Cryptic Blend

by Kennedy Layne

  Horrible pun, Raven. Just horrible.

  “Who’s Cliff?” Heidi asked, having no idea that Leo and I were exchanging words back and forth like a tennis match.

  “Cliff Meyers,” Liam responded with a quizzical glance, telling me that I should have heard of the man pulling up in a navy-blue car. It could have been a Ford, General Motors, or even a Chevrolet. It was one of those vehicles that just kind of blended together with all the other sedans—very nondescript. “He’s a descendent from the Whitley family, a few times removed. You met him at the New Year’s Eve bash that Oliver and Alison Bend threw at the wax museum.”

  I guess this wasn’t such a good time for my memory loss to kick in, was it?

  Had Leo been anywhere that I could have set my exasperated gaze upon him, I might have even included a pointed finger. I still couldn’t recall a Cliff Meyers, but I’d met quite a few people at the New Year’s Eve party. And yes, I know it’s hard to believe, but Paramour Bay does have a wax museum located on the left-hand side when one drives into town. It was odd in many respects.

  I’d completely forgotten that the oddball is a distant relative of Caroline Abigail Whitley. Maybe it’s because he’s like a wallflower and blends in wherever he goes. I mean, just look at that car.

  Sure enough, I understood exactly what Leo was trying to say when a forty-some-year-old man with average features, average height, and an average smile stepped out of his average vehicle. There wasn’t one distinct feature I could depict if ever asked to describe his mundane appearance. Seriously, even his clothes and shoes were as plain as brown gravy.

  Serial killer.

  I briefly closed my eyes at the random quip that came from Leo, because Cliff Meyers was certainly no serial killer. I was pretty sure that even Skippy could give this man a run for his money. Then again, the palm of my hand became slightly warm with the additional visitor.

  See? I’m always right.

  “Cliff,” Liam called out, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze before taking a few steps away from me to shake Mr. Meyers’ hand. “I appreciate you meeting me out here. Raven was the first to notice that something was amiss with the family crypt, so I thought we could all go take a look at it to assess the situation together. I’m well aware you come out once a month to replace the flowers and tidy up the burial chamber.”

  Obsessed with death…check. Maybe he prefers an icepick.

  “Ms. Marigold, it’s nice to see you again.” Cliff shook my hand. His grip was neither firm nor soft. It was in between, fairly middle of the road. “I’m sure there’s been a misunderstanding regarding Great-Grandmother Carolyn’s stone coffin.”

  An unhealthy attachment to centuries long-dead relatives…check. Maybe a candlestick…in the crypt…with Colonel Mustard.

  I forced a smile, wondering who in their right mind called a woman centuries old great grandmother. Cliff walked past me to greet Heidi before rocking back on the worn heels of his brown loafers. I never would have noticed that the movement was a nervous gesture had Cliff not glanced at his watch with a bit of anxious worry.

  Wants to avoid the scene of the crime…check. I’ve changed my mind. A rope. Definitely a rope.

  “Cliff’s not a bad guy, if you give him a chance,” Liam murmured once we began walking through the rusted gates of the cemetery. Cliff led the way, which was actually rather surprising. Heidi had fallen into step behind him, no doubt with Leo somewhere by her side. Liam and I pulled up the rear, giving us the privacy to talk as we walked. “He’s the mortician in town, and he doesn’t get out a lot. With that said, he’s a darn fine poker player.”

  Check! Check! Check! Holy cow, did I hit this one on the head or what?

  Leo had begun his mantra at the word mortician, but someone had to do it, right? Cliff’s career choice did not make him a serial killer.

  I bet Cliff keeps Ivan busy with all those dead bodies. I see your dead body and raise you one soul.

  “Liam, I’m not so sure it was a good idea to call Mr. Meyers before seeing the Whitley crypt yourself.” I could feel the weight of Liam’s gaze on my face as I sidestepped a divot, grateful when he pressed his right hand against my lower back. The warmth of his touch through my blouse gave me the strength to blurt out the rest of my story. “Mrs. Whitley’s stone coffin is completely empty.”

  The good ol’ sheriff looks like he caught a glimpse of Ivan. I’m not sure if I’ve ever seen someone lose color in their face quite that fast. Can you imagine his reaction if he ever did meet Ivan, a teetotaling ghost, or a soul-eating ghoul? Just food for thought.

  Leo sounded as if he were hacking up that hairball he’d mentioned earlier, but that was the cackle of his laugh.

  Soul-eating ghoul? Food for thought? Get it?

  It didn’t come as much of a surprise when Liam quickly stepped in front of me to stop our progress. His shocked expression pretty much told me that maybe I should have dropped that itty-bitty fact over the phone. His reaction had nothing to do with the supernatural and everything to do with me not disclosing all the details of the potential crime scene.

  Speaking of potential, have you spoken to Rye? At least he accepts his flaws and is willing to make amends.

  “Raven, you only said that the old wooden doors to the crypt seemed to have been pried open and that it appeared as if the stone lid had been shifted a bit,” Liam reiterated what we’d spoken about this morning, but his eyes darkened in astonishment. “You never said a word about an empty coffin or a missing corpse.”

  The good ol’ sheriff has you there, Raven.

  “I know, but I didn’t think you’d call in a family member,” I said, waving my hand in exasperation toward the direction that Cliff and Heidi were taking across the grounds of the cemetery. “I didn’t even realize that any Whitleys were still in the area. Well, besides Arthur Whitley.”

  The recluse. Between the mortician and the recluse, I’m wondering if this family might be harboring some psychotic tendencies.

  “Let’s keep walking while you tell me everything you know,” Liam exclaimed with a sigh and that same sideways glance of curiosity he’d been giving me for a while now.

  A part of me wondered if he didn’t sense something was different about me, but he’d never come straight out and asked for answers to some of the peculiar events around town.

  You mean the fact that three people have been murdered since you’ve come to town or the alarming detail that none of your stories make any sense?

  Leo was exaggerating.

  Let’s see…there was the warlock trying to steal the family grimoire whose body you found in the back of the tea shop, the state-appointed tax auditor gentleman who bit the dust over at the inn, and the carnival worker who was murdered by an evil clown. Did I miss any?

  Okay, Leo might have a miniscule point.

  Let’s not forget we also had an arsonist in our midst. Then there was the missing wax figure from the wax museum…you know, the one who just happens to resemble Ted.

  Leo was making the mysteries around Paramour Bay sound worse than they really were, because there had been extenuating circumstances in all of those situations. Liam had taken the crimes in stride and had even made multiple arrests.

  “As I said, Heidi and I were looking for Leo when we saw him run through the graveyard.” I slipped my hands inside the pockets of my skirt, still noticing the warm spot in the center of my palm. It had to be Cliff Meyer’s presence, right? On second thought, it could be due to the sapphire ring I’d put for safekeeping in my right pocket. “The doors were open, and we thought that maybe Leo had gone inside. We were a bit scared, but we searched the crypt anyway and saw the lid on the coffin had been moved. We had a peek inside thinking…”

  I’m not quite sure any sane person would have looked inside a coffin while being inside a dark crypt at night. It was a struggle to come up with an excuse that didn’t sound as though we were—

  Grave robbers? Ghost hunters? Thrill seekers? I can come up with more
titles if you’d like, but it’s all downhill from there.

  “You thought that Leo might have been trapped inside,” Liam finished with a nod of approval. “You love him. I get it. I would have done the same thing.”

  That excuse was so not on my list.

  “We did think that Leo might have been inside,” I replied, grabbing onto the life preserver Liam had just thrown me. “Which is why I called you this morning to check out the crypt in case we were wrong. It was dark, we were a bit uneasy being inside the crypt that late at night, and we could have easily been mistaken.”

  Not a bad recovery. Now all we have to do is make sure Ivan doesn’t make an appearance. One would think he would have showed himself last night to let us know what happened to Caroline Abigail Whitley’s remains. Then again, no one died. Ted really needs to track down Ivan and get to the bottom of what happened here. I wonder if Skippy and his friends are in league with Ivan. It would certainly explain how he managed to get a raccoon to talk. Having a reaper in one’s back pocket is very clever indeed.

  “Well, I’ll have Cliff stay behind with you and Heidi while I check things over.” Liam was focused on the numerous crypts ahead, and I noted they weren’t as eerie as they had been last night. It was amazing how the warm sunlight could alter one’s perspective. “You know, you could have called me last night when Leo went missing. I would have helped you search for him.”

  I’m not sure how I feel about this, Raven. The good ol’ sheriff is showing affection toward me, and I’ve shown him nothing but disdain. Make it stop.

  “I didn’t want to bother you while you were meeting with the town council.” For the first time this morning, I hadn’t smudged the truth. I wanted this moment to last a little longer, so I asked a question that would guarantee a normal conversation. “How did it go, anyway?”

  A change of subject is good. I don’t do affection. Well, unless it comes from Heidi or I’ve consumed copious amounts of catnip…then anyone can rub my belly. All bets are off.

  “Let’s just say the emergency town council meeting was a front to get people over for a game of poker,” Liam said with a fond smile, having gotten used to how Mayor Sanders worked when his wife was out of town. “I wouldn’t have minded a call from you, let’s put it that way. You would have saved me a hundred bucks and a budget reduction.”

  You know, a hundred bucks could buy a lot of catnip. I realize they don’t know I can play poker, but I’m beginning to feel unwanted…two poker home games and no invites.

  We’d reached the crypt, but there was a peaceful vibe over the graveyard that hadn’t been there last night. Heidi and Cliff were talking about the mortuary’s taxes, and she’d somehow gotten him to relax somewhat with her reassurance that she would do just as good of a job as Beetle had done with his business.

  “Cliff, why don’t you let me take a look first?” Liam suggested in such a manner that no one would have ever thought he’d done it with a specific objective in mind. He certainly was good at his job, and another doubt flittered through my thoughts that maybe he knew more about me than he was letting on. “I’ll be right back.”

  Liam had nonchalantly rubbed his fingers across mine when I’d removed my hand from my pocket. I realized that the energy coiling in my palm remained steady, reassuring me that he wasn’t walking into something dangerous. With that said, my inherent sense hadn’t helped us in the least last night.

  There also wasn’t a soul-eating ghoul in the crypt at that time.

  True. I didn’t get a sense that one was inside the burial chamber now, either.

  I never entertained the thought, but maybe Ivan cleaned up your spell-flubbing mess. He wouldn’t appreciate a soul-eating ghoul in his territory, you know.

  Heidi continued to talk with Cliff, keeping him occupied while we waited for word from Liam. He’d see that the crypt was empty, the infamous ring was missing, along with whatever treasures that might have been buried with Caroline Abigail Whitley.

  You know, I could totally get on board with the whole non-supernatural blame game if it wasn’t for one thing.

  I couldn’t tear away my gaze from Liam inspecting the doors, though he didn’t say a word as he finally stepped inside. He’d unclipped his flashlight from his utility belt, eventually disappearing into the darkness with the exception of a faded beam.

  The raccoon. A talking raccoon. That is not an everyday occurrence, Raven. That’s not to say having Ivan on our side doesn’t work in our favor, because it does. I do feel for the reaper, though. He’s probably out there right now trying to corral that masked garbage eater by himself.

  Leo must have sunk into a quiet introspection about why he’d envisioned a talking raccoon or he was convincing himself that Ivan was truly hunting the poor little furbaby. Even Heidi and Cliff waited for any sound to indicate that we should either go inside or wait for Liam to exit. Five seconds turned into ten. Ten into fifteen.

  It does make you wonder if your danger radar is on the fritz, doesn’t it? For all we know, Caroline Abigail Whitley actually did turn into some soul-eating ghoul and is currently sucking down the good ol’ sheriff with a supernatural straw. I’m sure reapers get days off. Wouldn’t you think?

  I couldn’t take this waiting any longer, so I took a step forward and had every intention of calling out to Liam when we all jumped back in fright at something large, black, and white hurtling out of the darkness.

  Rabid raccoon! Run for your lives!

  Chapter Seven

  I’m not going to sugarcoat it. That went better than anyone had a right to expect.

  “Leo, you did your disappearing act right in front of Cliff Meyers,” I said in disbelief, slowing maneuvering my beat-up old Corolla into the driveway of one Arthur Whitley. “How is that better than I could have expected? I’m pretty sure he’s going to need psychiatric counseling after today.”

  Oh, trust me. That man needed counseling way before a raccoon landed on his face. Did you see that flying back kick? The MMA hasn’t got anything on that masked bandit. Mr. Talking Garbage Disposal could give Skippy a run for his money in the ninja training department. Bottom line was that you now know I was telling the truth.

  “Leo, it was a normal everyday raccoon,” I reminded Leo for the tenth time. “The scared little critter didn’t utter one word before he was sent scurrying away in fright. I think we scared him half to death, poor little guy.”

  You keep telling yourself that, missy. They carry all kinds of nasty diseases, like the Black Plague and Ebola. I hate having to do all the heavy lifting around here, but I seem to have no choice—I’m going raccoon hunting.

  “That’s not a good idea, Leo. Raccoons can do a lot of damage to an average housecat. You might not fare too well,” I cautioned, not immediately turning off the engine as I took in my surroundings. I was feeling quite out of place in this upscale neighborhood of waterfront properties. I’d counted more than a few BMWs, a top-end Lexus, and a couple of those luxury class Mercedes in the various driveways. Sure, my cottage had the perfect view of the bay, but I was on the wrong end of town away from all the ritzy houses. “The last thing we need for you to do is get bit by a rabid raccoon. Leave the poor thing alone, okay? Leo? Leo?”

  I should have known he wouldn’t take my advice, and now I had to go speak with an elderly recluse about his great-great-great-great grandmother’s missing corpse. I’m not even sure that was the correct number of greats. I was horrible at math, and Caroline Abigail Whitley had died many, many years ago.

  As a matter of fact, it was about the same time as the witch trials in Connecticut were kicking off. That was a decidedly dangerous time for my kind.

  I’m pretty sure that Leo also thought this afternoon had gone better than expected due to the fact that Liam had declared the crypt secure—meaning that no foul play had been committed outside of someone breaking in. Trust me, his declaration had practically done to me what the raccoon had done to Cliff Meyers.

  Either way, I had t
o go down inside the burial chamber to see for myself.

  Sure enough, the crypt had been secured after our earlier encounter.

  No sign of tampering with the contents had been detected.

  After having Liam take us back down in the crypt and seeing that the lid of the stone coffin had been put back in its rightful place, we’d had no choice but to accept that nothing seemed out of turn inside the burial chamber. Cliff Meyers became more talkative after that, saying that midnight strolls through the graveyard might cause people to see things that weren’t actually there—though that definitely wasn’t the case in our situation.

  Unfortunately, it wasn’t like I could fess up that I had Caroline Abigail Whitley’s ring in my pocket. I’d left that part of the story out when I’d given my explanation to Liam.

  You see?

  That was the problem with lying—one could never keep their facts in order and there were too many strings to be pulled once you started.

  Heidi and I had ended up looking like two hapless females who’d overreacted to the nightly ambiance of a graveyard. I’m not going to say it hadn’t burned my pride, because it did…and there wasn’t a thing we could do about it now.

  Well, there was, but Liam had no clue I was taking a little side trip.

  Don’t get me wrong.

  The second Heidi and I had gotten to the car, I’d quickly called Rye and practically pleaded with him to tell me that he’d gone back to the crypt to clean things up and close the coffin. Needless to say, he didn’t alleviate my fears. He assured me that he hadn’t gone back to the crypt and made it look as if nothing had happened last night.

  I did briefly consider that Ivan might have fixed everything the way Leo had suggested, but a reaper’s job was to collect souls…not to clean up after a crime.

  Heidi and I had no choice but to come up with a plan, so I’d dropped her back off at the cottage so that she could begin looking through the family grimoire for a spell I could use on the ring in order to find out how it had ended up at a garage sale for a measly fifty cents. While she was doing my magical research, I was going to pay a visit to Arthur Whitley under the apologetic pretense of what had occurred at the family crypt. Maybe he had some insight into what happened there.