All Done with It

By Maggie Toussaint

A murdered woman lures Dreamwalker Baxley Powell, a sleuth who travels between the living and the dead, into danger. As Baxley exhumes layers of the victim’s life, she encounters an ancient evil. To stop this powerful predator from savaging both worlds, she must abandon all she holds dear and become like him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Epicenter Press
• Release date: Aug 11, 2020
• ISBN: 9781603814393

Maggie Toussaint

Maggie Toussaint has published seventeen books, fourteen as Maggie Toussaint and three as Rigel Carson. She is president of the Southeast Mystery Writers of America and has a seat on the national MWA Board. She is also a member of Sisters In Crime and Low Country Sisters In Crime. Toussaint won the Silver Falchion Award for Best Cozy/Traditional mystery in 2014. Additionally, she won a National Readers Choice Award and an EPIC award for Best Romantic Suspense. She lives in coastal Georgia, where secrets, heritage, and ancient oaks cast long shadows.

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All Done

With It

A Dreamwalker Mystery

Maggie Toussaint

Kenmore, WA

A Camel Press book published by Epicenter Press

Epicenter Press

6524 NE 181st St.

Suite 2

Kenmore, WA 98028

For more information go to:

www.Camelpress.com

www.Coffeetownpress.com

www.Epicenterpress.com

www.maggietoussaint.com

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Cover design by Scott Book

Interior design by Melissa Vail Coffman

All Done With It

Copyright © 2020 by Maggie Toussaint

ISBN: 978-1-60381-832-2 (Trade Paper)

ISBN: 978-1-60381-439-3 (eBook)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019945131

Printed in the United States of America

This Story is dedicated to Cathy, Carol, Ginny and Cliff

Contents

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

Thanks to my husband Craig for encouraging me all along this writing journey. Thanks also to my critique partner Polly Iyer who helps in so many ways. Holly McClure shared Cherokee customs with me, and any mistakes made are mine and mine alone. Special thanks to Deborah Holt who won the right to name Dr. Alleen Dabba in a previous book during a Murder on the Menu auction in Wetumpka, Alabama. This character appeared in both Dreamed It and All Done With It . I would also like to send a special shout out to Jennifer McCord of Camel Press for picking up this series when it became orphaned.

The Dreamwalker Mystery Series

Gone and Done It

Bubba Done It

Doggone It

Dadgummit

Confound It

Dreamed It

Chapter One

Raindrops pooled in the dead woman’s bellybutton. Her bare midriff gleamed like burnished mahogany. The gray sports bra, running shorts, sneakers, and lean physique suggested she liked to run. Tight curls framed her face like a dark orb, and her amber eyes stared vacantly at the sky.

Definitely a young adult, possibly late twenties like me. I’m Baxley Powell Mayes, County Dreamwalker and relatively new crime consultant for the Sinclair County sheriff’s office. My extrasensory talents focus on communicating with the dead and helping the living. I’m also good at observing crime scenes such as this one on Henderson Road in Sinclair County, Georgia.

With the midday thundershower topping off the already high water table in the nearby swamp, the weedy lawn oozed water where I stepped. I leaned forward over my very pregnant belly to study the abrasion near her elbow. It looked fresh. I stepped back from the body and waited for my crime consultant assignment.

The parcel delivery guy called this one in, Sheriff Wayne Thompson said, emerging from his Jeep and striding our way.

My boss still bore the muscular carriage of an athlete from his high school quarterback glory days and the arrogance to match. Though he wasn’t the easiest person to work for, I respected his authority.

Lucky for us, the rain stopped by the time we arrived. Wayne gestured at the body. Mayes, give me your perspective of the victim.

My husband, Deputy Sam Mayes, stood beside me in his khaki uniform, his Cherokee heritage evident in his high cheekbones, striking long black hair, and dark brown eyes. Like me, he was a dreamwalker, though he had hidden depths I had yet to fathom.

He was also my second husband, my first having disappeared during his military service a few years ago. Last fall, Mayes helped me locate my missing husband’s consciousness in a tween place, a place between this world and the next, and together we eased his concerns and showed him how to enter the afterlife. Even so, it took me a while to accept Mayes as a fixture in my life. I’d had doubts about the wisdom of a long-distance relationship since he had a job and tribal responsibilities in north Georgia. He’d been certain I was the one for him. Needless to say, he’d won me over, and we were happily married and living in my coastal Georgia home.

Mayes moved forward, stepping where I’d stepped in the unkept grass. African American female, about five seven and one-twenty pounds. No ID in sight. No bullet or stab wounds mar her skin. The narrow abrasion circling her neck and the pinpoint red spots in her eyes suggest strangulation as the means of death. All signs point to a homicide.

That’s what I thought, the sheriff said. Bax, you got anything to add?

At nine months pregnant, I wasn’t up to my usual M.O. of kneeling beside the woman and taking a dreamwalk. Though it was early June, between the ninety-degree temperature and the near hundred-percent humidity, I worked hard for every breath. Pretty sure my scraggly white hair and all-over sheen advertised my physical discomfort.

Still, I needed to do my job. I don’t recognize her. I doubt she’s local.

The sheriff waved the other two deputies forward. Virgil Burkhead and Ronnie Oliver dropped the crime scene tape they’d been installing and swaggered over, good old boys, the pair of them. Virg was the taller of the two well-fed, brown-eyed men, and he often spoke for both of them.

Either of you know who she is? The sheriff shifted his weight from one foot to the other and glanced at his watch.

Never seen her before today. Virg rubbed his chin as if he were deep in thought. Then he grinned. But she’s a pretty one. That hair. It’s witchy being so dark and all.

Hair color doesn’t make her a witch, Wayne said in a cross tone. Don’t invite trouble. Observe the facts and keep an open mind.

Somebody sure got out of the wrong bed this morning, Virg muttered under his breath, glancing over at his grinning partner.

Can it, the sheriff said. Keep your remarks professional.

Virg glowered at Wayne.

Poor Virg. He and his tobacco-chewing sidekick Ronnie had been collectively number two in the sheriff’s deputy crew until my husband started working here in November. From where I stood, it appeared the sheriff now expected his former lead deputies to aspire to the high professional standard Mayes set.

Needle mark in her left arm. Mayes bent closer and snapped a photo. She might be a casual drug user or her killer could’ve used an injection to make her compliant.

Drugs? I’d worked a few drug cases now. I might be useful after all. I edged closer to the dead woman.

The sheriff caught my arm. Hold up, Baxley. Let Mayes collect the evidence first.

As if the heavy rain hadn’t already washed away any footprints. The new departmental focus on following police procedures impacted my effectiveness. If we didn’t do things by the book, we paid in other ways. Judges gave our evidence extra scrutiny, and none placed a value on evidence discovered via a dreamwalk. It was sobering to see proof eliminated from trials through a judge’s distrust of our investigative process. Though Mayes accepted the legal jockeying, the necessity of it really got my goat.

I’m naming this killa The Piney Woods Strangler, Ronnie said, his eyes glowing with a religious fervor, his fingertips wedged in his pockets as he rocked back and forth on his heels.

No names. The sheriff made a dismissive motion with his hand. We don’t glorify killers. We don’t give them even five seconds of fame.

Killjoy, Ronnie grumbled as he drifted over to finish tying crime scene tape to a pine. The task completed, he tossed the tape in his trunk and stood watch by the road, four feet away, occasionally turning to the side to spit tobacco.

As Virg’s wingman, Ronnie had few opportunities to shine. He’d tried to take the initiative just now and got shut down. His fall from grace with the sheriff must be puzzling to a laidback guy like Ronnie. I used to think his low-key style meant that he was uneducated and uncaring, but he’d surprised me on a number of occasions. In fact, I trusted Ronnie a heck of a lot more than I trusted Virg.

Hardly any fingernails, Mayes said as he studied the woman’s hand without touching her. Looks like she chewed them to the quick.

His keen observation reminded me I was here to work a case, not critique my coworkers. Silently, I connected bits of evidence. The victim’s sports attire combined with her trim and muscular physique suggested she exercised frequently. Our Jane Doe had been compulsive and anxious.

An anxious and fit African American stranger. What the heck were you doing way out here in the northwestern corner of the county, Jane Doe? This wooded property adjacent to a hardwood swamp belonged to snowbirds, and according to the sheriff, the Silvas left two months ago to return to their fulltime home in Maine. Just in case they’d rented the house to our Jane Doe, I glanced around the two-story white clapboard house for any sign of habitation. The cars in the area belonged to law enforcement. No extra vehicles, bikes, or flowerpots in sight.

Hey, Ronnie. I waved at him to get his attention. Any cars behind the Silvas’ house?

Nope, Ronnie drawled, dragging the word out long and popping the p like it was bubble gum. House is locked up tight as a tick. No sign of forced entry. Looked through the windas. Nobody’s home.

Noted. I’ll contact the Silvas and alert them to the incident at their place, the sheriff said, standing too close, his aftershave filling my lungs. Y’all keep processing the scene. He nodded my way. Baxley, a word.

Being singled out didn’t bode well. Wayne had been tense, uptight, and procedure-oriented since we arrived at the scene. Not his usual style. What was up with him?

Only one way to find out. Sure.

My Jeep.

A few minutes later, air conditioning surrounded me, and I welcomed the reprieve. I angled a vent to blow directly on my face. Still working the scene, Mayes had glanced my way at least six times since I sat down. Ignoring his extrasensory nudges for the moment, I focused on my boss. Is something wrong?

You reading me? Wayne asked.

I overlooked his sharp tone because Wayne’s M.O. was to lash out when troubled. Clearly something weighed on his mind. You seem off today. It’s not like you to snap at Virg or Ronnie.

Those guys are idiots.

That never bothered you before.

Yeah, well, now I know what good police work accomplishes. If I had two more like Mayes, my office would hum like a well-oiled machine.

I doubted his handpicked staff caused Wayne’s tension. Though I routinely kept my extra senses shielded to avoid surprises, I needed to know if he was okay. I lowered my mental firewalls and studied the sheriff’s aura. It roiled with browns and blacks, a marked change from his normal light gray hue.

Whatever’s wrong, you can fix it, I said. If it isn’t a work issue, is it your family?

My wife. He banged his palm on the steering wheel. If not for those boys, I’d have left Dottie years ago.

Your relationship with your wife is a private matter. If he hadn’t mentioned his kids, I’d have bolted from the Jeep, except Wayne went above and beyond the call of duty to help me block my in-laws’ custody play for my daughter last summer. I owed him the courtesy of listening about his kids.

It’s embarrassing. She’s humiliated me.

I shook my head, wishing I were anywhere else. This conversation about your marriage is inappropriate. I work for you. If you have personal issues with Dottie, please talk to a counselor.

Wayne scowled. No way. This mess is your fault. Ever since your wedding, Dottie’s demanded complete fidelity. Said things had to change between us or else. I’m crazy about my sons, so I gave her what she wanted and it wasn’t enough. Me. Sidelined from life, and for what? So she could lord her control over me? I never should’ve given her that power.

I jabbed fingers in my ears and said la la la until he stopped talking.

You finished? he said.

I am a female who works for you, I said. We can’t be having this conversation.

You’re the closest thing I have to a friend. He rubbed his temples. This can’t go beyond us. Not even to your baby daddy over there.

Of all the nerve. "My husband and I don’t keep secrets from each other. That’s a promise I can’t make."

God. He covered his eyes with his hands for a long moment. Don’t you get it? I can’t look at her the same way Mayes looks at you. That’s what she wants. A lovesick puppy she can trot out on a leash.

My hand shot out reflexively. Stop right there. Mayes is his own person. If anything, he corralled me. I do not order him around and if he ever tried that with me on non-safety issues, it wouldn’t go over well.

The bond you two have. It’s visible. People know you’re in love. Dottie wants that from me, and I can’t give it to her. I never felt that way about her. I’ve satisfied her physically over the years. Now it’s different. We never had love and now we don’t even have lust. I can’t stand to touch her.

He wasn’t going to let it drop. What to do? Maybe he’d accept free advice. Bubba Paxton is good at couple’s therapy.

Forget it. I won’t go to a snake-charming flake like him for marital advice. It’s a moot point anyway. Dottie already scratched off with my boys.

His voice broke, and my natural empathy rose. I’d been in his shoes once and the thought of losing my daughter had felt like a mortal wound. We’ll get them back.

He hung his head. I’m not the man she wants.

She’s with someone else?

No. It’s complicated. He groaned aloud, slouched in his seat, staring ahead at the pine forest with sightless eyes. That butthead sheriff over in Flynn County hates my guts. He helped her get a restraining order against me. She claimed I beat her. No way in hell. If the guys find out, I’ll never hear the end of it.

Good grief. This was bad. Talk to a lawyer today. You need a mediator and established visitation rights at a minimum.

I’m too embarrassed to tell anyone else.

Ego. It would be his undoing. Fortunately, I knew how to get him to see reason. "You want to see your kids again?’

Yes.

Forget your pride. Those boys need to know you didn’t abandon them or hurt her or whatever she claimed to get that restraining order. They need to know you’ll fight for them.

That why I wanted to speak with you. How’d you do it?

Last summer, my former in-laws made a power play for Larissa and I’d won. Barely. It had to be done. I didn’t care what anyone thought of me. All I cared about was my child. That kept me motivated.

I hear you, but what if I get the boys and Dottie leaves town permanently? How can I manage the four of them?

You’ll find a way. That’s the easy part. Don’t let fear control you. Fight for your sons.

Wayne nodded, his expression stark as he scanned the area outside the vehicle.

I wanted to comfort him. Only Wayne could easily misconstrue compassion as a come-on. I definitely didn’t want to open that oyster.

What the hell? Wayne reached for the door handle and jumped out of the Jeep.

His sudden movement startled me. What did he see? I exited the Jeep and stood in the sweltering heat. To my surprise, Ronnie lay next to the victim. He must’ve collapsed. Because my senses were unshielded and receptive, I saw with normal vision and my extra vision. A dark shadow passed between Jane Doe and Ronnie. I leaned forward, not wanting to miss a millisecond.

Ronnie convulsed and thrashed repeatedly as the shadow vanished inside him.

Chapter Two

D on’t touch Ronnie, I said as my father, Tab Nesbitt, hurried to his side. Dad and his assistant coroner, Bubba Paxton, were present to transport the body to the morgue. My father’s long white hair and retro hippy clothing made him easy to pick out in the crowd. Bubba resembled my dad in posture, clothing, and speech patterns, and in many ways was the son my father always wanted. He was also the pastor at a progressive nondenominational church.

Dad stopped and glanced at me expectantly. All eyes turned my way, and I felt the weight of their regard as if I were carrying quadruplets instead of one very large baby.

I hastened to explain. I saw something emerge from Jane Doe and enter Ronnie.

Like a bug? Virgil wrung his hands and hot-footed it around his friend. His fists pumped repeatedly as if he wanted to extract the shadow creature manually. We gotta get it out. Ronnie’s my buddy. Even if he ain’t scared of bugs, I am. It’s probably boring holes in his head. We gotta do something.

Not a bug. Something else. I waddled closer. Something in my realm of expertise.

Mayes intercepted me, worry clouding his gaze. Step back and explain. What did you see? What puts this in the woo-woo category?

In the bright light of day, it took nerve to stand there and tell five men I saw a shadow enter the fallen deputy. At least he’d stopped seizing. His chest rose and fell so he was breathing regularly.

I saw it with my other vision, I said. A dark cloud. I don’t know what it means and before you ask, I’ve never seen it before.

I don’t want you or the baby exposed to this anomaly, Mayes said. Will you return to our truck or the sheriff’s Jeep while we sort this out?

I don’t think I’m at risk over here, I said, avoiding his exasperated gaze. Did anyone else touch the body?

A chorus of no’s followed as Mayes marshalled me and the sheriff back to the Jeep. Virg stayed put beside his friend.

This is something from the spirit plane, I said. Whether it’s harmful remains to be seen. Assume it transfers via proximity. Most of you stood near the body before Ronnie did and nothing brought you guys to the ground.

What about Ronnie? What’s that thing doing to him? Virg asked, still circling his fallen friend and looking wide-eyed. Is it eating his brain?

I don’t know.

I’ll call an ambulance, Wayne said.

Get it out! Virg shouted at me, pointing at his friend. This is Ronnie we’re talking about. My best friend in the whole world. Turn on your dreamwalker spidey vision and drive it out with a mind blast whatchamacallit. Ronnie doesn’t want it inside him.

Wayne stared at his fallen deputy and then at me. Give me something, Powell.

I had taken my husband’s last name upon marriage, for all the good it did me at work. It would take an act of God for Wayne to call me Baxley Mayes. Since it would be confusing with two staffers with the same last name, I stopped correcting the sheriff and accepted his use of my former last name.

He wanted answers I didn’t have. Dad? Mayes? Ever seen this before?

I didn’t see it today, Dad said. Sure you’re feeling all right?

His concern rubbed me wrong. Pregnancy hadn’t impacted my extrasensory abilities or my ability to do my crime consultant job. I’m fine, and I’m speaking the truth. I know what I saw.

Look at her hand, Virg said, pointing at Jane Doe. The tat is gone.

What tat? I asked, peering over the sheriff’s shoulder.

It was faint. A wolf’s head, he said. I noticed it soon as we arrived. Ain’t there now.

The sheriff edged closer and studied the hand. Very odd and unexplainable. Everyone move back again. We don’t know what we’re dealing with.

All but Virg shifted a few paces away. We gotta fix this, Virg said. This ain’t right.

I watched as Mayes flipped through the captured images on the department’s evidence camera. A faint wolf head tattoo appeared in the hand shots. Mayes and I exchanged a concerned glance. We’d had many dreaming moments with our son during his gestation. He closely identified with a wolf image.

This has nothing to do with our son, lovely, Mayes said in mindspeak as he urged me away from Jane Doe.

I don’t believe in coincidences, I replied in kind, though I retreated physically from shadow-infested Ronnie.

The sheriff joined us over by the Jeep. Ambulance is on the way. It’ll take thirty minutes to arrive given our remote location. You two got awfully quiet, the sheriff said after he’d spoken to Dispatch. You know something about this? How can we help Ronnie?

A wolf is a powerful symbol in Native American culture, Mayes said. It has many connotations in today’s society. Lone wolf. Shapeshifter. Pack animal. Wild animal. The meaning in this victim’s context is unclear.

Whoa, Virg said, backing away from his friend, palms extended. He stopped beside the sheriff. Ronnie’s gonna turn into a werewolf and eat me?

Good God Almighty, why would you think that? No one mentioned werewolves, the sheriff snapped. I trust Baxley, but three other people with second sight saw nothing.

I wasn’t looking, Mayes said.

Me either, Dad and Bubba Paxton added in unison. Doesn’t mean it wasn’t there, Dad added loyally.

I fumed silently at the sheriff. I wasn’t imagining things because I was nine months pregnant. This was no laughing matter. A paranormal event occurred and we should be on our guard because weirdness intensified near the swamp. We’d seen it time and time again.

Somebody better get off the stick and help Ronnie, Virg said, edging closer to his friend now that he wasn’t dinner. He’s clean knocked out. Is he dead?