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

  The warden tapped his pencil on his notebook. “I can call someone in their local department and see if they can send one of their officers to talk to her.”

  “I’d like to see her myself,” I insisted. “Other than making sure she’s okay after using a magical item for who knows how long, I think she might tell a friend more than she would to local law enforcement.”

  Barney considered my proposition long enough I was sure he’d turn me down. His reluctant agreement startled me. “I think I can hold off calling for a few hours. And the deputy will be busy focusing on your uncle, so now might be the best time for you to go.”

  Caught off guard and wanting to to something useful, I sped out of the room to the foyer and out the front door. When I got to the bottom of the porch stairs, I patted my pockets. “Keys. I need keys to something I can drive.”

  “I’ll take you there,” my father volunteered, stepping out of the house. “Let me go get my truck.”

  Granny Jo’s voice yelled at me from inside the house. “Don’t you go nowhere fast. Buckley, you take that girl to her place first.”

  Her disapproval caught my attention. “You don’t want us to help Uncle Jo?” I shouted back.

  Granny’s barely visible form appeared at the threshold. “That ain’t it. No kin of mine is going out into the world until she’s properly dressed.”

  My father and I broke down in shaking laughter, and for the first time since Croy Miller’s body showed up in our barn, hope snuck in and gave me a sliver of optimism to hold onto.

  Chapter Ten

  D ad pulled the truck up and stopped on the street near Myrna’s small house. A few other parked cars blocked the area right in front. We watched a woman get out of one of them, holding a tinfoil wrapped pan of some type of food. No matter what happened in life, when death came knocking on a Southerner’s door, the rest of us brought food.

  “I didn’t think about what it would be like once she was notified.” Because I’d only been thinking about discovering as much information as we could to help our own family member, I hadn’t given Myrna any consideration. Nor considered that typical Southern hospitality might prevent us from being able to have a private moment with her.

  My father kept the motor running. “You might be right, we acted in haste. It occurs to me that if the knowledge gets out that he’s not only passed away but that he did so on our property, then perhaps our presence will not go over well.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut and groaned. “That’s also a good point. You can’t hardly keep a secret in these parts, and something as salacious as a death means most every person probably knows.” Feeling like everyone suspected why we were there, I slumped in the passenger seat.

  Movement in the side mirror caught my attention, and I watched an old tank of a car pull up behind us. Two ladies in dark-colored dresses got out from either side. They opened the back doors and retrieved more offerings of food from the back seats. When they turned to head to Myrna’s place, I recognized them.

  “Hold on. We might have an alternative method to finding out more information than even Ms. Myrna might be willing to share with us.” I waited until both ladies were ready to walk to their friend’s house and popped the truck door open, calling out Ms. Ethel’s name.

  The elderly lady with a bit of a stoop adjusted her glasses with a free hand. “Ruby Mae, is that you?”

  Gladys waddled up beside us. “You’re too much, dear, coming to pay your respects to Myrna. I told Ethel when you left yesterday how sweet you were. Of course, any child of Buckley Jewell’s would have to grow up to be a doll.”

  “That’s the nicest compliment a father could receive, Gladys. Thank you.” My father closed the distance between us in a few strides. “I’d like to think I could take credit for my daughter, but she pretty much grew up however she was supposed to be. I think she’s pretty okay.” He winked at me as I stuck my tongue out at him.

  Both ladies broke into tittering giggles and their cheeks turned rosy. Gladys fanned her face. “It’s good to see you, Buck, although it’s sad under the circumstances.”

  Ethel sniffed. “Although I was telling you the other weekend that boy was going to get himself hurt or killed.” She paused with a gasp. “I guess I shouldn’t have said that. No matter what he was like, Myrna didn’t deserve to have her grandson pass away.”

  “Mm-hmm. It’s hard when the young die before the old. It’s not what anyone expects,” Gladys agreed. She bent her head in her friend’s direction and lowered her voice. “But you’re right. I’ve heard tales of what Croy had gotten himself into. If Myrna had any sense, she wouldn’t have kept supporting him all this time.”

  Jackpot! My eyes flashed to my father’s, and we shared a knowing glance. “Did he have troubles he was dealing with?” I asked, as if I hadn’t had a horrible encounter of my own that gave me enough hints as to the nature of his character.

  “Hmph,” Ethel squawked. “Where do we start?”

  “When he came out of the womb?” Gladys reacted. When she heard the words that came out of her mouth, she shifted the dish she carried into her other hand and covered her mouth. “I really shouldn’t have said that.”

  My father offered to hold both containers of food to free up the ladies, and they gave in with girlish glee, complimenting how nice he was until even his cheeks heated with color. “I say that a person receives the words upon their passing that they earned with their living. It sounds like Myrna’s grandson hadn’t done the best that he could with his life.”

  “Unless excelling at blowing through money, drinking, and gambling were activities that someone should be good at, then no. He did not do his best. Although he’d been heard bragging about town how his luck was completely changing lately.” Ethel pushed her glasses up her nose. “The only reason I’m here is to give my friend some comfort. She refused to acknowledge the bad in Croy. That’s why he took advantage of her.”

  No doubt Myrna had no clue how much danger her grandson had put her in encouraging her to use the crystal ball for financial gain. If he’d been making use of its powers himself, then he must have known the toll it was taking on her.

  “Did he ever mention how his luck was going to change?” I asked, trying not to sound too nosy or interested.

  Both ladies confirmed they had no idea what he meant. Gladys clicked her tongue. “That boy was known for running his mouth and making promises he never kept. For goodness sakes, he owed Myrna so much money, I’m not sure he’d ever repay her. Of course, she’d just give and give out of the kindness of her heart. Bless her.”

  “Yes, bless her stubborn heart,” agreed Ethel, pushing her glasses up her nose.. “Although Myrna did surprise me when she stood up to Croy at the flea. Were you around when that happened, Ruby Mae?”

  She must be talking about the argument I witnessed while trying to take the crystal ball that I’d purchased and get out of there. “No, ma’am. Did they have a fight in front of you?”

  Dad raised me not to tell lies, but the slight tip of his chin in my direction conveyed his approval of my method to prompt them for more details.

  Gladys scratched the top of her head, and the perfectly coifed hair moved slightly off center, revealing a patch of gray hair underneath the wig. “Croy was yelling at her so loud, I swear they must have heard him two counties over.”

  “It was strange,” added her friend. “All he asked her was why she was outside of their tent. She told him something about how she’d gotten rid of whatever it was that was keeping her in there, and he exploded on the spot. My hearing isn’t what it used to be, but I surely heard it when he lost his temper. I didn’t know so many cuss words could be strung together like that.”

  Gladys placed a hand on her hip. “And when Myrna told him to get over it, he got right in her face. I swear, if we hadn’t been right behind her in a flash and if others weren’t around, too, then he might have laid a hand on her. I’d never been so proud of her for standing up to that boy.”


  I knew the rest of what happened because Uncle Jo and I were the next two people Croy interacted with. What my dad and I needed to find out was whether or not there were other things going on in the boy’s life that might have caused someone to want to harm him. We needed to give the police, or more specifically the deputy, another suspect. But if I kept asking questions, they might catch onto our purpose of revealing the boy’s history rather than bringing our condolences to Myrna.

  As if reading my thoughts, my father charmed the two of them with a wide smile. “Well, you know how kids can be sometimes. No matter how much we want them to follow the path we think is best, they tend to venture off of it.”

  “Or take full detours.” Gladys motioned for us to get closer to her. In a loud whisper, she filled us in. “My friend Ed who knows Jackie who works down at that little dive bar on Fifth Street said that she told him she’d overheard a heated discussion between Croy and some guy who didn’t look too nice.”

  “Who was he, Ms. Gladys? Did Ed’s friend Jackie get a good look at him?” I pressed, trying to keep the chain of gossip straight.

  Happy to share the latest scuttlebutt, the excited woman rattled off what she’d heard with lightning speed. “Jackie told Ed that he must be either a bookie or someone who loans out money because Croy was promising him he had a way to pay him back in full. Ed says Jackie swears she heard the man threaten Croy’s life, but I think that has to be just a bunch of twaddle. Who gets death threats in real life? That’s something from the television or movies. Especially when the supposed bad guy drives off on a loud motorcycle.”

  “Do you think if we talked to Jackie ourselves that we’d be able to figure out what the man on the motorcycle looked like?” I cringed inside, knowing how much I sounded like a detective drilling a potential witness for the particulars.

  Luckily, Gladys didn’t think twice before replying. “Oh, you don’t have to ask her. She told Ed, who told me, that he had tattoos down both arms and was wearing a leather vest with a pirate flag emblazoned on the back. But the biggest thing she remembered was that he had flaming red mohawk down the center of his bald skull. It’s why she noticed the two talking in the first place because no sane person who lives around here would do that to their hair.”

  Dad pointed at my head. “Red like hers?”

  “No, not according to Jackie,” Gladys clarified. “The way she put it was that it was more like the cherries she put in the cocktails she serves.”

  The mental image in my head was not flattering nor complete, but we now had something we could give Barney to look into. Any possible alternatives to Uncle Jo being a suspect had major value.

  Ethel took a handkerchief out of her purse and made an attempt to clean her thick glasses. “We could stand here until the cows come home telling you about the bad things Croy’s done and still not be finished. I’ve been hearing people talk about it all morning since Myrna first got the call and word got around. I mean, one person says he got killed because he confronted someone at a bar. Another says he was found drowned in water. Both are completely untrue because Myrna told me through her tears that they found him on somebody’s property. That it looked like maybe he’d been trespassing or something and got himself killed for it.”

  My dad and I exchanged a worried look. “Sounds like his death has brought a whole lot of interest into who he is. Was,” I corrected myself.

  We stood at the edge of the street in uncomfortable silence for a moment. Gladys sighed. “I guess we really shouldn’t speak ill of the dead. Especially since he’s recently departed.”

  “Are the two of you coming in with us?” Ethel asked with a bright smile. “I’m sure Myrna would appreciate your sympathies.”

  I placed a hand over my churning stomach. It didn’t faze me to use little white lies to encourage the two old friends to share what they’d heard, but I didn’t know what whopper of a falsehood I’d have to come up with to make sure we didn’t go with them into Myrna’s place. We couldn’t risk anyone in there hearing about our presence and possibly knowing exactly whose land Croy’s body was found on.

  My spell phone pinged in my pocket, and I wanted to take it out and kiss it for the interruption. Reading the news of Uncle Jo had finished at the sheriff’s station and was being driven home by Ebonee’s lawyer, I tried not to smile in utter relief.

  I faked a sad expression on my face, holding up my phone. “I’m sorry, Ms. Ethel and Ms. Gladys. We’ve got a bit of a family thing and need to head back.”

  Dad passed them both back their dishes to take with them. “Yes, please pass on our condolences when you speak with Myrna. And I hope to see the two of you soon next time we come to the flea market.”

  Gladys winked at him. “Does that mean you’ll be coming more often? I hope you enjoyed those pickled okra I sent home with Ruby Mae. I know they’re some of your favorites, and I’ll be sure to hold some back just for you.”

  “Oh, good. Because I accidentally broke those jars you gave me the other day,” I covered up. “We’ll both be happy to be able to taste some of your delicious goods next time we see you.”

  Dad beamed at the friends over the hood of the truck as he headed to the driver’s side. “I hope you two lovely ladies don’t outshine Myrna on her day of mourning.”

  With his compliment ringing in their ears, they said their goodbyes and giggled their way toward their friend’s house. Ethel elbowed Gladys more than once, and the tittering didn’t stop until they reached the concrete walkway to her door.

  I climbed into the passenger side and closed the door. “While we were talking about how Croy lived his life, all I could think was how terrible it was for us to be grilling them like that. We might be going to Hell, Dad.”

  He turned the key and started the truck. “Maybe. But if we can keep your uncle out of jail for a crime he didn’t commit, then perhaps the scales of justice will tip a little more in our favor. Let’s get back home and see.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “I think we should seriously consider spellcasting a curse on Deputy Caine,” Uncle Jo declared for the umpteenth time in four days, stuffing his mouth full of chicken and dumplings, his fourth favorite Southern comfort food.

  Ever since his new lawyer brought him back from being grilled by the ambitious law man, Granny Jo had done her best to make him feel better by cooking her grandson all of his favorites. The amazing food almost made up for all of us feeling a little like unofficial prisoners on our own land. Sure, no one was telling us we couldn’t leave, but with each day that passed, more and more people heard about the dead body on our property, whether through gossip or hearing the partial truth. Normal no longer existed for us.

  My uncle’s lawyer and magical advocate advised him not to go too far out of the area since there’d be a considerable amount of attention on him both with law enforcement as well as nosy onlookers. No need to go giving anyone anymore reasons to think that Jo had anything to do with Croy’s death, according to the expert.

  “Seriously, I think Caine will end up being a thorn in our backsides.” A little food dribbled down Uncle Jo’s chin with the words he spit out in his excitement. “Better to take action now before he gets us all knee deep in manure.”

  Aunt Delia rolled her eyes at her husband. “Don’t be so dramatic. You know your spells tend to go a little wonky when you’re upset.”

  “Woman, don’t tease me right now. I’m in a fragile state.” My uncle shoveled a rather large dumpling in his mouth to make his point.

  My cousin Dani bumped my knee with hers. “You know, I could always brew up a special potion to dump into some coffee and have it delivered it to him.”

  Uncle Jo pointed a half-eaten biscuit at her. “See, that’s a loving daughter right there, offering to use her amazing kitchen witch talents to help her daddy. Could you maybe concoct something that would make him disappear altogether? Or jump off the end of Oceana Pier in Atlantic Beach?”

  “She was kidding, Jo,” his wif
e scolded. “Although even I’m tempted to work some root magic on him. Or at least bake some special cinnamon rolls that will make him have to stay in the bathroom for at least a whole day.”

  My uncle stopped feeding his face and gave my aunt a huge kiss. “Aw, honey, that’s so sweet.”

  It felt good and about as close to normal as we could get right now to share a laugh together. My father and I couldn’t help but be amused by all the banter. “You guys are completely demented,” I accused.

  Dani placed one lone lima bean in the center of my plate, knowing how much I despised them. “We’re related, which means you’re just as messed up as we are.”

  I flicked the gray-green bean back at her, missing by an inch. The foul vegetable bounced off the wall and landed on the floor where Bobby located it and slurped it up. “I never said I wasn’t. But the three of you together are seriously dangerous.”

  Aunt Delia’s smile disappeared, and I knew her mind turned to her other child, Deacon, who was roaming somewhere on our land in his cursed pig form.

  Uncle Jo patted her hand. “I know, Dee. We’ll fix him some day.”

  Granny Jo’s head materialized through the wall, making full use of her spectral status. “Y’all finished yet? I’m just taking the peach cobbler from the oven to let it cool.”

  I turned to the side to face her disembodied noggin. “Almost. Dani and I will bring in the dishes when we’re done.” When I swiveled to face front again and finish the last bites of chicken, I found a pile of lima beans invading my plate. “Now that’s just mean.” I fed the dog under the table until every last evil legume was gone.

  When we finished eating all of the food, we managed to clear the table of the dishes. Granny Josephine insisted she would finish up and gave us bowls of cobbler with scoops of vanilla ice cream melting on top to take outside to consume while occupying every chair on the front porch.