Murder Under a Mystic Moon

by Yasmine Galenorn

  “I went to Space Camp. After that, everything else seems pretty boring. Lori will be back next week, though, so I’ll be spending some time with her.” She leaned over and gave me a pat on the arm. “Don’t worry, Mom, I’m not turning into a hermit.”

  “Coulda fooled me.” Kip licked the back of his spoon. “Okay, I ate my breakfast. Can I be excused?”

  “May I be excused, and yes, you may go. Get busy on the lawn now, and you might have some time left over this afternoon. And I want the job done right!” I called as he took off running for the door.

  Randa cleared the table as I opened the Chiqetaw Town Crier. “Klakatat Monster Strikes Again” jumped out at me in glaring black letters. Oh great. Ingrid Lindstrom had jumped on the bandwagon with her “Buzz About Town” gossip-fest. Chiqetaw’s official rumor monger, Ingrid was also in charge of “Ask Ingrid,” a woefully pathetic advice column. I pitied anyone gullible enough to actually follow her suggestions.

  Has the Klakatat Monster, a local legend that’s been slumbering in our town’s history, woken up from the sands of time? As you all know, the body of Scott Anderson was discovered on Sunday afternoon by our own delightful town psychic, Emerald O’Brien. Emerald seems to have made a hobby this past year of discovering and solving murders.

  But rumor has it that the deceased may have been the victim of a monster attack. The Klakatat Monster, to be precise.

  Sources tell this reporter that the body was slashed to ribbons, not unlike reports from past deaths attributed to the Klakatat Monster. James Warren was overheard enlisting Ms. O’Brien’s supernatural talents in order to find Anderson. This same source reports that, upon finding Scott’s body, Mr. Warren reportedly blamed the Klakatat Monster for the death.

  Authorities cite Mr. Anderson’s death as the result of an “animal attack,” but local legend reveals a more sinister possibility. This reporter wonders… can Emerald finger another murderer? And if so, is Chiqetaw in for a spectacular reenactment of Beauty and the Beast?

  I snorted. What the hell was Ingrid thinking? It sounded like she was trying to marry me off to the Klakatat Monster. She must be reading some pretty wacked-out romance novels lately. And I didn’t have to look far to figure out who Ingrid’s “source” was. George had been the only one eavesdropping on us.

  Dropping the paper, I pulled out the coffee grinder and the black cat canister in which I kept my coffee. Randa examined the story while I scooped out a handful of the dark espresso roast beans. “Mom, I thought newspapers were supposed to print facts, not speculation? This is just silly. Ingrid Lindstrom always starts all sorts of gossip and rumors.”

  “Honey, newspapers like the Chiqetaw Town Crier print just about anything they can think up to fill space. Trust me, though, I’d rather see them print this sort of tripe any day, than see Chiqetaw full of really newsworthy events—like murders and rapes and riots.” I trickled the beans into the grinder and pressed the Start button.

  Maybe Ingrid was a silly old busybody, but I was grateful that she didn’t have to cover stories about the home invasions and drive-by shootings that commonly went down in Seattle. Even with our local disasters and barroom brawls and the occasional tragic murder that took place, Chiqetaw was the epitome of community.

  And maybe our town did seem a little odd to strangers, with its Early Autumn Breeze Celebration, and the Midnight Reindeer Pageant held the week before Christmas, and the annual Sleepy Hollow Horse Race Faire on the weekend nearest the Hunter’s Moon, but most of the townsfolk turned out for the events and everybody went away with smiles on their faces.

  If our community included a few local monsters and mysterious legends and haunted houses, well then, they were just part and parcel of living here.

  The smell of fresh coffee grounds sent me reeling as I tapped out a quad-shot measure into the little mesh cup that fit under the machine’s spigot. Flipping on the switch to heat the water, I searched through the dishwasher until I found my favorite coffee mug. Delicately painted fans and old-fashioned parasols encircled the cup, turning a utilitarian object into an objet d’ art.

  As the espresso poured out in a thin stream, Randa rustled the paper. “Mom, look! Skies & Scopes is having a sale next week! Can you get my birthday present there?”

  I knew better than to argue. “How about if I give you a budget and you can have a shopping spree?” Yeah, it would be the perfect present, even though it wouldn’t be what I’d pick out myself.

  She wrinkled her nose. “Thanks! You’re the best, Mom.”

  As I finished lacing my caffeine with chocolate and Coffee-mate, the phone rang. Randa grabbed it. “Murray,” she said, handing me the receiver.

  “Hey Mur, I was about to call you before I went in to the shop.”

  She laughed. “Uh huh… you see the front page of the Crier?”

  “Yeah. Looks like Ingrid managed to corner George.”

  “I doubt if she had much trouble. Hey, Greg told me about what went down last night. Tell Joe to keep his cool.” She paused, then said, “So, I suppose Jimmy talked to you yesterday?”

  Here goes nothing, I thought. “Yeah, he did. I said yes, Mur. I know you don’t want to go out there, but I couldn’t help it. Jimbo looked so upset and unhappy that I couldn’t say no.”

  “Oh jeez. Well, all right, but you take charge. I’ve got your back, you know that, but your psychic gifts are a lot stronger than mine when it comes to this sort of thing.” She sounded half-disappointed, half-relieved. “When do you want to do this?”

  “The sooner the better. I was thinking that we can use the trip up there as an excuse to talk to the bikers; maybe get an idea of who might have had it in for Scar. What do you have going tomorrow night?”

  “Tomorrow’s Wednesday, isn’t it?”

  “Uh huh.” I could hear the rustle of papers and knew she was leafing through her schedule.

  “I was going to fix my porch railing, but that can wait. Let’s get this over with. Can you come up with a ritual on such short notice?”

  “That’s a good question.” I honestly had no idea what I could plan with one day’s notice. “We’ll do a general binding on anything nasty in the area, and then start asking questions. Jimbo will be happy, we might find out something useful, and if there are any astral nasties in the area, then we’ve done our good deed for the day.”

  After a moment of silence, she said, “Okay, I guess that will work. But Em, you can be sure that there is a creature out there—my people know this. If it is causing trouble, we don’t want to go up against the thing, because we can’t handle something that old or that big.”

  A wave of goose bumps puckered my arms. Leave it to Murray to remind me that we were only mortal. “Yeah, I believe there’s something in those woods, too. Murray, I think Scar was killed by somebody human, but the fact that this creature—whatever it is—seems to have surfaced for the first time in years, tells me trouble’s brewing. Now, maybe it’s only coincidence, but I have a feeling the pieces do fit together. If we hunt for Scar’s killer, maybe we’ll figure out why the Klakatat Monster is on the move again. I feel an obligation to at least try.”

  Murray laughed. “Em, you feel an obligation to save the whole world. Okay, I’ve got to get back to work. I’ll see you tomorrow night. Pick you up around six at the shop?”

  “Sounds good.” I jotted down a note to check whether Horvald or Ida could watch out for Kip and Randa. They were in that in-between age where they no longer required a sitter, but still needed someone close in case of emergency.

  I hung up, grabbed my keys and purse, and gave Randa a kiss. “I’m heading out to work. I want you to ask Mrs. Trask if she’ll be home tomorrow night—”

  “And if she’s not available, ask Mr. Ledbetter?” Randa gave me a grin and I ruffled her hair. She twisted away, but at least she was still smiling.

  “Yes, now scoot.” With a last look at the kitchen, I headed out for the shop. Another day. And, ho
pefully, more than just another dollar.

  I SHOULD HAVE walked to work; the drive was so pleasant. Sunlight glimmered on the street, but not the heat we’d had a week or so ago. No, the first tangs of autumn were definitely filtering through the air, lingering on the breeze like a memory long forgotten, just now floating to the surface. The summer had been nice, but I was ready for the autumn, ready for the rain and the mist and the chill morning fog.

  I parked in front of the Chintz ‘n China and unlocked the door, beating Cinnamon by all of five minutes. The flurry from the street dance had left things in disarray.

  “What a mess.” I tossed my purse in my office, pulled off the navy blue jacket that looked so good with my tan khaki skirt and button-down ecru blouse, and rolled up my sleeves. “You take care of the dishes, I’ll straighten out the front.” We scurried around for twenty minutes, and by the time I opened the door to customers, the Chintz ‘n China was once again respectably tidy.

  The shop bells rang and I turned, surprised to see Maeve Elliston. She was carrying a large tote with her. Odd, she usually came in no more than once every week or so. I asked her if there was anything I could get her.

  She hesitated, glancing around. “Perhaps some peppermint tea.”

  I knew that she grew her own peppermint. “Are you sure?”

  With a shake of her head, she said, “Actually, may I speak to you in private for a moment?” I started to lead her over to the tearoom but she paused. “No, I mean somewhere where we can shut the door, where we can’t be heard.”

  What on earth could she want? “Of course,” I said. “Follow me.” I led her to my office and offered her a chair while I slid behind my desk. I’d wanted to get to know Maeve better. Looked like I was going to get my wish.

  “Emerald, we haven’t had much chance to talk, but I’ve kept an eye on you since I moved to town. My family goes back many years in this area, though I only recently moved to Chiqetaw from Bellingham. My mother and father originally came over from Ireland, you know, as did my late husband’s family.” She sat quite still, hands never fidgeting, eyes never leaving mine.

  I wasn’t exactly sure what she expected me to say in response. Maybe why are you watching me, please tell me you’re not a latent stalker? I finally settled for, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you’d lost your husband.”

  Maeve cleared her throat. “I didn’t lose him. He died.”

  I bit my lip. She was blunt and to the point, that was for sure. “Yes, well, I’m sorry your husband died.” I stared at my desk. How long was this odd exchange going to continue?

  Maeve apparently wasn’t one for idle chatter, she plunged right into her reason for visiting. “I suppose I might as well just come out with it. As I said, my family came over from Ireland. My mother had the gift of Sight, much like you. I never inherited it, though I did inherit her ability to work with herbs and to garden. Which brings me to why I’m here.”

  Finally, a point to the conversation. At least, I hoped there was a point.

  She fished through her tote bag and came up with a cardboard box about seven inches square, which she planted directly in front of me. “This is for you. I have the feeling you need it. My mother owned it, originally, but I’ve no earthly use for such a thing, and I have no children so there’s no one to pass it down to.”

  Hesitant, but curious, I cautiously opened the box, peeking up to glance at Maeve. An object was nestled inside, wrapped in several layers of black velvet. Oh man, I knew what this was. Even as I reached in to withdraw it, I knew precisely what Maeve Elliston was offering to give me.

  “Are you sure you want me to have this?” I asked her.

  “If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be here. As I said, it belonged to my mother, but I can’t make use of it. I don’t have the gift. And my niece is a clumsy, churlish young woman. I wouldn’t trust her with any family heirloom, she’d break it and then where would we be? My brother—her father—is Catholic and hasn’t any use for scrying balls. No, I thought it best to see it go to someone with a good heart. I know you’ll use it wisely.”

  As I carefully lifted the crystal ball out of its velvet wrappings, a tremendous rush of energy raced into my fingers. The wave was so strong that I started to slide right into trance. I forced myself to set the ball back on the desk.

  “I’m not sure what to say, Maeve. This is an incredible gift. I don’t know if I can accept it.” And truth was, I wondered if perhaps there wasn’t an ulterior motive behind her gesture. I’d learned long ago that some gifts came with strings attached.

  She laughed. “Draw a card if you like or ask your spirit guide if you have one, or whatever it is you do.” As I hesitated, she added, “Go on, I won’t be offended. It takes much more to offend me than something as simple as that. You don’t know me from Adam; why should you trust me?”

  I pulled open my bottom drawer and took out my deck of cards. After shuffling, I rapped on the back of the deck three times and silently asked what I should know about the crystal ball and Maeve, then cut the deck and withdrew a card. The High Priestess. Clarity, intuition, magic, wisdom. The woman in the painting was holding a crystal globe. I couldn’t have asked for a better answer.

  “Thank you,” I said graciously. “I’ll do my best to keep it from harm.” I replaced the deck in my desk and examined the quartz crystal orb again. Stunning. Simply exquisite, the sphere was clear except for a few internal fractures that shattered the light, reflecting through it into rainbows, like a prism.

  “Use it as you need. Well then, I must be off. I’ve errands to run and llama-feed to buy.” Maeve gathered her things, then paused by the door. “Emerald, this nonsense about the Klakatat Monster… what do you really think?”

  I wrapped the crystal ball back in its velvet wrappings and tucked it into the box, then set the box in my lower desk drawer where it would be safe until I could take it home. As I showed Maeve out of the shop, I gave her a faint smile. “I don’t know for sure, but I think there’s more going on than an animal attack.”

  She nodded, then strode away, forgetting all about the peppermint tea she supposedly wanted.

  Chapter 11

  THE REST OF the day was a blur of customers who had decided that since I’d been mentioned by Ingrid in the article about the Klakatat Monster, I must be an expert on the subject. My afternoon was taken up by one question after another.

  “Where does the monster come from—”

  “Does it eat cats? Should I keep Tiger in at night—”

  “What kind of evolutionary path do you think this creature has taken—”

  “It’s all poppycock. You tell them, Emerald—balderdash, pure and simple—”

  “Is it going to kill anybody else—”

  “Do you think its movements correlate to the full moon—”

  “Are you going to try to contact it? I’d love to attend a séance—”

  Finally, at three P.M., I decided I needed to hide out for a while. I was jonesing for a large mocha, and herbal tea wasn’t going to cut it. Purse in hand, I motioned to Cinnamon. “I’m heading over to Starbucks. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes or so. Hold down the fort and don’t let them give you any guff!”

  As I made a beeline for the door, I glanced into the tearoom alcove. All tables were full, the blur of conversation embracing one subject: The Klakatat Monster. I managed to slip out unnoticed and took off up the street, breathing deeply on my walk to the nearest Starbucks where I lucked out. No line at the counter.

  “A triple shot grandé iced raspberry mocha, no whip, please.” I’d developed a taste for flavored mochas, and was going to have to shop around for a good brand of syrups to add to my home-brewed concoctions. While I was waiting, my cell phone buzzed. I flipped it open. Randa was on the other end.

  “Mom, the school called, they want to talk to you. They asked me to give you their number and have you call them back. I bet they’ve made their decision about whether I can skip ah
ead or not!” She was so excited that I could barely understand her.

  “Okay, just a minute.” I grabbed a napkin and pulled out a pen. “What’s the number?” She told me and I jotted it down.

  “Ask for Mrs. García de Lopez. She’s the one making the final decision. Will you call now? Please? I really want to know what they say!”

  It meant so much to her, I couldn’t leave her dangling. “All right, all right. I’ll call as soon as I get my mocha. And you remember your promise, young lady. No complaining, regardless of their final decision.”

  She was very quiet for a moment. Then, in a voice tinged with the faintest whisper of dread, she agreed. “I promise. Will you call me back as soon as you talk to them?”

  “Yes, I’ll call you.” I hung up, retrieved my mocha, and found a quiet table from where I could watch the street. After I took a long sip of the raspberry-and-chocolate-laced espresso, I punched in the number, gave my name, and asked for Mrs. García de Lopez. Within moments, a woman with a rich Spanish accent came on the line.

  “Ms. O’Brien, thank you for returning my call so promptly. We’ve made a decision on what to do with Miranda and hope it will be satisfactory for all concerned.” She laid out their plan and, relieved, I thanked her, after making an appointment to meet in order to finalize arrangements. Then I called Randa back.

  “Yes? Yes?” She’d probably worn a hole in the carpet; I had the feeling she’d been fidgeting in front of the phone the entire time.

  “I talked to the school. They’ve made a decision, and I think it will work out just fine—”

  “I get to skip a couple grades? I knew they wouldn’t let me down, I just knew it!” She was shrieking so loud that I had to yell to calm her down.

  “Randa! Shut up and listen to me. You are not skipping any grades—”

  “What? You mean I’m stuck in the ninth grade?” All promises went out the window with the whine in her voice, just as I thought they would.