Mystics are Murder (Bijoux Mystery Series Book 2)

by Teri Barnett

  Caleb Joseph, owner of the local Raven’s Nest Bookstore and closeted gothic romance writer, eased into the seat next to Morgan.

  “Why couldn’t you sit over there, by JJ? Plenty of room on that side.”

  Cal nudged her with his shoulder. His arm was warm, and the unexpected touch caught Morgan by surprise. She fought the urge to lean into him and stayed where she was, focusing on the handle of her coffee cup.

  “Nah. You looked like you could use some company here.” Cal grinned at the deputy. “No offense. If you’re feeling lonely, I’m happy to move.”

  JJ laughed and spread his arms across the back of the red vinyl booth. “Yeah, I’m good.”

  Jerome placed a latte with a swirled whipped topping in front of Cal, a raisin bran muffin on the side. “Your usual,” he said, then placed Morgan and JJ’s food on the table.

  “Thank you, sir. You’re the best,” Cal said.

  “So I keep telling everyone. Let me know if you need anything else.”

  “What do you have planned for the psychic gathering, Cal?” JJ asked around a bite of egg. “Anything fun or unusual we should know about?”

  “I have a guest author flying in from the coast. Picking him up at Cherry Tree Airport later this afternoon.”

  Morgan leaned back and stared at Cal. “You did not just say ‘coast.’”

  “I believe I did.”

  “Are you practicing how to be a hipster now?” She took a bite of blueberry muffin. “Seriously, what is up with you today? You seem awfully happy. You’re usually Mr. Dowdy.”

  “I’m kicking off a new event. Orientation is this afternoon and I’m excited about it. And I am not Mr. Dowdy. I’m Mr. Cool. Ask anyone.” He wrinkled his nose at Morgan and pushed up his Ray Ban black horn-rimmed glasses. “I have these. And tattoos. JJ? You going to weigh in?”

  “Yeah, you’re the opposite of cool, buddy. You still carry that University of Michigan professor vibe. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, though Mr. Nerdy is probably more accurate.”

  “Well, at least I know who my friends are now.”

  Morgan shoved at him and laughed. “And you know it’s us. Only true friends will tell you hateful and honest things about yourself.”

  Cal looked at her and his dark eyes were like lasers. At that moment, she believed he could see into her soul and she didn’t like it. Not one bit. She hadn’t felt anything like this since her husband, Ian. Before he was murdered on the job. Damn it, Cal. What was his game today? Morgan shifted in her seat, then did what she did best when uncomfortable and changed the subject. “What else do you have planned for the ‘psychic’ gathering this weekend?” She made air quotes around the word psychic. “You know, other than your coastal visitor.”

  “Yes, we know you don’t believe in such things,” Cal said. He continued, “Jack Steve is a renowned psychic in his own right, caters to the rich and famous on the west coast, and has written bestselling books about his adventures. He’ll be doing a presentation and book signing on Saturday afternoon.”

  “He has two first names.” Morgan snorted. “Who has two first names? Do you think he saw that coming?”

  JJ shook his head and groaned. “Cap’n, that was bad, even by your standards.”

  Cal rolled his eyes. “Other than that, there’ll be a psychic fair out in the back yard and on the deck of the shop with readers all day Saturday and Sunday. Tarot, palmistry, numerology, intuitives. You name it, we got it. You should both come over and get a reading.” When Morgan groaned, he added, “C’mon, for fun.”

  “Hannah would like that,” JJ said. “She’s really into all that stuff, so we’ll be there.”

  “Whatever.” Morgan finished her muffin and washed it down with the last of her coffee. Movement on the sidewalk caught her eye. A tall young man, wearing a denim jumpsuit, a black knit shawl around his shoulders, and a plain white turban on his head was hurrying by the window and into the deli. Psychic Uniform 101? Morgan wondered.

  The man approached their table. “Thank heavens. I just knew I’d find you here.”

  “Of course, you did,” Morgan murmured, taking inventory of the younger man for anything out of the ordinary. His eyes were puffy and tired looking, as if he hadn’t slept well, or at all, the previous night. And he was wringing his hands together.

  “Can we help you?” JJ asked.

  “I’m officially requesting a wellness check. My dear friend and mentor, Edna Marisol – you might know her as the famous Mystical Madame Marisol of Cleveland Circus legend – well, I haven’t seen her all morning. And she’s not answering her phone or knocks on her van door.” He pulled his shawl tight around his shoulders. “I came into town to see if she’d decided to run some errands with one of the other psychics but I haven’t found her. I did a tarot card spread about it before I came here. All indicators point to something bad happening.”

  Morgan shoved Cal out of the booth and stood next to the younger man. All her cop senses were tingling. “Your name is...?”

  “Oh. I’m Rocky Banks.”

  “Rocky Banks? Is that your actual name?”

  He huffed. “Rocky is short for Rockefeller. My parents had high hopes for me.” He held up a hand and his mala beads clicked together. “Before you say anything, yes they’re proud I’m a psychic. We make good money.” He frowned. “Well, we do once our mentors set us free.”

  “Any fancy titles to go along with your name I should know about, Rocky?” Morgan paused. “What exactly is the male version of Madame?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know.” Rocky shrugged. “And I can’t claim any titles quite yet, including officially calling myself an honest to goodness psychic. Of course, I have the gift, but I’m still considered in the community to be a bit of a newbie.” He pointed at his head covering. “Edna has been mentoring me for the last couple of years. I get a black one when I go out on my own.”

  Who knew there was a hierarchy in the psychic world? “Tell me about your friend. Edna? Where is she staying?”

  “Out at the Lac Voo Nature Preserve campgrounds. There’s a group of us there, all in the area near the marshy part.” He leaned in and smiled, bringing the scent of patchouli with him. “It’s the spookiest spot, you know.”

  Morgan suppressed the urge to scoff. She still had a job to do, whether she agreed with these beliefs or not. “Is there anything else we should know about this woman?”

  Rocky shook his head. “Not that I can think of. Although she does have a large black cat who travels with her. Griselda. I haven’t seen her either.”

  “Okay. Thank you for contacting us. We’ll go have a look.”

  “This really just isn’t like Edna. She’s quite the social butterfly and is usually up bright and early with a pot of coffee to share with the other campers.” Rocky glanced around the table. “Thank you all for your help.”

  A shiver ran through Morgan as she watched the man leave. Seems nothing good ever happened out at the Preserve. That’s where they’d found the body of famous romance author Cecelia Beauregard the day after Morgan arrived in Bijoux, and she didn’t like the implication something bad may have happened again. She hooked a finger at JJ. “Come on. Let’s go take a look.”

  “Not gonna let me finish breakfast, are you?” He stared at his unfinished eggs and toast. “You know it’s more than likely nothing. Plus, there’s the possibility of coffee cake across the street.” When Morgan didn’t respond, he glanced up. “Oh. You got a vibe.”

  “I got a vibe.”

  “Can I just point out the irony?” Cal asked.

  “No.” JJ and Morgan answered in unison. “Cap gets to have her vibes,” JJ continued as they paid and walked out of the restaurant. “It’s a cop thing.”

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Morgan asked without turning around, knowing Cal was right behind them.

  “I’m going with you, of course,” Cal said.

  She pivoted as she opened the driver’s door on the police truck
parked along the curb out front. “No. You’re not going with us. This is potentially police business.”

  “Potential being the key word. C’mon. You know I can be helpful. You practically made me a deputy during the romance writers’ conference.” He reached around JJ, opened the passenger side door, and slid in.

  Morgan put on her silver aviator sunglasses and stared at him over the rim. “Dammit, Caleb. You are not welcome to meddle in police business. We’ve been over this. Numerous times.”

  JJ shoved his large frame in, which shoved Cal up against Morgan, and pulled the door closed. “Rangers are not made for three in the front.”

  “Yeah, no kidding.” Morgan sighed. If she’d learned anything since she’d been back in Bijoux, it was that Caleb Joseph was one of the most stubborn men she’d ever met. “When we get there, stay in the truck. Understood?”

  “Perfectly.” Cal grinned and pulled a small notepad and pen out of his shirt pocket and started writing.

  Morgan decided to ignore him. She turned the ignition and pulled out onto Main Street, driving past the fully renovated shops, the partially renovated ones, and the Hold Outs who refused to compromise their “aesthetic” for the sake of progress. Or tourists, for that matter. She’d heard the mayor was going to start cracking down on the Hold Outs.

  “What’s with the notebook?” JJ asked.

  “Don’t encourage the man, JJ.”

  “I’m glad you asked,” Caleb replied rolling his eyes at Morgan’s comment. “I’m thinking about expanding my genres. Gothic romance will always be my first love, but I’ve decided to write a mystery. You two are going to be my research for the police investigative portion of the story.”

  “Oh hell no. That is not happening.” She’d had writers ride along with her when she was a homicide detective in Detroit. They were always in the way and, despite all the note taking, still got most everything about her job wrong. “We are not going down that road.”

  Caleb continued to look straight ahead as he tucked the note pad and pen away.

  Well, that was way too easy. “I know what you’re doing,” Morgan said.

  “I put the notepad and pen away, as requested.”

  “Are you recording us?”

  “Geez, Captain Hart. If paranoia had a poster child, it would be you. How about you relax for once?”

  JJ glanced over at Morgan, then back out the window. “Careful, Professor. I can see her brain clicking away. She’s already calculating how to take you out and hide your body when we get to the Preserve for this wellness check.”

  Morgan could feel Cal’s eyes on her and clenched and unclenched her jaw. Do not engage, she told herself, and focused on the tree-lined, two-lane highway stretching ahead.

  Chapter Three

  Twenty minutes later, Morgan turned onto the dirt road leading into the Lac Voo Nature Preserve. It was Thursday morning, and the coming Fourth of July weekend meant the summer season Up North was in full swing. The dune grass was tall and green and tourists were lounging on the beach. Temperatures were holding steady in the mid to high 70s, dipping into the low 60s at night. Despite the warmth, Lake Michigan was her perpetually chilly self.

  Morgan drove across the gravel parking lot, turned toward the campgrounds, and pulled into a parking spot near the host site. She shut the truck off and said to Cal, “I know you’re not going to stay in the vehicle. Just please don’t get in the way in case there is something going on, okay?”

  “You got it.”

  She sighed, opened the door, and exited, JJ and Cal following.

  The Preserve was populated mainly by the camping psychics and they filled the fifteen camp sites with all manner of vehicles: full size RVs, old Volkswagen camper vans, regular vans, even a couple of motorcycles with those small single campers hitched to them. She made a mental note to look at the bikes later. Might be time to add something a little larger to her motorcycle family. A trailer was oddly appealing, but the vintage Bonnie she’d inherited from her mom would probably never be able to tow something like that.

  JJ and Cal followed Morgan to the picnic table where the hosts were sitting, an older man and woman, maybe mid-late-sixties. “Good morning,” Morgan said. “I’m Captain Morgan Hart. This is my deputy, JJ Jones.”

  “Is there a problem?” the man asked. He wore one of those African dashiki shirts with orange geometric prints all over, faded cut off denim shorts, and a ponytail in his thinning, gray hair.

  “Why would you assume there’s a problem?”

  He and the woman looked at each other and laughed. “Because the pigs are here. That doesn’t happen by accident,” the woman said.

  “Pigs. Nice,” JJ said. “You do know people don’t really call us that anymore?”

  The man shrugged. “Call us anachronistic.”

  “How ‘bout I call you by your real name, Mr…?”

  “Rocket. Davey Rocket and this is my soul mate and life partner, Daisy.” He leaned across the picnic table and shook their hands. “She prefers to go by only one name.”

  “Oh-kay. Would you please pull out your roster and tell me where Edna Marisol is parked?”

  “That’s an easy one.” Daisy pointed to the other side of the campground. “See the purple van with the wizard on the side? That’s Edna’s.” Daisy sniffed. “She must be sleeping in today. She’s usually up at the crack of dawn, serving coffee and donuts. You’d think she was the campground host, not us.”

  “And that bothers you...?” Morgan asked.

  Daisy thought about it for a moment. “Sometimes, but I suppose she does it for attention. Old psychics never fade away, they just keep grappling for the limelight, especially ones used to it like Edna. She used to be in a traveling circus, you know. Back in the day.”

  “So I’ve heard,” Morgan said.

  “It sounds like you didn’t like her much,” JJ offered.

  “I liked her well enough.” She turned to Davey, who was rearranging his ponytail. “Is there something wrong? Are you getting premonitions?”

  Davey shook his head. “Nothing coming through at the moment, just thought I heard a spirit voice.” He looked at Morgan and tapped at his ponytail. “It’s an antenna to the spirit world.”

  Honestly, could the conversation get any weirder? Morgan thought. They all stared at each other for a heartbeat before Cal broke the silence.

  “I’m Caleb Joseph,” Cal said, extending a hand to Davey and then Daisy. “Looking forward to seeing you at the psychic fair. I hope you’ll stop in for the book signing and discussion with Jack Steve on Saturday.”

  “It’s nice to finally meet you, Caleb. We’re both excited to be here for the gathering. And, we wouldn’t miss the presentation. Jack’s been a long time favorite of ours.” Davey put his arm around Daisy and hugged her to him. “Did you know we were the inspiration behind his second book, Psychics in Love?”

  Cal slung a leg over the picnic table bench and sat across from the couple. “Really? I thought that was more of an autobiography.”

  Davey and Daisy looked at each other and smiled. “Yes, our autobiography.”

  “Um, that’s not how an autobiography works.” He turned to Morgan, but she and JJ were already standing outside Madame Marisol’s van. “If you’ll excuse me.” He jumped up and headed after the officers.

  “So, what do you think?” Cal asked.

  “You do know we just got here, right?” Morgan shook her head and knocked on the side door of the van. No answer. She and JJ circled the vehicle, finding all the doors locked, nothing out of the ordinary. Then she heard it. The bloodcurdling cry of a hungry cat.

  “I’d say the cat being locked up in there is enough cause to open the van, don’t you think?” JJ asked.

  “Definitely.” Morgan knocked on the passenger side window again. Still no answer. “JJ, please get the door opener out of the truck.”

  He returned a few minutes later with a long, thin piece of flexible steel with a hook on the end. He slid it bet
ween the door and side of the van until there was a click.

  “Good work,” Morgan said. She opened the door and the largest black cat she’d ever seen launched itself at them. She managed to catch it with only a few scratches for her trouble. She held the cat tightly to her chest and ruffled the fur on its head. “You must be the hungry beast we heard. Griselda, right?”

  Griselda mewed and flicked her tail. Morgan started to melt.

  “Um, Cap. Come take a look.”

  Morgan snuggled Griselda before reluctantly handing the cat off to Cal, who immediately started murmuring endearments in a baby voice. “Really?” Morgan said.

  He turned and walked away without responding, still whispering to the feline.

  “What did you find, JJ?” Morgan asked as she stepped into the van. She immediately stopped at the opening, pulled a pair of black nitrile gloves out of her back pocket, and slipped them on. “Got a pulse?” She asked, already knowing the answer based on the awkward position of the body, skin tone, and bruising around the neck.

  JJ shook his head and rocked back on his heels.

  Morgan let out a breath and looked around the van. A round folding table was toppled over, dumping tarot cards, candles, and crystals onto the green shag carpet. It was surprising the whole thing hadn’t caught fire. The white twinkle lights were still on and cast an eerie glow on who she assumed was the Mystical Madame Edna Marisol. “Go ahead and call Doc McVie, JJ. We can process the scene around the body until he gets here.” She started taking pictures with her phone. “Oh, and remind him not to share anything with Connie Graham. We don’t need her here stirring things up until we know for sure what happened.”

  Doctor Fleetwood McVie, whose parents were lifelong Fleetwood Mac fans, was the town family doctor, medical examiner, and mortician. His girlfriend, Connie Graham, was the local TV news reporter, and, since she and Connie were teens, Morgan’s nemesis. Connie had the amazingly annoying gift of showing up where she wasn’t wanted and was a pro at spreading rumors.

  “Hey, did you find any cat food in there?” Cal asked as he walked up. He stopped just short of entering the back of the van. “Is that…?”