Flea Market Magic (Southern Relics Cozy Mysteries Book 1)

  Flea Market Magic

  Southern Relics Cozy Mysteries

  Bella Falls

  Evermore Press

  Copyright © 2019 by Bella Falls

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author, except where permitted by law or for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  All Rights Reserved.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Also by Bella Falls

  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

  Epilogue

  Southern Relics Cozy Mysteries

  Southern Charms Cozy Mystery Series

  About the Author

  Also by Bella Falls

  Southern Relics Cozy Mysteries

  Flea Market Magic

  Rags To Witches

  Pickup and Pirates (Coming Soon)

  A Southern Charms Cozy Mystery Series

  Moonshine & Magic: Book 1

  Lemonade & Love Potions (Southern Charms Cozy Short)

  Fried Chicken & Fangs: Book 2

  Sweet Tea & Spells: Book 3

  Barbecue & Brooms: Book 4

  Collards & Cauldrons: Book 5

  Cornbread & Crossroads: Book 6 (Coming Soon)

  *All audiobooks available are narrated by the wonderful and talented Johanna Parker

  For a FREE exclusive copy of the prequel to the Southern Charms series, Chess Pie & Choices, sign up for my newsletter !

  Share recipes, talk about Southern Charms and all things cozy mysteries, and connect with me by joining my reader group Southern Charms Cozy Companions !

  Chapter One

  T he old truck dipped under my feet when I hoisted myself up onto the bed. Something about the warmth of the early sun, the scent of the morning, and the way the wind blew spoke to the bargain hunter in me. We needed all the ropes we could take to tie down our purchases from today’s quest. Rummaging around the newer aluminum crossover toolbox, I couldn’t even find a spool of string.

  My uncle’s whistle bounced off the nearby buildings, and I hustled off the back of the truck. Climbing over the wood slats that helped hold in all the goodies we hauled, I jumped down and landed slightly askew, my right ankle almost twisting in my cowboy boot. I stood in front of the driver’s side door with my arms crossed.

  “Move your butt outta the way, Ruby Mae Jewell,” my uncle demanded when he caught sight of me.

  I held my ground, staring at him through my sunglasses. “You ain’t drivin’ today or any other day, Drunkle Jo. You lost your license for drinkin’ at the Hole and drivin’ home.”

  “You’re the one who took it away, not the police!” he complained, trying to move me aside.

  I leaned my weight against the metal of the door, blocking his progress with my body. “You’re real lucky you haven’t been caught yet, and you know how it’s gonna look if one of the Jewell family gets arrested for drunk driving.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first of our long line to see the inside of a jail. Probably won’t be the last.” He took off his trucker hat and scratched the few sweaty strands on his almost bald head.

  I pulled my glasses down my nose to glare at him. “You’ll get your license back when you’ve been on the straight and narrow for at least a full solid cycle of the moon. And where the heck’s all the rope?”

  “Most of it’s at the shop. We’ll stop by there first and then at the house for a second. Come on, let’s get going. Daylight’s wasting, and we’ve got deals to make.” Uncle Jo bowed low in front of me, giving me control of the truck. He moseyed to the passenger side and pulled himself in, the old vehicle dipping under his weight.

  “Most of it? Where’s the rest of the rope?”

  He wiggled his eyebrows at me. “Your aunt and I, sometimes we like to—”

  I held up my hand. “Stop.” I didn’t need the visuals of him and Aunt Delia grinding corn together up at the house. With a moan, I brushed the stray wisps of red hair behind my ears and placed my straw cowboy hat on my head. “Let’s go.”

  Turning the key, I waited for good ol’ Bessie to fire to life. She groaned and shook beneath us, but wheezed and conked out without her engine turning over.

  “Shoulda let me drive,” sang my uncle, looking away from me and whistling.

  “Hush,” I scolded, stroking the worn steering wheel. “Come on, old girl. You can do it.” Trying again, I begged and cajoled her to very little success.

  Uncle Jo hopped out. “I can walk faster to the shed. Meet you there.”

  I hung my head out of the rolled down window. “Ain’t you gonna help me get her running?”

  “Nope. You drive, your responsibility.” He waved at me and hollered over his shoulder, “You could always call your mechanic boyfriend and see if he can do somethin’ if you cain’t.”

  “You know he doesn’t do mornings,” I complained, sticking my middle finger up at my uncle’s considerable backside walking away from me.

  I dug in my pocket and pulled out my spell phone. My fingers hovered over Luke’s name. It was never a good idea to awaken a person who loathed mornings. Even a worse one to disturb a sleeping vampire.

  “I don’t need to be rescued,” I declared, shoving my spell phone back in my pocket.

  With a few pulls of levers, I popped open Bessie’s hood and stared at the engine block. It could be the oil, although I had no idea where the dipstick was located. Or it could be the radiator. At least, I thought truck engines had radiators. I shrieked with impatient frustration as I slammed the hood shut.

  What options did I have? To call on my boyfriend, who would drag himself out of his bed and help out of loyalty despite his predilection to sleep in. To drive my cousin Deacon’s precious shiny F-150, which would definitely get scratched in the process of hauling home our bounty. Or to give up on going to the flea market altogether, even though my entire being buzzed with impending good fortune in our search for bargains.

  I climbed back inside the cab and slumped into the front seat. Leaning forward, I gripped the steering wheel and begged. “Bessie. Sugar. You and me, we’re just two girls who want to get the job done. Let’s help each other out.”

  I tried turning the key again, and she sputtered and shook, but still didn’t come to life.

  I smacked my hand on the wheel and pointed at her. “You know, Uncle Jo’s been talking about getting a brand new van. Saying how he’s gonna give up on using a truck. Talking about the scrapyard. You don’t want that, do you?” I threatened.

  The turn of the key produced nothing but silence.

  “Oh, it’s like that?” With my will, I drew upon my internal magic and let it flow through me. Tingles stretched down my arms toward my fingers. “Listen here, Bess. I can give you a jumpstart with my powers, but you should know, I’m an elemental fire witch. I could end up setting you ablaze,” I war
ned.

  With one more try, the engine coughed and rumbled. Closing my eyes, I attempted a little of my magic, willing it down through the wheel, into the rusting metal, and under the hood. Imagining a tiny spark, I released my intent and let go.

  Ol’ Bessie shuddered underneath my behind and roared to life. I opened one eye to make sure smoke wasn’t billowing out from under the hood. “Good girl,” I crooned to her, stroking the wheel. “Next time, if you just work right off the bat, I won’t have to risk your life.”

  Pulling up in front of the storage barn, I honked the horn. Uncle Jo emerged carrying an armload of neatly tied ropes. Buddy, our resident outdoor cat, trotted behind him with his tail high in the air.

  My uncle threw the ropes onto the truck bed and did his best to hoist himself up. The cat jumped in with no problems, clawing and chewing on the ropes with his claws until my uncle fussed at him. Once everything was loaded in the truck box, Uncle Jo picked up the cat and struggled his way off the back of the truck.

  Sweat poured down his face by the time he reached the passenger side, and he set Buddy down on the ground and took out a red bandana to wipe himself off. “Okay, house next.”

  He opened the door, and the cat bounded onto the seat. “Hey, Buddy. You being a good barn kitty and keeping all the rodents and roaches from overrunning it?” I crooned in a sweet voice, tickling his chin.

  The black and white beastie rubbed my arm with his head and meowed how much of a good boy he really was. The black smudge above his white mouth in the shape of a mustache always amused me, and I scratched his little head while I giggled, earning more purrs.

  “That wily animal can’t come with us,” declared Uncle Jo. He snapped his fingers in a failed attempt to force the cat into obedience. When Buddy turned his backside towards him instead, my uncle grasped him by the scruff of his neck and drug him out of the truck, setting him down on the ground again. “Stay.”

  “See ya later, Buds,” I called out, putting the truck into gear and driving away once Uncle Jo got in.

  The vehicle trundled down the dirt road toward the family home until I slammed on the brakes, causing both of us to lurch forward. A big black hog with a few white spots and pink tips to his ears, snout, and hooves stood in the way.

  Bessie’s horn blared at the animal. It cocked its bulging head in our direction and snorted.

  “Come on, Deacon!” I slammed my hand on the horn a few more times. “Move out of the way.”

  The hog snuffled the ground, searching for something to munch on and expressing its unwillingness to budge.

  “Go move him. He’s your son,” I commanded my uncle.

  “Which means he’s gonna listen to me? Fat chance. You go. Times a’wastin’.” Uncle Jo dipped his head in the direction of the pig, darting his eyes away to hide the sadness in them.

  I threw the truck in park and got out, grumbling the whole way. When I stood in front of the enormous creature, I placed my hands on my hips and tapped the toe of my cowboy boot. “Well? What do you want?”

  My cousin in his animal form tilted his head, regarding me with his beady eye while chewing on some grass. “Where you goin’?” he grunted in a low rasp.

  “It’s Saturday. Big flea market just outside of Smooter,” I replied, frustrated at my cousin’s stubbornness.

  “Not ’til you promise to find a way for me to change back,” Deacon managed between snorts.

  “Listen, Bacon ,” I smirked, using the nickname he earned whenever he acted too annoying. “You’re the one who was being too much of a player with the ladies. It’s not on me or any of the rest of us that you messed with the wrong witch or that you didn’t even know anything about her so we had something to go on to free you from her curse. As she said, if you’re gonna act like a pig, you might as well be one.”

  The hog lumbered over and pushed its considerable weight against me, knocking me off balance. “But you’re the best at finding the right stuff. Can’t one of the objects you’ve got locked up fix me?”

  As a rule, none of our family talked about the secret stash we kept in a vault on a nearby sea island out of a fear of discovery. My cousin’s mention of it spoke to his desperation.

  I scratched the pig between the ears. “I’m sorry, Deacon. I know it must be tough on you. And I promise, when we’re searching through stuff today, I’ll see if there’s anything there that might be helpful. I told you, we’ll do everything we can to change you back.”

  “Please.” The pig lifted its snout so it could gaze at me. “Sometimes, I feel myself slipping away, grunt, oink .”

  I crouched down to his eye level. “I promise. We all love you, cuz,” I whispered and kissed his dirty noggin for good measure.

  Satisfied, Deacon the pig wandered off the dirt road and out of our way. Not wanting to hesitate anymore, I hustled back into the truck and revved the engine, slipping the gear shift into drive and moving forward.

  “I assume my son is doing okay? I told him some day his chasing tail would get him into trouble. And now he actually has one of his own.” Uncle Jo’s brow furrowed in personal frustration at the situation.

  “He is. But maybe we stay on high alert today for anything that might help him a little more often.” I kept the bit where my cousin told me he was becoming more animal than man to myself.

  Deacon could be being a tad bit dramatic like his old self. I didn’t want to think about the consequences if he really was losing the battle to hold onto his humanity.

  When we pulled up in front of the white farmhouse where most of the family lived, I kept Bessie’s motor running rather than tempt fate for the engine to die again, following my uncle inside. He bounded up the stairs to wherever he had the rest of the ropes hidden, and I followed the echoes of conversation into the kitchen in the back.

  “Buck, I think you need to find yourself another woman,” admonished the transparent older lady cracking an egg into the cast iron skillet on the stove.

  My father leaned back in his chair, rolling his eyes. “I’m already married, Granny. Don’t know how many times I gotta say it.”

  “Buckley Jewell.” My great-grandmother’s spectral body faded in and out of focus, becoming wispy and incorporeal in her irritation. “For the life of me, I don’t know what you ever saw in Reva Johnson that earned your loyalty. She done up and left your family years ago. Surely, you must be over that lyin’, cheatin’, evil—”

  “Morning, Daddy. Granny Josephine,” I interrupted, not too keen on listening to the same old argument or to another dead family member’s ghost spewing disparaging words about my absent mother. Even if Mom deserved it.

  Dad got up from his chair and rushed over, kissing my cheek. “Hey, darlin’. I’m glad you’re here as living proof of mine and Reva’s love for one another.”

  I drew him in for a big hug, a little disappointed at my father’s unwillingness to let my mother go. The letters I received on my birthday and Christmas proclaimed how much she adored me, and I supposed at one point she used to feel the same about Daddy. But her feelings for us didn’t stop her from leaving and never coming back. I hoped that deep down my father acknowledged that she valued her freedom to roam the Earth far more than us. Maybe some day, he would break free of whatever hold she still had on him.

  “You want some eggs?” my great-grandmother offered as an apology for being caught talking ugly.

  I glanced at the smoke billowing from the pan. Ghosts were not necessarily the best cooks when distracted. “No, thanks. Uncle Jo and I will pick something up from Aunt Delia and Dani on our way out.”

  Granny Josephine waved her spatula at me, her body wavering in and out of focus again. “You tell that boy he owes me.”

  “Owes you what, Gran?” I asked.

  She narrowed her eyes. “He knows what.”

  I didn’t press any further. No telling what object she desired, and sometimes it was far better not knowing. “Will do.”

  “Who’re you gonna take with you?” My
father took a sip of his coffee.

  Fingering the chain around my neck, I pulled it out from under my shirt until a heavy brass token bigger than a quarter dangled in front of all of us. “I don’t know. Which Jewell do you think wants a ride today?”

  The old family heirloom glistened in a beam of sun filtering through the nearby window. An etch of an elephant stood out in relief on one side while on the other, the Latin phrase, “Non decor, duco,” was stamped on it. Daddy had passed it onto me when I got old enough to go picking on my own. Someone in our family had turned it into an amulet, which might have lowered its monetary value, but to us, increased its value to priceless.

  “You might as well put out a general request,” suggested my great-grandmother, her body wavering between solid and see through. “You might even be able to call the family progenitor to you if you word your invitation sweet enough.”

  “Right. Like good ol’ Daniel Jewell isn’t long gone turned to dust and resting,” I teased. “Something maybe you should think about.”

  “Don’t sass me, young lady or I’ll haunt that rundown shack of yours. I don’t know why you refuse to live in the house with the rest of us.” Granny Josephine placed her hands on her hips, ignoring the breakfast she destroyed in the cast iron skillet.

  “Too many ghosts,” I mumbled, making my way to the foyer, the one place the house never changed despite its predilection to grow and expand to accommodate the family who forgot they were supposed to leave when they passed away.

  Glancing at all the portraits of the many members of the Jewell line that graced two walls, I marveled at my magical lineage. Most of the eyes staring back at me belonged to powerful witches, although I spotted the one great-great-great aunt my kin claimed to be a mermaid. The story I loved said she’d given up her life in the ocean to marry into the family. At least one or two Jewells hitched themselves to mortal humans despite the prejudice of their times. I wondered if my vampire boyfriend might end up on the wall some day. If he ever got the courage to ask for my hand in the first place.