Witch Hits the Beach: (A Paranormal Witch Cozy Mystery) (Main Street Witches Book 5)

by Ani Gonzalez

  "Yes," Samira banged again. "We can't let this destroy the group. We've worked too hard."

  "Destroy the group?" Rachel asked. "Don't you think you're being a little dramatic?"

  "Drama is my life," Samira admitted, raising her chin in a defiant gesture straight out of a soap opera. "But, no, I don't think I'm overstating it right now. The group is vulnerable. We must carry on. I say we keep the agenda and go on the town and boat tours. It will help the members get their mind off the recent events."

  Morgana looked around the room at her depressed constituents and sighed. "That's probably a good idea. I'm just a bit nervous."

  "You think something else may happen?" Luanne asked.

  Morgana winced in response.

  "Oh, surely not," Rachel said, a hand placed over her chest. "I don't think we could—"

  "Bear it?" Samira asked, raising a brow. "My point exactly."

  "We've been through worse," Morgana muttered.

  The association president sounded uncertain, and Luanne couldn't blame her. The group outside the conference was visibly dejected. People crowded in small clusters, seeking comfort and news.

  And there was scarcity of both.

  "Yes," Rachel muttered. "And every crisis has had to do with Walter."

  Samira laughed. "He really was a troublemaker, wasn't he? I think everyone in this crowd had a grudge against Walter."

  "Oh, surely not everyone," Morgana said.

  Luanne scanned the crowd, trying to identify the voice she'd heard. Wanda and her husband stood in a corner, glancing anxiously at the conference room. Wanda's husband cradled a drink in his hand. Wanda snatched it and took a sip.

  Walter's family seemed to be drowning its sorrows in alcohol. Viola was nowhere to be found. A tall young man wearing a tuxedo and a luxuriant mustache—what was his name, Murray the Magnificent?—walked up to Wanda's husband and asked a question. He got a hostile growl in reply and quickly retreated.

  A blue-haired young woman dressed in black walked over and whispered in Murray's ear. Luanne gave the woman an envious glance. Zoraida Cruz was young, barely out of college, but she was already one of the association's rising stars.

  "Take Murray, for example," Samira said, tilting her head in the direction of the altercation. "He was a new member who built a thriving business in the New York City magical underground until Walter noticed him."

  Luanne aimed a thoughtful glance at Murray. With his good looks and Victorian affectations, he'd been the up-an-coming youngster when she'd joined the association. He'd had a YouTube channel and a Steampunk clothing line. His t-shirts printed with eighteenth-century fortune-telling ads had been particularly popular.

  But something happened. Luanne had skipped a convention and by the time she'd returned, Murray was old news. What exactly had taken place?

  "And there were others," Samira continued, glancing at the Zoraida.

  Now that was interesting. Had Walter taken aim at their fortune-telling prodigy?

  "Let's not start that, Samira," Morgana said. "If we go down that road—"

  "We'll end up giving poor Leslie a prize," Samira said. "So, what do you say? Do we keep our chins up and stick to the agenda, or do we dissolve the conference?" Her wave encompassed the now-almost empty room.

  "If we don't make a decision soon," Luanne said. "People will just start leaving on their own."

  "I know," Morgana said. "But—"

  Morgana fell silent without finishing the sentence. She sighed, shoulders slumping. The association president looked strangely defeated.

  Samira's eyes narrowed. The Sultana Supreme was unwilling to accept defeat.

  "What if," she asked in a cajoling tone, "we ask the police to come along? Mary-Louise will agree, I'm sure. The town needs our business."

  "True," Rachel said, "but we have two excursions."

  Samira aimed a sidelong glance at Luanne. "Your sweetheart can join the second one, no? That should reassure you. Morgana. He looks like a formidable young man."

  Luanne nodded. It wasn't a half-bad idea. It would make Morgana feel safer, and it would give Sean an opportunity to investigate—what?

  She didn't know, but she couldn't forget what someone—maybe Murray the Magnificent—had whispered behind her.

  At least we now know who did it.

  But did they?

  "Sean joining the group is a great idea," Luanne said.

  Samira gave her a knowing smile. "I think so too."

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  "WHY DO I get the monster hunt while you get to sample the zodiac-themed cupcakes in town?" Sean asked. "I'm the one who gets motion sickness."

  "Don't blame me," Luanne replied, as she tried on yet another colorful tunic. "They asked for you specifically."

  "Great," Sean replied, dreading the upcoming trip.

  "Don't worry about the seasickness." Luanne said, as she put on her walking shoes. "Worry about the interrogation Caine will put you through when we get home."

  "That makes me even more nauseous." Sean replied, wrinkling his nose.

  They were in their room, preparing for their respective excursions. Luanne would be going to Mystic Bay village, which made sense, he grudgingly admitted. She would have an opportunity to inspect the local fortune-telling establishments and maybe get some ideas for her own business.

  But that meant he wouldn't get a chance to explore the town. He didn't have a professional interest in the local businesses like Luanne did, but he would have liked to check some of them out. That astrological jeweler, for example, sounded interesting. He wasn't in the market for anything sparkly, at least not right now, but if he were—hypothetically speaking, of course—looking for a special piece for a significant life event involving a fortune-teller...well, that shop would be an intriguing option.

  But he was not going to get to visit the town. Instead he was going on a monster hunt. Oh, boy, he was not looking forward to spending an afternoon babysitting fortune-tellers on a boat. It wasn't just because of the ominous clouds outside their balcony either. He'd gone on several of these little expeditions with Caine and his PRoVE buddies and he'd regretted every single one.

  At least he wouldn't be hunting a Yeti in the snow this time. Thank heavens for small mercies.

  But Luanne was right. The real torture would start once he got back to Banshee Creek, where Caine would grill him for every single detail. Who led the monster hunt? How well was it funded? How many people went? How many "professionals"? What equipment did they use? How long did it last? Was there any press? How did they lure the creature? What experiments were conducted and what controls? What species did they conclude Chessie belongs to? Will a paper be published on the findings? Caine's debriefs went on for hours, almost as if he gathered intelligence to monitor the other paranormal investigation groups.

  Sean was going to have to actually pay attention during the monster tour, which was unfortunate, as plesiosaur cryptids were not among his main concerns right now.

  One such concern, Luanne, was avoiding looking at him. She was still peeved about his policy of not sharing information regarding an ongoing investigation.

  He shrugged mentally and decided to confide in her upon his return from the tour. What would it matter anyway? The case was solved.

  "Leslie is still unconscious," he said. "But she should be awake soon."

  Luanne visibly relaxed and Sean felt a pang of guilt. She had been worried about her friend, and he should have done more to reassure her.

  Well, maybe friend was too strong a word. Colleague? That didn't seem quite right either. The association was an unusual kind of professional organization. Fortune-tellers, he'd come to know, were both fiercely competitive and curiously tight-knit. They had weird rivalries and even stranger friendships. It was, he figured, due to the arcane nature of their profession.

  "I'm surprised Morgana decided to go through with the excursions," Sean said. "I thought she was very close to Leslie."

  "She was." Lua
nne checked her outfit in the full-length mirror. "They started the association together. I think that's why she was so torn up about the embezzlement."

  Sean raised a brow. Torn would not have been his word of choice. Furiously livid would have been more accurate.

  But he understood why Luanne would be more sympathetic toward Leslie than the rest of the members of the association. Luanne's Wall Street work had ended in foul accusations and the experience had scarred her for life. She would, of course, feel for the accused.

  For the rest of the association, concern was tempered with a healthy dose of bitterness. Leslie's betrayal hit hard.

  "And yet she's going to hit the town while Leslie's in the hospital," he noted.

  "But she isn't," Luanne said, frowning at her reflection. "She's staying behind. Anyway, Samira insisted that we keep to the convention's agenda. She thinks the association may fall apart if we don't." She took a step back and sighed. "Do you think this outfit is a little bit too much?"

  Not with this crowd, he almost blurted. Conversations with Luanne involving clothes were fraught with peril. Luanne's outfit—skinny jeans paired with a green tunic in a busy pattern—looked perfectly fine to him. With her wild red hair and gold hoop earring she looked exactly like what she was—a very attractive fortune-teller. The leather sandals looked like something a Roman gladiator would wear, but maybe they were supposed to appear beachy. He was no fashion expert.

  "You look lovely," he said, choosing his words carefully. Fine would be too bland and beautiful would be too strong. "The green makes your eyes sparkle."

  Luanne's eyes narrowed.

  Oh, no, he'd said the wrong thing, hadn't he? Sparkle had gone too far.

  "Maybe I should tone it down," Luanne said. "Neutrals are a lot more modern."

  "But green is your signature color, Madame Esmeralda," Sean said. Well, he might as well double down.

  She twirled in front of the mirror and heaved a deep sigh. "Zoraida's all-black look is very sophisticated. I could do something like that."

  Sean tried to remember who Zoraida was. He vaguely recalled a young black-clad woman with colorful tattoos, various piercings, and bright blue hair.

  "She does everything with a computer algorithm based on ancient Egyptian oracles," Luanne said. "Very high-tech and extremely successful. The young people love it. Maybe I need to change with the times."

  "Black would be a huge change." Sean said. "You are known for your colors."

  "But it's all the rage now," Luanne said. "I'm telling you, she's making tons of money."

  "There's more to life than that," Sean said.

  "Maybe, but not according to the association members," Luanne replied.

  "Really?" Sean asked. "I thought you guys were all above the filthy lucre."

  But he knew that wasn't the case. Walter Farsight had been famously money-driven. At first, he'd thought Walter had been the exception to the rule, but he was learning otherwise.

  "It's not just the money," Luanne said. "It's the prestige."

  Ah, yes. He'd notice that during the interviews. The fortune-tellers were always trying to one-up each other.

  Luanne kept talking. "You can achieve prestige in several ways—a particularly good bit of research or an ingenious new approach, for example. Rachel has written several books on Chinese sorting methods, and her knowledge of East Asian fortune-telling is highly respected. Leslie, of course, is known for her accounting software."

  "But Leslie and Rachel are not heavy hitters," Sean said.

  Far from it, in fact. They were both fairly withdrawn and quiet. The group leaders were Morgana and Walter.

  The ones who made the most money.

  "No," Luanne agreed. "But money is not the ultimate goal. Money is how they keep score in real time. You should've seen Walter's face when Zoraida's numbers came out. He was furious."

  Sean raised a brow. Interesting.

  "And where are you in this particular pecking order?" he asked.

  Luanne laughed. "Very low. Financially subterranean, but not underwater."

  "And Zoraida?"

  The feisty youngster who had made a grab for Walter's crown intrigued him. How had the arrogant Mr. Farsight dealt with that? He was, after all, not known for his self-control. Not that it mattered, of course. They had solved Walter's murder.

  Hadn't they?

  "High and climbing fast. That's why I'm considering the all-black look." Luanne ran her hands through her hair. "Fiona took Kat's challenge to heart and look how she has blossomed. Maybe I should break out of my comfort zone too." She struck a pose in front of the mirror. "I could dye this green. That would be colorful, and it would fit with the Madame Esmeralda theme." Her chin went up. "I could even get a tattoo."

  Sean tried to picture Luanne as a punk fortune-teller in black clothes and bright green hair. He failed.

  "You hate needles," he muttered, not knowing what to say.

  Luanne's head jerked in surprise then she laughed. "That's true. I also look terrible in black." She sighed. "I guess I will stick to my green tunics."

  She ran her hands through her hair again, grabbed her bag, and headed out the door. "Have fun with Chessie."

  "Unlikely," he muttered as the glossy white door shut behind her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  LUANNE STOOD in front of the hotel, watching the town tour bus arrive. The sun was out, the sky was blue, which could explain why the tour had gathered a decent crowd. It was a beautiful day for an excursion.

  The bus was a modified open-air trolley vehicle with a canopy and wood seats. The sides were decorated with blue paint and antique gold-and-white lettering that announced Mystic Bay Tours — Discover Maryland's Fortune-Telling Town! Smaller letters informed riders that they should ask for their FREE Tarot reading voucher.

  "Coupons," Samira muttered beside her. "How low can we go?"

  The elderly fortune-teller had decided to join them, presumably as a gesture of support. If anyone knew the town of Mystic Bay, it was Samira. Maybe she was, like Sean, prone to motion sickness?

  They had been joined by a motley group of association members, who had been growing progressively more frustrated while waiting for the bus. Fortune-tellers were very impatient, and the fact that the bus had been parked at the end of the driveway for what seemed like hours didn't help. Clearly, nobody had seen that coming.

  A young man in khakis and a pale blue polo shirt stood in a corner, waiting. Luanne didn't recognize him, which meant he was probably the cop Sean told her Mary-Louise would send along as a gesture of reassurance. It had the exact opposite effect.

  Luanne's mood improved when Murray the Magnificent joined the group. The young fortune-teller had changed into a long coat with blindingly bright pink stripes, jeans, and black boots. A black scarf with pink flowers tied in an ascot knot and a black top hat finished off the outfit. Murray was an eye-catching sight.

  "The coupons are actually a good strategy," Murray replied sharply. "They give new businesses an easy way to promote."

  "Do they always feature the newbies?" Luanne asked.

  Murray nodded. "That's the whole point. If you open a new business in Mystic Bay, you'll get the chance to distribute advertising, including coupons." He sighed. "That kind of support is invaluable when you're starting out."

  Luanne noted the emotion in his voice with sympathy. She remembered the early days of her fortune-telling practice in Banshee Creek. Advertising, in particular, was crucial, but very expensive. She could understand why Murray would be grateful for any support.

  "Did you start your business in Mystic Bay?" Luanne asked, expecting an affirmative answer.

  Murray nodded. "It truly is a great community. They don't just talk a big game. They actually help you out." His eyes narrowed. "Walter would collect dues and then congratulate himself for all the support the association didn't actually provide."

  Luanne exchanged a glance with Samira. Murray, it seemed, was quite bitter. Bitter enough
to act?

  Luanne pushed the suspicion away. Leslie had attacked Walter. That was resolved.

  In any case, she didn't know exactly what Walter had done to Murray. Not supporting a young fortune-teller wasn't nice, but it wasn't dastardly either. So the association hadn't given Murray the opportunity to give out coupons. Not that big a deal, right?

  A crooked smile crossed Samira's wrinkled face. "Will you be driving us around today, Murray, or are your tour guide days behind you?"

  Murray laughed. "I will be doing the honors. I'm quite a fan of the town, as you can tell." He gestured towards the bus. "And I'd better go and get the job started now that the bus is here."

  And, with a tip of his top hat, he left to do just that.

  Samira's smile turned into a smirk. "That explains the delay. That outfit must have taken hours, and let's not mention the hair."

  "Image is important in our industry," Luanne replied, aiming a jealous glance at Murray's luscious auburn locks. That boy had an excellent head of hair.

  Samira patted her turban. "You're not wrong about that."

  That reminded Luanne that Walter had stolen Samira's turban, not the hat itself, of course, but the idea. Had he done something similar to Murray? He wouldn't have been able to steal the young man's unmistakable hair, though. Walter was famously bald.

  "Actually," a slender, middle-aged woman of Japanese ancestry in exercise clothes and a t-shirt that read Your Workout is Written in the Stars chimed in. "I think they were having trouble finding a driver. That's why the bus was parked."

  Luanne stifled a smile. Jean Yoshida was a particularly creative member of the group. She specialized in health and fitness and was well-known for her zodiac-based diets and workout regimes. As a Pisces, Luanne was supposed to eat lots of salmon and perform a lot of squats. Sean thought it sounded silly, but Jean had absolutely forbidden any jogging, and for that Luanne would be eternally grateful.

  Samira raised a brow. "Looks like they finally found one."

  Luanne looked up. Murray was now in the bus chatting with a young man who sat in the driver's seat. They seemed to be examining a map, which wasn't exactly reassuring.