The Realm of the Shadows (Tropical Breeze Cozy Mystery Book 2)

by Mary Bowers

  “Of course you know Angie Kelly,” he said, being formal. “After Porter got away from us a little while ago, I called Orphans and asked if they could send somebody over to help out. Angie, here, graciously said she’d come herself.”

  “Gee, what a relief,” I said, giving Angie the eyeball-riveting she deserved.

  “Hey, Taylor,” she said, insouciant as ever. “Happy to help out, Teddy,” she crooned, bathing herself in the glow of his eyes.

  “Now,” Teddy said, getting businesslike, “I think it would be best if you’d take the leash, Angie, so Porter doesn’t get away from Taylor, and then Taylor and I can say a few words about the shelter. Now don’t be shy, Taylor. I’ll handle most of it. You just stand there and look pretty, okay? Might want to let Jazz get you into the make-up chair for just a minute,” he added, looking all around my face. Then he veered off, shouting for Jazz, while the camera-and-sound crew started setting up in a pretty spot on the lawn, talking about the Golden Hour and the reflected light on the water.

  “Get up here; the guys are in a hurry,” Jazz said. She wanted me to hike myself onto a tall chair so she could do make-up. She took her glasses off, got in my face, and studied me short-sightedly.

  “That bad, huh?” I said. She had an industrial-strength make-up case sitting on a table beside the company van. We were outside, on the other side of the house where all the cars were parked, and she came at me with her brushes and war paint the way a plumber goes after a clogged drain – grim and determined.

  “Don’t talk,” she said.

  Okay, I didn’t talk. But just looking at her face, I could see straight into her mind; Jazz was pissed. I speculated silently, just to amuse myself while she worked. Maybe she was mad because she had to make me pretty, and she was the pretty one. Maybe she was pissed at Teddy for making a fuss over Angie while Angie made a fuss over him. Whatever it was, it wasn’t mourning. The way she’d been pawing Seth before the fatal shoot, I would have expected her to be sad, not mad.

  While she dipped a tiny brush into several colors and mixed lipstick on the base of her thumb, I said, “I’ve wanted to tell you how sorry I am about Seth. I could see that the two of you were close.”

  She snapped around and glared, making a creamy pink streak down the side of her hand.

  “There was nothing like that between me and Seth. We were professionals, working on the same project, that’s all.”

  “I see. Well, still, I want to offer my condolences. He was a special young man.”

  “Shut your mouth.”

  I stared, but then realized that she had the brush ready to paint my lips and wanted them together.

  “Now open,” she said, filling in the color. She put her glasses back on and looked up at the sky. “We’re losing the light. Get down. You’re done.”

  She put her glasses back on and stalked off, taking her cosmetics case with her.

  I stuck my hands in my pockets, then realized my cargo pocket had something in it. I groped, then had a moment of shuddering horror – something cold, slimy and snake-like was coiled in my pocket. Then I remembered.

  “Porter,” I said out loud.”Thanks a lot, little buddy. Ee-yuck!”

  “Come on, Miss Verone,” a crewman called, popping around a corner. “We’re losing the light.”

  “So I’ve been told.” I ditched the strap in one of the old cabins behind the house just because I was walking past them at the moment, checked my face in an old mirror on the cabin wall, just to be sure Jazz hadn’t made me look like a hooker after a hard night on the streets (she’d actually done a very good job), then went to the other side of the house and down to the seawall, where a gaggle of men, Angie, and the recharged Porter were waiting.

  Actually, it all went pretty well. While Teddy and I addressed ourselves to the camera, Angie knelt beside us holding Porter’s leash. Porter seemed to know what the camera was all about, and hammed it up without any kind of lunacy for just long enough, then at the end of our chat about how pet adoption works, he popped up at Angie and gave her a big wet kiss while she let out a musical trill of laughter.

  Perfect.

  “Man, he’s perfect,” Teddy said, echoing my thoughts. “He’s a natural.”

  I, apparently, wasn’t a natural and got no praise, but I was happy to let Porter get the attention. Of course, Teddy looked great. And Porter looked like a roly-poly ball full of fun, which was the whole point. All in all, I thought the thing went well, and quickly forgot about it. I did find out what Jazz had been upset about, though.

  After the shoot, Teddy went to the still-kneeling Angie and lifted her by the fingertips, almost to within kissing distance, mesmerizing her with the misty greens. Angie was bedazzled. I had to quickly catch hold of Porter’s leash as it slipped out of her hand. I managed to pull him to my side and out of the way before she could trip over him.

  Actually, I kind of enjoyed it. Let her have some fun, I figured; the guy would be on to the next ghost before he could really cause any heartache. But about the time Teddy was asking her about a decent restaurant where he could take her for dinner, I caught a sharp movement out of the corner of my eye and turned to see Jazz stomping away across the lawn.

  Chapter 12

  It took me some little time to find Michael, but I finally did. He had gone into the house.

  Myrtle was in the kitchen, and gave me a smoking glare as I walked by. She was unloading the dishwasher and banging things around as loudly as she could. Apparently, she was still mad about Bernie’s article and the way it brought the wrong kind of attention to The Family. I left her to take it out on the pots and pans and went over to Michael, at the far side of the great room.

  “It’s such a nice night, and the crew is on the other side of the yard. Let’s go out on the veranda and watch the reverse sunset over the river.” I made evocative motions at him with my hands, head and eyebrows, indicating Myrtle, and he followed me outside.

  “Ed found out some more about our lady in the barn,” I said, once we were settled in two rocking chairs. “He’ll be coming back later.”

  Michael didn’t know how our interview with Frieda Strawbridge had come out, so I told him.

  When it was his turn, he told me all about his own day. He’d run into several fellow members of the City Planning Commission at Don’s Diner, and they’d spent the afternoon drinking cup after cup of coffee and discussing the welfare of the Tropical Breeze community (which I figured was more like an in-depth analysis of the previous day’s golf outing; two of the guys were in his foursome). I tried to act interested, but honestly!

  It was getting dark by then, and we could hear the TV people gearing up for action. Getting up to look around the corner of the house, I got a brief glimpse of Jazz, striding along in her battle gear.

  We went inside, and Myrtle asked, “Will you be having dinner in?”

  I looked at Michael. “I’m not really hungry, are you?”

  He gave Myrtle a handsome smile and said, “We’ll just make some sandwiches later. You go on ahead and fix dinner for yourself and then relax. Thanks, Myrtle.”

  It made her smile, but only at him. We settled on the sofa and turned the TV on.

  “I’m for ignoring the nutziness out there for the night,” I said with my head against his shoulder. “Hopefully, they’ll wrap it up and be gone forever in the morning.”

  “Fine with me,” Michael answered, setting his head against mine for a moment. Then he turned and looked over my head. “There’s Ed.”

  He was standing at one of the French doors along the great room, rapping gently on the glass. There was another man with him, and squinting, I realized it was Charlie’s son, Tripp.

  “I’m sick of all this,” Michael said wearily.

  “Me too.”

  “Then let’s not let them in. Whaddaya say?”

  “I’m for that too,” I said, “but we gotta.”

  “I’m worried about my dad,” Tripp said, hiking himself up onto a tall ch
air at the breakfast bar.

  Myrtle had apparently taken her dinner up to her room (pouting), and we had the kitchen to ourselves. Graeme had never taken the television out of her room, and I could hear that she had turned it on, which was ever better.

  The long granite breakfast bar served as a boundary for the large kitchen that had been worked into the end of the great room nearest the breezeway door, and five heavy iron high chairs were spaced along it, facing the kitchen. It was a handy place for informal meals and chats, and we used it a lot. Standing in the kitchen, I placed a few drinks in front of the men, then leaned my back against the kitchen island, facing them all.

  “We’re worried too, Tripp,” I told him.

  He turned to the expert, Edson Darby-Deaver, with a kind of pathetic hopefulness. “Is he going to be all right? Is this lady going to, like, possess him or something?”

  “That I can’t tell you, but it’s been known to happen.”

  “But we’re going to do everything we can to prevent it,” I said, giving Ed the squiggy eye. “Aren’t we, Ed?”

  “Oh. Yes. Definitely. “

  “Listen, do you think these TV ghost hunters are for real? Can they really get rid of her?”

  Ed, Michael and I shared a knowing look. Teddy Force was about as psychic as a garbage disposal, in my opinion, but we really didn’t know about his history, or abilities.

  “It’s possible,” Ed said. “Listen, they’re going to be filming again tonight, and they’re going into the barn. I think you and Charlie ought to stay out of it tonight. Can you keep your father at home?”

  “I’ll try. He really needs some rest. He’s not sleeping, and I can’t get him to eat. He seems to be thinking of something else all the time. Guys, if those people out there can’t really do anything to help, can you? Have you ever gotten rid of a ghost before, Ed? For real?”

  Ed paused, then said, “I’ll be honest with you, Tripp. If this turns out to be the real thing, it’s the first genuine haunting I’ve ever encountered. But I know all the protocols; I’ve been studying these phenomena all my life. If any method of cleansing has been recorded, I’m aware of it, no matter how far back it was written. And I have contacts I can reach out to, if I don’t think I’m succeeding. I can only say I’m going to do my best. This is what I’ve been preparing for all my life. I’m as ready as it’s possible to be.”

  Tripp was listening, wanting reassurance, and I could see when Ed finished that he hadn’t gotten it.

  “Well, I appreciate that,” Tripp said, sliding off his chair. “I’ll do my best to keep Dad out of the barn tonight.”

  After he’d left, I came around and sat where he’d been sitting. I, for one, was not feeling optimistic.

  “What will you be doing tonight, Ed?” Michael asked.

  Our ghost hunter stood up. “Guarding the cemetery and generally hanging around to see what they’re doing. From what you’re telling me, we have to stand by and let them run amok in the barn, but I’ll keep an eye on them and do what I can. We should all do whatever we can,” he added obscurely. I realized that his glance had flickered over me and rested significantly on the cat pendant that I wore: the figure of the goddess Bastet.

  Then he saluted like a weary old soldier and marched off.

  It was about twenty minutes later that Rocky, my real estate agent, called. I’d like to say I was settling down, but I was still worried and rattled, and what Rocky had to tell me only made things worse.

  “Listen honey, would it be possible for you to meet me at my office tomorrow? Preferably in the morning some time. Or maybe at Perks? I’ll buy you a cappuccino.”

  “What’s up? Do we need to go over things before the closing?” I tried to quickly remember the date for the closing on the sale of my old house, and realized it was still weeks away.

  “We-ell – something like that. It’s complicated, darlin’, and I think we just need a little face-to-face so we can get all our ducks in a row.”

  Something was wrong. I could tell Rocky was nervous, and Rocky is never nervous.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” I demanded.

  “Oh, nothin’, honey –“

  “Baloney. Rocky Sanders, I know you too well. Something is wrong, and I don’t want to wait until tomorrow to find out. Just tell me; what is it?”

  She took a deep breath. “Well, it’s like this. Do you remember our conversation over at the diner the other day, about how it might be better to wait on selling your house because prices might be going up?”

  “Rocky, you didn’t! The mold thing? If you started spreading rumors –“

  “I swear to God, Taylor, I did not. It wasn’t me. But maybe somebody in the diner overheard us, because something has given the buyer cold feet, and he’s backing out.”

  Infuriated, I was unable to speak for a minute.

  “Taylor? Honey? Say something. You alive over there? Listen, maybe it’d be better if I came over to Cadbury House tonight. I’ll just hop in my car right now –“

  “No. I’ll call you in the morning.” I hung up, bracing my hands flat on the cold granite of the kitchen counter.

  When I was able to see again, I looked into the great room and saw Michael with his back to me on the sofa, watching the TV, oblivious. Looking down, I saw that I was holding the handset of the phone again; I’d unconsciously picked it up while I’d been standing there composing a rant I wanted to dump on Rocky while I was still riding the crest of my anger. I closed my eyes and counted to fifty.

  Then, before I could destroy two good relationships, I put the phone down, told Michael I was tired and was going to bed, and went upstairs without ranting at anybody.

  I didn’t think about anything until I was under the covers and the bedroom was dark. I was feeling pretty sorry for myself. Why did things all have to happen at once? Then I remembered Ed, and his significant glance at the pendant I wore. Ed didn’t know about my paranormal experiences earlier in the year, and I didn’t want him to. The only person I’d ever told about it was Barnabas Elgin, and he almost didn’t count: he lived his life half-in and half-out of reality, coping by gently refusing to be there.

  I never really wanted to talk about it, and I didn’t want anybody else to know about it, not even Michael. But Ed seemed to realize that my habit of wearing the figurine meant something. I wondered what, if anything, my earlier experience had taught me about dealing with the paranormal.

  Strange, I thought. I’d never sensed Ellen’s presence myself. The barn was just a hot, dusty, empty place; I hadn’t even gotten a shiver in the loft. In a hypnotic haze, I let my consciousness range and tried to find her, this quiet, lonely girl who had ended her life rather than have to face more of it. I searched for nebulous figures in shades of white, for aching sadness that had left an echo behind, and found nothing.

  I thought about the Cadbury family, and the one member I had known well: Vesta Cadbury Huntington. She was the reason I couldn’t deny believing in ghosts, because in the hours after she had died, when she was newly released and roaming free, she had come to me asking for favors. I’d done my best for her, and I hadn’t seen her since.

  As I did these days whenever I was troubled, I reached for my pendant. Even at night, I kept it close to me, on the night stand. I should have called to Vesta, I suppose; she would know more about Ellen, and she would be a sweet presence. But it didn’t seem to be up to me. As I cradled the figurine, I knew where the power of our encounter had truly lain: in the ancient stirrings of the long-forgotten power granted to the goddess Bastet by people who had simply believed.

  As best I could, I called to her. Resting on my back, I moved my limbs into comfortable positions and tried to let myself fall.

  Bastet had used me to fulfill purposes of her own, and then had left me. In a way I’d been relieved when she was gone. My eyes were my own now; not for months now had my world suddenly been tinted with a film of green as Bastet had looked through them, gathering up what she wanted to know
. Not since that time had I felt myself being piloted through my own world like a drone, observing, listening, going into the unpleasant places and finding dead things as she turned and walked and shut me down whenever she wished. I’d been glad she was gone. Now I wondered if I could reach her again. But only here in the night. Only in dreams. I was still afraid of her coming back into my real world and living in my house with me. But here in the night, as I lay quiet, falling through my mattress and gliding over the night, I sent out a tentative touch, and when she answered me, I felt strangely disappointed. She was really there. I had begun to convince myself it had all just been a dream.

  The music rose softly around me, like a spicy perfume, weaving around with a rhythmic rattle, like sand against glass. It was slow. It was relentless. It pulsed eternally beneath the wild dance of life, and it was something we weren’t ever meant to hear, but sometimes, in the space between dreaming and death, we did.

  She came to me. She talked to me. She mused over dead men and living men, and the knowledge I already had, if I would only remember the moment it had come to me. The end of the thread had come into my hand, she told me, and if I had the wit, I would pull, very slowly, until the loops began to pull out and the puzzle unraveled.

  “You have what you need,” she said. “I have sent a messenger. But you are confused by things that do not matter. Look away from the trivial and see the true light. Pull the thread, but pull in only one direction – toward yourself. Toward your protector. Nothing else really matters. Do you understand?”

  I nodded. I did understand. In that moment, things began to coalesce. There was a pattern, but it had been buried. I needed to ignore the minutiae to see the whole. Relieved, I sank into dreamless sleep.

  Michael was trying to wake me up. I looked at the clock on the night stand and it read 4:43. I tried to pull my wits together and catch what Michael was saying, but I’d been sleeping so deeply, it was as if I’d been drugged.