by Неизвестный
Then one for her father.
And, finally, one for her mother.
She put her hands together, bowed her head, and thought of everything she was grateful for.
* * *
When Opal came out of the church, she hoped to see some people, perhaps the early morning food vendors, but still, the place seemed deserted. Terror gripped her as she imagined a multitude of daemons, rising up all over the island and eating everyone.
She listened. There were voices. She walked up the street, and the murmur of voices led her to the pub.
“Really?” she said to herself. “The sun's barely up, and everyone's at the pub?”
She pulled open the door and entered the noisy space. The place was packed, and it looked to Opal like the entire town was there.
She searched for a familiar face, spotted her great-aunt, wearing the lilac tracksuit with the white stripe, and went to her side.
Opal patted Waleah on the shoulder and whispered, “What's going on?”
Waleah turned, saw Opal, in her filthy, blood-covered clothes, and screamed.
Everyone in the pub stopped talking. A glass fell to the floor and smashed. Opal waved at the crowd. “Hi.”
Sheriff Max stood up from her spot a few tables over and said, “Opal Button, you're alive!”
Opal tugged at her right ear. “Yeah.” Everybody kept staring.
Max said, “Opal, think carefully. Where is the orb?”
“I put my finger in the unicorn's mouth, in the statue, and the orb fell into my hand. I didn't mean to mess anything up. I don't even know why I did it.”
During the whole bike ride in, she'd been mentally rehearsing telling her story, but it was coming out in a nonsensical fashion, to her disappointment.
Max said, “Where is the orb now? We need it.”
All the heads in the place turned to face Opal.
“The daemon thing sorta ate it.”
This caused a bit of a commotion.
Max said, “Ate it? Did you see this happen?”
“Yeah. At the cave. I had some sticks, and my shadow was giving me hints. Uh, I mean, I got the idea from a movie I saw, I think. Anyway. Then it ate the goat! But it didn't chew the goat. So, phew, right?”
“What?”
Opal wished she had some pockets, so she had a place to put her hands. “I poked the daemon right in the eyes with two sticks, and it deflated. Like the most horrible, ugly water balloon you've ever seen.”
Max pulled out her little notepad and said, “Don't tell me you killed the daemon.”
Opal sucked in a big breath of air. “Oh, no, I think I did. Am I in trouble? Again. I am so sorry. But the daemon ate one of the goats and I guess I just went crazy, because… you know. You do not eat the goats.”
Max smiled. “Opal Button, you are not in trouble. In fact, you saved us all from having to barge out there with our cockamamie scheme that likely would have gotten us all killed. We've been in here trying to narrow down our many, many strategies, and some of us can't let go of the idea of using the catapult. Now, personally, I don't have anything against catapults, but—”
The sheriff was cut off by someone shouting, “Opal!”
Peter came running out from behind the bar area with a pitcher in one hand and a towel in the other. He dropped the items on a nearby table and ran to Opal, then seized her in a tight embrace.
He said, near her ear, “I knew you weren't dead.”
Around them, the adults all started to talk to each other at once.
Opal said, “Your eyes, Peter, are they better? I was so worried about you, but I also thought you'd be in good hands with the witches, but then they tied us up and didn't seem very nice at all.”
He leaned back to take a good look at her. “I'm as good as new,” he said. “I had hoped the snake bite might give me superpowers, like when the radioactive spider bit Peter Parker and he turned into Spider-Man, but… so far, nothing.” He held out his palms as if to prove they didn't shoot webs.
She scanned the crowd as the tone of the talk turned celebratory. “How about Edwin, I don't see him.”
“He's not feeling so great. Some of Zara's witchcraft potion got in his system, so he's at home, resting.”
“A potion?”
“He'll be fine. He's Edwin, he's always fine. Come on, let's go to the kitchen, where it's a little less like a town meeting, and I'll tell you about everything.”
Opal turned to Waleah, who looked stunned by everything. Next to her sat her husband, Mitchell, who hadn't said anything since Opal's appearance.
Opal said, “Do you guys need me out here, or can I go talk to Peter?”
“Go,” Waleah said. “I'll fetch you shortly and… we'll get you all cleaned off and right as jam and cheese. Fresh clothes. Oh, we'll pick up your suitcase, with your other things. How would you like that?”
“Sounds great,” Opal said, smiling before she turned to walk away.
As she followed Peter back to the kitchen, the barman with the white hair stopped them and said, “Congratulations there little lady. You're quite the hero now, I'd say.”
“Thanks.” She crossed her arms over the dirtiest part of her shirt.
He looked her over. “People as filthy as you are usually just as hungry. Help yourself to anything back there, okay?”
She thanked him and followed Peter into the kitchen.
He asked her to tell him everything, and she did, between stuffing her mouth with sandwiches and thumb-sized pastries filled with creams and other delicious treats.
Peter told her what he had learned as well, which was a lot, considering he'd been in a coma for much of the previous day. Edwin and Max had located him in the witches' infirmary, woken him up, and brought him back to town.
They'd rung the emergency bell immediately, and everyone pulled themselves out of bed and came straight to the pub, where they'd been up all night trying to figure out what had happened and what to do next.
Opal said, “Wait, go back. Am I hearing things, or did you say Zara was involved in summoning the daemon?”
“Not just involved. She did it. Delilah told us everything.” He then explained to a very shocked Opal about how Zara had been obsessed with Edwin, and had teleported Svetlana out to the ocean to drown.
Opal lost her appetite temporarily. “So it must have been Zara that I saw near the cave, spying on us. And then Zara, at the castle, who zapped me out to the ocean.” She felt a chill. “I thought she was my friend, but she tried to kill me. She would have drowned me.”
“I guess she had a cloaking spell on her when she was doing that illicit magic, which was why you didn't recognize her.”
“I don't know who to trust now,” Opal said.
“You can trust me!” Peter said. “Plus your other friend, Carly, she didn't know anything about it, until after most of everything happened. The elder witches put her in a truth trance, or something, so she's not so bad, I guess. And Delilah says she's really, really sorry. She tried to stop Zara, but when she brought the girl back from the ocean, she was already drowned.” They both looked down and cleared their throats, though the mood on the other side of the door was one of wild celebration. “There's a memorial for Svetlana in a couple of days.”
“I'll go,” Opal said.
“Me too.”
The barman called for Peter to fetch something, so he ran off for a few minutes, leaving Opal on her own.
The yellow snake, Hoover, slithered out from under a prep table. Opal didn't even jump. She barely batted an eyelash. “You are a cute little snake,” she said to Hoover.
He continued on his way.
Peter returned and helped himself to some of the food.
Opal swallowed down the pastry, then chased the flaky crumbs with some redfruit juice. She couldn't eat another bite if she tried, and going to bed and sleeping for a week was on her mind. She finished her glass of redfruit juice and said, “Aah.”
Peter said, “Is redfruit juice better than orange ju
ice, would you say?”
“Not better, but different.”
“I've never had orange juice,” he said. “Oranges don't grow well on the island. We do get limes and lemons and grapefruit, though.”
“You're not missing much,” she said, which was a lie, but also a kindness. Then she hugged Peter, and he pretended not to like it.
* * *
Opal was quiet on the walk home with Waleah and Mitchell, as were they. Mitchell had not yet acknowledged her existence, but he had taken the bicycle from her tired hands and was rolling it along next to him. Waleah carried the suitcase—her brother's former suitcase—as promised.
Opal looked down at the suitcase and said, “Peter told me the Russian girl put some sort of note inside my suitcase? And that it lead to a break in the murder investigation?”
“Something like that,” Waleah said. “She must have put the note in at the same time she took your little dolls from the suitcase.”
“But how could she have known what was going to happen to her? Was she psychic?”
“They had the note translated this morning, by Delilah's mother. Turns out the letter was just a poem, about how beautiful the island was, and how overjoyed she was to finally be coming here. It was just a poem. That's all.”
“Just a poem,” Opal said. “The island is beautiful.”
Waleah agreed, and they walked on in silence.
When they were a good distance out of town, Waleah said, “I'm sorry I sent you out like that in the first place, on that crazy errand. I had no idea what would happen.”
“Don't apologize,” Opal said. “You didn't do anything wrong. It was that horrible girl, Zara. And to think, I was actually excited to be her friend. I even wanted to become a witch.”
“I'm glad that nonsense is over,” Waleah said.
Opal looked over at the field they were passing, at the tiny green shoots coming through the charred wreckage. “I haven't even been here a week, but it feels like I've lived a whole lifetime.”
Opal stumbled over some rocks on the cobblestone road. Waleah caught her hand to steady her.
Waleah continued to hold her hand as they walked up the road.
A lump surfaced in Opal's throat. “Thanks for taking me in,” she said.
“Family's family,” Waleah said, staring straight ahead.
Opal leaned forward to look over at Mitchell, who seemed contented enough, pushing the bicycle and looking around at the scenery.
They walked for a few more minutes in silence.
Opal said, brightly, “I sure am looking forward to brushing my teeth!”
Waleah turned and looked down at the girl. “Little light, I want you to know I am glad you're here. I am very thankful that you are here. Do not ever feel that you are unwanted or unloved, because you are right where you belong.”
Waleah and Opal, great-aunt and great-niece, squeezed each other's hands.
* * *
We hope you enjoyed
Broken Shell Island by Dalya Moon
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* Table of Contents *
Death of a Dapper Snowman
Stormy Day Mystery
Angela Pepper
DESCRIPTION:
Gift shop owner Stormy Day is settling into her new life until she comes across a frozen body, hidden inside a well-dressed snowman.
When her own father is implicated in the murder, Stormy must chase down clues and uncover the town's secrets herself.
As she draws closer to identifying the killer, Stormy's own life may be in danger. That is unless Jeffrey, the mischievous Russian Blue cat who led her to the icy body in the first place, can flick his sleek gray tail at the final piece in the puzzle.
"A laugh-out-loud humorous cozy mystery with a charming detective and a page-turning 'whodunit' that'll keep you guessing right to the end!"
Death of a Dapper Snowman by Angela Pepper is a complete, stand-alone murder mystery novel.
LENGTH: 300 pages
Turn the page to begin reading DEATH OF A DAPPER SNOWMAN by Angela Pepper, or click here to return to this anthology’s Table of Contents.
Bonus Book: Death of a Dapper Snowman
Stormy Day Mystery
Angela Pepper
Chapter 1
The hand-painted snowman on the vase kept his coal-black eyes trained on me. Sweating and breathing heavily, I was getting my morning workout by pushing the accent chair from one side of the living room to the other.
I stepped back to assess my handiwork. The room was still off-balance and bare. The little snowman looked embarrassed to be there as the sole decorative item in my new-to-me house.
The doorbell rang.
I picked up the vase and turned it around on the coffee table, so the snowman faced the window, and only the painted mountains would be visible to my guest. That tweak made all the difference. One lone Christmas decoration would be pathetic, but a single piece of ceramic art made an elegant centerpiece.
I opened the door and invited in the perky blond real estate agent who’d sold me the place.
Samantha Sweet glanced around the interior as though appraising the value added by my decorating, or the lack thereof. She was frowning. I had a table and four chairs, plus a sofa, accent chair, plants, and lamps, but no curtains, no art on the walls, and nothing personal other than the vase.
“Good start,” she said with enthusiasm.
“I know it needs softening up,” I said. “Everything’s square, and I need more roundness, more texture.”
She said, “Stormy, you could get a pet.”
“To decorate? That seems a bit selfish, to buy a pet just to accessorize my living room. Then again, fluffy white cats and dogs look great with everything. Or should I go brown? What colors are in style these days for pets?”
Her mouth pinched. Sadly, her lack of appreciation for my particular brand of irreverent humor immediately took her off my shortlist for potential new friends. That narrowed my list down to zero, which was a shame. I tried not to let my disappointment seep into my voice as we continued to make small talk about throw pillows and decorating.
She took a seat on the upholstered living room chair, refused coffee but accepted water, and we got down to business.
I’d already bought the house we were currently sitting in, as well as an established retail business on Broad Avenue. Both were sizable commitments, but when managed well by yours truly, they promised to be cash-flow positive. That left me with enough capital to acquire a few more investments, possibly a nice round ten. If I had ten, there’d be security. Even if a few flopped, the diversity of my portfolio would spread out the risk.
Samantha’s green eyes had nearly popped out when I’d told her my intentions. She was no slouch and had gotten to work immediately, scouring the town for more deals.
For today’s presentation, she had three prospects, each in its own folder. I sat kitty-corner to her, on the sofa.
Samantha opened the first folder and composed herself with a professional smile that didn’t quite extend to her eyes.
Before she could speak, I said, “Pass.”
She gave me a wounded look. “But I haven’t even told you what it is.”
“I can see you’ve only got five sheets of paper in that skinny folder. You and I both know t
his one’s no good, which is why you’re presenting it first. Classic sales technique. Let’s make a deal. I’ll be honest with you, as long as you promise not to play the usual games.”
Her lips pinched again. She set the first folder aside. “You’re right,” she said. “It was for a micro-brewery they’ve been trying to unload for years. Nobody else wants it, either.”
“I saw it listed online,” I said. “The building has some value, but the equipment’s outdated. The beer itself is decent, but I’m guessing the margins are wafer-thin.” I nodded to the other materials on her lap. “What’s behind door number two?”
She opened the next folder, tipping her head from one side to the other as she handed it to me.
“Katrina Court is a three-story, twelve-unit rental block,” she said.
I closed the folder after a cursory glance and set it aside. “Pass.”
She sputtered, “Bu-bu-but you said you were interested in more residential rentals.”
“I’m not some overseas investor taking properties by the bulk, sight-unseen. I’ve been inside Katrina Court. If the cash flow looks good, it’s only because of deferred maintenance. The current owners keep patching pinhole leaks in the pipes to delay repiping, and I’m sure that’s just the tip of the iceberg. A lack of spending may help today’s income statement, but they’re devaluing the infrastructure, which is where the only value is because that land isn’t zoned for redevelopment, as I hope you would already know.”
She blinked, her green eyes professionally inscrutable. “Of course.”
“What else have you got?” I leaned forward, reaching for the final folder. My lower back was stiff from my furniture-pushing workout, and my hand moved jerkily upward.
Samantha flinched away from my hand, as though I’d been about to slap her.
“The last one’s no good, either,” she said. “It’s no use. I’m sorry.”
I took the final folder and looked over the contents. “Samantha, this is a low asking price for a retail business with such high volume. What makes you think this coffee shop won’t be of interest to me?”
She bit her trembling lower lip. “Just a hunch. Honestly, I don’t know. I’m much better with houses, not other investments.”