Planet of the grapes, p.1
Planet of the Grapes, page 1
part #2 of Wits' End Cozy Mystery Series
PLANET OF THE GRAPES
by Kirsten Weiss
Books by Kirsten Weiss
Want more Doyle?
Try Witch, Book 4 in the Doyle Witch cozy mysteries.
The Witches of Doyle Series
Bound (Book 1) | Ground (Book 2) | Down (Book 3) | Spirit on Fire | Shaman’s Bane | Lone Wolf | Witch | Tales of the Rose Rabbit
Doyle Cozy Mystery Novels
At Wits’ End | Planet of the Grapes
Perfectly Proper Paranormal Museum Series
The Perfectly Proper Paranormal Museum | Pressed to Death | Deja Moo
The Riga Hayworth Paranormal Mystery Novels
The Metaphysical Detective | The Alchemical Detective | The Shamanic Detective | The Infernal Detective | The Elemental Detective | The Hoodoo Detective | The Hermetic Detective
The Mannequin Offensive
The Pie Town Cozy Mystery Series
The Quiche and the Dead | Bleeding Tarts
Sensibility Grey Steampunk Suspense
Steam and Sensibility | Of Mice and Mechanicals | A Midsummer Night’s Mechanical
CHAPTER ONE
“If there’s probing, I’m out.” The woman, her face painted blue, crossed her arms and scowled at her tentacled companion.
Her companion’s violet appendages quivered. “How many times do I have to tell you? It’s just panels and funnel cakes and… fun.”
Late summer sun streamed across the hardwood floor. It glinted off the metal lids of the chafing dishes on the sideboard, covered in a white cloth. The rooms at my B&B, Wits' End, were cozy comfortable, but it was the breakfasts that got the rave reviews.
I approached the oval-shaped table and clutched the pitcher of OJ closer to my chest. “Um, is there anything else I can get you?” I smiled and hoped for a negative answer.
The mixed bunch of UFO enthusiasts shook their heads and mumbled no’s. Two Mulder and Scully wannabes steadily shoveled eggs and waffles into their mouths.
Around the breakfast table, other guests chattered excitedly. Blue curtains fluttered in the open windows. A breeze carrying the scent of pine and roses mingled with the heady scents of bacon and pecan waffles.
I set the juice on the table, backed out of my breakfast room, and stepped on a booted foot.
“Ooof! Hey big shot. Watch it.” Dixie crossed her arms over her Army-green tank top. My young cousin had gone for the Cleopatra look today, thick kohl making her green eyes gleam.
I grinned, not entirely minding the “big shot” crack. “Nice hair.”
Dixie tugged on a lock of tousled black hair tipped electric blue. “Violet was so ten minutes ago.”
And I suddenly felt unhip, out of touch, when I was all of twenty-nine. Dixie had that effect on me.
A collar jingled. The beagle I’d inherited, Bailey, made his way down the stairs to sit at Dixie's feet. He cast a hopeful gaze my way, and I bent to scratch behind his ears.
His tail thumped the Oriental rug. Colorful trapezoids of light from the stained-glass above the door cast dizzying patterns on the carpet.
“I thought you'd be off to your festival by now,” Dixie said and followed me through the swinging door into the kitchen. She slouched against the butcherblock counter and jammed her hands into the pockets of her shorts.
“Soon.” My stomach twisted with nervous excitement. The UFO festival that I’d worked so hard to bring to Doyle started today. It would fill my B&B to capacity, and it would bring more tourist dollars to our small mountain town.
She shrugged. “Whatever. I’m holding you responsible.”
Reaching past an aloe plant, I grabbed a box of treats from a thick, plain wood shelf and tossed one to Bailey. My late grandmother had left most of the old Victorian “as is.” But before she'd died, she'd modernized the kitchen. White subway tiles lined the walls. A ceiling fan helped push the warm air coming through the open windows and screen door to the porch.
“Holding me responsible?” I asked. “What’s that supposed to mean?” My cousin obsessed over all things UFO, but she’d been decidedly cool on the X-tranormal festival.
“I mean, you’re concentrating all the UFO hacks and nutjobs in one place. Here, in Doyle.”
I tugged at my blue-flowered blouse. “They’re not hacks or nut—”
The swinging door edged open. An alien in green face paint and silver lame stuck his head through the open doorway. “Um, where’s breakfast?”
I pointed past him. “Octagonal room on the other side of the hall.”
“Thanks.” He disappeared behind the door.
“You were saying?” Dixie asked archly.
“His costume’s just for fun.” I tightened my ponytail.
“Nothing good can come from this festival.”
The beagle curled into his bed by the kitchen table.
“Only economic development.” I mustered the arguments I’d presented to the town council. “A full week of extra tourist dollars on Main Street. Plus, publicity for the cutest mountain town between Lake Tahoe and Yosemite.” But I glanced uneasily at the swinging kitchen door.
“Save it for the mayor.”
“Anyway,” I said, “the VIP brunch goes until eleven. I have plenty of time to get to X-tranormal.” But I was dying to go now. There aren’t a whole lot of power-networking opportunities when you run a UFO-themed B&B. Plus, sponsor! VIP!
The screen door banged open, and Bailey started, tucking his tail.
A teenage girl in jeans and a faded unicorn tee stopped short in the doorway. “Oh. Hi. Am I early?” She ran her hand over her blond ponytail.
“Not at all, Kayla.” As an X-tranormal VIP sponsor, I’d be busy at the festival grounds for the next nine days. Normally, Dixie and I cleaned the rooms, but with me festivaling, my cousin could use the extra help.
“You're right on time,” I continued. “I thought it would be useful if Dixie gave you a tour before you started. She’ll explain how everything works, and then you can start cleaning.”
“So, I'm in charge?” Dixie’s green eyes narrowed.
“You're always in charge when I'm not here,” I said.
She smiled broadly, and a chill crept up my spine. Dixie only smiled at other people’s pratfalls.
My cousin crooked a finger at Kayla. “People are still finishing breakfast, so let's start at the reception desk.” My cousin strode through the swinging kitchen door.
Kayla shot me an uncertain look and followed.
Bailey trotted after them, his tail wagging.
My stomach rumbled. Time for my own VIP breakfast.
I hurried into my private sitting room and grabbed my purse, day planner and cell phone off the table. Stopping in front of the mirror, I yanked my blond hair from its band and finger combed it free. A bit of mascara had smudged beneath my blue eyes, and I rubbed it away, then smoothed the front of my lightweight blouse. I sighed. Nothing could change my wholesome, girl-next-door look that was completely out of style. But at least no scrambled eggs dotted the front of my blue capris. It was my first time as a festival sponsor, and I wanted to look professional.
I strode through the kitchen and into the high-ceilinged foyer. Behind the low, front desk, Dixie explained how to use the credit card reader to Kayla.
I paused in front of the scarred desk. “No one's checking out until the end of the festival, so you won’t have to worry about taking payments.”
Dixie rolled her eyes. She pointed at the shelves built into the stairs and weighted with UFO books, playing cards, alien bobble heads, and other chotchkes. “They’ll be paying for the souvenirs. I’ll shock anyone who even thinks about shoplifting.” She pulled a stun gun from a desk drawer.
“Whoa.” I blinked, taken aback. “Where’d you get that?”
“Duh.” Dixie glowered. “The drawer.”
My mouth pressed into a slash. I had a pretty good idea where the weapon had come from, and I shook my head. “Right. Well, normally I’d say no to stunning guests, so today, I’m going to say no. Don’t do that. And I'll be back tonight.”
Dixie shrugged one bare shoulder. “Whatever. I don't see what the big deal is about this festival anyway. It's not like they're going to solve any universal mysteries.”
I stamped down my rising annoyance. It might not be a big deal for her, but it was my first attempt at community involvement. “PB Gates is going to be there,” I said casually.
Dixie's eyes widened. “You mean your Gran’s PB Gates?”
I plucked one of my grandmother's slim UFO books off the shelf. My grandmother had been a huge fan of PB Gates, a UFO expert who traveled the world reporting on UFO sightings and UFO travel in general. Her dream had been to get her UFO-themed B&B, Wits' End, into one of his articles. She hadn't fulfilled that dream in her lifetime, but I was going to do my damnedest to succeed on her behalf.
The Mulder and Scully couple emerged from the breakfast room.
“I don't trust a word from that guy's mouth,” Scully was saying. “Chuck Thorpe is a conman who gives UFOlogists a bad name.”
I sucked in my cheeks. Thorpe? He was one of the X-tranormal speakers. I’d heard he was controversial, but surely X-tranormal wouldn’t have invited a conman.
“His dad worked for Project Bluebook,” her husband said. “Chuck knows things.”
“Then his father wasn't a very good Air Force officer,” Scully replied tartly, passing the scarred front desk. “They're not supposed to blab to their families about top secret alien encounters.”
They mounted the stairs.
Dixie's lip curled. “Scully's right. Chuck Thorpe's a phony and a parasite. If that's the caliber of speakers at your festival, it's going to be a bust.”
I rolled my eyes. “Thank you for your opinion.” Sailing out the front door, I collided with six-foot-two-inches of bronzed muscle.
CHAPTER TWO
“For what opinion?” Arsen Holiday’s hazel eyes glinted.
I stumbled back a little on the porch and cleared my throat. “Oh. Just. Nothing.” The front door swung shut behind me.
A lock of Arsen’s whiskey-colored hair stuck out on the side. I jammed my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching out and fixing it. We’d been best friends since childhood. It wasn’t fair he’d grown up to look so damn good – tanned, sinewy, and with big hazel eyes you could fall into.
Heat rose to my cheeks. I wanted to think it was due to the excitement of the morning, but I knew better. “What are you doing here?”
He smiled winningly, his head dangerously close to brushing a hanging fern. “Breakfast.”
And… he was bumming free waffles. Again. “Sorry. We’re all out.”
“Really? I smell bacon.” His muscles bulged beneath his polo shirt, the logo for his new security company embroidered in one corner. “And waffles.”
Yes, Arsen could tell the difference between pancakes and waffles by scent alone. “All gone,” I lied.
“I can hear silverware clinking through the open window.” A blue-patterned curtain fluttered through said window. The fabric batted a broom someone had left angled beside the front door.
I grabbed the broom and hung it on its wall hook. My Gran had always kept a broom by the front door, and I’d kept up the tradition. “An aural hallucination. You should get that checked. Did you give Dixie a stun gun?”
“She said she wanted it for self-defense.”
“Arsen, it’s Dixie,” I hissed.
“So?”
“So, she’s threatening to stun my guests.”
“Come on,” he said. “She wouldn’t.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You won’t be named in the lawsuit if she does.”
“She said she’d keep it at her trailer, and Dixie should be able to protect herself. She’s vulnerable out there all alone.”
“The stun gun’s in the front desk,” I said.
He looked thoughtful. “I’ll talk to her about legitimate weapons use.”
Dixie opened the door and leaned out. “You getting breakfast or just talking about it?” My cousin scratched her bare leg with the toe of her army boot.
Arsen looked a question at me, and I waved him inside. “Leave your dishes in the sink,” I said. Arsen had installed new electronic locks at Wits’ End for cost, so I sort of owed him free food. Of course, he’d been cadging breakfasts from me long before he’d done me that favor and would be long after I repaid him for his labor.
I edged sideways on the screened, wraparound porch so he could get past.
He touched my arm. “Maybe I'll catch you at the festival?”
“Since when do you attend UFO festivals?” I asked, intrigued and vaguely alarmed. Where Arsen went, a sort of lackadaisical chaos followed. “I thought you were with Team Dixie on the subject.”
“I was until I heard there’ll be food trucks.”
Dixie made a face. “They’ll probably be called photon trucks.”
“Then I’m definitely in.” He winked at me. “I'll see you.”
“Groovy!” I bumped into the screened porch door, fumbled around, and escaped down the front steps. Groovy? Who says groovy anymore?
I crunched down the gravel driveway and past the rose garden to my blue Subaru Crosstrek. Unlocking its door, I slipped inside and set my planner in the passenger seat.
Rolling down the window, I glanced up, and I relaxed in my seat. Wits' End in all its glory rose beneath the alpine hills. Vanilla-colored wood slats. Burnt red and deep brown gingerbread trim. A crashed UFO in the shingled roof. My grandmother might have been a little nutty, but she’d had style.
I smiled at a nearby rosebush, one of many she’d filled her garden with. “Wish me luck, Gran,” I whispered.
Starting the car, I backed onto the court. The next two weeks were going to be awesome. Between X-tranormal and the following week’s Harvest Festival, Wits' End was booked solid.
I cruised slowly through Doyle, my favorite small town in all the world. It had started as a mining town in the Gold Rush, and the shops on Main Street still sported old-time false fronts.
Today, a banner hung across the street and proclaimed: Welcome X-tranormal! I beamed at a trio of paper aliens decorating the window of the ice cream shop. Doyle really was getting into the X-tranormal spirit, and I was partly responsible. I drew a deep, satisfied breath, straightening in my seat. Gran had always said that good deeds first benefited the giver and then the receiver. Now I understood why. Helping the town felt great.
An elderly woman in a billowing black dress stopped to stare as I passed, and I waved. “Hi, Mrs. Steinberg!”
“No names!” she shouted.
Chuckling, I drove on. Mrs. Steinberg was the most paranoid person in Doyle. I'd once believed the old lady to be a dark figure, with secret, inside knowledge of the town. It was half true. She worked in town records.
I drove down the narrow mountain highway to the festival. At the X-tranormal sign, I turned down a long, curving dirt road. Lines of grapevines rippled along the surrounding hills. The road opened to a wide parking lot, and my SUV bumped past a PARK AT YOUR OWN RISK sign. I shook my head at the precaution. What criminal was going to find his way to this out-of-the-way place?
I rolled across the uneven ground. Since the festival didn't officially start until noon, I easily found a spot not too far from the front gate. My dash clock read eight-thirty, and I smiled with satisfaction. I was right on schedule.
The land, a flattened area of dried grasses and oaks and odd stone formations, belonged to a winery.
Digging my badge from my purse, I looped the lanyard around the collar of my blouse, grabbed my things and strode to the gate. Oaks and brush backed up against the fencing, hiding all but the tops of the white tents inside. Multicolored flags drooped from the tent peaks.
A bored-looking woman in a green X-tranormal tee looked up from her clipboard. “The festival doesn’t open until noon.”
I lifted my badge and glanced up at the silvery UFO over the gate. “I’m here for the VIP brunch.”
She made a tick mark on her clipboard and handed me a map. “Second tent on the right. And Planet of the Grapes will open at ten-thirty for VIPs.” She winked.
“The wine tent? I’m definitely stopping there.” Even if ten-thirty was a little early for wine tasting. “Thanks!” Checking the map, I hurried past the guard. The X-tranormal festival had been laid out in a contorted spiral. Its twists and turns accommodated the oak and elm trees that had been here first. Shuttered stalls squatted between the tents, and it felt a bit like a medieval ghost town.
A breeze whispered down the empty road, and the sides of the tents undulated. In the distance, thunderheads piled above the Sierra peaks. I eyed them warily. Rain wouldn’t exactly ruin the festival, but it wouldn’t be much fun.
I adjusted the industrial-sized purse over my shoulder. Stopping to admire the VIP tent, I jammed my hands in the pockets of my capris.
Someone had painted portholes on the VIP tent’s canvas sides. Colored lights flashed at its seams in a passable version of a flying saucer. This was going to be so much fun! Low chatter flowed through an open tent flap, and eagerly, I brushed through.
Inside, a buffet had been set up along one wall, and throw rugs littered the floor. A second flap, on the opposite side, had also been strapped open. A warm breeze smelling of dried earth flowed through the tent.
An elfin woman with shoulder-length, blazing red hair walked up to me and smiled, her hand extended. “Hi, I'm Maisie, the conference organizer.” Her serious brown eyes crinkled.
“Oh?” I'd thought a woman named Rachel was the conference organizer. “Hi. I'm Susan Witsend.”
Maisie pumped my hand. Her wedding ring pinched my finger, and I flinched.
