Text copyright 2023 Laura Pauling

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, except for brief passages in connection with a review written for inclusion in a magazine, newspaper, blog or broadcast.

  This is a work of fiction, and is produced from the author’s imagination. People, places and things mentioned in this novel are used in a fictional manner.

  Edited by Cindy Davis

  Cover by Lou Harper, Cover Affairs

  Contents

  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

  A Caramel Macchiato Short Story

  Pumpkin Spice Murder Sneak Peek

  Holly Hart Cozy Mysteries

  Also by Laura

  About Laura

  Chapter One

  The man was striking. He was dazzling and handsome. Magnetic.

  Energy pulsed around him.

  It was the way he walked into The Beanery expecting the spotlight to shine on him, the way he posed in the doorway for the masses to take him in—really, just Belle and Bixby. It was the tilt of his chin, the slight turn of his head, the arm at the waist. Definitely posed.

  Belle fought off the laughter. She flashed Bixby a curious look as they worked side-by-side behind the counter of The Beanery.

  The man was handsome in a theatrical way; it could be the eyeliner, the olive skin tone, the shock of black hair, the hoop earrings. Definitely the purple coat—was that velvet?

  He whipped out his phone, swiping to the video app. He aimed it, then started talking as if he were on stage. He spoke loudly, in a dramatic tone. “Here we are at the cutest little coffee shop I’ve seen. I have to point out the sign.” He faced his camera to the sign Belle just hung. “Chocolate raspberry coffee. It’s fate.” He kept talking about how he loved chocolate and raspberry together, how he loved the chocolate squares oozing with raspberry filling. Finally, he stopped recording, his tone sounding closer to normal. “Should I retake it?”

  Belle stood, paralyzed, unsure whom he was talking to until a small feminine voice answered, “That was fine. No need for a retake.”

  He waltzed up to the counter. Behind him entered two women, clearly with him. One was meek, average-looking, dusty brown hair up in a clip; the other, as dramatic as the man himself, with a darker skin tone, long wavy black hair, a nose piercing, and makeup that made her appear as an Egyptian queen.

  Makeup, artfully and professionally done, was a type of illusion. Belle had watched many videos but after applying the blushes, the eyeshadows, and eyeliners, she didn’t look like herself. She made do with lipgloss and mascara. Anything more made her feel like a clown.

  She heard a hissing, a whispering, in her ear. It was Bixby, but she was lost in her thoughts as she soaked in this man and the presence he created.

  He stood, still posed, almost like it came naturally, as if he did it so often it was part of his persona. He waited as if they would know his order telepathically.

  “One chocolate raspberry latte?” Bixby squeaked.

  The man nodded, barely.

  Bixby filled the order, a kind of nervousness to his actions. Belle studied the man, now curious as to his profession. He had to be a model, with his practiced runway walk. She had to say, “Hi, there. I’m Belle.”

  He turned his gaze on her, with piercing green eyes, similar to her own. A ghost of a smile passed across his face.

  “And you are?” She was tired of the games.

  Bixby handed over the mug. “Belle, this is Xavier.”

  “You know him?” she asked.

  A laugh, a nervous tittering, escaped from Bixby. It sounded nothing like him. “Not personally. This is Xavier the Astonishing, the magician.”

  “Well, Xavier the Astonishing, nice to meet you. Enjoy our new flavor. Would you like something to go with it?”

  Xavier leaned forward. “What would you suggest?”

  Belle felt the blush rising. His words and tone were very suggestive, the way he looked at her. The words wouldn’t come. She stammered and stuttered a few times, before he laughed. She loved hearing different laughs. This one was a deep sort of chuckle, as if there were a joke and she was in on it.

  He leaned forward, his face breaking into the first real smile. “I’m teasing.”

  “Oh, nice to finally meet the real you.” She gave him a real smile back. “You’ve already ordered the best item on the menu, but I suggest the complimentary raspberry scone with the chocolate drizzle.”

  “I’ll take it,” he said, more relaxed now, like the show was over.

  She peered past him to the women. “Would you two like anything?”

  The dramatic one nodded. “Same as him.” Was that a Russian accent?

  The other woman said, “Coffee, hot and black, please.”

  “Oh, Samantha, so boring, so boring,” he said.

  “Are you passing through Everly?” Bixby asked, pulling himself together, controlling the awe he clearly felt around Xavier the Astonishing.

  “We’re here for the big show,” he stated, as if it needed no more explanation than that. He whirled and, if he wore a cape, it would have bloomed around him. Xavier continued the conversation with them. “I’m still undecided on which of my latest tricks to perform. I could swallow the eight-foot snake, then regurgitate him as a garden snake. That always brings the shocked gasps. Especially when it’s a poisonous snake. That’s what I’m going for, complete awe. Total disbelief.

  “Of course, there’s always the typical card tricks but the kind that involve the entire audience. People love those. I could disappear in a cloud of smoke, then reappear in the back of the room. Chat up the old ladies. Now they love that. There’s the—”

  “I love the water tank and the chains,” Bixby burst out.

  Xavier nodded. “Ah, yes. A classic. I’m chained in the water tank with only minutes to escape. A delight to the crowds. A very intense experience. I’m not sure it fits with the show here.”

  Usually, Belle was aware of the happenings in town, the events, the special shows, because she and Bixby tried to take advantage of them, in their flavors and pastries they offered. She had heard nothing about a magician. She came up next to Bixby. She whispered, “Did you know about this?”

  He nodded, but the look on his face, the shuttered expression, meant he was keeping something from her.

  “What about murder?” Xavier asked, with even more drama in his tone, if that was possible. “What would be an appropriate way for a magician to die?”

  The two women with him, Belle assumed worked for him. The one, a striking woman, was possibly the onstage assistant. She wasn’t sure about the other one. She inserted herself into his conversation, which wasn’t really a conversation, but a monologue. “Perhaps, the big snake.”

  “Excuse me?” Xavier the Astonishing appeared astonished that someone answered.

  “What if the snake you swallow somehow escaped, then squeezed you to death, or bit your ankle?” For a magician, who took such risks with life, the possibilities were endless. “Or someone could fiddle with your trick chains and you drown.”

  Bixby hissed, “Belle!”

  She flashed him a look that said, What?

  Xavier jerked back at the images, the words of such a dramatic, shocking death, but he was thinking, quiet for the first time.

  “Or,” Belle said, “there could be poison on the edge of a playing card and you get a paper cut and die within minutes.”

  He motioned, a rolling of his hands, like he was the director saying, keep going.

  “Someone in the audience could have a long-lasting grudge, or someone from your past that you steamrolled over when you were starting out as a starving artist.”

  One of the women spoke, the one with the accent. “This word, steamroll. I do not know this word.”

  Xavier waved his hand, like this was something he did often: explain English. “It means to use someone in some way or form and not be grateful, to then forget about them or toss them aside, to not listen or appreciate them.” He added, “You know what? I like that idea of a begrudged member of the audience. Someone harboring jealousy, a festering greed, nursing perceptions of dastardly wrongdoings. This person, finally, pushed to the edge…”

  That was when it hit Belle.

  What this was all about. What Xavier was talking about. How could she not see it before? Forsythia Wright had never followed through, never extended the invitation to attend the Women’s Charitable Organization. The big murder mystery fundraiser was in the books. It was happening. They’d excluded Belle.

  She might feel, at times, that her life here was an illusion, not real yet, but a part of that could be why she knew nothing about Xavier the Astonishing. Why he was here. Yes, she knew exactly what this was all about, and why Bixby hesitated to tell her. She didn’t hold it against him. Her Great Aunt E
liza had fought for a presence in the town. It was looking more and more like Belle would have to follow in that path.

  She could choose to live here, in Everly. Fade to the background. That’s where she preferred to be, what she was used to, where she was comfortable, especially after living with her relatives, in the in-between spaces, the hidden places. She had been out of the way, unseen, unheard in her aunt and uncle’s home.

  But that kind of life was not in the stipulations of Eliza’s will. It appeared that Forsythia Wright and the Women’s Charitable Organization would be one of her first fights.

  “I’ll talk to you later,” she scolded Bixby. “Regarding a certain fundraiser event you didn’t tell me about.”

  “Sorry.” He lifted his shoulder, penitent. “I didn’t know how to break it to you.”

  “You could have just told me that Forsythia had scheduled the murder mystery event. It’s all organized. She didn’t include me.”

  “Fine. Next time, I’ll be sure to tell you.”

  “As penance, when the shop closes, you can spend time training Jack Sparrow with me.”

  “Don’t parrots only like to work with one person?” Bixby asked.

  “Usually. Jack Sparrow is very well trained from what I can tell. I’m still working on building the trust bond.”

  To be honest, Belle was still learning about parrots. She’d spent nights going down the rabbit hole of watching training videos of the precocious bird, a blue-fronted Amazon parrot, a pet she inherited. She had to be careful what she said around him, because he liked to repeat things he heard. Just like a toddler. She smiled at him.

  Xavier still rambled on about the kind of murder that would be most dramatic, most beneficial for his social media following.

  Belle approached him. “I assume, after this, you’re heading to see Forsythia Wright, and your talk of murder has to do with the upcoming murder mystery event?”

  “Yes, it’s next weekend.”

  Next weekend? The annoyance and anger she felt toward Forsythia was a scratching under her skin, an itch that wouldn’t go away. If anything, it grew worse every passing second. She didn’t like conflict, but she’d have to address this with Forsythia.

  “I’m part of the Women’s Charitable Organization. How about I head over with you?”

  “Like magic, there is a friend to accompany me.” He snapped his fingers. “Abracadabra. We’re out of here.”

  Chapter Two

  Play it cool, Belle thought, play it cool.

  She led the way, embarrassed at her rattletrap car that barely passed inspection, but it had been with her through a lot; she’d even lived in it at times. Embarrassed, especially, as she looked in the rearview mirror at the elegant van, painted with images of Xavier and his magic shows. But hey, he was a magician.

  With Xavier and his assistants following, she drove past the town hall but didn’t see any sign of a meeting. There weren’t enough cars parked in the lot, so she headed toward Forsythia’s home. It was also on Main Street, a stately home that fronted the street but hid a magnificent backyard. The house was as polished as Forsythia, the pruned hedges, the landscaping perfected so there was always something in bloom, always something that caught the eye and made an impression. The large front porch wrapped around to the side. It was beautiful. She parked behind a line of cars on the road. Yup, this was the meeting place.

  Belle ignored the stab of something she could never quite name when she brushed against privilege and wealth, maybe because she never had it. Did she really want to do this? Not really.

  “Let’s do this,” she said, walking up to the front door. Xavier touched her shoulder. She realized he had stopped walking. The van was heading down the road. “Where did your assistants go?”

  “I apologize for the lack of introductions. Shana and Samantha went on to do some shopping. I have special dietary needs, and even though”—he waved at the house—“we have a place to stay, I like to have some control over my diet.”

  “You’re staying with Forsythia?” Belle asked, not really surprised. Of course, Forsythia would want the main star living with her. Belle wondered if she knew about the big snake.

  “I’m not sure we were properly introduced,” Xavier said. “You know my name, and I have not had the pleasure of learning yours.”

  “Belle Baron.”

  “A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”

  He studied her. Belle felt exposed, naked, as she stood in front of him, refusing to waver or sidestep his gaze. “What?” she finally spit out.

  “I see you,” he said, kindly, but even through the gentle tone, there was an air about him, something electric and alive. “I see you, Belle Baron. I see your struggles. You haven’t had it easy.” He placed a finger against his lips as a signal she didn’t have to say anything. “Like calls to like. I have struggled. I struggle. A survivor always recognizes another survivor. No explanation needed, for I am but a stranger. Just know”—he lowered his voice, like he was about to impart a great secret—“you are not alone. You are not the only survivor. It is because you stand here, surviving—that is your strength, that is the well you draw from, those dark times, those low and despairing times, you draw strength from that. You deserve to live and be here just as much as anyone else. You are deserving.” Then, abruptly, he stopped. “Let’s face the lion inside, shall we?”

  He whirled toward the house. Again, she imagined a black cape billowing about his legs as he strode to the front door. To say she felt unearthed, dug at, exposed, revealed, would be to diminish the effect Xavier’s words had on her. She felt exposed but not abused. She felt seen. His words were a balm, a soothing gel, that offered wisdom. Xavier the Astonishing was quite the mystery. She wished for afternoons with him, to loll around and talk about life.

  “Xavier, you’re here.” It was Forsythia’s voice, high-pitched and climbing higher with every word. “I was hoping you’d make it before the meeting ended. Welcome. Welcome.” She clapped, gasping with excitement. “This is going to be a fantastic week with an astonishing ending.” She tittered at her play on words.

  Xavier was gracious, laughing along with her. Then he turned. “Have you met Belle Baron? I received a bang-up welcome to Everly with her new chocolate raspberry latte. You must try it. It’s to die for.”

  Belle stepped up next to him. If it was possible to have a conversation with just looks, it happened. She communicated her unhappiness with not being included. Forsythia turned a shade of pink Belle had only ever seen on the pinkest of roses, then the flash of disdain in her eyes, the subtle straightening, as if she got caught with her hand in the cookie jar, already justifying her position.

  Belle didn’t take her eyes off Forsythia as she let her own stubborn stance and accusing glare state the accusations: that Forsythia never emailed Belle about meeting times and place, never followed through to invite Belle to help with the big fundraising murder mystery event, never included her on bringing Xavier the Astonishing to town.

  Xavier smiled at Belle. It was pure encouragement.

  He had imparted a bit of that sharpness and steel to Belle. At least for today, she strode into the meeting with a new confidence, a new sense of belonging that not even the haughtiest looks from these women could take from her.

  The women, about ten in number, gathered in a large parlor. They sat on sofas. They lounged on loveseats, perched on armchairs. The windows were tall, and sun streamed through into the room.

  “Ladies, ladies, I’d love for you to meet”—her voice struck a high note, then appropriately lowered—“Xavier the Astonishing, the magician, the highlight of our upcoming murder mystery.”

  The women clapped, they smiled, they offered the appropriate murmurs of awe. Forsythia introduced them, but later, Belle would only remember a few: June, the right-hand woman, similar in age and appearance to Forsythia, a woman who kept everything moving forward. She hovered about Forsythia, as if hanging on every spoken word, like she was an attending angel to God. There was Alice, an older, church-going woman, who Belle might have seen at Eliza’s funeral at the Episcopalian church. Of course, she couldn’t forget Minnie Kratz, the one younger woman in attendance, besides Belle, and a local elementary school teacher.