Corpse in the crystal ba.., p.1
Corpse in the Crystal Ball, page 1
Praise for
Tempest in the Tea Leaves
“My tea leaves and my tarot cards agree …Townsend is riding a bullet train straight to the top. I predict this vivacious, talented author will soon join the ranks of the superstars. Tempest in the Tea Leaves is a stellar launch for the Fortune Teller Mysteries, and every one of them is destined to become a classic.”
—Maggie Shayne, New York Times bestselling author
“Smart, funny, and gutsy fortune teller Sunny Meadows is a delightful new star on the psychic horizon.”
—Cynthia Riggs,
author of the Martha’s Vineyard Mysteries
“Kari Lee Townsend has a hit …A little romance, a big white cat, and a Victorian house make for a fun read.”
—Joyce Lavene,
coauthor of the Missing Pieces Mysteries
“You don’t need a crystal ball to predict a bright future for Townsend’s Fortune Teller mystery series!”
—Dorothy Howell, author of Clutches and Curses
“[A] delightful new cozy mystery series …Highly recommended.”
—The Mystery Bookshelf
“Fun and fortune telling await readers in this first-rate debut mystery featuring a young and feisty psychic …Great pacing, characters, and a surprisingly good conclusion make this new series absolute fun!”
—RT Book Reviews
“A fine whodunit laced with generous helpings of humor, Tempest in the Tea Leaves marks an entertaining beginning to Townsend’s series. And it wouldn’t be wrong to predict continued success.”
—Richmond Times-Dispatch
Berkley Prime Crime titles by Kari Lee Townsend
TEMPEST IN THE TEA LEAVES
CORPSE IN THE CRYSTAL BALL
Corpse
in the
Crystal Ball
Kari Lee Townsend
BERKLEY PRIME CRIME, NEW YORK
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) • Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England • Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.) • Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.) • Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India • Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.) • Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa
Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
CORPSE IN THE CRYSTAL BALL
A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / June 2012
Copyright © 2012 by Kari Townsend.
Cover illustration by Lisa French.
Cover design by Lesley Worrell.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
ISBN: 978-1-101-58084-4
BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME
Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
ALWAYS LEARNING
PEARSON
This book is dedicated to my in-laws, Norm and Joan Townsend. Twenty-two years ago you welcomed me into your family with open arms. Those arms are still open today, and I couldn’t be more proud to be your daughter-in-law. You both have always been there for me, stepping in to help at a moment’s notice without hesitation. I am so grateful to have you in my life, and I want to thank you both for everything you do. I got lucky when I married Brian. Love you both.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks to my husband, Brian, for always being my own personal hero. And thanks to my children: Brandon, Josh, Matt, and Emily. You put a smile on my face every day.
To my fabulous agent, Christine Witthohn of Book Cents Literary Agency, thank you so much for being an amazing agent and an incredible person. You work so hard and always put your clients first, no matter what. I appreciate everything you do.
To my awesome editor, Faith Black. You rock! I always look forward to your edits because you have a gifted way of making a story so much better. I look forward to working with you for a very long time.
To Lisa French (illustrator) and Lesley Worrell (cover designer) all I can say is WOW! You ladies create the most amazing covers. Absolutely beautiful. Thank you so much.
And a shout-out to the entire Berkley Prime Crime team for making me look so good.
Thanks to my beta readers, Matt Bourdon, Joanne Russo, and Michelle McDonald for knowing what makes a great story and pointing out anything that’s off.
Thanks to my BC Babes: Barbara Witek, Danielle LaBue, and Liz Lipperman. As always, you ladies are the best.
And finally a big thanks to my extended family for always being there: the Harmons, the Russos, and the Townsends. It’s been quite a ride, and I don’t want it to stop anytime soon.
Table of Contents
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Epilogue
1
“Sunny, you’re the one who told Mitch you just wanted to be friends,” my best friend, Joanne Burnham, pointed out from the passenger’s seat.
We sat in my slightly rusted VW bug with the orange, yellow, and pink flowers on the side. I loved my bug, but sometimes it refused to cooperate when I needed it to the most. Like now when I would give anything to avoid a certain conversation. Grrr. I turned the key for the umpteenth time, and finally it started. Silently, I pulled out of the gym parking lot and headed for home, hoping Jo would take the hint.
Jo was a sultry, voluptuous, burgundy-haired goddess and proud proprietor of Smokey Jo’s Tavern. She had a knack for reading people and had become my own personal shrink whether I wanted to listen to her or not. Even I had to admit that ever since I’d moved from the Big Apple to the quaint upstate town of Divinity in January, I seemed to need a lot of advice.
I’d been looking forward to the quiet, slower-paced town with its ancient Victorian houses, elegant storefronts, and old-fashioned brass streetlamps. Nothing had ever happened here until I came along. I certainly hadn’t expected to be accused of murder after giving a tea leaf reading to the town librarian who later turned up dead. But now that the murder had been solved and my name had been cleared, I was hoping for the quiet normalcy I longed for.
Hitting the gym being anything but normal for me.
Exercise was not my thing. But ever since Sean O’Malley—Jo’s hunky blond Irish bartender with dimples to die for—charmed me into trying the dance exercise class called Zumba, I was hooked. Sean moonlighted at Wally’s World gym, but even his charming Irish self wouldn’t be enough to entice me to go back now.
Not after today.
I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to do the Zumba booty again.
“Have you changed your mind about Mitch?” Jo asked, tipping her head to the side and studying me with her smoky gray catlike eyes.
“No, absolutely not,” I scoffed. “Detective Grumpy Pants and Tinker Bell would never work as a couple. It would be insane. Ridiculous even.” I snorted, shaking my head over the absurdity of the notion. The nicknames we’d given each other said it all. “Believe me, I did us both a favor by ending ‘us’ before we even got started.”
“Riiight …” she purred.
I glanced at her with my lips turned down. “What do you mean ‘riiight’?”
“Oh, nothing. Except you are jealous as hell.”
I
“Uh, you might want to watch the road before we end up in a ditch there, Tink. And yes you are.”
I whipped my head up to the road and swerved back into my lane, barely avoiding the Divinity Gazette newspaper box on the corner by the bus stop. “You’re crazy.”
“No, you’re the crazy one. Crazy about one big delicious detective.”
“Even if I was—which I’m not saying I am—it wouldn’t matter. We fight all the time, and he thinks I’m a quack.” I sighed. “He’s not a true believer, Jo. Is it so wrong to want to be with someone who accepts me for who I am? For what I am?”
“Not at all.” She reached out and squeezed my arm. “I’m not blaming you, honey. I’m just pointing out that you don’t really have a right to get jealous if you’re nothing more than friends. Maybe you should try dating someone new. Take your mind off him, even though I still don’t see why you won’t give him a chance.”
“Ugh. I just hadn’t expected to ever meet his ex-girlfriend face-to-face here in Divinity. Mitch never dates anyone, so these past couple months have been easy just being friends. I guess with her living in the city, the thought of ever actually talking to her never entered my mind. She’s just so …”
“Perfect?”
“Yes,” I said miserably. “At least her perfectness is only skin-deep. She’s been here for a week and has managed to anger half the town already. So far I’ve lucked out and avoided her. God, did you see her body? There’s not a single jiggly part on her.” I groaned. “Why did she have to go and ruin Zumba for me? Guess my jiggly parts won’t be going anywhere anytime soon because I’m never going back there.”
“Oh, please. First of all, you’re hardly jiggly. You’re adorable. I’m twice your size, but you don’t see me complaining. I like my body.”
“Who doesn’t like your body? There’s a distinct difference between big and va-va-va-voom.”
Jo laughed. “Thanks, I’ll take that. As far as the ex goes, I’ll bet half her ‘firm’ parts were bought and paid for. At least your parts are real. Men like Mitch prefer parts that are real.” Jo winked.
“Doesn’t matter, because like I said, Mitch and I are just friends. If he wants to get back together with his ex, then that’s his business. We never even went out on an actual date. All we ever did was kiss, and who could blame us after nearly getting killed. He certainly didn’t waste any time moving on, though.”
“Riiight …”
“Stop saying that,” I growled, shoving a hand through my short blond spiky hair, and then I hoisted my chin a notch. “Besides, I might want to date someone else myself.”
“Get out.” Now she gaped at me. “You mean you’re finally going to give Sean a chance?”
“Sean is like a brother to me.” I grimaced and waved her off. “That would be too weird.”
“Sugar, you don’t have a clue when it comes to men. The way that man looks at you is anything but brotherly.”
“Again with the craziness. Sean and I have talked. He gets it. Other than you, he’s my best friend. I won’t risk screwing that up. Besides, that blue-eyed hottie can have any woman he wants and usually does.” I chuckled. “I’m talking about the new mailman, Kevin Brown.”
“Oh, yeah, I heard about him. Honey brown hair, hazel eyes, and a body that was made to wear a uniform.”
“All that and he’s sweet, too. You don’t find too many men like that these days. Now that my life is finally in order and my business is thriving, I think you’re right. Maybe it’s time I put myself out there and start dating someone I actually have hope of a future with.”
“Well, here’s your chance,” Jo said as I turned on Shadow Lane and approached my enormous Victorian house with the wraparound porch and peeling antique white paint. I used my trust fund to buy this house, and I got her for a steal since everyone thought she was haunted. “Wait, who’s that old lady he’s wrestling with? Damn. She might be tiny, but she’s obviously got spirit. Look at the fight she’s putting up. Kind of reminds me of you.”
I pulled in my driveway and parked my bug, staring through my windshield in disbelief. “Granny Gert?” I said, trying to wrap my brain around the image before me.
“Who?”
“My grandmother, Gertrude.”
“Oh.” Jo squinted out the windshield. “She’s so stinking cute.”
“She’s something,” I mumbled.
The petite woman with snow-white hair artfully styled and curled wore a faded floral, old-fashioned apron made out of flour sacks from years ago. Having lived through tough times, Granny reused everything. Ruffles adorned the neck, and a long wooden spoon stuck out of the front pocket by her hip. An angelic smile graced her face as she played tug-of-war over my mail with the handsome mailman I had hoped to date.
“Were you expecting her?” Jo asked curiously.
“No.”
“Hmmm. I wonder what she’s doing here.”
“That’s what I’d like to know,” I said, but part of me had a strong suspicion I already did. My parents, Donald and Vivian Meadows, had promised not to interfere in my life until Easter at the earliest. They hadn’t even lasted two months.
“What are you going to do?”
“Go rescue the mailman before Granny ruins my chances of him ever asking me out.”
I stepped out of my bug with Jo hot on my heels. She wasn’t about to miss this one. When I reached my old-fashioned black mailbox, Granny’s pale face lit up while Kevin’s slightly flushed olive one looked vastly relieved.
“Miss Meadows, you have no idea how great it is to see you,” Kevin said as he tugged my mail the rest of the way out of Granny’s death grip as gently as he could and then handed it to me. He smoothed back his brown hair and took a deep breath.
“It’s Sunny, Mr. Brown.” I smiled slowly, fully, attempting to throw in a bit of sparkle with a little nose wrinkle and head shake like Jo always did, although I probably looked more like I was about to sneeze. “Um, it’s great to see you, too,” I added desperately, feeling ridiculous. I was not good at flirting one bit. Hence my lack of a recent social life.
He appeared amused, but then he smiled back, looking so much sexier than I even remembered, with his straight white teeth and full lips. “Call me Kevin,” he said, and then turned to my grandmother and winced apologetically. “Sorry, ma’am. I can’t legally give you someone else’s mail, no matter who you claim to be.”
“Well, that’s silly. I’m Granny Gert.”
“So you’ve said.” He sounded weary.
She opened her mouth, but he held up his hand and his clipped buffed fingernails stood out. The man sure knew how to take care of himself, unlike one rugged, rough-around-the-edges detective with calloused palms. I shook the image out of my mind and focused on what Kevin was saying.
“No, Miss, er, Gert. I still don’t have time for cookies, but I appreciate the offer.” Granny started to protest, but he backed away as he tipped his head to her, then to Jo, and finally he saluted me with two fingers.
I melted. That man really was built to wear a uniform, I concluded, even if he did look more like a cover model than a mailman. I watched the play of his muscles beneath the crisp, gray cotton fabric as he climbed back in his mail truck and drove away.
Drool session officially over.
“Wasn’t he the nicest boy?” Granny said, snapping me back to reality. “A little stingy with the mail, but he was very kind, and he made my day when he said I smelled like vanilla.” Her snappy brown eyes twinkled, looking devilish. “Speaking of cookies, why don’t you introduce me to your little friend, and we can all go inside and have some. I baked a fresh batch.”
“Wait, how did you get inside my house?” I asked, suddenly realizing she’d been here for a while.
“Your door was wide open when the nice taxi man dropped me off, and this lovely big white cat was waiting for me when I walked inside. I didn’t know you had a pet. He has the blackest eyes I’ve ever seen, but he’s the sweetest thing. It’s a wonder he didn’t run off on you, dear. You really should lock your doors when you leave.”
I did, I thought, but said, “I’ll be sure to remember that next time.” Obviously Morty had decided Granny could stay. Sweetest thing? She couldn’t be talking about my cat—if I could even call him mine. It was more like he’d decided to keep me.
