Tequila for Two: An Althea Rose Mystery (The Althea Rose Series Book 2)

by Tricia O'Malley

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  TEQUILA FOR TWO

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  An Althea Rose Novel

  Copyright © 2015 by Tricia O'Malley

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover Design:

  Alchemy Book Covers

  Editor:

  Elayne Morgan

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any means without express permission of the author. This includes reprints, excerpts, photocopying, recording, or any future means of reproducing text.

  If you would like to do any of the above, please seek permission first by contacting the author at: tricia@thestolendog.com

  “The moon comes up and the sun goes down. We’ll find a little spot on the edge of town.” – Florida Georgia Line

  CHAPTER ONE

  “WHAT'S UP WITH that?” I asked, straining my eyes at the line of people approaching our shop.

  “Pagan festival this weekend.” Luna shrugged her delicate shoulders, tucking a strand of her wispy blonde hair behind her ear. Clad in a white linen dress and with the highest cheekbones I had ever seen, Luna was all elegance and grace. If I were casting for a white witch in a play, she would fit the part perfectly.

  In more ways than looks.

  Me, on the other hand? Well, I’m more curvy than Luna with the grace of an elephant, I suppose. This past month I'd darkened the hot pink streaks in my curls to more of a deep lavender color, and white clothes and I do not mix – mainly because I don’t corner well and have a habit of spilling things on myself.

  “Friends of yours?” I asked, knowing that as a white witch – yes, a real one – Luna had some roots in Paganism.

  “Not that I'm aware of,” Luna hummed, raising a delicate eyebrow.

  “How did we not know there was a Pagan festival this weekend?”

  Luna shrugged. “It was in the weekly paper.”

  “You know I've sworn off the paper after Craig wrote up that article about you,” I said. A month ago Luna had been falsely accused of murder, and even though we'd threatened the local reporter with some pretty inventive curses, he'd still written a fairly accusatory article about Luna. A small retraction printed in the paper after Luna was cleared of all charges had done little to change my opinion of him.

  “We still need to think up a curse for him,” Luna reminded me.

  “I've got Miss Elva on it,” I said, referring to our resident voodoo priestess. I trusted her implicitly to find the best revenge for this particular situation.

  “That should do it,” Luna agreed, pasting a smile on her face, as the line of people grew closer to our shop.

  My name's Althea Rose and I, together with Luna, run the Luna Rose Potions & Tarot Shop.

  She’s the witch; I'm the psychic.

  I can’t help it – being a psychic runs in the blood. My mother is far more prolific than I, flitting from country to country to cater to the famous people she deems worthy of her readings. Oh, she's a diva, that's for sure. Most people would probably say I have a fair share of her attitude, but I like to think that I take after my easygoing musician father, who has happily followed my mother on her travels.

  Luna snorted. “Easygoing, my ass,” she murmured, her polite smile never faltering.

  “Stop reading my mind,” I grumbled, moving from the white-and-gold upscale beach-cottage elegance of her side of the shop to the velvety purple den of iniquity on my side.

  Okay, so maybe “den of iniquity” is taking it a little far. But my tarot card shop was exactly what you would presume one to be – there was even a leopard-print chair tucked away in a corner.

  And a skeleton wearing a Ramones shirt was sitting on it.

  Pulling out my phone, I reluctantly googled the local paper to find out more about this Pagan festival. Tequila Key wasn't exactly known to be a hot spot for festivals. Or for anything, for that matter.

  We are a sleepy little Key, just a speed bump for tourists on their way to Key West. Most people simply pulled to the side of the road to snap a picture by the “Tequila Makes it Better” sign that some genius had erected by the marker off the highway before continuing on down to a livelier Key. Any sort of festival was bound to be the talk of the town.

  “The New Crusaders, a revolutionized order of the Pagan druids,” I read out loud, raising an eyebrow at my screen. “Sounds like radicals.”

  “Some may call us that,” said a voice to my left, and I jumped. I hadn't realized that someone had slipped past my privacy screen to wait politely at the entrance to my shop.

  At least six feet tall and rail thin, a man who reminded me of Gandalf stood at my door. His hair and beard flowed in long gray waves over his forest green ritual cloak, and his feet were encased in butter-smooth leather boots.

  That explained why I hadn't heard his entrance.

  “Hello,” I said, unaccountably wary.

  “Hello. I wanted to see if I could arrange readings for some of my group this weekend.”

  “I'd have to check my schedule,” I said, pointedly not reaching for my schedule. Something about this man's vibe was making me reluctant to help him.

  “I'll wait,” he said with a smile.

  “What's your name?”

  “I am Horace, the founding member, and the organizer of this weekend’s festival,” Horace said.

  “And what is this festival for, exactly?”

  “Why, to celebrate the earth, the sky, the ocean…all the natural beauty of this place. And this weekend is the full moon which also coincides with the equinox. We’ll be celebrating the Mabon festival, to prepare us for the darker time of the year,” Horace said, sweeping his hand around in a grand gesture.

  I swear his eyes seemed to light up when he talked about the “darker time of the year.” And what was he doing wearing a ritual cloak outside of an actual ritual? Even I knew that’s frowned upon.

  “In Tequila Key? Granted, we've got a stunning coastline, but we are a fairly cluttered little town, if you hadn't noticed.”

  “You've some lovely natural spaces outside of town for us to set up in. There’s a private campground that we’ve rented out. You're welcome to come. In fact, I insist,” Horace said gravely.

  “I'll get back to you on that one, Horace. I'm sorry, but I have a telephone appointment at eleven. I'll be sure to let you know about my availability this weekend. Cheers,” I said, smiling brightly and reached for my phone.

  Horace held my gaze for a moment, his eyes so light a grey that they were almost white, before nodding once and padding silently from my room in his leather booties.

  And leaving me with an unsettled feeling as I picked up my phone to call my client.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “THAT WAS A little intense,” Luna observed later that afternoon as the last of her clientele wandered from the shop, their hands full of goods. I’d just finished my last appointment and had stepped into her side of the shop to size up the damage.

  “Sales look to be good,” I said, noting that Luna’s crystal tables had been picked over, as well as her handmade soaps and elixirs. Her normally impeccable shelves were disturbed, and I swear I saw a muscle in her cheek twitch as she assessed the disarray in her coolly elegant shop.

  “Yes, quite good,” Luna murmured as she moved to a shelf, pulling forward bottles of frankincense oil and straightening them so that their pretty white and gold labels faced forward. Sighing, I walked over to the worn barn-beam farm table with crystals scattered across the top. Knowing Luna, we’d never
get out of here and to our after-work cocktail until order was restored to her displays.

  “You’ll need to restock your crystals,” I said as tried my best to rearrange some of the larger pieces of quartz that were left on the table. Luna waved a hand from across the room.

  “I’ve a new shipment in tomorrow. I’ll be fine.”

  “So what do you think of this, um, Pagan festival?” I asked, tucking my hair behind my ear and doing my best to smooth my face into as nonjudgmental an expression as possible. Luna snorted, an unladylike sound coming from her delicate features.

  “I know you don’t particularly like Pagans but I’m kind of interested in going,” Luna said.

  “It’s not that I don’t like Pagans,” I began, moving to straighten her hand packaged soaps. “It’s that I don’t like groups that profess themselves to be radicals. At all. Radicals and fanaticism often go hand-in-hand. Which usually ends up badly, for everyone involved. That goes for any religion, not just Paganism,” I said.

  Luna shrugged and turned to me with a smile. “We’re still going, right?”

  “Oh yeah, we’re going.”

  “You aren’t just saying that to try and skip out on your magick lesson tonight, are you? It’s a full moon this weekend, and you promised we would work on your circle casting.”

  So here’s the thing. I’m a psychic. I read tarot cards, get glimpses of the future, can see spirits, read minds, and sometimes – it seems I can do magick.

  Just over a month ago, when Luna had been accused of murder, I’d found myself in a sticky situation involving handcuffs and a hot man.

  Not that kind of sticky situation.

  My best friend Trace and I had been kidnapped when we had stumbled too close to discovering who was framing Luna for murder. Seems Luna’d had a premonition of danger, and she had insisted I learn a magick spell – and lo and behold – it had worked to free us.

  Now Luna was intrigued. Convinced I had some magickal abilities – she’d been after me ever since to work on some spells with her. I’d avoided it for the most part as I’d been too busy bemoaning the fact that the current manslice in my life wasn’t back in town yet, but I couldn’t put off the manifestation magickal thingy she wanted me to do tonight any longer. After all, it would be another month before the next full moon and lord knows I didn’t want to listen to Luna poking at me about it for that long.

  “Of course. Can’t wait,” I said, lying through my teeth.

  Luna snorted again and pointed a manicured finger at me from across the room. “You’ll love it. Magick can be almost intoxicating, you know.”

  I raised an eyebrow at her. Like I needed anything else that could intoxicate me. Between R-rated dreams about my somewhat boyfriend, Cash, and my love of a perfect margarita, I figured I was good on the more intoxicating aspects of my life.

  “You never know when it will help you,” Luna pointed out and I had to agree that she was right on that point.

  “You’d think I’m already more well-stocked than the normal person,” I said. Which was true, after all.

  “You are. But it seems that in a crisis you have a tendency to forget to actually use the gifts the goddess has bestowed upon you.”

  Hmpf.

  “What are you trying to say?” I said, placing my hands on my hips and wondering whether I’d be able to get out of the magick ceremony tonight if I picked a fight with her.

  “I’m saying that you are a stunningly beautiful woman whose own brilliance exceeds her sometimes,” Luna said smoothly.

  I squinted my eyes at her. Had I just been insulted?

  “Flattery will get you everywhere,” I finally said, accepting that I couldn’t argue my way out of tonight’s magick lesson.

  And, let’s be honest here: Me in crisis mode is akin to a fish being tossed out of the water onto the dock, flapping around desperately to try and figure out a way to save itself. It probably wouldn’t hurt for me to have a few more tricks up my sleeve.

  I sniffed again. Maybe there was something to this magick thing after all.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “WHAT DO YOU mean I can’t have a cocktail?” My voice rose as I eyed Luna across the living room of my house.

  “You can’t do magick when you’ve had alcohol. Something will go wrong,” Luna said, giving me her I’m serious look.

  “Whatever, Mom,” I mumbled as I walked to the back verandah to throw the ball for the one constant man in my life, Hank, my Boston terrier. I smiled as I stepped out onto my covered porch, where huge palm-frond fans stirred the humid air, making it slightly less oppressive, and low-slung couches clustered around a few tables. Hank raced up from my slip of a beach, shaking the water from his coat and spitting out a stick at my feet.

  “Take a dip, did you?” I asked, leaning down and tugging the stick from his mouth. Yes, he’d just dropped it at my feet, but as soon as I’d shown an interest in picking the stick up, Hank had grabbed it back, forcing me into a game of tug.

  We’re still working on “drop it,” okay?

  Finally winning the stick from him, I launched it into my yard and smiled as he raced after it, his sturdy little body wiggling in joy, his snorts of ecstasy echoing across the yard.

  My house was the last in a row of houses in the old part of Tequila Key. The recently renamed Port Atticus was the new section of Tequila Key and boasted gated subdivisions and tiny spots of grass that were watered constantly. Pearls and golf shirts reigned there. I was much more comfortable with my side of Tequila Key, where the creatives and wanderers ended up, creating a mixed bag of cultures and skill sets.

  My house was smushed up against a row of others; a semi-detached in realtor-speak. I’d lucked out – mine was the end house, nearest to the water. From the front, it just looked like a funky house, painted in bright colors with weathered plantation shutters framing the tall front windows. An outcropping of rocks and palm trees shielded the fact that my back yard – open to one side – had a tiny scrap of a beach that was all mine.

  I’d put money down on the spot when I’d seen this house. One thing about the Keys is that if you can find beachfront property you can afford – buy it. It’s much better than being stuck on the channels and having to motor out to the blue water that everyone actually wants to be on.

  The inside of my condo boasted my sense of style, which was something akin to flea market meets photographer’s studio. I’d renovated the house immediately upon buying it, knocking out the walls that had made it a true row house and creating an open first floor. I’d painted the walls a soothing grey and promptly covered them with miles of my underwater photography, in both black-and-white and color, and shoved all sorts of couches and ottomans throughout the room. It was eclectic, welcoming, and just a bit crazy. Kind of like me.

  Well, I’m not entirely sure about that welcoming bit.

  “He’s having fun,” Luna said, coming to stand by me as we watched Hank zoom around the yard in a fit of the crazies.

  “He always has at least one case of the zoomies when I get home from work,” I agreed.

  “What are you wearing tonight?” Luna asked, and I slid a glance towards her.

  “Why? Am I going on a date?” I asked, wondering what my attire had to do with a magick ceremony.

  “Well, I suggest a loose maxi dress. No underwear.”

  Say what?

  “Excuse me?” I asked, wondering just what I was getting myself into.

  “Yes. This is real magick. We’re going skyclad.”

  “You want me to get naked with you? Jeez, Luna, maybe take me to dinner and buy me a glass of wine first,” I joked, but inside I was all nope, not happening. Easy for a white witch with not an ounce of fat on her body to casually dance around naked in the moonlight. When I danced, various parts of me jiggled. A lot.

  And she says no drinks? Yeah, right. Like any self-respecting spring break student, I was going to need some liquid courage before I started prancing naked around a beach at night.


  “So you’re a comedian these days?” Luna winked at me.

  “It’s my night gig. Didn’t I tell you?”

  “I must have missed that between our late night conversations about Cash and Beau’s new restaurant.”

  Cash. My heart tugged a bit as I thought about him.

  “Don’t even get me started,” I grumbled as I made my way inside. “I’m going upstairs to find something that looks good with no underwear on.”

  “I’ll entertain Hank,” Luna called after me, knowing that now was not the time to get into a discussion about my sorta-boyfriend, Cash Williams.

  He’d blazed into my life a month ago amid the mess of Luna being charged with murder, and had played knight in shining armor to my damsel in distress. It didn’t hurt that he was a dead ringer for Channing Tatum and dropped phrases like “investment portfolio” and “second home.” Beneath all that, he’d also turned out to be a pretty stellar guy and I’d found myself swept under by the pull that is all things Cash.

  He’d been called back to Miami to investigate a string of break-ins at his newest club, and I’d only seen him once for a night when he’d come down to check in with Beau on his new restaurant, which Cash was an investor in.

  Yeah, Cash invests in things. The only things I ever invest in are new packs of tarot cards and shoes, so there’s that.

  As men go, Cash was fairly good on the communication front and we’d kept in contact via daily text and phone conversations. I couldn’t fault him for having been pulled away from our burgeoning relationship by his work. It was just crappy timing all around.

  “Really crappy,” I muttered as I yanked my closet doors open and perused my sizeable collection of maxi dresses.

  It certainly didn’t help that Trace, my best friend and dive buddy, had taken up with a girl who liked to wear neon scraps of fabric as a substitute for a bikini. Trace had stepped over the line of our friendship when Cash had moved in on me, creating an interesting love triangle of sorts. Though I’d been flattered, it wasn’t as much fun to be fought over as the Real Housewives made it look on television.