Gnome Coming: A humorous paranormal novel (Freaky Florida Book 4)

by Ward Parker

  “Nope. All cash. But I want to meet Mr. Loopi first, get a feel for his character, you know. I want to understand who’s standing behind my investment.”

  “I’m sure that can be arranged.”

  Josie grabbed a brochure and stood. Inside the cover was tucked the sales guy’s business card. Josie wrote her phone number on the back of it and handed to Chad.

  “Tell Mr. Loopi I’ll be waiting for his call.”

  “I can’t believe he fell for that,” Tanya said as they walked toward The Boat.

  “I’m not sure he did one hundred percent, but he will pass along my number to his boss, just in case I was legit. I wouldn’t be the world’s first rich old lady who drove an old car.”

  Josie unlocked the passenger side door and then walked around and unlocked hers.

  Once they were inside and the air conditioning was running, Tanya asked what Josie’s plan was.

  “If you get him on the phone,” she asked, “how in the world would you get him to tell you anything about Mary Beth?”

  “I will lie through my teeth and see what happens.”

  “You’re not as smart as you think you are,” Tanya said.

  “I don’t have to be smart, just convincing.”

  7

  Sniffing Around

  Josie should have known better, she thought, as she answered the phone call from George Loopi. It had been days since she and Tanya had visited the sales office. Mary Beth’s funeral had already come and gone. Josie had given up hope that he would call, and she assumed her subterfuge had failed. Either Chad never forwarded her number, or Loopi had ways of discovering it was impossible for her to afford to invest nearly twenty million dollars in his homes.

  Tonight she realized she was wrong. He did call.

  And the problem was, she was about to shift into wolf form.

  The Werewolf Women’s Club had found a temporary hunting ground in a small parcel of land within Jellyfish Beach. It was the Southridge Natural Scrub Reserve, only about twenty acres in size. It was pristine land with a nature trail running through it, but the gate was closed so the shuttle bus couldn’t park in the lot and the women had to be dropped off. They also had to be very careful because there were a lot more cops around here than out west by the Unger Tract.

  The women couldn’t shift inside the bus and had to disembark, squeeze past the locked gate arm, and sneak into the nature trail. They went a ways down the trail before it was safe to disrobe without being seen from the street. They each brought tote bags to hold their clothing after they shifted and hoped no insects would crawl inside.

  It was right as the ladies were beginning to shift that Josie’s phone rang. She rarely used her cellphone and the only people with her number were club members and her family. She had as yet escaped getting on robocallers’ lists. When she saw West Palm Beach on the caller ID, she had a feeling it might be from Loopi Communities. She had to answer it.

  There’s one thing that every werewolf agrees on: Do not speak on the phone after you’ve shifted. Claws don’t work well with smartphones. And wolf-like muzzles with long, floppy tongues do not enunciate clearly over the phone to human ears. It’s just a terrible idea to even try.

  But she knew this was her one shot at speaking with the developer. She couldn’t let it slip away.

  She had to stop her transformation midway through it. She’d never tried to do that before. While her pack whined and growled as they turned into wolf-women, Josie motioned for them to go off hunting without her. She stepped away and tried to answer the phone and stay human at the same time.

  “Ruh-roh?”

  “What? I’m trying to reach Josephine Denton?”

  “Grrrr-yeah.”

  “Is this the right number?”

  This wasn’t going well. Josie struggled with trying to turn off the ancient switch that activated the shifting. It wasn’t too hard to turn it on before she shifted to wolf and later when she wanted to shift back to human. But midway through the process, her brain couldn’t seize on anything.

  “I’m, grrrr, Josie.”

  Thank God she got that out. Her jaws had returned to their human proportions. Her tongue was smaller and more controllable.

  “Okay, the connection is better now. I’m George Loopi. I understand you’re interested in investing in Fox Landing?” He had an aggressive tone, a deep voice, and a New York accent.

  “Yep.” That came out a little too much like a bark.

  “My rep said you wanted to know more about me? My financials are on file with the state. You want me to send you sales records for my previous two communities? You’ll love the numbers. They’re beautiful numbers. No other communities around here go up in value like mine.” The man sounded like a mob boss from Brooklyn.

  “That would be lovely,” Josie replied. “I’d like to ask you about something else. Not long ago, a woman was murdered on the property. What was that all about? Are there criminal gangs in the area?”

  “Oh, that. Yeah, some crazy old broad was in the woods worshipping the moon goddess in the nude.”

  “But who shot her?”

  “I have no idea. Probably a hunter. Definitely not a gangbanger. There’s no crime in that area. It’s totally safe. Trust me, there’s not a safer area anywhere.”

  “I know you can’t tell me for liability reasons,” Josie said, “but I was hoping your security guards shot her. It would make me feel more secure knowing it was a good guy and not a bad guy who did it.”

  “Don’t you worry, I’ll have a guard out there once the heavy equipment is on the property. When the community is complete, there will be high-tech monitoring systems. It will be up to the HOA if they want to hire security staff in addition to the gate guards.”

  “You don’t have security there now?” she tried to sound disappointed.

  “Intermittently, there is. On account of the protesters. As soon as we have expensive machinery parked out there, you better believe we’re gonna protect it around the clock with well-armed personnel.”

  Josie wasn’t getting the admission she’d hoped for. Maybe there had been a guard there and maybe not. But at least she knew for sure he had armed security guards.

  “Are the protesters dangerous?” she asked.

  Loopi sighed. “We got two kinds. There’s the not-in-my-backyard crowd who live around there and don’t want to see more traffic on the roads. And then there’s the tree-huggers who don’t want any development at all. Some of them are wack-a-doodles. They’ll vandalize job sites. Or worse.”

  Josie thought about Frank, the lone protester she had met. Did he seem dangerous?

  “Have I answered all your questions?” Loopi asked with an impatient tone.

  “Yes, thank you. My realtor will speak with you soon.”

  She clicked off the call before he could reply. Loopi seemed like the kind of guy who liked to hang up on people, not the other way around.

  She put her phone in the tote bag that held her clothes and stood naked in the warm, humid night. She glanced at the sky through the slash pines. There were a decent number of stars, but not as many as you could see out in the Unger Tract, far from the city lights, or even from the beach when the lights were off for sea turtle nesting season.

  Cars passed just out of view on the road behind her. It ruined the mood.

  She was no longer interested in being a wolf tonight and felt silly standing naked. So she dressed and waited for the rest of the pack to return. Her wait wouldn’t be long, because this small gem of preserved land was so pitifully small.

  The next day, she was reading an article online about the public resistance against the development of the Unger Tract. The story was from The Jellyfish Beach Journal, which she subscribed to for the coupons and the television listings, but rarely read. It was written by a fellow named Matt Rosen. She recognized the name from other articles she’d come across in her research on Loopi and Frank’s Friends of Florida.

  It occurred to her, why not
contact this Rosen fellow and see if he could help her?

  No emailing for her. She picked up the phone and called the newspaper office, getting transferred to his extension.

  “Rosen,” he answered, rather rudely in her opinion.

  “Hello, Mr. Rosen. My name is Josie Denton, and I was wondering if you could help me. I’m researching the Unger Tract which, I see, you’ve written some stories about.”

  “Yes, I have for some time now,” he said. “How can I help you?”

  “I was wondering if you know of any violence perpetrated by those protesting the development.”

  There was a lengthy pause. “Um, why?” he asked.

  She wasn’t sure how much she should tell him.

  “Well,” she said, “as you well know—since you wrote a story about it—there was a death there recently.”

  “Yes, but I haven’t seen any evidence at this point suggesting that an environmentalist did it.”

  He sounded somewhat dismissive of her. Did he think she had a political motive for suspecting environmentalists?

  “Who, then, do you think did it?” she asked.

  “I don’t know, Ms. Denton. It’s not my place to suggest theories. I have to be neutral to report the news.”

  “The thing is, I knew the victim. She was a neighbor.”

  Another pause, even longer this time. “I see. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  The way he said, “I see,” had an odd weight to it. She had expected him to be more dismissive, as if he thought she was a busybody neighbor trying to do the police’s work. But this was different.

  “You live at Seaweed Manor?” he asked.

  “Yes, I do.”

  His pause this time made her nervous. Did he know about werewolves?

  “Do you know a home-health nurse named Missy Mindle, who visits your community?” he asked.

  “I’m one of her patients,” Josie said. Where was this going?

  “I’m a good friend of hers,” the reporter said. “We’ve worked on some . . . stories.”

  “Oh, what a small world!” Josie said, feigning delight. She was certain now this fellow knew about werewolves.

  “Ms. Denton, can I buy you a cup of coffee? I frequently go to The Sea Urchin Cafe, just down the road from you. How about this morning?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.”

  “Would you feel better if Missy came, too?”

  “Yes,” Josie said. “That would be better.”

  Josie was half an hour early to her meeting at the cafe. She was always early for appointments. She considered it a virtue in this day and age when people abandoned propriety. She glanced at the menu while she sat at the table on the sidewalk across the street from the beach. Everything here was too expensive for her tastes. Why would anyone go to a restaurant just for coffee, anyway? Her percolator at home worked fine.

  She was relieved to see Missy striding down the sidewalk. It would have been awkward if the reporter fellow showed up first, since Josie didn’t know what he looked like.

  “Good morning,” Missy said, kissing Josie on the cheek before sitting down. “I’m so sorry about Mary Beth. I knew her well.”

  “Then you know how much of a pain in the butt she was, God rest her soul.”

  “Can’t argue with you there,” Missy said, lowering her head. “I have to admit I heard about her death secondhand. I didn’t realize she was shot while the club was hunting.”

  “Yes, and the club wants vengeance. Or at least justice.”

  Missy’s eyes fixed on something behind Josie. “Here comes Matt.”

  “Can I trust him?” Josie asked. “Does he know about our shifting?”

  “You can trust him with your life. He knows about the supernaturals living in Jellyfish Beach. Well, some of them at least. He was held captive by Chainsaw and heard him get shot by the police.”

  “That horrible drug dealer. He gave us werewolves a bad name.”

  “And Matt knows about the vampires in Squid Tower. He’s a friend of mine and a talented reporter. He’ll help you investigate who killed Mary Beth.”

  When Matt arrived, Missy introduced him. He had a beard which Josie didn’t like, but otherwise he was well-kept and polite. His eyes lit up every time he looked at Missy. Josie made a note to learn if anything was going on between the two of them. She knew that Missy had been married previously, and, after she divorced, her ex-husband had died. She was still in her forties and young enough to have another go at it, in Josie’s way of thinking.

  Josie had lost her husband to a heart attack when she was only in her fifties. She was a middle-school principal and kept working with the desire to marry again but without the energy to pursue dating. Once she retired and entered the busy social world of a senior community, she resisted the flirtations of the few available single men. She realized she was finally happy being single.

  But she believed it wasn’t too late for Missy to find someone.

  After their coffee orders arrived, Matt got down to business.

  “The police have labeled this case an accidental shooting,” he said. “Their reasoning is that it was a hunter’s shot gone awry or maybe a teenager messing around with a gun, shooting it off in the woods.”

  “I have problems with that. First of all, it was late at night,” Josie said. “I thought hunters got up early in the morning. Second, the shot came from a part of the woods where there were no trails, making it really difficult to get in there. I don’t think a shot from the road would have made it through all those trees.”

  “Good point,” Matt said, jotting down notes on a narrow pad.

  “And the last thing I’d like to mention,” Josie said before hesitating. If this young fellow already knew the women were werewolves, there was no reason to hold back. “We were hunting and didn’t pick up the scent of anyone else in the area. I don’t know the implications of that. Afterwards, I was searching the area and saw a slight disturbance of the leaves on the forest floor. And I caught the strong scent of rubber.”

  “Like rubber boots?” Matt asked.

  “Maybe. The scent was strong and harsh enough to keep me from picking up the scent of whoever was wearing them. I think that was intentional.”

  “So, back to our phone call, you suspect an environmentalist was behind the shooting?”

  “I don’t know. At first, I thought someone working for the developer shot Mary Beth. After they bought the property, someone may have seen wolves there and wanted to get rid of them.”

  “They should have called the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission,” Missy said.

  “Developers don’t like the state involved,” Matt said. “It’s much easier to take care of it quietly on their own.”

  “I talked to the developer, pretending to be an investor, and he said he doesn’t have security guards at the property full time right now. He mentioned environmental extremists have been known to vandalize properties. I saw Frank’s Friends of Florida out there protesting. Are they capable of violence?”

  “I’ve covered them before,” Matt said. “They seem harmless. I have a hard time believing an environmentalist would shoot what appeared to be a wild animal.”

  “He could have heard something moving through the woods and shot at it, thinking it was a worker.”

  “A worker there late at night? I don’t know.” Matt sipped his coffee. “I think your first hunch about the developer was the strongest one. There is one other direction to look, though. The police.”

  “Josie, please don’t go down that road,” Missy said, flashing her eyes angrily at Matt. “The werewolves in Seaweed Manor need to be invisible to them. Don’t go sniffing around the police. No pun intended.”

  “I’ve heard all the rumors,” Josie said. “A few officers know about supernaturals and they kill them. A detective from the Jellyfish Beach Police Department came to the scene and questioned us, even though that area is not in their jurisdiction.”

  “Oh, my,” Missy s
aid. “Was his name Affird?”

  “I believe that sounds right.”

  “But why would Affird know to show up there?” Matt asked. “I don’t think the Sheriff’s Department informs the city cops about crimes outside the city limits. Even if they share that data, why flag this supposed shooting accident?”

  “He must be surveilling us,” Josie said. “He must know the werewolves of Seaweed Manor go elsewhere to hunt. And he finally found out where.”

  “It makes little sense that he would shoot Mary Beth, then return to the scene to question you,” Missy said.

  “Why not?” Matt asked. “That way, no one would suspect him. Remember, Missy, we were there when he executed a werewolf.”

  “I know. I’m still troubled by it.”

  “If it was Affird or another cop, they will pay for this,” Josie said.

  “No, don’t say that,” Missy pleaded. “You can’t attack a cop.”

  “He’s not above the law.”

  “No offense, but you seem like the sweet, grandmotherly type to me,” Matt said.

  “And I could tear out your throat in less than a second,” Josie said, smiling.

  “I deserved that,” Matt said.

  “Josie, let us help you find the killer, okay?” Missy asked. “We can’t have you tearing out any police throats and endangering your entire community.”

  “If a cop did it, and it wasn’t an accident, I can’t promise anything.”

  “Promise me you won’t act before telling me.”

  “Will do,” Josie said. “So how do we get this investigation on the road?”

  “Let’s talk to some more people,” Matt said. “Make sure we cover all bases. I’d like to contact the previous owners of the land, the Unger family.”

  “Mind if I tag along?” Josie asked. “I’ve met Mrs. Unger before.”

  “No problem,” Matt said, looking uncomfortable.

  “Just let me know when you’re planning to go. Thanks for the coffee,” Josie said. “I have to head home. I’m playing bridge in twenty minutes.”