Pumpkin Blend
A Paramour Bay Mystery
Book Fourteen
KENNEDY LAYNE
PUMPKIN BLEND
Copyright © 2020 by Kennedy Layne
Kindle Edition
Cover Designer: Sweet ’N Spicy Designs
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
Dedication
Jeffrey—Our favorite season is finally here!
Cole—One of these days, I’ll find a tea you like. I’m not giving up!
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
About the Book
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
About Frosty Blend
Books by Kennedy Layne
About the Author
Pumpkin tea blends aren’t the only things that are being stirred up in the next baffling whodunit of the Paramour Bay Mysteries by USA Today Bestselling Author Kennedy Layne…
All Hallows’ Eve is only a fortnight away, and the residents of Paramour Bay can’t wait to get their hands on all the candy corn, caramel apples, and pumpkin tea blends this fall season. As a matter of fact, the highly anticipated Halloween Festival is about to kick off in town square with the reveal of the largest pumpkin that has ever been grown in their very own local pumpkin patch.
There’s only one itsy-bitsy problem—someone has stolen the town’s prized jack-o-lantern! Raven ropes Leo into solving another mystery, but he goes all in when he realizes that a pilfered pumpkin is the least of their worries!
Fill up your candy bowl, grab your favorite pumpkin-flavored drink, and get ready to solve the perplexing case of the missing prized pumpkin!
Chapter One
The crisp, cool coastal breeze carried the distinct fragrance of burning firewood as if to welcome the arrival of the autumn season. The gradual lowering of temperatures coming in off the bay were a welcome respite after the sweltering summer, and the time had passed to exchange the short-sleeved summer dresses and sandals for cozy sweaters and knee-high boots. It was that magical time of year where swirling red and golden leaves, carved jack-o-lanterns, and cornstalks lined the sidewalks of the main thoroughfare through the quaint town of Paramour Bay, Connecticut.
It was by far my most favorite time of year—October.
All Hallows’ Eve was only a fortnight away.
Most everyone else referred to the holiday as Halloween. The residents were gathering in the town square this very evening for the festive lighting ceremony of the largest jack-o-lantern one of the local pumpkin patches had produced this season.
Each year it seemed the competition became stiffer to see who could grow the largest pumpkin. This year’s winner had been the Stellhorns. It had been suggested that they had a secret growth formula handed down from their Great Grandmother Ida.
Anyway, the festival was kicking off the season with a fun celebration.
There was going to be hot apple cider, creamy hot chocolate, mounds of candy corn, caramel covered apples, and a host of other goodies and games to get all the children excited for the inevitable trick or treating event in two weeks.
“Are you going to the Fall Holiday Festival, Raven?” Wilma asked, handing me a twenty-dollar bill for the half pound of Pumpkin Crème tea leaves that had been my top-selling blend this month. “It will be way past my bedtime, but I’m sure that Trixie will put up some pictures of the jack-o-lantern on the corkboard at the diner for me to see.”
“Yes, I’m going tonight with Heidi,” I replied with a smile as I gave her back the change from the sale. She only ever used cash. I suspected that she was leery of using a debit card like many of my other older customers. “I can’t wait to get my hands on a few of those caramel apples. I’ll do my best to take some pictures on my cell phone so that you can see how the carving of the pumpkin turned out this year. We all know that Eugene somehow gets his index finger in most of those photographs that Trixie posts for him.”
“I heard that Virgil was nominated to do the carving this year,” Elsie said with measured disappointment, taking her time in choosing one of the slightly larger candy corns out of the dish that I had set next to the cash register. She’d eaten quite a few so far. “Last time they hired him to carve was four years ago, and he ended up practically mutilating the thing for some barely recognizable artistic expression.”
Elsie’s version of how the large pumpkin had turned out four years ago wasn’t exactly accurate. All Virgil Stellhorn had done was carve a spooky face into the jack-o-lantern instead of a silly toothy smile. It had been a big hit with the kids, but not so much for the older adults who preferred a more family-friendly jack-o-lantern face.
I’d seen the jack-o-lantern that she was referring to in one of the many pictures over at the diner. Not only did Trixie have a corkboard for such items, but she also had framed photographs of various times throughout the diner’s history hanging up on the café’s walls.
“I remember that pumpkin,” Wilma said as she tilted her head in recollection. She then grimaced and shuddered. “It resembled that off-putting painting by Edvard Munch. You know the one—where the person looks like he’s screaming. Not one of my favorites.”
Elsie and Wilma had somehow gotten off track and began to talk amongst themselves about painters, bantering back and forth about who was the best artist. They’d settled on either Van Gough or Monet. Technically, Van Gogh was a post-impressionist, but I wasn’t getting in between the two of them.
You’d never know it from their continuous quarreling, but they were the best of friends and practically inseparable. The pair also just so happened to be my most accurate source when it came to the town’s latest gossip.
According to the up-to-the-minute chinwag, Mindy was changing the layout of the boutique and bringing back the seasonal scarf section. She always had inventory of light, whimsical, and bright-colored scarves for the spring, while also ensuring that she had the rich, golden hues and brick reds for the fall patrons.
As for the malt shop next door, it had added pumpkin-flavored shakes.
The biggest news was that the new tenant that sat cattycorner a block down the street had finally given the landlord a date as to when he or she was going to be opening their doors.
Neither Elsie nor Wilma had been too happy that they hadn’t been able to get so much as a name associated with the new shop owner. All we knew about the storefront was that it was retail, which didn’t give us all that much to go on. I’m pretty sure that Eugene and Albert, the two elderly gentleman who played chess in front of Monty’s hardware store, had created a betting pool on what types of items would be sold.
Albert had money on one of those new-fangled vape businesses.
“I’m certain that Virgil will do the jack-o-lantern justice,” I re
sponded in defense of last year’s winning pumpkin patch owner’s middle-aged son. He really was a good guy, though he didn’t drink tea like his father. “Like I said, I promise to take lots of pictures and show them to you on Monday after your hair appointments.”
Wilma and Elsie rarely came into the teashop on a Friday afternoon, but Wilma had realized when she’d gone to make her afternoon tea that she’d used up most of her supply. She’d convinced Elsie to drive back into town, promising her that they would stop into the diner for two slices of apple pie before the usual dinner crowd showed up.
I highly doubted that Elsie would be hungry for pie after eating so many pieces of candy corn. She’d picked through the bowl at a pretty rapid pace.
“You enjoy yourself tonight, dear.” Wilma tucked her wallet inside of her purse after dropping each coin into her change pouch before lifting it off the counter, along with the small shopping bag that I’d used to store her purchases. “Elsie, we best get going if we want to be home before the six o’clock news. You know that I can’t stay awake long enough for the ten o’clock report. Besides, I don’t like the late evening anchor. He’s got a crooked eyebrow, just like my late Uncle Ebenezer.”
It wasn’t long before the two women made their way toward the door, activating the bell overhead as they exited. I gave them one last wave and a smile as they began to make their way across the street to the diner. I had no fear that whatever bit of gossip they learned while eating their favorite dessert would make its way back to me come Monday morning with their next visit. Their eyes and ears were the pipeline of grist for the local gossip mill.
I really did love this town, all the way from the ordinary citizens to the supernatural beings who all called Paramour Bay their hometown.
That’s right…the supernatural existed, and I was very proud to be a part of the small secret community hereabouts.
This quaint coastal town was home to a wayward warlock, a village druid, a very well-read werewolf, a gentle but lovable vampire, two somewhat clueless golems, a grim reaper with a gambling problem, a rather witty familiar, and two hapless witches who were mostly at odds with one another.
That last category would include me and my mother—Raven Lattice Marigold and Regina Lattice Marigold, respectively.
Don’t get me wrong, we’d even been visited by a ghost or two over the past two years since I’d inherited my grandmother’s teashop—Tea, Leaves, & Eves. I’d also been bequeathed her cute little cottage on the edge of town.
To be more specific, the interior was adorable while the outside resembled a late-century haunted house. The exterior of the cottage was downright eerie, with overgrown vines having scratched their way up the faded clapboard siding and a squeaky, black wrought iron fence.
I’m sure that Nan had created such an ominous vibe on purpose, but the inside was like something right out of a home décor magazine. I really hadn’t changed a thing to the interior, because the ability to design had definitely skipped two generations. Nan sure had it in spades, though.
Raven! Raven! I need more of those blueberry-filled premium organic catnip edibles. Stat! I’m running low on mental antioxidants, and I need all the IQ points I can get right now. The squirrelpocalypse is about to begin! I’m sure of it!
That dramatic voice belonged to none other than my familiar, Leo.
He’d technically belonged to Nan, but she’d used a dark and ancient necromancy spell to keep him from crossing through the veil with her in order to help me with my witchcraft training.
Let’s just say that dark magic almost always had consequences.
Yeah, yeah. Just get me those blueberry-filled edibles, Miss Perfect. I’m short on time.
“Leo, the neighborhood squirrels are just gathering as many acorns as they can before winter. It’s almost time for them to begin their hibernation,” I explained patiently, having given him the same speech last year.
I’d followed in Wilma and Elsie’s rather meandering wake to the entrance so that I could flip over the closed sign. It was nearly five o’clock, and that meant the festivities in town square were due to begin in about one hour.
“Where are you anyway?”
I’d turned around to speak directly to him, but he was nowhere to be found. He could literally appear and disappear at will, though he was always careful not to do so in front of any of the town’s residents who weren’t aware of the supernatural way.
You don’t need to see me, Raven. Don’t be difficult. Go ahead and leave my blueberry-filled treats on my cat bed in the display window. Chop-chop! I have squirrels to stop and a new mate to impress. At least she appreciates my rugged-warrior appearance.
I hid my smile, knowing that something bad must have taken place for him to not want to show me his appearance. He was constantly getting into scuffles with the local wildlife, though that wasn’t what usually had the residents fawning all over him.
You see, those consequences that I’d mentioned regarding the necromancy spell had really hit him hard in the looks department. His once sleek black fur now had oddly shaped orange splotches, his left eye bulged more than his right, his whiskers were quite crooked, and his tail was awkwardly bent on the tip like a hanger that had been stretched out for a radio antenna on an old junkyard car.
Unfortunately, his disheveled appearance wasn’t the only consequence of his unnaturally long life.
Leo’s mental state was another curious yet frustrating side-effect. What we’d originally thought was a short-term memory issue had turned out to basically be arbitrary blips in his overall memory at the most random times that spanned his entire nine lives.
I was beginning to suspect selectively so.
Technically, we weren’t sure what life he was on. He was constantly saying his ninth, but I truly believed it might be his tenth or eleventh. Either way, it was always better to err on the side of caution.
“Leo, show yourself right this minute.” I placed my hands on my hips in a show of obstinance. Two could play this game. “Whatever happened to you can’t be all that bad.”
At first, I thought that Leo was simply going to ignore me. I tapped the toe of my knee-high boot on the tiled floor to indicate my impatience. Clearly, something had happened that he didn’t want me to know about, and I was beginning to get a bit worried that it was more serious than I’d originally thought.
I startled when Leo suddenly materialized on the counter next to the cash register.
“Oh, my,” I mumbled in disbelief underneath my breath, wondering if I shouldn’t make an emergency appointment with our local veterinarian. I’d apparently been right about the gravity of the situation. “Leo, did you get stung by a bee?”
His left eye no longer just bulged, but instead almost seemed as if it was swollen shut. The fur around his upper eyelid was quite puffy and standing at attention. Truthfully, the left side of his face kind of looked as if he’d gotten into the ring with a squirrel version of Muhamad Ali.
No, I didn’t get stung by a bee. No, you don’t have to make an appointment with that quack, Dr. Jameson. He couldn’t find his stethoscope with both hands if it was hanging around his neck! And no, I’m not answering anymore of your questions. Back to my blueberry-filled catnip edibles…
“Fine,” I relented cautiously, figuring I shouldn’t be too concerned about Leo’s eye if he wasn’t worried. “We’ll do things your way for now.”
I was relatively sure that Leo’s picture was right next to the word hypochondriac in the dictionary. If he wasn’t worried about the condition of his eye, then that meant his injury wasn’t too serious.
“Beetle left you a treat bag in the drawer below the cash register. Remember, he took Mom on vacation to show her the countryside of Transylvania for an entire week. You don’t want to eat them all in one sitting, though. You should space them out or you’ll run out before week’s end.”
Seriously? That’s all you’re going to say? You’re really not going to ask how I got this shiner? Way to care
about your familiar, Raven. This is why my VVBFF should be here and you should be off with your mother in some eastern European country. Instead, he’s off gallivanting with the Mistress of the Dark doing only the supernatural knows what in some ancient castle with some creepy moat filled with slimy toads.
“Leo, you just told me that you didn’t get stung by a bee,” I reminded him, walking toward the check-out counter. “You also said that you didn’t want to go see Dr. Jameson. I know you well enough that whatever happened isn’t serious, or else you would have come into the teashop screaming that you were on your deathbed and in need of copious amounts of morphine to ease your pain.”
In case you were wondering about the VVBFF acronym, it stood for vampire very best friend forever.
Let’s just say that Leo was having a hard time with the fact that Beetle—who was my part-time employee and currently engaged to my mother—was a vampire. We’d only recently made such an astonishing discovery, though it didn’t change the fact that he was still part of our supernatural family and the love of my mother’s life.
You have it wrong, Raven. I’ve accepted that my supplier of premium organic catnip treats happens to be a vampire. What I will never get over is the fact that my VVBFF wants anything to do with your pea-brained mother. She’s corrupting him. Apparently, not even the dead are immune. If I wasn’t so busy with the impending squirrelpocalypse, I’d be doing what I could to sabotage their upcoming nuptials.
“You wouldn’t dare,” I said in warning, holding the bag of treats that I’d collected from the drawer close to my chest. “Regardless of how you and I feel about their relationship, they do love one another. We need to show the appropriate amount of respect for that fact, Leo.”
Fine. Have it your way. You’re still not putting one of those domestic collars around my neck with a bowtie and forcing me to be some kind of pathetic ring bearer. I’ve got to put my paw down somewhere, Raven. I’d lose all respect from my nemeses. Not to get sidetracked or anything, but did you notice that my enemy list is growing exponentially?
Pumpkin Blend (A Paramour Bay Cozy Paranormal Mystery Book 14) Page 1
