FAMILY MAGIC (THE FLOWER FARM MAGICAL MYSTERY SERIES Book 1) Read online

  FAMILY MAGIC

  The Flower Farm Magical Mystery Series Book 1

  Lucia Kuhl

  Copyright © 2021 Lucia Kuhl

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  ASIN-B08P12XYF3

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  SERIES BY LUCIA KUHL

  CHAPTER 1

  Hallelujah! One more consultation, and I was free. The double-sided gate to Raymont Manor stood open. It had been almost four decades since I'd last driven the winding tree-tunneled lane to the big house, which looked more like a castle with its red brick, turrets, and ivy than a house. The manor sat nestled on its own private lake in St. Joseph County just across the one and a half-lane road from LaPorte County in Northern Indiana.

  "Whew, Sampson, we are good so far. No dead bodies." I said to the chocolate Labrador Retriever puppy beside me as the black wrought-iron gate appeared in my rear-view mirror. His nose was plastered to the slightly opened window sniffing every available scent. No bodies, what a relief. A huge relief.

  To my right, the sun glistened off paper-thin ice patches on Raymont Lake. The old rope swing twisted in the slight breeze. Oh, how I had loved that swing. It beckoned my inner child to play, but my dashboard thermometer read 50 degrees in early March. Much too cold to swing out over the water.

  A white bunny hopped into the middle of my path, shaking his little head. Sampson responded with a low growl and slapped my arm with his tail.

  “Thanks, Sampson. I so needed that.”

  I was late. I was always late. Not because I didn't plan, but I was always lost. GPS and I had issues. It never knew where it was, and it hated me. I'd tried using my phone and all the portable devices on the market. No dice. GPS and I were not meant to be together.

  This time, I thought I knew where I was going. This time, I thought I’d arrive on time. I was sooo wrong.

  But, I was only thirty minutes late. And I had texted Bonnie, Crescent Homescaping's scheduler, to ask her to notify Mr. Raymont.

  Would Mr. Raymont remember me after all these years? How was I going to explain to him I was late because I'd gotten lost? As children, he’d lectured his daughter and me about the importance of punctuality. I remembered the lesson. What could I say? Universal forces conspired against me.

  Rounding the last twist, the Manor came into view. I'd been here dozens of times, but I was twelve, and four decades later, the state moved the roads. Roads are supposed to be permanent things. Something you can count on. Stable, always there for you. Yes, there is always road construction, but typically, they don't move whole road groupings. This time, they had.

  I stopped the car in front of the manor's grand entrance. Funny, in my decades as a Feng Shui Practitioner, I'd worked on some extravagant houses. Double, triple, even quadrupled the price. I expected Raymont Manor to look small, but it still held the same wide-eyed wonder from my youth. Pieces of glorious memories darted across my mental screen, and a smile and happy tears found a place on my face. Raymont Manor held my best childhood memories.

  Back then, the twenty-minute trip from our house in Abracadabra, Indiana, to The Manor felt like hours, but when my parent's or grandparent's car pulled to the door, Lizzie, her mom, and Mr. Raymont were always outside to greet me before the car stopped.

  Today, the front door remained closed. Mr. Raymont didn't know that Faith from Crescent Homescaping was Little Faith Bracken, who used to sit in the middle of his workbench chattering away.

  The woman exiting her rented Mercedes in his driveway was now fifty-plus and the top consultant at the exorbitantly priced New York, Santa Barbara, and L.A. Homescaping firm. I scanned the front landscaping and climbed the wheaten-colored stone steps to the massive front castle door. Hmm. They'd installed a Ring Doorbell. Technology had invaded history. I liked the old one better. It had an ominous sound. Reminded me of a doorbell Lurch should answer.

  No answer.

  Hmmm.

  Not good.

  The Mr. Raymont I remembered was not the type to blow you off. If he were angry because you were late, he'd let you know in about three words. If he was glad to see you, everybody—friend or soon-to-be friend—received a big bear hug.

  Maybe he was out back. He'd always had a workshop in the backyard. It smelled of sawdust and his unique mixture of varnish.

  Should I walk around back? I was surprising him.

  Because my schedule consisted of stops in Florida, Nashville, Indianapolis, and Chicago, our scheduler had placed Mr. Raymont on my calendar at the last minute. I didn't tell Bonnie Mr. Raymont was an old friend. The less Gabby-Mouth knew, the better.

  In exchange, Bonnie moved the Chicago client to my nemesis in the company. Fine with me, I needed to escape on vacation. I was never coming back. But Gabby-Mouth didn't need to know that. No one needed to know that yet. I was done.

  Anyhow, I didn't often get to work for people from my childhood. Mr. Raymont was my second since I'd joined the company decades ago. I followed the sidewalk around the house. They'd added two Orangeola Weeping Japanese Maples to the yard since I'd been here last. Nice touch. I highly approved. Yard and Garden Feng Shui are my specialties, but I'm fluent in all aspects of Feng Shui. Over the years I'd been in the business, I'd developed my own special style.

  I scanned the pool area and back terrace. No Mr. Raymont. Where was the ubiquitous housekeeper and gardener? I'd never been to The Manor when there wasn't at least a few house staff here.

  "Mr. Raymont," I yelled.

  No answer.

  I knocked on the door of his woodshop. A machine ran inside. I knocked again. No answer. He probably couldn't hear over the machine's noise. I opened the door. Mr. Raymont's body thudded at my feet. So much for no dead bodies.

  CHAPTER 2

  I should have screamed or cried or both. Unlike the others, I knew Mr. Raymont personally. He was my 'other father.' The one who was there, when Vito wasn't. Why didn't grief pour out of me?

  Because I'd seen enough dead bodies lately, I didn't have anything left inside me. I couldn't deal with more p
olice. I'd had enough of them too. To be honest, I had just about enough of everything except Sampson. Every day, I fell deeper in love with his cute little puppy face.

  Don't get me wrong, I'm not against the police, but I knew law enforcement thought I was a serial killer. Like I would kill and then call the police. Really? And worse yet, I would kill my clients one after another. They obviously thought I was either incredibly brazen or stupid. Stupid topped their list. All I wanted was to finish the consult and disappear. My sanity required it.

  I looked at the body at my feet. I tried to feel something. All I felt was numb. What should I do now? Walk away? Let someone else find poor Mr. Raymont's body. My gut clenched at that suggestion. Someone he knew should stay with him until the police arrived. Someone. No. I needed to advocate for him. If circumstances were reversed, he'd move oceans for me. But I just couldn't call the police again. It wasn't in me. The locals would call Special Agent Harvey Wallbanger.

  Yes, that is his real name. I imagine the other kids bullied Harvey as a child without mercy. That's probably why he's so FOCUSED and determined. And why he's convinced I'm guilty. Maybe if I called the police, let them arrive, and then faked being sick, I could get the interview over in a flash before they connected me to the other murders. If I barfed on one of their shoes, that trick might work. Could I hurl at will? Ring Video already had my picture. I knew there was a reason I liked the old doorbell better. If I left the scene without calling, I’d look guilty.

  I couldn't. I couldn't deal with another interrogation. My stomach churned while I chewed on my fingernails. There was another option, but I couldn't deal with him either. Sisters are supposed to be able to call their brothers for help, especially when their brother is a cop. A Major Crimes Detective. Anyhow that's what I heard. I hadn’t talked to my brother in, well, a decade, but we do share the same blood and parents. He'd objected to my "snake oil" career. I objected to his condescending comments. We hadn't talked since that day.

  I needed to make a decision. Mr. Raymont was still at my feet. What to do? Flip a coin? Open the bible to a random passage? Grab a handful of gravel and use them as Ruine stones? Spit into the wind? Oh, here's a thought. Maybe I should just call Harvey and get it over. He could put me out of my misery and haul me off to jail for crimes I didn't commit. Wouldn't that make my cop brother happy?

  But who would care for Sampson? I only rescued the pup a few days ago, but already we had bonded. Sampson needed me. Seriously, what do I do?

  I do the worst of two horrible options. Reaching into my pocket, I tapped Arie's cell number. It went straight to voicemail. Of course. Why would my brother answer when I needed him? Did he know how much it emotionally cost me to reach out? Sorry, Bro, you can't hide from me. If I can't get him on his cell, I'll call his business, and if I can't get him there, I'll call Major Crimes.

  "Nothing Fancy Garden Center, Lynn speaking," The voice on the other end of the phone said.

  "Hi Lynn, this is Faith Bracken. I don't know if you remember me. I'm Arie's sister. I need to speak to him right away." Lynn took a few seconds to respond. What had my dear brother told her about me? Truth be told, I was the most normal, least damaged member of the family. Of course, he would not see it that way. I sold "snake oil."

  "Sorry, Faith. He's not here. I assume you've already tried his cell. So, try the station." She gave me the number.

  "Thanks, Lynn. I appreciate it. If he comes in soon, will you have him call me?"

  "Sure will. Everything okay? Is there something I can help you with?"

  Lynn was nice. Why she worked for Arie? Everyone had their reasons.

  "No, but I'll handle it. Thank you."

  I ended the call and dialed the phone number for the Michiana Major Crimes Task Force.

  A gruff voice answered the phone.

  "Major Crimes." Just his voice had me shaking in my Jimmy Choo boots. My breakfast turned and twisted as I spoke. I didn’t want to do this. I needed to do this. Why was someone dropping bodies for me to find?

  "This is Faith Bracken, Arie's sister.” I heard my mouth say. “I need to talk to him. It's an emergency." Not really. I mean, Mr. Raymont was dead. Not much anyone could do for him.

  "Hold on," The gruff voice said. He was gone for a minute or two. Arie was probably deciding whether to take my call or not and how his actions would look to the other cops.

  "Hi, this is Captain Blake Bloom. Arie's not available. How can I help?"

  At least he sounded friendly. He knew the word help, which is more than I expected from my brother.

  "Is his partner Pete there?" I knew from my high school Facebook friends' posts that Pete was engaged to a famous psychic, so the odds were good. He wouldn't hold my "snake oil" profession against me.

  "No, I'm afraid Pete is with Arie. You're stuck with me."

  The Captain had a pleasant soothing voice.

  "Okay, well, I'm in the area on business, and I just found a dead body."

  CHAPTER 3

  What should I do while I wait? I'd been hired to consult. My company had already been paid. I should do my job. But what if I destroyed some evidence while walking around or dropped something that made me look guilty? That would be bad. Probably best to just sit and wait here on this wooden bench proudly created by Mr. Raymont in his younger days. Or maybe, I could pace in front of this bench. Pacing felt better.

  I had rolled the windows down part of the way. Sampson would be fine for now. Arie's boss said someone would be here soon. Would that someone be my brother?

  I longed for a brother who would put his arms around me and take away all that I had been through. A brother who would make it okay. Arie hadn't been that brother in decades.

  What was his boss's name again? Something flower. Bloom. Captain Bloom.

  I must have walked the equivalent of five miles in the space of about eight feet before I heard the slam of one car door. Sampson barked.

  "Faith," the baritone voice I recognized from the phone called. Captain Bloom was here.

  So far, Arie was not. At least, my brother wouldn't be the first cop I had to face. Would Bloom advocate for his subordinate's sister or lock me away forever? At this point, did it really matter? Did I care?

  Yes, I did. I had goals, and some crazy lunatic serial killer was not going to rob me of those dreams. I'd made a life for myself despite my family, and no one was going to take it away from me. I needed to remember that when they interviewed me.

  "Back here. Follow the sidewalk around the house." My stomach clenched with anxiety. My anxiety manifested as every nerve plugged into an outlet. The inside of my body shaking, while the outside remained still. I hated anxiety.

  Less than a minute later, a six-foot-two rugged sandy-haired man with blue eyes came running towards me dressed in jeans and a brown windbreaker with letters on the right front pocket. Wow. Bet the ladies enjoyed his press conferences.

  His eyes traveled from me to the body and then scanned the surrounding area.

  "Faith, I'm Captain Blake Bloom. Are you hurt?"

  I shook my head.

  "No, I opened the door, and he fell out." Wow, that sounded horrible. My nonchalant attitude probably made me look guilty. At the least, it probably made me look callous. I mean, here I was driving a Mercedes in $1200 boots and a $5,000 jacket.

  "What brought you here? "Captain Bloom asked.

  "I am a Feng Shui Practitioner. Mr. Raymont had bought and paid for a consultation. Do you know what Feng Shui is?"

  He laughed. "Are you asking because I'm a guy or because you think I'm a hick?"

  I shrugged. "Lots of people still don't know what a Feng Shui Practitioner does."

  He stood beside me. At 5'5, I felt like a shrimp.

  "My ex-wife threw out ninety percent of my things, including me, after she read that book about keeping the things you love. I have a fair idea what you do."

  Oh. Would he hold the book against me? I didn’t write it.

  He knelt next to the bod
y.

  "How long ago did you find the body?"

  "About five minutes before I called you. I tried Arie's cell phone and then Nothing Fancy."

  He pulled a glove from his jacket pocket and felt the body.

  "He's still warm. Did you check for a pulse?"

  "Yes," I lied. I knew Mr. Raymont was dead. I didn't have to check, but Captain Bloom didn't need to know how I knew. Better I kept that little detail to myself.

  Captain Bloom examined the woodshop door.

  "What time was your appointment?

  "The appointment was for 9 AM. I arrived at 9:30. I was lost."

  “I see.” His voice held a hint of a chuckle. "Arie has mentioned you are directionally challenged."

  I felt my nose scrunch. So like my brother to point out my faults.

  "Has he now? I'm amazed he remembers."

  "Where were you before you arrived here?"

  And so, it started. I was a person of interest, again. I'd been down this road before—too many times.

  I had breakfast at Melba's Munchies in Moon Lake from 7:45 to 8:30. I stopped at the First Source Bank in LaPorte at 9:10 to get directions, and I arrived here at 9:30." I handed him my phone. "This app tracks everything I do."

  He took the phone from me.

  "Okay, well, it appears you have an alibi. My guess is this man died while you were at Melba's. Good choice, by the way. Melba's cooking is the best."

  "I try to eat there as often as I can when I pass this way." He looked like he was about to ask something and changed his mind.

  "I've got to make some phone calls. Do you want to get your dog out of the car? We'll be here a while."

  So, was that his way of detaining me without telling me he was detaining me? Was Arie on his way? Had he already run my name? Did something in some mysterious system trip and inform him I was a person of interest in multiple cases?

  "Thank you for coming," I said between his phone calls. "It's nice to have someone have my back for a change." I realized as I said the words, I meant them. I’d been through a lot the last few weeks. A friendly face, even if he wasn’t my friend, notched my anxiety lower.