Savasana at Sea
Page 32
“Pandora! Mnemosyne! I’m home!” A black cat ambled forward to greet her, while a white cat raced around, chirping and mewing.
“Pandora, you are such a tattletale,” said Morag.
She paused in the tiny galley kitchen to put some dry food into the two cat bowls and pour herself a glass of Malbec. She continued to her small living room, filled with overstuffed furniture and too many bookcases, all bulging with books. She set the glass down on a moon-and-stars coaster on the coffee table and proceeded to light several large green pillar candles and a stick of pine-scented incense.
Morag hit the play button on her answer machine.
“Morag. It’s Diana. I know you’re at the theatre, so I didn’t want to call you on your cell. Are you free at all in the next week to do a healing circle? The requests are piling up. And I’d like to talk to you about teaching another tarot class on one of your nights off next month. Call me when you get a chance. You know I’m up late.”
Beep.
“Hello, you gorgeous Goddess, you. It’s Hart.” The silky, melodic voice filled the room. Morag didn’t realize she sighed. “I thought of you all day yesterday and all night last night and all day today. I’d like to see you again. . .soon.”
Beep.
No words, just silence. Then a disconnect.
Hartley Crain. He was one of the handsomest men Morag ever met. That was two nights ago, on her night off, at a dinner party at Diana’s. When she saw him, she thought he was overwhelming. Tall, broad, well-defined muscles, a shock of auburn hair falling to his shoulders, deep green eyes. When he was introduced to her, she thought she could fall into his eyes and live there forever.
He’s too good-looking, she thought at the time. He must know it. I won’t feed his ego. So she steeled herself against him. Over the course of the night, she discovered his intelligence, self-deprecating humor, and kindness.
He drove her home after dinner and found a parking spot directly across the street. “Helps to have connections,” he teased, referring to the parking spell he’d whispered as they crawled down the street in the car. He insisted on walking her to her door.
They talked outside, on the front stoop, for an hour that passed by like a few minutes. They kissed. Hart’s kisses were warm and luscious, insistent, demanding, yet giving. Every place his hands touched Morag’s body set off small explosions in her.
“I’m not a casual person,” she said, not wanting to lead him on.
“I know.”
“It’s all just a little too fast for me to feel comfortable.”
Hart nodded and pulled back. “It’s okay,” he said. “We can take our time. I’ll call you, okay?” He stood up and looked at her.
“Sure.”
He gave a shaky laugh. “Now I’m going to leave, because if I don’t walk away now, I won’t walk away.”
Morag hadn’t expected to hear from him again, in spite of his words. But he called.
Her hand reached for the phone. She stopped. The next few days were going to be high stress. She couldn’t start anything now. But it would be rude to ignore the call. Morag dialed.
Hart answered on the second ring. “Hello?”
“Hi. It’s Morag.”
“Hello, Goddess.”
“I hope it’s not too late to call.”
“I was hoping to hear from you today.”
“Two-show day.”
“Are you tired?”
“A little.”
“I’ve got to drive back upstate tomorrow, to take care of my life up there. It’s not that far. Only a coupla three hours. You can get a train out of Grand Central and I’ll pick you up. I know you only have one day off, but if you come up Sunday night, you could go back Tuesday afternoon.”
“It’s tempting, but. . .”
“Say yes.”
“This week is crazy at work. I might want to sleep.”
“It’s restful up here. A sanctuary. I’ll expect you Sunday night.”
“Hart,” Morag began, but he clicked off.
…
“So you see, Hart expects me to go upstate on the day off. It still feels like it’s moving a bit too fast for me. I might cancel if this week proves too much. I probably should cancel and not make any decisions when I’m stressed or overtired. But just in case I decide to go up there, I could do the circle Tuesday night, after the show.” Morag called Diana back the following morning.
“With a Wednesday matinee?” Diana sounded dubious.
“Yeah.”
Diana laughed. “I am so glad you and Hart hit it off. Is he made to order or what? You wouldn’t believe how women throw themselves at him at the festivals. I mean, you deserve it and all.” Diana sighed.
“Aren’t you happy with Greg?”
“I adore Greg. I just. . .there is something bewitching about Hart. Pun intended. How often do you meet a pagan man who’s not trying to avoid commitment or live out some polyamorous fantasy? Or who’s so passive aggressive it makes your teeth hurt?”
“I know.” Morag smiled. “But I haven’t wanted to jump into anything too quickly after my last debacle.”
“You deserve happiness,” said Diana. “You’ve been through enough crap. You’ve earned the prize.”
…
Visit the Coventina Circle Website:
http://coventinacircle.devonellingtonwork.com
Continue reading for a preview of Tracking Medusa, releasing January 2018.
THE GWEN FINNEGAN MYSTERIES
MEET DR. GWEN FINNEGAN: ARCHAEOLOGIST, anthropologist, mythologist — and practicing witch. Follow her adventures as she learns there’s more beneath the surface than old bones and pottery shards.
Visit the Gwen Finnegan website: http://gwenfinneganmysteries.devonellingtonwork.com
Below is an excerpt from the first book in the series, Tracking Medusa by Devon Ellington, re-releasing in January of 2018.
…
CHAPTER 1
Gwen Finnegan showed her ID to the cop on the perimeter, and he lifted the yellow crime-scene tape to let her through. “Watch your boots, Dr. Finnegan. Don’t step in the blood.”
“They’ve been through worse.”
“We haven’t photographed it yet.”
“I’ll be careful.” She skirted the bloody handprints that climbed up the marble stairs ahead of her. She swallowed, not wanting the possible scenarios that could have caused them to flash through her head. She knew she’d dream about it that night. She’d deal with that when she had to. For now…
“Dr. Finnegan, thank you for coming down here so quickly. Sorry to see you again under these circumstances.”
“Detective, thank you for calling me.”
“I thought you’d want to see the body. Since you were…close…and all.”
“And to gauge my reaction in case I caused whatever happened to him?” Dr. Finnegan’s cool grey eyes stared into his dark brown ones. “I understand, Detective. It’s your job. I assume he’s dead?”
“Yeah.” He watched her for a minute. “You sure you want to see this?”
“I don’t, but I feel I should. How bad is it?”
“Well, he’s dead. But he hasn’t been mutilated, if that’s what you mean.”
“The bloody handprints on the stairs?”
“He was stabbed, but that’s not what killed him.”
“Are you allowed to tell me what did?”
“I don’t know. The medical examiner will have to figure it out.”
“Any ideas?”
“Other than the small stab wound, which he seems to have wiped with his hands before crawling up the stairs, there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with him.”
“Except that he’s dead.”
“Exactly. But it wasn’t from bleeding out.”
“I better take a look.”
Detective Tom Albright stepped aside and let her enter the private room of the university club. Harry Fletcher lay on his back, eyes open, staring at the ceiling. One ha
nd was flung over his forehead, as though trying to ward off something. His mouth was twisted in a grimace. His white hair was perfectly in place. His expensive charcoal gray wool, double-breasted windowpane suit, crisp white shirt and navy silk tie were rumpled in way that would have displeased the man, and Gwen fought the desire to straighten them, since he couldn’t. There was a dark brownish-red stain on the right side, where a blade had entered and blood exited. “Anything in his pockets?”
“Keys to his apartment. His wallet is in the back pocket. Nothing seems to be missing.”
“No overcoat. Unless it’s in the coat room?”
Albright shook his head. “Not unless he wore a coat nobody recognized.”
“Harry would wear a coat everybody recognized. It’s still a little raw not to wear a coat out at night.”
“I thought so, too.”
Gwen bent over him. “Poor Harry.” She stared into the sightless eyes for a moment and frowned. She looked up at the ceiling medallion. A mythical creature with snakes for hair grinned down at her. She stared at it for a few minutes, narrowing her eyes, and shook her head.
“Notice something?” Albright asked.
“Nothing you wouldn’t have.”
“My experience is with death and baseball,” said Albright. “If you know a reason why someone wanted to kill him, I wish you’d tell me.”
“Why are most people murdered?” asked Gwen. “Betrayal, lust, money. Harry’s not the betraying sort. Lust? That’s taken care of, unless one of his silly grad students tried to get him in bed and he refused.”
“Would he have told you?”
“He was too much of a gentleman to go telling those tales. Besides, he didn’t have to prove anything to me. He knew I trusted him.”
“What about professional jealousy? Or money?”
“It could have been either one of those. But I don’t know why.”
“You’re sure?”
“If I knew something that would help you, I’d tell you.”
“Only if it suited you.”
“It suits me.” Gwen looked around. “I don’t suppose Gus Bellingham is anywhere around?”
“He’s having hysterics and puking in the bathroom.”
“Mind if I take him with me when I leave? I’ll get him home. You’re more than welcome to send someone with us if you think we’re trying to match stories.”
Albright shook his head. “I know you better than that, Dr. Finnegan.”
Gwen smiled. Albright wouldn’t admit it, but he trusted her, to a point. “As you say, it’s a shame we meet again over a dead body.”
“It would be a help if you’d take Professor Bellingham off my hands.” Albright nodded to a uniformed officer, who walked over to the bathroom door with the gilded handle. “Do you have any idea what Fletcher was working on that would upset someone enough to want him dead?”
“He annoyed people regularly,” said Gwen. “But I don’t think they’d kill him for it. He was working on a new theory involving Etruscan pottery, relating it more closely to the Faliscans than previous theories. Again, unless someone thought he had artifacts stashed here worth something, I can’t imagine why they’d get violent about it. Did you find anything missing?”
“We don’t know he had anything with him to miss. The only sign of a struggle is on the steps,” said Albright. “The funny thing is, no one remembers seeing Fletcher come in, much less any sort of altercation that would cause him to crawl up the stairs and bleed.”
Gwen frowned. “Could he have been stabbed before he got here?”
“Then why not ask for help when he was admitted? The porter or maitre d’ or whatever the hell he’s called says no one gets in unless he admits them. He never opened to door to Fletcher.”
“I’m sure he had a key. Harry had a thing about keys. Maybe to a side door. Even if you didn’t find one in his pocket. Someone could’ve taken it from him. But then why not come up the back stairs?” Gwen frowned again and shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m assuming you’ll go to his apartment when you’re done here?”
“There are already men there. I’ll join them when I can.”
“I wasn’t planning on paying a visit before you got there. You will find some of my things in the place, though. Toothbrush, change of clothes, things like that.”
“I’m sure I’ll call you when I find things in the apartment I don’t understand.”
“If I think of anything, I promise I’ll call you.”
“Do you need my number?”
“No, thanks. I kept it from the last time.”
The uniformed officer led out a shaky Augustus Bellingham. He was a tall, weedy-looking man in a shabby tweed jacket, white dress shirt with a navy blue bowtie, and dark trousers. He was a few years beyond his deceased friend’s seventy-two, and, tonight, he looked it. His white hair was a bit too long and messy, and his hazel eyes were wide with fright. “Gwen?”
“Gus, come along. There’s nothing more we can do here. Detective Albright will let us know if there’s anything else.”
She took his arm and led him down the stairs, again careful to avoid stepping in the bloody handprints. Gus leaned against her like a small child. Gwen paused at the bottom of the stairs, staring up at the ceiling medallion. Another gorgon grinned down at her.
“Whaa—” Gus began.
“Keep your eyes level, please, Gus,” said Gwen. “Don’t look up.”
“Dr. Finnegan!” Detective Albright hailed her from the landing.
She turned. “Yes?”
“You’re getting quite the reputation as a black widow. Make sure the professor gets home intact, would you?”
Gwen resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him and led Gus out onto the street to flag down a taxi.
…
“Do you think another whisky and soda is a bad idea?” They were in Gus’s apartment on East 26th Street. What it lacked in furniture, it made up for in piles of books and papers everywhere.
Gwen narrowly missed knocking over yet another stack of books. “I think it’s a good idea, actually. I’ll skip the soda.”
“Whatever you wish.” He watched her fix the two drinks. After she handed him one, he took a sip, and sighed. “Why wasn’t he more careful?”
“I’m sure he was as careful as he could be.”
“It—she—killed him, didn’t she?”
“Human hands stabbed him, not mystical ones.” Gwen took a sip of her drink.
“Is Albright any good?”
“Very. But after that little Francis Bacon matter two years ago, he’ll keep a close watch on me.”
“He couldn’t possibly think you—”
“He’s smart enough to know I’m not Harry’s murderer. But he’s also smart enough to know I’m not telling him everything.”
“Well…you can’t. He’d think you were mad. He’d think we were all mad.”
“Perhaps we are. But that’s neither here nor there. I’ll have to finish it now.”
“Harry’s been murdered. You can’t possibly take this on.”
“If I don’t, more than Harry will die. We both know that.”
…
Tracking Medusa releases digitally from Pronoun in January 2018.
Visit the website for the Gwen Finnegan Mysteries: http://gwenfinneganmysteries.devonellingtonwork.com
Continue reading for information on the short digital releases and Author Information.
DELECTABLE DIGITAL DELIGHTS
DELECTABLE DIGITAL DELIGHTS ARE SHORT story bites, designed to be read on the go. They encompass both series and stand-alone titles, and can be found at on the Devon Ellington website here:
http://devonellingtonwork.com/delights.html
With buy links at the Devon Ellington bazaar:
http://www.devonellingtonwork.com/bazaar.html
…
The Remarkable Adventures of Cornelia True and Roman Gray
by Devon Ellington
Comic fantasy/
mystery/adventure shorts set in an alternate universe.
“The Ramsey Chase”
Miss Cornelia True lives in Bodwin’s Ferry, a small seacoast town, with her sisters Arabella and Viola. Her life changes forever when Roman Gray, a “fixer” from the future and across the seas from the metropolis of Newest Yorkke lands, naked, amongst Cornelia’s petunias due to a glitch in his Device. Roman hunts a time-traveling serial killer who preys on young women for their blood.
99 cents, available now
“Miss Winston Apologizes”
When the mysterious Edgar Grimstone and his beautiful young ward Laurabella Winston rent the gothic old mansion on the cliffs, Roman wonders what they are running from. Or if another Ramsey and his hostage are putting Bodwin’s Ferry — and Cornelia — in danger.
99 cents, set to release in November 2017
…
“Personal Revolution” — A Cabot’s Crossing Short Mystery
by Devon Ellington
When a man is hanged from the oak tree in a Redcoat uniform at an historic house just before the Independence Day program, Glenda is determined to both solve the murder and protect the newly-opened museum. What she finds is much darker — and more personal — than she bargained.
99 cents, available now
…
The Twinkle Tavern Mysteries
by Ava Dunne
Welcome to Twinkle, Vermont. When her husband is killed in a car crash after a rendezvous with his mistress, Gloria Dunkirk and her teenaged son move in with her mother-in-law. Gloria goes to work at the historic Twinkle Tavern and Green Gate Inn, getting involved in small town life and murder. Mystery with elements of comedy and romance.
“Plot Bunnies”
by Ava Dunne
Someone killed the Easter Bunny — so who’s dancing around the Village Green in his suit? When Max Dunkirk and his friend discover the body of the man who dresses up for local events, they wonder who’s impersonating him at the Easter egg hunt that very moment? The upside is that Gloria gets to spend time with the sexy Dean Eastlake, Twinkle’s favorite detective. The downside is stopping the killer before he strikes again — in minutes.
99 cents, available now.
“Labor Intensive”