Is Murder by Candlestick Still a Thing?: Diva Delaney Mysteries, #1

By Anni Jayde

Diva Delaney is the only normal living among a family of witches in Hollowood Grove. Although 'normal' can hardly be applied to a psychic medium. As if her life as the only non-magical person in the Delaney Coven isn't hard enough, she's the prime suspect in Edward Creighton's murder. Disliked by most, the only people who will miss the grumpy old warlock are the members of the Creighton Coven.

 

Their hot local sheriff, Drew McTavish, is Diva's ex, sort of. They dated three times a couple of years ago before the mysterious curse someone put on her kicked in and punished him for kissing her. He doesn't believe in the mystical and he's just waiting to find proof of her involvement in the murder so he can lock her away.

 

The Creighton Coven want justice for the death of one of their own. Haydn, Edward's great-nephew, has returned from England to take over running the Creighton Bookstore. Wickedly handsome and powerfully dangerous, he has his sights set on Diva and not in a good way. If she doesn't find the real killer, she could end up paying the price for a murder she didn't commit. Not even her four ghostly friends will be able to save her if the warlock decides she's guilty. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Seize The Night Agency
• Release date: Nov 16, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393624424

Book preview

Chapter One

HIDDEN IN THE SHADOWS of a tree at the top of a small hill, I watched the tail end of the funeral of one of the most disliked men in Hollowood Grove. Morbid curiosity had drawn me here rather than a desire to say a final farewell to the recently departed. My family had thought it would be a good idea for me to stay out of sight. That was probably for the best, since I was the prime suspect in Edward Creighton’s murder.

Wearing stony expressions, the two most powerful covens in town stood on either side of the coffin. They glared at each other in hatred that had been brewing for several centuries. The Creighton versus Delaney war had been raging for as long as our town had existed. Both families were originally from England. While we Delaneys had embraced the new country immediately and considered ourselves to be American, the Creightons were English to the core. They sent their children back to the mother country to be educated and to learn their snobbish ways. They all returned with an upper-crust British accent. It was just one of the things we despised about our rivals.

Turning my attention back to the deceased, the coffin was finally being lowered into the ground. Mr. Creighton had been laid to rest among his relatives in a plot that had been set aside for him. Personally, I found it a bit creepy that people reserved their burial places in advance.

Heavy clouds that had been threatening rain finally made good on their promise. Fat raindrops splattered the branches above me and I hastily pulled the hood of my raincoat up. A sea of black umbrellas opened up, hiding the faces of the mourners and others who had just come to observe.

I wasn’t alone in my vigil. No one else could see the ghosts that had gathered to gawk at the new specter that had been added to their ranks. As a Delaney, I came from a long line of witches, but I didn’t have a lick of magic inside me. I was considered to be the black sheep of the family. While I could communicate with ghosts and had some psychic abilities, I was still the greatest shame to befall our family for decades. Not that my loved ones deliberately made me feel inferior. Much.

It was a pretty good turnout for such a cranky old so and so, Maryanne said. For reasons unknown, she’d styled herself after Marilyn Monroe. She’d been in her fifties when she’d died a few decades ago. Her tight white dress was far too young and clingy for someone of her age. It was so lowcut that top of her bra was on permanent display. Her chest was heavily lined with wrinkles and her boobs were saggy. Her makeup was too heavy and her blonde wig sat slightly askew. Her lipstick was bright red and uneven, as if she’d been drunk when she’d applied it. Her voice was husky and I was pretty sure she’d been a heavy smoker before she’d died.

Reginald, a ghost in his twenties, cut her a look. Have some respect! he said in a scandalized tone. Don’t you remember how you felt when you first died? Flamboyantly gay, he wore tight black pants and a purple satin shirt with paisley patterns. The top three buttons of his shirt were open to reveal his bony chest. A thick gold chain with a peace symbol hung from his neck. He had slicked back black hair and a narrow face that made him look a bit like a weasel. He’d died in the seventies, judging by his outfit.

Fran, reportedly the worst gossip in town when she’d been alive and even worse now that she was dead, surveyed the crowd. Her red hair was styled in plump curls like Shirley Temple used to wear. Despite being in her thirties, she sported a blue bow with white polka dots in her hair. Her dress matched the bow and did nothing to flatter her chubby figure. She pointed at an umbrella as it shifted enough to reveal the person it was shielding from the weather. Haydn Creighton has come home for the funeral!

Against my will, but completely unable to stop myself, I looked down at a face that had haunted me my entire life. Haydn was sinfully handsome, with pale skin, black hair and wicked blue eyes. He searched the crowd, then somehow zeroed in on me. Even from a distance, I could make out his cold expression. It was the same look everyone in his family wore when staring at a Delaney.

Phew, I’d watch out for that warlock if I were you, Diva, Reginald said in a teasing tone. I’m not sure if he wants to kill you, or sleep with you. Then again, after that nasty curse someone put on you eight years ago, I guess the second option is out.

Fran and Maryanne sucked in breaths that were completely unnecessary since they were dead. They cut a look at me to see how I’d reacted to the reminder that someone had put a hex on me when I’d been sixteen. Scowling, I folded my arms. It was well known by now that to court me would invite disaster. Every guy I attempted to date ended up being injured. A couple had even ended up with stitches.

Right on cue, the sheriff, who happened to be one of my victims, also found my hiding spot and glowered at me. I’d gone on three dates with Drew McTavish. He’d ended up with six stitches in his forehead and a scar as a permanent reminder of our short time together. Non-magical, he didn’t believe that the supernatural existed even though a large number of the townsfolk were witches and warlocks. He’d treated my job as a psychic medium with amusement, which had turned to mistrust after our disastrous and short-lived relationship.

We don’t talk about the curse, Maryanne said in a too loud whisper to Reginald. Not when the poor child can hear us.

I can hear you right now, I said crankily.

Anyway, Fran said brightly in an effort to dispel the awkwardness, Haydn is looking even more handsome than ever, don’t you think?

The warlock was still staring at me even though the mourners were beginning to leave. My family was the first to retreat. One of their most hated enemies was dead and they’d just come to make sure he was really gone and that no one had tried to resurrect him. My grandmother shot a final glare at her rival, Georgina Creighton, then allowed her two daughters to herd her away.

No one else knew that Edward Creighton had attended his own funeral. Staring down at his coffin, the old man had his arms crossed and his expression was forbidding. He wore the usual boring black suit he’d worn every day to work. It was the same suit that he’d died in.

Haydn tipped his head at me in silent promise that there would be a reckoning, then offered his great-grandmother his arm. Georgina Creighton had to be nearly a hundred by now. She was the matriarch of the family and she was a powerful witch. I was glad she didn’t know I was there, or I’d probably already be hexed. I’d heard she could curse her enemies from a distance and I didn’t want to test that theory for myself.

You should get back to work, chicky, Maryanne said to me. You’ll catch your death if you stay out in this horrible weather any longer.

Then you’ll be just like us, Reginald said. Dead, perpetually bored and stuck haunting this town for all eternity.

It isn’t that bad being dead, Fran said in a scolding tone. The afterlife is what you make of it, Reggie.

He gave her a cynical look. "You’ve only been dead for twenty years, Franny. He hated being called Reggie, but the girls tended to ignore his whining. Once you’ve been dead for a few more decades, you’ll learn how long eternity truly is."

Although they squabbled constantly, the trio were nearly inseparable. Heaving a sigh, I sent a final look at the ghost of Edward Creighton, then turned and walked away. I dearly wanted to question him about who had murdered him, but this wasn’t a good time. Since I’d been the last known person to see him alive, Sheriff McTavish had decided I was the main suspect. He’d been watching me like a hawk for the past week, waiting for me to slip up and give myself away somehow so he could arrest me.

Thankfully, there was no evidence to link me to Edward’s death. I was just as mystified as everyone else about who had ended his life. With the sheriff deciding I was the most likely culprit, it was going to be up to me to solve the murder. That wasn’t going to be easy in this town. If you were a normal, which was what the magical folk called the non-magical population, you had no respect in the witch community. Being a psychic medium, the rest of the normals thought I was nuts. Add how accident prone men tended to be when they got close to me and I was hazardous to be around.

Yeah, this’ll be a piece of cake, I complained to myself as I slogged through the wet grass to the side gate. I had an alibi for the time the murder had occurred, but it wouldn’t stand up in court. I couldn’t exactly get my best friend to testify that I was innocent when she’d been dead since the nineteen-eighties.

Chapter Two

SO, HOW DID THE FUNERAL go? my best friend asked when I stepped into to my office. Jessica Fowler had been twenty-three when she’d died. Like all ghosts, she was doomed to remain exactly the same as she’d appeared when she’d perished, thankfully without any signs of what had killed her. She had crimped blonde hair, wore an electric blue headband and matching eyeshadow, a bright pink t-shirt, acid wash jeans and blue legwarmers with ratty sneakers. She had a bubbly personality and had been my closest friend since I’d first learned I could see spirits twenty-one years ago.

It went okay, I replied as I took my raincoat off. Water cascaded onto the small tiled area just inside my door. I hung the raincoat on a hook on the wall next to the door, then hunted for a mop in the closet. It would be just my luck for a client to enter, slip on the wet floor and break a hip.

You have to give me more details than that, Jess complained as she drifted after me.

The Creightons and Delaneys had their usual staring match until the coffin was lowered into the ground, I said. Retrieving the mop, I headed back to the door. I hadn’t gone to the ceremony at the local church, but I was sure their animosity would have been the same while they’d been within its walls. The war between our families is going to be a lot worse now that everyone thinks I killed Edward, I added.

"How could anyone possibly think you could kill a person? the spirit asked indignantly. You can’t even kill a cockroach without fainting."

I paused for a moment to glare at her. I didn’t faint, I said in self-defense. I was just momentarily lightheaded when I squished it and I heard its guts pop.

Putting her hands on her hips, her expression was pitying. You had to lie down on the floor for ten minutes until you recovered.

Muttering to myself, I made sure the tiles were as dry as I could get them before stuffing the mop back into the closet. My office was on the small side, with a bathroom and kitchen on the right. The walls were pale yellow and the carpet was lime green, which wasn’t the most pleasant combination. I had two chairs for my clients arranged in front of my desk. They were cheap, had been upholstered in worn brown fabric and weren’t particularly comfortable. Cracks ran across the walls and ceilings in a few places, but I hadn’t gotten around to getting them repaired yet.

Despite its ugliness, this place was my safe haven from interfering family members and most of the populace. No one wanted to be caught dead speaking to me, no pun intended. Most of my business came from people in the surrounding towns. Surprisingly, I made a modest living as a psychic medium. It wasn’t unusual for me to have to travel for work. Most of the time, the clients brought an item from their deceased to my office. I could pick up a lot of useful information by touching the objects.

Jess wandered over to the door while I stepped into the kitchen to make coffee. I needed something to warm me up after standing out in the chilly fall rain. That’s weird, she called out.

What’s weird? I called back, stirring milk and sugar into the mug.

The closed sign is gone from the Creighton Bookstore, she replied. It looks like it’s open for business again.

My spoon stilled as I thought over the implications. Edward Creighton had run the bookstore for the past forty years. I wasn’t sure who was going to take over the business now. Whoever they were, they would be my new neighbor. Curious, I rinsed my spoon off and headed for the large picture window next to the door.

Standing next to my spectral bestie, I held my coffee cup and peered through the rain at the two-story bookstore. Old and grand, the façade had been painted green, white and gray. A sign in gold letters hung over the door, proclaiming the name of the bookstore. They sold more than just normal books. It was also where the magical community bought their spell books and incantations from. The magical books were sourced directly from England and the Creighton Coven did a thriving business.

Seeing a familiar wrinkled face standing in the large window next to the door, I drew back slightly. Ugh, Bartholomew is in his favorite spot as usual.

He gives me the creeps, Jess said and we shared a shiver.

Bartholomew Creighton had owned the bookstore before Edward. The Delaneys might hate the Creightons, but even we had to shop there. I’d figured out I could see ghosts the one and only time I’d visited the store with my grandmother. I’d been three years old and an ancient, short, withered man had drifted through the stacks to loom over me. He’d had white hair and wore a horrible green tartan coat and mustard yellow pants. Can you see me, little girl? he’d asked. Terrified, I’d nodded mutely in response. I see a grim future for you ahead, he’d told me gravely. You will be cursed to know nothing but misery.

I’d burst into tears and told my grandmother what the mean man had said, which had drawn a small crowd of curious normals. Edward Creighton had banned me from the store for lying and for making a fuss. Even when it had become common knowledge that I was a medium, he still hadn’t lifted the ban. Not that I’d ever wanted to return anyway. Bartholomew’s constant presence was enough to keep me away. I was just glad he was the type of phantom that haunted his place of death and didn’t wander around town. He was the last ghost I wanted to pop into my office or to visit me at home.

Another face appeared in the bookstore window and Jess let out a surprised noise. Is that Haydn Creighton? she asked incredulously. Leaning forward, she stuck her head outside for a better look. It is! she exclaimed as the warlock stared directly at me. Turning to me, she saw my complete lack of surprise. You knew he was here and you didn’t tell me?

He was at the funeral, I said and turned away. I felt his eyes on my back as I made my way over to my desk.

Tell me everything, Jess ordered.

There’s not much to tell, I hedged as I sank down onto my secondhand office chair. It was at least ten years old, but it was surprisingly comfortable. The turnout for the ceremony was fairly high, I added. "No one was hexed or stabbed and they all