Midnight Mercy: Moon Garden Mysteries, #3

By J.R. Pearse Nelson

A snowstorm in tiny Crescent Bay, California. But the show must go on.

 

Volunteering to help with the Swan Lake ballet at the historic Crown Theatre was supposed to be a distraction. It's better than thinking deeply about what I want to do next with the strange fortune I inherited, and this big, empty house. Snow is a fun bonus.

 

When my cousins surprise me with a visit despite the unexpected storm, Covett House is suddenly full of life. And questions. Some of which are as simple as 'Do you have a bathroom?' Others are more alarming, like 'Did you know your cat sees ghosts?'

 

Was the weather a warning?

 

Because early on opening day, I discover Gwen Canfield, the lead dancer in Swan Lake, out cold in the center of the stage. An arcane symbol marks her forehead. We can't wake her up.

 

When I find the same symbol on a painting at home, I can't deny the connection. Plus, Gwen used to date my cousin, Joel, and they've been reconnecting, over the loud disagreements of her over-protective mother. 

 

What else are the Canfields tied up in? And how can I protect our family's secrets, when it seems I don't even know all of them?

 

It's hard to believe Covett House has more mysteries to unlock. But my cousin Darcie turns out to have skills to rival any of the ancestors that came before us.

 

Now if I can keep her from learning too much…

 

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: Jun 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223506577

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

If there’s one twist a tiny, northern California coastal town is not prepared for, it’s snow. I edged my window lower as I joined the traffic crawling down Agate Street. I didn’t want any of the wet stuff inside my Volvo, which had already taken forever to warm up. 

I stuck my hand out to catch a few errant flakes.

Outside the museum of curiosities next door, my friend and employee Sheldon Rosberry waved at me over his newly broken-in snow shovel. The man was beaming. At least someone was getting jollies out of this weather. 

Thomas hadn’t even attempted to follow me outside. He’d stopped at the threshold, yowled his displeasure and with a flick of his tail, disappeared into the library to sleep off this cold surprise. Smart cat. 

For my part, I was trying to figure out how we’d get all the staging gear from the high school to the historic Crown Theatre in time for tomorrow’s first performance of Swan Lake. And would anyone come now that Crescent Bay could expect six more inches and falling temperatures by tonight? 

What I needed before I could manage any more worrying was a nice, large mocha. Maybe with a bit of peppermint on account of the snow. That was a thing, right? 

I chose a partial stop at the corner and drifted along super slowly. A Nissan pulled out of a parking spot across the street from the coffee shop and I sighed with relief. I would have my coffee bliss in no time.

I heard the scrape of a shovel and glanced over my shoulder. Sheldon had shoveled almost as fast as I drove and was now working his way up to the Museum of the Odd and Wondrous. The snow had somehow turned octogenarian Sheldon into a man both more punctual and more driven than I was. He didn’t usually leave his house until ten. It was barely eight thirty. 

I might have closed our strange little museum down for the day had it been my call. But Sheldon whistled while he shoveled, and the walk was almost clear before I stepped inside the Crescent Bay Cafe. The aroma of cinnamon rolls and chocolate wafted over me and lifted my mood instantly.

I should live here. I should just move in.

The bell rang again behind me as I stepped up to the counter. I hardly noticed, as I was caught up in my fantasies of a gooey cinnamon roll breakfast. 

Earth to Naomi…earth calling! A tap on my shoulder brought me around to face Marty Griffin Langley, who was grinning almost as wide as I was. Can you believe the snow?

I slid an arm around their waist and pulled them closer, our puffy jackets bouncing us apart again. Want a breakfast cinnamon roll? I queried. It’s on me.

You’re caving, are you? Daphne Costa appeared behind the counter, drying her hands. I could see you trying to make up your mind.

I’m thinking all that snow is going to require extra calories to get around today. I glanced at Marty, whose eyes sparkled at me. Correct?

Absolutely correct. Count me in. They were practically quivering with energy, but they mirrored my order of a large peppermint mocha, too. Do you have time to sit and eat?

Oh, yeah. Just what the doctor ordered. I’m trying to figure out what to do about tonight, and you know my brain doesn’t work well until I’m fueled up. I lifted the peppermint mocha Daphne had just handed me in a cheers. 

Marty pointed to the corner window booth, and I slid in cradling my coffee. 

Can you believe how hard Sheldon is working? I pointed across the street to where Sheldon had cleared most of the block in front of the little museum. 

Good to get ahead of it. More shoveling will be necessary by tonight.

When was the last time CB got this sort of weather?

They pursed their lips. Mm. They’re projecting eight or nine inches? I don’t think we’ve ever had that much snow.

Daphne came out with our cinnamon rolls. Doesn’t it make you feel like a kid again? she said with a wistful look out the window. 

I must be all grown up. I’m feeling more anxiety than excitement. 

Marty unrolled their fork, eyes already feasting on the sugary delight in front of them. Oh, come off it. What are you worried about? 

The fact that we’ll spend a good chunk of the day moving sets from the high school to the theater, and then no one will show up because of the snow.

What an awesome picture, though – attending a local production while it’s all snowy outside. I can’t wait! Daphne scurried off to help an older man who’d just come in and was shaking snow from his boots.

It’ll work out. I’m sure somebody’s parents have four-wheel drive.

I snapped my fingers. Rob drives a truck. I bet he’ll help me. Rob Anderson took care of the property, garden and maintenance at Covett House, the 1888 Victorian I’d inherited last year, and his wife Dana cared for the house itself. 

Maybe he wants to spend tomorrow evening shuttling people around town, too.

I grinned. Let’s not pin it all on Rob. I think he’s planning on wooing his wife at Swan Lake tomorrow. But a shuttle brigade is a great idea. Do we have an established phone tree for emergencies such as this?

Like the PTA in Practical Magic?

We both pictured Sally picking up that phone and finding herself a coven to save Gillian.

That’s a question for a local parent. Or possibly a local third-grade teacher.

I bit my lip. David Clark’s face drifted into my mind too readily.

Still avoiding him?

Oh, yeah. Serious avoidance. I can’t trust myself not to fall all over him, so I’m steering clear while he figures stuff out.

I don’t think there’s much to figure out. He and Sammy broke up weeks ago. 

Which means there’s nothing to stop me telling him how I feel, right? I twirled my fork. I can’t do that. I’ve thought about it too much and it’s way too built up in my mind. Let’s just assume David and I are never going to happen.

They started to say something, but we both knew how vulnerable I was in the man department. It had been eight months since my divorce, and I was in a real push-pull cycle over the concept of dating. Yeah, sometimes it would be nice to have a guy around, and yeah, there was a particular guy who starred in all my fantasies about resuming the dating life. 

But also…I’d never lived just for me, not since I was a kid, and I was having too much fun to add drama. Or that’s what I told myself.

How’s Lucile? I said to distract them.

She’s great. I absolutely adore her, and you know it. Now quit trying to change the subject.

I shrugged and took a big bite of cinnamon roll so I wouldn’t have to answer.

When I’d agreed to help organize the volunteers designing sets for this show at the Crown Theatre, I hadn’t even considered weather complications. I’d been thinking about how to get myself out of the house and out of my own head while the winter dragged on.

I had no idea how people survived in colder climates with bad weather for a good chunk of the year. I went stir crazy any time it rained for more than a single day. 

Rob agreed to help. The weather had interrupted his plans at Covett House.

In my usual style of payment for favors, I brought him an almond croissant and a black coffee – his jam. After parking in the large, detached garage, I joined him in the truck he already had running.

Dana waved from the dining room window and Rob blew her a kiss. I echoed the motion and Dana threw back her head and laughed. 

You two are so cute.

He glanced at me. It pays to remember each and every day who you chose to wake up next to. That woman makes me feel so fine…she’s the best. He flipped on the windshield wipers to brush away the snowflakes, which seemed to be accumulating pretty quickly now. 

How long have you been married?

It’ll be forty years next month. Can you believe that? He sighed. It’s the number that makes me feel old. How is that possible? 

Time flies when you’re having fun.

He shot me a grin. Ain’t that the truth.

School had shut down because of the snow, but that didn’t stop the theater teacher, Regina Mobley, from meeting us there. Two of the seniors were there too, ready to show us where everything was. We loaded Rob’s truck, trying to keep the sets dry for the short drive to the Crown Theatre.

I couldn’t have done this in my Volvo. I brushed the snowflakes from my coat sleeves before I climbed into the warm cab of Rob’s truck. 

As it is, we need to get back for that second load so Regina and the kids can go home.

Thanks for the help. You’re really earning that croissant today.

He rolled his eyes. Don’t worry about it. I was free. This is a whole lot more interesting than watching snow fall from the kitchen. My wife is bound to be a worry wart through this, you know.

That doesn’t surprise me. She enjoys worrying about everybody.

I wouldn’t be shocked if we get back and she’s baked three casseroles for me to take around, so nobody starves in this two-day snow event.

With Lulu’s help it’ll be more than three. Lulu and Cary, the brownies who lived in the Covett House kitchen, were industrious little beings, always ready to lend a hand to folk who treated them with kindness. Treat them with anything else at your own peril. Lulu’s joy was baking and cooking. She was always up to something in the kitchen, unless we had guests. You should start a new business, Rob’s Delivery Service.

Interest will wane as soon as this melts. He smiled. Anyway, should be a fun day. He lifted his coffee cup toward me before taking a swig.

The roads were getting enough traffic that the snow was more slush at this point, and the fresh snowfall had slowed as we loaded the truck. The lot behind the theater hadn’t seen as much action, and Rob slowly pulled in and backed up toward the wide doors leading backstage. Two other vehicles, a van and a truck, were already parked side by side at the back of the building. 

I texted the director that we’d arrived. A minute later, the lock clicked, and the door whisked open. 

"Ah. There you are. Please, let’s get this stuff inside." With that, Noah Turner walked away, leaving us to unload the truck.

Did you hear a thank you? Rob watched the man’s retreating back. I didn’t hear a thank you.

Turner is brusque. I’d only met him one other time when we were planning the set a couple months ago, and I wasn’t sure if he recognized me or if this was the treatment everyone got.

That’s sugar coating it.

I do like my sugar.

We hauled the set inside piece by piece. That van outside must be a clown car, because it seemed like most of the cast and crew were here. The curtains were drawn wide, and setup had yet to begin, resulting in an open view from backstage to the audience. 

A group of dancers in warm-up gear sat in the first two rows of seats. Some were braiding each other’s hair and a couple others had lunches out, getting a snack while they could fit it into the hectic day. 

The only one I recognized was Gwendolen Canfield, who danced Odette in the upcoming show. Another dancer was massaging Gwen’s feet while she talked to a well-dressed middle-aged woman with the same build and the same dark hair, who frowned at her before she stalked out. 

Gwen rolled her eyes as she turned back to the dancers. 

Again? one of them asked. 

She’s just worried about me. 

Huh. Only one relationship could make a woman so instantly defensive. That must be Gwen Canfield’s mother. I’d never met her before, but I’d heard Leda Canfield was a respected accountant with clients concentrated in the nonprofit space. 

This show was part professional and part volunteer. A few of these folks, especially on the production side, worked for the Crown full time. Noah Turner was a visiting director, here for two ballet productions this season. His Nutcracker had drawn praise up and down the coast during the holiday season. Gwen had danced the lead role in that show, too.

I’d never volunteered for a theater or a ballet before, but most of these people had been around shows for years. I felt a little awkward, but hey, I was pitching in where I could, with light design skills and grunt work, and a hefty dose of organization bringing together the volunteers from the theater and the high school art and theater programs. It was fun.

I found it very strange that I now designed my schedule around fun. I had very little pressure to be a full-time professional at anything. I was part-time here, part-time there, and all around happier for it. Of course it helped that all my bills were paid, and I had income from the properties and businesses I’d inherited.

Now that I had the resources, my goal was to give back to this town. Along with the fun.

But at this moment, my goal was to lift with my legs, not my back. Rob and I struggled to get a particularly large set piece through the door. I tried to blow my hair out of my face as we inched along but sweat held it stubbornly in place. 

Noah Turner stood next to a makeup chair.

Please tell me you brought more than that ancient palette. Turner leaned over a small woman who clutched her hands in front of her, head bent. "We talked about this last time, and so help me, if you think you can screw me again, you’d better – well, think again!" 

Okay, this is far enough, Rob grunted. We set it down and he straightened, hands fisted at his side as he watched Turner spin and walk away. He said something to a thin man with red hair and the guy frowned and shook his head. The director’s chaotic energy wasn’t going to help anyone’s nerves. 

The makeup artist had turned back to her station, but with the mirror in front of her, we could see her wipe the tears from her cheeks.

What the hell is that guy’s problem? Rob hadn’t moved and I could see he was thinking about intervening.

Did Noah have too much coffee again? A familiar voice spoke up behind us.

Bria! My part-time employee at the garden shop, Bria Easmon had come in carrying an armful of swan’s wings. Her cheeks were flushed. A forest green wool hat topped her wild ginger curls. 

Too much coffee, you say? Was that a growl in Rob’s voice? I’d never seen him like this.

Bria shrugged, but her eyes darkened. It’s no big deal. Lots of directors have…over the top personalities.

Is that what you call it? He glanced at the upset makeup artist.

Bria followed