Tiger's Eye (A Stacy Justice Mystery Book Three)

by Barbra Annino

  I got out of the truck, grabbed my backpack, and approached her cautiously, both of us watching Chance and Thor make their way to the cottage. Thor glanced back once as he crossed the threshold, then trotted inside.

  That was the first time the smaller dog made a sound. It was a quiet whimper, as if she had just watched hope walk out the door. The night was silent again except for the chirrup of crickets.

  I reached for my crystal bag and fished until I found the rose quartz wand. Rose quartz is best known for love spells, but it’s also a great stone for healing emotional turmoil and alleviating anxiety.

  Tentatively I raised my left hand to the top of the dog’s head and placed it there. She was shivering, her muscles taut. The wand loose in my right hand, I turned to face the collie and swept my left palm over her soft fur, imagining as I did all the toxic energy leaving her body. I followed the sweep with the wand pointed toward her tail and walked the length of her, finally shaking it out at the end of the pathway that led to the back door of the inn. I lifted my arm toward the moon to recharge the wand with positive, feminine vibrations and blew out all the air in my lungs.

  That would have to do for now.

  The brown-eyed girl was standing where I had left her, and this time, as I made my approach, her tail wagged just a bit. I gave her a big smile and went in search of the key to the back kitchen door of the Geraghty house.

  I bent down to pry open the mouth of the gargoyle that housed the spare key when a light flickered on. Then off. Then on again.

  The kitchen door was a horizontal number, with the bottom half made of solid wood and the top glass framed in wood. In front of that was the screen door. I peeked through the glass just as Fiona was reaching for the teapot. The light (which I identified as a night light) shone on, then off again.

  Just in time for me to scare the living crap out of Fiona.

  She jumped, but stifled her scream with both hands as soon as she recognized it was me. Since the kitchen was on the first floor, all the way at the back of the house, I was pretty sure her guests hadn’t heard. Those rooms were up the stairs and toward the front of the home.

  However, I wasn’t sure if Birdie or Lolly had been startled awake.

  Fiona rushed to unlock the back door and said, “Child, what on earth are you doing lurking around out there in the middle of the night?”

  “Fiona, I’m sorry, I really need to talk to you. It’s sort of an—” She flipped the switch for the sconce near the stove, and I was so stunned by her appearance, I couldn’t speak for a moment.

  Her skin was glowing—radiating almost—as if she hadn’t seen a day past thirty-five. Her hair was rolled in pink cushion rollers protected by a silk scarf, but other than that, she looked like she was getting ready for a photo shoot.

  I asked, “Do you always go to bed with your makeup on?”

  “Is that what you came here to discuss? Beauty tips?”

  “No, of course not, it’s just—never mind. Why are you awake?”

  Fiona left the door open for me to come inside and went back to the stove and her teapot. “It’s the darndest thing.” She opened the antique pie safe where they stored dried herbs. “I slept soundly for a few hours and then just bolted right out of bed.” She shook her head, mumbling about chamomile and lavender.

  She knew, albeit subconsciously, but she knew. They must have called to her. The dogs from the woods must have panicked and sought out a guide. Is that why she seemed even younger and healthier than usual? Did she somehow gather strength from the animal kingdom?

  I held the door open for the collie. She gingerly stepped onto the cold tile and sat near me. “I think I may know why, Auntie.”

  Fiona paused, her back to me. She cocked her head to the side and then slowly turned around, a wide smile tugging at her lips.

  Her eyes fell to our houseguest. “And who have we here?”

  The collie wasn’t shy around my great-aunt. The dainty thing just pranced right up to her, welcoming a pat.

  Perhaps now is as good a time as any to explain why I came to Fiona for help with this damaged dog.

  You see, all the Geraghty gifts are acquired, not taught. Sure, we’ve been schooled on herbal craft, spellcasting, recipes, even exercises for enhancing intuition. But true knowledge is gained only through experience, and Geraghty gifts are, in a way, earned.

  Kind of like those merit badges they pass out to Girl Scouts, although rather than helping a disabled person cross the street, a Geraghty might just teleport him. If she had the ability.

  Anyway, Fiona’s magic has always been matchmaking and love spells, but her passion—her “other calling,” if you will—was not discovered until she met her third and favorite husband, Patrick Edward Burns, DVM.

  Dr. Burns walked into Fiona’s life right around the time she, like all Geraghty women, came into her true power at the threshold age of thirty.

  The good doctor had just opened up shop in town, fresh out of vet school. The story goes that he was on his way to Chicago from Iowa, where his family lived, when he spotted an injured dog on the side of the road. The town had no clinic at the time, so he did the best he could patching up the dog’s broken leg with the supplies on hand and drove the animal to the nearest facility—fifty miles away. He decided then that he might be more useful in a small hamlet than a big city.

  That’s when Fiona found herself with an ill Siamese kitten that belonged to an out-of-town friend.

  “The little darling was a descendent of the familiar Mother brought home for me when I was still in the cradle,” she once told me. “That was before she knew my gift. Not all witches require familiars, but most start out with one. However, in my case they come as needed, so being attached to just one, well, that hindered my development.”

  Fiona had embraced her gift right from the get-go and, unlike myself, never wavered from it.

  “Your grandmother’s talent to heal works only on people, not animals. Therefore, I loaded the kitten into the car and drove him to the new veterinarian,” she had said. “He took my breath away the moment I laid eyes on him. He was movie-star handsome and quite charming—like Cary Grant!”

  Dr. Burns couldn’t find a thing wrong with the kitten, who perked right up on the exam table, chasing the penlight and pawing at the stethoscope around the vet’s neck. Burns couldn’t find a thing wrong with Fiona either. He asked her to dinner that day and they were married six weeks later.

  Soon Fiona found herself working at the vet’s office, and she discovered a talent for healing pets in ways a doctor of medicine could not. You see, love comes in many forms, and while Fiona’s talent was romantic love, she also had a knack for healing soured friendships, spoiled partnerships, and broken families. (Why she was not able to reconcile Birdie with my grandfather, I’ll never understand.) So when animals came to the clinic with symptoms not relating to any affliction he could find, Burns trusted Fiona to heal their inner aches and pains—broken hearts and wounded souls. To hear anyone tell it, they were quite the team.

  As I stood now in the Geraghty Girls’ kitchen, beneath the dim light of the toleware wall sconce, I thought how tragic it would be to lose a true soul mate.

  Fiona had already run her hands over the collie whose name, she informed me, was Keesha. I explained how Thor had found her in the woods and that she seemed lethargic, omitting my role in drawing her, and dozens of other canines, to me via a botched spell. I figured she’d hear all about it tomorrow and I wasn’t in the mood for a lecture on living up to my potential.

  Fiona said, “Nothing feels broken. No pain anywhere that she wants me to know about right now.”

  Her eyes never left Keesha as she relayed this information to me. I was mesmerized, watching her work her gift, and I wondered if I would ever have that much faith, that much trust in myself even.

  “Stacy?”

  I rushed over to the apothecary table. Usually it was the center island of the kitchen, but now it served as a makeshift exam tabl
e with a bright bulb hovering above it. It smelled faintly of rosemary and lemon. “Yes?”

  Fiona gave me a stern look. “Stop fidgeting. All that knee bouncing and nail biting is frightening this poor creature.”

  Keesha gave me a forlorn look and I apologized.

  “Dear, top drawer next to the sink, please fetch my reading glasses, and there should be a small flashlight. I’ll need that as well.”

  I retrieved the items and handed them to Fiona.

  She slipped the glasses onto her nose and lifted Keesha’s lips. “Gums are pink.” She flashed a light in both perky ears. “No mites.” She held each eyelid open and flashed the light across the dog’s pupils. “No sign of cataracts, or corneal disease. I’d say she’s rather young. Three, maybe four years old.”

  “Can you tell if she’s been spayed?”

  Fiona gently coaxed Keesha to lie on the table. She lifted her leg and filtered through the mass of wavy fur that covered the animal’s belly.

  “No scar that I can see, no tattoo either, which is common today. Her stomach is fairly taut.” She lowered the collie’s leg and Keesha stood up, panting.

  Fiona removed her glasses. “My guess is no, but you would need an ultrasound to be certain.”

  She crossed to the sink and turned on the faucet to wash her hands. Keesha let out a sharp bark and sat on the table.

  “How about a midnight snack?” Fiona asked, and Keesha raised both front paws and scratched at the air.

  Fiona smiled and filled a ceramic mixing bowl with bottled water. “Presently, what she needs is sustenance and a good night’s sleep.” She set the water on the floor and I lifted the collie from the table. She lapped at the refreshment heartily.

  “I’ll do some work on her in the morning.” Fiona was sifting through the cabinets, finally settling on some plain saltine crackers. She tossed a few to Keesha who caught them one by one. She seemed livelier already. “Come back around noon and we’ll discuss my findings.”

  My great-aunt was at the back steps, poised to turn the island light off when I said, “Will you keep her here until we find out who her family is? With Thor, I mean, you know…”

  Fiona chuckled and shook her head. “That, my dear niece, depends on your grandmother.” She floated up the back stairs, her robe waving behind her, the soft click of dog nails echoing her steps.

  I let myself out and jogged the few feet to my cottage, taking one long, last look at the moon. This time of year, at its fullest, pagans refer to it as the Mead Moon because of all the honey wine they prepare in anticipation of the solstice celebration, or Litha—the longest and strongest sun day of the year. Hence the term honeymoon for those after-wedding trips that take place in June.

  I took a few calming breaths, releasing the stress of the day. Exhaustion was settling deeper into my bones, but the alcohol was wearing off.

  As I gazed upward, right before my eyes, the iridescent ball of light in the sky transformed into the giant head of a white tiger. It blinked its turquoise eyes just once.

  Then it was gone.

  Chapter 6

  “The great pleasure of a dog is that you may make a fool of yourself with him and not only will he not scold you, but he will make a fool of himself too.”

  —Samuel Butler

  When you’ve tossed and turned in bed all night because someone was hogging the covers, the pillows, and the entire mattress, the best way to wake up is alone and with the aroma of bacon sizzling on the stove.

  Plus coffee. Lots and lots of coffee.

  Unfortunately, that wasn’t what happened this Sunday morning.

  “Son of an assjacket,” I mumbled. “Please get off me.” His shoulder was smothering my face and his position led me to believe that I was functioning as a teddy bear.

  He rolled over, kicking my stomach in the process, and let out a fart that could clear a morgue.

  “Jesus, Moses, and Frank!” I fanned the covers like a maniac, on the verge of kicking him back when Chance ducked his head into my bedroom.

  “What’s wrong?” He was wearing a pair of sweats and a short white apron with nothing else north of the navel.

  Thor was still sprawled across the bed, snoring happily and drooling all over my pillow.

  “I just hate being woken up in the middle of a headlock. It’s unnerving.” I slipped out of bed and reached for my purple silk robe.

  “Who is Frank?”

  “You know, Frank. The apostle.” I stuffed my feet in fuzzy slippers and faced him.

  He was biting his bottom lip.

  “What?”

  “I don’t think there was an apostle named Frank.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He nodded. “Pretty much.”

  “Dammit, Birdie,” I grumbled and made my way into the bathroom.

  I hated it when she played tricks like that. For some reason, she found it amusing to feed me false information about any religion but her own.

  This one was going on my payback list.

  I did my business and washed up. The cottage had an open floor plan, with the living room, bathroom, and kitchen all spilling into each other. Chance was at the counter pouring two glasses of orange juice when I opened the bathroom door. The muscles in his back flexed with the flow of his arm movements, his skin sun-kissed from working outdoors. It was a yummy sight that only enhanced the sugary scent of maple syrup and rich butter melting in a pan.

  “You hungry?” Chance asked. “I’m making French toast.”

  “Sounds wonderful.” I circled around and kissed his shoulder, and then I poured myself a cup of coffee and plopped on a stool at the breakfast bar. There was a pillow and a neatly folded blanket on the sofa cushion.

  “Did you sleep in the living room?” I asked.

  Chance whisked milk and eggs together. He nodded as he reached for the spice rack above the stove. “I tried to get Thor off the bed, but when he’s that tired, there’s no point in arguing with him and I certainly wasn’t going to force the issue.” He sprinkled some cinnamon into the batter, whisked again, and sliced off four pieces of Lolly’s homemade sweet bread. “You need a bigger bed.” He winked.

  “Maybe I’ll just get Thor his own.” I wondered if he would need a queen like mine. I also wondered where I would put it in my one-bedroom home. “I promised I’d take him swimming today. Do you want to come?” I took a sip of my coffee. Delicious.

  “Sorry, babe, I have a couple of jobs to bid this morning.”

  “On a Sunday?”

  Chance flipped the French toast, which smelled divine. “No such thing as a lazy summer for a good contractor.” He smiled at me as he slid a plate of perfectly crafted carbohydrates in front of me. “Besides, you’ve worked many a Sunday.”

  That was true. I helped out at the inn whenever I was needed, but no one asked me to do that this weekend, so I was on furlough. Perhaps the house wasn’t full after all or perhaps it was a group of repeat customers, who are often easier to service.

  Chance said, “How about dinner?”

  I smiled back at him and reached for a napkin and a fork. “Sounds great. My place?”

  “Nah, why don’t we go out and get pampered?”

  “Deal.” We clicked our juice glasses together and Thor announced that he was ready to rise by bellowing out a wide-mouthed yawn and shaking the bedroom floor with his weight.

  A cardinal’s song wafted through the screen door and Thor sauntered over to watch the little red bird as he fluttered into a nearby spruce tree that sat between the cottage and the main house. Thor looked rather annoyed that such a tiny creature could make all that racket. The dog bowed, sticking his huge ass in the air, then followed through to up-dog, stretching his chest to capacity. Ready to reclaim the tree the cardinal was about to call home, Thor raised a meaty paw to the latch and slapped the door open.

  Chance watched as he trotted off the porch. “Not really a morning guy, is he?”

  “Neither was Cinnamon.” My cousin was Thor
’s original person before I moved back to town from Chicago. Thor decided that was an error that needed rectifying. He’d lived with me ever since.

  I thanked Chance for the meal and dug into my French toast, savoring every bite.

  After breakfast, I cleaned up the dishes and kissed Chance good-bye. We agreed that I would make the restaurant reservations when Thor and I returned from swimming.

  When he heard the word swimming, Thor pranced around the yard like a new puppy, barking and yipping at the air. I coaxed him inside, put my hair up, slipped into a swimsuit, and packed us a bag full of towels, water, and peanut butter dog treats. Thor disappeared into the bedroom to search for his rubber octopus. His favorite water toy.

  It was still early. The heat hadn’t quite settled over the town yet as I loaded Thor and the bag into the backseat of my SUV. We could have walked there, because it was just on the other side of town, but with all the excitement yesterday and as heavy as my pooch slept last night, I feared that a long walk coupled with an exhilarating swim might result in a dog too tired to make the trip home. And it was no fun trying to push Thor back up that steep hill when he didn’t want to go, believe me. He’s been known to hitchhike home.

  I slid my sunglasses over my nose and drove the few blocks to the conservation area that led to the lake. There’s a dead-end street nearby where I like to park for easy access to the trail. I pulled into a slot, clipped a leash on Thor, and grabbed our stuff. The quietest part of the lake was on the opposite side from where the festival had taken place the night before. This area had a single picnic table with a small patch of beach that was a bit rocky, a bit overgrown with weeds, but where a Great Dane could dig, splash, and frolic without obliterating a sandcastle or sending a rip current over a ten-year-old’s head.

  I removed Thor’s leash and tossed it on the table. As I fished inside the bag for a bottle of water, Thor stuck his head inside to find “Octi.” He emerged with it, tossing the thing in the air, and squeaking the life out of it. Luckily the water bottle suffered minimal slobber.