Murder Lifts the Spirits

by Margaret C. Morse

  Cullen made a face like he'd swallowed something bitter. "Yes, it was my fault. I knew better than to start something with a counselor. I used my looks to take advantage of Hailey."

  In the silence that followed, I noted that Vidoc had installed some sound effects in the decorations. Wind rustled the grass and flowers, and the stream bubbled softly. I needed a reality check. I could swear that Cullen had just accepted responsibility for his behavior, a first for him. He deserved to have his honesty acknowledged. "Cullen, it sounds like you've developed some insight."

  Ira tried to straighten in the mushy beanbag. "Jake asked me to work with your parents to set up counseling for you, so you'll have some support in Iowa."

  Good for Ira to help out, although mentoring someone needy like Cullen would be quite a job.

  "Thanks, Ira. Petra, what are the cops doing?" demanded Cullen.

  I pictured Adrian in a bleak police interrogation room glaring at the cops. She was probably scared. I'd managed to find a lawyer friend to meet with her at the station. She'd be glaring at him too since he was a stranger. "They're gathering evidence. They interviewed Wyatt and me about what Adrian said. Adrian's unpredictable, so who knows if she'll talk."

  "Am I going to have to come back from Iowa as a witness?"

  That was a good question. "Hm. Defense lawyers like to challenge whether a ghost is a human and can be a witness. The law in Arizona is in a confused state of flux. So I don't know."

  "Don't focus on what you can't control, Cullen," advised Ira.

  "I can't control anything." Cullen's features sagged.

  Ira leaned forward. "Cullen, did you know that Vidoc is going to accompany you on the plane to Iowa to make sure you arrive safely? He volunteered and was willing to pay his own way, but Jake got the ranch to buy the ticket. You'll have a seat all to yourself."

  To keep up the positive tone, I had some updates from Jake. "Your parents have arranged a room for you in their home with a voice-activated computer and phone. They're working on a trust fund so that you'll be set up forever. What more could you ask for?"

  Cullen raised his brows at us. "Can I talk to Hailey before I leave?" He had to push the limits.

  "Afraid not." Ira shook his head. "Jake has arranged for her to go to a retreat facility in North Carolina. She's at her place getting her stuff together."

  The Disclaimer Ranch Board had restored Jake to his position as director. To me, he had always been the guy in charge.

  Cullen smiled. "I can call her and send her emails as soon as I get to Iowa."

  Really? Couldn't he give her some space?

  Ira didn't echo my irritation but spoke calmly. "Cullen, give her time. You're going to be busy reuniting with your family and attending the memorial service they've planned. I'm sure Wyatt and Jake will keep in touch with Hailey. As soon as she says she wants to hear from you, they'll let you know."

  Cullen's face went sulky.

  Time for me to set boundaries. "Cullen, if you send any messages to Hailey before she gives you permission, I'll help her get an order of protection against you forbidding any contact."

  "What?" He looked as if he had just seen me for the first time.

  I'd messed up my plan to have a positive experience with Cullen. Take a break. I squeezed Ira's hand. "Dawn is expecting me in the kitchen. We'll talk later, Cullen."

  I had promised to help Dawn, who'd insisted on fixing dinner. She said cooking kept her focused on something besides Linc. Marco had kept Linc, who had been traumatized by the rebound of his magic from Adrian. The other ghosts and Marco wanted to help Linc regain his ability to talk.

  For Dawn, working with counselors at Pioneer House had been good, but now she wanted jobs to keep her busy.

  You were mean to Cullen, complained Blaze to me as I walked to the kitchen.

  It was convenient to use mind-to-mind communication with my familiar. We could talk without him coming off his tattoo. Merely establishing rules, boundaries, and limitations, I explained.

  In the kitchen I could see no signs of dinner preparation. Dawn stood at an empty counter, her hair hidden under a scarf. A white apron covered her plump frame. Tears dripped down her cheeks. She slid a recipe card for Lasagne Chicken Ragu across the Formica. "I can't do it."

  No wonder—the recipe had twenty ingredients and fifteen steps. I put my arm around her shoulders. "This is a great recipe, and you always do a wonderful job with it. However, it's six thirty, and I'm surprised we haven't been mobbed by hungry residents. Let's do simple dinners for a few days then tackle this one." She sighed, and I went on, "You know what we do when we're tired and don't have time to cook?' She shrugged. "We order pizza!"

  "That's a good idea." She loved meal planning and began enumerating on her fingers. "We'll get a vegetarian, a meat lovers, a mushroom—what else?"

  "Why don't you check with some of the residents on what they want," I suggested, "while I get the ranch credit card from Jake."

  She went off, not beaming but not in tears, and I walked into Jake's office.

  "Are you okay?" we both said at the same time. It had been a long time since I'd smiled.

  "I know you're busy, Jake. I just need the credit card to order pizza. Dawn and I don't feel like cooking."

  A crease marked a new frown line on his forehead. Wisps of brown hair floated around his face. "Wyatt, Kai, and Vidoc are available if you need help."

  "I'll be busy with the pizza order for a while. Everything will hit me when I stop moving. If I need help, I'll ask for it. Jake, I know this isn't a good time, but I have something to tell you."

  He grew still and gazed at me intently. What did he think I would say?

  "Jake, I like you, and I want you to be happy. So—" I gathered my resolve, hoping he'd understand what I was doing. "When things have settled a bit, I'm going to do some research among my friends and fix you up with some blind dates."

  He started then looked resigned. "I don't suppose you'll take no for an answer?"

  No, I wouldn't. It was for his own good.

  Dawn had thoroughly passed the word about pizza because in the hallway four residents asked me if I'd ordered it yet. In the kitchen she had lined up index cards for the requested pizza types.

  I whittled the ten down to five because sometimes you have to be ruthless. Leaving Dawn to make the order, I returned to the living room, where Cullen was alone. The other residents wandered about in anticipation of pizza. The food order provided a welcome if temporary distraction.

  After I settled in the beanbag, I connected with Cullen's sea aqua gaze. "I was a bit abrupt with you a little while ago."

  Blaze perched on my shoulder. Parting is such sweet sorrow. He'd picked up the quotation habit from Loki.

  "I thought," Cullen admitted, "everybody'd be sad to see me leave. Nobody seems to know what to say. Some are still angry with me."

  "It's been a tense day. People are venting on you."

  His lips drooped down. "I thought I'd live till at least thirty."

  He'd been extremely handsome. The bust didn't really capture his good looks—golden skin, full lips, blue green eyes. If we wanted to remember him, we'd have to rely on pictures or, better, videos. He'd died before he'd had a chance to finish growing up and learning from his mistakes. I sniffed as tears trickled down.

  "You're the only one besides Dawn who's cried for me."

  Say something nice, insisted Blaze.

  "I'll miss you." I would. He kept things lively.

  "Petra," he promised, "I will follow your advice and not email or text Hailey. I don't want you getting a court order against me."

  There was something I could do for him. "Cullen, feel free to email and text me all you want. I'll get a new phone tomorrow." He needed to feel he had a connection with us while he settled into his parents' home.

  Blaze brushed his wing against my neck. Good girl, he praised.

  * * *

  Stuffed with pepperoni and sausage pizza, I inspected my new r
oom on the second floor. It had decent furniture—a white dresser and a bed with an actual mattress. The desk was big enough for my laptop, legal files, and Loki's book. He'd still room with me, emerging one hour a day for treatment. Since he hadn't had counseling in years, Jake considered this progress.

  While I put pink panties, black lace bras, and tee shirts in the drawers, Blaze snatched up a red thong and flew around the room. Loki chased him, and they played tug of war until I demanded they stop before they stretched it out of shape. In the past, they'd groomed each other. This playful interaction might mean Loki was loosening up.

  As I reclined on the mattress, Loki perched on the white headboard.

  I smiled as Blaze joined him. "Loki, I was surprised when Jake told me you were going to rejoin me. I thought you'd want a change."

  He poked at his chest feathers. "I'm going to need your help."

  I couldn't believe he'd spoken those words. First, it was a sentence, not a quotation. Second, what could I, a novice witch, do for him? "Sounds like the start of an adventure."

  Ira strolled in and lay down next to me on the bed. He patted my stomach. "The pizza was a great idea. How do you feel about Adrian? People are now saying they knew all along it was her. I heard you got her to confess. Good work."

  I sat up. "You don't have to be nice to me. I know how not brilliant I was. I let Adrian fool me. I believed she really wanted to find the killer. True, at the end I got her to make some admissions. I keep thinking what I should have done differently."

  "It all happened fast." Ira counted on his fingers. "Cullen died only five days ago. We had a lot going on, like the appearance of Cullen's ghost, Linc's death, the move to Pioneer House."

  I snuggled next to him, enjoying his warmth and the faint aroma of pizza. "Thanks for supporting me. It's hard for me to judge myself. I can see I didn't get past my idea that the killer had to be as skilled in magic as a member of staff. I wanted the killer to be Wyatt, so I focused on him. I'd assumed the spells on the bird and cat worked correctly and required highly proficient magic. It seemed reasonable. Adrian had a different take, that Cullen and Linc had interfered with her spells. Can you believe at first she was mad at me for ruining her spell to scar Cullen? And she blamed Linc for messing up the spell to put him in a trance?"

  Ira kissed the top of my head. "Do you think a jury will believe her?"

  I brushed my lips from his neck to his earlobe, making him sigh before I answered. "Hard to say. She's a good actress. Whatever happens, she'll be found guilty of illegal spell casting with intent to harm. So she'll go to jail."

  We nestled against each other. It was hard to relax after so many days of stress and striving to find answers. And I had something on my conscience.

  I propped myself up so I could see Ira's face. "I have something to tell you."

  "Uh." He looked worried. "Just say it."

  I took a deep breath. "I want to do a good deed and give Jake a life besides the ranch. I have a plan. I told him when things settle down, I'm going to fix him up with some blind dates."

  Ira nodded, and then he smiled. His chuckles burst into laughter, and I leaned into him, giggling until tears ran down my face. I hadn't expected the blind-date idea to be funny. What made me laugh was the idea of dynamic, resourceful Jake sweating out a blind date.

  "Perfect," Ira announced. "I can hardly wait."

  To unwind, laughing worked as well as a magic spell. Ira and I relaxed into each other, completely together.

  I stroked his arm. "And I have something to tell you." Just do it, urged Blaze's voice and everything inside me. "I love you." I whispered, like it was a secret.

  He stroked my hair. "I have something that will tell you how I feel. It's special music for you, Petra. Marco taught me."

  Harp chords sounded in my head. "Ira, that's beautiful. Thank you."

  He curled a lock of my hair around his finger. "One day we'll have our romance outside in the real world. We'll be completely together."

  The harp melody slowed into a delicate rhythm.

  "If music be the food of love, play on." Loki spoke in a deep, mellow voice, not his usual croak. He sounded almost human.

  * * * * *

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  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Margaret loves murder mysteries—the sooner the corpse appears, the better! Whether it's a cozy, a paranormal, or romantic suspense, she likes to watch the puzzle unravel. If not reading crime fiction, she's writing her own mysteries. Margaret's debut novel features a lawyer who turns into a witch during her first murder case. When characters can kill with spells, the ways to dispatch a victim dramatically increase. Margaret used to practice law, so she knows a lawyer can transform into a witch.

  Margaret shares a home in Phoenix with her husband and their five rescue dogs. A mix of breeds from pit bulls to terriers, the pack walks their owners every day. When not engrossed in murder, Margaret tries new recipes, grows weird succulents, and goes bird watching with her husband. They've enjoyed sights that range from hawks soaring for prey to baby birds squawking to be fed.

  To learn more about Margaret C. Morse, visit her online at:

  www.margaretcmorse.com

  * * * * *

  BOOKS BY MARGARET C. MORSE

  Petra Paranormal Mysteries:

  Murder Casts its Spell

  Murder Lifts the Spirits

  * * * * *

  SNEAK PEEK

  If you enjoyed this Petra Paranormal Mystery, check out this sneak peek of another exciting novel from Gemma Halliday Publishing:

  LIPSTICK, LIES & DEAD GUYS

  by

  JENNIFER FISCHETTO

  CHAPTER ONE

  I drop my purse on the hardwood floor and giggle like a teenage girl at her first boy band concert. The apartment is small, the bathroom so tiny there's only room for a shower stall, not a tub, and the toilet is close enough to the sink that I think they're married. The bedroom closet won't hold my growing boot collection or all of my handbags. I may have a slight addiction.

  But despite the apartment's limitations, it's all mine. I don't have to share one single square foot. I can paint over the current off-white walls, fill the front windows with plants, and buy an excessive amount of cute pastel throw pillows.

  I half-twerk, half-chicken dance across my new space. Yes, it's as bizarre as it sounds, but I only do it in private. And not very well.

  Having my own place is a first for me. Of my twenty-six years, I spent the first twenty-three living at home. Then I moved to Connecticut and lived with my chatty, somewhat self-absorbed cousin for two years. She got married, and what did I do? I moved in with the super hot, super new boyfriend, Julian, hereafter known as Douche Nozzle. I should've immediately known we weren't soul mates. Who finds true love and moves in with them after one week?

  I moved back home to South Shore Beach, New York four days ago, and it's been awesome. I forgot how entertaining it is listening to Ma sing show tunes while she cooks and cleans. This week's theme is My Fair Lady, and yes, Ma, it would've been lovely if I could've danced all night in the rain in Spain. The only down part about being back home is my sister and niece are staying with my folks, too, and I've had to endure sleeping on their lumpy couch. But I've missed my family tremendously, and being home simply feels so right. And the cream cheese icing on the pumpkin cupcake—I'm craving sweets—is that the folks handed over the keys to the apartment above the family deli. The one my parents lived in when they first married. The one my siblings and I were conceived in. Despite the pungent stench of salami and Pine-Sol, and what an eye-watering combination that is, I choose to believe this twist of fate, this full circle, is the universe's way of pushing me down the right path. Hopefully I'm correct, and the universe isn't mocking me.

&n
bsp; I open my arms wide and take in a long, deep breath. Then immediately gag, sputter, and choke like a dying car. Dear God, my brother lived here for five years. How did he stand it? Silly question. This is the same person who left a pepperoni and Swiss cheese sandwich in his backpack in the trunk of the car during a camping weekend with Pop. In June. Not only does he have seriously odd taste buds, but he could live in a can of sardines and not be bothered.

  I rush forward and open each of the three windows facing the street out front. I press my nose to the middle screen and breathe in lungfuls of clean air until I'm lightheaded and almost pass out. That would be one way to not notice the smell.

  My phone plays Cyndi Lauper's "Girls Just Want to Have Fun," which means it's my sister. I swipe the green flashing circle while making a mental note to use the rest of my credit balance on cases of Glade PlugIns.

  "Izzie, I shouldn't be much longer," I say. She and I have a night of drink, dance, and darts ahead of us. This will be our first night out since I've been back. I'm just waiting for my bed to arrive.

  "Why are my husband and his buddy hauling a mattress out of his truck?" Her words are garbled, as if her mouth is directly pressed against the phone.

  The answer seems pretty obvious to me. "Where are you?" I ask, and spot her car parked down the street by Park Place Bakery.

  "In the deli. Pop's cleaning the front counters, and I'm in back."

  No doubt peering through the peephole in the door. I don't know what's wrong with her marriage. When Ma and I pressed her on it, she said something about lonely nights and cabana boys. She gets muddled when upset. This was two days ago. I figure a pitcher of margaritas, a few hip thrusts to the latest bebop, and she'll be spilling her guts.

  Ma gave me explicit instructions to report all findings back to her pronto, but I won't betray Izzie's trust. Ma knows this. All those times Ma tried bribing me with ice cream or cookies so I'd spill about Izzie's latest crush or whether she really went to the library after school. Not once did I tell what I knew, and I knew tons. Izzie was not a reader. Despite her being five years older than me, she's my sister, and I'm not a tattler. Besides, Izzie knows a wild shopping cart didn't dent Pop's car when I was in twelfth grade. I accidentally inhaled some secondhand marijuana smoke—that's my story anyway—and got slightly high. Then I volunteered to go on a munchies run. I didn't see the Return Carts Here sign when backing out of the space. I only tapped it. Nine years isn't long enough though for that truth to come out. Not that Pop is violent or easily angered. I just don't want to see the disappointment on his face. He restored and adored that car.