Medium At Large

By Patti Larsen

Fly By Night Lights

You home anytime soon? Fee’s text made me smile. I’d love to grab coffee.

I’ll keep you posted, I sent, rather flattered she considered me a friend. I’d had so few in my life, I was still getting used to the fact there were people in this world who really liked me and enjoyed my company despite my talent for seeing the dead. Once we finish this investigation.

Inquiring minds. That was Fee. Always curious.

This is a weird one, I sent.

Her immediate answer was all Fiona Fleming attitude. You? Doing weird? What’s the world coming to?

When Alice finds herself in a small town in Texas, it’s not to investigate a haunting. Instead, she’s been hired to assist in identifying mysterious lights eerily close in appearance to an alleged alien abduction case. But when a deceased UFO hunter stirs up the dead, Alice realizes there’s more to this murder than debunking unidentified flying objects...

In this spin-off series to the award-winning Fiona Fleming Cozy Mysteries, medium and paranormal blogger/debunker Alice Moore travels the US uncovering truth, fraud and murder!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Patti Larsen
• Release date: Sep 28, 2019
• ISBN: 9781988700779

Patti Larsen

About me, huh? Well, my official bio reads like this: Patti Larsen is a multiple award-winning author with a passion for the voices in her head. But that sounds so freaking formal, doesn’t it? I’m a storyteller who hears character's demands so loudly I have to write them down. I love the idea of sports even though sports hate me. I’ve dabbled in everything from improv theater to film making and writing TV shows, singing in an all girl band to running my own hair salon.But always, always, writing books calls me home.I’ve had my sights set on world literary domination for a while now. Which means getting my books out there, to you, my darling readers. It’s the coolest thing ever, this job of mine, being able to tell stories I love, only to see them all shiny and happy in your hands... thank you for reading.As for the rest of it, I’m short (permanent), slightly round (changeable) and blonde (for ever and ever). I love to talk one on one about the deepest topics and can’t seem to stop seeing the big picture. I happily live on Prince Edward Island, Canada, home to Anne of Green Gables and the most beautiful red beaches in the world, with my pug overlord and overlady, six lazy cats and Gypsy Vanner gelding, Fynn.

Book preview

Chapter One

There’s a particular comfort in spending time in a small-town coffee shop. Something about the delicious scent of roasting beans, the familiarity of booths with large windows overlooking lazy streets where locals went about their business without the hurry of bigger centers driving their footsteps. I’d always had a keen connection to such places, where waitresses still wore uniforms with name tags identifying them as Carol or June or Mary, carrying full pots and a smile from table to table, dishing out advice as often as hot java.

Of course, I was generalizing, and the stereotyping wasn’t lost on me. Sure, I’d encountered my share of Briannas, Nikkis and Dylans in city cafes, where baristas made intricate designs out of cream and espresso, complicated brews in giant blackboard lists demanding the sort of education in coffee culture become a requirement to navigate without embarrassment.

It remained, however, small-town coffee shops seemed sacrosanct to the classic ambiance of days long gone. With each such place I found myself, in towns and villages around the United States, certain things ran far more true than contrary.

Beanies in Dicton, Texas, (population 234) was no exception, at least in appearances thus far. Mind you, I’d only been warming the plastic covering of the booth’s slightly sagging seat for five minutes at this point, so it was possible I’d be proven wrong this time. I had to say, however, the adorable girl—because she was my age if she was a day, but I couldn’t help but call her a girl from her perky, bright white smile and bouncing high brunette ponytail that whipped around her head with a life of its own—who served me a cup of coffee in a plain, white cup certainly acted the part.

I checked my phone for a text from Denver, waiting on his return from the inn where we’d taken up residence for the duration of our new investigation. Our plane had landed a little late in San Antonio, meaning one of us needed to be here in order to meet our client, and I was, naturally, the first choice. I didn’t like treating my boyfriend like the help, but he’d insisted on lugging our possessions while I lounged and sipped delicious, uncomplicated coffee from that so familiar mug in relative comfort. I was, however, grateful I’d brought a sweater despite the warmth of the Texas afternoon. Someone was very enthusiastic about their air conditioning and the thin cotton aided the hot drink in keeping my thermometer in balance. Denver’s suggestion, wasn’t it?

He really was a dear.

I stared out into the quiet street, the single main thoroughfare lined with small shops and a few empty storefronts, apparent to my practiced eye Dicton was far from a regular tourist destination. Fifty miles or so from the much more boisterous San Antonio meant it likely saw few visitors and had, by my guess, been slowly losing residents over the course of the last two decades, a fairly typical happenstance for small towns. Considering the nearest city had one of the biggest collections of military bases in the country, seeing flags flown at every house and bumper stickers in support of every branch was hardly surprising.

I hear you’re busy. I hadn’t been expecting her text but was happy to hear from my friend, Fiona Fleming. I found I was actually beaming as I answered the inquisitive redhead, picturing her likely having her own coffee in the kitchen at Petunia’s, with her pug of the same name at her feet, maybe even her mother, Lucy, baking up some scrumptious something or another for guests at the bed and breakfast they ran.

Business is satisfyingly brisk, I sent back.

See what happens when you solve a murder after stumbling over a dead body? I could hear her laughter in that text. She’d know, after all. Fee was the queen of such matters. Everyone wants a piece of you. Should have warned you about that. Sorry.

I snorted softly to myself, to her even though she’d never hear it. Well, one’s my limit, I sent. I have no desire to challenge your record.

Trust me, she sent back a moment later, I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. You home anytime soon? I’d love to grab coffee.

That question made me sigh, but not in a bad way. It had been a month since the death of Roman Ellis, since I’d debunked the haunting at Princely House in Niceville, Florida. I’d been worried running afoul of the popular web series host was going to cause me problems. Instead, helping to solve his murder had, instead, created a kind of notoriety for me I hadn’t planned on. Once word got out in the community, faster than email could travel, I’d been inundated with work offers and had been on the road with Denver at my side for most of the last thirty days.

I’ll keep you posted, I sent, rather flattered despite knowing she considered me a friend. I’d had so few in my life, I was still getting used to the fact there were people in this world who really liked me and enjoyed my company despite my talent for seeing the dead. Soon, I think. Once we finish this investigation.

Inquiring minds? She was obviously on a break from her regular flat-out at Petunia’s and was looking for a distraction. Fair enough.

This is a weird one, I sent.

Her immediate answer was all Fiona Fleming attitude. You? Doing weird? What’s the world coming to?

Fee was well aware of my particular skill set and my connection to the dead. We’d solved a mystery together, my first murder back in Reading, the death of my former mentor, and the woman who put me in prison for six months. Mind you, without Fee I likely wouldn’t have poked my nose into the murder of Sadie Hatch. Nor would I have made a friend. From anyone else the comment might have stung, but not Fee. She could tease me anytime.

You’re such a smartypants. Weird for me, I sent. No spirits. I hesitated before going on, wondering how she’d react. Only one way to find out. You believe in UFOs?

HA! She sent that quickly enough. Do I look like a sucker?

I laughed out loud, I couldn’t help myself. No comment, I sent back.

Don’t tell me you’re going to go hang out in a field somewhere near a military base and try to prove aliens are landing. Now that she mentioned it…

You’re just jealous, I sent.

You got me. She was laughing at me, I knew it. I’ll live vicariously through you, shall I? Try not to get abducted and keep me posted. Got to run. Talk later?

I sent an affirmative, a little sad to let her go, hugging myself when she sent her final, Cya, Al! It was hard not to admire and adore Fee, and having her as a friend?

Well, creepy little Alice Moore, I suppose that meant creepy wasn’t a bad thing after all.

Did she arrive? That was Denver, shaking me out of my Fiona moment, almost a disappointment if I was going to be totally honest. For a second, I’d actually wondered if he was talking about my redheaded Reading friend.

Not yet. I took another sip of coffee as I focused on the job at hand, and our new client, feeling that impatient bubble rising inside me, the one I’d only begun to understand since it woke and made itself a part of my life just a month ago. Funny how challenging the way you used to be could create all kinds of new awesome and problems at the same time.

For example, this case. There was a time I never would have accepted the job offered, no matter how much money was involved. Something intrigued me about this particular investigation, however, whether the client’s earnest need or the fact I’d become more comfortable stretching myself and trying new things.

Still, sitting in a small town waiting to talk to someone about a possible UFO sighting wasn’t exactly in my wheelhouse. So, I was curious to find out just what Helen Leone thought I could do to help.

Maybe if we hadn’t already been in Texas working on an unrelated case, I would have turned her down. The short flight from Austin seemed simple enough, the large payment offered incentive to accept, if only on Denver’s insistence. I let him handle the financial side of things, still, as I always had, struggling a little with taking money for what I knew was a gift. Thanks to him and his careful management of my cases the last month, however, and ditching the expensive van and equipment for our leaner outfit of me and his cameras, he’d managed to nest egg us enough we were both comfortable with our monetary circumstances.

Regardless, it was easy to see the light of earning potential in his eyes and I’d had lean times in the past in sufficient quantity I accepted it wasn’t a stretch to want a cushion for later just in case. Besides, the genuine need that came through in Helen’s email and in our short conversation just two nights ago, convinced me more than her offer of payment. I’d vetted the thirtysomething heiress through the usual channels though I’d already made up my mind to help her.

Her obsession with UFOs and abductions had made me curious, her website professional, her research impeccable, though perhaps a bit more lenient than mine. Oddly, she shared almost nothing of her own story there, focusing instead on the tales of others. It made me wonder about her past and experiences, but I didn’t prod. I had my own secrets I kept close to my chest, so it wasn’t something I was prone to poke my nose into. Besides, there was something about Helen that reminded me of me, I suppose, and so it was easier to say yes than no.

The bell at the front door rang, catching my attention, the new patron striding in like she owned the place. The moment the broad-shouldered deputy’s dark brown eyes settled on me I knew my visit to her little town wasn’t going to go as smoothly as I’d hoped.

Proven true as she scowled before stomping her way to my booth with her round face twisted into a rather unhappy expression I somehow seemed more than capable of creating in small-town law enforcement.

Cue creepy Alice Moore all over again.

***

Chapter Two

If I’d learned anything from my interactions with small-town officers such as the deputy now approaching me, it was that sugar and kindness worked the best. Since being rather polite and introverted had been my whole life, doing my best non-confrontational wasn’t a hard role to play. There were times, I knew, standing up for myself was necessary and it had become easier in the last month since my interaction with Sheriff Gary Green triggered a new beginning for me. However, as the robust woman in the short-sleeved tan uniform shirt, her olive-green pants rather unflattering but the gun at her hip intimidating enough to keep my fashion advice to myself strode her way to my booth, I was fairly certain no amount of compliance and line toeing would satisfy her.

She looked me up and down, thumbs hooking in her belt, the radio transmitter on her shoulder bobbing slightly when she grunted as though she’d taken my measure and found me wanting.

Don’t get many tourist types here, she said, voice harsh and deeply alto. She glanced at the counter, her close-cropped haircut under her cowboy hat as no-nonsense as her attitude. Which can only mean you’re here for the UFO sighting.

I nodded quickly, my best ingratiating smile firmly in place. That’s correct, Deputy Deagon. I read her last name on her nametag. I was hired to investigate.

She snorted, deep-set eyes narrow, lips thinning out, impressive and imposing self leaning in my direction in a threatening loom. Folks have been coming to town to poke their noses in where they aren’t welcome. The deputy actually sneered. I’ll tell you right now, Miss Moore, ah, she knew who I was, I’m not one to tolerate any kind of shenanigans.

How liberal of her. I assure you, I’m only here as an observer.

Deputy Deagon tsked as though I just lied to her face, sour expression only deepening. I’ve got my eyes on you, she said, jabbing one thick index finger my way, and everyone else with plans to disrupt the peace and quiet our townsfolk deserve. I nodded quickly, not sure what else to do. If I was asked to leave town, I would, simple as that. My prison time taught me not to create conflict with law enforcement under any circumstances. Mind you, I’d done so with Sheriff Green, but I’d also had backup in the personage of retired sheriff and current private investigator John Fleming. He’d not only helped me smooth things over in Niceville, he’d encouraged me to assist him in the investigation, something Sheriff Green finally agreed to.

I had a feeling Deputy Deagon wasn’t going to be quite so generous.

It was clear she had more to say, but my lack of willingness to engage undercut her ability to deliver. With that sullen and rather vengeful tightness to her expression—what had I done to her, exactly, to make it so personal?—she tapped the tabletop in front of me with her knuckles.

Watch your step, missy, she said. Then, without a backward look, she spun and marched out of the coffee shop again. Message successfully delivered I suppose she had more important things to do than harass innocent mediums who were just here to do a job.

Ah. Sass had made an appearance. It was probably for the best she’d exited when she did since I was still learning to navigate this newfound sense of self creating issues with my normally reticent personality.

Never you mind Marty Deagon. The waitress appeared like magic beside me, topping up my coffee, that high pony bouncing its enthusiastic agreement with her words. She eye-rolled and grinned like the recent verbal assault was funny. I wished I could find humor in it. She’s all bark and zero bite, if you know what I mean?

You’re from around here? I took a bit of comfort in that statement while the waitress bobbed another nod that sent her hair whipping over one shoulder. Domina Frank, she said with a bit of a curtsy. Born, bred, raised right here in Dicton. She faked a shudder and a big sigh. I’ve known Martina Deagon since our mommas bounced us on their knees. She just likes to throw her weight around. She snorted. No pun intended. She’d clearly never struggled with her own figure, her petite self and attitude making that apparent. I’d always been on the other end, scrawny and far too lanky to be considered pretty, at least as a teenager. I actually empathized more with the deputy than I did with Domina, though I kept that to myself. She didn’t seem to notice, chattering on while she leaned one hip against my table, voice dropping into a conspiratorial tone everyone in the place could hear. Ever since Harry Shuman had his heart attack, she’s the only law we’ve got to call on. That must have been the sheriff. "He’s still her boss