at night.
Exhausted, I slipped under the sea-blue comforter, waited for Pixie to do her circle routine by my feet, then pounded my pillows until they were the way I liked them, and closed my eyes.
Hours later, though it seemed like minutes because I’d slept so deeply, I felt Pixie alternately dancing on her hind legs and crashing onto the bedspread.
“What the heck? Kitty, cut it out.” I sat up, rubbed the sleep from my eyes, and read the time on the digital clock: five a.m. “Pixie, settle down. I mean it. I—”
“Courtney.” Fiona appeared over the kitten’s head. She sounded out of breath. Had she flown the whole way to my cottage without assistance? “I warned you.” She alit on my forearm.
“About?”
“You have to see for yourself. At the shop.” She threw her arms wide. “It’s horrible.”
Chapter 3
Spread your wings and let the fairy in you fly.
—Anonymous
Fiona didn’t stick around to explain. She darted out of the cottage. A streak of sparkling fairy dust trailed her.
Quickly, I dressed in jeans, aqua sweatshirt, and Keds. Even more rapidly, I threw on my cross-body purse, grabbed Pixie, and ran the distance to the shop despite the chill of fog seeping through my clothes and moistening my face and hair. On the way I called Joss on my cell phone. I apologized for waking her and told her something was up. I wasn’t sure what. I begged her to meet me at the shop. She agreed.
When I arrived at Open Your Imagination, I screeched to a halt. The Dutch door was ajar. I didn’t go inside. I’d seen enough scary movies in my lifetime to know I needed to gauge whether it would be dangerous or not. I peered through a window. The lights were switched off in the shop, but the hazy glow of a streetlamp provided enough illumination for me to see that nothing looked amiss. No shards of tea sets or fairy gardens lay on the floor, and I couldn’t detect any strangers lurking in the shadows.
“Fiona?” I whispered.
She soared through the shop, her wings glimmering like silver, and hovered inside the front door. She signaled: follow me.
Adrenaline pumping, I pushed open the door. Fiona wouldn’t lead me into danger. That would really tick off the queen fairy. I set Pixie on the floor. She stood stock-still and lifted her chin. Her nose twitched. Her tail coiled into a question mark. I switched on the main store lights, which lit up the frosted glass sconces on each wall. Everything appeared normal, as I’d deduced seconds before. I breathed a tad easier. Maybe Fiona had been overreacting when she’d said something horrible had happened. Perhaps Carmel had suffered a teensy earthquake tremor and items had fallen off the shelves on the patio.
Fiona zoomed toward me. “Don’t dally. Come now.”
I followed her. The moment I passed through the French doors to the patio, I realized I’d been mistaken. Not about the tremor or minor damage. But something was very wrong.
Mick Watkins lay in a heap beside the fountain, his head craned at an odd angle. Dark shadows made his face look ghastly. Pixie pounced to him and sniffed. She recoiled.
“Mick?” I tripped the switch on the wall. The twinkling lights woven into the trees and trellises flickered on. I tiptoed closer. “Hey, are you all right?”
Mick didn’t budge. The carved gnomes on the fountain seemed to be gazing ghoulishly at him.
When I drew nearer, I gasped. Mick’s head was gashed. Blood seeped from the wound. Red-brown goo—more blood—clung to the fountain’s stone façade. I reached for Mick’s wrist. He had no pulse.
I clapped a hand over my mouth. Pixie rubbed against my leg, curious to know if I was okay. I assured her I wasn’t. Bile was rising up my esophagus. I raced around the patio and switched on all the lights. The floodlights in the corners blazed on. The reading lamps set by the tea tables shone brightly. Light did not make Mick look any better. Or any more alive.
I gagged and pulled my cell phone from my purse. I dialed 911 and waited through three rings. What would I say? I’d seen dead rats and roadkill. Every landscaper had. But I’d never come across a dead body. Heck, I’d never had to interact with the police for anything, not even jaywalking. Okay, yes, I’d had to answer to my father on occasion, back when he was a cop, before the incident that took out his knee and ended his career.