Murder Under a Mystic Moon

by Yasmine Galenorn

  As Jimbo and I started down the trail, he eyed me nervously. “Listen, O’Brien. Anna and I didn’t mean to keep you out of the loop. It’s just… uh… well…” he stopped, then tried again. “You know, she’s a cop… and I’m…”

  Touched by his clumsy attempt to explain, I put my finger to my lips. “Shush. Don’t worry about it. Right now, we need to find out if this is actually your friend. I think everything else can go on the back burner until then.”

  He gave me a wan smile. As we made our way into the woods, I sensed yet another disruptive force, this time coming from behind a nearby cedar tree, and this time, distinctly human. Oh great. The signature was loud and clear and one I had hoped never to sense again. Spurred on by the adrenaline rush of finding Scar’s body, I whipped aside the ferns that were covering the trunk. There, squatting in a crouch, was George.

  Furious, I waded into the bushes and grabbed his arm, dragging him out to the path. “You weasel, you were spying on me!”

  George squirmed away from me as Murray came jogging down the path.

  “Who the hell is this?” she asked.

  “Remember I told you about George Pleasant? Cathy’s cohort? It seems that he’s decided to follow me.” I glared at him. “What now, are you stalking me because I told you to get out of my shop?”

  Murray gave him the once-over. “All right, suppose you tell me what the hell you’re doing out here?”

  George, wearing a preppie polo shirt and a pair of Bermuda shorts, had a camera hanging around his neck. I reached over and grabbed for the strap, but Murray stopped me, stepping in between us. She flashed her identification at him.

  “My name is Detective Anna Murray, and I asked you a question. I suggest you answer me. Now, what are you doing out here, and why are you following Emerald?”

  He gulped, staring at her badge. “Okay, okay. I overheard Emerald and biker-boy here talking about the Klakatat Monster and wanted to tag along. I copied the directions off the paper she left on the table while she and the Hulk were in the back, getting my camera. I’ve got a right to investigate. Why are you getting on my case?”

  “Your ‘rights’ don’t extend to my property, Bub.” Jimbo took a step forward, glowering, as I moved in between them. “Emerald told you to back off. I ought to—”

  Mur held up her hand. “Mr. Pleasant, I’m afraid I have to ask you to step up against that tree over there. I need to make sure you aren’t carrying a weapon.”

  “You can’t frisk me! You haven’t read me my rights,” George protested.

  “That’s because I’m not arresting you, nitwit,” Murray said. “However, a body has been found near here and, until proven otherwise, we are looking at a potential homicide. You, Mr. Pleasant, were found hiding in the bushes near the scene, so that makes you a potential suspect. Now are you going to cooperate or am I going to have to—”

  George paled. “Homicide? Body?” Abruptly, he deflated, his bravado vanishing like wisps of smoke. He obediently leaned up against the cedar and Murray patted him down, then stood back, holding up a cell phone. She examined it briefly, then handed it back to him.

  “Okay. Come with us, please. I’ll need you to answer some questions.” She maneuvered him in line, sandwiching him between Jimbo and herself. I was still boiling over his appearance. Not only did we have to deal with a dead body, but now we had to baby-sit a whiny, spoiled brat.

  As we neared the clearing where I’d been sucked into the energy of the woods, George stumbled and Jimbo smacked against his back. With a low growl, the biker yanked George into the air, holding him by his collar. “You pinhead. Can’t you watch where you’re going?”

  George, his feet dangling a good six inches off the ground, started to kick at Jimbo, but then apparently thought the better of it and stopped. Jimbo dropped him like a sack of potatoes and George hit the ground, scrambling out of Jimbo’s reach.

  As we entered the wild patch of woods, I stopped and raised my hand. Once again, the tendrils came searching for me.

  Mur pushed her way forward to my side, where she steadied me. “What is it?” she asked, interrupting the unwelcome trance.

  “There’s something hostile… this forest doesn’t want us here.” I noticed that George had slowed to a bare crawl. His face was pale and he turned toward me, the belligerence wiped clean from his face.

  “I’ve never felt anything like this before,” he said, his voice hushed. “This is a bad, bad place. Something awful happened out here.”

  “Brilliant, Einstein.” Jimbo shook his head in disgust.

  I shushed him. “George, I know what you’re feeling. I can feel it, too.”

  George searched my face for answers. Obviously he’d never dealt with energies as powerful as these before. “What is it?”

  I shook my head. “Dunno yet, but whatever you do, keep your mind clear. Don’t tune in to it.” With a little luck, his aura wouldn’t be strong enough to attract its attention. I turned to Mur. “What do you think about all this?”

  She took a long breath, focused, then let it out with a shudder. “These forests are far older than mankind. I know too many legends about this neck of the woods to ever let my guard down out here. I’m not as good of a medium as you are, which is why I suggested that Jimmy ask you to come out here and check things out.” She gave me a sheepish smile. So, she’d been in on this.

  We were nearing the point where I’d veered off the path and found Scar’s body. I led them through the thrashed ferns, dreading what was ahead. As we approached the tree under which Scar now rested, Jimbo moved forward and knelt down, brushing away the flies that were circling the back of the man’s head. A cloud of stench rose up and, shaking, Jimbo backed away and squatted near the tree. He let out a low sigh.

  “Yeah, it’s Scar. I don’t need to see his face. That jacket… I bought it for him on his last birthday.”

  Murray winced and pulled out her notebook. “Jimmy, it’s going to be okay. We’ll find out who did this.”

  “No, you won’t,” he said. “Regardless of your prodding, the cops ain’t gonna beat themselves up looking for whoever killed one of the Klickavail Valley bikers.” He shook his head. “Besides, I think the Klakatat Monster got him. Remember the footprint in my garden? And the boys have been hearing some strange things go on up there the past few weeks… hoodoo strange. I think the monster’s awake.”

  He impatiently stood up and strode across the clearing, staring into the deep woods that stretched for miles beyond this point. Murray let out a long sigh, then went back to examining the body and the area. At a loss, I looked around for George. Somebody ought to keep an eye on the pipsqueak.

  He was standing near the edge of the clearing, talking on his cell phone. When he saw me looking at him, I heard him say, “Yeah, right, later,” and he folded the phone and stuffed it in his pocket.

  Wondering just who had he been talking to, I meandered over to his side. He gave me a questioning glance, then jabbed his finger toward Scar’s body and said in a loud voice, “That’s got to be the grossest thing I’ve ever seen. So, his ghost tell you who did it yet?”

  I stared at him. “You really are a callous little bastard, aren’t you? Scar was probably murdered, and all you come up with are one-liners?”

  “Sorry,” he said, shrugging. “Guess I’m just not used to this stuff like you are.” A clouded expression crossed his face and he froze. After a moment, he wiped his sleeve across his eyes. “Shit!”

  I rolled my eyes. “What’s wrong now?”

  He blinked. “Emerald, I know you don’t like me but I gotta tell you, honest to God, I just had a vision.”

  He was right. I didn’t like him. But I knew he was telling the truth. His aura was swirling so bright I didn’t need to be in a trance to feel it; his energy had been caught up in some sort of vortex. Yeah, he’d seen something all right. Whether or not the vision was accurate was another matter.

  “Tell me what
you saw.”

  His voice went ringing through the clearing. “I saw a creature, a beast that’s not a beast. And then I saw that dude… there was blood everywhere…”

  Murray heard us and whirled around. “Don’t encourage him, Emerald. And you—” she pointed to George. “If you start any rumors, I swear I’ll find a reason to run you in. Keep your mouth shut unless you know something concrete about the murder.”

  Just then we heard noises coming from the main trail. The police and the coroner had arrived. Murray called to them while Jimbo found himself a log to sit on. George edged his way to the outer circle of the clearing.

  Deacon Wilson and Sandy Whitmeyer were two of the best cops on the squad. They were followed by a stocky man, wearing a suit that was too small and too shiny. He was older and looked more out of shape than I felt. He eyed Murray with a look that told me immediately who he was. Jeez, Coughlan, her supervisor!

  He scratched his head as he stared at the body, as the coroner tried to scoot around him, finally tapping him on the shoulder so he could get through to do his work. Murray sidled over to me, and I could tell just how thrilled she was that her nemesis had decided to oversee the case.

  Deacon started to take photographs, while Sandy began skimming through the dirt, looking for evidence.

  Murray asked me to tell Bob Stryker, the coroner and also the M.E. for Chiqetaw, how I’d found the biker. He had already turned the body over, and I didn’t want to see what poor Scar looked like face-up, so I averted my eyes as best as I could. Since I was pretty sure that Stryker wouldn’t go in for all my psychic “mumbo-jumbo,” I just told him that I’d gone for a walk after lunch and veered off the path because I’d seen the eyeglasses reflecting in the sun. Which was the truth, essentially.

  Stryker grunted.

  Coughlan leaned over his shoulder. “Look at those slashes. Looks like an animal attack to me.”

  The M.E. cocked his head and stared at the detective. “Maybe. I can’t be sure until I autopsy him, though.”

  As I watched the interplay, Coughlan casually reached over and squeezed Stryker’s shoulder. Hmm… what was going on here?

  “Cougar was spotted a few miles from here the other day, Bob,” Coughlan said. “Almost got hold of a poodle. Woman was frantic when she called in. Trust me, it was a cougar. I’m sure you’ll come to the same conclusion once you’ve had a chance to thoroughly autopsy the body. We’ll discuss it over dinner. Laura’s making pot roast tonight.”

  An undercurrent ran between the two men and I squinted, staring intently at Coughlan, who must have sensed my observation because he looked at me, narrowed his eyes, then motioned to Murray. “Get your ass in gear and take her statement, Detective Murray. Tell Whitmeyer and Wilson to talk to the others.”

  Murray nodded. After a quick word with Sandy and Deacon, she drew me away to one side where we wouldn’t be overheard. Since she’d already jotted down everything I’d told her, she pretended to write while leaning close enough to whisper.

  “That overgrown buffoon makes me so mad. Head of detectives, my ass. Jimmy’s right. He’s a lazy SOB. He’s also right about the fact that Coughlan won’t look very hard to find Scar’s killer.”

  “So you don’t think a cougar did this?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “I’ve seen cougar attacks. I suppose to the untrained eye it could look the same, but no, I’ll wager ten to one that Scar was murdered.”

  “Why would Coughlan try to cover it up, though?”

  “Eh, he’s not really trying to ‘cover it up.’ More like he just doesn’t want to deal with an in-depth investigation that could take months to solve. He probably figures that nobody will give a damn since the victim is from the Klickavail enclave. Coughlan’s a lazy SOB, and he’s just putting in time until he retires a few years from now. If he passes this off as a cougar attack, you can be sure nobody’s going to question him. Now, if one of the town financiers showed up, mangled like that, then you’d see Coughlan scramble. Double standard, Em. And no, it’s not right, but it exists.”

  I gazed at the head of detectives, who was whispering in the coroner’s ear. “Coughlan and Stryker seem to be pretty cozy.”

  She nodded. “Coughlan married Laura Stryker, Bob’s sister. Rumor has it that Bob borrowed ten thousand dollars from them last year and hasn’t paid them back yet. So you know he’s going to do whatever he can to keep the peace.”

  “Nepotism in action, huh?” I shook my head. Political corruption, all the way to the ground level.

  Mur shrugged. “Not much we can do right now, except watch.” After a pause, she added, “Em, will you do me a favor, as my best friend?”

  I knew what she was going to ask. “You want me to keep quiet about your relationship with Jimbo?”

  She blushed. “We were going to tell you pretty soon, but with me being a cop and Jim having such a long rap sheet, it’s bound to stir up trouble. My friends won’t understand because he’s got such a reputation for being a roughneck. And his friends won’t talk to him if they think he’s dating a cop. But I was wrong about him, Em. He’s a sweetheart. Yes, he’s bullheaded, and I’ll admit he doesn’t have the best record in the history of Chiqetaw, but he’s a good guy.”

  I looked into those deep, obsidian eyes of hers and knew that she really was happy with Jimbo. When I’d found them in the clearing, there’d been a spark between them that told me this was more than a mild flirtation. And I wasn’t going to play party to taking that away from her. “Of course, I’ll keep my mouth shut. But I want to hear all about it when this is over. You owe me that!”

  “You’re on. And… thanks, babe.”

  Coughlan barked an order for her to get her ass over there, so she headed back to the body. Sandy and Deacon were still questioning Jimbo and George.

  I decided to nose around the outskirts of the clearing. I had just set foot through the tangle of ferns past the crime tape when, to my dismay, I found myself staring into the face of Cathy Sutton. Oh God, why her? Why now?

  “So Emerald, we meet again!” She trampled her way through the bushes to where I was standing and thrust her microphone in my face. “I suppose you’re on the case, helping solve yet another murder? Have the police called you in as a psychic?”

  How the hell had she gotten wind of what was happening? Maybe they’d been listening to a police scanner? I glanced back into the clearing. Wait a minute. George and his cell phone. George worked for the station as an intern. Yep, he’d called in the big guns. I turned back to her.

  “I found the body, that’s all. I don’t know anything more about it.”

  “Oh come on, Emerald. Surely you know what’s going on!” She motioned and Royal appeared, edging in for a close up.

  Once again, unable to muster my diplomacy, I ground my teeth together. “Take a hike, Sutton. If you want answers, wait and talk to the cops.”

  I left her there and returned to the clearing, where I mutely watched the police finish their tasks. There was a fluttering in the wind, and the faint whiff of bonfires and autumn decay swept past me. Scar hadn’t been the source of the tumultuous energy I’d felt in the woods. And he hadn’t been killed by a cougar, either. That much, I knew for sure. When a person had been murdered, there was a certain feel to the case, a certain edge that I had learned to pick up, much to my dismay. Scar had died at someone’s hands, not some big cat’s paws. And I had the feeling that whoever—or whatever—had killed him wasn’t finished yet.

  Chapter 6

  HOME AT LAST. I trudged into the house, somber. Randa glanced up at me from her book. “What’s wrong, Mom? You look worn out.”

  Just dandy. Most moms complained about having to herd their kids to baseball games or ice skating lessons. I whined about body counts. I dropped into the recliner. “We found Jimbo’s friend.”

  Randa marked her place and closed the book. “He wasn’t okay, was he?”

  I shook my head. “No, honey. He was
dead. That’s why I didn’t want you guys to come with me.” I looked around. “Where’s Kip? And why aren’t you over at Horvald’s?”

  She shrugged. “I didn’t feel so good; I got queasy after lunch so I asked him if I could come home and rest. Mr. Ledbetter has been phoning every half-hour to check on me.”

  I rested my hand on her forehead. She was a little hot, but I suspected that her nausea was due to the fact that she’d just started her period this summer and puberty was hitting her hard. “Do you want me to draw you a bath or make you some tea?”

  With a little sniff, she leaned against me. “Yeah, mint tea would be nice.”

  “Okay, I need to take a quick shower but afterward, we’ll sit in the kitchen and I’ll make you tea and toast. Would you like some soup, too?”

  A glint sparkled into her eye and I thought that maybe it wasn’t cramps at all, maybe she just needed a Mom-fix. “Yeah, soup’s good!”

  “All right. Do me a favor and go tell Kip to come home. I’ll be back downstairs in a flash.”

  Though I longed for a lengthy bubble bath, I made do with a quick rinse and scrub down. By the time I returned to the kitchen, Kip and Randa were both sitting at the table. Even though I knew they’d had a good lunch, I pulled out a box of Lipton Noodle Soup mix and made up a big pot, double-strength, just the way we liked it.

  “Randa says you found Jimbo’s friend?” Kip sounded too eager, as always.

  “Yeah, and it wasn’t very pleasant so I’d rather not talk about it.”

  Randa squirmed. “Mom, why do you get mixed up in this stuff? I mean, it’s not like when we lived in Seattle.”

  I ladled the soup into bowls and set them on the table, then trickled hot water over the Moroccan Mint teabags that I’d draped in my Dancing Violets teapot. The gentle scent of mint wafted up to envelop my senses and ran through me like a good massage. I set out teacups and brought the pot over to finish steeping on the table.