s resisting,” Cade said. He rested his forehead against the bar; he was breathing like he’d sprinted a mile. “It’s a lot.”

  “Can I get you help?” I said. “Tina should be here any minute.”

  Cade managed a smile. “You sure you don’t mind?”

  “Of course not,” I said. “Why would I mind my gorgeous cousin feeling up your back?”

  He rolled his eyes. “It’s only because of my chakra—”

  “How’s the sheriff?” Tina said, rushing in. She took in both Jake’s and Cade’s conditions with a glance, and then she crouched at Cade’s side, her face grim. “How are you? You need a break?”

  “Just had one,” Cade said. “Let’s go.”

  Tina slid her hand up onto Cade’s bare back, and she closed her eyes. As Cade gently touched his morphing father and again began to sing, I realized that I was hardly twinging that she got to be the one to touch Cade.

  See? I wasn’t a bad person. All it took to get me out of my own head was a near-death crisis that was basically my fault.

  “It’s not working,” Cade panted. He was looking haggard, with bags forming under his eyes and lines creasing in his forehead and cheeks. “It’s not enough.”

  “Can’t I do something?” I said. “Who else can I get?”

  “Now what is all this?” said Grandma Meredith.

  She was standing in the doorway, arms akimbo. But before anyone could even start to explain, she had rushed to Cade’s side and slipped her own hand through the bars and up his shirt onto his back.

  “You might as well take that shirt off,” I said.

  “Summer,” Grandma snapped. Her face was clenched with concentration.

  The three of them held together, and Cade sang a strange and mournful tune that made me feel like I had lived for many decades, each shorter than the last, and I had lost the one I loved, and now I always knew that I was powerless to show the depth of my caring for those I loved the most.

  Was that how it felt to be the sheriff?

  It must have been. Because the sheriff began to return.

  His face and head were first—they’d already been partway there—and though moments ago he’d been panting and squirming and whimpering, all at once he stopped, and he looked around.

  “Well done, son,” he said.

  Then he looked down, at his human skin balding away the fur. His neck and his shoulders were manly again, and the shift was spreading rapidly down his chest.

  “Imelda!” he called. “You might want to bring the blanket.”

  He arched a roguish eyebrow at Grandma.

  Grandma’s eyes snapped with fury. But… was that a tinge of blush in her cheek?

  A strange new vista opened before me. Was it possible? Grandma and… the sheriff? She had rushed over here to make him that soup…

  Tina caught my eye. With a firm shake of her head, she mouthed, Not now.

  Holy moly.

  Imelda clacked in with an enormous, ratty quilt. “H
ere we go!” she said, with the boisterous cheer of a nurse in the children’s ward. Deftly she wrapped the quilt around her boss’s shifting body. “We always keep one on hand,” she added, with a wink at Grandma.

  Grandma’s eyes sparked, possibly literally.

  “How are you feeling, sir?” Imelda asked the sheriff, still jovial and aggressively normal. “That one looked a little tricksy.”

  “Indeed,” said Sheriff Jake, who was now an old, overweight, and yet surprisingly muscular man kneeling on the floor, wrapped from the waist down in a gigantic quilt. He reached through the bars and clasped Cade’s shoulder.

  “Well,” huffed Grandma, powering back up to stand on her heels. “Jake, I suggest you get decent.”

  “Summer brought your uniform,” Tina said.

  The sheriff turned toward me. He looked fairly stern.

  “Right here,” I said, holding out the pile as he rose to his feet. He could still move with startling speed when he wanted to. “Um. Sorry about that touch thing.”

  “Apology accepted,” he rumbled.

  Huh. Apparently we weren’t going to talk about the part where he’d almost ripped out Harriet’s throat. Maybe later.

  “Now,” he said, brisk and all business, despite being shirtless and wrapped in a quilt. “What’s the status on Harriet? And where’s that Jamie Graves woman? Is she safe?”

  “She was right behind me,” Tina said. “I had some trouble waking her up, but—”

  “From what, exactly?” the sheriff said, giving me a sharp look.

  I held up my hands. “Hey, man! No offense, but you made an impression.”

  He frowned.

  “Why is no one telling me anything?” griped Jamie Graves, as she burst into the room with her phone to her ear. “I’ve been calling every number I have and OH… MY… GAWWWWWWD!” she shrieked, shielding her eyes from the bare-chested sheriff with both her outstretched hands.

  The sheriff grinned, and he flicked Grandma a glance. Then he shuffled out the door with his clothes.

  “What was that?” Jamie shrieked. “Is everyone crazy?”

  “No,” said Grandma. “But if you don’t listen very carefully to what I say next, Jamie Graves, you just may wish you were.”