Murder Under a Mystic Moon

by Yasmine Galenorn

  AFTER AN EARLY dinner, Kip settled himself at the computer while Miranda went out for a bike ride. I picked up the remote, then stopped as the phone rang. It was Sly. Kip jerked around as I firmly informed the little con artist that my son would not be allowed to see him until school started. Glaring at me, Kip stomped upstairs to his room, where I heard him banging his stuff around. Tough. He had to learn how to accept the consequences of his actions.

  The phone rang again before I could sit down. This time it was Murray. “Hey chick! Got some news you might want to hear. Yet another chapter in the Klakatat Monster saga.”

  Oh boy, just what I needed. “What’s going down now?”

  “I just got a call from Jimmy. He was out in the valley this evening, talking to the boys, when Cathy showed up with George. They were nosing around to see who—if anybody—knew anything about the Klakatat Monster. I guess George went into a swoon and started shouting about how he could sense some sort of psychic turbulence and that there would be another murder.”

  “Oh jeez.” That sounded about right. “So what happened?”

  She cleared her throat. “Clyde messed up George something awful. Gave him a black eye. I guess he got fed up with their yakking and told them to leave. When George got cocky, Clyde hit him. Jimmy heard Cathy scream and intervened. He managed to give the pair time to get out of sight; guess he didn’t want any more bloodshed after what happened to Scar. But Clyde warned Jimmy that if he caught those two out there again, there would be hell to pay.”

  What a mess. This monster business was certainly riling up a lot of people. Not only that, but Cathy and George had just gone and managed to destroy any chance we had of getting information from the bikers out there. Nobody would be willing to talk to us now. And to top it off, everybody seemed to be ignoring the fact that a man had died. A flesh-and-blood man, not just some “monster victim.”

  “Did they leave? Cathy and George, I mean.”

  I heard the sound of a soda opening. Murray took a sip and then said, “I suppose. Don’t really know. I wish that I could go out there and ask around in my capacity as a detective, but thanks to Coughlan closing the case, I can’t rely on my badge for this one. Word would get back to him and I’d be sacked.”

  After we chatted a little more, I meandered into the kitchen and brewed myself a cup of lemon-lime tea. Had George really sensed another murder in the offing? I hoped not, but couldn’t ignore the uneasy feeling that he might actually have keyed in on something. I wandered back into the living room, sipping my tea, and stared at the étagère. The crystal ball was sitting front and center, shining softly in the lamplight.

  Maybe if George had picked up on something, I could, too? I set my tea on the desk and unlocked the cabinet. As I withdrew the heavy sphere, my intuition kept telling me, “don’t get involved, don’t get involved” but the fact remained that I was involved, and growing more curious by the moment. Scar had been murdered, that was one thing that George and I agreed on. And I wanted to expose who did it; not only to soothe my own curiosity, but to make things right.

  I crossed my legs and rested the ball on my lap, more than a little nervous considering what had happened the last time “ol’ Crystal” here had hooked me up to the astral realm. “Okay, let’s get one thing straight,” I told the sphere. “I am not a semi-conductor for juice from the other side. Got it?”

  The orb remained silent. I took that as a “yes.”

  “Okay then, let’s rock ‘n roll.”

  As I tuned in, a sweeping sensation raced through me. I let myself go with the flow as my astral body shot out of my material form. Woohoo—could that baby make me fly! When it felt like I’d come to rest, I warily opened my inner sight and glanced around. Okay… misty clouds, no real landscape. Yep, I was on the astral plane. What next?

  Nothing big and nasty emerged from the fog to take a bite out of me, but it only took me a moment to figure out that I hadn’t the faintest idea of where I was or what I was doing there. As I prepared to break trance and head back to my body, the mist quivered and a strange light began to glow, shooting lightning bolts across the tops of the vaporous clouds.

  Something was on the way in. I turned to hightail it back to my body as a wave of energy knocked me forward. As I glanced over my shoulder, I saw the same skull I’d seen the night before, but now it was huge, hovering over my head. I scrambled to my feet as it slowly turned, searching my energy. As the eyes zeroed in on me, a dark shadow crept from behind the skull, standing in front of it in a protective stance, arms raised to keep me from passing.

  That was fine by me. Yessiree! Not getting any closer!

  “You were in the valley.” A voice echoed through the mists from the shade.

  “I—I…” Stammering, I looked around wildly, wondering if this thing was going to try to make me its lunch.

  “There is an intruder in the valley. Make him leave.”

  Huh? An intruder? Make him leave? Make who leave?

  “Help us protect the lore-keeper. Help us protect our secrets.” And then the shadow vanished and I knew, in my very core, that it had been one of the Warriors of the Mountain. As the skull slowly faded back into the mists, I found myself catapulted back into my body. I fell back against the cushions, shivering.

  “Holy hell, that tears it.”

  The Warriors of the Mountain knew how to find me. They must have tracked my energy signature. And, apparently, they had decided I was just the person to help them protect their lore-keeper, whoever that might be. Woo hoo—Emerald O’Brien, bodyguard for the denizens of the netherworld! Oh yeah, that would look good on my résumé. More confused than ever, I replaced the crystal ball in the étagère and stared at the silent television. I had the queasy feeling that I’d soon find the answers to my questions, and more.

  I just hoped I didn’t end up finding them the hard way.

  Chapter 14

  AS I FIXED breakfast for the kids, I was so preoccupied that I almost burned the pancakes. The smell of smoke startled me out of my reverie and I flipped the hot-cake onto the stack sitting next to the range. A little crisped, but hey, Nanna always said that a little charcoal was good for the digestion.

  Kip sidled into the kitchen. He silently placed a jar full of coins and dollar bills on the counter next to me. I glanced at the money.

  “I take it that’s half of your savings?”

  He winced. Yep, that was my son, a mercenary little goober if ever I met one. “Yes ma’am. And an extra dollar for Suzy and one for Tyler.”

  I motioned for him to sit down, then flipped through the phone book until I found the number for The Bread & Butter House. As I dialed, Kip watched me, his lower lip jutting out. A woman answered the phone and I told her that we were interested in volunteering for a few weeks during September or October.

  “Okay, we’re set for the first three Sundays in October.” I hung up the phone and placed his jar of money on one of the shelves high in the cupboard. No use leaving it around within temptation’s reach.

  “Mom, what happens to people who don’t have any money or lose their jobs?” Kip began setting the table, unasked.

  I wiped up a drip of batter that had fallen on the counter. “I suppose it depends on where they live. Some people ask for help from their families or the government. Other people end up losing their homes and have to rely on shelters, like the Bread & Butter House. And there are some folks who live on the streets and beg for help.”

  He considered this for a moment. “In some countries, little kids die because they don’t get enough to eat. I saw it on an ad on TV.”

  I put my hands on his shoulders and gave him a kiss on the forehead. “Yes, honey,” I said gently. “In some countries, children die from starvation. Kip, life can be very hard, and we should never begrudge helping those in need.”

  “If we give money to the Bread & Butter House, then we’re helping people who are hungry, right?” A spark flared in his eye. He
was making the connection.

  I nodded. “We sure are. And people who are homeless can stay there for a while.” The local chapter of the Inter-faith Coalition Against Hunger—ICAH—had turned a rambling, old Victorian on Sepia Street into a homeless shelter and a food bank. There weren’t many people in Chiqetaw who needed a free meal, but we banded together to make sure that help was there for anybody who needed it.

  “I’ll be back in a minute.” Kip raced up the stairs. When he returned, he had the rest of his money. “I want to help them—the hungry kids.”

  I gulped down the lump rising in my throat. My son was growing up. Even though I knew he’d eventually regret giving away all his money, right now he needed to make the gesture, and I’d find a way to reward him without being obvious. “I’m so proud of you, Kip. And there are people you may never know who will be so grateful for what you’re doing. Now, why don’t you feed the cats and then wash up for breakfast? We’re having pancakes today, at least we will if I don’t burn them all.”

  As I flipped the last of the hotcakes onto the warming plate, Randa wandered in. She retrieved the butter and syrup from the refrigerator and placed them on the table. The phone rang and I winced when I heard the voice on the other end of the line.

  “Emerald? Why didn’t you return my call?”

  Oh joy. Roy, the cretin. Hugging the phone to my ear with my shoulder, I transferred the pancakes to the table and motioned for the kids to dig in. “I’ve been busy the past few days. I own a business, remember?”

  He snorted. “Right. You’re the tea lady. Big whoop.” Before I could say another word, he blurted out, “Did Kip give you the news? Tyra’s pregnant.”

  I squelched the urge to pass on my condolences, more to the kid than either one of them. “Yeah, he did. Congratulations. When’s she due?”

  “February third. The doctor said she’s small-hipped and may have to have a C-section. Tyra’s upset. She doesn’t want a scar.”

  No scars, huh? That sounded about right, even if a scar meant an easier delivery. “Well, if the C-section is safer, then she shouldn’t worry about it.”

  Roy cleared his throat. “Some people care about their looks, Emerald.”

  I knew right then that it wasn’t Tyra who was concerned about a scar. Roy was worried his little trophy wife would be damaged. Impatiently, I asked, “So, what else is up? You have any time to see Kip and Miranda before summer’s over?”

  “That’s why I was calling, actually. I’m making a business trip to Bellingham on the twenty-seventh. I’ll book a room and I want you to bring them over the next day.”

  Amazing! The invisible father was actually uncloaking for a day. I glanced at the calendar. The twenty-eighth was a Thursday. I’d have to take off work but that was okay. We’d dodged the bullet of Labor Day, when the kids and I made our annual pilgrimage to Murray’s family fish fry over on the Quinault Reservation. We all looked forward to the holiday and I wouldn’t have been very happy if we had to cancel.

  “I’ll put it on the calendar. Call me with your hotel and room number, and I’ll bring them over.” Roy wasn’t setting foot in or near my house. I’d happily drive the kids a hundred miles to see him, if it kept him out of my private life.

  I waited, but he didn’t say anything else. Drumming my fingers on the counter, I asked, “Is there something more you want to talk about?”

  Roy snorted. “Just can’t wait to get me off the phone, can you? By the way, I hear you’ve got yourself a boyfriend. I hope you aren’t exposing the kids to any unsavory influences.”

  Oh jeez! He’d found out about Joe. I focused on the silent mantra that I always used when talking to Roy. Calm, calm, calm, remain calm, he’s just an idiot, he’s just a jerk. This time, it didn’t work. After counting to ten, I exploded. “Unsavory influences? I’m not the one who had sex in Miranda’s bed with my lover right when my daughter was due home from school!”

  Oh God! Me and my big mouth. I cringed as Randa and Kip jerked their heads up, staring at me. How could I have been so stupid? I motioned for them to finish their breakfasts. Randa toyed with her pancakes and I knew she was fighting away the tears that still spilled out every time she remembered walking in on Roy while he was screwing Tyra, right on her little wicker bed. I’d burned that bed, along with Roy’s suits and underwear, right on the front lawn.

  Roy was silent for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was unusually restrained. “You’re never going to let me off the hook for that, are you?”

  He had me there. I’d never let him forget. Randa had to live with the memory and so should he. However, that little fiasco had guaranteed me custody of the children. Roy hadn’t even bothered to fight the order, glad to have us all out of his hair. He didn’t like losing control, but neither did he want us around. Since this was the first time in over a year that he’d expressed any interested in seeing the kids, I figured that somebody must have shamed him into calling.

  I slipped into the pantry and lowered my voice. “Roy, let me tell you one thing. You better not disappoint them. You may have a new baby on the way, but you fathered two children who are already on this earth and by God, you’d better start taking responsibility or I’m taking you back to court to terminate your visitation rights.”

  After a moment, he broke the silence. “I’ll have my secretary call you to make arrangements for my visit. Oh, and Emerald—a piece of advice. Don’t get too serious over this guy. Once he figures out what a bitch you are, he’ll wise up and get out.” The phone went dead in my ear; Roy usually didn’t bother with niceties like “good-byes.”

  I returned to the kitchen and replaced the receiver. “Your father will be in Bellingham on the twenty-eighth and wants to see you guys. I’ll drive you over.”

  Kip perked up; he so very much wanted his father’s approval, even while he struggled to deal with feelings of abandonment and betrayal.

  Randa just stared at her plate. “I don’t want to go.”

  I winced. If only I could grant her wish. “I know you don’t, baby. It’s only one day, though, and the court said he has the right to see you. Afterward we’ll go out and do something special, okay?”

  She nodded, silent. The rest of breakfast was a quiet affair. As I took off for the shop, the kids began to whisper while clearing the table. I wished I could have been a fly on the wall for that conversation.

  I HAD NO more than reached the shop at a few minutes after nine, when Jimbo and Murray pounded on the door. Murray was her usual stoic self, but Jimbo had a look on his face that could melt stone. Cinnamon glanced at them quizzically, then at me.

  “Finish writing up the menu for the day, would you?” I told her. “Then you can do a little dusting and make sure the plates and napkins are out.” I hurried over to Murray and led them into the tearoom.

  Jimbo swung his leg over the chair opposite me and leaned in close. “Clyde’s disappeared,” he said, his voice low. “I got a call this morning from Terry-T, his right-hand man. He told me that Clyde was supposed to gather everybody together for a meeting this morning, but then he didn’t show up. Terry-T searched his trailer… nada. What with what happened to Scar, the boys are worried. They don’t want to call the cops, though.”

  Well, hell. Another missing biker. “Do you think… could Clyde and Scar have known each other back in—where was it? Grand Rapids? Could there be a connection to what went down back there?”

  Jimbo shook his head. “Nope. Clyde lived in southern California most of his life until he joined the navy. That’s where I met him. We kept in touch when we got out, and when the boys started congregating in Klickavail Valley, I told him about it and he rode on up. We’ve never been really good friends, but I know his past and it doesn’t include any state east of Montana.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  Murray spoke up. “We wanted you to come with us. We’re going to search the meadow while it’s daylight.”

  Oh joy.
My desire to head out to Klickavail Valley again was pretty much nil, but last night’s adventure in astral land had left me little choice. Not only was I involved, but I’d been asked for help and I knew better than to turn away from the request. The Warriors of the Mountain knew how to find me if I tried to ditch them. And then there was Scar. It was too late for him, but if Clyde was in danger, we might be able to intervene before it was too late.

  “Okay, I finished up most of the paperwork on my desk yesterday. Let me tell Cinnamon I’m taking off.”

  I instructed Cinnamon to open at ten as usual. “I have to head out for a few hours; something important has come up. I’ll take my cell phone in case of an emergency.”

  We piled into my Mountaineer. As I drove along the road at a good clip, I asked Murray, “How did you get out of work today?”

  She gave me a big grin. “Apparently, Coughlan got drunk yesterday and fell off the deck onto his woodpile. He broke his leg in three places and it looks like he’s going to have to have surgery. I’m free from his prying eyes for a couple of weeks, and the guys in the division aren’t all that thrilled with the wage freeze, so they won’t tell.”

  The freeze on city employees’ salaries had been a subject for hot debate lately, and the paper was filled with Op-Ed pieces on the move. Thanks to reduced revenue from ill-advised tax cuts and rollbacks, Chiqetaw was feeling the pinch just as much as the entire state of Washington. Budget crunches were trickling down everywhere.

  “Hmm… I’d say ‘too bad’ but it’s hard to feel sorry for the man. He’s such an ass. Hey, I’ve got a story for you.” I filled them in on last night’s sudden jolt onto the astral.

  Jimbo let out a grunt. “O’Brien, you better watch your step. You may be a hoodoo woman like my granny, but you’re not invincible.”

  Murray gave me a worried glance. “He’s right, Em. These spirits aren’t from our world. They’ve never been human and now they want you to help them? I dunno. Could they be setting you up?”