by Ani Gonzalez
Contents
Back Cover
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Witch Hits the Beach
(Witches of Main Street #5)
The Banshee Creek Witches are headed to the beach! It's not all fun and games, though. Fortuneteller Luanne de la Rue is organizing the Diviners' Association's yearly convention in the quirky coastal town of Mystic Bay, and she's a nervous wreck. Herding black cats has nothing on managing high-maintenance mystics, especially when a star fortune-teller dramatically announces that their idyllic beach weekend will be tainted by murder.
CHAPTER ONE
"IS THAT what you're going to wear?" Luanne La Rue asked, trying to hide her surprise.
"Yes," Fiona Hart exclaimed, grinning as she held up a scrap of cloth. "Don't you love it?"
"It's...small," Luanne stammered, staring at the polka-dotted triangles. The pale yellow fabric was almost a perfect match for Fiona's light blond hair—which, for once, was not neatly tied back in a ponytail and instead hung in loose curls around her smiling face—but the item itself was tiny.
Fiona turned to her other friend in the room. Kat Ramos laughed, her brown eyes twinkling. "At least it won't take up much space."
Fiona laughed, apparently not even a little bit intimidated by her racy beach fashion choice. The prospect of a trip to the beach seemed to have loosened up their uptight friend in more than ways than one. The local candlemaker, it seemed, was ready to color outside the lines.
Luanne sighed, wishing she had the same kind of confidence. Her friends were definitely more excited about this trip than she was.
They were in her living room, and the floor was almost completely covered with bags for their holiday. Some were shopping bags, but most were legitimate pieces of luggage and large ones at that.
The midday sun streamed through the house's stained glass windows, casting colorful shadows over it all. A large yellow garment bag lay on Luanne's lavender velvet sofa and a yellow-and-black plaid rolling suitcase sat next to the chintz-covered wing back chair. Fiona's luggage was cheerfully mismatched, a stark contrast to Kat's perfectly coordinated suitcases, which were all a bright red color.
But both sets were a thousand times superior to Luanne's tattered green duffle bag. Her suitcase game could use an upgrade.
Fiona noticed Luanne's glance at the duffle bag. "Is this all you're bringing?"
"It's only a weekend at the beach," Luanne replied. "How much clothing does one need?"
They both looked at Kat's pile of luggage—one large suitcase, one small suitcase, one garment bag, and one large tote.
The tall, curly-haired store manager shrugged. "It's a professional convention. I have to look good because I'm representing the shop."
Kat managed the Banshee Creek Botánica, the town's premier commercial paranormal establishment. The store carried magical ingredients like herbs and spices, as well as books, crystals, and spiritual statues. It was the most important store in town, and Kat was determined to hold on to that status. That apparently required a large wardrobe.
"It's the Diviners' Association Convention," Luanne said. "There's no need to dress up for just us fortune-tellers. We're pretty laid back."
"Not Walter Farsight," Kat noted, referring to the association's most famous member. "He's quite a snappy dresser."
"How could I forget him?" Luanne asked.
"It's the turban and the rhinestone-flecked suits," Kat said. "I'm taking his business branding class because his flamboyant persona works."
"Walter is an outlier," Luanne replied. "Everyone else will be in casual clothes."
"Wait." Fiona gave Luanne a meaningful glance. "Are you packing lightly because you know exactly what you'll need to wear?"
Luanne winced. "Not at all. You know I can't tell my own fortune. It's just that, except for Walter, we're a casual bunch—leggings, shawls sort of group."
"Don't forget the bikinis." Fiona winked, waving her latest acquisition.
"One," Luanne conceded. "And it's jumbo-sized compared to yours."
And it was accompanied by a voluminous cover-up. Luanne planned to have fun this weekend, which meant food, drink, and loose clothing to cover the inevitable side effects.
"It could hardly be smaller," Kat noted.
"If you've got it, flaunt it." Fiona smirked. "And don't come at me with any of your representing the store excuses. My bikini communicates my store's brand perfectly. It's smoking hot."
Luanne and Kat laughed. Fiona was technically right. Her candle store, Wicked Wicks, was a mecca for flammable wax confections. She sold specialty candles for every occasion and every possible magical and non-magical use, and her divination candles were particularly effective. She would find lots of eager customers at the convention.
Fiona waved at her bikini with dramatic pride. "So this was my purchase for our challenge. It meets all the requirements." She ticked them off her fingers. "It's new, it's perfect for the beach convention, and it's not the kind of thing I usually wear. Now what did you two buy?"
Luanne stifled a groan. The challenge had been Kat's idea. It was supposed to get their spirits up and their creative juices flowing so they could tackle the summer season. It had done wonders for Fiona, but it had had the opposite effect as far as Luanne was concerned. She hated shopping.
Kat raised a brow. "I can see why it's perfect for you, since you are just going to sell some candles and spend the rest of the weekend sunbathing."
"Yep, that's the plan," Fiona said, unrepentant. "But your pitiful attempts at changing the subject will not work. What did you get?"
Kat reached for a glossy bag filled with fancy crepe paper.
Fiona gave a low whistle. "That looks expensive."
"Well, some of us take our duties seriously," Kat said, digging into the bag. "I am not just attending the convention or manning a booth. I will present the first Banshee Creek Lottery winner with his award check." She pulled a shimmering red dress out of the bag. "And I have to look the part."
Fiona gave a low whistle as Kat showed off her purchase. It was a curve-hugging maxi halter dress in a glorious red satin. Kat would look amazing in it.
"Must be some award check," Fiona hummed, eyeing the scrap of fabric.
"Oh, it will be," Luanne muttered.
Her friends turned toward her, frowning in unison.
Luanne cursed under her breath. One of the many problems with being a fortune-teller: everyone assumed her pronouncements had some kind of transcendental significance. But that wasn't always the case. Sometimes she just said the first thing that came to
her mind.
"I mean it's important to the town," she explained. "And to the store."
Kat nodded. "Absolutely. It's the very first prize we hand out, and we are hoping the lottery becomes really popular. It's also a good opportunity to raise the store's profile."
Luanne smiled at her friend's excitement. The town had chosen Kat to present the award and she had been practically bursting with pride since.
"That's great, Kat," Fiona said. "Even if it is kind of weird..."
Fiona's voice trailed off
Kat's eyes narrowed. "What's kind of weird?"
"Never mind," Fiona mumbled changing the subject. "Say that's one gorgeous dress."
"Clever misdirection, but drop it about the dress," Kat insisted. "What do you mean by 'weird'?"
"Well, you know, the winner just happened to be—" Fiona shrugged.
"A fortune-teller," Luanne finished.
Fiona sighed in defeat. "That again."
"It's not illegal, you know," Luanne huffed. "Some people are just lucky. There's nothing wrong with that."
That came out sharper than she intended, but her friends didn't seem to notice.
"In any case," Kat said. "It's not a fortune-teller."
"What?" Fiona and Luanne exclaimed, almost synchronized.
"I don't know the winner's name," Kat said, raising her hands to appease her friends. "But it's not a diviner or anyone I know professionally. I think it may be a paratypical, a regular person."
Fiona's laughter rang through the small house.
"Oh, c'mon," Luanne grumbled. "It's not that funny."
"Actually, it is," Kat said, giggling. "A little."
"Stop mocking my calling," Luanne said, trying not to laugh.
"Please," Fiona wheezed. "It's a convention full of fortune-tellers and the one person who won the lottery was a civilian? Seriously, what does that say?"
Luanne gave in and started laughing. "I guess luck does not discriminate."
"And I'm grateful for it," Kat said. "It wouldn't be as much fun if the winner were a fortune-teller."
"True," Luanne conceded.
"Anyway, that looks fantastic, Kat," Fiona said, eyeing the velvety red fabric. "It's a very fun dress, and speaking of fun," she said, pointing at Luanne, "what did you buy?"
Luanne winced. "I, well, I've been so busy."
"You didn't buy anything?" Kat asked, folding her dress and putting it back in her bag.
"I didn't really need any new clothes," Luanne explained.
"It's not a question of need," Kat countered. "The point of Walter's challenge is to step outside our comfort zones and embrace the unnecessary. We are supposed to enjoy the superfluous, the extra. Loot at Fiona," she gestured towards their friend, "she didn't just step outside her comfort zone. She flew away in a supersonic jet."
Fiona glared at Kat and stuck out her tongue.
"That's Walter's phrase. He likes slogans like that," said Luanne, and then her eyes widened. "Wait, you got the idea for this challenge from Walter?"
Kat nodded. "It's from his last book, Reach for the Stars. It teaches you how to unleash your inner winner."
"Yes," Luanne said, her tone skeptical. "That sounds like him."
Truth be told, she wasn't as enthusiastic about Walter Farsight as her friends were. Sure, he was famous and wealthy, but he was too showy and gimmicky for her taste. His advice could be helpful, but it mostly consisted of clichéd self-help slogans modified for a magic-loving audience. Fortune-telling should be about skills and knowledge, not about attention-grabbing stunts and colorful clothing.
"Aren't you giving a presentation at the convention?" Fiona asked, raising a question brow. "That would merit a new outfit."
"That's taken care of," Luanne said. "I have what I'm going to wear."
"Your old green jacket?" Kat asked, giving her a pitying glance.
Luanne's chin went up. "I love that jacket."
It was green velvet and perfectly serviceable. True, it wasn't as glamorous as the average Walter Farsight outfit, but that wasn't Luanne's style.
"There's also an evening gala," Fiona said.
And the mere thought of it made Luanne's stomach turn. She was not a party person. Luckily, she was prepared.
"I already have a dress," she replied.
"You mean you have a caftan," Kat said, her lips pursing into a sour pucker at the last word.
Luanne aimed a glare at her friend. "It's technically a dress."
"Even Elizabeth Taylor didn't look good in a caftan," Kat responded. "And she tried for years."
Kat had a point, but the caftan was comfortable and it fit Luanne's profession. A pair of sandals, some beads—boom, done. What could be better than that?
"Will Sean be there?" Kat asked in a disapproving tone.
"Yes," Luanne admitted. "But Sean doesn't care about clothes."
Luanne's boyfriend, Sean Stickley, was the Banshee Creek sheriff and he had bigger issues to worry about than her well-worn green jacket and cozy caftan. He was a presenter at the convention, and, as always, he took his duties seriously. As the Sheriff of Banshee Creek, he had a lot of experience with the legal aspects of paranormal-themed businesses, and thanks to the enactment of a couple of new legal regimes in the mid-Atlantic area, his talk was already fully booked.
"A couple's getaway would be nice," Fiona said. "Not that Kat and I won't miss you during our wild girls' weekend."
Luanne replied with a nervous smile. Fiona was right, a beach weekend with Sean sounded wonderful.
But there was something off. She couldn't quite put it into words, but something about this weekend was making her nervous, and it wasn't just the prospect of a party hanging like a dark cloud over the horizon.
Maybe it was just nerves because this was her first time as an organizer. It meant a lot to her that the president of the association, Morgana Shaw, had appointed her to be part of the convention's planning committee. The association had helped her rebuild her life after her dreadful experience trading stocks in Wall Street—the federal authorities, it turned out, could not tell the difference between gifted fortune-telling and insider trading—and she appreciated the chance to give back. The promotion had been less glamorous than advertised, and Luanne had spent weeks doing grunt work. Still, the association had given Luanne her first big break, and she was happy to pay it back. Maybe it was normal to be nervous.
"I'll drink your share of margaritas," Kat offered.
"Thank you," Luanne said. "I owe you one."
Kat's lips curved into a mischievous smile. "Actually, you do," she said as she reached for another bag, "but it has nothing to do with cocktails."
Luanne cringed. She didn't need to be a fortune-teller to know what was coming. Kat did not give up easily.
"I figured you'd try to avoid the challenge," her friend said with a smile. "And I really do think Walter Farsight's strategies can help you break out of your shell and find your inner fabulousness. That's why I bought you a little something."
Luanne stared at the bag, a pit of dread opening in her stomach.
CHAPTER TWO
"YOU KNOW." Gavin Mackay leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. "Most people would enjoy a few days at the beach."
"Giving a presentation on the legal regulation of fortune-telling to a gaggle of eccentric soothsayers?" Sean asked, brows raised. "Why would I not be thrilled at that prospect?"
They were in the Sheriff's Department conference room, going over said conference. Sean sighed as the tall, brown-haired firefighter sitting across from him tilted back his chair, eyes narrowed as he inspected the presentation slides proceed on the wall.
Sean wasn't quite sure why he had asked for the Fire Chief's input. This kind of thing should be routine by now. As sheriff of The Most Haunted Town in the USA, Sean was the regional authority on law enforcement and the paranormal, but, somehow, he was still nervous about this one presentation. Something about it made his spider sense tingle.
That was no exaggeration. Mystic Bay, Maryland was a Chesapeake Bay hamlet with a few thousand residents and tens of thousands of tourists. Founded in 1875, it started as a Spiritualist camp when famed medium Lillian Hale was told by her Spirit guide, Natchez, that she should travel south to establish an oceanfront retreat for the psychically gifted.
What started with a couple of tents and gypsy-style trailers on a lonely beach soon turned into a bustling village with a hotel, vegetarian restaurants, and enough mediums and fortune-tellers to create a bustling community. Mystic Bay had even gained recognition as a state-recognized historic district. Banshee Creek couldn't claim that, although the local paranormal investigations group—PRoVE, short for Paranormal Research of Virginia Enterprises—was working on it.
"Have you been there?" Sean asked.
Gavin nodded. "We had an exchange with their Fire Department a few years ago. They have a beautiful sandy beach with striking sunsets and fantastic crab cakes. The monster boat tours are a lot of fun too."
"The what?" Sean asked, dreading his friend's answer.
"The Chessie hunts," Gavin replied. "You know, like Nessie, the Lock Ness Monster? You can go out and hunt for Chessie, and if you drink enough Old Bay Bloody Marys, you may even get to see her."
Sean winced. Monster hunts. He should have known.
Gavin gave him a sympathetic glance. "I guess trading ghost hunts for monster hunts doesn't make for much of a vacation." He nodded towards the screen wall. "Look on the bright side, at least you're getting some help."
Sean glanced back at the slide on the screen, which included a picture of an unsmiling brunette in police uniform. She was short and freckled, but had a no-nonsense air about her. "You mean the town sheriff, Mary-Louise Reynard?"
"Yes. She seems quite competent"
Sean nodded. "Indeed. She did most of the work on our slides and even knows the difference between scrying and divining."