Fame and Fortune and Murder

by Patti Larsen

  I would have liked to answer. But as the weight of what happened slammed into me, weeping making breathing a chore, the darkness called for real and I wasn’t in a position to fight its call anymore.

  ***

  Chapter Forty Three

  Willow sipped her tea, one long, thin leg folded elegantly over the other, her skinny jeans ripped at the knee. She’d made no effort to hide her split lip or the bruise forming from Carter’s knockout punch, instead letting the truth show like she wore it proudly. She set her cup in her saucer and exhaled the scent of chamomile, the breeze carrying it to me while I stared into my coffee and just enjoyed her company.

  Hard to believe we’d fought for our lives just last night. That it was time to say goodbye, that this woman I’d come to adore and admire was leaving Reading and I’d likely not see her again for a long time. If ever. Because we hardly traveled in the same circles. But I was glad to see the smile she shared, most of the weariness gone from her face.

  “Thank you, Fee,” she said, patting my hand with fingers warmed by her tea. “This means a lot to me. Just sitting. I don’t get to be quiet much.”

  “Maybe you should make it a habit more often.” I looked up into the spring sunlight and noted the clouds gathering in the distance. There was a chill to the breeze that felt like snow. So maybe we were in for a late storm and the ski hill would get a reprieve after all.

  “I’m thinking I should make visiting Reading a habit.” She patted Petunia’s wrinkled head. “I’d love to come home to my friends.” She seemed so shy when she said it, as if she didn’t think she’d be welcome after all. And, I suppose, she had good reason to hesitate. We hadn’t exactly had the best introduction.

  I smiled back at her. “Any time,” I said. “I mean that.”

  Willow sighed. “I still have an obligation to fill for Olivia. We’re doing a quick film session this afternoon.”

  She what? Wow, she was a bigger woman than me, that was for sure.

  “Then back to L.A.?” Life would be so different without Skip. I wondered if she’d be happy at last. Or would she somehow turn him into a martyr in her mind and miss him regardless of the man he became?

  “I have a contract,” she said. “A new action movie. I’ve been practicing my fighting.” She laughed shakily. “But you know that.”

  “And I’m very grateful for it.” I sipped some coffee. “You saved our lives.”

  “I think it was a team effort.” Willow stood then, Julian appearing at the back door, gesturing to her but ignoring me so I guess nothing really changed in his mind. “I’ll text you?”

  We hugged and she left, the kitchen door closing behind her. And then, it opened again, and the cranky lawyer/manager poked his well-groomed head out and nodded to me before disappearing again.

  So something had changed then. Good to know.

  I was about to go inside, wishing I had a thicker sweater, when Pamela appeared through the kitchen door. I waved for her to join me, settled in for her visit, while she tentatively sank down next to me.

  “You look like crap, Fee,” she said.

  Nice. “I’ve had a rough day or so.”

  She snorted a laugh, leaned back. “I don’t know if it was you or not,” she said, “but Willow Pink just agreed to give me an exclusive interview about what happened.” She didn’t look at me, seemed acutely interested in the bush starting to bloom beside her. “What do you think of that?”

  I just grinned. Wasn’t me. But let her wonder.

  “From what I understand,” she said then, “you’ve made a fan out of Mila Martin.”

  That didn’t sound promising. “What do you mean?”

  “Not sure,” Pamela said, patting my knee. “But if her obsessive nature with Willow wasn’t a warning, you might want to consider hiring a bodyguard of your own.”

  Great. Just what I needed. “Whatever,” I said. “I’m not that exciting. She’ll get bored soon enough.”

  Pamela didn’t answer and I had a sick feeling I hadn’t seen the last of Mila.

  My kitchen had turned into a revolving door, it seemed, Pamela’s cheery exit after delivering that not-so-happy information followed rapidly by Crew’s turn at the Fee carousel. I’d already had to hug my mother three times, promise Daisy I would go to bed before five, endure my father’s long, mournful stares he pretended weren’t anything important and the silent treatment of the horrified and guilty Jones sisters. The last person I expected, though, was Crew Turner looking hangdog with a bouquet of flowers in one hand and his hat in the other.

  Quite frankly, I was happy to see him. At least he wasn’t Olivia. I hadn’t endured that particular visit yet and wondered if it would ever happen. Didn’t matter now, not while the handsome sheriff of Curtis County hesitantly offered me the spring mix before sinking awkwardly to the bench beside me where Willow and Pamela had taken turns.

  “I meant to give you those at the hospital.” He gestured at the lovely bunch with his hat, face tentative, hands shaking a little. “Terri made them up special for you. When she heard, you know.” He cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable.

  “She’s doing well, then?” She’d kept the flower store herself, kicking her gambling and drug addict husband, Simon Jacob, out of the picture and taking a firm grasp on her own life. I was pretty proud of her for it, too.

  “Seems to be.” Crew nodded, coughed softly again like something had caught in his throat. “You’re doing better?”

  It was kind of a dumb question, but he was trying. I thought of Mom and her suggestion before answering. “Yes, thanks,” I said. Choked up a bit myself though I hadn’t meant to. “For everything, Crew.”

  “You didn’t need me.” He stared at the ground between his feet. “Doc said that shot you gave Melnick was just about to kick in before I got there. Somehow you hit a vein and he was already on his way down.” Crew laughed a little, but without humor. “You’re a walking disaster waiting to happen, Fiona Fleming, but you’re damned good at saving yourself, too, aren’t you?”

  I shrugged. “Is that a problem?” What a weird conversation to be having in the spring sunshine.

  Crew looked up, startled, met my eyes. “Actually,” he said, a slow smile creeping across his face, making him look like a little kid for a second, “that’s my favorite.”

  I giggled at his expression. “You like women who get themselves in trouble and then fish themselves back out again? What, are you a sucker for punishment?”

  Crew’s grin softened and his gaze grew distant. “I guess I must be,” he said. “Did I ever tell you about my wife?”

  Wait, what? He was married? No ring. I spluttered internally while he went on as if I’d answered anyway.

  “You remind me of her in a lot of ways,” he said, voice quiet, deep. The clouds closed in around the sun for a moment, casting us both in shadow and chilling me with the loss of warmth. “She had your kind of willful courage, threw herself into things that most people wouldn’t even think to try.” His smile was soft, sad. “I loved her for that.”

  I didn’t have to ask despite always wondering what his story was about. Knowing then it wasn’t divorce that parted them. “How did she die?”

  “Cancer.” He shrugged like it was the expected answer. “Two years ago.” Crew’s fingers spun his hat in his hands. “I came to Reading from Berkley because I didn’t want to be on the West coast anymore. It reminded me too much of her. And because when my dad died, he made me promise I’d come here someday. Make it my home.”

  How odd. For the second time, I noted the anchor and skull on his left wrist, the tattoo with the off center compass, North facing, not at his palm, but somewhere into the distance. Like he was looking for something and that arrow pointed the way.

  “I’m sorry, Crew.” I touched his arm, then held his hand as he offered it to me.

  “So, here goes, then,” he said, all brusque and nervous again. “It’s been two years since I dated anyone and I never really wanted to
after Michelle died. But she didn’t want me to be alone and I told her when I was ready I’d try again.”

  Wait, ready for what?

  Crew must have seen the startled look in my eyes because he laughed then, squeezed my hand.

  “I’m not asking you to marry me, Fee,” he said, a twinkle in his gaze.

  “Well, you kind of propositioned me the other night already,” I said with a cheeky grin. “So I wasn’t sure what kind of speed you’re accustomed to, California boy.”

  That cut the last of the tension and relaxed him to the point he settled back on the bench.

  “I’m not ready,” he said, as if admitting that hurt a lot. “But when I am, Fee. I think… if you’re willing to consider it?”

  My heart cracked, wept as I continued to smile for the genuine hope in his eyes. Remembered hope in another man’s gaze not so long ago and wondered if I could trust my own feelings ever again. And nodded to Crew.

  “You come see me,” I said. “And we’ll talk about it.”

  Crew exhaled softly. “If you’re still free.”

  “If I’m still alive.” I softened that with a wink.

  We both laughed. But without real amusement. Because honestly? Just not as funny out loud as it had been in my head. For the time being, though, sitting there as the sun broke through again and the clouds vanished over the mountain, dumping their white goodness on the towering heights, I was happy just to hold Crew Turner’s hand.

  ***

  Chapter Forty Four

  I sorted through the last of the reservations and sighed as I stepped back from the sidebar in the foyer, rubbing my tired eyes and wondering how it had been a week already since Carter Melnick was arrested for the murder of Skip Anderson.

  He was out of the hospital, awaiting arraignment, according to Crew. They’d intervened in time to save him from an overdose, so at least I didn’t have his death on my hands. But the remnants of his attack would linger for months, I figured, though Dr. Aberstock was happy with my recovery rate despite the fact I refused to just sit on my ass and feel it get wider while my parents, staff and best friend did all the work for me.

  Tomorrow marked the arrival of my first guests since I vacated the Johansens from the Blue Suite thanks to Olivia. Who, naturally, had avoided me like the plague since Carter was arrested. I would track her down at some point and force her to admit she owed me a giant one that far surpassed anything she did to keep Petunia’s open when Pete Wilkins died in my koi pond. But, for now, I was happy to organize the insanity that was coming and do my best to keep my energy up and not push so hard I had to hand the reins to someone else.

  Petunia’s was my place, now more than ever, and I loved it.

  “You’re sure you don’t need me to stay for the season?” Daisy joined me from the kitchen, her hands full of mail. She’d fretted over the decision all week, but I insisted she go despite knowing I could use her. Mom and Dad already offered and I’d rather she found her own path, thank you.

  “Pat and Ashley would be devastated if you didn’t give it a go.” The local real estate husband and wife team had happily accepted Daisy as a trainee and I loved the glow in her eyes when she talked about all the ins and outs she was learning. Sales of new homes were booming so it was a great time for her to get into business with the Champvilles.

  “You call me if you need anything.” She set the mail down on the sidebar, envelopes settling on top of the most current Reading Reader Gazette. They covered the mug shot of Carter, the long and detailed article about the murder just as well hidden. While Pamela wrote a glowing story about Willow and—to my embarrassment and chagrin—me, I’d had enough of the past and was just as happy to turn my mind forward.

  Daisy didn’t seem to notice the favor she’d done me, instead handing me her final burden, a medium sized cardboard box. “From New York?”

  I frowned down at it before reading the return label and gasped a soft and excited sound, reaching for the letter opener. Daisy grinned though I hadn’t explained and waited while I cut the tape and opened the seal, pushing the packing peanuts out of the way and lifting free the music box my grandmother left me.

  The trail of clues—from the buried metal box in the backyard to the safety deposit key, to this very treasure—had led me to this moment and I could barely contain my excitement.

  Daisy helped herself to the folded letter inside and read it out loud as I hugged the gold and red velvet to my chest a moment.

  “Dear Miss Fleming,” she read, “please find enclosed the music box you requested repaired. While we were happy to do a general cleaning and attempt to fix the mechanism, it’s with sadness we admit defeat. Mr. Burrow, our specialist, passed away last year and without his expertise, we were unable to complete the job. We have only billed you for partial work and hope you find someone who can finish what we started. Our very best, Clingman and Sons Fine Jewelers.”

  How disappointing. I felt my heart drop with every word and finally released the box, setting it on the sideboard and looking at it in mournful regret.

  “Oh Fee,” Daisy said, sorrow in her own voice. “I’m sorry. I love that music box. What’s wrong with it?”

  “It won’t play.” I shrugged, fighting the same tears I’d felt the day I recovered it from the bank. It had taken a week to find someone who thought they could fix it and they’d had it for a month and a half now. This disappointment, coming on the heels of the recent past, was almost more than I could take.

  But Daisy wasn’t about to let me down. She beamed at me, reached for it while I had to hold myself back from taking it away from her in a surge of the gimmies. Mine, shrieked in my head while she carefully opened the lid then wound the key on the back. Again those three familiar notes played before dying off. Still broken. Then, Daisy winked and turned the key back a whole turn.

  The ballerina spun as the music began to play, the tinkling loveliness of it piercing my heart with memory. She set it on the side board again and held my hand while we listened to its merry tune, and I found myself humming along in utter delight, hugging her abruptly when the music was over.

  “Daisy,” I breathed into her hair. “How?”

  “Iris showed me once,” she said, wiping at tears in her eyes though we both grinned like kids at each other. “There was a trick to it.”

  Obviously. I turned back to the box, delighted this story had a happy ending. And froze.

  The front of the box had clicked open, a small drawer in evidence. Daisy frowned, shook her head with her eyebrows rising when I glanced at her in curiosity.

  “I’ve never seen it do that before,” she said.

  With trembling fingers, I opened the drawer further, peeking inside. Gasped in surprise.

  A scrap of some kind of old parchment lay within. I pulled it out, pinching the corner with my fingernails, though not sure why I felt the need to be so careful. It was rough on one edge, torn on the other, as if part of a bigger something ripped away. The side showing was blank, but when I flipped it over, Daisy squeaked and reached for it while I gaped at the name Reading written in flowing ink and the half a compass, the North pointing off to the left, torn down the middle.

  “Fee.” Daisy looked up, met my eyes, hers full of wonder. “This can’t be what I think it is.”

  The little drawer wasn’t empty just yet. I reached in and this time, when I pulled out the contents, I almost dropped the round, heavy coin. Not because it was slippery or gold or even out of clumsiness. But because I’d seen one like it before.

  “That’s.” Daisy stopped abruptly.

  “A doubloon.” I swallowed hard.

  “Fee.” She squealed my name, grasping my arm and shaking me, the coin bouncing in my palm. You know what this means?”

  The Reading Hoard. The treasure of Captain William Reading, the same man whose statue I’d mocked in disbelief, Olivia’s next step in promoting our town. The privateer who founded this very place I called home. All this time the legend had been tre
ated like a fairy tale. Even the occasional hunters who’d come to look had left empty handed after a short sniff around, as if the unbelievable story really wasn’t true.

  But, if these pieces left for me meant what I thought they meant…

  The treasure was real. And Grandmother Iris didn’t just know that. She wanted me to go looking for it.

  ###

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  ***

  Coming soon! The next Fiona Fleming Cozy Mystery…

  ***

  Author Notes

  I’m having so much fun.

  So much. More than I ever expected I would. Every time I think about Fiona’s books I get excited, pumped up, giggly and feel like I’ve found the thing that wakes me up in the morning.

  Yes, I love to write, and all of the voices are special to me. Including my beloved Ethie. But there’s something truly delicious about all of this I’m just tickled to dive into.

  But, it’s time to step away from her, just for a little bit. Some updates are due you because I know you’ll be looking for them. I’ve been writing and publishing steadily since mid-January. With the release of The Forsaken (The Hayle Coven Inheritance) the end of March, I’ll have released five new books this year already and I’m not slowing down even a bit.

  However, the next month or so will be dedicated to projects I’ve promised others and that aren’t Fiona or Syd or any of the other voices you’ve come to love.

  I have the launch of the Lovely Witches Club webseries coming in May and need to complete the other six novelettes, as well as two books for boxed sets due in the next few months (both of which I think you’ll love, so stay tuned!) and a very special young woman has waited patiently for me to finally finish the Adventures of Susan and Tucker (Cat City has been out for almost eight years and the sequels deserve to be written). I’ll be tackling those as well, while trying to fit in book four of this series, Ghosts and Goblins and Murder.