Uncanny Harvest: Moon Garden Mysteries, #2

By J.R. Pearse Nelson

A new life in a new town. But keeping secrets is not my style.

 

I moved to Crescent Bay because of my cat. I inherited Thomas along with Nanna's old Victorian house. When his antics uncovered a family secret in the woods behind Covett House, I suddenly found myself guarding a moon garden for a pair of snooty fae princesses.

 

To top it off, I'm keeping secrets from my best friend. Important stuff. Magical stuff. Soon they'll know how much I've been hiding.

 

Finding a body is a twist even I couldn't worry up.

 

Maribel Santos fell from the clifftop at North Beach, just before her famous boyfriend competed in a surfing event sponsored by my family's foundation. Was Maribel's fall an accident? Or did Crescent Bay just have its second murder this year?

 

Add in an Otherworld connection – and the fact the victim was somewhat related to David Clark, an old friend who's aged so well you'd think he was fine wine – and I have to investigate. 

 

I don't recognize much about my life since moving to Crescent Bay. Most of it would read like a midlife fantasy. Outside of a fairytale, who discovers a secret garden by moonlight and gets their best advice from a tree? (Er…a dryad. Grisel would be so mad if she heard me say that…)

 

But it's real. The enchanted garden, the fae, and the cat who adopted me with all of his big, loud heart.

 

Now if I can stay out of trouble for a while and enjoy it…

 

Welcome to the Moon Garden Mysteries paranormal cozy mystery series, a magical blend of paranormal women's fiction and cozy mystery for those who believe forty marks a new beginning, cats can talk (and you'd better listen), and when you're guarding a fae portal, chocolate is a girl's best friend.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.R. Pearse Nelson
• Release date: Feb 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215817322

J.R. Pearse Nelson

J.R. Pearse Nelson is a fantasy and romance writer who has authored more than 20 novels. She hails from Oregon, USA, where she lives with her husband, two teens, and two dogs among the plentiful trees and clouds of the Pacific Northwest. J.R. weaves tales rooted in mythology, bringing legend to life in modern-day settings and fantasy realms. When not writing, you can find her making magic in the kitchen and enjoying long walks or "rambles" outdoors. J.R.'s books include the Moon Garden Mysteries paranormal cozy series, the Aeon Society fantasy romance series, and the Water Rites fantasy trilogy. You can connect with J.R. and learn more about her fiction at her website. Visit jrpearsenelson.com.

Book preview

Chapter One

The moon waits for no woman.

Tripping over my own feet confirmed I shouldn’t have gotten out of bed. I blamed the early hour. Five a.m. was not my friend. 

The blame game didn’t save my coffee. I’d just grabbed my mug when I tripped, and the molten liquid arced out of the mug and splashed across the floor and countertop.

My cat Thomas yowled and leapt out of the way, retreating to stand indignantly in the doorway, his gray fur ruffled.

I stood there staring at the one-inch level in my recently full mug as the dark pool spread across the kitchen floor. Shaking off my stupor, I swigged the remaining coffee quickly and set aside the mug, panic waking me despite the tiny amount of caffeine.

I did not have time for this. I was due at the moon garden for the new moon ceremony in less than an hour and I still needed my ritual bath. 

But I wanted my ritual coffee.

Frowning, I grabbed a towel.

Not to worry, miss. Cary the brownie stood on the countertop below the cupboard that he shared with his brownie wife, Lulu. About the size of a field mouse, his little snout suggested that creature, but his wide, intelligent eyes and smooth skin seemed almost human. He smiled at me and lifted a hand. The dish towel flew from my grasp and began scrubbing at the spill. A drawer opened and another towel rose from it, floated to the sink where the water turned on to wet it, and joined the fray on the floor.

Wow. Thanks Cary. That’s a big help. I tensed as it occurred to me that he might be offended. He was quite a small helper and I offer up ‘big help’? I rolled my eyes and reached for my mug, only to realize it wasn’t where I left it.

Lulu had appeared next to the coffee maker. Here we are, my dear. She waved and my refilled mug floated toward me. You have a lot to do, she said pointedly.

Me-ow, Thomas added, backing her up.

I do, I agreed. Thanks for the help, you two. See you at the garden?

We’ll be there, Cary piped up, grinning at me. As long as they were respected, no amount of clumsiness and mess seemed to disturb these tiny friends. At least around me. 

I knew the brownies had their rivalries and even enemies among the otherworld folk of the moon garden. Bramm the leprechaun came to mind. Lulu hid the cookies she was always baking whenever Bramm came around. 

Cary and Lulu had lived at Covett House since my dad was small. They’d raised their children inside the kitchen wall. I knew that now, but I’d never discovered it while my grandmother was alive. My father had never said anything about them to me either. I wasn’t even sure if he knew he’d shared his childhood home with the otherworld helpers. 

But they’d really shown up for me after Nanna’s death. Probably because of the responsibility that came with my inheritance.

It had been two months since I moved to Crescent Bay permanently, and I had trouble remembering how I functioned before I had their help with the mundane tasks of everyday living. Then again, before Nanna died, I wasn’t trying to run two small businesses, manage a rather large nest egg, and make all the decisions about an 1888 Victorian mansion steeped in local history. Not to mention the property, which was…let’s say unique. 

Two months wasn’t a lot of time to get to know Nanna’s businesses or the lore of the moon garden our bloodline had protected since Covett House was built by a timber baron whose wife communicated with the fae. An otherworld king had advised on the site for the house, and in the tract of forest land behind the mansion, he’d disguised the portal that led to Afalon with a sort of borderland. A garden only accessible between moonrise and moonset each day, and only to those who could see.  

Everyone had shown patience with me as I attempted to step into Nanna’s shoes in a town where she’d helped just about everyone at one time or another. I’d inherited a lot more than the house. 

I’d inherited the trust of the fae. 

Forty minutes later, I followed Thomas down the woodland path. He stuck to the shadows, his gray fur almost blending in. As little as I wanted to be outside at this hour, I had to admit the enigmatic beauty of the dawning woods might be worth it.

The jays woke chattering, making their claims on the new day before the sun rose. An owl’s low hoot accompanied their constant banter. I could sense other presences drawing close, awaiting my words in the garden. If I hadn’t known what shared these woods, would I be able to feel them in the shifting shadows?

As the sky brightened, just enough light penetrated to illuminate the moon garden gates in the distance. Thomas left me behind, darting into the woods. I knew I’d see him on the other side. He always attended the ceremonies.

My key slipped into the lock, my hand finally steady in this new role. This was my third new moon as guardian of the moon garden. Summer was already coming to a close.

My breath still caught in my throat as the gate opened to the impossible splendor of the garden. Blooms crowded close, faces turned toward the sky, filling all the spaces between the cobbled paths. Most were white, with other pastels sprinkled in. Some only opened at night, kissed by moonlight as their scent filled the garden.

Since it was a new moon, there was no moonlight to reflect, but they still worshiped under the dark of the moon, waiting to bask in that glow as it grew brighter once again.

I smiled as an otherworld wind lifted my hair, carrying murmured greetings in a language I couldn’t understand, though my heart absorbed its meaning easily enough. They welcomed me with gregarious affection carried on the breeze. I’d grown used to this greeting, but I’d love to meet the creatures whose voices welcomed me. I was eager to see them and talk to them. I wasn’t sure if that would ever come to pass.

A pair of white rabbits hopped out from the brush and sat at the edge of the fae-cobbled path. Misty and Wink, as I’d nicknamed the rabbits, always seemed interested in my garden activities.

Good morning, I greeted them. 

Wink ducked under the bushes again, and then a tiny face peered out at me, miniature bunny ears swiveling as it blinked up. 

Oh, wow! You had babies? Wait, which of them was a male? I couldn’t tell.

I could have sworn Misty nodded as a second tiny kit stretched its forelegs onto the path and then hopped out, its fluff-ball tail bouncing. Both baby rabbits were a soft gray color, like their parents.

The little ones hopped around and explored the path as their parents followed me toward the circle of standing stones. I couldn’t take my eyes off their adorable hops and nose twitches. I’d barely stepped into the garden and my cuteness quotient was full up for the day.

But I was already short on time, since the words had to be spoken at the appropriate moment. I crossed the small footbridge over Covett Creek on my way to Grisel’s willow. I had just enough time to greet the dryad who’d been a mentor to me since I’d inherited this role. Grisel’s advice was invaluable, although her delivery could use work. She wasn’t the most patient advisor, and I was still brand new at this.

The great stag dipped its antlered crown to drink on the other side of the pond, where Covett Creek emerged. He lifted his head to watch me pass and just then the sun edged over the horizon, its first rays highlighting his antlers with an ethereal glow.

A tingle wove over my skin; so few of us got to experience such enchantment – I still couldn’t believe they welcomed me here. I’d never really thought about magic before the garden, and so much had been hidden beneath the everyday distractions of modern life. If this place could be real, what else was out there?

The stag turned to walk along the other side of the pond. He would wait for the ceremony at the edge of the stone circle. 

Grisel blinked at me from the trunk of the willow, her wood-cast features striking and severe. I bowed slightly in acknowledgement. She returned the gesture with a tremble of her branches, but she didn’t speak. I took the hint and quickly moved on.

I was supposed to focus all my energy and intent on the new moon ceremony. Being here was still novel enough that the wonder of it all distracted me, but Grisel’s stare reminded me this was too important to the fae for me to mess it up because I couldn’t get over baby bunnies and crowned stags.

Other folk of the garden crowded around the edges of the standing stones. Smaller creatures pushed through to the front, but the range of forms and sizes boggled my mind. One had the head and legs of a jackrabbit and the body of a man, though they stood just two feet tall and glowed from within. Another slithered like a snake, yet could stand when they chose, their legs seeming to reform from their reptilian body.

Too many to name or count, they would melt away after the ceremony, their ranks drifting off by water, air, or earth. Whether they stayed in this borderland, or returned to Afalon through the portal, or blended into the world the fae called earth after, I didn’t know. For these moments, they gathered at the garden.

When I stepped inside the circle of standing stones, the folk closed the gap I’d passed through, the ring of beings forming another circle outside the stones. I was alone inside the stone circle.

I moved to the low pillar at its center, the altar at the center of the garden. From my pocket I took three small objects from earth after. At the new moon, my pledge was sealed by my own offerings. At the full moon, the folk of Afalon left me gifts representing our connection. 

Today, I placed an abalone shell on the altar that seemed almost hand painted in iridescent purples, blues and greens. I’d found it when walking at the mouth of the bay. Next to it, I placed a large oak leaf to represent the waning summer. Finally, a stream-smoothed dark stone I’d pulled from Covett Creek.

Satisfied, I took a single step back and looked up at the sky, where the dark moon was even now crossing directly above us. 

It was time.

The rustling of so many gathered beings settled into a deep hush. They were waiting, on this side of the veil and the other.

I began to speak. 

As above, so below

Deep does your protection flow

Chains of power, bind the light

Shield this garden day and night

Waxing light shall foster strength

Growing, gaining week by week

With your rebirth, I bind my faith

I pledge myself to your sweet grace

As above, so below

As I say, shall it be so. 

After my early morning at the moon garden, the human world felt extra mundane. It was always weird to step out of the garden and into normal life, the shine of magic still not quite worn off. It helped to get a little sleep before resuming typical activities. But today I had the garden shop to check on. 

Our quiet town felt a bit busy for so early on a Friday. I spotted multiple RVs trundling through headed north. This stretch of coast was popular with campers, but from their surf-proud bumper stickers, I knew where these visitors would land. The North Beach Pro Surf Competition started tomorrow.

I had reason to know. The Monday Foundation, run by my father, had sponsored the annual event for more than a decade. Since I lived here now, Dad had asked me to represent the family tonight at the opening reception. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but from the bumper stickers it looked like a colorful crowd.

I checked in at Morning Star Garden and Art, the shop that had been Nanna’s passion since the seventies. Happy plant life overflowed the painted pots, and the fragrance of oil-scented candles lifted my spirits as soon as I opened the door. 

Good morning! Melinda Sheridan called, peeking out from the back room. She held up a dirt-covered glove, evidence that she was already hard at work. 

I held up the coffee I’d brought for her. Daphne says good morning too.

Thanks, hon. That’ll hit the spot. Mel disappeared again. Just give me a minute to finish this, she called.

Oh, it’ll be hot for a while.

I took a deep breath and pivoted in a slow circle before stepping behind the antique wooden cart that served as our check-out counter. Bright, cheerful blossoms dotted the lush greens that filled every shelf and rack in the place. Fanciful hand-painted pots inspired a giggle or lifted the heart. The humid air held a rich, earthy aroma that could only be achieved by clustering too many plants together. The whimsical space took me straight back to childhood. I could almost ignore the real world outside the windows, aged along with me, like I’d stepped into a fairy garden. It made more sense now that I’d visited the actual fae garden Nanna had guarded for most of her adult life. 

This place was a daily manifestation of the moon garden’s magic, leaking small drips of inspiration out into the world. It was a way for Nanna to live in the garden every day. I knew that now. And gardens all around the area had sprouted in the beautiful pots she commissioned and arranged, adopting the whimsy Nanna had loved. 

I helped with ordering, balanced the books, assisted a few people with their purchases, and caught up with Mel. Honestly, she could have handled everything I managed to accomplish and probably would have done it faster without me tagging along. I’d never worked in retail previously. I was a government agency budget manager before moving to Crescent Bay. Pretty much the opposite of the life I’d adopted recently.

Mel was kind enough to keep offering advice, but as time went on, I wasn’t growing more comfortable with this role. I never knew what to do next here, and I felt ridiculous needing instruction for absolutely everything.

Meanwhile, Mel hummed as she nudged displays this way and that, repotted plants in the back room, and artfully arranged themed pots. She had real relationships with the local artists that supplied the wares for Morning Star. She knew them by name and knew exactly who to call when she had a concept in mind. 

To be honest, I hadn’t even tried to build those relationships. I was too torn between this dream of Nanna’s and other obligations. I loved the shop, but that was my nostalgia talking. I hadn’t grown to love running the shop.

But I couldn’t close up and crush Nanna’s dream. I had to give it a chance. Of course I couldn’t learn everything in two months.

In addition to the garden and art shop, the Mondays had founded a curiosity called the Museum of the Odd and Wondrous, which opened back in the 1940s. The weird old place still stood on one corner of the Covett House property. It was a popular oddball spot for the tourists to visit, and the local kids loved it almost as much as the arcade down by the bayfront. Well, maybe not that much. 

The place had always creeped me out – that was down to Jake the Alligator Man looking a little too realistic to my four-year-old self. I’d easily outgrown such fancy. By the time I was ten I knew a creature like Jake wasn’t possible, and neither was magic. The old photographs on the walls, capturing fairies and nymphs, were staged. There was only this solid, tangible version of reality.

I’d believed that firmly until my eyes told me otherwise. After Nanna’s death, I’d discovered another layer to reality. I’d discovered the garden she’d protected, and her grandmother before her. Our family had been intertwined with the fae for a long, long time. 

The garden that bound my bloodline to the fae kingdom of Afalon sometimes drew unearthly powers to the boundary between worlds. Its secrets must be guarded, or it would attract more dark power to tiny Crescent Bay. That’s why one of us would always be here, even if we didn’t know what to do with ourselves.

The museum had become my family’s excuse to track down otherworldly artifacts and figure out which part of the legends were actually true. To the extent you could prove such things, anyway. Nanna had left a long list of uncanny projects undone. Her friend Sheldon, who operated the museum, had recently shown me the extent of that list, like a roadmap to weird. An introduction to the alarming interests of my eccentric family. Sheldon’s instruction on artifact hunting had completely overwhelmed me. And he kept