Blood Curdling Ballots: Marcall's Breakfast Cafe Paranormal Cozy Mystery

By B I Skinner

After witnessing all the political corruption last summer and the murder of the Crested Peaks mayor, Charlotte threw her hat in the ring to run for office.

But now, only a week before the election, her opponent turns up dead. In a graveyard. Just as the clock strikes midnight on Halloween. Can it get any worse than that?

Yes. The ax in his back belongs to Charlotte.

 

From reluctant witch to town leader. A lot has changed for Charlotte Duffin after moving back to Crested Peaks two years ago. One thing that never changes, though, are the bodies that pile up in this sleepy little mountain town.

 

Only in Crested Peaks can politics be this exciting.

 

If you like cozy mysteries with talking pets, a little witchcraft, and plenty of snarky humor, you'll enjoy this one.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Felix the Cat Rocks
• Release date: Jan 29, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215950555

Book preview

Blood Curdling Ballots

A Paranormal Cozy Mystery Short Read

B I Skinner

Contents

1. Chapter 1

2. Chapter 2

3. Chapter 3

4. Chapter 4

5. Chapter 5

6. Chapter 6

7. Chapter 7

8. Chapter 8

9. Chapter 9

10. Chapter 10

11. Chapter 11

12. Chapter 12

13. Chapter 13

14. Chapter 14

15. Chapter 15

16. Chapter 16

17. Chapter 17

18. Chapter 18

More Books by B I Skinner

Copyright

Chapter 1

T rick or treat! a large group of children shout so loudly it startles me.

Adding to the din, Marshall and Marcus, my rabbit familiars, keep turning up the stereo that’s playing spooky Halloween music.

For the last time, you two, turn it down! I scold them.

Yes, that’s right. The rabbits. My rabbit familiars. Or rather, my Gran’s rabbit familiars, that I inherited when she died. Her magical ability to communicate with them also transferred to me, although I can’t explain why.

It’s Halloween night, and we’ve decked out Marcall’s Vegetarian Breakfast Cafe - also inherited from Gran - like never before. Halloween is extra special this year because I’m running for Crested Peaks Mayor, with the election only a week away.

Last year’s Halloween Festival was celebrated at the Hotel Glacier where the town mortician dropped dead from poisoning in front of the entire ballroom.

Thankfully, aside from the election bickering, this year has been quiet so far. I’m desperately hoping it stays that way. What are the odds of finding a dead body on Halloween night two years in a row?

Then, on top of everything else that’s happening this evening, I’m debating my mayoral opponent in the Crested Peaks Cemetery at midnight. I don’t know why the City Council thought that was a good idea. Who wants to watch us debate on Halloween in a graveyard?

I’m trying to review my debate notes, but it’s so loud and chaotic I’m not getting very far. This is my second set of notes, by the way, because the rabbits ate the first set. I swear it’s their life’s mission to cause trouble.

My Gran always claimed she won them in a poker game decades ago, which makes me question how old they must be, but they refuse to tell me. They’re super cute - don’t tell them I said that - with their ginger-colored spots and crooked helicopter ears.

Even I must admit, although they frequently drive me crazy, they’re very good at helping me solve the murders that pop up in Crested Peaks at the most unfortunate times.

They like to wander the town pestering shop keepers for treats, so everyone in Crested Peaks knows who they are, and they often overhear conversations and see things that the police don’t.

I also can’t forget that Gran named Marcall’s, the cafe, after them by combining their names. This was long before it became a celebrity thing. She always claimed she invented that. Who knows, maybe she did!

Stumpy, the two-footed cat, and their best friend came later. Before Serenity’s Sweets candy shop moved in next door, it was an Italian restaurant where Stumpy lived. After the owner met an unfortunate end, the new owner, Alice, of Alice’s Tavern, kicked him out.

Then Marshall and Marcus invited him to live with us. Without telling me. He followed us out to my car after closing one night, and that’s when they explained he was coming home with us.

His back legs are stumps, but you’d be surprised how well he gets around on his front feet. He told Marshall and Marcus that he’s a war veteran. I’m not sure how that’s possible, yet I now have three talking animals living with me. So I guess anything is possible.

Relax, boss, you’ll do great, Damien, Marcall’s supremely talented chef, tells me, giving me a quick shoulder massage. He worked for my Gran before she passed and is one of the reasons I decided to keep the cafe after he agreed to stay on.

We wouldn’t be the success we are today without him. His Damien Special, a massive breakfast burrito full of eggs, black beans, cheese, potatoes, grilled jalapenos, and caramelized onions, along with a secret sauce he refuses to reveal even to me, draws in tourists from everywhere. We have to be well stocked in the winter because large groups of skiers flock here on their way to the slopes.

He’s a short, stocky Cuban immigrant whose family moved to the US when he was a little boy. He prefers the term height-challenged. I just tell him he’s short. I’m 5 feet 10 though, so to me, a lot of people are short. His Cuban background and secret family recipes are the basis for many of the dishes he creates for Marcall’s.

Yuck. I still don’t see why we’re doing this at midnight in the graveyard, I lament.

Don’t worry about it. You’ll wipe the floor with this guy. Our internal polling has you way ahead.

You chasing after 47 people at the grocery store, asking them how they plan to vote doesn’t constitute a poll, I remind him.

Aw, c’mon, lighten up. It will be fun! he says, wiggling his fingers, making what he considers ghost noises. We have ghosts in Crested Peaks - the most famous one is Harvey, who works at the Hotel Glacier - but I don’t think any of them sound like that.

Marcall’s is a breakfast cafe, so we aren’t typically open at night, which has Damien eager to prepare festive Halloween snacks, like fried pumpkin ravioli with a side of brown butter sauce for dipping. Kids get a personal pizza with ghosts made from mozzarella and olives.

Of course, we can’t forget our famous cinnamon and sugar low-calorie donuts (that taste exactly like regular donuts) made from Damien’s exclusive recipe and a bit of my witchcraft. It’s a recipe that’s literally worth killing for, as Damien learned the hard way last year!

I suggested we add pumpkin pie martinis, but everyone insisted that should be after the debate. When I argue it would make the debate much more interesting, they ignore me.

I had to settle for hot - non spiked - cider instead. I made it myself using one of my Gran’s special brews. While it isn’t the same as a pumpkin pie martini, it’s still delicious.

Trick or treat! a tiny unicorn bellows as she bursts through the door. It’s Poppy (although in this town, you never know), Damien and Tom’s adopted foster daughter.

She can barely walk in the elaborate costume, but she doesn’t care. She proudly holds up her plastic pumpkin bucket with flashing orange lights. You’re supposed to put candy in here! she informs me.

You don’t say! I laugh.

Damien and Tom were shocked when we told them Poppy is a witch. It was no surprise to me, of course. Marshall and Marcus also noticed it right away. What I can’t explain is how Poppy is able to communicate with Marshall, Marcus, and Stumpy. Not even I can talk to Stumpy. We have no idea why; we just go with it.

Charlotte! Guess what? she shouts.

What? I shout back.

I get to stay up until midnight for your debate!

She’s so excited I hate to burst her bubble.

Do you know what a debate is?

No! she squeals with laughter.

Tom sets her up at a table with a cup of hot cider - an ice cube added to cool it down - and a pizza.

Happy Halloween, everyone! Serenity from Serenity’s Sweets Candy Shop next door to Marcall’s announces as she hurries through the door. She has a tray of the most mouthwatering, gorgeous, candied apples I’ve ever seen. A special present just for my next-door neighbors, she tells us.

She’s placed an array of dazzling apples on a silver tray. They’re covered in red, caramel, black, and purple. How did she make black candied apples, I wonder? Each shiny silver skewer has a crisp orange bow tied around it. I can’t stop staring at them.

The purple candied apples are so shiny I can see myself in them. The caramel apples are dipped in nuts and colorful sprinkles. Each one is like a little piece of artwork. I want