Snips and Snails Cafe` Bundle 7-9: Snips and Snails Cafe` Bundles, #3

By Elizabeth Rain

TURKEY TORTILLA TABOO

the race is on in the election for Veil Fall's next Chief of Police.
Juli knows Larry Jokerbridge is a liar, a cheat, and a first-class jerk. He'll stop at nothing to win and come out on top; and see Jerry Watson lose.
And then they find the first body...

TUSCAN KALE KILLER

What Happens When a Fishing Expedition Goes Deadly Wrong?

When the Catch on the other end of the Line is a Dead Body...Juli Smells something rotten in Veil Falls...
and a brand-new Murder to Solve if Grams has anything to say about it...

HOMINY HOMICIDE

Someone's using Charme's sweet treats as a lethal weapon, turning wedding celebrations into recipes for disaster.
With her own wedding to plan, a cousin to keep out of handcuffs, and a poison-peddling killer on the loose, Veil Falls is becoming a paranormal crime scene.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elizabeth Rain
• Release date: Dec 31, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223303350

Book preview

TURKEY TORTILLA TABOO

Snips and Snails Café Book Seven

CHAPTER ONE 

The sidewalks rolled up in Veil Falls past eleven o’clock on a weeknight. It was a given in the small bayside community with a population of less than three thousand residents. Even if almost half of them possessed a modicum of magical abilities that set them apart from most of the fully human population, they all had jobs. Most of them started early.

But not everyone in the Lake District had to worry about a nine to five routine. Some had given that daily grind up years before.

Joe didn’t miss the early hours or the long work weeks. But other sorrows kept him up at night while the rest of the world slept, memories that he’d have preferred to forget if he were able.

But he’d be thankful for the small pleasures. He settled down on his favorite bench. The streetlight above had gone out a while back, and nobody had bothered to replace the bulb. It left him wreathed in shadows, a silent part of the landscape, as he carefully unwrapped the foil package in his hands to reveal a lovely roast beef sandwich with all the fixings. Separately wrapped in Saran next to it, was a large slice of Bertie Keystone’s famous walnut cake. The head cook of Snips and Snails Café treated him well, and he could always count on a lovely supper whenever he knocked on their back service door after closing. Maybe it was because she’d been where he was once, making her home on the streets, relying on the generosity of others to lend a helping hand when they were able. Whatever the case, he appreciated her way around a kitchen. He lifted the still warm sandwich, took a large bite, and moaned. He chewed, looking around, glad of the unexpected warmth of the night, because fall was coming quickly, and it wouldn’t be long before it turned into winter snow, brittle ice, and frozen toes. He’d be spending his nights at the homeless shelter then, taking advantage of the hospitality, horrible coffee, and warm beds offered there. And he’d have to wear the socks. He’d have to pull them out of storage at the bottom of his shopping cart.

From his vantage point, he could just make out the alley that ran between Witchins and Snips and Snails. A slender feline head peeked out and hesitated. Gilly, the restaurant’s resident familiar, stared in his direction. He gave her a curt nod. She inclined her nose back in acknowledgment before turning to wander along the darkened edge of the sidewalk in the opposite direction. Whether she was looking for a late-night snack or companionship of a different sort was anybody’s guess.

Joe turned back to his dinner, enjoying the solitude of the night.

He was licking the last crumbs of Bertie’s cake from his fingers when he heard footfalls approaching. It made him frown—and not just because he didn’t like company much. Everyone knew he was a recluse and proud of the fact. Something about the shuffle, shuffle, slide was...familiar.

His scowl deepened, the cake forgotten as he stared into the shadows, trying to make out the features of the lone pedestrian walking his way. He made it his business to know most everyone in Veil Falls. Joe wasn’t the most sociable, but he enjoyed observing people as well as the next guy. Humans and Magicals were like chickens in his opinion: busy, confusing, and sometimes hilarious to watch. For Joe, it was a cheap form of entertainment he could afford.

This was different, and he absently wadded the foil wrapping into a ball, his fingers bunching about the tin as he squinted in the faint light, trying to make out the approaching figure as he drew abreast of him and continued on past without acknowledgment. But he hadn’t missed the slide of dark eyes over his person, taking him in. It wasn’t unexpected. Most people only saw what made them comfortable. It was easier to ignore the rest, and as a homeless citizen in Veil Falls, he was used to that lack of recognition. Still, Joe was curious. He knew that gait, that hint of quiet authority. He remembered it from another time.

Before he thought better of it, he yelled out, his voice rusty from disuse. Hey, there. Boss! He wasn’t sure where the words came from, but they felt right and familiar, as if he’d said much the same in another life and place.

The figure froze in mid-stride as if he’d received a shock. Joe reasoned he was probably afraid he was about to get mugged.

Slowly, the dim figure turned slightly in his direction. I don’t have any money to give you. You’re wasting your time.

I don’t want money. Don’t need it, Joe said back stubbornly, blinking.

Good night to you, then. The stranger turned back and continued on.

Do I know you?

The man never paused, tossing back over his shoulder flatly, No. We’ve never met.

Joe knew that was bollocks as soon as the guy said it. He got to his feet, wincing at the creak of old bones and stiff joints. He forced his feet forward, tossing the ball of tin into a waste can as he passed by—he was no litter bug.

I think we do. But not from here. In my other life, I knew you. I’m sure of it.

The man jerked to a halt then. Joe sensed a sudden bitter irritation in the stiffened shoulders. "And I’m telling you, I don’t know you. And you don’t know me. Leave it alone, man."

The past nagged at Joe, even as his instincts were screaming at him to let it be, that maybe the other man was right, and allowing for ignorance might be healthier for him. He knew all about those who didn’t wish to be found.

Pure stubbornness pulled him forward anyhow. I can’t. Slow down, let me think... Not in Veil Falls. Was it Marquette? I spent a couple of years there...

Get away from me. I’ll call the cops.

Joe considered. Unless it was that useless, wannabe police chief, Jerry and Anna were pretty cool. This stranger scared him more. No. You won’t call them.

What makes you think I won’t? he hissed, walking faster as if distance would quit the homeless guy’s presence sooner.

Joe struggled to keep up, his old bones popping as he was forced to lengthen his stride.

The cops know me. They don’t know you. But I do.

Approaching from the opposite end of the street, two young men stumbled and faltered. Likely, they were walking home from the local bar, too inebriated to drive. The stranger gave them a wide berth, ignoring them when they slurred a jovial greeting in his direction. They didn’t have one for him as they staggered on past.

How about Munising? Do I know you from there? I worked at a gas station on the east end for a few months.

"Get away from me. You and me? We don’t know each other! We don’t exactly mingle in the same crowds," he added cruelly.

Joe didn’t take offense. No, that’s right. We didn’t, did we? But I called you Boss just the same. How come I remember that?

Because you’re a worthless vagrant with nothing better to do than harass innocent people on the streets.

I wasn’t always. Nigel? Kyle? Owens? I’m close aren’t I...Boss?

Finally, the stranger came to a halt. Joe stopped as well, turning back to see if the pair of drunks were still there. He was almost disappointed to realize they’d turned off somewhere. He and this stranger that he was sure he knew were alone, and a faint shiver of unease trickled along his spine.

"You aren’t going to leave it be, are you?" the other man asked gravely.

Joe watched as the man turned and faced him fully and looked up. He wasn’t a large guy, but he was bigger and broader than Joe, who’d always been just south of a buck sixty at his heaviest.

I can’t. It’s important that I remember.

But Joe wondered if it was wise. He realized they were a way past his own comfortable alley and the waterproof box the area businessmen and women had set up for him with his own cot and pillow because he refused to live anywhere else.

He gasped in alarm when the stranger began walking towards him. His knees knocked together, and he resisted the urge to take several steps back. When the faint light from the streetlight hit the other man’s face, he didn’t flinch away. Joe frowned in confusion. You don’t look right. How do I know you when I’ve never seen you before?

And that’s the problem, isn’t it? I can’t afford to take the chance that you’ll figure it out.

What?

Joe realized he was within a matter of feet, but his hands were still buried deep inside the old-fashioned trench coat he wore that concealed his build. A broad-brimmed hat perched atop a well-formed skull, revealing a growth of stubble and intent eyes and bad intentions.

Joe’s survival instincts finally kicked in. Ah...I can see now that I was mistaken. I thought you were someone else. From the dentist’s office.

The stranger sighed. Now, why you want to go and lie like that? We both know you haven’t seen one in at least ten years. Besides, let me help you out. You know me, but not from any of those places. Think back farther. You were younger and stronger, and you were one of my best workers, weren’t you, William?

Joe gasped in sudden fear. Only one other person besides his mom had ever called him by his given name. It wasn’t what he went by. He was just Joe to everyone else.

You... he whispered, fear making his voice weak. He took several more steps back in alarm as the other man closed in. He removed his hands from his pockets, and Joe was relieved when he didn’t see the glint of anything metallic with it. He didn’t have a knife or a gun.

His relief was short-lived when those fingers flexed and bent, forming fists. I promise not to tell anyone. You’re a ghost is all, not really here.

I wish I could take that chance, I really do.

Joe looked around and realized he had backed away and down a small alley between two businesses, and away from any prying eyes that might be around.

He opened his mouth to yell—maybe the drunks would hear. He considered shouting, "Free beer, right here!" That would bring them running.

He didn’t have the chance. Strong hands were at his throat then. He reached up, his hands prying at the heavy fingers as they hauled him in close. He tried to gasp, take a breath, and break free.

But it was too late. He should have kept his mouth shut and let the secrets remain buried.

THE CHIEF OF POLICE stared up at the whirring blades, some fifty feet above the crowd in the air. He recognized Jacob Crawley at the controls. From the open door of the chopper, Juli Mason waved at him, her grin more of a grimace as she reached into the box and grabbed another handful of fliers and sent them winging into the air through the door. The little pamphlets caught the wind from the blades and spun like little whirligigs through the air, fluttering to the ground for the waiting townspeople to grab up. He batted in irritation when a couple smacked him in the forehead, making him wince. He was hosting a small campaign rally to inform the people on why it was in their best interests to vote him in —and Jerry Watson out—of the upcoming election.

This was an interruption to his plans, pure and simple. Mentally, he ticked off all the misdemeanors and fines he could slap them with for their interference and infringement on his time.

He watched as several in the crowd bent down, grabbing at the fliers, and spreading them open. Suspicion bloomed when the mood of the crowd shifted from mild interest to excitement as they began waving the fliers, their hands shooting up in the air. The local news team and a slew of reporters—that he’d taken great pains to make sure were present and filming it all—shifted their focus and cameras away from the center stage. They zeroed in on the growing interest from the crowd, angling high for a quick shot of the chopper and the pamphlet distributing owner of Snips and Snails Café. He smiled thinly at the man in the front row, gesticulating wildly and jumping up and down. Gritting his teeth, Larry called on him. He didn’t have a choice. The cameraman swung around for a close-up.

Chief! Was this your idea? A Mystery Tour as part of a Wine and Mystery Festival in October? With riddles and a prize even!

Sure. And why don’t you tell us what the clues are supposed to point to? He didn’t really want to know. But the crowd did, hanging on every word he spoke.

The man nodded briskly and read the clue out loud. A buzz of whispering ensued as the crowd began discussing it in earnest. Which was maybe a good thing. Because if they were talking to one another, they weren’t looking at the expression on their chief’s face. They didn’t know the answer, but Larry did. And it didn’t bode well for his chances in the upcoming election if the identity of the villain, and answer to the riddle, got out. His teeth grinding together as he tried to control his temper, his eyes moved out and over the crowd to the street and traffic beyond. He glared at his chief deputy, Jerry Watson, who was directing traffic. Only, just now he’d stopped. Traffic had ground to a standstill. Larry watched him straighten and their eyes met across the distance. In slow motion, he reached up, removed his hat, and took a bow. The slight was deliberate and perfect. This was his deputy’s doing, his plan to defame Larry’s good name and take the election from him come November. Larry fumed and smiled through the next twenty minutes of questions, pretending for the benefit of the crowd, when all he wanted to do was scream. He stopped smiling the minute the back door on the limo closed, the tinted windows concealing his expression. Downtown. The precinct, he snarled. The chauffeur never said a word.

LARRY JOKERBRIDGE SLAMMED the door of his office, turning to the man who sat casually in his chair.

I’m shutting them down. How dare he! Has he forgotten who gave him the job in the first place? It’s blackmail, pure and simple, and I’m not having it! he raged, pacing back and forth and waving his hands. His newly hired campaign manager, Morrie Wright, stared on impassively. Larry figured controlling his expression just came with the resume.

At that moment, Larry was hoping for sympathy and not getting it. He considered firing the posturing little man—who’d come highly recommended by the mayor in Sault Ste. Marie—on the spot.

They’ll ruin me if all of that gets out. I didn’t force her to take the money. She could have just quit and gone back to that little hole in southern Michigan she crawled out of, and no one would have been the wiser, he blustered.

Morrie finally sat up, a modicum of interest showing at his last statement. What money? Are you involved in bribery or blackmail? Because that’s illegal.

Larry hesitated. He didn’t like the sudden shark-like cunning in the little man’s eyes. What? No, of course not. I just offered to help someone I thought was down on their luck. She declined. Besides, I thought I hired you on to help me run and win this race for police chief.

You hired me because I’m the best at what I do. And I do it by the book, so that I can keep on earning those big bucks...from the outside of a jail cell!

Larry considered, his eyes narrowing. Well, yes, of course that’s what this is. You came highly recommended. What I’m saying is that Jerry Watson has it in for me, and he’ll use any means at his disposal to make me look bad. He plans to have the citizens of Veil Falls convinced I took advantage of a down on her luck divorcée. I don’t know what possessed her to lose her cool like that and paint all that graffiti all over town. It wouldn’t surprise me to find out he put the moves on her or something and that was her way of getting revenge.

Morrie continued to stare at him with suspicion. Is that all? I hope I don’t find it’s something else. As for what you’re going to do—you’re going to let it go. All of it. You can’t stop the festival or the mystery crawl and the revealing of all those riddles. If you do, it only makes you look guilty and as if you have something to hide...and you don’t, do you?

What? Larry blurted.

Have any secrets I should know about.

No! Of course not. Honesty in business dealings is important, Larry lied smoothly with a suave smile.

He wasn’t sure Morrie bought it.

Finally, his mouth pinched, his manager spoke. Right, then. You’re going to ignore what’s going on with that festival. Denial is suspicious and it won’t gain you voters. Instead, you need to work on improving your own reputation.

Larry stiffened, pulling himself upright and blustering, What are you talking about? My reputation is beyond dispute.

It is, if that reputation shows the people a blustering blowhard of a bully who is only concerned with padding his own coffers.

How dare you! I’ll have you know—

Oh, shut up. Do you ever listen to yourself speak? Do you want to win this election, or not?

I do. It’s why I hired you.

Then, you’ll do what I say. Exactly.

Larry chewed on the inside of his cheek in frustration, thinking. What are you suggesting?

Simple. Be the candidate they’re looking for, the man they like and respect and feel like they can bring their problems to.

That’s preposterous, I’m the long arm of the law, not some sympathetic patsy weakling.

Morrie got to his feet, swinging his charcoal gray jacket from the back of the chair.

Larry stared at him in confusion, baffled. What are you doing?

Leaving. You’ve obviously got this all figured out. What do you need me for?

Wait, I hired you—

I quit. There, does that make you feel better? Will it help assuage your conscience?

I paid your retainer fee up front.

Thank you. It was nonrefundable, Morrie said with a polite smile.

I don’t recall that being part of the agreement.

Reading glasses. They do the trick. It was part of the contract, page three I believe, at the bottom, fifth paragraph.

Larry growled, wondering how many steps it would take him to reach the pompous little wimp and wrap his hands around his neck and squeeze. Fine! Just what would you have me do, then, anyhow?

Play nice for a change. Find out what their pain points really are. Is it the schools, or the unemployment status? Figure that out and offer them a solution that won’t cost them anything but their time. Show them their problems are yours and you aim to fix them. Do that and it comes with a bonus.

How do you figure? Larry snarled, scowling fiercely.

Easy. You’ll be the hero—the good guy they can depend on. It will make the mystery crawl and the gradual revelation of those riddles look like a bunch of people with sour grapes just out to make you look bad.

Larry liked the sound of that. Won’t they suddenly suspect my unexpected behavior? It’s never been how I’ve rolled before. I’ve always had a firm hand on the job.

Morrie nodded grimly. And look how well it’s done for you. If you don’t do something soon, this is the last term you’ll serve. You know that, right?

What about Jerry? And half the precinct that is on his side. Nobody likes me. Did he sound whiny?

Experience shows that people have a short memory if they are provided with enough incentive to change their minds. You’re going to do that. Turn over a new leaf, Chief. Be their champion.

What’s to say Jerry and his constituents won’t do the same thing?

You. Keep your deputy too busy to recover and fight back. After all, you are the police chief, aren’t you? For the first time, Morrie Wright smiled.

Larry Jokerbridge blinked in alarm. His friend, the mayor, had referred to Morrie Wright as ruthless and cunning.

Now Larry secretly added terrifying to the description.

CHAPTER TWO 

Ineeded to get chopping if I was going to have the soup of the day simmering over the hearth by eleven when the customers arrived. I glared down at Percival, who had been waiting for me when I arrived at just a shade past nine. He stared back at me, a small brown book with two eyeballs eerily embedded in the center of the dark leather cover. Unblinking eyes narrowed to thin slits. Beneath them was a long, thin crack through which he spoke with an annoying British accent. Three spindly legs were folded beneath him. A fourth made a clacking sound as he drummed it in agitation on the prep table where he reclined. Percival Gideon was an irritating reservoir of magic, a tome of ancient wisdom and words to create mystical recipes of utter deliciousness, each one spelled to perform something different for those who consumed them. When I’d arrived to lay claim to the small café my uncle had left me over a year ago, the old recipe grimoire had been my biggest shock. Notice I didn’t say only . Then, I had known the grimoire as Restless Morgan, the tragic spirit trapped between its pages, mourning his true love, Adele. Since then, we’d rescued his soul and Gideon had reclaimed his place in charge of the magical book, and determined to annoy and thwart my authority at every opportunity.

What do you mean you lost the page? It was there last night when I left. You hid it, didn’t you?

Utterly beneath me to play such games. I’m telling you, this is the recipe you are preparing today.

Am not. I’m in charge here, or have you forgotten that?

I try to, daily, but you won’t let me. And I can’t turn to a page that isn’t there. The book hid it.

That’s preposterous—you are the book!

Shows what you know. I am not. I’m simply in charge of making sure you don’t screw things up worse than you already have and kill off all the customers by serving them the wrong recipe at the wrong time of year.

I hesitated, pursing my lips in disbelief. You made that up.

You wish. Whatever you want, believe it, it’s true. When I woke this morning I was open, spread-eagled flat on the table to this particular recipe. The embarrassment is real, and my spine is killing me. The indignity! he prattled on theatrically.

Is this some kind of prank on your part to have your way again? I swear, if it is...I’m going to consider cooking you up with the clams.

He gasped, his eyes going wide as he jumped to his feet. You wouldn’t dare! I barely escaped with my pages intact last week when you spilled the oil! Do you know what that does to ancient vellum?

Please don’t tell me.

He gave a whispery sigh, the pages fluttering as he settled back in place. I tell you, it wasn’t me, and we’re wasting time, which you don’t have. There are twenty ingredients, and a slew of chopping and sautéing. And if you get the order and instructions wrong, you have to start over unless you want the customers to turn into clams. Nasty business that, it happened to me once in 1732...

I threw up my hands. All right already. You’ve convinced me.

To create the recipe and stop arguing?

If it shuts you up, yes. Open sesame, you crazy Englishman.

I watched a whisper of a smile smooth over the leather before it abruptly cracked wide, the pages fluttering by in a blur to a recipe near the back—page four hundred nineteen to be precise.

I leaned in and read, "On the Clam in New England Chowder?"

I reached out, running my fingers down the page, surprising a giggle and a muffled, stop that, from Percival, who was oddly ticklish for a centuries old spirit.

Hm. Let’s see what the indications are. I frowned. Faster... What’s that mean?

Percival grumbled, the words muffled and indistinct since he was basically talking into the table. Sighing, I read aloud, To all who partake of my wonders, get those speedy fingers...and toes...on. Behind on your spring cleaning? Have a wedding to plan? This delectable bowl of tastiness allows the consumer to do everything at least five times faster. Good for one week.

I looked at the time on the analog clock hanging over the walk-in cooler and grunted. I could use some of that right now. Percival had been right; it would take me every bit of time I had to make it. And there could be no mistakes—the book didn’t like them. I’d discovered firsthand the consequences of stirring left when I should have stirred right. It had taken all the witchy Class 9 skills of my grandmother, Mattie Mason—Grans, we called her—to reverse the mistake so we could go out in public again.

With a sigh, I opened the walk-in cooler and started hauling out ingredients. I don’t have fresh clams, I said aloud, reaching for a sharp knife. There were more muffled words I couldn’t make out. My mind scrambled, trying to figure out how I was going to pull off a trip to the market in between sautéing the vegetables and simmering the broth with the proper number of minutes to activate the spell. Almost as if I’d conjured her, I looked up when the back door opened and my head chef, Bertie Keystone, entered. She shot me a grouchy glare, looking out of sorts as she plopped a heavy bag on the counter. Next time you decide I need to make a trip to the store, could you let me know about it the night before, at least?

I blinked in surprise and confusion. I—

The nerve! Leaving me a list on the prep table first thing in the morning. And the handwriting—like chicken scratching. I could barely read it. What if I hadn’t seen it? There you’d be, no clams.

I didn’t. I finally got it out, opening the bag and giving a happy sigh at all the rough shells peeking up at me.

What? Oh, don’t tell me the thing can write. There was a disgruntled grumble and a thump from the book.

"That’s exactly what I’m telling you. So not my idea. So much for me being in charge. What are you making anyhow?" I asked.

Now there’s a lucky coincidence. I’m making a crusty focaccia and a lemon chiffon cake. Both will pair well with what you’re making and the Hawaiian chicken I’m doing.

My stomach gave a mad rumble. I reached for my favorite cutting board and went to work.

BROWNIE, MY COUSIN and bartender, gave a grunt, his muscles straining as he lifted the heavy cast-iron pot into place over the hearth to simmer gently. Bertie was already at the door, getting ready to flip the sign to open. I’d barely made it, and I could only pray I had made no mistakes that might result in a room full of crustaceans or some other witchy nonsense.

What’s that smell? came a high-pitched girlish voice. I jumped and looked towards the bar. Sitting in the middle of it, her pudgy legs dangling over the edge, was Tiny. Today the curlers were gone, and her hair was arranged in an artful purplish display atop her head. She was dressed in a caftan style dress in brilliant orange and black. On her feet were a pair of size twelve combat boots, the laces dangling.

"My On the Clam in New England Clam Chowder. What’s with the strange get-up? Is this clash day in the hereafter?"

She scowled at me, her impressive derriere floating several inches above the oak bar. Intentional is what it is. I’m impossible to ignore like this.

Meow. "You’re hard to miss dressed in a truck-sized gunny sack. And that get-up isn’t eye-catching. It’s just terrifying," hissed Gilly, Snips and Snails resident feline and familiar, emerging from the back room.

So rude. Manners, cat. I don’t think you have a one.

Gilly hopped onto one of the bar stools and extended one paw, inspecting it for loose fuzz or dirt.

"At least I know what I am. A cat. You are a ghost. You know, dead? Just who are you trying to impress anyhow?"

None of your business, you abominable alley cat.

Gilly hissed, her claws springing free. "Take it back! I’m no common hussy!"

Tiny snickered. You can say that again.

Enough already! How do you expect me to operate the place with you two snipping at each other?

They both turned and looked at me. Tiny’s eyes suddenly bulged from her head, making me squeak in alarm. Between one blink and the next, she vanished. Gilly stared at the bar impassively, giving an errant loose piece of fur a yank. "What’s the big deal? You do it every day."

And there’s your why, I snapped, taking a seat at the bar. Gilly revealed a row of sharp, white teeth and grinned.

The door opened then, cutting me off as two servers entered, nodding politely at us and heading towards the back to sign in. Right behind them was Jack. In his arms was a massive flowering mum in brilliant purple. He spotted me and headed in my direction.

Are those for your mother?

No...

Your father, then? Is it his birthday?

It is not. I didn’t—

Well then, how about—

They’re for you. For the restaurant. They’ll dress the storefront up—make it more inviting.

I took the huge plant defensively when he thrust it out in my direction. Um, thank you? That was thoughtful.

You’re welcome. He lifted his nose and sniffed the air. Um, what’s that delicious smell?

Soup. Clam chowder.

He took a seat on the stool next to me, looking around. He started drumming his fingers on the bar top. I looked closer. Did he seem nervous?

Oh, that’s good. You aren’t very busy, he observed, looking around and swallowing.

We opened two minutes ago. And it’s a Wednesday.

Oh yeah. Right you are. What is Bertie fixing for dessert today?

I stared at him, out of uniform and looking yummy in his too broad shoulders and short, soft beard. But he clearly had something on his mind.

A cake. What’s going on, Jack? Did somebody die? Is someone we know in the hospital?

No, not that I know of. I’d just like to—

There you are. Jack, great to see you, and is that clam chowder I’m smelling? Can I get a quick bowl of that for lunch—before I get a call again? It’s been insanely busy lately, and with the stupidest things! Jerry muttered, cutting Jack’s conversation short and sliding onto the stool between us.

I’ll get it for you. Jack, did you want anything? I asked. Brownie slid a glass of ice water in Jerry’s direction—his cocktail of choice when he was on duty.

Jack glared at Jerry, his lips pursed mutinously. Not now, no.

Jerry’s brows shot up. Hey now, sorry I asked. Did I interrupt something?

I dished a bowl of chowder, adding a generous slice of Bertie’s bread, and set it in front of Jerry. He immediately picked up his spoon and went to work. Around a mouthful, his mouth open and blowing as the hot creaminess hit his tongue, he asked, How are we for the Mystery Tour at the Redding Copper Mine this weekend?

Jack gave a disgruntled sigh and answered. Everything is set. I have something that should really get everyone’s attention for the riddle reveal on this one.

You won’t be able to allow them free rein down there. The mine is safe enough as long as they stay on the main tunnel. We can’t risk letting them take any detours, though. That thing winds for close to a mile. It won’t look good if our festivities turn into a search and rescue.

Jack scowled in irritation, and I looked closer. Maybe he’d found an ant in his frosted flakes that morning.

I know that. We’ve got it all under control. He glanced at his phone. "And now I have to go. I have an appointment. He gave me a pained look. I’ll catch up with you later. We’re finishing this conversation."

I blinked in surprise at his determined tone. Um, okay, was all I managed to say. I watched as he all but stalked stiffly from the room.

Who rained on his parade? Jerry asked. I shrugged. I’d be calling him after work to puzzle that one out.

You gonna tell me what you two have cooked up for the guests on the tour?

I smirked. Nope. It’s a surprise.

He opened his mouth—I was sure to tell me that as a cop, surprises weren’t usually a good thing. Before he did, his phone rang, and he answered.

I watched his expression darken and grow hard as he listened. His mouth was a flat line, and he was already reaching for his wallet when he hung up and stood. He gave his half-finished soup a final regretful glance.

Gotta run. He tossed a ten down. That was Anna. We have a homicide. A vagrant.

I straightened in concern. Oh no. You don’t think it could be Sockless Joe?

I remembered the aromatic bum, a frequent guest at our back door because Bertie always had a ready meal for him when he came knocking. He was one of the happiest vagrants I knew, sharing vulgar jokes and a ready smile with anyone who took the time to listen.

I don’t know. I hope not. He was found down from Mutt’s. That’s a way off from his alley, but it’s not like we have a lot of homeless in Veil Falls. We take care of our own.

Let me know, I called, talking to his back as he left. I was sure he’d heard me. I wasn’t sure he’d listen.

I HAD TO PARK CLOSE to a hundred yards down on the old service road that led to the Redding Copper Mine, and I was running late. They’d put me in charge of picking up several carafes of coffee and scones from Java’s, which had been a madhouse. Java Moses, the owner, had been losing her mind when I got there, training a new barista. She’d had to put together the box of assorted pastries herself and she’d been running behind.

Shutting the truck off, I got out, waiting for Holly, my black lab mix, to hop across the seat and leap down. She jumped at my heels, one brown eye and one blue, winking up at me in excitement. I gave her an eye. Behave, you. Stay with us and no barking. The sound echoes below ground. Don’t make me get out the collar and leash!

Her tail thumped the ground, and she gave a woof of agreement—or maybe that was just wishful thinking on my part. I sighed, pulling my lightweight jacket closer with a shiver as we walked past at least ten other cars. Fall was definitely settling in to stay.

Everyone was already gathered at the entrance. Jack caught my eye with a frown, holding his phone up to indicate the time, and that I wasn’t on it. I shrugged and turned to the crowd. When we finish, I have warm coffee and free scones from Java’s, if you’re interested.

Yum! Why don’t we break them out now? shouted a voice from the back of the twenty or so odd participants in the crowd.

Because there are no bathrooms in the mines. And I don’t know about you, but coffee goes right through me. There were several answering snickers.

Does everyone have their hardhats and lamps? It’s really dark down there.

Nods were all around as everyone adjusted their gear and flipped switches, turning their lights on.

Jack spoke up. The next riddle is at the end of the tour, deep in the bowels of Redding Copper Mine. It is very important that everyone stay together. No wandering off into one of several tunnels that branch off from the main corridor. This mine opens up into an extensive cave system that runs through Wiccan Mountain and beneath Boar Head Lake. You get lost, and you may not come out until next year...if at all.

I added, And what Jack isn’t saying is that there is no need to rush. We will wait until everyone is in the main room before we look for the clue in that room only. I will bring up the rear. Jack is going to be our super hunky leader. The last had a red blush creeping along his neck. I met his eyes over the others and gave him a saucy wink. More red and a scowl lit his expression, promising retribution when we were alone. I could hardly wait.

I looked down. Holly had wandered off. I gave a sharp whistle, and she came flying out of the nearby bushes, looking guilty. At almost a year old, she was nearly full grown, her shoulders reaching nearly to my thigh.. Heel! I added firmly, hoping all our work in obedience class had paid off.

She stayed by my side when we entered the shaft, the boards blocking the entrance shuffled aside for our trip. We were last, the front of the group a line of blinking lights disappearing ahead as the tunnel angled left and down.

From the front of the line, Jack’s deep rumbling bass bounded off the walls and to those of us in back as he regaled us with the history of Redding Copper Mine, and the story of the ghost of the unlucky miner who had lost his life during its operation many years before. I was relieved he didn’t mention the other set of bones we’d found down here less than a year before. As far as I knew, Erin’s ghost had been put to rest. Besides, it was Verity that saw them. My magic was in my hands...and my soup.

Jack’s words flowed over me and I listened, reaching down to brush my fingers over Holly’s soft hide, rubbing her ears. The safety record for Redding Mine was excellent, and the owner did a bang-up job of making sure protocols were followed and all measures were in place to ensure the safety of its workers. What it couldn’t account for was the dangers of curiosity, and in this case it’s what happened to Jazz, who up and went exploring...

His words tumbled over me and I missed some of it. I’d heard the story several times before, while Jack was memorizing the tale for the event. It was pretty dark to be reading from any script.

We turned a sharp corner to the right, and several yards on, the sounds of slow dripping reached our ears. I gave a shiver, remembering that Boar Head Lake was over our heads about now. There were several underground rivers and the runoff drained into them, but all that tonnage, and remembering what was in that lake that hadn’t been recovered, was enough to give me goosebumps.

I concentrated on Jack’s words, the deep timbre of his voice a comfort. ... what we believe were Jazz’s bones were located down one of the wormholes in the cave system that connects to the mine. It was less than fifty feet from one of the main mine tunnels that would have led him back. But it’s easy to get turned around down here, especially in the dark. For years, while the mine was still in operation, there were numerous reports of sightings of ol’ Jazz.

What about now? came a high excited voice from the front of the line.

Jack chuckled, the comforting sound stilling my jitters. Now, that will be up to you to tell me. Keep your eyes peeled, and you decide if Jazz still haunts Redding Copper Mine.

There were several nervous titters and eyes swinging left and right, searching for cracks and crevasses and cutting the gloom with their lamps.

I knew that Jack had set up a couple of surprises along the way to add to the experience. I smiled when I heard the chorus of gasps as we passed by a display containing an impressive spider web and a giant, fake spider with glowing eyes. Another winking light was a single eyeball, set into a crevasse in the wall, blinking out at them owlishly. At one point, I saw a floating shadow at a bend in the tunnel. I watched the faint glow float along near the ground and disappear at the turn. Only a few people reacted to that one, and I figured most had missed it. I made a note to ask Jack later how he’d pulled that one off.

It was a decent walk to the end, and it was close to thirty minutes before we all emerged into the man-made room near the end where several pieces of old equipment left behind when the mine disbanded sat moldering in the corners. My eyes pulled automatically to the old bench in the center, though the boots and cloth of the old jacket from before had been removed as evidence when Erin’s bones were discovered.

Jack’s voice cut through the gloom, and all lights swung in his direction. All right, everyone, did anyone glimpse old Jazz?

Maybe? speculated an elderly man on my left, his lips twitching. I figured he knew a hoax when he saw one. Jack smiled.

"Well then, this is it. In this room is hidden the next ‘riddle me this.’ Please watch your step, it’s not a race. And don’t leave the main room and wander down one of the several tunnels that run off this room. You won’t find the clue there, but you might end up like Jazz, and nobody wants that. So, go on now. Start sleuthing!"

The crowd disbanded, and I moved to stand by Jack. Holly was miraculously glued to my side, her tail tucked under. I glanced at her curiously. I worried that she’d run off.

Jack glanced at the cowering pup. No worries there. She looks like she wants to climb into your lap.

Maybe it’s the ghost of Jazz Jenkins, I teased. The glowing eye and the fake spider were pretty hokey. But I liked the fog. That was a cool touch.

He frowned in confusion. There’s no electricity down here for a fog machine.

I started to ask him more when there was an excited squeal from the back wall of the room. It was followed by a rumble of laughter from a young couple who had backed away from the wall, their hands to their hearts. Jack laughed at their expressions.

Did you find it? he asked.

The man, tall and stick thin next to his trim wife, shook his head and rolled his eyes. You know we didn’t. It was a nice touch, though. I didn’t realize what it was until it sprung open on us.

On the wall in front of them, a fake rock hung. The face of it had peeled back, emitting eerie laughter, and a message.

Motion detector? I asked.

"That’s right. I found it on one of those Halloween sites online. I customized the message to read Clueless Billy has no Clue for You!"

I choked. That is so weird, Jack.

Hey, make ’em laugh, that’s my motto.

There were a couple of other surprises around the room that revealed fake clues before an elderly woman, who had to be in her eighties, finally stumbled onto the real clue.

It was set against the wall, just inside the entrance. A lever concealed beneath a rock activated the moment she sat down to take a breather. With a scream of utter terror, she jumped out of the way when the skeleton, complete with a bright red wig, sprang up behind her and screamed Boo! In its skeletal hand was an envelope.

Chuckling, Jack approached and retrieved it.

I may sue... the old woman huffed.

Jack gave her a one-armed hug and a buss on the forehead. Now, now, Aunt Martha, it’s all in fun.

Read the riddle, boy, while my heart slows down past one-eighty.

Several titters in the crowd were heard as everyone gathered round.

A villain ruthless and clever. A distressed damsel and delinquent taxes. The advantage was his...and her home the cost. Time is short. Who will come out on top? This is the second clue to unveil our cruel villain’s identity. To reveal the next useful piece to the puzzle, you’ll have to attend the next Mystery Tour. Deputy Chief Jerry Watson and his partner, Anna Shilling, will host that at the Veil Falls Cemetery.

Several questions flew through the air before he finished reading. But isn’t that illegal? You have to have a special authority to get those records, don’t you? one enterprising gentleman asked.

Sounds like a fine recipe for some form of coercion or blackmail, murmured another.

Jack merely smiled. When several people turned to me, their mouths opening to see if I’d be more forthcoming, I held up a hand. Whoa, right there. I can’t tell you any more, either. You’ll have to show up to the next tour and check out the riddle if you want to know more.

Several groans were heard. I added, "However, I have just enough tickets for everyone here. Each is good for a free bowl of my Clarify the Butter Bean and Bacon Soup, and one of Brownie’s specialty cocktails to go with it."

What are the indications? Jack’s aunt Martha asked.

I grinned. Something that will help you put the clues together and solve the mystery. This soup is guaranteed to clear the fog and give everyone exceptionally clear thinking for three days. And of course, it’s thick and hearty and delicious with Bertie’s sprouted wheat rolls.

Yum. When are you serving that?

Tomorrow, all day. But for now, what say we all head back to the entrance and see if those scones and coffee are still warm?

CHAPTER THREE 

I don’t trust him! hissed Glenda Aldridge, glaring at her mother, Sophia, over the other end of the tablecloth. Together they settled the white linen in place atop the long, narrow table in the main room of the Veil Falls Charity Quilting Association. Several tables were similarly covered along the back to make room for the caterers, scheduled to arrive and set up within the hour. Around them, other ladies and a few gents, all members of the club, bustled about to get ready for the upcoming fund-raising gala that was scheduled to start at noon.

Sophia sniffed at her daughter. Nonsense. I believe we’ve simply misjudged him. I can’t wait to be on those new tables. The others were always too high, and my back isn’t getting any younger, you know.

He’s never taken an interest before, unless it’s to make sure we pay our taxes on time and to see that they go up every year like clockwork.

Daughter, he’s using his own money to cover the advertising and the food. I think that speaks pretty well of him. He didn’t have to, you know. Imagine it, we’ll all have new quilting tables to work on. I can see the future and our enrollment rise as more people catch wind of the important work we do here.

Glenda sighed. That will be a bonus, to be sure. But motive, Mother. What’s his? I’ve never known the chief to do anything without a reason that suited him first and foremost.

Sophia smoothed the cloth and reached for another as they arranged several little jarred table displays, featuring small quilt samples, needles, thread, and a vintage thimble in the center. Glenda took the cloth, and they moved to the next table.

Don’t look a gift horse in the... Sophia added with a grin.

Oh stop. I always hated that saying. It makes utterly no sense. And what about the election coming up next month? He wants to win another term. Do you suppose he knows that almost all our members had plans to vote for Jerry Watson instead? Could this be his move to steal our votes?

Sophia shrugged. And if it is? People are smarter than that. They like Jerry, and we all agreed it would be nice to have some fresh blood in the office for a change.

I’m not so sure about that. I think they will be more interested in what’s in it for them. And so far, that’s brand-new quilting tables and a ton of publicity for the association. None of that’s bad, Mother. I’m just saying I don’t like being manipulated, and that’s what this feels like.

Sophia sniffed, snapping the next cloth in the air. You’ll see. It will be fine.

I hope you’re right, Glenda muttered doubtfully, grabbing the other end before it hit the floor.

LARRY JOKERBRIDGE LOOKED around in satisfaction. Absently, he removed a speck from his best charcoal suit, watching as dozens of Veil Falls’ patrons took advantage of the free food, filling plates and chatting amongst themselves. Later, the band he’d hired would play for a few hours, and he had several ladies wandering around the room selling 50-50 raffle tickets. Half would go to the winner and the rest would go towards those idiotic tables he’d promised the old biddies—and one cantankerous gent—that ran the place. He concealed a frown of irritation. It had cost him hundreds for the catering and decorations. According to Morrie Wright, it would be money well spent if he could sway a majority of the voting population from the association to cast their votes his way in the upcoming election.

Per Morrie’s request, he’d carefully kept quiet about the Mystery Tours and their ridiculous riddles that pointed to him as some secret villain. A slow smile tipped his lips, his eyes lazy and calculating. That didn’t mean he couldn’t be a thorn in their side while he was at it.

He watched his campaign manager approach. He wore a three-piece business suit in dark navy, and a multi-colored tie that resembled a quilting square, cleverly knotted at his throat, finished his casual elegance. Morrie looked around critically as he reached him.

Where’s the ice sculpture?

We didn’t need it. Do you know how much those things cost?

Morrie’s eyes narrowed. I don’t know. Do you know how much a police chief’s salary is worth compared to his deputy’s?

Larry scowled in irritation. Morrie’s brows rose, and he hissed with a brilliant smile. Careful, the room is watching every move you make, every smile you fake, and judging the promises you alleged you’d deliver.

Gritting his teeth, his eyes flashing, Larry smiled, nodding to a pair of simpering old ladies as they passed by, caught his eye, and giggled.

I checked the preliminaries, by the way. Almost the entire club is in Jerry’s camp, Larry snarled.

Morrie’s shark-like smile was back.

"Were you mean? I estimate nearly half will swing in your direction if you handle this right. When it’s time to draw the winner for that raffle? Stop it."

What for?

So you can smile and tell them how talented they are and how much you admire their hard work. And so you can donate another $200 to the raffle bucket just to sweeten the pot for the lucky winner. Boom, you’ve just won over another dozen voters, minimum.

That’s crazy.

Is it? This isn’t my first campaign rally, Mr. Jokerbridge. I assure you; I make it my job to know the statistics and how they play out.

Larry gave a grunt of disbelief, but he held his tongue.

Morrie nodded, watching as the band entered through the south door and moved towards the stage at the back. That was a nice touch, by the way.

What was?

The timing.

Larry’s smile was genuine when he turned to stare at the shorter man. I’m not without my resources, you know. Believe it or not, I won this election—twice—with no help from you.

That’s right, you did. Tell me, was it an honest election?

Larry turned with a jerk, his eyes narrowing on the speculative look in the other man’s eyes.

Of course it was, he lied smoothly, not trusting the knowing smirk on his campaign manager’s face.

Morrie gave him a pointed stare. At any rate, the citizens of Veil Falls have grown wiser, and less trusting, let us say, of your policies in recent years. Convince them that their trust was warranted, then and now. This is a good first step.

Larry seized on his last comment. First?

That’s right. We’re just getting started.

THE DINING ROOM WAS nearly empty, and my kettle of Hoppin’ Hot Chili was nearly to the brim. And it was a Saturday when we were usually full through a half hour before closing. I looked around in consternation. There were two tables with customers in the corner. I’d let all the servers but one go home hours before. Bertie and Brownie both sat at the bar, waiting for the door to open and for someone—anyone—to come in.

Do you suppose yesterday’s soup sent them home with a severe case of food poisoning or something? That could explain it, Bertie wondered.

No, it couldn’t, I groused. If that were the case, someone, probably a lot of them, would have called and complained.

It’s not the weather. Or the flu. I haven’t noticed that going around more than usual, Bertie added, quietly crocheting her next beverage koozie for the wall. This one was brilliant orange and yellow. She’d been selling them since she came to work for me almost a year ago, fresh from the alley out back where she’d made her home in a box for a time.

I don’t know what’s going on. But I plan to find out. Yesterday afternoon, every table was full and there was a waiting list. This makes no sense.

What about a funeral? Did someone important in town die? Remember Agatha’s? The thing wound around an entire city block and half that the town shut down to attend.

Possible, but if so, I don’t know who it would be. Do you? I asked my cousin, who had lived most of his life in Veil Falls and knew almost everyone. I’d only been there a year.

Brownie shook his head. No one I knew, that’s for sure.

Morosely, we all stared at the door. I wondered if this was how failing businesses felt right before they went under and had to close their doors for good.

Together we all jumped when the small pet door at the bottom swung inward and Gilly, Snips and Snails’ resident Siamese, entered. She stopped dead when she saw us.

"Did someone steal your cookies?" she asked, plopping down and looking at us expectantly.

Might as well have. Look around you, do you see a problem here? I asked her sarcastically.

Right away, she zeroed in on what was important.

"All your servers called in?"

I sighed. Customers, cat. There are none.

She sniffed, her nose lifting as she extended one delicate paw, examining the pad. "I see four. Two tables in the corner? Perhaps you missed them."

I gritted my teeth. "It’s a Saturday, the busiest day of the week. I want to know where all the other customers are."

"Perhaps Tiny scared them off. She terrifies me when she gets full of herself and starts spouting off."

Does that remind you of anyone else you know? Hey, I could do sarcasm, too. Besides, very few, Magicals included, are blessed with the ability to see her.

Gilly snorted. "You call that a blessing?"

"I consider it one that you have to be a Magical to understand you. Think about it—all those unsuspecting humans, and they can’t understand a word you say."

"That’s more of a tragedy, and it just speaks to their intelligence," she insisted.

But it doesn’t answer the question. Where did all the customers go?

She waved a paw airily. "Oh, that. Have you bothered to look down the street?"

What are you talking about?

She didn’t answer. Instead, she did an about face and disappeared through the small square pet door. Bertie and Brownie joined me as we swung the door open and stepped outside onto the sidewalk that ran along Drae Street. Gilly was waiting for us, staring down the sidewalk towards Mutt’s Brewery on the south side of town. It was easy to see something was going on. Cars lined both sides of the street in each direction. As we watched, several couples crossed the street, dressed for an evening out, and entered the Veil Falls Charity Quilting Association Hall.  There was a small sign hanging on a board just outside the entrance. I strained to make it out. What does it say? I mumbled.

Gilly looked up at me. "Oh, that? The white board? It says Go no Farther. The Gala Starts Here. Let’s get your Quilt On, Veil Falls!"

I frowned in confusion. Now, who do you suppose is responsible for that? And why is this the first time I’ve heard anything about it?

Even as we watched, two limos pulled up, one after the other. They paused at the door while their passengers exited. I didn’t recognize them, and the expressions on my companions’ faces said they didn’t, either. Their attire screamed money, and lots of it.

Brownie stared on grimly. I don’t know. But I think it’s in all our best interests to find out.

I’ll talk to Sophia and Glenda. They’ll know what’s up, I said.

We continued to watch the scene unfold. I wondered what the occasion was, and who had thrown a party to celebrate it.

THERE WERE MUMS ON my front porch. Jack was holding them. I blinked the sleep from my eyes as Holly scooted past our legs into the front yard to do her business. I looked around the brilliant yellow blooms so I could see his face. He was looking sheepish...and determined.

More mums, I mumbled. "How unexpected