by K. J. Emrick
A Friend in Death
A Moonlight Bay Psychic Mystery Book 1
K. J. Emrick
Kathryn De Winter
First published in Australia by South Coast Publishing, June 2017. Copyright Kathryn De Winter and K.J. Emrick (2017)
* * *
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and locations portrayed in this book and the names herein are fictitious. Any similarity to or identification with the locations, names, characters or history of any person, product or entity is entirely coincidental and unintentional.
- From a Declaration of Principles jointly adopted by a Committee of the American Bar Association and a Committee of Publishers and Associations.
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Contents
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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
More Info
About the Authors
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Chapter 1
Her cheeks flushing with the heat, Miranda Wylder inspected the roast carefully before closing the oven door again. The lamb was doing nicely and its wonderful aroma reminded her of just how hungry she was. Guessing it needed another twenty minutes, she checked her watch and smiled. There would be plenty of time to finish cooking and sit down for a minute or two before Kyle arrived. Miranda looked around her spotless and modern white kitchen and was glad she’d done the cleaning the day before. At least she could relax now.
The hot air blowing from the oven had fluttered through the ends of her deep red hair and she took a moment to feather it back into place with her fingers. It was getting long. It was already past the tops of her shoulders, and in her sleeveless shirt she could feel it tickling the skin along her back. Her eyebrows were a different shade, almost black, and it gave her a sort of haunting appearance. In a good way, her last boyfriend had promised her. Maybe her next serious guy would feel the same way.
“Okay,” Miranda said under her breath. “There’s time enough to water my babies.”
Miranda walked out of the kitchen and into her bright and spacious living room. This was possibly her most favorite space in the whole house. It was a true square with white walls and beautiful thick grey carpet which never failed to caress Miranda’s almost-always bare feet. There were great arched windows on either side of the fireplace and immense sliding patio doors on the adjacent wall. At just about any time of the day, the room was filled with glorious daylight. Over on one side, her deep grey couch complete with plush navy chevron print cushions begged for her to come and lie down for a bit.
“Ha. In a few minutes. Promise.”
Through the sliding glass patio doors Miranda looked out to see her watering can was still on top of the mosaic tiled patio table, just where she’d left it. She hummed contentedly to herself as she stepped out into the courtyard, feeling the warmth of the flagstones beneath her feet in the late afternoon sun.
Life didn’t get any better than this.
The courtyard had been very well used since Miranda had moved in. She was by no means a keen gardener, but the courtyard with its tiny patch of grass and low maintenance flagstones was just right for her. There was nothing much to it, just pretty plants and crushed stone and a hedge high enough to provide a little privacy from her neighbors. A little latticed gate opened out onto a paved pathway that led to the sidewalk.
Miranda took the watering can and turned toward the terracotta planter full of her blood-red geraniums and, gasping, she dropped the watering can onto the flagstones. It bounced, and spilled shockingly cold water all over the legs of her jeans and her warm bare feet.
There, in front of the planter, lay the body of a man. A dead man. He was curled up with his back to her and his knees were pulled in near his chest in the fetal position.
Of course, Miranda would have screamed if the scene before her had been a real one. As shocked as she was, the curious blueish quality of the light all around the man told Miranda that he was not really there. Maybe he had been, once upon a time. Maybe long ago. Or maybe he would be found like this one day. Maybe far off into the future. Her gift didn't always manifest this way and although rare, Miranda had encountered a few of these visions before in her lifetime.
And when they did come it was always frustrating for her as she never knew if the things she saw were in the past, in the future, or even if they had any connection to her whatsoever. Often, the scenes she alone witnessed were nothing more than echoes. A replay of a long-gone event, with nothing for her to do but silently and pointlessly bear witness, remember, and try to forget.
And yet this felt different from the few scenes of this nature that Miranda had previously witnessed. There was something familiar about the man. She couldn’t say what. His back was to her, laying like this. Miranda felt a sudden, sweeping sadness. Something about this image simply reeked of tragedy. Standing as still as a rock, Miranda tried to take in more details. Why did he look so familiar? She couldn’t see his face, and didn’t recognize his very nondescript clothing. The jeans he wore were straight off the rack, and the jacket was some kind of pseudo military affair in fashionably faded khaki.
Well. Just because he was dead didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate his style. This was sort of a laid-back, relaxed masculine look.
She should look at his face. She should find out who this might be.
Miranda took a step forward and focused harder, and just like always when she put forth the effort, the scene before her evaporated. The man was gone. The normal bright light of a sunny sky bathed the flagstones again.
Feeling more sad than shaken, she bent forward and picked up the watering can. It was empty and worse, dented. With a sigh, she turned back toward the patio doors. Wiping her soggy feet on the mat, Miranda strode back through the lounge and on into the kitchen. As she set the watering can into the sink, she pondered on the scene she had just witnessed. Why had he looked so f
amiliar?
Miranda turned on the tap and listened as the water thundered a beat on the bottom of the watering can. Slowly, her eyes went wide as realization sank in. She understood.
The water reached the top of the can, and flowed over the sides as she continued to stand there. The man hadn’t looked familiar, he had felt familiar.
Suddenly, Miranda felt cold down to her bones.
It was several more minutes before she remembered to turn the tap off.
With the lamb cooling on the stovetop and everything else ready for dinner, Miranda made short work of setting the table. She smiled to herself when she looked at the centerpiece in the middle of the table. It was the same one she had made when she’d first moved into the apartment. She felt at home whenever she saw it.
She’d had writer’s block at the time and nothing else to do and so, following a few helpful guidelines in a home and lifestyle magazine that she’d bought on a whim, Miranda had created a real talking point. It was a rectangular glass vase filled with white sand and beautiful shells she had found along the nearby beach. This was Australia, after all, and no place was more than a day’s drive from a beach. Well, no place civilized, at least.
She’d even added in a couple of plaster starfish to the vase, and some little tealight candles. The whole thing sat in a deep old wooden tray she had found in a thrift store and cleaned up. All in all, she was very pleased with it. Even Kyle, for whom such things tended to fly below the radar, had commented on it.
Miranda cast her eye over the little desk over in the corner where she ordinarily liked to work, or procrastinate by staring out the picture window at the world. Pages of notes and a stack of customized bookmarks she had made for the book signing event she had scheduled in town tomorrow were strewn across it. She hadn’t meant to leave it so messy. Kyle was sure to comment on it if she didn’t fix it up now.
In a heartbeat, she made a neat pile of the papers and magazine spreads she had made ready to put in her portfolio. On top, there was a half-page ad from The Story Magazine for a crime serial she had just sold. As she straightened up the paperwork, Miranda smiled. She didn’t do so much serial work for magazines anymore, especially since her crime novels had begun to take off in a big way.
Still, work was work, and money was money. Her mother had taught her that one.
Miranda looked up to the deep shelf above the table where she kept the myriad of contributor copies of her books. Miranda had a good agent and a publisher on board, keen to take her next four novels. She was doing well and sometimes she had to pinch herself to make sure it was real. Every time she thought of the book signing event, Miranda’s beaming smile almost split her face in two.
“Who’s on her way up?” she asked herself. “This girl, that’s who!”
Miranda checked her watch again. It wouldn’t be long before Kyle arrived. She made her way back out into the kitchen. With nothing left to do—finally—she picked up the letter from her Uncle Horatio which she had left on the kitchen counter. Horatio lived out in a small town called Moonlight Bay, in a great rambling old house called Ragged Rest that had been in the family forever. One more time, she scanned the contents.
She smiled when she thought of him. He’d been just about her favorite relation as a kid growing up. Horatio was always great fun and always had travel tales to tell.
This time, however, the letter wasn’t just about grand journeys. It was about Uncle Horatio living day after day in Ragged Rest, and his strong desire that someone would look after it if anything ever happened to him. Being a straight up-and-down kind of a guy, Horatio had come straight to the point and asked Miranda to consider moving into Ragged Rest while he went off traveling again.
As much as Miranda loved Moonlight Bay, she’d really found her feet here in Melbourne. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, she was a city girl. She wasn’t keen to uproot herself and move again.
“Miranda!”
As always, Kyle shouted her name at the same time he loudly knocked on the patio door. Miranda smiled and shook her head; he was so wonderfully predictable. Quickly she refolded the letter and stowed it into the kitchen drawer she tended to use for mail. Then she rushed for the door to greet him. Trust Kyle to use the back door. She didn’t ever remember him coming to the front door in all the time she’d known him.
“All right, I’m coming,” she called as Kyle knocked again but before she reached him he’d slid the door open and popped his head inside looking all about for her. She felt a wide grin splitting her face at the sight of her best friend.
“I could smell that lamb all the way up the path,” Kyle said with a return smile as he spotted her, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “It smells wonderful, and I’m starving.”
He kissed her cheek, as he always did, and then kicked off his sandals in one fluid movement. Miranda could not help but smile, shaking her head at his antics. The way Kyle kicked off his trademark sandals always reminded her of a kid about to get on a bouncy castle, all hurry and excitement, and not a care for how the footwear actually landed.
“Well, it’s always reassuring to know my food critic at least likes the smell.” She took his hand to lead him toward the kitchen. “Come on, let’s have a drink before dinner. Wine?”
“Red please. Whatever philistine brand you have,” Kyle said, with a wicked chuckle.
“Have you ever noticed,” she told him, “how you’re harder on me than you are on any of the establishments you critique for your magazines?”
She raised an eyebrow at him in mock seriousness. Kyle was good at what he did, which was why several major magazines carried his column on the where-tos and where-nots to eat. To look at him you’d never know he made his living eating food. He was rail-thin, tall and wiry, with a sandy brown beard a shade or two lighter than the tousled hair on his head that came down over the tips of his ears. When he was eating professionally—as he called it—he wore slacks and dress shoes and a tie to the restaurants he was critiquing. Here, he had on jean shorts and a long-sleeved t-shirt. Miranda thought he looked wonderful in them.
“Oh, don’t take me serious,” he said to Miranda, accepting one of the two wine glasses she’d poured. “I always love your cooking really.”
“But, you’re harder on me than you ever are in your articles. I’ve never read a harsh review from you yet. Firm, yes. Fair, certainly. But never harsh.”
“Apart from the one I wrote about The Coffee Ambience,” Kyle said with a shrug.
“Oh, yes. That one.” Miranda chuckled to remember it, clinking her glass against his. “I could hardly believe it was you who had written it when I saw it in the local papers. I almost felt bad for the owner of that place.”
Usually Kyle chose to give bad reviews by omission. If he didn’t like the ambience, he called it standard. If he didn’t like the service, he referred to it as almost adequate, meaning the food somehow or other made its way to the table, even if only in the hands of the world’s most inept waitress. Over time, his followers had learned and warmed to his code. It made his reviews unique in a sea of people doing the same thing. He was certainly popular enough to have kept his post at The Chronical, the city’s most widely read newspaper.
“Yes, well,” Kyle swallowed a good swig of his wine, actually looking concerned. “That whole thing with the Coffee Ambience has come back to haunt me.”
Miranda wasn’t sure she understood. “That bad?”
“Yep. But in my defense, it was the worst place I’ve ever eaten at. Anyway, let’s change the subject. This is supposed to be a fun night for us. Let’s talk about something else, please.” He gave her a grin that was something less than convincing.
“Okay.” She didn’t want to press the issue and ruin the night. “How’s the lovely Markus?”
There was a moments pause which had Miranda looking at him quizzically. “We’re finished,” Kyle said, with a rueful grin.
“I’m so sorry, Kyle. I’m not doing very well tonight, am I? Total
ly standard ambience, huh?”
“It’s okay, Miranda. It was on the cards anyway.”
“Was it?” Miranda asked, wishing that he’d mentioned this on the phone before dropping it on her here. Talk about embarrassing!
“Yeah. Markus was getting antsy about my work. He said I was all about the job, you know?”
“Why? You’re a food critic, not a hard-bitten homicide detective out at all hours of the night!” She was pleased when her comment got Kyle laughing heartily.
“I know, I know! But there was no talking to him, so we’re splitsville. Look, let’s talk about your world, Miranda. So much brighter here, isn’t it?”
“Um, well. Perhaps a bit,” she said, carrying the lamb through to the dining table.
“Are you looking forward to your book signing?”
“Yes. And you will come to the after signing party tomorrow afternoon, right?”
“If only you weren’t signing books at The Coffee Ambience!” Kyle said, wincing. “Talk about rough coincidences!”
“I know, Kyle. It is kind of awkward.” Miranda laughed. “I promise I didn’t pick the venue. That was my publishing company.”
The Coffee Ambience, besides being a trendy café in the city, was also a small bookseller. One of those places who wanted to be Starbucks without having the negative image of a coffee giant.
“No worries,” Kyle promised. “I’ll be there. You know I will. Come on, carve up that lamb, I’m starving!”
Miranda carved the lamb and pulled the roasted vegetables out of the oven’s warming tray.
“Okay, dig in,” she said with a grin.
“So, do you reckon you’ll have a good turn out tomorrow?” Kyle carried on where they’d left off. His first bite went into his mouth. “Oh, this is divine!”