Double Trouble
Firefly Junction Cozy Mystery #6
London Lovett
Wild Fox Press
Double Trouble
Copyright © 2019 by London Lovett
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
More Mystery!
About the Author
Chapter 1
With some effort and a short grunt, I pushed open my stubborn bedroom window. It was still early enough that crisp air lingered over the front yard, each chilled molecule holding onto the autumn-y scent of buckeyes, sugar maples and grilled onions. Grilled onions? I turned my face toward the door and took another deep whiff. The scent of grilled onions was mingling with the buttery smell of pie crust.
"They're eating the quiche, darn it." I walked to the closet to grab my sweater. I pressed the soft, warm fabric against my cheek and breathed in the flowery scent of softener. Some people couldn't wait to unpack holiday decorations, dragging out the twinkling light reindeer and glittering ornaments long before the last crust of Thanksgiving pumpkin pie was finished, but for me, my seasonal joy came when the leaves turned on their fiery tints and spicy apple muffins puffed and browned in warm ovens. Instead of plastic Santas and artificial trees, I pulled out my sweaters, scarves and coats the day the calendar flipped from August to September. The first week of September, summer temperatures had still hovered over Firefly Junction like a warm woolen blanket but that didn't stop me from getting my sweaters plumped and prettied for brisk weather. Now that the calendar was nearing the actual true start of fall, the Autumnal Equinox, my hard work and preparation had paid off. My sweaters and scarves were ready for whatever Mother Nature had to offer.
I double checked my makeup in the mirror and swung the door open. With any luck, my uninvited breakfast guests had saved me a piece of Emily's smoked gouda and artichoke quiche. My sister, a sensational home taught cook, had been hard at work developing recipes for my future bed and breakfast at the Cider Ridge Inn. The quiche was such a winner, a smoky, savory, cheesy concoction all cradled in a flaky crust, it became an instant classic. Unfortunately, it was so popular, I couldn't keep the contractors who were supposed to be restoring the inn but seemed to spend more time raiding my refrigerator, from eating it. A familiar raspy laugh coasted down the hallway before I reached the kitchen. Apparently, this morning, my best friend Raine had joined Ursula and Henry on their kidnapping of my gouda and artichoke quiche.
I stopped short of stepping into the kitchen to secretly observe the scene unfolding at the table. After a long, hot summer of lazily floating along empty corridors and drearily drifting through the mostly unfinished walls of the inn, my resident ghost had grown bored. And I had quickly discovered there was nothing more annoying, albeit, entertaining, than a stir crazy ghost.
The highly coveted quiche was sitting in the center of the table on a trivet. Henry was cutting himself another slice, (knowing Henry and his appetite it was most likely his third or fourth piece) but he had to stop twice to rub the back of his neck. Assuming he had taken care of the invisible tickle, Henry leaned forward with a look of determination and a gleaming knife. Edward hovered behind him. As soon as Henry reached toward the quiche, Edward swiped across his neck with long, transparent fingers.
This time Henry startled. The knife clattered onto the half empty pie tin. Ursula, who had switched from thin cotton-tees to flannel shirts under her over oversized denim overalls, shook her head in dismay, a gesture she had down to an art. "You are as clumsy as an oaf. It's amazing you can swing a hammer to actually hit a nail." She ended her comment with another signature head shake.
Henry rubbed his neck again. "I tell you that darn ghost is up to his tricks again. Someone is tickling the back of my neck."
Raine dug her fork into the piece of quiche on her plate. "Henry, if the ghost were sitting with us in the kitchen right now, I assure you, I would know it. According to the aura floating around this room, the only thing out of this world is Emily's egg tart."
Raine and her wondrous sixth sense were Edward's next victim. He vanished and reappeared right behind her chair. I held my breath and grew a touch nervous, waiting to see what he had in store. I was certain it wouldn't be anything too alarming. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to know he existed. Only I had that distinguished and unenviable privilege. Months back, one especially long week of loud construction had pushed Edward to yank a hammer from Ursula's hand. For a short time, she refused to step foot in the inn again, but Henry and I talked her into returning. I had to lay some ground rules down for my incorporeal housemate. He had been fairly consistent at following them. That was why I occasionally allowed him a little fun, like this morning. It was especially easy since my three visitors had all but obliterated my quiche.
Edward leaned down and blew a cold, ghostly breath against Raine's cheek. Her eyes rounded behind her glasses and the color drained from her face. Edward glimpsed me peering around the corner. He quickly vanished and reappeared on the kitchen hearth, hoping, apparently, that I hadn't witnessed his antics.
Raine was still recuperating from his trick as I stepped into the kitchen.
"Hey, friend, what brings you so early?" I asked cheerily to snap her out of her stupor. (For a self-professed ghost medium, she certainly seemed stunned from a little cold, stale breath on her cheek.)
Raine wriggled on her chair as if to shake off whatever had seized her. "Uh, I came—I came—" She was still in shock.
"You came for the quiche," Ursula supplied the answer for her. "Remember. You walked inside and said, you two better have saved me a slice of Emily's egg tart." Ursula shifted a raised brow my direction in an attempt to show she thought it was some nerve that Raine had stopped in, uninvited, to help herself to breakfast.
"It seems your kitchen is open for business," Edward mused from his perch.
I snuck him a wink and sat down at the table next to Raine. Henry had just served himself another slice, but I managed to snag a nice piece for myself.
Raine got up to pour herself a cup of coffee. "I'm on my way to Lana's to help her with some garlands. I'm hoping it won't take too long." She returned to her seat with her cup. "I want to get over to Hickory Flats. Minnie's Shop of Magick is having a closeout sale. She has the best selection of incense."
I swallowed a bite. "I would say that I'm shocked that she's going out of business but since I've never actually heard of Minnie, or, for that matter, her magic shop, I'll just say it's too bad she's closing."
"Minnie Smithers is the high priestess of the largest
Wiccan group in the area. I loved shopping in her store. Her candle and herb collection is unmatched." Raine picked up the last piece of flaky crust on her plate and nibbled on it. "Are you still expecting visitors?"
"I haven't heard otherwise." I quickly flicked my gaze Edward's direction to see if he noticed the question. Nothing escaped the man.
"We're having visitors?" he drawled. Since the kitchen was filled with people, I ignored his question and continued my conversation with the living.
"They're getting in tomorrow. Lola, the woman I've been chatting with online about antiques for the inn, wants to be here for the start of the Firefly Junction Annual Flea Market. Which works out well because I'm covering the event for the paper."
Henry dotted up every crumb of quiche with his fingertip. Ursula watched him with a scowl and wide nostrils. "Why don't you lick the plate? I think you left some grease behind." She turned to me. "Who are these visitors?" she asked.
Edward coasted over. "Yes, who are these visitors and will any of them be as annoying as this trio of nitwits?"
Raine knew that I'd been exchanging emails with an antique shop owner in a town called Port Danby. Lola had been giving me good ideas on how to furnish the inn to make it comfortable while making it also feel like a trip back to the early nineteenth century. What I'd left out of my narrative was exactly how Lola and I had met online in the first place. During my research of the Cider Ridge Inn, I came across two mid-nineteenth century photographs of the inn. In the photos, Mary Richards, the woman of the house back then, was standing on the front stoop. There was a misty smudge next to her, which, on first glance, could easily have been an error in the photo's development. But on closer inspection, I found that the smudge was not a smudge at all but rather Edward Beckett, my Cider Ridge ghost. Somehow, the camera had picked up his image. I purchased the pictures immediately. They'd been hidden in my dresser drawer ever since.
It seemed I was holding parallel conversations. Fortunately, my response to Ursula worked for Edward too. "They aren't staying here, Ursula, if that's what you were wondering." I looked pointedly but discretely in Edward's direction to let him know I was mostly talking to him. "Lola Button owns an antique store in a town on the west coast. She is flying here with her best friend, Lacey. She's hoping to find some unique items at the Firefly Junction Flea Market. We've been communicating through email. They are both interested in seeing the inn." That statement caused Henry's face to pop up from the last piece of quiche.
"The place is hardly ready to be shown to visitors."
"No, of course not, Henry." I stood and took my plate to the sink. "They are just interested to see it. They know it's being restored." I put my plate in the sink and walked to the pantry to pull out a scoop of dog food. Knowing that a trip into the pantry meant their morning treat would soon follow, Redford and Newman both perked up from their pillows.
Raine's phone beeped. She pulled it out. "Yikes, that's Lana. I'm late." The chair scraped the floor as she got up. "I'm planning on going to the flea market too." She carried her plate and cup to the sink. "Maybe I'll be able to meet your friends."
"Sure," I said, without much enthusiasm. I didn't mind introducing Raine to Lola and Lacey, but I worried the topic of the photos might come up and I wasn't quite sure how to deal with it. Raine had caught my tepid response and looked predictably hurt.
"Of course, if you're embarrassed to introduce me to your west coast friends," she started.
"Don't be silly, Raine. You can meet them. If you have time, we can all go to the flea market together."
She pepped back up with a smile. Her bangles jingled on her wrist as she pulled her keys out of her beaded purse. "Sounds fun. Now I'm off to burn my fingers with hot glue and listen to your sister tell me I'm being too rough with the silk flowers."
"Have fun with that," I called to her as she walked out of the kitchen. I tossed the dogs a treat.
Ursula picked up the rest of the breakfast plates and the now empty pie tin. "I apologize for Henry. He has no self control when it comes to Emily's cooking."
Henry wiped his mouth. "You had two slices too so don't go blaming that empty tin on me." They were both still griping at each other as they walked out of the kitchen and down the hall to the library. It was the last large room to be finished on the first story. The inn was slowly becoming a glistening, stately home. Eventually, I would have to start buying furniture for it, but for now, it was going to have to sit empty. Couches, chairs, lamps and trimmings were the last priority on a long list of expenditures.
With the room empty, I was free to speak to Edward. "As I mentioned, the visitors won't be staying here. They've rented a room in town closer to the flea market. Nevertheless, they'll stop by to see the inn. Since both of them have seen the photos of you standing like a tall, transparent member of the gentry on the front stoop, you'll have to be on your best behavior. I don't want them to think the inn is haunted."
"Naturally," he said as if it was a given because he was always on his best behavior. "But must we use the word haunted? It's so crass and beneath a transparent member of the gentry."
Chapter 2
The morning had been slow. I'd plucked away on my newspaper office computer finishing up a rather uninspiring story about the new bell tower in city hall, but the doldrums instantly vanished when my extremely handsome, amazing and wonderful boyfriend, Detective Brady Jackson, texted about a lunch date. Jackson had been in the city at the courthouse all morning (apparently we had both suffered through a dull Thursday morning) and he was picking up sandwiches for lunch. Since he had to eventually return to the courthouse, we had decided to meet at a halfway point, the Hickory Flats Park off Butternut Crest.
My jeep rolled down the semi-steep driveway into the parking lot. I'd driven past the Hickory Flats Park many times but it was my first time actually stopping. The park had plenty of shade provided by sprawling trees jutting amongst the obligatory kiddie playground and basketball courts. The park itself was fairly small, but there were a number of hiking trails that forked off from its landscaped borders, manicured lawns and paved walkways. The trails led to a wilderness area filled with trees and shrubs that hugged the entire rear perimeter of the park.
Jackson was already sitting at a picnic bench under the shade of an elm tree. I parked next to his car and took a second to admire how darn good he looked in his courthouse suit and tie. I knew he preferred his more casual detective attire, the jeans and black boots he wore when out chasing down bad guys and criminals, but it was nice to see him all spiffy and official every once in awhile. Of course, I had worn khaki pants and a black t-shirt to work so I wasn't exactly dressed for our stylish lunch date.
A bright blue car waddled down the driveway into the parking lot as I climbed out of my jeep. The backseat of the car was filled with boxes. The two women sitting in the driver and passenger seats were chatting animatedly about something.
Jackson popped open a soda can as I headed across the grass to our shady lunch spot. "May I say, Detective Jackson, you look smashing, dashing and altogether—" I paused, trying to think of one more word that might rhyme with the first two but nothing came to mind. "Well, you get the point." I threw my leg over the bench and sat down across from him. He lifted his dark sunglasses. His amber eyes smiled at me over his meatloaf sandwich.
"I don't feel dashing or smashing or altogether anything." He tugged at his necktie. "There is nothing worse than a suit and tie."
A short laugh spurted from my mouth. "Excuse me but have you ever heard of a bra? I'd take the tie anytime."
"You're right. You win." He chuckled as he handed me my sandwich. "I told them extra pickle for my sweetie because she likes things briny." He winked and pulled his sunglasses back down.
"Thanks for remembering. I do love a good pickle." I unwrapped the sandwich. Before taking a bite, I lifted my face to feel the autumn breeze as it danced through the overhead branches. "Smell that? It's the fragrance of pumpkins and bonfires and
knitted scarves."
He took a sip of soda. "You've got a good nose if you can smell a knitted scarf in that breeze."
"Oh, that reminds me about my visitors—" I started, but was interrupted by voices behind me.
I glanced back over my shoulder. The two women had climbed out of the blue car. One was a petite twenty something with curly hair and round glasses with multicolored frames. The other was slightly older with a tall, statuesque physique and long, shiny brunette hair. With some effort, they pulled boxes out of the backseat of the small car. The tall woman pulled out a box that was overflowing with vines of fake fall leaves. The other woman pulled out two wicker baskets, both brimming with small pumpkins, gourds and apples. They headed toward one of the hiking paths.
"Guess that explains why I smelled pumpkins." I turned back around. "Looks like they are going to decorate for a party. I wonder why they are carrying the stuff into the wilderness when there are perfectly nice picnic tables here in the park."
Jackson was concentrating intently on his sandwich, but he stopped to wipe his mouth. "It's the local Wiccan group. There's a clearing in the wilderness where they occasionally set up for one of their various ceremonies."
"And you know this how?" I asked, mildly intrigued.
He shrugged. "I'm their high priest. I perform the burning sacrifices and stuff like that." He said it in such a deadpan tone and with such a straight face, I almost believed him. But then I caught that little twinkle that signaled he was teasing me. He grinned behind his sandwich. "The first year they started their group and came up here to dance and say chants and all that, we had a minor freak out from some of the locals. We got it all straightened out. They are an interesting bunch and completely harmless. There are still a few locals who put up a fuss, insisting they don't want witches in their park but most people don't mind. What were you saying about your visitors? The antique dealer, right?"
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