Ghost Mysteries & Sassy Witches (Cozy Mystery Multi-Novel Anthology)

by Неизвестный

  As they entered town, both grew quiet.

  After a minute, the woman said, “You must have someone very special watching over you. In all my days, I've never seen an aura as bright as yours.”

  Chapter 16

  May 5th

  8:20 p.m.

  The Watering Hole, Owl Bend, Colorado

  Finn Bruno waved Samantha over to the bar. “Toni should be here any minute,” he said. “She ran out to get some more salt. Do you think people would notice if I put sugar on the margarita rims?”

  Samantha laughed and shook her head. “They might notice, but I'm sure they wouldn't mind. People in Owl Bend are pretty cool.”

  The bartender grinned. “That's why people like us can never leave.”

  “How's your big venture going? The locked room?”

  The grin fell off his face. “We're nearly set up, but Toni says I'm not supposed to talk to you about that, on account of... what happened to you.” He looked down as he handed Samantha a non-alcoholic lemonade in a tall glass.

  “That's sweet of her. Your fiancée is a very considerate person, but honestly, it's been almost a year and I can talk about things without, you know, going to that dark place in my mind.” She lifted the lemonade in a one-sided toast. “It helps that I've been sober close to a year. Sobriety is a good thing.”

  Finn held his finger to his lips and glanced around the one-third-full bar with cartoonish paranoia. “Shh. Don't tell our customers.”

  Samantha chuckled and took a sip of her lemonade. She found it easier to stay sober when she wasn't around people drinking, but she'd be with friends tonight, and she didn't want to miss one of the town's main annual events. Everyone would be packed into the Watering Hole tonight, including Daniel's elderly neighbor, Mrs. Dawson. The white-haired woman had promised to be there from nine o'clock until ten, after which she would promptly go home so she could be in bed by eleven.

  Samantha had been getting to know Mrs. Dawson, thanks to spending so much time at Daniel's. More importantly, she'd been getting to know the deputy sheriff. The last few months had been good.

  After her encounter with Charles DeWitt, Samantha's world had crashed in on her. Even though a search and rescue team had located his body in a rocky crevice, the man continued to devastate and terrify her. She wanted to put Owl Bend behind her, so she got on a bus, then a plane, and headed back to California, where she stayed with Hilda and Ricky.

  After three months of what Hilda called Rehabilitation By Dueling Toddlers, Samantha had made significant progress. She'd stayed sober and sane, and most days she was even happy. But when it came time for her to move out of the Francis family's spare room and into her own place, none of the apartment listings interested her. The money from her fiancé's life insurance policy would cover buying a house outright, but none of the homes she toured interested her.

  In October, she got an email from Caitlyn Winters—they'd stayed in touch through the internet—and Caitlyn mentioned that the resort where Samantha had been staying was for sale. She and her mother were thinking of investing, and she'd emailed simply to ask Samantha how she'd enjoyed the resort as a customer.

  Samantha could hardly sleep that night, and in the morning she emailed Caitlyn asking if she and her mother were interested in a third partner.

  Caitlyn replied with a message full of funny images of cartoon animals saying YES!

  In January, Samantha left California for Colorado. A very teary Hilda saw her best friend off and promised the whole family of four would come to visit soon. “The wide open spaces of Colorado are a great place to raise a couple of rambunctious boys,” Samantha said, and Hilda winked to let her know she was working on it. And she was. Hilda could work on her blog anywhere, but it would take three years to wrap up Ricky's business there in Los Angeles, sell the house, and head east, but the boys would grow up riding horses and enjoying the great outdoors.

  Samantha had been living in Owl Bend for two months and fifteen days before Deputy Sheriff Daniel Robichaud worked up the courage to ask her on a date. It was April, ten months since their first date at Yolanda's All-Day Bar and Grill, and they returned to the truck stop restaurant for their second date, joking that in another ten months they'd come back for dinner.

  Now it was May fifth, the one-year anniversary of Warren's death. Earlier that day, Samantha and Daniel had visited Warren's grave with some other friends to lay down flowers and say a few words. They caught a glimpse of his aunt, Wendy, who was reportedly doing much better.

  Everyone was doing much better. Toni and Finn were back together, planning to get married later that summer. Caitlyn was much happier with her job now that Charles was gone. And Samantha was no longer seeing ghosts or losing her grasp on chunks of memory. Since the moment she fought her way out of the crawlspace, she hadn't seen Samuel again. At first, she regretted that she hadn't had the chance to say goodbye, but as time moved on, she realized she didn't need to. He would always be a part of her, always reside somewhere deep within her heart. And there would always be room for more in her heart, for now the doors and windows were wide open.

  A hand brushed across her shoulder and then Daniel was there, gazing into her eyes.

  She asked, “Everything okay?” He'd sent her into the tavern without him because he'd gotten a call about a disturbance.

  “Just kids knocking over some trash bins,” he said.

  She pretended to roll up her sleeves. “Do you need backup? I'm your gal, Deputy Sheriff. Just point me at 'em.”

  He laughed and brushed some of her hair behind her ear. It was the second time he'd done such a gesture. They were only a month into dating, so Samantha was still keenly aware of their firsts and seconds. She caught his hand and kissed it. His eyebrows shot up. She hadn't done that the first time. He gave her a glimpse of his off-duty dimples and leaned in for a real kiss.

  The bar was filling up with townspeople, growing more noisy, but they were in their own little world.

  As they embraced, Samantha remembered the words from a song. You can get high, or you can get low. I'll be here. Take as long as you need.

  It was a song Samuel had written, during the summer he'd jokingly threatened to quit the law firm and become a country music superstar. She'd never felt much from the lyrics until now.

  Wherever she went in the world, she would still be there. Her. Samantha. She would still be herself.

  Life was sweet right now, but pain would come from time to time, as inevitable as the changing of the seasons. She didn't need to get high or get low, because life would provide. All she needed to do was to keep her eyes open and her feet on the trail. This trail had led her to Owl Bend, to the truth, to a second chance at love, to friends, and to a run-down resort that needed her as much as she needed it.

  As she curled into Daniel's embrace, she smiled at the knowledge that angels were real, and she saw them every day.

  * * *

  We hope you enjoyed

  Date with a Ghost in Colorado by Darcy Troy

  * * *

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  * Table of Contents *

  BROKEN SHELL ISLAND

  A young girl travels to a magical island where she encounters schoolgirl witches and magical creatures.

  GENRE: All-ages Fantasy

  RATING: G - light comedic adventur
e for all ages

  Turn the page to begin reading Broken Shell Island or click here to return to this anthology’s Table of Contents.

  Broken Shell Island

  Chapter One

  What Opal really wanted was a bicycle, and the box, while pretty, seemed suspiciously small. Too small to contain a bicycle.

  “Don't be mad,” her grandfather, Warren, said.

  She'd already blown out the fifteen candles and eaten the cake, and it was time to face the box. She wondered, what had been the point in her looking up prices and stats online, then printing out directions to the store that carried the bike, if he was just going to get her something stupid, like a chess set.

  “It's not a chess set,” he said, referencing the previous year's disaster.

  “Grampa, I'm sure it's something wonderful. Thank you in advance,” she said, poking at the blue ribbon. She wished they were at home, in private, and not in a fussy tea house with all of Warren's elderly friends, watching in awe.

  The Fritz sisters sipped their Creamy Earl Grey tea, their eyes as round as the tea scones on the dainty multilevel tray in the center of the table.

  The too-small-but-still-big box sat at Opal's feet. She leaned forward and tugged again at the ribbon, which came loose easily. The box was not wrapped in paper, but was the style she thought of as old-fashioned, with a flat lid that simply lifted off.

  She wondered if it was possible for bicycles to be shipped disassembled, in suspiciously small boxes like this. With a deliberate smile on her face, she lifted off the lid, only to find…

  “A gag gift?” she said. “Grampa! Why's your dirty old suitcase in here? Where's my cruising bike? Is it outside?” She jumped up from her chair and ran to the window of The Sleepy Garden Tea Shoppe and Gift Emporium.

  There were no bicycles chained to the bike rack out front.

  Opal returned to the table to find the six white-haired people abuzz with hushed conversation. One of the Fritz sisters, whose hot pink lipstick matched the roses on the tablecloth, said, “But I thought the island had been lost, permanently?”

  “What island?” Opal said. “Are we going on vacation somewhere? Is there a plane ticket inside?” She grabbed the old suitcase by the handle and kicked the box under the table, out of the way. She unlatched the suitcase, eager to look inside for the real gift. A new laptop would easily fit inside, or a gift certificate for the bike.

  The suitcase was empty, just a red felt lining with some scuffs. The old thing didn't smell great, either. She wondered if her dear grandfather might be losing his mind. Appropriate gifts for a fifteen-year old were things like new cell phones, laptops, or gift certificates for clothes. Even movie coupons would be well-received. Opal's best friend Katy had turned fifteen the month before, and she got a new cruising bike, in an ice-cream shade of green, so the two had big plans for cycling along the sea wall on their bikes, maybe even meeting boys on the beach.

  Instead, she had a dirty, old suitcase.

  “You're going to Broken Shell Island,” Warren said.

  She looked up and saw tears pooling in his pale blue eyes.

  “Grampa, what's wrong?” She turned to the others. “I think he must be sick.”

  Flora Fritz twisted at her napkin, wringing the white cloth nervously. “I thought the island was lost,” she said. “I wish I could go, but my heart's not strong enough to make the journey.”

  Opal looked around the half-filled tea house, hoping to see someone who wasn't insane, who could explain to the group what Opal knew to be true. Flora Fritz was the beloved author of a children's book series about growing up on an island infused with magic, Broken Shell Island. Nobody would be going there, any sooner than they'd be going to the lost city of Atlantis, or a moon colony.

  Flora poured some more tea for Warren, who accepted and raised his antique teacup with a trembling hand. The others murmured and whispered to each other.

  “Hilarious, you guys,” Opal said. “Pick on the dumb teenager. Okay, I get it. You all still have a sense of humor. I'm going to take this old suitcase, open a magical door at the back of The Sleepy Garden Tea Shoppe and Gift Emporium, and step through to the world of Flora's books. You got me! Where's the door? Is my bike inside a storage room back there?”

  Arthur, the gentleman who rarely spoke, said to Opal, “In the books, my name is Artie. And there is no door, not here, anyway. If I'm not mistaken, you'll be traveling by boat. Part of the way by boat, that is.”

  Warren took her hand and got Opal's attention. “My dear, light of my life, I'm sorry to tell you this, but my days are short. I've made the arrangements, and you're going to live with my sister.”

  “Hang on. What? You have a sister?”

  Flora said to Warren, “Are you certain? Have you seen Dr. Weirma?”

  “I have,” he said, and he held his hand to his stomach, where the illness had been before.

  Opal nodded solemnly. That part she understood.

  * * *

  Opal and Warren returned to their apartment. When they walked up the stairs to the third floor, she noticed his shortness of breath, and she finally noticed the weight he'd been losing over the previous few months. He was sick, and this time he wouldn't recover.

  That he had a sister was news to her, but not shocking news. The family was prone to rifts, and her own mother had run off and abandoned her daughter, which spoke of a lack of those familial bonds other families seemed to have. Opal's mother had disappeared after suddenly losing Opal's father while he was in the military, overseas. Some people could understand why a woman might do such a thing. The family—such as it was, with the few people still in contact with each other—figured Opal's mother would be back within a month. Or two months. It had been twelve years.

  Opal had two mothers, in her mind, at least. One was a selfish monster, a drunk, and a liar, jumping from one man's bed to another. The other was a confused, sensitive soul, who would return one day, sweep her little girl up in her arms, and beg for forgiveness. Opal would forgive her, and they would be the best of friends, like Opal's best friend Katy, and her new stepmother, who let the two of them do anything they wanted.

  When Warren and Opal reached the apartment door, she took the keys from his shaking hands and worked the lock, which could be fussy when the weather was humid, as it was that day.

  A Tuesday.

  Her fifteenth birthday.

  She'd missed school for this.

  Once inside, Warren disappeared to his den, where she could hear him opening and closing the drawers of his filing cabinet. She got some lemonade from the fridge and went to the door of the den. “What's your sister's name?”

  “Waleah. My parents were fans of alliteration.”

  “Wa-lee-ah?”

  “Close enough.”

  “And where does your sister, Waleah, live, exactly?”

  He put on his reading glasses and examined some papers at his desk. “Right where I told you. Broken Shell Island.”

  “Grampa, I looked on maps with my phone, and Broken Shell Island doesn't exist as a real place. What's the real name, not the one Flora made up?”

  “You'll find out soon enough, my little light. Go pack some clothes. You're leaving tonight.”

  Opal grabbed the door frame to steady herself. Leaving your entire life and everyone you knew, immediately, to live with some person you never knew existed, was the kind of news people usually asked you to sit down for. And for good reason. Her knees buckled and her stomach shuddered.

  When she'd had a few seconds to recover from the shock, she said, “No way am I going. Forget it! I've got final exams tomorrow at school, and—”

  She hyperventilated, breathing in rapidly to get enough oxygen to declare all the reasons she would not be leaving her home.

  Warren put down his papers and crossed his thin arms across his chest.

  Opal yelled, she cried and she got calm and reasonable, and then angry and unreasonable.

  Her grandfather quietly
listened the entire time.

  This went on for the better part of an hour.

  When the fight was over, she cried again, and he held her to him, her young cheek against his bony shoulder.

  * * *

  Opal packed only clothes and toiletries, as though going on vacation, and not moving. She'd need more than a single suitcase to actually move. Her shoes alone would fill the old suitcase, so she took only her three favorite pairs. After she had everything packed and by the front door, she ran back to her bedroom, opened her antique dollhouse, and pulled out the little doll that looked like her grandfather, and the one that looked like her.

  He had white hair and a kind smile. She had brown, wavy hair, and high cheekbones.

  Opal tucked the dolls into the suitcase, between two favorite shirts, where they'd be safe. Her cell phone, in the pocket of her zip-up hoodie, beeped with another message from Katy, or one of her other friends, so she took the phone out and turned it off. Telling her friends about her new home would be easier once she arrived at her great-aunt's, and she didn't need all of her friends' feelings getting mixed in with how she was feeling, especially when she didn't know how she felt.

  Her grandfather was dying, and that was devastating, of course, but he seemed so happy for her. He commented a few times about how pleased he was she would be going to his childhood home, and she couldn't help but feel his joy spilling over to her own heart.

  * * *

  In the car, they drove past the turnoff to the ferry.

  She turned and said to her grandfather, “So, it's not really an island, is it?”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “We're heading toward the highway. Does my great-aunt live up the coast?”

  “You read all the books. You had autographed copies.”

  “Grampa!” She rolled her eyes and cracked the window for some fresh air, but it was just as muggy outside the car as inside. “In Flora's books, your friend Arthur is called Artie, and he talks non-stop in the stories, telling everybody everything. So the way I see it, your friend flipped everything and everyone to be its exact opposite of what they are in real life.”