Murder to Spare

by Tamara Woods

  Murder to Spare

  Mystic Eye Bookshop Files, Volume 1

  Tamara Woods

  Published by Tamara Woods, 2019.

  Murder to Spare

  Copyright © 2019 by Tamara Woods

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations em- bodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by DA studios

  ISBN: 978-1-7328366-0-0

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  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 One

  Heels were in league with the devil, Isa groaned as she pulled her off, and wiggled her cramped toes. The wind blew the door closed behind her with a bang, startling her. She always felt jumpy after a long drive. Something about being cooped up in a car. Her bags dropped with a satisfying thud onto the kitchen counter.

  Isa could finally relax.

  "Isadora Mae Cofindager, if you don't get your germ-infested bags offa my counter! I raised you better than that." Before Isa could pick them up, her Aunt Maybel grabbed her up in a hug, pulling her in close.

  "Don't stay away so long ever again, you hear?" she whispered.

  "Yes, ma'am."

  Isa's throat tightened and she luxuriated in the warm comfort of her aunt's embrace. Aunt Maybel had raised her since her mom had passed when she was a little girl. Cancer was the doctor's diagnosis. Auntie had said it was from a broken heart.

  Isa had left Whisper Valley, West Virginia as soon as the ink had dried on her diploma and traveled out west to Ohio. Granted, she hadn't exactly blazed a trail to the mystic Orient. But it had been far enough that she'd felt like she'd moved light years away. And she hadn't been back until her aunt had said she needed her.

  They pulled away, and Isa lifted her offensive bags off the counter. The imitation Coach bag had been the find of a lifetime when she'd found it at a flea market several years ago. It was in perfectly lovely condition.

  Her aunt was just particular about some things.

  "How was your drive? Did you eat anything on your way? Go on take that thing back to your room. I'll fix you up something to eat."

  Isa was used to her aunt asking a group of questions that she didn't expect an answer for. She smiled and lugged her bag into her old bedroom in the back.

  It was like stepping into a time machine to her teenage years.

  Everything was the same: from the bookshelves stuffed with her old favorites and track trophies to the demotivational posters on the wall including her favorite: Why try when you can just take a nap? Her bed was perfectly made and there was no sign of dust. She knew her aunt must have periodically come in and cleaned to keep it "just so."

  Particular.

  The corkboard above her desk caught her eye.

  Each snapshot told a tale. Her wearing a gold medal, exhausted, but grinning after the 400m race. She and her bestie Clare with their prom dates. They'd spent more time laughing together than paying attention to those poor guys. A program from a play she'd watched at the Clay Center in Charleston. A few earrings she'd lost the mates to, but they were cool so she stuck them to the memory board. And then there were the pictures that had a face painstakingly cut out in perfect circles. Her ex-Travis. Looking at where his face used to make her stomach twist in knots.

  She shook that feeling off and looked underneath her desk. Her Powder Puff Girl slippers waited under her desk like she'd never left. She slipped them on and sighed in contentment. They felt like home.

  She met her aunt back in the kitchen.

  “How’s the Mystic Eye doing?” she asked, settling into one of the stools at the counter. Living upstairs from the bookstore had been amazing as a kid. She’d found her love for reading there and her aunt had found her financial independence.

  “You just got home! We ain’t talking shop yet. You eat yet? I bet you didn’t even stop for a break, did you? I’ll make you up a little plate.” Her aunt bustled around the room, her caftan of blues and greens catching the light.

  Isa had a sneaky suspicion that her aunt would be cagey about the bookstore even though she knew she needed the extra help. Eventually they’d have to confront things, but right now, she would snack. Her aunt was right, she hadn’t stopped for a snack and she was starving.

  After a few minutes and a microwave ding, her aunt set a steaming plate stacked high with leftover baked chicken and fried potatoes in front of her.

  “Auntie! I can’t eat all it all. This could feed the Whisper Valley High football squad! First string!”

  “Oh hush.” Her aunt playfully smacked her arm, to Isa’s amusement. She took in the newly remodeled kitchen while she made a little dent in the food.

  The pipes had burst in the kitchen months ago, and so it had undergone a major facelift. It really was the heart of the home at Auntie’s house, and where everyone who came in was drawn to.

  It was shades of sage green with deep mahogany cabinets. An island with a butcher block and bar stools around it dominated the middle. The black appliances and more butcher block counter tops with a blue and gray backsplash. There were gadgets stuffed in all of the drawers and nooks and crannies in the house, but Auntie liked to keep it all hidden away. The surfaces were spotless.

  “Your kitchen turned out beautiful, Auntie,” Isa said in-between bites of chicken.

  Her aunt harrumphed. “It better have, after all the time and mess I had to go through. This kitchen was trying to be the death of me.”

  Isa murmured in sympathy.

  Her aunt had had so much trouble getting the contractor to finish the job. She'd had to threaten him with the idea of a lawsuit and her performing some type of who-doo on him. Isa couldn't remember the guy's name. She'd gone to school with him, but she thought he was younger.

  Isa took another bite and groaned at the perfectly flavored chicken.

  “Auntie, this chicken is hitting! It’s even better than it used to be,” Isa said.

  Her aunt brightened under the compliment, shaking off the irritation of the contractor.

  "I wanted to make your favorite, so you'd have something good to eat when you got back. I thought you'd be home a little earlier."

  She felt the weight of her aunt's disapproval. "I wanted to leave earlier, but I had some things I had to wrap up first." She cleared her throat.

  "Uh-huh, I'm sure those 'things' had something to do with that man you never talk about and never brought to meet me," Aunt said.

  "Auntie, can we save this for another day. Please? I'm exhausted. I just want to eat this good food and get some sleep."

  Isa gave her aunt a pleading look and the older woman relented. She would have plenty of time to tell her niece off now that she was back for good.


  "All right, baby girl. Go on and finish your plate. Put it in that fancy dishwasher. I don't like the damn thing, but if I got it, I'm gonna use it," she said.

  Isa nodded, grateful for the reprieve.

  "Do you want something to drink with your dinner? Maybe some ice for that bottle of water?" Auntie asked.

  "I'll get it. Can I get you something too?" She knew what was happening next.

  Auntie sat back down at the kitchen counter with a grateful sigh.

  "Yes, baby. If you could just make me a little piece of a drink with cola and just a hint of some of that rum and a few ice cubes in it, if it's not too much trouble."

  Isa nodded. She'd been making this drink for Auntie for as long as she could reach the freezer. A "little piece of a drink" was large tumbler filled to the brim with ice, liquor and a few splashes of cola. The color had to be just right. Auntie was an older Southern black woman and it just wasn't ladylike to admit that she liked a cocktail that could put a sailor under the table.

  She opened and closed a couple of cupboards before she found the one with the glasses. She made her aunt's beverage and then decided on some of the sweet tea that was always in the fridge for herself. She gave out the drinks, added the straws, and Auntie took a long satisfied slurp.

  "When you going to cut all that hair off?"

  "Oh, Auntie," she sighed. This argument was older than her auntie's hair scarf.

  "You know, you'd be able to find a man if you didn't have all that hair. He can't see your face underneath all that. Looks like you were dropped here from the 70s."

  Isa stifled an eye-roll. "It's the style nowadays Auntie."

  Auntie gave an unladylike snort. "Styles-schmiles. The style is to find you a man, get married, and make me some grandbabies. Now, that's the style."

  Isa wisely didn't say a word. She just sat there and ate her food.

  "Have you heard from your daddy at all?"

  Isa stiffened, but tried to relax, taking a drink of her tea. Auntie made the best sweet tea. It was much sweeter than Northerners and mid-westerners drank it, but it didn't make her teeth feel like they were going to rot out of her head, either.

  "No, ma'am. I haven't heard from him in a while."

  Two years, but who was counting?

  "Maybe you should reach out to him," Auntie said. "He's getting older, you know. We all are. He's not going to last forever."

  She took another sip of tea to remove the bitterness the thought of her father brought to her.

  "You know Clarebele moved back in with her mama," her aunt said after the silence grew a little too long.

  "She is? How’s she doing?" Isa's grin took over her face. Clare had been her ride or die. They would go everywhere together, do everything together. If you saw one, then you'd definitely see the other one coming around the corner.

  Her auntie snorted again, patting her scarf to make sure it was still in place. "Maybe if you took the time to call people or write letters while you were off 'finding yourself,' you'd know better."

  Isa took the hit like a champ and nodded. From her perspective, her aunt was right. But like most things, it was complicated.

  Her aunt continued. "She's doing fine. Her mother has gone ill. She's been taking care of her."

  "That's a shame. Miss Olivia was always on the go-go-go."

  Isa remembered her as a strong woman, always on the way out the door going between her two jobs. Clare had spent as much at Auntie's house as she had at her own.

  "Not anymore. She can hardly move without her walker some days. Sometimes old age gets hold of you just like that," Auntie said and snapped her fingers. She took another strong drink of her cocktail and smacked her lips in a decidedly unladylike fashion. Clearly, it was good to her.

  "I'm sorry to hear that. I'm going to visit really soon."

  "I'd expect no less." Auntie smiled.

  Isa put her hand over Aunt Maybel's on the table. Her aunt’s skin had started to sag, her brown skin showing wrinkles where there used to be none. Isa felt a pang in her chest—it wasn’t just Miss Olivia; her aunt was aging too. She'd be able to take better care of her since she was home. But for how long? Isa still had her own life to lead, didn't she?

  "I'm glad you're home, baby girl.” Auntie gave her hand a squeeze.

  She’d wanted nothing more than to leave the town behind. She’d wanted to take her love for books and to run with it. And now all of her running had led her back here. Was it for the best?

  Isa squeezed back with a huge smile, her eyes cloudy with her doubts.

  Chapter Two

  "Breakfast is up! Meet your morning with a smile!"

  Isa snapped awake from the nightmare where a man's tentacle arms had slithered around her waist, holding her trapped. Her heart thudded against her chest and she struggled to catch her breath. Good old anxiety dreams. She shuddered. That wasn't the rejuvenating rest she'd been looking forward to. And her aunt's voice bellowing wasn't the relaxing way she liked to wake up, but it was definitely how it went down in Auntie's house.

  Her aunt hollered through the door again. For someone who enjoyed her cocktails so much, that woman was an insufferable morning bird. Tweet, tweet go back to sleep, Isa thought.

  "I'm awake," she croaked, otherwise the racket would keep going. She fumbled for her glasses on the nightstand. Had she even rested at all?

  "Breakfast in 20 minutes!" Satisfaction rang in Auntie's voice. Her footsteps quickly moved away from the door.

  Insufferable morning bird. Isa would like mornings better if they started the afternoon. She slowly rolled out of bed, her back cracking as she stood. She pulled off her silk hair cap and took a quick glance in the mirror. Her curls were still popping today. She grabbed her toiletry bag and a dress from her suitcase. It wasn't wash day for her hair, so she made quick work of her shower.

  She smoothed some Shea butter on her light brown skin and some coconut oil in her damp hair. She dressed in record time, donning her customary cardigan, this time with cute plum pant, eyeliner and a berry gloss. She glided into the kitchen a few minutes before her aunt would've hollered at her again. Biscuits baking and sausage gravy simmering wafted to her nose as she got closer to the kitchen's doorway. Her aunt didn't cook like that on the regular and Isa was touched by the extra effort. She thanked the heavens that her pants had a forgiving waistband.

  Auntie's newly designed kitchen had a wet bar where her coffee pot and what looked like a never-been-used espresso machine held court. Isa started the pot, making the coffee as strong as she could stand it.

  "What are your plans for the day?" Her aunt stirred the gravy in her cast iron skillet. That thing had been around since before Isa was born.

  Isa paused in putting away the coffee grounds. "I'm not sure yet. I wasn't sure if you wanted me to dive in at the store or...?"

  "You just got here, there's plenty of time for that. You can come in tomorrow. Maybe even Monday," her aunt said.

  Isa nodded and sighed inwardly. Even though her aunt asked her for help, she'd known the older woman would have a hard time giving up even a little bit of control. Perfectly understandable. Her aunt had been running the place by herself for decades. Isa just hoped for her own sake that Maybel wasn't too stuck in her old ways. Her aunt was an Aquarius, and she could be unpredictable.

  Not that Isa believed in that sort of thing.

  She set the table and poured some juice for her aunt. Soon the food was ready and they passed the bowl of gravy and the basket of biscuits. They bowed their head in prayer and then dug in.

  "I might pop into This-n-That," Isa said, before taking a bite of the biscuit smothered in gravy. Delicious. It tasted like home.

  "Looking for anything in particular?" her aunt asked as she ripped apart a biscuit to dip into her gravy.

  This-n-That was the town's thrift store. One of Isa's favorite people, her retired English teach Mrs. Barry ran the store. Every time Isa went in to visit, it was like an adventure. The stock was so v
aried and different, there was no way to see everything. Mrs. Barry said it kept her young to look after old things.

  Isa shook her head. "Nope, just wanting to browse. You never know what you can find. One man's trash and all that."

  "They're the only place in town with decent prices. Back in my day..." Auntie started droning on about the cost of prices and how much bread was when she was young and something about the Age of Aquarius.

  Isa had heard it all before. She nodded at the appropriate moments and enjoyed the sausage gravy. How could something so simple be so good? She was going to have to get back to the healthy eating soon, but for now...she took another huge bite.

  After breakfast was locked down, Isa cleared up the dishes and put them in the dishwasher.

  "You all set up? You got everything you need?" Aunt Maybel kept on before Isa could answer her. "Don't worry too much and get yourself reacquainted with the town. I'll see you later tonight."

  Her aunt kissed her cheek and sashayed her way down to the bookstore.

  Isa felt a stab of envy. Auntie really was living her best life. Isa grabbed her laptop and sank into her favorite chair in the living room. None of the shops would be open yet, but there was no way she could force herself back to sleep. Once she was up, she was up.

  She crossed her legs underneath herself and rested her machine on her lap. It took seconds to boot up and connect to the Wi-Fi. During one of her summer visits, while she was in college, she'd convinced her aunt to get Wi-Fi for the apartment. She'd set up the router herself so they could have access to the internet in the office downstairs. She wondered if her aunt would be interested in offering internet to her customers. She made a note to ask her about it.

  Isa booted up her email. She traded emails with her favorite old coworker, laughing at the shenanigans from the public library. She read a few articles from her favorite site about news and celebrity gossip. And she jumped into a conversation at her professional librarian forum. Time seemed to fly as she discussed the viability of libraries in the digital age.

  This-n-That was definitely open now.