Caught Dead
The Journals of Octavia Hollows
Book 3
Written by
Stacey Rourke
Copyright 2019. All rights reserved. Published by Anchor Group Publishing. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher.
Special Thanks To:
Hell Yes Designs
Cheree Castellanos
Bam Shepherd
&
Stacy Sanford
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Chapter One
The soft chime of the bell over the fish market door unleashed a shit storm of hostility. I took one step inside and a shrill shriek rang out. Heavy footfalls pounded my way as the store owner, Gustaf, marched straight for me.
“No, no, no!” Mostly bald, Gustaf kept what little hair he had buzzed close to his head, the thick strands stabbing from his scalp like tiny spikes. His nose was large and bulbous, topped off by thick eyebrows that made it appear he was constantly scowling. Which, I’m fairly certain he was. “Not you! Not in my store! Get out! I said I never wanted to see you again, and I meant it!”
The curious stares of every patron in the shop swiveled my way.
Planting myself in a casual, wide-legged stance with one hand on my hip, I offered the rampaging store owner a friendly smile. “Hey-ya, Gustaf. Great to see you. Did you lose weight? Or, trim your eyebrows?”
While his accent was thick, I could never quite place its origin. In casual conversation with customers, it sounded light-hearted Scandinavian. With me, pissed off Russian. Yanking a towel from the pocket of his apron, he wiped his hands off, then tossed it on the display case filled with the catch of the day. “Why? Why are you here? What fresh brand of hell did you come to inflict, devil child?”
I opened my mouth to formulate an answer, only to be cut off by yet another chime from the door.
“Does that sweet little pig tied up outside belong to anyone here?” A middle-aged woman, in a t-shirt that read Mamacita needs a Margarita, sauntered inside and jabbed her thumb over her shoulder. “Some kid just dropped their ice cream in front of it. It’s literally in hog heaven while the kid is crying.”
Rocking back on my heels, I peered out the door before it swung shut. Sure enough, Bacon was going to need either a box of wet wipes or a garden hose to clean all the Blue Moon gelato off him. “He’s mine, and he does not share well.”
Stabbing his hands onto his hips, Gustaf’s nostrils flared. “That’s the plan, then? You bring your pig in here to rile up my customers—”
“I purposely left him outside,” I pointed out. “You can see that, right?”
If Gustaf heard me, he didn’t let on. He had spiraled too far into his own rant to be bothered by the insertion of logic. “You’ll let that beast run rampant through here and destroy my product like you did before!”
“I unleashed a pig in your store before? That seems like something I would have remembered.”
Gustaf threw his hands in the air, the vein at his temple throbbing his fury. “I should have been so lucky! My case was filled with top notch product! And what did you do? Staged some big prank to switch them all with live fish! My customers walked in to see fish out of water, dying right before their eyes!”
Pulling my chin to my chest, I stopped short. “That’s what you think I did? Somehow switched your entire inventory without you noticing?”
“What else could have possibly happened?” Gustaf boomed, shaking his head in disgust.
“That… is actually an easier explanation than the truth,” I muttered under my breath.
“You cost me money and customers, and now you dare step foot in my store? I should grab you by the ear and throw you out myself!” He started to take a threatening step forward, only to remember the crowd of customers watching. Rethinking that blatant show of hostility, he settled back into stewing in his own wrath.
Raising my hands palms out, I pumped the brakes on his onslaught of hate. “I’m not here to cause any trouble. Really. I just wanted to ask if anyone came here looking for me after I left.”
“Not left, fired!” he corrected, wagging his finger in my direction. “Fired for being the degenerate you are! And that’s exactly what I told that skide that came sniffing around after you! He had the nerve to ask about my freezers. What was that, some slam about all that you ruined of mine?”
A cold chill shuddered through me. My fiancé’s body was missing, and the creeper stalking me was asking questions about freezers? Maybe death was always a little too top of mind for me, but it seemed too big a coincidence to ignore.
“This guy, do you remember anything about him? Was he wearing a Maine Bears hat, by chance?”
Lips pressed in a thin white line, Gustaf closed the distance between us. Seizing my upper arm, he spun me toward the door and marched me out. “All I remember is that he has horrible taste in women to be mixed up with the likes of you. Now, out! And don’t you dare step foot inside Just Fish again!”
“Clever name, by the way,” I snipped, yanking my arm from his meaty grasp. I turned back just in time for him to slam the door in my face and lock it with an audible click. “You just locked your customers inside! Nice move, asshole!”
Turning on my heel, I peered down at a blue-faced Bacon. Pausing in his task of licking ice cream off his hooves, he blinked up at me with loving adoration.
“I should release you in his shop,” I grumbled, untying Bacon’s leash from the parking meter, “and let you take one of your legendary craps right in the middle of his floor.”
Mouth falling open in what looked like a happy little grin, Bacon licked a drop of Blue Moon off his snout.
Exhaling an exasperated breath, I wrapped the excess of the leash and peered down at the row of coastal businesses there simply to placate every need or whim of the tourists that flocked to their city. Salty sea air clung to my skin, the sun warming my shoulders.
While all that was a vacationer’s dream, what caught my attention was a cluster of people huddled by a neighboring pier. Their shouts blew in on the breeze, muffled by the clapping waves. One rang out loud and clear, causing the hair on the back of my neck to rise. “Someone call 9-1-1!” Eyes fixed on the scene, I scooped my sticky piglet up under my arm. “Come on, buddy. We may have a job to do.”
Waving thanks to the Audi that stopped for us, I jogged across the street with Bacon in tow. As I neared the scene the shouts got louder, and not just those of the buzzing crowd. The demanding call of the dead summoned me, luring me closer with its dark, magnetic pull.
Rising on tiptoe, I peered over the shoulders of the other onlookers. Some amongst them crossed themselves, others averted their eyes.
I caught bits and pieces of whispered conversations muttered behind the backs of hands.
“The eyes are missing.”
“… dragged out of the water.”
“… not bloated yet.”
“Okay, let’s have a little respect for the dead, people.” A female police officer with her hair pulled back in a severe bun pushed her way through the crowd to form a blockade of one between us and the grisly scene covered by a thin white sheet. “Move along, nothing to see here.”
Two additional officers strung yellow caution tape around the pier poles, blocking off the perimeter.
“Who found th
e body?” She-cop asked, her eagle-eyed stare flicking over every face in the crowd.
“I did.” A salty sailor who looked like he just stepped out of the film Jaws raised two fingers. He stood by his tied boat, a small vessel with Lady Gennifer painted on the side, and took off his tattered hat to scratch his head. “The name is Captain Weatherby. I caught that poor bastard in one of my nets. I can’t be sure, since the sea had already had her way with him, but I think it might be Mark—a member of my crew.”
Pulling a small notepad and pen from the breast pocket of her shirt, She-cop called the pen to action with a click. “And what time did that occur, sir?”
If the fisherman heard her, he didn’t respond. His attention had been stolen by something lingering behind the crowd. Whatever it was drained his sun-kissed skin ashen while his eyes bulged.
The crowd parted, a slow hiss of gasps escaping parted lips. People stepped back to allow a petite woman to move between them. She stumbled forward, dragging one foot and then the other as if they were made of lead. Her soaked clothing dripped a trail of sea water behind her. Wet strands of hair clung to her skin. Her hands, trembling at her sides, were covered in a slick of blood up to her elbows. With an almost robotic tilt of her head, she focused on the body loosely covered by the sheet. There was something there, in the depths of her gaze, that carried hints of a deadly undertow capable of dragging those caught in its clutches to the depths.
She-cop instantly pulled her gun, leveling it at the blood-soaked newcomer. “Stop right there! Put your hands up!”
The woman’s chin twitched in the officer’s direction. “You’re looking for who killed that man.” It wasn’t a question, but a bold declaration of fact.
She-cop’s weapon bobbed slightly. “Do you have information about him?”
The water-logged woman’s tone was distant and unattached, like she was recalling a tale heard long ago. “His name was Mark Barrington. He was my husband. I killed him.”
Another round of shocked gasps rose from the crowd as they stepped further away.
With a jerk of her chin, She-cop directed her men to move in behind the confessing criminal. “How about if we take you into the station where we can discuss this in more detail without an audience?”
Obediently, the girl brought her hands together in front of her. She held the pose and waited patiently for the cuffs to be slapped on her. “Take me in. Lock me up. I did it. I saw him with another woman and it broke my heart. I waited until he fell asleep, then I stabbed him… in both eyes.”
The guy behind me heaved into the crook of his elbow at that colorful description.
Only after her men secured the cuffs did She-cop holster her weapon. “Get her in the car. The captain might just buy the first round at O’Douls if we get this case buttoned up before the end of our shift.”
While the two male officers led the suspect into the cruiser, the throng of onlookers began to disperse.
“Guess we aren’t needed after all,” I shrugged, glancing down at my favorite swine. “Nothing here but an example of people being their absolute worst to each other.”
Bacon snorted his agreements.
Adjusting my hold on him, I tried to unstick his jowl from my forearm. “Let’s go get a room for the night. We could both use a shower. That Blue Moon is forming a powerful adhesive between us.”
Chapter Two
After settling into the pet friendly La Quinta Inn and taking a quick shower, Bacon and I went in search of sustenance. Within strolling distance, we found a dive bar called the Sit n’ Sip. Judging by the level of intoxication shared by many of their slurring, rowdy patrons, I guessed sitting was mandatory for them to remain upright.
“Um, excuse me, Miss?” The middle-aged waitress who approached our table had a sandpaper voice and a bad dye job. “We don’t allow pigs in here.”
“There’s another one right now,” I pointed out, jerking my chin at a plateful of smoked ribs on its way to another table.
Lips screwing to the side, she scowled and stabbed one hand onto her hip. “That’s different. That one is dead.”
With a shocked gasp, I clutched one hand over my heart. “Are you suggesting I kill my pig?” Purposely raising my voice to a frantic octave, I played up my faux outrage to draw the attention of the crowd around us. “It’s one thing to say we aren’t welcome, but to suggest I kill him?”
Eyes wide as saucers, Bad-hair Day’s head snapped in one direction and then the other to see who was listening. “N—no,” she stammered. “I didn’t mean that, I was just trying to say—”
“That pigs only have worth if they are smoked and slapped on a plate?” I finished for her, clucking my tongue against the roof of my mouth in mock disgust. “What kind of monster are you?”
From all sides, customers stared, their heads shaking in judgment at the mortified waitress.
Her mouth opened and shut, yet words failed her.
Raising one indignant hand, I did her the kindness of offering an out from our uncomfortable situation. “You know what? Just bring us two burgers and a large fry to go, and we’ll be on our way.”
“I’ll put that in right now,” she mumbled and rushed off.
Shoulders shaking with laughter, I peered across the table at Bacon, who was occupying himself by trying to eat the sugar packets from the bowl on the table. “I almost feel bad about that. Almost.”
He grunted two merry snorts my way in response.
Leaning back in my chair, legs stretched out under the table, I scanned the room. The walls were lined with old wood paneling, giving the place a dark, cave-like quality. Honky-tonk music crackled through their ancient sound system, accompanied by the occasional crack of balls connecting on the pool table in the back corner. While smoking was no longer allowed inside, the ghost of its scent still clung to all the tables and chairs in a stale funk.
I was mentally placing bets on which of the two guys doing tequila shots at the bar was going to be the first to fall off their stool when my phone buzzed on the table.
One glance at the screen and I rolled my eyes. I didn’t remember ordering a guilt trip on the side with my burger, but it seemed that garnishment was a gift with each purchase.
Begrudgingly, I answered the call and placed my index finger in the other ear to drown out the din of the bar. “Dina, so nice of you to check in, yet again. I’m happy to report I still haven’t raised an army of the undead.” Seeing a guy on his way back from the bathroom pause to give me a weird look, I tagged on, “I said I haven’t, pal. Keep walkin’.”
“Octavia, where are you? What’s happening?” While her time as my foster parent had long since passed, the elder Wiccan had never lost that maternal tone when it came to me.
“Right now? I’m in a seedy bar watching two men reach the point of chest bumping aggression over a game of darts. Why? Did you want to join me? Come on down; I’ll totally let you buy me dinner.”
“That’s far too vague. We’re going to scry for your exact whereabouts.”
“Does that mean Scry-master Beatrice is there? Aw, I miss her. I still fall asleep dreaming about her snickerdoodles. It’s the nutmeg she sneaks in there, that wily minx. I’m a slave to it.” I gave a nod of thanks to the waitress who slammed my cup of water and a straw onto the table.
“This is not a social call,” Dina muttered. Voice momentarily muffled, I had to guess she was buzzing around in the coven swarm to help magically zero in on my location.
Peeling the wrapper off my straw I playfully flicked it at Bacon, who promptly ate it. “Tell the gals to put the candles and mirror away, Dina. There’s no need for them. I’m in Galveston, Texas. You wanna tell me what this is all about?”
The elder Wiccan’s grip must have tightened on the phone, because her tone came out stern and direct. “Darkness is closing in around you, as threatening as a noose. We can all feel it.”
Slouching in my chair, my head fell back to peer up at the filthy drop-down ceiling. “Seriously
, this is why your panties are in a bunch? Yes, I understand my powers are rooted in dark magic, and no, I have no intention of getting snared by that tempting lure anytime soon. But, once again, thank you for checking in.”
“Octavia, you need to listen,” Dina said quickly before I could hang up. “It isn’t you. There’s something… else there. Something more powerful than I’ve ever felt before. Whatever it is, we fear it’s coming for you.”
A shiver of unease raced down my spine, unleashing a rash of goosebumps that prickled up and down my arms. Sitting up a little straighter, I tried to physically shake off that momentary sense of dread. “Calm down the Spidey sense there, Peter Parker. I have no intention of lingering here. This stop along the route seems to be a dud, anyway. Bacon and I are going to crash early tonight, then hit the road at the butt crack of dawn. I doubt impending doom will even be up by then.”
Filling her lungs, Dina audibly exhaled her relief. “Good. The sooner you’re away from there, the better. Get up and get gone. Call or text at your first gas-up, just to offer us all a little piece of mind… please. I know you don’t owe us anything, but we—whether you choose to believe it or not—worry about you. And, Octavia? Be careful.”
With that, the line went dead.
Dragging my tongue over my teeth, I set my phone face down on the table and blew out a frazzled breath through puffed cheeks. “Seems the mystical rat pack wants us to get gone.”
“Here’s your burgers.” Bad-hair Day unceremoniously dropped a takeout bag on the table in front of me. “No charge, by the way. My boss decided I should pay for them, since I insulted you. Thanks for that.”
Swiveling in my seat, I folded both hands on the wooden arm rest of my rickety chair and cast a quick glance at her name tag. “Char, can I call you Char? I can sense your hostility, and I have to ask: did you do anything gross to my food?”
Eyebrows raised in challenge, Char crossed her arms over her chest and let me stew in her silence.
Caught Dead (The Journals of Octavia Hollows #3) Page 1
