Pendants and Paws

by Penny Brooke

  Pendants and Paws

  A Spirits of Tempest Cozy Mystery Book 2

  Penny Brooke

  Copyright © 2020 by Penny Brooke

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  1. It’s Harvest Festival Time

  2. Readying for Battle

  3. All Bells Break Loose

  4. Havoc Reigns

  5. The Set-Up

  6. Carnival Consequences

  7. Carnival Lies

  8. Citizen’s Arrest

  9. It’s All in the Perspective

  10. A Merry-Go-Round of Choices

  11. False Starts

  12. Bailing Out

  13. Where oh Where?

  14. Consulting the Ages

  15. The Appeal

  16. By the Book

  17. Pleasant Dreams

  18. Ouila

  19. Happy Endings

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  About the Author

  Blurb

  It’s Harvest Festival time in the seaside community of Tempest, and Mortimer House is packed to the brim with unexpected guests: a whole troupe of carnies. In addition to Fiona’s regular boarders, now a fortune teller, a bearded lady, and even a snake charmer have come to stay at the boarding house.

  When a priceless pendant necklace is stolen, Fiona finds herself in the middle of a town in chaos. With an acquired crystal ball, will she discover the truth behind the Stolen Heart?

  Join Fiona and her best friend, Gretchen, in this fun cozy mystery, featuring a spunky mini schnauzer, a lovable kitten, and a mischievous ferret. It’s only one read away.

  1

  It’s Harvest Festival Time

  We’d barely recovered from the last summertime battle when Tempest was hit with its second nerve-rattling invasion of the year.

  It was autumn in Tempest, which meant that every year when the town threw its annual Harvest Festival, visitors came from a hundred miles or more to take part. It just so happened to also be my favorite time of year.

  Summers were hot, but we had the lake to temper us, and the storms came regularly enough to water our lawns. Winters were miserable, no matter how you looked at them. They were a time for hibernation and preparation for your bikini body. Springtime primarily meant an end to that miserable winter, which left autumn to be the season you spent outdoors.

  The mayor and town council had calculated that it took exactly six months to recover from the previous Harvest Festival and six months to prepare for the next. Everyone agreed that it was exhausting, in many ways, more so than the summer season on the lake.

  Peter Sullivan—sheriff, and the only romantic possibility in town—stopped by Mortimer House, where I took in boarders and served tourists in my tearoom. I had my best friend, Gretchen, who was in between husbands again, to help me. Sylvia Markham, owner of the former town bakery, was now my chief and singular cook.

  “We need you on the committee, Fiona.” It was an apparent attempt by Peter to flatter me, but I already had too much going on. Not only did I have the boarding house and restaurant, but I had recently opened Mortimer Antiques, adjoining the family old Victorian I’d inherited from Aunt Mable.

  “It’s out of the question, Peter. I’ve got too much going on as it is.”

  “But you have help. You have Gretchen and Mrs. Markham. Are you sure you can’t spend a few nights a month helping out to keep the businesses in town going? Might just benefit your businesses, too, you know.”

  “That was below the belt, Peter, and you know it. I’ve had a tough time of it getting the house in shape, especially after what happened. This place being considered a crime scene caused quite the uproar, remember?”

  “It’s hard to forget.”

  “By the way, how long will our friend be in prison?”

  “Longer than to be of any more help to you, if that’s what you’re thinking. What about your old boss, Fred?”

  “Fred? He’s all brain and not much brawn. Sleeps most of the day and drinks most of the rest. I have to catch him in between brushing his teeth and uncapping the first bottle if I really need him. No, you’ll have to find help somewhere else. I’m sorry.”

  Peter feigned a long sigh of disappointment. “That’s too bad. I was looking forward to riding together and maybe getting a bite to eat afterward. It’s okay, don’t feel guilty. Bernette Tyson will stand in for you, I’m sure.”

  My head whipped around. “That old phony? Calls herself a psychic. Heh! What a hoot. More like she’s a bloodsucking gossip who predicts the future based on past behavior.”

  “Jealous?” he teased me.

  “Not a bit.” I let the idea of Bernette sink in. “Just what is Bernette going to contribute?”

  “Oh, you know her. She’ll have her fingers in everything. I heard she’s setting up a fortune-telling booth across town, right down by the carnival setup.”

  “She is?” I knew that meant my end of town would be dead. Even my tourist guests would spend their time close to the carnival. “So, what would be involved for me?”

  I caught the look in Peter’s eyes. It was a mix of triumph and humor that he’d outfoxed me. “Not that much. In the last three months, we meet once a week until the week before, then we meet daily. In fact, I thought we could meet here in your café. Bring you a little extra business, and you wouldn’t have to leave the office. I’m chairman, so I can make that happen.”

  “What happened to getting a bite together afterward?”

  “We can bite your food, can’t we?”

  “Peter, sometimes you’re just too much. How long do these meetings last?”

  “The short ones, an hour or so. That last week, you’ll become sort of our home office. Great opportunity for you to get plenty of exposure.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  He shrugged and bunched up his chin in casual concentration. “Nothing. Of course, I’ll be scarce, and then you won’t have any input on how it’s run or where they’ll put the sawhorses to block off streets. Traffic control, you know.”

  “Blackmailer.”

  He grinned broadly. “You could say that.”

  “Okay, okay, count me in.”

  “You sure?”

  I nodded. “You have my word.”

  “Good. Oh, and by the way. You’ll be full up that whole week of the festival. I already booked the carnival people to stay here with you.”

  My jaw dropped. Peter had blackmailed me with threats of an empty boarding house, and all the time knew I’d be full up with his carnival people. “Why you…” I took a swipe at his shoulder.

  “Careful now. Attacking an officer of the law can land you in jail, you know.”

  “You can leave now, Peter. It’s only a few weeks to the festival, which means I’m getting a late start. I’ll have to sit down and work this all out.”

  “You don’t have to ask me twice,” he joked and closed the massive front door of Mortimer House behind himself.

  “What did Pete want?” asked Fred behind me in a slumber-heavy voice.

  “Conned me into helping out with the Harvest Festival committee.”

  “I don’t remember you as being very con-able.” He was referring to the years I’d worked for him as a crime scene investigator in the big city. I’d come home to simplify my life, and if anything, I was busier than before.

  I smiled cheerfully. “You might say Peter offers some additional perks.”

  “Tsk, tsk, Ms. Parkins. I believe you
’re blushing.”

  “And I can smell your hangover from here, Fred. You’ve got just enough time to shower and change into clean sloppy clothes before lunch.”

  Fred gave me a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

  2

  Readying for Battle

  “Watch out, Lizzie Borden,” I urged, pushing my mini schnauzer out of the way as I stepped into my claw-foot tub for a hot soak before bed. I was exhausted. It was down to just a few days before the Harvest Festival, and the committee meetings were at a feverish level. They met downstairs in my living room, creating more work for Gretchen and me to clean up than profit in our pockets from coffee and cheesecake sales. Nevertheless, Peter had been right about one thing. If I hadn’t gotten involved, it was fair to say there wouldn’t have been much in the plans to benefit me or my businesses, and as a fledgling concern, I needed plenty of business.

  There was a tap on the bathroom door, and then it was jerked open. I squeaked in protest and then saw it was Gretchen. I threw a handful of bubbles at her. “Can’t I have a moment’s peace?” I pleaded.

  “Oh, you don’t have time for it now. We’ve got company.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The carnival people are here.”

  “But, they’re not due until next week!”

  “They had time in between venues, so they came early. They’re all down in the lobby waiting to check in.”

  “Oh, good gawd. I’ll be down in a couple minutes. Please start by getting their names and having them sign the register?”

  “Ohhhhkay, but that’s not really my job.”

  “Yeah, well, one day really soon when we have a chance, we’ll sit down and write your job description, but you probably won’t like it.”

  “I’m vastly underpaid.”

  “Better get married again.”

  “Careful, Fiona. I’ll leave your door standing open when I go.”

  There wasn’t time for another witty exchange. I rinsed the soap out of my hair and carefully stepped out of the tub onto the tile floor. Pulling a fluffy white towel from the rack, I dried off quickly and got dressed. I braided my wet blonde hair and pinned it up on my head.

  Gretchen had told the truth. The lobby was filled with people I’d never seen before, and to say they were an interesting bunch would be an understatement. Most of them were seated at the small café tables as Gretchen moved among them with a clipboard. An avalanche of luggage cascaded down one wall—strange cases with latches and a myriad of stickers from places all over the world. I got behind the counter, and Gretchen brought the list. Between us, we assigned rooms, and she circulated the keys. I enlisted Fred, who was still relatively stable on his feet, to help carry up luggage.

  I rousted out Sylvia. “Better get ready. It looks like there will be twenty for dinner. The carnival people arrived early.”

  Her head swung around to look at me, open-mouthed. “But I just made a pot of chicken soup for the four of us. What’ll I fix?”

  “Uh, well, order pizza. We’ll throw a welcome party. Pizza, chips, pop, balloons, you get the idea.”

  “Sounds exactly like carnival food, if you ask me.”

  I frowned. “You’re right. Have any suggestions?”

  “You don’t worry about it. I’ll give it some thought, and between Gretchen and me, we’ll whip something up.”

  “Thank you, Sylvia.”

  I left the kitchen and headed to the living room to check on my guests. As much as I dislike stereotypes, it was easy to pick out who did what. The very heavyset lady who was taking up half the sofa and running a comb through her beard certainly wasn’t a high-wire act. A very slender, flexible young man was stretching before the window, doubling himself by leaning backward and popping up between his legs. I watched him with… okay, I’ll admit it… envy. I was lucky to touch my toes leaning forward.

  “Hello, everyone. I’m Fiona, your hostess. If there’s anything you need, please let me know.”

  “I’d like to know if you have a step-stool?” The voice came from beside me, and I looked down to see the tiniest man I’d ever seen.

  “I’m sure we can rig up something. I’ll send it up to your room.”

  “No problem. I’m rooming with Barney.”

  “Ohhhkay…” I wasn’t sure who Barney was, but I could’ve probably figured it out. He read my confusion.

  “He’s the weightlifter. He practices lifting me, but if he gets a cramp… well, it’s just easier if I have a step-stool. Anyway, your tubs are high.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s a very old house. I’ll find something right away.”

  He bowed from the waist with a wave of his hand. “I’d be most obliged. I’m Elliott.”

  “Nice to meet you, Elliott.”

  “Mutual,” he answered and walked away.

  I had a feeling it was going to be a fun few weeks.

  3

  All Bells Break Loose

  Sylvia Markham outdid herself. At dinner, she carried out a platter with an entire ham, sliced and covered with pineapple slices, brown sugar, and maraschino cherries. There were bowls of creamy whipped potatoes, green beans, a huge Waldorf salad with autumn apples, and brownies for dessert. We were a bit crowded at the long dining table, but we worked it out. Some people only needed half a chair, and others, like the sisters connected at the hip, required two, but very close together.

  The talk was colorful and spirited. I was really being entertained. As I watched, I picked up on who was the spokesman for the group and who tended to just go along. Interestingly, it was Elliott who seemed in charge. When he spoke, the others were silent and attentive. Elmer, it seemed, was the hawker for the different exhibits. He spoke loudly, and with every third word came an audible exclamation point. Even he, however, remained quiet when Elliott spoke.

  After dinner, some of the gentlemen excused themselves. I saw them a few minutes later, the backs of their heads facing the long house windows as they rocked and smoked pipes and cigars. Fred joined them, and I could only imagine the conversation between the nomadic carnival men and the hardened, salty crime investigator. I wished I could listen in and take notes to use in the book I was writing—someday.

  The women settled into some sort of card game, and I helped Gretchen and Sylvia clean up after the huge meal. “Good thinking, Sylvia. There will be plenty of ham left for breakfast.”

  She nodded and gave me a thumbs up in agreement.

  I took advantage of the lull to grab Lizzie Borden and head into my antiques store, which was attached to the main house by a walkway. I went inside and began fussing with a display and checking my inventory. I hoped to sell five percent of my pieces each week, which with the thirty percent markup I’d included, would allow the store to pay for itself nicely with a little left over for more investment. The more inventory, the more profit was how I had it figured.

  I was startled by someone rapping on the door. With the darkness outside and the light inside, it was hard to see who was there. I flipped on the entry light to see Elliott and a very, very, very tall man standing next to him. Behind them was Elmer, the hawker. Opening the door, I said, “Yes, gentlemen?”

  Elliott, always in control, pulled at the screen door and walked right in as though he owned the place. The tall man was carrying a bowling ball bag. Elmer plodded along, bringing up the rear.

  “May I help you?”

  “We need your help,” Elliott summarized. He pointed to the tall man. “This is Tim,” he said, then motioned to the third man. “And you probably remember Elmer from dinner.”

  I nodded politely to the other two men. “Is it about the stool?”

  “No, but don’t forget it. Here’s the thing.” He lifted his small hand up to hold his chin as though deep in thought. “One of our ladies, Marlena, well, she has this little drinking problem.”

  “Oh, dear,” I sympathized and steeled myself for the idea that Fred might have a partner for the next couple of weeks.

  “Ye
s, it’s a shame, but when you carry the load of other people’s troubles like she does, well, sometimes a body has to do what a body needs to do.”

  “Okay, how can I help?” I just knew I wasn’t going to like what was coming next.

  “So, when we hit town earlier today, Marlena went straight into Hardee’s Bar—do you know it?”

  “Not personally, but by reputation, yes.”

  “Seems she started early and got herself pretty loaded. Eight hours solid, by my count, and boy, Marlena can really put them away. That gypsy blood of hers, you know.”

  “Go on…”

  “Well, she’d finally had enough and got up to leave. Naturally, the bartender pushed the bill toward her, but she didn’t have any money. I guess she forgot about that by the third one. He said something, she said something back, he threatened, and she picked up her empty glass and threw it at the mirror over the bar. The mirror broke and started a chain reaction that knocked over every bottle on the shelf, like bowling pins.”

  “Quite the spectacle!” shouted Elmer in his best work voice.

  “Oh, dear. Where do I figure into this?” I asked.

  “She’s sitting over in the jail,” Elliott continued, “and we can’t get her out until the damage, and her bar bill, are paid. The bartender says he won’t press charges if she pays. The only problem is, as I said earlier, she doesn’t have any money.” His eyebrows rose, feigning a look of innocence and suggestive need.

  “Well, I would say it’s simple. Take up a collection among your troupe, and get Marlena out. Then take turns keeping an eye on her, so she doesn’t repeat her behavior.”