The Marocchino Sparrow: Mystic Brews, #9

By Alyn Troy

Murder and deception flock to Misty Valley. Can Ebrel and Punkin crack the case?

 

The rarest of therare, the Marocchino Sparrow has been the object of desire for many. The quest for it has always ended in death.

 

When a clutch of birders descend on Misty Valley in hopes of spying rare species, one bird in particular is drawing all of the attention. Compounded by murder, and by a ghost who is obsessed with the quest, the Mystic Brews gang find themselves a flutter with too much mystery, and a lack of evidence.

 

Add in Punkin's new quest to be a wise-quacking private eye and the mystery gets hard-boiled. Ebrel has her hands full, keeping him out of hot water, while trying to quack the case.

 

With new friends in the flock, Ebrel discovers they're in a race against the feathered clock to find the killer and recover the treasure before a nefarious plot is hatched. Worst of all, the feather points right at one of Ebrel's newest friends!

 

Buy The Marocchino Sparrow to froth up some hoot-dunnit fun today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mystic Brews Mysteries
• Release date: Aug 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215509845

Book preview

1

S een Io yet? Elain asked, stepping up to my table.

Not since this morning. I shrugged and waved a waiter over so I could pull a glass of red wine from his tray. The salon in Castle Raven was about half full. Most of the tall café tables scattered around had two or three people at them. I set my phone on the table. Elain glanced at it, my emails open, but really empty despite all the messages.

Perhaps he decided to go on holiday and rent out his cottage. I grinned to show I was kidding.

Elain nodded. Knowing a David Storm hotel is being built in downtown Misty Valley, more than a few residents are suddenly listing their homes as short-term rentals. Hope they’ve counted the good silver and photographed all of their antiques. People on holiday aren’t always the most careful about other people’s belongings.

Speaking of antiques. I pointed to a new-to-me piece of furniture in Rhian’s salon, the room where she liked to entertain smaller groups. Is that new? I mean, it looks antique, but…

The Boggart Wardrobe? Elain rolled her eyes. It’s been around for a couple of centuries. I’ve no idea why Neirin purchased it for Mother. That was before I was around. Said he liked the Spanish style of craftsmanship on the carvings. Very nautical.

Boggart? Like Humphrey? I chuckled, imagining the old film noir star popping out of it.

No, like a fae gone bad at their death. Elain shut her eyes. Mother had to put a ghost lock on the cabinet. It’s gorgeous work, but we don’t want the boggart loose. He tries to short sheet the beds, tips over glasses after trying to drink from them. Mother had it with him after he tossed a bottle of her favourite synthetic blood into the fireplace.

Ugh. We’ll just leave that cabinet closed, then? I looked at Punkin, who was lapping from a cup of cream with just a little espresso. Right, Stinker? Keep the boggart in the wardrobe.

No problem. Who would want a grumpy ghost of a dead pwca around?

Right. One grumpy pwca in Castle Raven is more than enough. Elain rolled her eyes, then pointed at my phone. At least we’ve talked Father into playing computer chess with his vampire friends on the continent. That cuts down on some of the grumpiness. He always grumps about Mother’s parties.

He’s not one for birdwatching? I knew the answer already. He’d been going on about needing to get a large bird on a spit to feed all the people Rhian was inviting.

Still nothing from Rhosyn?

Not yet. I shook my head. You know how she hates tech. I doubt she’ll check her phone at all. She said she was going on holiday and not to bother her for a fortnight.

That’s Rhosyn, Punkin said, wiping the cream from his whiskers with a paw. Always running off and not saying a word about why.

She said it was her holiday. I sighed and glanced up. If she stays out of touch too long, you can have an APB put out for her, right?

She chuckled and shook her head. You mean an AFB, All Fae Bulletin. Not without a warrant from one of Her Grace’s magistrates. And this is Rhosyn Dymestl we’re talking about. Your other aunt would probably need to be worried about her before we got permission to issue it.

I shrugged. Well, she’s been gone for just over a week.

With Rhosyn, that’s not a worry. Before you came, she’d sometimes close up her shop for a month or more. No one knows what she does when she’s away. At least with you here, the café stays open without her. Elain shrugged again, then let her eyes drift around the room.

Sorry, I said, following her gaze. My uncle and mentor is MIA too. I haven’t seen him since this morning.

He said he was going out to sketch before all the birders invaded the valley. Then Neirin had to pull me away on the search and locate what we’ve got running. Elain shook her head and rolled her eyes. Why Io can’t sketch with the bird watchers around…? He knows I’m on a mission and have to run anytime Neirin finds a lead.

You know how Io is. It’s probably too crowded with all those people peering through binoculars at the trees he’s trying to draw. I waved around at the guests. Even though the conversations were subdued, the ambient sound was growing in the salon. Or noisy. You know how he gets focussed when he sketches. What’s the bird everyone is here to see, again?

Last year it was the red-flanked bluetail from Eastern Europe. Elain waved towards the two dozen or so birdwatching aficionados mingling in Rhian’s salon on the main floor of Castle Raven. Ask one of the twitchers. We’re always getting unexpected species blown off their normal migration pattern. That’s why Mother decided to sponsor a formal event this year.

Beggin’ your pardon, milady, a two-foot-tall pwca said with a tip of his cap to me. He wore the typical black trousers and jacket over a crisp white shirt of the Castle Raven staff. Judging by the scally cap, he was one of the garage and valet staff Jonathan employed to care for the cars. You be that detective lass, correct?

Stop bugging my witch, Spiffy, Punkin grumped, looking down off the stool next to the small high-top table draped with a black cover. Macsen’s coat of arms was embroidered in blood-red thread on top of the cloth. A raven clutching a sword was one of the prominent features.

Beggin’ your pardon, too, Jinx. The little fellow glared at Punkin, then looked at me. He pulled his hat off and held it before his chest, curling his fingers in nervously.

Hattie the pixie is going to be after you for crumpling a good scally cap like that. I waved my wineglass at his unfortunate chapeau. What is it you need? Remember, I’m a barista, not a detective.

Oh, me apologies, milady. He tried to smooth the cap as best he could, then looked up at me and crumpled it again. My wife will be after me, so if I don’t find it…

Punkin leaned off the stool, stretching to poke the little fellow in the nose with his paw. Listen, Spiffy, I told you to leave my witch alone.

Spiffy glared at him, taking a step back. None of your lip, Catastrophe. I heard about your trip to the pwca village. You almost tipped over the menhir.

Did not. That was Clarence and Sherman.

You sneezed on them.

Both of you. I pointed first at Punkin, then swivelled my finger towards Spiffy. Stop.

I tried to glare like my aunt Rose. Elain chuckled. You’re about half-way to the Dymestl death stare.

"That was more of an I’m vexed with you and had enough of your prattle glare. Punkin pushed back up onto his stool. She’ll need another decade to get the basics of a Dymestl death stare."

Please, milady, Spiffy said, twisting his hat even tighter. She’ll be back in less than a week.

I glanced first at Elain. She shrugged, so I turned back to the pwca.

What exactly are you asking for?

My wife is out on holiday with her sister. Celebrating their birthday. Twins, you know.

He lost his wife. Punkin snorted. Misplaced her and needs you to find her.

Did not, Catastrophe. Spiffy crossed his arms and glared at my familiar. She rang me up just this morning. She and her sister are having a right good time.

What did you lose, Spiffy? I tried the death glare again to get him back on topic.

It must have had some of the Dymestl punch. He swallowed and glanced down at his feet. Well, you see, I got her this nice present. It being her birthday and all.

He lost his wife’s present! Punkin laughed and sat up, paw to his belly. You’re in a world of trouble, Spiffy.

What did you lose, Spiffy? I softened my glare towards him but shot my amateur death glare at Punkin. He ignored it.

A necklace. Got it last week from the jeweller in Misty Valley. Been saving all year for it. Of course, it’s just a bracelet size for you tall fae.

A necklace that looked like…? I left the question open, hoping for more details.

Spiffy looked up, his eyes wide and inquisitive. A silver chain with the Celtic tree carved into a jade pendant. That’s her name, you know.

Your wife’s name is Pendant? Punkin tilted his head almost sideways, staring down at Spiffy.

The pwca jerked his head up to glare at Punkin. No, Jade.

So, you lost your wife’s new necklace, I said, repeating my glare at Punkin. This time I poked his nose with a finger to get his attention.

Spiffy nodded, twisting his cap yet again.

When did you last have the necklace?

It was in my pocket when I got off the lorry. Spiffy nodded at his own telling. I remember showing it to the other pwcas in his lordship’s garage. ’Twas me day off, and I caught a ride on the supply lorry. Even stopped in at Mystic Brews that morning on my way to the jeweller’s shop. Had to get me one of Rhosyn’s pastries. Still have half of it left in me room. Those are big pastries.

For a pwca, I imagine they are. I nodded. Have you checked your trouser pockets, your, um… toolbox or whatever you use in the garage?

Oh, yes, milady. Been through them all. I remember showing the lads in the garage, then took it back up to my room. Put the pastry in the cupboard. Have a few nibbles of it each morning. Even checked the wrapper of it to make sure I didn’t put the necklace in the cupboard with it.

He probably ate the necklace.

You! I poked Punkin in the nose again. If you can’t behave, I’ll have you go search with Spiffy.

Why me?

Because you are being a pest and insulting. I let some of my anger at him come though my stare this time.

Punkin’s head shrunk back into his shoulders.

Elain chuckled. She’s not going to need a decade for the Dymestl death stare.

I glanced back towards Spiffy. Look. I’m not a detective.

But you can talk with the ghosts? Right? Can they help find it? His eyes stayed on my face.

That was an idea. I really wanted to help him. The staff here at Castle Raven was always nice and welcoming to me, and they tolerated Punkin, which said a lot about them.

I sent a mental nudge out to Jake. Over the last year, I’d been refining my ghostly nudges. This time, I sent what I hoped was a show up at your convenience nudge.

You rang, oh mistress of the brews?

Ghost face. Elain grinned at me. Must be Jake, from your expression.

I gave her a smile and a nod. Jake, this is Spiffy, one of the garage pwcas.

Jake, who normally hovered about at my eye level, dropped down to Spiffy’s level. The pwca glanced all around, not able to see my ex-boyfriend.

Yeah, Jake said with a nod. I’ve seen him and the other three down in the garage. That vampy-lord dude really likes his cars. He keeps the four little dudes pretty busy tweaking the engines and polishing the fenders.

Well, Spiffy here misplaced a necklace he bought as a present for his wife.

The pwca nodded. It’s her birthday today. She’ll be back from holiday in a few days, and I’ve got to find it by then.

So… Jake floated up to my eye level again. You’ve taken the detective case and want your crack assistant to go look for it?

I am not a detective. I tried my newfound death stare on Jake.

Keep practicing. You’ll get it one of these days. He laughed and nodded at the pwca. I can get into the garage but not the staff areas of the castle.

Hmmm…. That is a problem. I looked at Elain and explained what Jake had said.

Mother probably won’t be willing to relax the spirit wards, even for Jake. She glanced around the salon room, her eyes sliding across the various people already mingling. We could ask if she were here, but I don’t see her yet. Even then, it might take a night or two for her to get around to it. The birders are here, and she’ll want to entertain her guests.

Well, then. I glanced at Jake. The ghost assistant will help search the garage and the grounds for now.

I poked Punkin again. And the furry assistant will help Spiffy search his apartment.

Punkin swung his head towards me, eyes narrowed. Me? Why me?

You fit into the pwca quarters. I don’t. And Jake can’t get past Rhian’s wards. I levelled a finger at him. And stop being mean to Spiffy. It takes courage to ask for help.

Oh. That should be fun. Punkin the snarky, fuzzy detective. Jake laughed and zipped over to my familiar. He pulled a ghost chicken out from under his leather biker jacket and set it on Punkin’s head, then adjusted it slightly so it faced Punkin’s tail end.

What? Is Chicken Boy here? Punkin ducked his head, the ghost chicken moving with him. Whatever he did, make him stop.

He said you get to be the fuzzy detective. I shook my head but grinned. I’m not sure if that’s a good idea, but I can’t think of any other way to help Spiffy. 

So I have to be the detective? Punkin raised one eyebrow, almost closing the other eye. He sat back on his haunches, crossing his front legs and tapping a paw to his chin. I’m going to need a different hat for that job.

Punkin jumped down off the stool and switched to a poor imitation of an American accent. Right! Come on Spiff, old man. Let’s go toss your crib and locate this missing medallion.

Diolch, milady! Spiffy smiled up at me, using the Welsh word for thanks, but his eyes drifted towards my familiar. I hope this is a good idea.

It’s the only idea I’ve got. I shrugged and pointed at Punkin, heading towards the door. Better hurry, Spiffy, if you want to keep him under control.

Right. Diolch, Lady Ebrel.

2

A re you sure that’s a good idea? Elain raised her wineglass towards Spiffy rushing after Punkin.

I didn’t know what else to do. And it got the snarky familiar out of my hair and away from Rhian’s guests for a while.

Oh, Mother’s twitcher friends won’t mind Punkin. She gave me a coy smile, then took a sip. At least not much, anyway. They spend more time infighting and tossing around clever insults than actually spotting rare birds.

That’s the second time you said twitcher.

She grinned. "In America, you might have bird watchers or the more serious birders. Here in the UK, our birders take the activity to a new level. Those are the ones we call twitchers."

Ummm… why twitchers?

According to some, the most serious of all birders was a gent with a bit of nervous shake. And he was relentless in tracking down the obscure species. He’d go anywhere to get a glimpse of the rarest birds. His friends started calling the most serious of hunts for a rare bird as being ‘on twitch,’ as a reference to his dedication. The term caught on. Now, twitchers are the most serious of all birders. Don’t get between them and a rare bird.

I nodded towards one of the so-called birders she had mentioned. A tallish woman dressed in stylish T3 outdoor wear. Instead of a purse, she had a squarish case hanging from one shoulder.

Are those… As I pointed, the tall woman opened her case and pulled out a pair of binoculars. Not just any binoculars. This set was fae, based on the extra lenses that protruded from twisty little stalks around the main lenses.

Oh. She’s got the latest gear. Elain’s eyebrows darted up. I wasn’t aware MI-13 had declassified that set.

Elain drew her phone out of her jacket pocket and set her drink on the table. Her screen lit up with the camera app, then she thumbed the activate button. A flash of an image darted across the phone’s screen. She tapped in her access code. Of course, to anyone but her, MI-13 magic showed only mundane images on her phone’s screen. The life of a super spy meant her phone had the latest wards to keep prying eyes from seeing what she saw.

Hmmm… this says that gear is still not public. Elain kept her voice quiet. I’ll send this image off to the director of Zed division.

Tattling on your mother’s guests?

Elain stowed her phone back in her jacket. "Just letting Zed know they may have