Murder Under a Mystic Moon

by Yasmine Galenorn

  “Will they start me slow?”

  Murray nodded. “As slow as you need. The teacher’s really good; she only advances students when they’re ready. C’mon. I’m going tomorrow night. We can go together. It’ll be like college.”

  I squinted, trying to figure out when we had ever worked out together. Then the memory flooded back. Every day, come rain or shine, we’d taken long walks together through the Washington Park Arboretum in Seattle. It kept us in shape, gave us time to gossip, and worked off the endless pizzas we’d ordered.

  “Yoga is great stress release and it makes you look and feel younger.” Murray frowned. “Em, I haven’t wanted to say anything but lately, you’re looking a little…” Her voice drifted off.

  I shot a glance at her, warning her not to continue. After a moment, I snorted. “Yeah, yeah. Too cushy for my own good. You know, the thought of being able to relax on cue is pretty appealing.”

  I wasn’t very good at getting rid of stress. In fact, I was the only person I knew who’d had trouble pulling a “C” out of my relaxation class in college. While everybody else was busy learning how to loosen their toes, I was still trying to find my pulse, a skill I never had mastered. I spent the entire quarter convinced I was one of the walking dead.

  Maybe if I stopped drinking my daily ration of caffeine, it might help, but if I quit, I’d have to do something else for energy and that meant increasing my sugar intake, which wouldn’t be good for my teeth or my waistline. I sucked on my lip for a moment. Nope, it had to be exercise.

  “Okay, I’ll go. I can always quit if I don’t like it. Now, tell me about the monster? Do you know anything about it?”

  “The Klakatat Monster? Yes, I’ve heard of it.” She pulled a long blade of grass and began tying it into knots. “Why?”

  I told her about Jimbo’s request. “I can’t figure out why the cops won’t help him. Do you know anything about it?”

  She shook her head. “Coughlan’s not going to lift a finger to help the bikers. And Chief Bonner won’t counter him. Bonner’s a good man, but I can guarantee you he’s not going to go out of his way to help anybody living out in Klickavail Valley. They’ve had a running feud with the cops since they first started gathering out there, what with the way they raise hell at the bars. And let me tell you, those boys collect speeding tickets like honey attracts flies.”

  “Do you really think they’re running drugs and guns, like the rumors say?” I had first thought Jimbo might be into trafficking illegal wares, but once I saw his house and the setup out on his land, I knew that he was just a seasoned biker who liked his solitude and preferred a mountain man existence.

  Murray considered my question. Finally, she said, “Maybe. I don’t have any doubt that a few of the guys out there are bad apples. To be honest, I doubt that any guns are making their way through the compound. But there are some pricey homes out that way owned by people who have clout. Those folks won’t take kindly to any help the police give to the boys.”

  “I know you think Jimbo’s a troublemaker, but he helped me save Kip, and I really feel like I owe him this. He’s not so bad when you get to know him.”

  Murray gazed at me, her expression unreadable as usual. “You haven’t taken a shine to our biker-boy, have you?”

  “Oh sure.” I snorted. “And I’ve also decided to beg Roy to take me back. We’d make a delightful threesome, don’t you think?” Giving her one of my “you-know-better-than-that” looks, I pushed myself up to rest on my knees. “Now, why on earth would I drop someone like Joe for someone like Jimbo?”

  Murray relaxed. “I just wanted to make sure. You and Joe make a great couple, Em. I’d hate to see anything or anybody come between you. Anyway, you wanted to know about the Klakatat Monster?”

  “Uh huh.” A dandelion waved in the breeze and I pulled it, pressing the butter-yellow pom-pom to my nose as I said, “What is it?”

  “A large creature of some sort, supposedly cousin to the Sasquatch, though the Klakatat Monster isn’t nearly as well known. You do know about Sasquatch, right?”

  I shrugged. “Yeah, it’s a manlike ape-creature that hangs around the forests here in the Pacific Northwest, though somebody on television said those footprints that guy found were a hoax. But I thought the local tribes have stories about Sasquatch that go back before white men arrived on the continent?”

  She nodded. “We do. In some of the tribal dialects, his name translates as ‘The Big Man.’ He’s also known by some as ‘Brother.’ Sasquatch is out there, all right, but I hope we never find him. Some local yokel or rabid scientist would shoot him or try to dissect him.”

  She was right. People always attacked the unknown, afraid of what it might bring into their lives. I’d experienced that particular prejudice first hand, but somehow, I’d managed to carve a niche for myself here in Chiqetaw—eccentricities, folk magic, ghosts, and all. But not everybody was as lucky as me.

  “So, are the Klakatat Monster and Sasquatch the same?”

  She stood and dusted her hands on the legs of her jeans. “There are similarities, but according to the stories I’ve heard, the Klakatat Monster is more unpredictable than Bigfoot. Sightings place him over seven feet tall, with long claws like a bear, and razor-sharp teeth. I think his fur is supposed to be gray, but I’m not sure about that. The reservation elders don’t talk about him much; we believe that talking about something can bring it into our lives.”

  “Agreed,” I said. Sometimes focusing on an energy or force did seem to beckon it in, so I was careful where I turned my thoughts.

  “So, will you go out to Miner’s Lake with me on Sunday?” I asked, arching my back until it popped. “Jimbo’s going to show me where his garden got trampled and then I’m going to hunt around and see if I can find any sign that Scar might have been there.” As an added enticement, I said, “Jimbo’s frying up a chicken for us.”

  With a snicker, she said, “Frying a chicken? I hope he plucks it first. Hell, why not? Should be interesting.”

  Good, it was settled. “Come on. Let’s get some apple juice and you can tell me more about yoga class.”

  As we strolled toward the kitchen door, the ground suddenly rolled under my feet and I reached out to steady myself. When it stopped, I realized that it hadn’t been an earthquake—nothing had really moved. An astral jolt, maybe? I glanced at the yard but it was empty and still. Overhead, clouds were pushing in from the west, dark and heavy thunderheads, signaling the brewing of a storm. As a rush of excess energy raced down my spine, tingling pin-pricks, I quickened my pace.

  “What’s the matter?” Murray asked, running to keep up with me.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. A goose just walked over my grave, I guess.” She gave me a questioning look but I couldn’t answer. Something had shifted, and though I had no idea what it was, I had a queasy feeling we were going to find out.

  WHEN WE TROMPED into the house, Miranda was sitting at the table, eating cookies and drinking milk, her nose stuck in a book as usual. Her gaze flickered our way. Without missing a beat, she said, “Mom, you’re tracking again.”

  I glanced down at my sneakers. Encrusted with soft dirt from the flower beds, they were leaving a trail of grimy footprints across my clean kitchen tile. I sighed, stopping to untie them. Murray followed suit.

  “Can’t somebody come up with a floor that repels dirt?” I dropped them into the pantry next to the laundry basket, then snagged the sponge and a paper towel to wipe up the mess.

  Randa smirked behind her book.

  “Thanks a lot, kiddo.” I tossed the paper towel in the garbage. After I washed my hands and poured the apple juice, I motioned for her to scoot over to the end of the table. “You just love it when your mother trips up, don’t you?”

  She grinned. “Hey, don’t blame me for trying to even the score.”

  I peeked at the cover of her book. Bad Astronomy: Misconceptions and Misuses Revealed, from Astrology to t
he Moon Landing “Hoax.” “Any good?”

  “Yeah,” she said with a satisfied smile. “It’s a lot of fun.” Ever since Miranda had returned from Space Camp, she’d been more determined than ever to become an astronaut. I still worried about her studying too much, but at least she’d traded in her standard Donna Karan-look for something more age-appropriate. In her cobalt polo shirt and khaki shorts, with her raven hair cut into a long shaggy mane, she looked her age, rather than thirteen-trying-for-twenty.

  She closed her book and pushed it to the side. “Hey Mom, has the school called yet?”

  “No, but I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything.” Earlier in the summer, she’d taken placement tests to see if she could skip a grade or two. We were waiting for the results.

  Murray wrinkled her nose and playfully snatched a cookie off Randa’s plate. “These are good, who made them?” she said, biting into the crumbly golden round.

  “Ida.” I refilled the plate from the cookie jar on the counter. Yum. The scent of peanut butter drifted up to tickle my nose. “She’s been trying to keep busy. That business with her nephew shook her to the core, so I’ve been encouraging the kids to spend a lot of time at her place this summer, helping out. She insists on paying them, but I think the company does her good.”

  Ida Trask was a local legend, a retired schoolteacher and baby-sitter extraordinaire. Practically everybody who’d been born in Chiqetaw during the past thirty years had ended up as her student. Now she ran a baby-sitting service and I’d relied on her to watch Kip and Miranda ever since we moved into the neighborhood a couple of years ago. With her living just down the street, she was handy as well as reliable.

  “Poor Mrs. Trask,” Miranda said. “I don’t blame her for being upset. Say, what are we going to do for my birthday?” Her leap in subject matter was par for the course. Randa’s self-centered nature had always managed to rear its head, though lately she’d been worse than usual. I knew she was going through the typical teen-angst phase, but the trait bothered me. Still, with her fourteenth birthday coming up in less than two weeks, I’d decided to write off the latest bout to excitement.

  “What do you want to do? Do you want a party?” I wasn’t about to plan some surprise gig that she might not like. I’d already made enough mistakes in the parenting department to last me a lifetime.

  She shrugged. “Maybe just dinner and movies here. I guess Dad’s going to forget again?”

  For the millionth time I wanted to kill Roy. I bit my tongue, trying to figure out what to say when Murray broke in. “Say, what about a party out at my house?” she said. “I haven’t played hostess for a while. You can bring all the friends you want.”

  Randa flashed her a huge grin. Murray lived over on Sunrise Avenue, on three acres in a gorgeous, old Victorian, along with her two beautiful boa constrictors, Sid and Nancy. Her land was adjacent to Willowmoor Meadows, the biggest park in Chiqetaw.

  “That’d be great,” Randa said. “I’ll invite Lori, and of course Kip and you guys and Harlow and Joe and the members of my astronomy club. Do you think Mrs. Trask and Mr. Ledbetter might want to come?”

  Once again, it struck me that my daughter had very few friends her own age, but she seemed content and, in the end, that was what really mattered. “I think they’d probably like that.”

  We agreed on an evening barbecue on the twenty-second, which was still a couple weeks away, and then Randa grabbed her book and took off for the front porch, where she could read in peace.

  After she left, I relaxed. “Thanks Mur, I’ve been at my wit’s end trying to think up something she might enjoy. Randa never gives me any clue as to what she wants when it comes to stuff like this.”

  As we were headed into the living room, the screen door squeaked and Randa poked her head around the living room wall. “Mom, Harlow’s here.”

  Harlow cautiously navigated the bench in the foyer, stopping to admire the bouquet blossoming out in the weathered marble urn that sat on the table next to the bench.

  “Gorgeous roses,” she said. “Love that dusky peach color. From Joe?”

  “Nope, from Horvald,” I said, grinning. Over the course of the summer, my neighbor had taken it upon himself to keep me in freshly cut flowers. I enjoyed the bouquets, and it was nice; it felt like Horvald had kind of adopted the kids and me.

  Harlow waddled into the living room. Pregnant or not, she was still the most gorgeous woman I’d ever known. Her crimped golden hair was caught by a velvet ribbon, and streamed down her back. Standing five-foot eleven, she’d been a supermodel until her early twenties. Pregnancy had eliminated the angular, anorexic edge that she’d never before been able to shed and, while Harlow had always been beautiful, now she was breathtaking.

  “What’s shakin’ hon? Besides that baby of yours?” I kissed her on the cheek and led her to the firmest chair we had. “Here, this should work. I thought you were sticking close to home now that you’re near your due date.”

  “Yeah, but I was out this way for a meeting, so thought I’d drop by.” She edged into the chair with a sigh of relief. “My ankles are swollen up as big as your boobs, Em.”

  Murray choked on her cookie and hurried to swallow the last of her apple juice, then curled up on the sofa. “You know, you make me really happy I decided not to have kids,” she said, a twinkle in her eye. “I simply can’t imagine myself as a mother, and certainly not pregnant.”

  Harlow waved languidly in her direction. “Glad to be of service. You’re right. I can’t see you having kids, either. You’d probably feed them to the snakes when they got out of line, or worse yet, let them take Sid and Nancy to show-and-tell and give the teacher a heart attack.” She gave Mur a wicked grin.

  Murray sputtered. “Hey! Hold on there just one minute. I happen to be great with kids—I just don’t want any of my own!”

  “Of course you’re great with kids, you nit,” I said, settling into the recliner. “Kip and Randa adore you, and so will Harl’s little girl.” I turned to Harlow. “So, what meeting were you at this time?” Every time I turned around, the woman had joined yet another committee. Most of them were volunteer charities, or out-and-out philanthropic organizations.

  With a grimace, she shifted around until she found a comfortable position, then leaned back. “Shit, my back hurts. Whoever created the myth of the wonderful, carefree pregnancy had his head up his butt. I don’t glow, I sweat!”

  “Yeah,” I said, “I have to admit, being pregnant with Kip and Randa made me all too aware of how unfair this universe is. If there was any justice, men would have an abdominal pouch and hatch the kids, just like in seahorseland. But nope, we women got stuck with the job.”

  “Been watching Animal Planet again, have we?” Harlow snickered. “The meeting was for the Literacy Council—”

  I reached for my purse. “Fundraising time already?”

  She shook her head. “No, but all donations are welcome.” As I wrote out a check she continued. “I actually came over to warn you about something.”

  “Warn me? Warn me about what?” I handed her my donation. “I don’t think I like the sound of that.”

  She tucked the check into an envelope and dropped it into her purse. “Well, you won’t like it even more when I tell you what I found out. Cathy Sutton was at the meeting tonight—KLIK-TV is running a special on local charities.”

  I groaned. Cathy Sutton was the local anchorwoman at KLIK-TV. She was always vying to win Reporter of the Year; but had about as much chance as a snowball in hell. Next to her, Hedda Hopper sounded discreet, and Cathy’s to-die-for glamour didn’t hide her lack of talent, or the crocodile smile behind those pouty lips. Over the past year, we’d had several run-ins that had left us less than the best of friends.

  “So what’s the ditz up to now?” I asked.

  Harl cleared her throat. “She told me she’s going to be covering the Early Autumn Breeze Festival. She’ll be in town tomorrow to film some of
the local shops, and I weaseled it out of her that she’s planning on focusing on the Chintz ‘n China, since you’ve become a local legend.”

  “Local legend” indeed. Just because I’d had the misfortune to get mixed up in solving several murders, I’d somehow acquired an aura of celebrity. Though it was good for business, it was bad for my peace of mind.

  “Oh great. Well, at least it’s only for the festival. Last time I threw her out of my shop, she flattened me like a bug on her damned show.”

  Murray guffawed. “If you’d exert a little diplomacy, she might get bored and move on to some of the other businesses.”

  “There’s more,” Harlow said.

  “Spill it. All of it.”

  “She introduced me to some guy who’s interning at KLIK-TV. When she said she was going to interview you, he begged her to let him come along. Apparently, you have a big fan. He was practically doe-eyed over you.”

  I groaned. Just what I needed—a fan base in town. “Uh, did he say why he was so star struck?”

  Harlow gave me an evil grin. “He eventually wants to be a professional psychic, and he thinks you are just the person to give him advice.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding!” Great, another idiot wannabe poking around with forces he probably didn’t understand or respect.

  “Sorry, babe. His name is George. I can’t remember his last name, but you’re going to be meeting him tomorrow because I overheard Cathy agree to let him tag along.”

  Forewarned was forearmed. I tried to put the thought out of my mind as we moved on to other, more interesting subjects, like Harlow’s job. At the beginning of the year, Professor Abrams from Western Washington University had employed her as his research assistant. She’d been telecommuting, a real boon during the time she’d been wheelchair-bound. Now she was planning her own college education, to start after the baby was born.