FAMILY MAGIC (THE FLOWER FARM MAGICAL MYSTERY SERIES Book 1) Page 4

  "Technically, you are a person of interest. We would be derelict in our duties if we left you alone," said Blake.

  "And moving furniture is part of your job description."

  "We need to stay fit."

  "Oh, trust me, we'll get our workout," Arie said. "She's a drill sergeant. I once spent ten hours moving furniture from one place to another and back over and over and over again."

  "Is that true?" Blake asked, smiling at me.

  "How do you think he passed the endurance test to get accepted into the police academy?"

  "Not true," Arie said.

  They followed me into the room where Micky had stored most of the stuff I'd sent home.

  "So, this bed frame and mattress need to go upstairs."

  So, it was king size. They were tough. It’d be good for them—only one flight of narrow stairs. Arie looked at the mattress and then at me.

  "Of course, it does," said Arie.

  "You offered, Bro."

  "Me and my big mouth." He moved a desk from in front of the headboard.

  "Come on, you two big strong men can handle this with no problem."

  Blake smirked as he picked up one end of the king-sized mattress.

  "Notice she didn't add handsome to that statement."

  Arie grabbed the other end.

  "Do not encourage her."

  Fifteen minutes later, I fished around in Grams' old tool drawer and found an Allen wrench.

  "I thought simplicity was part of your zen. This thing has like a hundred pieces." Blake said, flipping the wrench up and over several times.

  I sat on the floor cross-legged and gave directions.

  "Our motto is surround ourselves with the things you love. It was love at first sight for me. I bought it at an estate sale the day after I moved to Los Angeles." My voice trailed off, thinking of Grams’ funeral. I left the night we buried her.

  "Speaking of moving. What the heck happened to Moon Lake?"

  The two guys looked at each other.

  "There's been a feud between the people who live in the township and the people who live in the town. And between the residents who live in Abracadabra and those who live in Moon Lake."

  "Over?"

  "The people in the town wanted a state-of-the-art new school. The way property taxes are structured, the people who live in the unincorporated part of the township would bear the burden of paying for it. Moon Lake tried to annex Abracadabra, but Vito hired a fancy lawyer and got that idea nixed."

  Dad getting involved in local politics. Dad back in Abracadabra. Something was wrong.

  "But Moon Lake has always been a rich little town."

  "It was until everyone got their tail feathers twisted," Arie said. "Several businesses have closed. It's not a nice place to be right now."

  "But," Blake said, tightening a screw. "Moon Lake has a new part-time mayor who is trying to heal the divide."

  "Did they get the new school?"

  "No, the people in the county won," Blake said.

  "Did they need a new school?"

  Arie shoved a slat into place.

  "Our old school needs an upgrade. The faction pushing for a new school went overboard. It had to be their way or no way. Heated arguments turned into physical altercations."

  Moon Lake had always been a mystical prosperous little village. Lots of interconnected families. My mind struggled to form an image.

  "In Moon Lake?"

  "Yep, do you think we'd lie to you?"

  No, I knew Arie wasn't a liar. As that thought formed and followed. I realized for the first time in weeks my anxiety meter was down a point. I'd gone from fifteen to fourteen. Maybe even thirteen point five.

  CHAPTER 12

  Sampson, who'd been actively sniffing every inch of thawing mud and grass in his backyard, ran from the back corner to the screen door pawing for all his little body was worth.

  "Looks like The Fed is here," Blake said from the other room where he'd gone at Sampson's alert. "Sampson shows potential as a watchdog."

  If I was going to keep Sampson—and how could I not—Sampson needed doggie school. That meant staying in one place long enough for him to graduate. Geez! I sounded like a parent.

  Just nerves.

  I took a deep breath and rose to my feet, using the bed frame to steady me. It held. They'd done an excellent job. Arie had already gone downstairs. As I descended the stairs, I heard Blake open the front door and join Arie on the front porch. I needed another deep breath. I could do this—one more breath.

  “You’ve got this, Faith.” I heard a voice say. Great, now I’m talking to myself and don’t even know I’m doing it.

  I walked onto the porch to find the three men sitting in chairs. When had the chairs arrived? They weren’t there last night. My face must have registered my shock. Arie mouthed the word "Dad." That was so like Vito. He came in the middle of the night. Altered your world and disappeared. Kind of like a round, pint-sized, mob boss, Lone Ranger.

  Harvey stood to shake my hand.

  "Faith, it's good to see you. Thank you for contacting me."

  "You would have found out anyhow."

  He smiled. "I’ve noticed you don’t mince words, do you?"

  I moved a can of coffee off one of the chairs and pulled it slightly away from the others towards the steps. Vito thought of everything.

  "I assume you want me to tell you about finding Mr. Raymont's body."

  He took his phone out and pushed the record button.

  “If you don't mind."

  I proceeded to tell him the entire story.

  "I understand you knew the victim."

  "I did. I met his daughter at art camp when we were seven. We became best friends. I spent several weekends at Raymont Manor until Lizzie moved to live with her mother in New York. We were both twelve. I had not returned to Raymont Manor until yesterday."

  "Are you still in contact with Lizzie?"

  "On Social Media. I read her posts from time to time. I'm sure she reads mine. We are casual acquaintances. Lizzie's new stepdad was the head of a hedge fund. My father was rumored to be a Vegas Crime Boss. Not really the same circles."

  "Your father is Vito Bracken."

  "He is.” Arie crossed his arms. Dad's "occupation" had always been a sore spot for Arie. I believed Arie joined the military to get away from the stigma of being Vito Bracken's son, as well as the pain of losing Sheryl.

  "When was Raymont Manor added to your schedule? By whom?"

  "Bonnie, our scheduler, called me late afternoon the day before. She asked if I would take the assignment and then pick up the train from Michigan City to Chicago. She wanted me to do a consult in Chicago, and then I was free to start my vacation. I said no. I'd take Raymont Manor and then start my vacation. She agreed to send someone else."

  "Why didn't you want to take the consult in Chicago? Did you have a plane to catch?"

  "No. Since I was so close to home, I wanted to bring Sampson here to play in his backyard."

  "How much money do you make off each consultation?"

  "$10,000 per consultation." I watched Blake and Arie's eyes grow wide in surprise.

  "And yet you passed up $10,000 to bring your puppy home to play in his pen?"

  When he put it like that, my plans sounded ridiculous. How could I explain? At some point, my sanity trumped money.

  "What I do is part art, part science, and part spirit. The art and spirit parts are drained. I needed time to replenish them."

  "And you didn't have one more consultation in you."

  "I needed rest more than I needed the money."

  "Aren't you, in fact, a high-class hooker, Faith."

  So, he'd finally said what I'd known he'd been thinking.

  Before I could say a word, Arie jumped to his feet. Harvey remained seated. Blake stood next to Arie.

  "You need to leave," Arie said, every muscle in his body tensed, preparing for a beat down.

  "It's okay, Arie," I placed my hand
on my brother's arm. "I've got this. So, you finally said it. I'm curious why you waited to accuse me of being a hooker until I was seated in front of my cop brother and his Captain. You've been thinking it since day one."

  "Am I thinking it because it is true?"

  Arie clenched his fists.

  "He's not worth it," Blake said.

  "No. It is not true. Feng Shui is an ancient art form. I do not touch my clients. And before you ask. No jealous boyfriend is killing them either. I'm on the road 360 days a year. Sure, I dated my supervisor for a short time, but it was only a minute, and he broke it off because I was gone constantly, and dead bodies met me at the door.”

  "So how do you plan to take care of a dog if you are on the road 360 days a year?"

  "I didn't know the FBI had a doggie unit," Blake said. "Unless you have more questions about Mr. Raymont's murder, I think we are finished here."

  Harvey put his phone in his pocket.

  "I don't at this time. Don't leave town, Faith." He walked toward his car.

  CHAPTER 13

  Just when I was about to breathe, Harvey turned around.

  "We're taking over the Raymont investigation. Captain Bloom, you'll have paperwork within the hour."

  "How long have you been dealing with that jerk?" Blake asked as Harvey shut his door.

  "Since the murder of the owner of my company, a few weeks ago. And for the record, I have never slept with nor had sexual relations of any kind with my clients. Most I never see. They fill out a form. A domestic helper grants me access to the home. I write my reports, and Brittany, our office manager, sets an appointment with one of our sales representatives to discuss the report and implement my suggestions. I seldom have direct contact. If a client wishes to purchase any of the items suggested in my report, they are directed to a sales representative. Maybe once a quarter, a client insists on meeting me, and then I am always accompanied by a sales representative."

  "So, if you seldom meet your clients, why does your company pay for your car, clothes, etc.?" Arie asked.

  "As I said, part of what I do is art, part science, and part spiritual. Our clients are the top one percent. We as consultants need to move in that lifestyle to understand them. They all have video systems. Can't have us showing up in five-dollar jeans and a t-shirt.

  "But none of the murders are captured on video," Blake opened the door and escorted me inside. I just realized it was cold.

  "Weird, I know. I've thought of that too."

  "So, how many consultations a week do you have?" Blake asked.

  "Sometimes as many as twenty. I'm the busiest consultant because I can do home, businesses, farms. My specialty is gardens."

  "Makes sense," Arie said. "Given you grew up between a Montana Ranch and an Indiana Garden Center."

  "Our Aunt Georgia owns one of the premier home furnishing brands," I said to Blake.

  "Does your company carry your aunt's line?"

  I shook my head.

  "Sadly, no. My aunt isn’t a fan of my company. I’m not sure why. "

  "Do you get a commission on the items sold by your company?"

  "No. Some consultants do. I was afraid it would cloud my judgment. As I said, part of what I do is spiritual. I try to keep my energy pure."

  "And yet you find yourself tripping over dead bodies."

  "I know. I have meditated and done all the spiritual fixes I know. I've not found an answer."

  Blake's phone buzzed.

  "Got the feds paperwork."

  Arie grabbed a cup of coffee and sat on a stool at the counter.

  "I don't care. Someone is dropping bodies for my sister to find. This is personal. Harvey wants to make Faith guilty. Not going to happen."

  So, whose honor was he defending, mine or his? Deep down. I knew he was protecting his little sister's. Whether or not the woman in front of him was still considered his sister remained to be seen. The last thing I wanted was to create more drama in my family. He didn’t need to fight my battles.

  "Arie, I've seen enough TV. You go up against the Feds, and your career could be in ruins. You already have a questionable father. Just let me disappear. I am sure this is about my company. Someone is trying to bring them down. If I disappear, whoever is doing it will have to pick another consultant to harass. It will prove it's about my company and not me."

  "Faith," Blake leaned forward in his chair, "Rather than disappear, since you are always on the road, why don’t you work out a deal to work from Abracadabra? Tell them you need a few weeks off to give the police time to find the killer. Can you afford to take a few weeks off? They aren't going to drop bodies under the nose of two cops and a mob boss."

  "Arie didn't tell me you lived in Abracadabra."

  "I do, now."

  Oh. What exactly did the ‘now’ mean?

  "Okay, first off. No matter what Arie might have told you. I do not squander money. Most of what I've made that taxes didn't eat up I socked away. Second, I don't need you two to protect me. I've been doing that all by myself for a long time."

  "And look where that got you," Arie said.

  "So, you think I did something to cause this?"

  Arie raked his hand through his hair.

  "I didn't say that."

  No, but it's in your body language.

  "The only way I'm staying is if you promise to help me figure out who killed Mr. Raymont. I didn't tell Harvey, but this murder is different."

  Arie raked his hand through his hair. The thick black hair flopped back into place from too much practice.

  "Different how?" Arie asked. "And you couldn't have told us that sooner?"

  "I didn't realize it until I was talking to Harvey, and I'm not used to sharing."

  "Faith, we need you to trust us," Blake said. "Different how?"

  "Well, Mr. Raymont was hidden away. All the others have been out in the open where I couldn't miss the bodies. And the bodies have been posed. Mr. Raymont just fell out." It sounded horrible when I said it. "Third, every other murder victim has had a picture of me with my full name on it and a bag of little bones. Mr. Raymont didn't. There was a message on the first body."

  Blake’s arm rested on my shoulder.

  “Faith, what was the message?”

  “You must clear your demons before you plant your dreams.”

  Arie held me by both shoulders.

  “What demons, Faith?”

  “All my demons are related to Abracadabra and family. Since I left here, I’ve been on the road constantly.”

  Arie’s eyes clouded, and his mouth fell open. I felt his hold soften.

  "I thought you said your company doesn't use your last name," Blake said, changing the subject.

  "They don't. And they certainly don't use my middle name. I've grabbed the pictures and the bones out of the victim’s hands every time before I called the police."

  Both guys raked their hands through their hair. "Why?"

  "Why were the pictures and bones there? or Why did I take it from their hands?"

  "I don't know. Both," said Arie.

  "Why and how they have a picture of me with my full name on it, I have no idea. Why I took it from their hands has to do with my spiritual beliefs."

  Arie began pacing. If I stuck around too long, he’d be skin and bones.

  "So, what do the bones mean to your spiritual beliefs?"

  "Bones can represent several things."

  Blake touched my hand.

  "What do they mean to you, Faith? The killer is leaving them with your picture and full name."

  "Bones to me mean areas of your life left unfed, not nurtured."

  "So, what would those areas be for you, Faith?" Blake asked.

  "Wow, talk about feeling vulnerable."

  "I know, but it might lead us to the killer. And clear this madness out of your life.”

  Madness exactly captured my world these last few weeks. Blake exuded empathy.

  "Well, my family. As I'm sure you noticed, we have
issues. And I guess my home. I mean, I own a house here, but I live on the road. I wasn't seriously dating anyone. And career-wise, I wanted a change."

  Blake looked from Arie to me.

  “Roll with me here. Have you seen anyone recently following you that looks vaguely familiar from Abracadabra? Unusual contact with someone connected to Abracadabra or your family?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  Blake and Arie looked at each other again. I imagined silent thoughts beaming from one to the other.

  "Is there anyone in your past you dated who thought you were more serious than you did?" Arie asked.

  "Well, it's hard to know another's thoughts."

  "Yeah, but with your body language skills…"

  "No one I can think of. I haven’t exaggerated. I am always on the road. Sometimes I do three cities in one day."

  "The pictures. Do you have them. Are they the same picture or different? Are they marketing photos or candid?" Arie asked.

  "They are in my carry-on. The first one was from a marketing brochure. The others have been from the previous crime scene."

  "Faith, we need to see those photos." Blake made notes in a little book.

  "Somehow, I figured that." Walking back into the kitchen, I opened my carry-on parked in the corner and retrieve the photos from inside the pouch marked dog treats. I handed them and the bones to Arie."

  He grabbed a tissue and flipped through them. His muscles tightened. I couldn't tell if he was mad at me for withholding evidence from the police or at the killer. He handed them off to Blake.

  "We need to run these for prints."

  "Won't that alert Harvey."

  Blake flipped his notebook closed.

  "You let me worry about Harvey. Back to your company. If you disappear but can stay plugged into the investigation, you're waiting to see what happens to the bones and pictures," Blake surmised. "That's an Arie move."

  Arie glared at Blake.

  "The problem with your plan is that if you disappear and someone is after you or wants to hurt Vito, you've made yourself an easy target," said Arie. "No one would know you're missing."

  So, he’d said what I’d been wondering.

  "Yeah, I thought this might be about Vito too," I admitted.