by Molly Fitz
“Did he?” Lucas grinned at the cat.
“Yes, he leapt onto Paul when he was trying to strangle me. I owe him.” I smiled down at Osiris while I scratched under his chin and listened as his purring grew louder.
“I’m not surprised. This old boy is a loyal fellow, aren’t you?” Lucas placed a drink glass in my hand. There was silence of five or six seconds between us as the delicious burn of the Scottish whiskey simply became an experience worth savoring without words. After we’d tasted the Scotch, Lucas picked up a scarab beetle that had been set aside and examined the artifact before he held it out to me.
“Here. I want you to have this. I’ve decided to donate my father’s collection to the British Museum. They’ll be able to take care of it and the world will be able to see it.”
“But won’t they miss this one?” My thumb caressed the bright emerald wings of the beetle.
“They won’t miss two,” he corrected as he held up another scarab, one with garnet red wings. “I’ll keep one and you keep the other. That way, no matter what, we’ll always have this connection.” Then he leaned in and kissed me.
Later that night I stared at the little golden beetle in my palm and something wonderful fluttered in my chest. A connection with Lucas sounded both risky and wonderful. I glanced over at Osiris and I swore he actually winked at me. That was the moment I became a cat person.
Epilogue
Pepper
I wish I could say that I returned to work at my law firm with a sense of renewed energy and dedication, but I didn’t. After I got back, I spent some time thinking about my career and within a week, I’d handed in my two weeks’ notice to my boss. The next day, I went to an interview at my local District Attorney’s office and within a week of that interview, I was hired.
Solving Nicholas Haver’s case had given me a taste for finding answers and getting justice, but that wasn’t all that had changed. Every night I came home to my apartment and settled down in my bed, but just before I turned the lamp off, I caught the glow of the blue wings from a certain scarab beetle. My thoughts would immediately drift to Lucas and Osiris and the world I’d left behind in England.
Three weeks after I’d gotten back to the states, the first text arrived from Lucas.
Lucas: Pepper, I’ve been thinking I need to get away for a bit. Maybe head to the south of France. Any interest in joining me? I’ll cover airfare and hotel. I’ve got plenty of business class travel points.
The text caught me off guard as I read it, dumbfounded. I hadn’t heard from Lucas since the night before I’d left England and we’d exchanged phone numbers. Tons of guys liked to get a girl’s number but never called her back. It seemed I’d been wrong to think Lucas might be the same.
Pepper: Umm, sure. I have some vacation in a month’s time I could use.
Lucas: Excellent. I’ll send over some dates and make all the arrangements.
Later, my phone pinged again. This text contained no words, only a picture of a red-winged scarab beetle and a familiar cat sitting next to a suitcase.
I couldn’t stop the smile that spread across my face. It seemed I wasn’t quite done with adventures, Egyptian Maus, or Lucas Havers.
Want More?
We hope you enjoyed Murder in the Meow. It’s part of the “Pepper & Osiris Mysteries” series, which you can keep reading HERE.
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If you liked this, then you’ll also love Prussian in Peril in which Osiris falls for a mysterious feline beauty on the French Rivera whose mistress goes missing. Find out what happens when you start reading today!
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Learn more about Daphne Hunt, her awesome books, and where you can find her at www.DaphneHuntbooks.com.
Curses, Cats & Corpses
by M.L. Bonatch
About this Story
CURSES, CATS & CORPSES
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A black cat travels by tote bag after hijacking a Florida vacation
Hi, I’m Marissa Hale. I took a summer job at a nightclub in Florida to escape the cold Pennsylvania winter, and to visit Gran. Although staying with Gran at the retirement condo with a bunch of nosey witches becomes the least of my worries when I stumble upon a corpse in the club freezer.
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I can only hope to avoid making this a permanent vacation in the slammer by solving this murder mystery with the help of Gran, a talking cat, and a demon with a real devil-doesn’t-care attitude.
Copyright © 2021 by M.L. Bonatch.
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All rights reserved.
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No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Chapter One
“I need to go inside before I melt into this lounge chair.” I fanned my face using a magazine with headlines boasting spells for halting aging and potions to extend your familiar’s life. Since I was only twenty-eight and had yet to develop a magical connection with a familiar—even though I’d tried exhaustively with my shih tzu—the magazine was more useful as a fan. “Mulder and I aren’t used to Florida’s heat.”
I patted the panting little fur ball who looked up at me with huge, brown eyes. Like me, Mulder was more comfortable in the cool temperatures of Pennsylvania. This trip to Florida had sounded perfect. Pennsylvania was having a winter like they hadn’t seen in ages—and I’d lost my job.
“Stay put, Marissa. You’ll get used to the heat.” Gran waved me off as she slathered more suntan lotion on her arms while her loose skin tried to evade her efforts.
Maybe I would, but I wasn’t sure I’d get used to the current view here at the pool. I’d missed my Grandmother since she’d moved into the retirement community, but I hadn’t planned on staying with her, or being visually traumatized by half-naked, hairy, geriatric warlocks who seemed intent on making me consider stabbing out my own eyeballs.
“Why do they have to wear those tiny swimsuits? Haven’t they ever heard of swim trunks?” I turned to my Gran where she sat soaking up the rays of sun like she was immune to skin cancer. Technically, since she was a witch, she was mostly immune, but there was still something to be said about protecting a fair complexion. I tilted my large sunhat to shield my face from the rays and avoid morphing into the color of cotton candy. A raging sunburn would clash with my bright pink hair.
Gran shrugged, took a sip of her tropical drink complete with a tiny umbrella, and adjusted the strap on the teeny, flowered bikini even I’d be uncomfortable wearing in public. “Why not? You should be happy Henry and Fred are wearing anything. They’ve both been vying for Charlotte’s attention. If you stick around for a while, you’ll get to experience second Saturday skinny-dipping.” She waggled her penciled-in eyebrows.
I cringed and made a mental note to make myself scarce if I was still around then. I didn’t plan to be, but I also hadn’t planned to stay this long. Without a job waiting at home, it wasn’t like I had any reason to hurry back.
“Relax and live a little.” Gran slid down her jeweled cat eye sunglasses to take a closer look at the warlock strutting past, giving us an eyeful of sights I couldn’t unsee. “You youngsters spend too much time worrying about what everyone thinks.”
“Ava says I should worry more.” It was hard to be a good witch and live up to expectations when your fraternal twin sister was perfect. Even though we looked nothing alike, I had a constant reminder of the kind of witch I could be if I followed all the rules of etiquette and started giving a crapola about the opinions of others. Which meant, you know, pretty much giving up everything that made me, me.
“Nonsense. I love you and your sister equally, but you remind me of myself at your age.” She lifted a hand mirror and began applying dark, red lipstick. Once finished, she sat the mirror and lipstick on the small wicker table between us.
I hadn’t informed Ava ye
t that I’d lost my latest job. Gran was the only one who knew about that. I wasn’t up for a lecture from my sister. “So you were unemployed most of that time, too?” I raised a brow.
She ignored my sarcastic response. I’d told those who’d asked that I was between jobs, but this was Gran. I could be honest with her. Despite having a degree in hospitality, the best job I could maintain was a cocktail waitress. Truth be told, I preferred mixing the cocktails rather than just serving them. I was good at it. Well … usually.
I lifted the mirror to scan my hair in case a new dark streak had shown up. These streaks usually indicated that the witch had done a nasty spell. With me, they showed up when I did a spell badly, not when I did a bad spell. It was pretty unfair that a witches’ hair advertised mis-spelling like a scarlet letter of shame if they didn’t have the money, or the spell savvy, to keep any embarrassing streaks covered.
I was sure the rest of the supernatural community did more than their share of misdeeds, except they weren’t forced to advertise it. Instead, they just looked down their judgmental noses at us, or at least at me.
I ran my hand over my locks. “I need a touch up. People will talk if my hair color isn’t consistent, or if I get a dark streak. I don’t want to embarrass you around your friends.” Willow Hill’s witch and warlock condominiums were a hot commodity. Gran had waited years for a spot; I didn’t want to be responsible for getting her kicked out.
The woman who’d served as my mentor and role model for most of my life reached behind her to un-wedge her bikini bottom. “If you’re worrying about embarrassing me, you’re wasting your time. I’m long past that.”
She had a point there.
“Besides, your hair looks fine.”
“Easy for you to say.” I glanced at Gran’s snow white hair. Not a streak to be seen. That’s because she was awesome at spelling and never had to worry about magical mishaps unexpectedly showcased in her stylish locks.
“I do worry because I don’t have extra cash for a trip to the salon.” The truth was I’d burned through yet another hairdresser. They either couldn’t keep up with the frequency of touch ups I needed, or they couldn’t keep their mouth shut about it. A witch’s hair was sacred and the touch up but shut up rule was an unspoken one. At least it was until some of the darn hairdressers tongues started wagging.
My stylist had covered the streak and then flapped her gums to anyone who’d listen all about the particular spell that had brought me in for a visit. Nobody would understand that I’d only wanted to get Tristan to see me, really see me. And he did see me, I suppose, when I’d showed up to our first and only date with a black streak in my hair. Shortly after, he’d learned for himself how I’d received the accessory when an extra eye sprouted from his forehead during dinner.
I was humiliated and Tristen was understandably annoyed. Even after I reversed the spell, he never looked at me the same way again. I admit I might’ve acted a little harshly by charming my hairdressers coffee for telling that secret to everyone who’d listen. I’ll also admit that I might not have considered that the security cameras would catch me in the act. When questioned, I’d insisted it was only to make her regret her actions and learn to keep her trap shut. The coffee charm may have also come with a side effect of explosive diarrhea. Honestly, that wasn’t my intent.
Another bridge burned before I’d left for my trip.
Gran forced me from my musings. “Here’s a thought. Why not get a job while you’re here? Maybe the club down the street, Night Moves, is hiring. You’re a great cocktail waitress and you should be able to make better money here than you do at home.” She held up a hand. “Just don’t try to introduce any of your charmed cocktail recipes right away. Those are trouble. I’m not sure their bartender would be receptive. He’s kind of an odd fella. Take some time to fit in and let them get to know and love you before offering your specialty drinks.”
“Night club? You mean the bar that looks like a rundown hole in the wall?”
Gran shrugged. “You should know better than to judge anything, or anyone, by appearance. The owner keeps the club glamorized to discourage normals from stopping in.”
I frowned, wondering if she was referring to more than the club with the whole “don’t judge by appearances” speech. I hadn’t shared the story about my last hairdresser, but she knew of plenty of other minor magical mishaps I’d inadvertently been responsible for over the years.
“How in the world could a nightclub do well this close to a retirement community?” The adjoining small town was made up of mostly paranormals. Though quaint, the area didn’t look like a place that would provide much opportunity for tips.
“You know that the lifespan of paranormals is much longer than normals. The older we get, the more we want to have fun and enjoy every bit of life left in our years.” She winked and inclined her head toward the two warlocks chatting with a few witches. “Look at Henry and Fred. They know they’re not dead yet, and I can bet Charlotte is going to make the most of that.”
I sighed and put the mirror down. “Fine. I’ll put in an application.” It was actually a good idea. I wasn’t ready to go home yet, but I could only stay with Gran for a limited time. Apparently, there was an age limit, and I didn’t meet it by multiple decades.
“Great. But don’t worry. I don’t mind if you crash here for the summer.”
“Who said anything about the summer?” I was thinking of an extra few weeks to delay the inevitable when I would have to tell Ava the truth behind my impromptu trip.
“Why not? Where else are you going to get to enjoy all this?” She expanded her arms to encompass the clear blue sky and sweltering sun, then lowered them to remind me that there were six other geriatric witches and warlocks lounging around the pool with way too much skin displayed.
I’m Marissa Hale, and that’s how it started. That’s how my little vacation in Willow Hill, Florida, became more about work than a summer get away. Well, also because Gran promised to hook me up with her awesome stylist, who she claimed was practically a magician with hair repair.
It was bad enough Gran had to let me crash in her condo under the scrutiny of a bunch of ancient witches eager for gossip that I was sure to unintentionally provide. I just couldn’t bear to borrow more money from her, too, so I snagged a job at Night Moves. My good fortune was mainly because the bar was one cocktail waitress down after an employee, who just happened to be a vamp, got carried away with one of the customers. Apparently, the boss, Vlad, permits no blood sucking, blatant magic, or any other dangerous paranormal shenanigans on the premises. And they called this a paranormal night club?
So, when the vamp was fired, I was hired. Lucky for me, they were desperate and they knew my Gran. If they’d checked my less than stellar references they might have hesitated.
It isn’t that I’m not a great worker. It’s that my charmed cocktails take practice to make them perfect. I was told I might get a chance at the role of charmed cocktail mixologist after my probationary period. Although Vlad might have said that just to make me stop asking about the position.
I should’ve listened to Gran and kept my cocktail attempts under wraps until I could prove I was an awesome magical mixologist, but I wasn’t sure I’d be in Florida that long, and I thought I knew better. It took time for me to fit in anywhere—if ever. My personality was more sarcastic than sparkling, and after losing the last job, my lack of confidence was showing up in my charms.
And it was one of those charms that had me at the dumpster behind Night Moves. My cattail cocktail had just blown up and I needed to take the volatile remnants outside before I caused more damage. I don’t know what happened, but it seemed as if the ingredients had gotten mixed up or mislabeled, almost like someone intentionally messed with the spelling supplies I’d stashed under the bar.
I’d had a lot of mishaps in my time, but not a doozy quite like this one.
Chapter Two
The club was empty—one good thing about being stuck
on the early shift—and it gave me plenty of time to work on my charmed cocktails unobserved. The bartender Gran referred to, Burton, was more than a little odd, but he was fine with me practicing mixing drink potions. Well, he didn’t really respond to my request. I took that as a yes. Thank the goddess for small favors.
I carried the sizzling, warped drink tray in front of me. A smoky residue rose from the center where a big, black patch was all that remained of the shot glass. I sucked in a breath and tried to hold it to avoid the overpowering stench reminiscent of burnt popcorn. I needed to get the club aired out before anyone else arrived. My current indigestion was most likely a delayed response from tasting the cattail cocktail before it blew. I could only hope my stomach wouldn’t suffer the same fate.
I was almost to the dumpster when my shoe caught on a loose stone and I teetered forward. As I swung my free arm to try to maintain my balance, I gritted out, “Oh no.”
My ankles wobbled in my new shoes and my stomach rolled. Words flew from my mouth that could’ve mistakenly been interpreted as a spell. “Listen to me, feet, and don’t be talking back to me, cattails cocktail.”
When the tray began to shake, I clutched it tighter. The last of the burnt ingredients on the tray set off one final blast, tossing me into a pile of trash that softened my landing but not my bruised ego.
“Broken broom sticks!” My tingling scalp confirmed that I’d have a new streak for this magical mistake. If my clientele realized the trouble I went through to create a new cocktail, perhaps I’d get a bigger tip now and then.
