The Mystery of the Pink Aura

by Vella Day

  I hugged my mother. “Thank you!”

  Once she set up, she invited me to join her. “Since you and Morgan were close, at least in death, let’s hold hands. It might make a stronger connection.”

  I couldn’t remember the last time she’d invited me to join her. I could understand why she hadn’t since I rarely knew the deceased. I wouldn’t deny that this was exciting for me.

  After she placed the herbs around the candles and then lit the wicks, we held hands. Unsure what I was supposed to do, I let my mother do the heavy lifting. When she closed her eyes, I followed suit. While this séance came with no instructions, I figured I should probably picture the first time I’d met Morgan.

  My breath nearly stopped when his image appeared in my mind’s eye. As much as I wanted to open my eyes to see if he really was in the room, I didn’t want to chance breaking the connection.

  “Hello, Glinda,” he said.

  I tightened my grip on my mother’s hands. I expected her to say something, but she didn’t. As strange as I felt talking to Morgan when I believed this ghost was in my mind, I went ahead anyway. Mom usually talked out loud, so I did also. “Do you know anything about the missing dogs?” I asked.

  If he questioned which dogs, I’d know he had been blissfully enjoying the afterlife. His smile was brief. “Yes, but there are rules.”

  “Rules?” What was he talking about?

  “If I give you all the answers you seek, where would the nobility be in your life? How much satisfaction would you gain if the solutions came easily?”

  Seriously? I handed him his killer. Why couldn’t he give me the names of the kidnappers? Protesting wouldn’t do any good, however, mostly because what he said was true. It was how we overcame our struggles in life that provided us with our biggest joys—or so my grandmother used to preach. “Probably not much.”

  Keeping a looser grasp on my mother’s hands, I leaned back.

  “I’ll tell you one thing. I owe you that much, and then we are even.”

  He was keeping score? “What is that?”

  “Listen to the dog.”

  Before I could ask which dog, he was gone. My mother let go of my hands. “I can’t sense him anymore,” she said. “What did he say?”

  “You couldn’t hear him?”

  “No, sweetie. This was a private conversation between you two.”

  “I thought you were the medium.”

  “I am. I brought him here, but he spoke only to you.”

  That was a difficult concept to understand, but it was what happened. “He said to listen to the dog.”

  “What does that mean? Which dog?” she asked.

  I placed my palms on the table, pushed back my chair, and stood. “If I knew that, I could solve this case.”

  Chapter Twelve

  As soon as my mother and I cleaned up after the séance, we rushed upstairs to finish the preparations for the party. The guests would be arriving soon.

  “Can you set out the glasses? Put out ones for water as well as for wine.”

  Wine, huh? This was going to be fancy. It wasn’t often she served wine with dinner. Then again, my father, who had been looking pale for the last few days, might not have that many more birthdays to celebrate. To think he was only fifty really shook me up. But I was determined to paint on a happy face.

  I counted the chairs. “There are two extra seats,” I called to my mom, who was in the kitchen.

  She came out, wiping her hands on her apron. “We invited Horace Crumfield, as well as a friend of your fathers.”

  “Horace? Really?”

  “Yes. Your father depends on getting good discounts from him.”

  I didn’t believe that was the only reason he was invited. Horace was about thirty-six—ten years older than me—and he had inherited the coffin-making business from his father who had inherited it from his dad. Don’t get me wrong, the world needed coffins, especially my family who was in the funeral business, but Horace? He just wasn’t my type.

  I might be jumping the gun here though. I was assuming Mom, who was a hopeless matchmaker like everyone else in town, had invited him for me. She was always going on and on about when I would find a guy and settle down. Personally, I didn’t think I needed a man to complete me—like Tom Cruise famously commented in Jerry McGuire.

  While Horace wasn’t bad looking, he had the personality of the dead. It might be the lighting, but I swear he wore light foundation to give the appearance of one who understood the needs of the dearly departed.

  “Does my father’s friend have a name? And do I know him?”

  “I doubt it, sweetie. I’ve not met him either, but your father asked him.”

  Hold the presses. “Dad has friends?”

  I know that sounded bad, but the only people he spoke with were grieving family members of the deceased. Other than going out once a month with the couple who ran the local flower shop, my parents were homebodies.

  “Your father recently realized that he lacked any kind of life outside of the funeral home, and he wanted to do something about it.”

  “Good for him.”

  My mother didn’t have much of a life outside of the house either, unless I counted her monthly coven meetings—ones she wanted me to attend—as social outings. Being a lousy witch, I didn’t want to be surrounded by highly competent women. I had my own abilities, ones that didn’t revolve solely around contacting the dead or doing spells.

  “What does this new life of his entail?” I asked.

  “Hunting.”

  I almost choked. “Hunting? As in he uses a gun to shoot a rabbit?” I’m sure he’d never shoot a deer. “I thought he hated the idea of harming animals.”

  “His hunts are not inhumane. He says he uses a bow and arrow. Or maybe it’s a crossbow. I really don’t remember what he told me.”

  My mom wasn’t the best listener, but I doubt she got the hunting part wrong. I still couldn’t imagine my father being in the woods, let alone him using any kind of weapon. “What brought this on?”

  “Like I told you. Your dad thinks he needs to get out more. He met Hunter Ashwell a while ago, and they immediately bonded. Since Hunter is some kind of forest ranger, your dad agreed to hunt with him.”

  That seemed so bogus, but who was I to say who should be friends with whom? “Good for him.” I needed to brush up on my hunting knowledge, but I didn’t think one could hunt in the summer. In need of a change in subject, I nodded to the table. “I like the centerpiece, by the way.”

  My mom smiled. “I know I’ve used it often, but your dad loves it so much.”

  I liked how this time mom had leaned Dorothy’s red, sparkly shoes against the basket. The small stuffed animal that represented Toto was a bit overkill in my humble opinion, but it was still nice.

  I doubted she did this because my dad loved it. Being devoted to all things having to do with The Wizard of Oz, my mom had purchased many icons over the years that represented each of the main characters. Beside the shoes, the basket, and Toto, she had the scarecrow’s floppy hat, a silver painted funnel to represent the tin man, a miniature pink hat like the one Glinda wore in the movie, and a small stuffed lion. I had to hand it to her: It was cute.

  “What else can I do?” I asked. Just then the doorbell rang, and I held up a finger. “I know, I’ll answer the door.” I hoped it was someone I wanted to talk to. I pulled it open and smiled. It was Tim and Sheila Oglethorpe, the ones who owned the flower shop that was situated in the same strip of stores next to the movie theater “Hey there. Come in.”

  Sheila had a small wrapped present. “Where should I put this?”

  “I put mine on the sideboard behind the table.”

  Mom stepped up to them. “Tim and Sheila.” She hugged each of them. My mother turned to me. “Can you let your dad know people are arriving?”

  “Sure.” Most likely he was in his study, where he liked to sit and read. As I’ve mentioned, he was a low-key type of guy, not one to run
around a forest hunting!

  I found him on the phone in his office. “Sure, I understand. No problem. Thanks for calling.”

  “Who was that?” I asked.

  “Horace. He had to cancel. He has a last-minute coffin to build.”

  That excuse didn’t sound all that plausible, but who was I to say? “Happy birthday, Dad.”

  He looked up and smiled. “Thank you, sweetie.”

  “The Oglethorpes are here. Mom said it’s time to get the party going. I believe dinner is almost ready.”

  He slowly leveraged himself out of the chair. I stepped over to him. “Are you okay?”

  When he smiled, he looked like his old self. “Never better.”

  Since this was his birthday, I didn’t want to harp on him about slowing down or getting checked out by a doctor. Fifty was still very young, but my dad hadn’t aged well. “Then let’s go.”

  Dad immediately started chatting with the Oglethorpes. Mom motioned to me. “Glinda, help me carry out the food.”

  I was happy to oblige. I’d just taken my casserole from the oven when Aunt Fern came in. “There you two are,” she said. “Wendy, what can I do to help?” she asked my mom.

  “Put your items on the table, unless they need to be heated.”

  “Nope. Everything’s warm.”

  My mom removed the rolls from the oven and placed them in the special basket. Within minutes, we had the food on the table. Just as we were about to sit down, the doorbell rang again. I didn’t need my mother to ask me to answer it. It was my usual job.

  This had to be Hunter Ashwell. Because my dad was fifty, I kind of expected this guy to be too. Instead, he looked to be in his thirties. He was close to six feet and rather buff. It was probably the chiseled jaw that gave him the rugged look of a man who was at home in the forest.

  At first glance, his eyes looked red, but when he turned his head, they were dark brown. My imagination must have been going wild. “You must be Hunter,” I said. “I’m Glinda. Come in.”

  He stepped inside. When he glanced at the pile of presents, he hesitated. “I didn’t know we were supposed to bring a gift.”

  “You weren’t. You have to have known my dad for at least five years before it is expected.” I smiled, and as I’d hoped, he chuckled. I could see why he was a forest ranger. I always imagined his kind to be rather chill—and that fit Hunter to a tee. “Come in. We’re just about to eat.”

  “Sorry I was late.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s usually my line.”

  “I’ll think of you as my partner in crime then.” He winked.

  I didn’t want to like him, but I did. We entered the dining room together. My mother had removed the seat meant for Horace, and what do you know, the two remaining seats where next to each other. A friend of my father’s indeed. This was probably who my mom really wanted to fix me up with, despite her not knowing him. I considered showing him Iggy to let him know who I was, but I wouldn’t do that to my dad. If these two truly were friends, I needed to support that.

  My mom made the usual introductions, and a fair amount of questions were thrown out and answered by all at the table.

  About half way through the meal, I finally couldn’t control my curiosity about the one topic that hadn’t been discussed. “Dad, Mom tells me you’ve taken up hunting.”

  “I haven’t done any real hunting yet. Hunter is showing me how to use a crossbow. Hunting season doesn’t begin for a few months.”

  At least he was being responsible about following the law. “Is it a class?”

  “It is,” Hunter said, answering instead. “I’m a forest ranger. Safety is one of my major concerns. Too often people are injured because they fail to use the equipment correctly.”

  That sounded feasible. “How did you and my dad meet?”

  They exchanged looks. My father answered. “At church.”

  I rarely went, so that would be something I wouldn’t be able to corroborate—unless I dug, which I wouldn’t. “I see.”

  “Glinda,” my mom said. “Why don’t you tell everyone about the missing dog case?”

  If that wasn’t a misdirect, I didn’t know what was. I obliged, but I made sure to leave out a lot of the details. Hunter or the Oglethorpes didn’t need to hear about my visit to Gertrude or to Jack Hanson. I don’t know why I didn’t feel the need to tell them, but the vibe in the room seemed a bit off.

  “I was talking with Sarah the other day,” Sheila said. “Her dog was supposed to compete. She mentioned in passing that she hoped Amy didn’t win.” The florist’s lips pursed.

  I’d interacted with Sarah many times. She owned the yarn shop, and because she was always so pleasant, I couldn’t imagine her making that kind of negative statement. “Why would she say that?”

  Sheila leaned forward. “Apparently, Amy taught Sarah’s daughter this past year, and Amy wasn’t very nice to her.”

  “Oh.” It wasn’t often that I was speechless. “Did Sarah say anything else?”

  “She mentioned that Warren Wilson was an odd duck. His dog is a Whippet named Tinkerbell. I mean, who calls a dog Tinkerbell?”

  Who calls their dog Snookums? My opinion of Sheila dropped a few notches, but I wasn’t about to ask her to stop gossiping. She might really know something. “Maybe the dog already had that name when he bought him.” I always tried to find the good in people.

  Sheila shook her head. “Sarah thinks he stole the dog.”

  I sucked in a breath. “Why would she think that?”

  Sheila lifted one shoulder. “I didn’t ask.”

  I didn’t believe that for a New York minute. How had I not seen this side of Sheila before? My mother was glaring at me instead of at her gossipy friend.

  “Glinda, help me clear the table, please.”

  I knew that tone. “Happy to.”

  My aunt pushed back her chair too and picked up two plates. Between the three of us, the table was cleared in record time.

  Once in the kitchen, my mom turned to me. “What is wrong with you?”

  “Me? What did I say? Sheila is the one who is spreading nasty rumors,” I shot back. “Nothing is worse than being falsely accused of something.”

  “If she wants to spread a few rumors, let her, but questioning her in front of everyone is not nice. It’s your father’s birthday.”

  I would tone it down, but only because I didn’t want to upset my dad. I couldn’t help but go over what Sheila said about Amy and Warren though. I hoped for Nash’s sake that he wasn’t seriously dating Amy. She did seem to attract some negative attention.

  While my aunt and I returned to the table, my mother gathered the presents and placed them in front of my father. I hoped to see a light turn on in my dad’s eyes again.

  My mother gave him a new wallet since he always seemed to wear his out. Aunt Fern bought him a gift card to the movies. I would have to thank her for that. Anything to get my dad out of the house was a good thing. He seemed to like the tie and cuff links I gave him, but truthfully, they looked like all the other blue or gray ties that he owned. The Oglethorpes presented him with a gift card to Miriam’s coffee shop. All in all, my dad cleaned up for his birthday. By the time he’d finished with the gift giving, I saw that spark in his eyes again.

  “I have an announcement,” my aunt said when Mom had collected the presents and placed them on the sideboard.

  We all turned to face her. Even Iggy popped his head out of my purse. Hunter caught sight of him, but he didn’t comment. For that, he just earned a bonus point in my mind.

  “What is it?” my mother asked.

  “I agreed to go out on a date.”

  When I shifted my gaze to behind my aunt, Uncle Harold was standing behind her, smiling and nodding. If that wasn’t an endorsement, I don’t know what it was.

  “That’s fantastic. Who is the lucky man, Aunt Fern?” I was almost afraid to ask.

  “Bob Hatfield.”

  I had to think who that w
as. The name sounded familiar. “Isn’t he the one who was taking bets as to who would win the dog agility competition?”

  “Yes, but most of the money goes to the animal shelter.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say. “That’s a worthy cause. How did you meet?” I don’t recall her telling me she went to the show.

  “Bob came into the restaurant two nights in a row.”

  What I wouldn’t give to have been a fly on that wall. My aunt had been asked out on several occasions, but she’d turned everyone down without a backward glance. I never saw Bob at the park that first day, so I had no idea what he looked like. “What does he do for a living?”

  “He’s a hospital administrator.”

  Really? That sounded good. I’d have to ask Jaxson to check up on him—or maybe I’d ask Steve if the man had a criminal record. For his grandmother’s good friend, he might be willing to do a little background check. “What about Harold?” I said, kind of under my breath.

  Just because I had seen the ghost of my uncle smile, it didn’t mean he was okay with this.

  “Harold and I had a long talk. He’s fine if I date again.”

  I glanced over at Hunter. I bet he was wondering what was going on, but it wasn’t my place to fill him in. “I think it’s great. When will this big event take place?”

  “He’s taking me to dinner Saturday night.”

  I hoped it wasn’t to the Tiki Hut Grill. That would be beyond tacky. “Where are you two going?”

  “I believe to the same steak house you and Jaxson went to in Holland.” She winked.

  I had to assume she was trying to let Hunter know I wasn’t the free bird my mother probably led him to believe. Not that I was dating Jaxson, or anyone else for that matter, but this gave me a good out. For that I was thankful.

  “I hope it works out.”

  She giggled. “So do I.”

  I pushed aside my reservations and smiled.

  “Cake anyone?” my mom asked as she lit the birthday candles.

  The group gave a resounding yes.

  Chapter Thirteen