Storm Crazy_A paranormal cozy romance

by Livia Quinn

  That did it.

  “Do you remember asking me earlier what that little vial contained?” His eyes went to the tiny glass bottle still bouncing from the sudden stop. I pointed to the horsefly on the hump that had been as persistent in his efforts to annoy me as the trainee. As Dervil looked on, I murmured, “Come here, bug.”

  It was a simple task to use menori to move the big fly onto my palm where the mere contact with my skin and its slight charge made him stagger, shiver, and then plop over dramatically onto his back. Good job, little guy. This time I didn’t imagine my trainee’s uncomfortable squirm. It gained me a whole thirty minutes of peace.

  It wasn’t meant to last.

  At one thirty I got a call from the Shone Pet Clinic. A bad feeling coincided with the sky unloading a frog strangler of a downpour.

  “Ms. Pomeroy, Dr. Shone was wondering if you could come by and get your dog? He’s wreaking havoc over here.”

  My dog. Now have you heard me mention a dog? “Um, could you describe him?”

  A whispered exclamation came across the phone. “A standard red and sable Pomeranian?”

  “How did you know he was mine?”

  “Well, duh. His collar says, ‘I’m Rogue, Tempest Pomeroy’s little man’.”

  I groaned. “Oh, right. I’ll be there in five.”

  Marty had heard me. Why else would the charade have been necessary?

  I made a quick three point turn in the street and headed to Shone’s Clinic. Dervil woke from his nap. “Hey, where you goin’?”

  “We need to take a detour,” I said. I parked at the curb and dashed through the rain to the front door. Too bad there were witnesses. I could have split the rain in two and walked in dry as Moses. I’d done really well with that exercise last night.

  The Imp was in rare form in the reception room of the clinic as he circled the large center bench in the waiting room hair flying, then took off through an open exam room door into the back and sprang out from behind the receptionist’s desk again. Customers and techs ran behind him like a Latin dance chain, and kids came from every direction. A cooing toddler tried to catch him and slipped, landing on his padded rump in a fit of giggles. One vet tech threw a looped cable, attempting to lasso him like a calf in a steer wrestling competition. All those attempts failed.

  “Rogue” gnashed his teeth at anyone who got close and managed to pick up some compadres along the way. When I stepped through the front door, his motley pack included a Dachshund, a German Shepherd, a recently groomed Standard Poodle, and an elegant but determined Persian, who gave the impression she was too good for this but having too much fun to quit.

  I planted myself in Marty’s path on his next pass through the main room and put up my palm, “Rogue, sit.”

  Marty slid to a halt at my feet, with two of his pals sliding into him from behind, the rest wondering why all the fun had stopped. Their “parents” quickly grabbed each one and took them away while I dealt with the bad boy.

  Dr. Shone walked in as I scooped the Rogue into my arms. No matter the trauma or excitement, Chris Shone never seemed to rattle. She was blonde, around five-six and pleasantly plump. I’d never seen an animal growl at her. A baby raccoon peaked out from her cleavage. Did I mention she was brave?

  “I appreciate you coming so quickly, Tempe. Your… dog seems to have a burr up his hiney.”

  Having grown up in a Paramortal family, Chris didn’t hold me responsible for Marty’s actions. “I’m glad you called, Chris.” I wanted to hit the little Imp across his “hiney” but I’d probably get strung up in the front lobby, so I settled for looking into Marty’s eyes and saying, “Bad, bad dog, Rogue. Shame.” The look he gave me lacked remorse and everyone laughed as a sprinkle of pee hit my t-shirt. That’ll teach you to shame me in public, the haughty fake-dog-look he gave me said.

  I left with Rogue in an enclosed carrier to transport him in the bed of my truck. If it weren’t for the humans, that would have been entirely unnecessary, but what would I say to the trainee and the customers in Dr. Shone’s office to explain riding him in a downpour? So I went along with the charade. Pretending I was taking custody of my “little man”, I placed the carrier down on the bed of the truck.

  Marty had used the situation to convey a message. He spoke just five words before he poofed that added a chill to my wet clothing.

  “It’s about wishes and power.”

  As clues went, that one sucked.

  Chapter 27

  Jack

  I left the parent teacher meeting with Jordie’s biology instructor and swung by the DMV to get a picture of Ray Meeker from his record. Tempe’s friend was working at one of the windows. Once again, she was dressed like a Quaker out of the 1800s. She pushed black frames up on the bridge of her nose and asked if she could help me.

  “It’s Bailey Duplessis right? I’m Sheriff Lang. We met at Bons Amis Tuesday night?”

  She looked puzzled so I passed the victim’s name and license number to her. “I need a DL photo of this man.” She pulled up the record and printed the photo out, handing it over. “Is there anything else, Sheriff Lang?”

  “No, that’ll do it.”

  Bailey’s expression went blank and she directed her smile at the next customer. “Hi, I’m Bailey….”

  I slipped the picture back into the folder, thinking my initial assessment of this woman had been correct.

  I found the little strip mall two blocks from Phoebe’s house brimming with business. I showed Meeker’s picture at the bank, the drug store, the Big T gas station and finally hit pay dirt at the Jitney Jungle.

  It was some more good news, bad news. Jordie’s friend Melissa’s mom, the 1-900 psychic and gossip columnist, had been working the weekend before when Meeker came through the line.

  Her expression struck me as a little too eager. “It had to be Sunday because I didn’t work Saturday. I work at the paper, you know, during the week.” She cracked her gum noisily and persisted at scratching her head, which moved her wig a half-inch clockwise with each scratch. I held back a smile.

  “What time Sunday?” I noticed a few curious glances from nearby shoppers. “Can we talk somewhere with a little more privacy?” Though now that she was involved… do the words “gossip columnist” tell you what I’m thinking?

  “Sure, Sheriff Lang.” She linked an arm through mine and pulled me to the manager’s office. “Ben, can the sheriff and I use the office for just a couple minutes. He needs to debrief me.”

  Oh, brother. I addressed the manager. “I just have a couple questions for both of you. Mrs. Fortune said this man was in your store Sunday.” I handed him the picture of Ray.

  Ben leaned forward squinting at the picture. “Yeah,” he drawled, “that looks like one of the men with Mrs. Pomeroy.”

  The gossip cut in, “Not the extinguished looking one.” She directed that at Ben. Used to interpreting Fortune’s columns, I automatically translated that to “distinguished”.

  “Phoebe and your guy there—Ray?—they had a hell of a fight in the produce department. She threw an umbrella at him. We couldn’t figure out where it came from. I mean it wasn’t raining or anything. And there was—” she looked at Ben and lifted her shoulders, “like…exploded fruit everywhere. Ben had to ask them to leave.” Ben shrugged his shoulders in silent agreement.

  I thanked them and headed to the parking lot when it struck me what they’d said. I tapped on the door of the office where they still stood, no doubt discussing my visit.

  “Ben, could you explain what you meant when you said, ‘One of the men’?” I asked.

  Fortune answered. “The three of them, sometimes four, come in every weekend.”

  I gazed at her.

  The gossip looked at me exasperated. She said very slowly and distinctly, like I was a child or spoke another language. “This isn’t the first time Phoebe has visited the store with her accomplices—”

  “Accomplices?” I asked. I looked at Ben, who just rolled his eye
s and shrugged.

  She started again, “The men who accompliced her,” Jane swore, nearly yelling, “They go everywhere with her.”

  Ah, missed that one—the men who “accompany” her.

  “No doubt her roommates, or lovers.” Her eyes were alight with the potential story.

  “Do you have names to go with these… friends?”

  They looked at each other. Fortune said, “Phoebe never introduced them.” Her head tilted and she looked at me sideways, brows bouncing, “That’s kind of strange, don’t you think?”

  Did I think it was strange that Phoebe Pomeroy didn’t introduce her male “friends” to the local gossip? Uh… negative.

  I drove straight to Tempe’s mother’s house. The grass was high, especially for someone with three male roommates. After getting no response at the door, I walked around the house to check for lights. One of the blinds was open on what appeared to be a bedroom, and I saw nothing except a room that looked like it hadn’t been lived in.

  I headed back toward Destiny. This new information added a whole new dimension to my investigation. And two new nameless suspects.

  Tempe

  Phoebe, what are you up to? Can you read me? If you can, we need to talk.

  If she’d answer I could tell her the sheriff wanted to question her about River and some phone records he found at the victim’s apartment. I didn’t remember what a mindlink felt like, but surely I could figure out how to receive an incoming message.

  Our family link relied on two things—proximity and well being. Maybe Mother was just out of range, or maybe she’d shut me out as she’d done in the past. But with River missing, her continued absence had me worried as well. No, we had not been close since Dutch died, but I did…love her?

  For the first time in a long time, I considered my feelings for her, and not anger or distain. Now they were both missing. And they were all I had. I would drive over to her house again tomorrow if she hadn’t returned my call or shown up on my genie radar, and if I didn’t find her, I’d fill out another Missing Persons report. My heart skipped a beat.

  I detoured to Harmony Plantation to change out of my wet clothes. An old red Ford F-150 sat next to the house.

  “Zeus’ boney knees!”

  The Unhandyman was here, off his leash and without supervision. You know how some people just really, really, really, really want to make it big as a professional performer or athlete? Well, Freddie is Storm Lake’s answer to Home Improvement. When you hire Fred, you have to take the breaking with the fixing.

  And here he was. On my roof! The liability of it made cold sweat gather between my shoulder blades and nausea threaten.

  “Freddie,” I called quietly. I didn’t want to startle him and have him shoot down the slick tin roof and break his neck.

  He didn’t look up.

  I cleared my throat and tried again. “Freddie, you up there?”

  I heard heavy unsteady clomping and Freddie peeked out over the edge of the roof waving. “Hi, Tempest. I know I was supposed to wait for River to call, but I didn’t hear from him Monday or Tuesday like he said, and this roof really needs to be finished before the next rain. There are a couple of new leaks, but don’t worry,” he held up the roll of silver tape. “I fixed it.”

  I tilted my head back and studied the darkening sky, every pore sucking in the humidity. What’s a little sticky goo compared to a leak? I mean, who would be able to see it but God?

  “Thanks, Freddie. I don’t know what we’d do without you. I’ve been too busy to think about the roof leaking. Could I talk to you for a sec?”

  “You…betcha.” He clambered down the ladder. “Whoa,” he said as his wet boots slipped and skidded causing him to miss a couple rungs, but he landed safely. Sauntering over to his truck he grabbed a tub of Orange goop. I’d watched River clean his hands with the stuff hundreds of times, but for Freddie it was a spiritual ritual. I guess if you needed to use it to clean up, then you were doing work that was worthy of notice.

  While he worked it between his fingers and under his nails I asked, “When was the last time you talked to River?”

  He scrunched his eyebrows together, squeezed one eye shut, tilted his head back. Come on, Fred. “I believe it was Sunday night before his date.”

  “His date?” I grabbed his arm. “River had a date? Who was it with?” A little urgency crept into my voice, despite my efforts to prevent it.

  “He didn’t tell me. I assumed it was a date. He said he’d call me Monday about what to do. You know he always calls and tells me, like where to put stuff, and when to meet him, and then we go over his list so I don’t screw—er, so I know exactly what he wants me to do, but he didn’t show up. I figured he got busy, but since we were supposed to work on the roof and the window this week, I came anyway.” His expression changed, becoming concerned. “Is that okay?”

  I hesitated knowing how close Freddie was to River. “River didn’t show up at his job site Monday morning, Fred. I haven’t been able to locate him—”

  “He’s missing?” Freddie paced. “Call 911. Something must have happened to him. He could have driven off a cliff—”

  “Ooo-kay. Let’s take a deep breath.”

  And I meant we. His instantaneous reaction made me feel even worse, if that was possible. I put my arm around his shoulder and led him onto the porch. It was full dark now and our breaths were coming out in puffs in the light of the porch. “First of all, there may be one cliff in all of Louisiana, so we can rule that out.” Neither of us laughed.

  “Aren’t you worried?” he asked, eyebrows curled in concern. “I mean it’s Thursday, for God’s sake.”

  My eyes burned. “I know, Freddie. I filed a report yesterday morning, and the sheriff is investigating.” I hoped. “And our friends are putting out feelers. But no one seems to know the identity of the woman River was with Sunday night at the Wasted Turtle.”

  “The Wasted Turtle. The Wasted Turtle?” Freddie caught me off guard with his vehemence. “River wouldn’t have gone to that place on a date, Tempest.”

  Freddie had a point. If he hadn’t gone there on a date, then why? And who was the woman, if she wasn’t his date?

  “Thanks for fixing the leaks. I’ll let you know if I hear from River, and you be sure to call me if you remember anything.”

  “You…betcha.”

  I took a Lean Cuisine out of the freezer, and changed clothes while Chef Micro prepared my meal. I ate it without tasting. My cell phone bleeped and I was surprised to hear Jordie Lang’s voice on the other end.

  “Hey, Jordie. Whatsup?”

  “Hi, Tempe.” Jordie’s voice practically bubbled through the phone. “I’m at practice. You’re still coming Saturday aren’t you? I mean, with everything that’s been going on…” Worry came through clear as spring water.

  “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  She shrieked, “Awesome. I needed to know ‘cause they’re going to let us assign seats for family and friends.”

  “Well, I hope you have a few extra because you’re going to have your own cheering section.”

  “Really?” She sounded so enthused and…grateful, my heart melted.

  “Really. It could be as many as let’s see—me, Bailey, Montana, Katerina, Shannon, Chris, Aurora, Liam, Freddie, no, scratch Bailey, but add Mariah—I think that’s it.”

  “Tempe, you’re the bomb.com.”

  “Thanks, kid.”

  Silence. “Jordie? Was there something else?”

  “I was wondering if you know…um, where I might find a part-time job. I’m a really hard worker, but I can’t just apply at Gator’s Grub or anywhere like Alliance or Hugo where I’d have to drive. And I have to work around my basketball schedule. You have a lot of customers, and Daddy said I should ask people I trust who are in a position to have like, customers and stuff.”

  I felt breathless just listening to her and smiled. She trusts me. I wondered what her father would say about any suggestions I came up w
ith. “I don’t know of anything right off …” I flipped my blinker on, “but I’ll work on it.”

  “Thanks so much, Tempe. I gotta go. Don’t forget, the game’s at 6:30 in the gym, but come any time after two for the Mardi Gras float building and the pep rally. Just tell the guys at the door you’re family. See ya.”

  “Bye,” I whispered to the dead line and gulped. Family. A warm fuzzy feeling invaded my midsection. I liked Jack Lang’s daughter way too much.

  Way.

  Chapter 28

  Jack

  A car pulled to the shoulder as I sped by, knowing they’d been about to get a ticket for speeding. Their lucky day. Peggy said, “Okay, here it is...the guy you’re supposed to see in Amity is Corporal John Westman. He was home on leave and took his kayak out in the backwater off the parish levee at Spring Bayou.”

  “Where should I meet him?” I asked, looking at my map. I’d become familiar with most of the roads in Destiny in the last six months, but there were a few elsewhere I had to look up.

  “He’s at the campground,” Peggy said. “Also, Mr. Thorpe called from the lab in Amity. He wants you to call him, says he has some interesting results.”

  “Patch me through.”

  “Yes, sir. Hold on.”

  While I waited for Peggy to get Thorpe, I thought about how I would break the news to Tempe about her brother if the news in Amity wasn’t good.

  Damn. Sometimes this job sucked like a flooded sewage drain.

  “Sheriff? Dan Thorpe here. Got your results, though it won’t be what you’re hoping for I’m sure. The only fingerprints on the vase were Ms. Pomeroy’s, but it was not the murder weapon. The vase itself is quite unique. It’s some kind of Chinese artifact worth a fortune and really, really—really old. My advice is don’t touch it unless you’re insured with Lloyds of London.”

  So Tempe hadn’t been exaggerating about the vase being old. And Thorpe’s findings confirmed I still didn’t have a weapon. Amity’s Medical Examiner filled me in on the problems he was having with the samples.