Flea Market Magic (Southern Relics Cozy Mysteries Book 1) Read online

  “Ruby Mae Jewell, tell me you didn’t risk someone seeing you spellcast all to mess with a jerk,” my uncle chastised in an annoyed whisper while he grabbed me.

  I wrenched out of his grip. “No one saw me.”

  “That you know of,” he exclaimed loud enough to turn a few heads. He shoved Bobby’s leash at me. “Here, you get to look after Bobby while I clean up your mess and get things rolling with our purchases.”

  Right on cue, a foul stench enveloped me, and I waved my hand in front of my face in vain. “Eww, Bobby!”

  “Serves you right. Consider it your penance for that fiery temper of yours,” Uncle Jo called out over his shoulder as he stomped away.

  Bobby stared up at me with a goofy doggy grin, a string of drool already dripping from his mouth. His tail thumped on the cracked pavement, and he barked with excitement.

  “Oh, you think farts are funny? If you’re not careful, I’ll put you with Deacon overnight sometime, and we’ll see what you think in the morning.” I rolled my eyes when Bobby woofed with more enthusiasm. “Come on, boy. Let’s see what else we can find today.”

  Despite my annoyance to have the dog with me, he proved to be a crowd pleaser. People paused in what they were doing to gush over him, especially little kids. A small sense of pride bloomed in my chest at the hound’s patience even when a young girl yanked his tail a little too hard.

  Ready to call it a day, I stopped just before the last few card tables set up on the edge of the flea market. A familiar pair of women deep in conversation caught my attention. I waited until they saw me and waved.

  “Ruby Mae Jewell, what are you doin’ traipsin’ around like you’re a stranger? Get your behind over here and give me some sugar, baby.” The first elderly woman wearing glasses thicker than soda bottle bottoms waved her skinny arms in the air, wiggling her fingers for me to come over.

  I weaved my way around her rickety table, careful not to knock it over and send all her plastic containers of various collected items crashing to the ground. “Hey, Ms. Ethel. How you doing this morning?”

  She cackled while hugging me close enough I could smell the ointment she rubbed on her old joints. “I’m still rockin’ and rollin’, so I must be doin’ good.” The older lady scratched Bobby between his ears.

  “Hey, where’s my hug?” insisted her friend, putting down her knitting needles and holding out her arms.

  “Sorry, Ms. Gladys,” I obliged, careful not to step on either of their large purses or craft bags scattered beside them.

  “Here. I’ve got something for you.” She stashed her knitting inside one of the purses and stood up, swatting my helping hand away to maneuver on her own. Sorting through the mason jars of goods on her table, she chose one and picked it up. “You take this home and be sure to share some with your daddy.”

  I accepted the glass jar with eager hands, hoping the drool pooling in my mouth wouldn’t run out like Slobby Bobby. “Some of your famous pickled okras! I can’t promise these will make it the whole journey back to our place.”

  Gladys grabbed a second jar and thrust it at me. “Then you better take both of these. I want to be sure Buck gets his fair share. You tell that young man we miss seeing him around.” She helped me load both jars into a plastic bag and waved me off when I pulled out some cash.

  Despite my desire to pay her for her homemade goods, my upbringing taught me never to quibble with my elders. “I’ll be sure to pass that on to him,” I promised. “Now, you two making a lot of sales today?”

  Ethel cackled and pushed her thick glasses up her nose. “Oh, a few odds and ends. Without my Wilbur, I don’t have much to bring, but I can’t stop coming to the flea. It was our tradition and not one I’m ready to give up yet.” The older lady’s eyes watered and she pulled a tissue out of the sleeve of her cardigan to dab at her tears. How she could wear a sweater in this heat, I’d never understand.

  I hugged her again and searched through one of the plastic containers of stuff sitting on her table for anything I could purchase. The token heated against my skin when my fingers grazed something metal. I grabbed the mysterious object and pulled out a diecast model of a truck that looked like Bessie in her glory days.

  “What about this, Ms. Ethel?” I held up my find to inspect its condition.

  The lady asked to hold the toy, and I handed it to her. “Oh, this belonged to my Johnny when he was little, which must make it from sometime in the ’50s.” She blinked behind her glasses.

  “You sure you want to sell it?” I walked a fine line of knowing when to be shrewd and when to care if an object possessed too much sentimental value to buy.

  She sighed. “I can’t take everything with me when I leave this Earth and my son’s already taken what he wants out of our home. How does five dollars sound to you?”

  Based on the scale and pristine condition, the vintage toy held much more value. “I’m afraid I can’t pay that amount, Ms. Ethel.”

  Gladys patted her friend’s shoulder in sympathy. “I keep saying you price things too high.”

  “But I can give you fifty dollars for it.” Offering a fair price for the purchase and bringing a smile to the seller’s face more than made up for the incident with the despicable cheat.

  Ethel almost dropped the toy truck in her excitement. “You must be joking.”

  “Okay, how about sixty then?” If I sold it at our barn, I could probably get seventy to eighty for it.

  Both ladies whooped and giggled. The woman’s cheeks turned a rosy pink with delight. “Now you’re playin’ with me.”

  I rolled my eyes for added drama. “Fine. Seventy. You drive a hard bargain, Ms. Ethel.” Pulling out a wad of twenties, I counted out four and thrust them at her.

  “You’re so crazy, Ruby Mae, but I trust you know what you’re buying and not taking pity on me.” With shaky hands, shel handed me two five dollar bills in change and stowed the cash away before wrapping the truck up in some white tissue with considerable care.

  “I would never,” I exclaimed. “That’s a great vintage diecast truck in incredible condition. Plus, since it looks like our old one parked outside, I might just keep it for myself.”

  Once she handed the bag with the old toy in it to me, she took my hand in both of hers and squeezed. “May it bring you joy like it brought my Johnny.”

  I cleared my throat and concentrated on the homemade jams on Gladys’ table to distract any tears from falling. “You two seem to be missing your other partner in crime. Is Ms. Myrna not feeling well?”

  The two friends exchanged a strange look between them. Glady’s harrumphed. “It seems Myrna has moved up in the world.” She pointed at a grubby white tent with a ragged purple velvet curtain tacked up with clothes pins over the opening at the end of all the vendors.

  “Does she think she’ll sell more stones and candles in a get up like that?” I stepped back to get a better look at the strange tent with the words Madame Myrna poorly hand painted on a crooked sign over the entrance.

  “Who knows,” sighed Ethel, sitting down in her creaky lawn chair. “She’s barely talked to the two of us for a couple of weeks now, but that could be the doing of her grandson, Croy.”

  Pulling out her knitting needles again, Gladys clicked them back and forth with purpose. “Now, that boy has always needed a good whoopin’ to straighten out his attitude. If you ask me, he’s dumber than a bag of hammers and a whole lot meaner than a two-headed snake.”

  Ethel snickered. “You be careful now, Gladys. Your ugly’s showing a might bit.”

  I tightened my hold on Bobby’s leash. “Maybe I should go check things out for myself.” I thanked the two of them, holding up the bags of goodies and promising them to speak to their missing friend on their behalf.

  By the time I wandered over to the tent, a woman with her hair coifed to the heavens and held upright by at least one full can of hairspray shuffled from foot to foot as she waited at the entrance. Ignoring her, I approached the disheveled curtain
to try and take a peek. The beginnings of an itch started at the tip of my nose, and a growl rolled in Bobby’s throat. Oh, sweet tea and spells, trouble was a-brewin’.

  “Hey, you can’t cut the line,” the lady complained, scratching her scalp with a long fake nail.

  Putting on my best smile, I addressed her with syrupy sweetness dripping off my words. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I just wanted to see what the fuss was about.”

  She answered me with her own forced grin, revealing a smudge of hot pink lipstick on her front teeth. “My friend Doreen told me how accurate Madame Myrna was when she sat with her at the Cricket Creek swap meet. It’s my turn next to find out what my good fortune will be.”

  So, Myrna was buying into her more mystical side and expanding beyond her handmade jewelry, healing stones, and candles. No harm in playing the role of a flea market psychic, and last I knew, she didn’t possess a magical bone in her body. Still, the prickling of my nose wouldn’t let up.

  Ms. Impatient Pants sniffed loud enough for me to hear her, and I apologized for almost cutting in front of her. Just as I convinced myself no good could come from casting a humidity hex at her hair out of spite, the purple curtain over the entrance to the tent fluttered, and a hand pushed it to the side. A young man with a greasy brown mullet and a wispy mustache escorted an older woman clutching her purse out of the tent.

  “Thank you,” he shouted after her. “And tell your friends about my grandma and her amazing psychic abilities.”

  “I’m next,” declared the woman with the bouffant, waving her hand in the air.

  The guy let go of the curtain, blocking her entrance, and held out his hand. “That’ll be forty dollars.”

  His demand earned him the same smiling glare I had already received from her. “Young man, my friend said she paid just twenty. I’ve got two ten’s here ready to go.”

  “Then you’re ten dollars short.” He wiggled his fingers. “I’ll bet if you asked your friend, she’d say that whatever the great Madame Myrna told her was worth payin’ for.”

  The lady grumbled as she dug in her purse. “Here.” She thrust the extra dollars into the young man’s waiting palm.

  He made her wait while he counted up the cash before glancing past the impatient lady and glaring at me. “This’ll go faster if you have your money ready and waitin’,” he called out in his thick accent before hustling the next customer inside and letting the raggedy curtain fall behind them.

  Ms. Ethel and Ms. Gladys weren’t wrong about Myrna’s grandson Croy. The word unpleasant didn’t come close to describing his nasty demeanor. I pondered why he would go out of his way to be unfriendly when it took almost nothing to be kind while I counted every hot and humid second that passed.

  Bobby stretched to the end of his leash to wait on a small patch of nearby grass. His lopsided ears perked up when the purple curtain pulled back again to reveal the unpleasant woman from before grinning from ear to ear.

  “Just wait until my fortune comes true,” the lady sang out, handing more money to the young man. “Then Doreen’ll be sorry.”

  The young man ignored her outburst to greedily count the bills in his hand. “Be sure to tell your friends. We’ll be here all day and then in Richland next Saturday.” His beady eyes landed on me. “Next.”

  Tightening my grip on the dog’s leash, I straightened up. “That would be me.”

  I walked forward, wearing a sugary sweet smile as my armor while I prepared for battle.

  Chapter Three

  A sweaty hand on my shoulder stopped me from making it into the tent. “Money first,” the unpleasant young man demanded, his wisp of a mustache following his mouth into a stern frown. The toothpick he chewed on switched sides in his mouth

  I closed my eyes for a brief second, drew in a breath, and counted out two twenties from a wad inside my purse. “Here you go.” His greedy notice of where I kept my money didn’t escape me.

  When he reached for the bills, my fingers touched his hand and I waited. If he had an ounce of magical essence in him, the quick spell of discovery I’d cast would tell me upon skin contact. Nothing.

  “Croy, honey, worry about the money later and let whoever it is come inside,” an unhappy voice called out.

  “It’s me, Ms. Myrna. Ruby Mae Jewell,” I crowed before her grandson could utter anything else.

  A short, plump lady wearing blue eyeshadow up to her eyebrows popped her head out of the velvet curtain. She’d made a clear effort to play the part of a psychic, wearing a purple blouse with drooping ruffles around the neck, a long filmy skirt with big stars painted on it, and a gaudy purple and gold scarf around her head like a hastily wrapped turban.

  “Ruby Mae, you sweet thing. Get your behind over here. Croy, honey, why don’t you go get yourself something to drink while I sit a spell with Miss Jewell here.” Her hand clasped mine to pull me inside.

  “But Grandma, I gotta make sure people don’t get in there for nothin’.” He stuck his little stash of cash into his pocket when he caught his grandmother staring at it.

  “Hey, I paid my forty dollars,” I uttered.

  “Forty!” Myrna pushed past me and whacked her grandson upside his head. “You been cheating the customers? I wanted to charge people ten but you insisted on twenty. I compromised to keep you from complaining too much, and now what’s this? You’re charging double that?” She snapped her fingers and held out her hand.

  He grunted. “What?”

  “Give Ruby Mae back her money,” Myrna insisted.

  His face scrunched into the expression of a rat caught in a trap. “But she already paid.”

  “Croy Winston Miller, you may be twice as tall as me, but I can still take you over my knee and swat you right here in front of everybody,” she threatened.

  With a full on pout, the young man dug the cash out of his pocket and pulled a twenty out of it. “Here.”

  I accepted the bill with a slight nod and tried to smooth things over when Myrna tried to make him give me back a full refund by refusing.

  “Fine,” she acquiesced. “Now, while my grandson here takes a break and gets outta my sight, you come inside with me.” Myrna snapped her fingers and pointed in the direction of the food trucks, leaving no room for her grandson to argue.

  I dragged Bobby inside the sweltering tent with me. The whir of a fan got me hopeful, but no electric breeze prevented sweat from breaking out all over my skin.

  The dog whimpered at my side and hid behind my legs, and I squeezed the leash tight to keep my fingers from scratching my tingling nose raw. Some form of magic existed in here, and I needed to find out what and where it was lickety-split.

  Myrna took a seat behind a flimsy table covered with a dark blue sheet with pink stars on it. A shiny black handkerchief covered a lump on top of the surface. With a flourish of her hand, she beamed at me. “Well, what do you think?”

  “About what?” I took in the tacky decor she’d thrown around the small space to make it look more exotic.

  “Do I look the part of Madame Myrna or what?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “It sure is…uh…unique. What made you decide to give up your old table? You know, Ethel and Gladys miss having you around.”

  Her smile faded. “I know. I’ve just been so caught up in being Madame Myrna. You wouldn’t believe the money we’re making. Although now that I know Croy has been charging extra, maybe I haven’t been doing as well as I thought.”

  I didn’t mean to throw a bucket of ice water on her enthusiasm. “He may have been a little overzealous in support of his grandmother. But now that you’re not selling your stuff anymore, what is it that you are doing?”

  Myrna clapped her hands. “Get ready.” She grasped the black fabric in her hands and removed it in a flash. “Voila!”

  A small crystal ball sat in the middle of the table. The metal frame holding the glass orb could be brass, but it was more likely painted a gold color rather than being anything of much value.

  “
That’s nice,” I offered, not sure what comment she wanted from me. “Where’d you get it?”

  Myrna pulled a hanky out from some hidden pocket and dabbed at the sweat on her forehead. “Would you believe that someone left this in a box on our doorstep? I guess whoever it was knew I sold mystical things at flea markets and such. I did my best to figure out who left it, but after a week or two, I decided to sell it. That is, until I tried it out for fun. It’s been all uphill ever since.”

  That itch at the end of my nose increased and Bobby’s tail thumped on the ground next to me. “Really? What’s so special about it?”

  Myrna leaned forward and spoke in a whisper as if anybody could hear us. “It’s a real working crystal ball. I can really tell people their fortune with it.”

  I nodded as if truly interested, but placed a hand over my stomach to steady my rising nerves. “Really? That sounds too good to be true.”

  Her eyes widened. “But it is. So far, I’ve been told everything I’ve said has come true. Mind you, when I get in the zone, I don’t really remember what I say, so I have to trust whatever the customer’s tell me.”

  It didn’t take my nose to help me find the trouble. More and more, it sounded as if Ms. Myrna had found herself a magical item rather than some benign prop. My mind raced to figure out how to take care of the situation as fast as possible.

  “You know, I’m always looking for objects like this one. I know I’ve got a buyer who would pay a pretty penny for a crystal ball that’s almost real.” I hated lying, but if there was even a sliver of a possibility that the object possessed any true powers, I had a small window of opportunity.

  “It is real,” Myrna insisted. “Here, tell me something you want to know. Maybe something about your love life. Or your business? Think of whatever it is, and I bet I can come up with an answer that’s helpful.”

  Before I could stop her, she placed both hands on top of the glass orb. Her eyes rolled up until I could only see the whites of them before they shut tight. Only I witnessed the silvery blue glow emanating from inside. No doubt her other customers thought it a cheap trick, but the power that pulsed out of it convinced me otherwise.