Cold Cases and Haunted Places Read online

  Contents

  Introduction

  Haunted Tours & Evildoers by Erin Johnson

  Reaper Madness by by Nova Nelson

  Bohemian to the Bone by Amorette Anderson

  Yesterday’s Fears by Sam Cheever

  Charms and Charges by Lily Webb

  Wicked in the Water by Lotta Smith

  Druid by Kirsten Weiss

  Ghosts & Bad Toasts by Trixie Silvertale

  Murder, He Wrote? by Mona Marple

  Change in the Tide by Cate Dean

  Charming Chalice by Summer Prescott

  Hush Magic by J.L. Collins

  Alchemy, Arsenic & Alibis by Shéa MacLeod

  Girls Fright Out by Rebecca Regnier

  A Note from the Publisher

  Thank you!

  Cold Cases and Haunted Places: A Halloween Anthology of Paranormal Cozy Mystery Shorts

  Feel that chill in the air? It's the most haunted time of the year, and these quirky mysteries need solving…

  Sometimes you have to dig up the past, even if it's six-feet under. Solve cold cases, visit haunted locations, and investigate ancient legends in this spooktacular collection of paranormal cozy mystery short stories from your favorite witchy authors. And just in time for Halloween!

  * * *

  Anthology includes stories from: Erin Johnson, Nova Nelson, Amorette Anderson, Sam Cheever, Lily Webb, Lotta Smith, Kirsten Weiss, Trixie Silvertale, Mona Marple, Cate Dean, Summer Prescott, J.L. Collins, Shéa MacLeod, and Rebecca Regnier. See the Table of Contents for titles.

  Copyright © 2020 by Sittin’ On A Goldmine Productions, L.L.C.

  All rights reserved. Sittin’ On A Goldmine Productions, L.L.C. reserves all rights to Cold Cases and Haunted Places: A Halloween Anthology of Paranormal Cozy Mystery Shorts. No part of this work may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any manner whatsoever, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  * * *

  Sittin’ On A Goldmine Productions, L.L.C.

  [email protected]

  www.sittinonagoldmine.co

  * * *

  Publisher’s note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All stories herein are included with permission, and rights revert to the individual authors in January 2021.

  * * *

  Cover Design by Molly Burton CozyCoverDesigns.com

  Cover © Sittin’ On A Goldmine Productions, L.L.C.

  Baking witch, Imogen Banks, and her friends are celebrating Halloween with a haunted tour of the magical island of Bijou Mer. But when one of their party gives up the ghost, the tour participants all become suspects. Can Imogen catch the killer, or will this murder turn into another of the island's unsolved mysteries?

  1

  A Haunted Tour

  “Now follow me as we head deeper into the ancient tunnel system below our magical city.” Tim, our engaging tour guide, raised his brows, his face creepily underlit by his glowing wand. “And watch your step—the ground can be slippery, and down here…” He paused dramatically. “Your eyes can play tricks on you.”

  The thin bald guy winked, and our group chuckled.

  To my left, my bestie, Maple, wrung her hands. “Heh.” She grimaced, her chuckle coming out as more of a nervous whine.

  I wanted to reassure her that the haunted tour was just a bunch of ghost stories, but considering that in the last couple of years I’d learned that not only ghosts but also magic was real, I wasn’t sure it would help.

  Tim barked out a harsh cough, his thin shoulders heaving. A young guy who looked to be in his twenties clapped a hand on our tour guide’s shoulder. The distinctive tattoos of the Fire Kingdom laced up his hand and forearm. “You okay?”

  I shot Hank, my husband, a concerned look. He frowned back down at me, his thick brows pinched together over his deep blue eyes.

  Our guide’s voice sounded hoarse and he winced, even as he waved the young guy’s concern off.

  “Just feeling a little—hrg—under the weather.” Tim fished a tiny glass vial out of the breast pocket of his flannel shirt and downed the glowing blue potion in one gulp. He cleared his throat, squared his shoulders, and then waved our little group forward.

  “Alright, up around this next bend, you’ll find that we’re directly below Harlow Manor. Twenty-six years ago, the gardener, one Mr. Richard Bisset, killed the three children of the house and escaped through a manhole cover into the sewers and—”

  “How do you know?”

  Tim frowned at the young woman who’d interrupted him. Her tightly curled hair formed a dark circle around her head that bounced as she jabbed a finger at him. “How do you know? You’re trusting the word of Mr. Harlow. He could’ve killed his own kids, but of course he’s going to blame it on the poor gardener!”

  I shifted on my feet. This was a bit awkward. Was the gal a history buff or something? I figured we all took it with a grain of sand that these stories of Bijou Mer’s sordid underground were embellished and probably not the most accurate. I curled my lip as I thought of all the murderous tales our guide had been spinning—at least I hoped they were embellished.

  The guy she was with gently rubbed her back, but she didn’t back down, her eyes blazing as she glared at our tour guide.

  The older woman in our group scowled at her. “It’s rude to interrupt, young lady. We all paid for this tour.”

  Tim frowned. He cleared his throat, seeming to struggle for a moment with the interruption. Finally, he nodded. “The truth of the tale is certainly lost in time, and we can only speculate. But the legend goes that Mr. Harlow grew so engulfed with grief at the loss of his children that he moved into…”

  His voice gradually grew quieter as the dozen or so of us on the haunted tour filed along behind him. Maple hugged close to me, whipping her head side to side at every little drop of water or squeak of a rat.

  “Ow.” I winced as her blond ponytail got me in the eye for the third time.

  She whimpered. “Sorry.”

  Hank, who stood on my left, gave her a kind smile. “Don’t worry—it’s safe. There’s a whole city of people living down here, after all.”

  Hank was a prince and had been raised here on the magical island of Bijou Mer. He had an air of authority and confidence about him that always made whatever he said sound reassuring… and pretty sexy, frankly.

  Plus, he had a point. While I’d explored the beautiful, medieval city of Bijou Mer above ground, with its cobblestoned streets and beautiful canals lacing through it, the underground was new to me. To all of us, really.

  A whole city of shifters had been living down here for decades, but until recently, it was a well-kept secret. Now, thanks to reforms to help shifters, which Hank and I had been actively in support of, the sewers had opened up to visitors.

  While my friends and I had since moved away from Bijou Mer, we came back for regular visits to see friends and family and to help fulfill our diplomatic duties. I was now a princess, after all, as I liked to tease Hank whenever I didn’t feel like doing dishes.

/>   Our visit this time just happened to fall on the human holiday of Halloween—something they didn’t celebrate here, much to my chagrin. I’d convinced my friends to celebrate with me by doing something spooky. So here we were, taking a haunted underground tour of the sewers.

  “Yeah, totally safe.” My magical flame, Iggy, piped up from the lantern I held. He peeked out, gnawing on the last bits of a piece of wood, little embers floating from his fiery mouth. “It’s just an abandoned stretch of crumbling, ancient sewer that’s extremely haunted.” He scoffed. “What’s there to be afraid of?”

  Maple whimpered again, wringing her hands, and I shot Iggy a flat look. “So helpful.”

  He cackled, the last of his wood incinerating in his mouth. He held out his little flame arms and made grabby hands. “Trick or treat.”

  I shook my head and huffed. “For the thousandth time, that’s not how it works.”

  “You said, that on Hallowed Deen—”

  “Halloween,” I corrected him.

  He ignored me—as usual. “You’re supposed to say, ‘trick or treat, give me something good to eat.’ You give me a treat, or I trick you, right?” His mouth disappeared as he waited for my answer.

  Knowing Iggy, I definitely didn’t want him thinking up some trick to play on me. He was mischievous as it was—I didn’t need him trying extra hard.

  Hank grinned his charming smile. “He’s kinda got you there.”

  I shook my head, my thick bangs skimming my forehead. I dug around in the back pocket of my jeans, grumbling, until I found another chunk of Iggy’s local favorite snack—linden wood. I held it up and flashed my eyes at him. “Here—no tricks.”

  We shuffled through the dark, rounded stone tunnel. Hank had to duck his head under a rusted pipe, and my boots splashed through a puddle of water that, judging by the smell, wasn’t too fresh. While a few in our party carried lit wands or lanterns like me, most of the light came from the wall-mounted torches, which were spaced far enough apart to leave stretches in deep darkness. They cast our flickering shadows against the curved walls. Murmuring voices and Tim’s louder narration echoed down branching tunnels that disappeared into darkness. It was definitely eerie—and totally put me in the Halloween spirit.

  I nudged Hank. “Too bad Rhonda and Francis couldn’t make it—they would’ve loved this.”

  He nodded, his mouth pulled to the side. “Maybe a little too much.”

  I frowned. “What do you mean—oh.” I curled my lip. “Yeah, you’re right.”

  We’d once walked in on the vampire and psychic couple doing some risqué things in a dark, bat-filled corner of the royal library. The tunnels would’ve definitely put them in a mood—just not one I wanted to be a part of.

  They’d gone instead to visit some of Rhonda’s distant relatives in New Orleans. She was the only one of my friends who had any knowledge of human culture—which meant that none of them got my jokes, and hence, how funny I was. Iggy liked to roll his eyes when I said that—“Sure, Imogen, that’s the reason.”

  Yann and Annie, our older friends, had bowed out because they were convinced they were going to slip in the tunnels and break a hip and had opted instead for a quiet evening with their significant others. Amelia, an event planner, was working a fall harvest party tonight, but I glanced behind us, glad that Sam and his boyfriend, Kenta, had come along.

  Sam shivered, though he was wrapped in a sweater, scarf, hat with earflaps, and he wore mittens. I fought a smile. He’d put the thumb part of the mittens on his pinkie fingers, which made his hands look backwards. “I’m jussst ssso cold.”

  Kenta grinned back at me and vigorously rubbed Sam’s back. “I’m trying to warm you up.”

  I raised a brow. “Sam, we could cast a heat spell around you?”

  “Thanksss.” He shivered again. “But Kenta already did.”

  Kenta shot me a sympathetic smile. “Cold-blooded you know.”

  “Ah.” I frowned. “Poor guy.” Sam was a snake shifter, and it caught up to him sometimes. He was the opposite of most other shifters. He’d been born snake and learned to shift into a human, which meant he sometimes got human phrases and gestures adorably wrong. This apparently included wearing mittens.

  “I’ll be alright.” Sam snuggled up against his boyfriend, and we continued on around a curve in the dark, echoey tunnels, toward the rest of the group already waiting and assembled in front of Tim, our tour guide.

  “Bah!” A dark figure lurched out from our right and grabbed Maple’s shoulders.

  2

  Death in the Dark

  “Eee!” Maple buried her face in her hands and shrieked in a pitch maybe only dogs and dolphins could hear. It echoed around the tunnels.

  Wiley, her tall boyfriend, wrapped her in a hug, chuckling. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just me—it was a joke.”

  Maple dropped her hands and glared at him. “Hmph.” She slugged his arm. “Don’t scare me like that.”

  “Sorry.” Wiley grimaced at me and Hank, and I shook my head at him. Cat—Maple and Wiley’s odd little monster pet—perched on his tall shoulders, gumming at the top of his head. The little guy had black bat wings, raccoon hands, a monkey tail, pug eyes, and a Cheshire grin. Despite his name, Cat was definitely not a cat.

  “Ugh.”

  I lifted Iggy’s lantern, and my little flame made a face. “You’d think she wouldn’t be scared by much when she lives with that thing.”

  I raised a brow and nodded my agreement. Cat creeped me out. The fact that he had mind control powers didn’t really do much to ease my worries.

  Our tour guide and the rest of our group all spun to face us, eyes narrowed. I waved and shot them a sheepish grin. “Sorry. Please go on.” We rejoined the group, spreading out so that we could see our charismatic guide.

  Tim nodded, though he looked pale in the blueish light from his wand, and cleared his throat. “The antique dagger was rumored to be part of a pirate treasure from a wreckage that washed up on the shores of Bijou Mer on a dark and stormy night. The hilt, covered in jewels; the blade, razor sharp.”

  I grinned—I had to give it to the guy. He might be feeling under the weather, but he was super animated and a great storyteller. You could tell he enjoyed his job.

  Tim went on, the group hushed as we hung on his words. “The dagger was eventually sold to a rich man, one Mr. Jeremy Havillard, who added it to his collection of antique weaponry. Mr. Havillard was arguing with his wife one fateful night—they’d always had a tumultuous relationship—when she lunged for the dagger and plunged it through his heart.”

  Tim raised his arm overhead and drove it down in dramatic fashion. The older woman gasped and clung to her elderly husband. Sid, the guy with the tattoos, seemed to be studying our tour guide’s every move. He held a scroll in his hands and wrote with a feather quill. I quirked a brow—it looked like he was taking notes.

  “The dagger and Mr. Havillard’s body were never found. His widow eventually confessed to his murder and claimed a household servant had helped her dispose of the body and the weapon into the sewers, though neither cursed dagger nor body were ever found.”

  Tim lowered his voice so that the dripping from pipes echoed loudly and we had to lean close to catch his last whispered words. “It’s said that Mr. Havillard’s angry spirit still roams these tunnels, murdering any who dare trespass with the bejeweled dagger that ended his own life.”

  Maple whimpered and let Wiley hug her tight to his side. I glanced up at Hank and flashed my eyes. “Spooky.”

  He nodded, looking a bit creeped out himself.

  Even Iggy shrunk in his lantern, his flames flickering with fear.

  “Alright,” Tim announced loudly, making several of our party jump. “And we continue on to our next site. Follow me. Careful now, the tunnel expands, and it’s quite dark ahead.”

  I frowned. He wasn’t kidding. The path grew pitch-black up ahead, seeming to swallow up the light from our wands and lanterns.

  T
he older woman clung to her husband’s arm and shook her head. “Oh, no. That’s too hard for us to climb through in the dark.” She frowned. “I already slipped twice.”

  Her husband snorted. “Your associate said we’d be fine, but this is too much. We’re leaving right now and demanding our money back!”

  Tim, at the front of the line, hesitated and called back to them. “Apologies—please just be careful on your way out.”

  The older man waved him off with a scowl and lit his wand, helping his wife pick her way back to the beginning of our tour. I raised my brows at Hank—it seemed Annie and Yann might have been right to sit this one out.

  We edged into the darkness, straining to make anything out. In the dimness, the scuffle of feet, squeaks of rats, and rattles of pipes overhead seemed to grow louder.

  “Arggghhh!”

  My chest tightened at the strangled cry that echoed through the tunnel. It was followed by a clanging noise, like metal hitting the stone ground.

  Voices bounced all around me in the darkness, disorienting, as I held Iggy’s lantern aloft, the other members of our tour lighting their wands and casting spells to see better.

  “Who’s hurt?”

  “Is everyone alright?”

  “What was that?”

  Hank strode forward, always a leader. “Everyone stay calm.”