Bloodstone (A Stacy Justice Mystery) Page 5

  by Ivy Geraghty

  Entry #6

  Alas, the Great Book remains just out of our grasp! It seems that my sister’s home has been intruded upon and just when we were about to battle the trespassers—a scream cut through the walls!

  Rushed into the dark night, we have been forced to face an unforeseen obstacle (actually they kicked me back to the porch). I have full confidence that Anastasia will settle the matter with me as her most faithful servant and our Mission shall continue. My meeting with Brighid must wait another day. I am off to my secret Lair.

  -Ivy Geraghty, Junior Apprentice Warrior Goddess (in training)

  TWENTY-ONE

  A visibly shaken elderly woman stood on the front lawn of my grandmother’s bed and breakfast in her pajamas. Next to her, I assumed, was her husband who could have passed for Father Time.

  Deirdre was on the phone with Leo and John was trying to extract what had happened from the woman, while the old man stood next to her, shivering and looking annoyed.

  The screams from the woman’s throat grew louder and I was sorry that whatever upset her hadn’t happened after she washed off her makeup. She looked like a Picasso left in the rain.

  The woman was pointing toward the house. I had no idea what had transpired, but from personal experience, I thought it best not to subject Ivy to it. I asked her to wait on the porch.

  Just as John called me over I heard Ivy say, “No worries. I’ll just go text Scully.”

  I swiveled around. “What? No, don’t do that.”

  She dashed off.

  “Stacy, come over here, would ya?” John said. In the light from the porch, I could see he was a generation older than his bride. “Can you please translate for me? I don’t speak Blubberish.”

  Man, this guy got under my skin. “What makes you think I do?”

  “Ask her what happened.” John flipped out a notebook. “The husband says he didn’t see nothing, the wife went to use the john and came out all koo-koo for Cocoa Puffs.”

  Deirdre was still on the phone and gave me an encouraging smile.

  The house had a lot more lights on, but there was no sign of Birdie or the aunts.

  That feeling came again. An itchy, twitchy sensation.

  The woman looked at me, although I wasn’t sure what she could see through the sea of mascara muddying her eyeballs.

  Her face looked a little more horrified when she took in my attire.

  “Are....yyyyooou with, with, the ppppp-olice?” she asked between sobs.

  “Sure, why not.” Then I smiled at her. In a soft voice I asked, “Can you please tell us what happened?”

  She nodded and took in a series of long breaths that looked a lot like hyperventilation protocol.

  Quickly, I asked her husband, “What’s her name?”

  “Cece Honeycut.”

  Her hands were trembling as I reached for them. “Mrs. Honeycut, please tell us what you saw. Why are you so upset?”

  “It was...just...so, so...awful.”

  Her hands grew warm, despite the chilly night, then fiercely hot between mine and a pain shot through my skull.

  “Leo’s on his way,” Deirdre said to my right.

  It came in a flash, so quick, I nearly missed it.

  Deirdre asked, “Did someone get hurt or hurt you, Mrs. Honeycut?”

  Mrs. Honeycut looked at her husband just as the vision faded from my mind.

  At the same time, we both said, “Blood.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  Deirdre got back on the phone with Leo who probably just assumed the woman was hysterical because of something my grandmother had done. He himself had been known to lose his marbles in the presence of Birdie.

  I dropped Mrs. Honeycut’s hands and flew to the front door of the bed and breakfast. Locked. “Mrs. Honeycut, I need the key!”

  She shook her head and her husband said, “We left it.”

  The vision was of a double-edged blade that flashed red. I wasn’t an expert at reading these things, but I could guess that red meant blood and blood was bad. The problem, I feared, was that if someone had broken into the house to cause harm, Birdie and the aunts would hear nothing back in the private quarters. The walls were thick and reinforced with extra insulation so guests wouldn’t disturb them and vice-versa.

  I leaned on the bell that rang only in the back part of the house. The old fashioned crank bell chimed in the front. “Birdie, Fiona, Lolly! Open the door!”

  John was behind me then and I heard a siren approaching.

  After a minute, I saw a silhouette through the glass.

  The door opened and there stood my aunt Lolly, her hair molded into a pageboy. She wore a pink ball gown with more taffeta and tulle than a bridal shop and a rhinestone necklace that looked to be choking her.

  Lolly always dressed as if the queen of England might pop over any moment.

  “Hello,” she said. “I’m sorry, but we’re all booked up.” Not a spark of familiarity.

  John started to say something, but I put a finger up and gave him a look I hoped he understood.

  Lolly’s lipstick hadn’t quite made it between the lines and her eyebrows had been shaved off, then drawn in with what must have been a Sharpie. That, coupled with the fact that she didn’t recognize me told me the key was in the ignition but the car was out of gas.

  “Aunt Lolly, it’s me, Stacy. Is Fiona home? Or Birdie?”

  “One moment, please.” Lolly slammed the door just as Leo pulled into the parking lot.

  Not a minute later, Fiona opened the door wearing a gold penior set. It was after nine, so she was probably getting ready to call it a night, but I still couldn’t believe she would dress like that with guests in the house.

  She smiled warmly at John, batted her lashes then said, “Stacy, you’re back,” in a voice that purred. Fiona made Ann Margaret look like a transgender meter-maid. “Don’t they have makeup where you were visiting, dear? And why are you dressed like a cat burglar?” To John she said, “She’s such a pretty girl, I don’t know what we’ll do with her.”

  She opened the door wide, inviting us inside, and I heard John explaining the Cece situation as I went to search for my grandmother.

  The house had thirteen rooms. The entryway led to a parlor where guests were greeted with a warm fire and hot snacks. To the left of that was a staircase that trailed to the three upstairs guest rooms. The dining room was at the end of the hall on the main floor and off that was the kitchen. All of the residential quarters were at the back of the house.

  I rushed down the hall, poking my head into each room before I got to the door that separated the private living area from the rest of the premises.

  “Birdie?” I knocked. Waited.

  “Birdie.” A bit louder.

  No answer. She probably couldn’t hear me.

  There was a key around the doorframe somewhere, but for the life of me, I couldn’t locate it. I decided to head back and find out what Fiona had to say. The fact that neither she nor Lolly seemed at all concerned had me wondering if perhaps Mrs. Honeycut had a nightmare and if my vision was something I would catch later on an episode of Castle.

  Back in the parlor, the couple was seated on an antique settee; Fiona perched on a chair in front of them. Apparently, she was next in line to try to communicate with Mrs. Honeycut. I didn’t see Deirdre or Leo, but I did spot Lolly measuring the back of John’s head. She was about to fit him with a top hat when I intervened. There was an empty chair next to the fireplace, so I parked her there and poured a healthy shot of Jameson from the cherry wood bar.

  Mrs. Honeycut was making a valiant effort to put a teacup to her lips. The saucer was sloshing liquid all over her lap, but that didn’t seem to bother her.

  My aunt was speaking in hushed tones. After a few minutes, Fiona looked at John.

  “She’s ready now.” Fiona relieved Mrs. Honeycut of the cup and saucer, patted her knee and nodded.

  I eyed the cup, wondering just what was in
that tea.

  “Okay, folks, let me get the Chief in here and you can tell him what happened,” John said.

  He walked to the door and yelled, “Yo, Leo!”

  I tensed. I hadn’t seen Leo in a week and I missed him. I was also still a little pissed.

  Leo walked in, raising the temperature of the room instantly. He was wearing my favorite jeans that cupped him where I used to and the leather jacket he never zipped. His panther black hair dusted his dark eyes and there was a little more stubble on his chin than usual. Which made him tastier then ever.

  “Hi,” he said to me. “How’s the shoulder? The leg?”

  “Healing,” I said.

  He nodded. “Good. Good.”

  Leo crossed to where the couple sat and introduced himself, showed them his badge. “Can you tell me what happened, ma’am?”

  Mrs. Honeycut took a deep breath and I noticed her face had been wiped clean.

  “Well, I was preparing to retire for the evening,” she began slowly, then paused.

  Leo nodded, looking very concerned and Mrs. Honeycut seemed to loosen up even further. He had that calming effect on women. Well, most women.

  “And my husband was in the sitting room while I changed into my nightclothes.”

  Next to her, the man confirmed this with a nod of his head. He smiled at me, then winked. There was no time to contemplate that before a shrill cry cut through the air.

  Mrs. Honeycut jumped, everyone else looked at me.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled, backing from the room. I pulled out my cell and checked the text.

  It was from Monique.

  COME GET YOUR BRETHREN BEFORE I TOSS HER DOWN A WELL

  Dammit, Ivy. There was no time for her crap. I texted Monique back and told her I’d be there ASAP.

  Before I even turned back around, the scent of sandalwood told me who would be standing there.

  “Why do you sneak up on me like that? I hate that!” I said.

  My grandmother eyed me up and down, crossed her arms then arched a perfectly tweezed eyebrow. She was taller than me, which made for masterful intimidation. It almost always worked.

  “It’s about time,” she said.

  I could have taken that a number of different ways, but I chose to ignore all of them. One family crisis at a time.

  I said, “Your guests are in the parlor with Leo. Something upset them and it’s not the usual kind of upset like ‘I thought I would be meeting three sweet old ladies and instead I spent a weekend with the Witches of Eastwick’. It’s a bit more dramatic than that.” I didn’t tell her I couldn’t stick around to find out what the problem was.

  “Hmm.” She paused theatrically. “Well then, we shall converse later, Anastasia.”

  That nickname was fun for about five minutes.

  Birdie’s gypsy garb fluttered and chimed as she floated toward the parlor, her red cape billowing behind her. I followed, preparing to make a left turn for the doorway.

  That was when I heard Mrs. Honeycut say, “Dead. Right there in the bathroom.”

  To which Birdie replied, “Impossible. That wasn’t supposed to happen until tomorrow.”

  There was a brief silence and then Mrs. Honeycut gasped and said, “It’s you. I saw you out the window earlier. Holding a dagger!”

  Well, this might take longer than I thought.

  IVY GERAGHTY’S PERSONAL BOOK OF SHADOWS

  by Ivy Geraghty

  Entry #7

  I am patiently awaiting further instructions from the blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh, my sister, Anastasia. Meanwhile, I study the Enemy closely, crafting my plan to identify, target and align her adversaries into our camp, for the Enemy of my Enemy is my friend. (No idea who said that, but I’m pretty sure it was some Asian philosopher because I saw it in a fortune cookie. Scully thinks it’s a righteous citation.)

  -Ivy Geraghty, Junior Apprentice Warrior Goddess (in training)

  TWENTY-FOUR

  “So you’re telling me that this is a murder-mystery weekend and all your guests were given a part to play in it?” Leo asked.

  “Actually, not just our guests. Several other hotels and inns are participating,” Fiona said. “There’s a dinner later down at the Riverside hotel.”

  We were all standing upstairs in the hallway just outside of the old couple’s room.

  “But, I don’t understand,” Mrs. Honeycut said. “We never heard a thing about it.”

  Mr. Honeycut chimed in. “This weekend was a gift from our daughter.” He turned to his wife. “She must have forgotten to mention it, Cece.”

  Fiona said, “The instructions for the game should have arrived along with your reservation confirmation.”

  Mrs. Honeycut was beginning to look like one of those old cat clocks with the roaming eyes and nervous tail.

  “But, you,” Mrs. Honeycut turned to my grandmother, “I saw you with a knife in your hand. Just outside the window. I recognize the cape.”

  Why was Birdie wearing her ritual cape anyway? There was nothing special about tonight, no holiday. Nothing she would have cast a spell for. And even if there was, she would have done it in the back of the house, near the woods. Not on the front lawn where her guests might intrude upon the magic.

  Birdie gave the crowd a long-suffering look. “I’m afraid you are mistaken, Mrs. Honeycut. It wasn’t a knife or a dagger in my hand at all. It was a garden trowel. I was simply clearing out a bed to prepare for the spring thaw. Tomorrow will be an unseasonably warm day and the lavender could use the sunlight.”

  I shot Birdie a hard look. Now I was confused. It wasn’t yet Ostara, the Spring Equinox, which is when she cleared her beds. Plus, the lavender was on the opposite side of the property. I had planted it myself.

  What was going on? I felt my brow crinkle and immediately smoothed it out. When I looked away, Leo was staring at me.

  Mrs. Honeycut wasn’t convinced, so Leo said, “Why don’t I take a look just to be sure. With your permission, of course.”

  She nodded and Leo tapped on the door to their quarters. It creaked, hesitated, then yawned open.

  A pear-shaped man with a hooked nose stood in the sitting room. He had a towel in his hand and what appeared to be blood all over his yellow plaid shirt, topped off by one of those prop knifes that appeared to go straight through his neck. “Don’t tell me the game is over already,” he said. “I was just practicing.” He eyed Mrs. Honeycut. “You really know how to scream, little lady. I almost thought that was real. You might just win the grand prize if you keep that up.”

  Mrs. Honeycut grasped her husband’s elbow and slunk back.

  Fiona stepped forward. “Mr. Sayer, what on Earth are you doing in the Honeycut’s suite?”

  “Honeycut Suite? I thought this was my room,” he said and looked at Lolly. “She gave me the key.”

  Lolly adjusted her necklace and said, “Oh my, I’m so sorry.” She looked at Birdie, worried. Apparently Lolly hadn’t had enough booze in her at check-in time.

  Birdie put a hand on her sister’s shoulder. “These things happen, dear.”

  The sound that escaped from Leo was something between a sigh and whimper. John cackled.

  “C’mon, Chief, I’ll buy you a beer,” John said.

  “Hey can I come?” asked Mr. Sayer.

  I didn’t hear their response because I was halfway down the stairs, off to retrieve my brethren.

  The wind had picked up. It was the kind of cold that slaps your skin and seeps into your bones just to remind you to appreciate the spring. I jogged all the way to Down and Dirty, trying to outrun it.

  The high-pitched screech of Madonna’s “Like a Virgin” wailed through the speakers as I opened the door.

  The club was dark so I stood for a moment, eyes adjusting. A cocktail waitress holding a tray filled with test tubes approached me, clearly on a mission.

  “Hey, you want a shot?” Her liquid soldiers clinked together, then came to a standstill when she did. She was going for th
e big-haired, MTV look.

  I shook my head.

  “Oh, I think you do,” she said.

  Looking past her, I strained to search for Ivy.

  “No, I’m good, thanks,” I stepped to the side of her tray.

  “Can’t come in unless you do a shot.” She put an arm across the entryway, blocking me from going forward.

  For a moment, I considered cracking her over the head with her own tray, but that was more my cousin’s style.

  “Why the hell not?” I asked.

  She rolled her eyes and glanced over her shoulder.

  “Look, it’s not my call. It’s my first night and the boss says no one gets in without an 80s costume unless they buy a shot.”

  Of course. And I had no money.

  I said, “Cindy.” It was on her name tag. “I am in costume. Can’t you guess?”

  She stood back and looked me up and down for a minute. I sure hoped she’d come up with something, because I hadn’t a clue what this black ensemble could qualify as in the costume department.

  Slowly, I saw the wheels turning as she tried to form a picture in her mind. Her brown eyes lit up. “Oh yeah.” She smiled. “But where’s your mask?”

  “My mask?”

  “Don’t the teenage mutant ninja turtles wear masks?”

  I mentally slapped her and moved on.

  The crowd was thick with middle-aged drunk people reliving their John Hughes moments. I didn’t see Ivy anywhere and couldn’t hear a thing over what I now realized was a Karaoke machine with Monique at the wheel.

  “Like a Vir-ir-ir-irgin, touched for the very first time!” She was shimmying up and down a pole, screaming into the microphone, but really all she could do was wave her arms because the mermaid skirt was wrestling her legs and wasn’t about to let go. She reminded me of a worm wiggling on a hook.

  Scully was hunched over the bar in his usual spot so I approached him, asked where Ivy was.

  He was sipping a beer, staring down at a piece of paper that he promptly folded. There was a purple string tied around his wrist.