Pixie Twisted 2: A Collection of Books 4-6 of the Pixie Twist Series: Pixie Twist Collections, #2

By Alyn Troy

A town of wonky magic. A lost treasure, a chili-cheese-dog cookoff, and the town's festival all turn deadly. Can Twizzle untangle the twisted mysteries?

 

Dive into this paranormal mystery series set in a magical fae town where disabilities are just part of their nature.

 

Twizzle Twist isn't your normal real estate pixie. Nor is St. Maurice your normal Southern California town. The magic in the valley belches at the worst time. Twizzle's mismatched wings and bum leg are the least of her worries. The town council leader is out to destroy Twizzle's home on her town's amusement pier.

 

With a gang of friends including a pixie cop, a mermaid barista with a bent tail, an ancient Chinese wizard with a sweet tooth, and a couple of chili-cheese-dog loving mini-dragons, Twiz is embroiled in mystery after mystery, all while trying to save the pier and date the cute new vampire in town.

 

This Collection is comprised of the second three of the previously published books in Alyn Troy's Pixie Twist Mysteries. You'll get the following titles in this volume:

 

• A Twisted Treasure
• A Twisted Inferno
• A Twisted Festival

 

If you love supernatural mysteries with a dash of quirky characters, a dose of warped magic, and lots of snarky humor, you'll love Alyn Troy's Paranormal Cozy Mysteries.

 

Get your copy today to untangle this twisted mystery series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mystic Brews Mysteries
• Release date: Feb 20, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224260430

Book preview

1

Gunshots rang out behind me.

I ducked, popped pixie, and corkscrewed to land on the pier shop’s window ledge on the outside of the Hippodrome. Had mundanes been around, I wouldn’t have been able to go pixie, but when bullets are flying, being small makes me less likely to get hit.

Officer Harold, gun drawn, pointed it at the deck of the pier, scanning the crowd. Tiny bits of colored paper drifted in the breeze around Harold’s ankles. Snickers and giggles drifted through the sparse patrons on St. Mo’s pier this morning.

Just firecrackers, Brother Officer, Hippie the pier busker said as he pulled the cart with his sound equipment and guitar along for his morning stint on the pier. Those brother teens look like they might know something.

Hippie nodded toward two young teen boys darting around the Hippodrome’s far corner.

Police. Stop, you two! Harold shouted and charged after them.

I popped tall again. Good thing this was fae-only hour on the pier.

Oh, good show! Mortimer Bluescales, resident mini dragon, stuck his fluffy gray cat head through the open door.

A thinner green cat face popped out next to him.

Teleporting firecrackers is nothing, mate. Popping a full-sized human takes a lot of energy. Basil, the Australian mini dragon, said. I figured you were too slow to get those crackers out in time. A teleport spell for something little like that is easy.

So… I knelt down next to the mini dragons in cat form. Those two boys tossed the firecrackers into the Hippodrome? And Basil magicked them outside right behind Officer Harold? I was walking by right then.

Sorry, mate, Basil said. He sounded sincere. The stinkers tossed them right on Mr. Droll’s trains.

Actually, they landed on the new station house in the San Diego section, said Mort. I installed that station last week. They could have set fire to a good section of the layout. He turned toward Basil. I believe I shall reward you with a chili-cheese dog.

Make it four. Basil grinned, which always looked strange, or maybe a tad evil, on their cat faces. We should get a tray of them for our expedition.

The green mini dragon ducked back inside.

I told you, Mort said, following, I refuse to go on a leaky boat to catch fish. This is a coastal town. We can purchase fish and chips, already caught and cooked, practically anywhere local.

I headed back out toward Beanzies. The order window was open, and a customer was just leaving with their coffee as I limped up.

What is the big announcement you texted me about? I asked Amanda. Someone to run against Penny Parler?

Umm… Maybe. Amanda passed me a bright-neon-green flyer. This Friday at the pier. Big announcement.

You and Mary Pat find your victim for the campaign? That was what the flyer was about. Pier Committee Candidate Announcement. Food, fun, politics and such, I said, paraphrasing the text from the bright-green paper.

We have to protect our favorite real estate broker, you know. Now that you’ve made it official, and moved out of Penny’s district. Mary Pat has been pulling all sorts of favors to find someone. We have to win at least one seat on the council this cycle to save the pier.

Today’s Monday. The announcement is not until Friday. You’re not even going to tell me who is running? I rolled my eyes in mock exasperation.

Back in a minute. Got to take the rolls out. She pushed her tall chair back from the service window and shifted her mermaid tail into human legs. Her arms dropped into the cuffs of her aluminum elbow crutches.

Beanzies wasn’t a huge shop, and most of the pastry dough was made elsewhere, then baked here on the pier. That made the pastries not as great as Nikki Flannigan’s at NaughTea Nibbles, but not as generic as pre-packaged ones at the convenience mart. That was the trade-off of a shop on the pier, where space was a premium. The food shops kept things simple and outsourced what they could.

Hey, Twiz. Larry Lloyd rolled up behind me. Who’s running?

She won’t tell me. Just handed me a flyer about Friday.

Amanda propped herself back on her tall chair behind the window. She had the tray of pastries and the tub of icing next to her, and started smeared the icing across the rolls.

Well… you had to go move in with Mr. Undead and Hunky, Amanda teased. Good thing Mort had right of first refusal on the newly vacated space in the Hippodrome, or Penny Parler would have had the demolition foreperson set up in your old apartment.

Yeah. You can’t even vote in this district anymore. Larry sighed. You’re stuck voting for Star Sinclair.

Am not. I’ll vote for whomever is running against her. I had just changed my voter registration address over to Rapier Place. The last thing I wanted was a cry of voter impropriety when I had just started my brokerage here in St. Maurice.

Who’s running against Star? You? Amanda suggested. You’re in her district. We thought we had someone, but they dropped. No other candidate has declared, and Friday is the last day to file.

I promised to stay out of politics, and Star leaves my business alone. Which was true. Hoppy had seen to that with a geas spell. Star and I both made the pledge, and Hop set the geas to do something nasty to whomever reneged. I really didn’t want to know what penalty he had set.

Don’t want to turn into a three-eyed troll, huh? Larry laughed. Even if Star is the only candidate, you can write in an opponent.

Oh! Maybe I should. Captain Renard’s old mansion is in her district. Surely a long-dead shipping-line owner would be a better town council member than Star.

Amanda pushed one of the rolls toward me. Taste test. Need a pixie opinion on the new recipe I asked for.

Larry looked back at me. Captain Renard, the old smuggler turned pirate? Aren’t you trying to sell that mansion?

Not Renard’s. I let the aroma of the freshly baked roll and sweet sugary icing drift around me. Just what a pixie needed this early. I’ve got the other captain’s mansion. Corbin Corbie’s son just listed his with me yesterday. I’ve got a showing scheduled for this morning.

Oooh! That’ll be a nice commission. And maybe we should work on getting you elected in Star’s district as a write-in candidate. If we make the push, and you don’t know anything about it, then Hoppy’s geas won’t affect you.

I paused, fork in the air with a gooey hunk of pastry waiting. I told Star I’d stay out of politics. Even if you got me through the election that way, I would have to refuse the office.

Larry laughed. A pixie-sized troll would be scary. He pushed his power chair forward. Can I get a strawberry iced? Gotta get to Mom’s shop. With luck, my package will be here today.

Ordering more books?

No… um… electronic stuff. Larry scrunched his lips tight and jerked his eyes down, as though he didn’t want to tell me what was in the package.

You going to be ready with that? Amanda asked him and passed him his drink.

Larry gave a nod. Should be. I may need Chaz’s help on a few things.

You! I leveled a finger at him, not sure what he was up to. Keep me and my boyfriend out of politics. I’ll back anyone who supports saving the pier. But I’m not running. Not even as a sneaky write-in.

Eat your pastry, Twiz. Amanda giggled. You’re grumpy when you haven’t had enough sweets.

I shoved the bite into my mouth and stared at her, trying to do an impression of my mother, the elementary school teacher, glaring at a misbehaving student.

Amanda pointed a finger and gave me a motherly glare, then laughed. You need to go visit your mom if you want to pull off that look. Is she speaking to you yet?

Well… Dad got her to yell ‘Hi, Twiz!’ when I called him last night. That’s the first time I’ve heard her voice since I moved in with Chaz.

Kinda weird, her giving you the silent treatment instead of the other way around.

I shrugged. Yeah. I kinda miss the old way of having a conversation that eventually devolved into her pushing me to have pixie babies.

You going to invite her out to see the house?

Well… I rolled my eyes. We think she’s been doing flyovers some evenings. Chaz asked Hoppy to put up a pixie ward around the place. It’s keyed so I’m the only pixie that can get close to the house. The only way in is via the front door for all other pixies.

Ooooo! That must have honked her off! No spying on the daughter. No peeping through the windows. Amanda laughed.

Be careful. You may be doing the same when your tads get old enough for you to follow them around.

Well, I’m the parent. I need to make sure they’re not out doing something dangerous like teasing predators.

I paused, my fork in the air with another bite of the pastry. Is that really something teen merfolk do to prove their bravery? Go tease a shark?

Actually, yes, a Russian accented male voice cut in. I’ve had my tail tugged by young merfolk several times. My apologies for interrupting.

Amanda’s eyes narrowed, and she crossed her arms over her chest. Those poor tads. Did you eat them?

Aleks Baronov, leader of the local wereshark shiver, shook his head. Of course not. We know that your teen merfolk use it as a rite of passage. So we shift back into our hybrid forms. That scares the youngsters away. Though a few years ago I had one girl so frightened, she froze. Shifted to that statue form merfolk use when they’ve been spotted by a mundane. Wouldn’t move at all. Finally, Yuri bumped her from behind. She shifted back, screamed, and swam away. I would have hated swimming her back to her family frozen like that.

Oh! I almost shivered at that thought. A hybrid wereshark pulling a frozen mermaid into the mer-town. That wouldn’t have gone over well.

Aleks nodded. Tridents and wands would be the least of our worries in that instance. We really should have a meeting with the mer-council and work to repair our relationship.

Amanda bit her lip and glanced between Aleks and me. Amanda’s father was on the mer-council. I doubted she’d volunteer to be a go-between, though.

Two teens darted past Beanzies, turned, and ducked down the short alley between it and the Pier Shack next door. A few seconds later, Officer Harold chugged along, breathing heavily in his beach patrol uniform of shorts, a blue polo shirt with his badge embroidered on it, and an SMPD ball cap. He looked around, scowling. I caught his eye and discreetly jabbed a finger at the alley. Those boys, with their seemingly harmless prank, deserved a good lecture from Harold.

The officer nodded and tapped two fingers to his cap in a salute, then jogged down the alley after the boys.

Need a coffee before we head up to Corbie Mansion? I asked Aleks, then looked behind him at Yuri.

The hulking wereshark bodyguard pointed at my mostly empty plate. Roll. And coffee.

Make it two coffees, but only one roll. Aleks slid his wand from his sleeve. He held it over the pay pad while Amanda rang up the order. Her shoulders were tense. They went that way whenever one of the weresharks was around.

She stayed quiet while she passed the paper cups out, then the roll for Yuri. The wereshark bodyguard plopped onto one of the metal benches. Aleks poured a bit of cream into his coffee and gave it a stir, watching his compatriot.

Sometimes, I believe he is part pixie. Such a sweet tooth in him.

Amanda pointed a finger at Aleks. You just keep your teeth to yourself and away from our tads.

I sucked in a breath. Amanda’s prejudice against what she considered a predator might be founded on past truths, but in the month I’d been dealing with Aleks and his fellow weresharks, they’d been nothing but courteous to everyone around them.

Peace and love, little sisters. Hippie’s voice interrupted the tense moment.

Amanda’s eyes flicked to the busker, wearing his typical tie-dyed tunic and shorts. He flashed a peace sign at me and Amanda. He had finished setting up his gear across from the coffee shop and was here for his morning beverage.

Aleks extended his hand toward Hippie. Your show this weekend was very entertaining. My fiancée especially enjoyed your Beatles compilation.

Hippie shook hands, and his eyes lit up. Most fae, at least here in St. Mo, let a bit of their magical nature leak through in a handshake. Aleks must have shared his shifter nature.

Blessings to her, and my thanks, Brother Shark, Hippie said.

We are in discussions with your director, Mary Pat, Aleks said, letting his eyes slide between Hippie and Amanda, about hiring talent from the cabaret at the Double Clam for shows on our boat. Yelena is overseeing the addition of a small theatre.

Interesting, Brother Shark. Hippie tilted his head as he considered the idea. Will that decrease the patrons here on the pier? My busker brothers and sisters would miss their income if it did.

We’ll grow as St. Maurice grows, Aleks said. No faster. Our idea is to work with the town to keep the pier and enhance it. We should give fae across the world every reason to visit our little town, and to stay as long as they like.

Save the pier? Amanda asked. Her cocked head said she was interested, but her frown said she didn’t really want to believe him.

Yes. Aleks shifted his eyes back to her. My business is part of St. Maurice. My people are a part of this community. What helps one of us, helps all of us.

He held her gaze for a moment. Eventually, Amanda’s eyes jerked toward me. Just keep your mouth shut and listen, I thought, hoping she’d be reasonable. The weresharks were attempting to be good citizens. I really wanted her to give them a chance.

Aleks slid his phone from the inner pocket of his gray jacket. He flipped through a few screens, then nodded.

I thought so. Yelena is heading our search for entertainers. Aleks looked up with a polite smile. Miss Amanda, your voice, your performance at the show this weekend was one that she took notice of. She hopes that you’ll consider accepting a contract once we open the theatre.

2

Y our barista friend is going to be our toughest sell, Aleks said. He and I sat in the back of the SUV as Yuri drove us through Fish Town.

I pulled my lower lip in and agreed with him. The merfolk don’t like predator species. Normal predators they can drive off. But a boat full of shifters… that bothers them.

"You’d be surprised how few of my shiver are actually here in the bay. Yuri is our head of security and has three shifters under him. We have a few more scattered around the Tiger, heading various departments."

I did the quick math in my head. Yuri plus three, plus Aleks and Yelena, plus a few more meant about a dozen weresharks in the bay, depending on what Aleks meant by a few. Ten or more weresharks on the hunt could do serious damage to the merfolk population.

You didn’t add her name to the list of singers you’re trying to get to perform just to win her over, did you?

Aleks raised his tablet. Here. Let me show you the message from Yelena to your friend Mary Pat.

He flipped screens until he came to the email in question. It had a time stamp of about an hour before he and Yuri found me at Beanzies. Hippie’s real name was there, along with three other singers or musicians. Amanda was definitely on the list.

We’re not sure which entertainers are professionally represented, nor who to contact for those who are. Aleks took his tablet back, cleared the screen, and closed the cover. Mary Pat, as the entertainment director, seemed the logical person to reach out to.

She’ll know, though I doubt anyone on the list has an agent.

Cookie? Yuri asked from the front seat. The road he drove on led past Diego’s Dives and the sandwich shop with the excellent cookies.

Aleks chuckled. You just had a pastry, my friend. We can stop on the drive back.

I’m with Yuri. A cookie will be good. But definitely after we tour Corbie Mansion.

Okay. Deal. Yuri glanced in mirror and flashed me a grin. Evidently our urge for sweets was helping me bond with Aleks’s hulking henchman.

Tell me about the property, Aleks said as Yuri turned onto the winding road up the side of the valley.

Well, it’s an old Spanish mansion with what you’d expect from the Spanish colonial architecture. Mediterranean features. Red tile roofs, inner courtyard with pool. Built into the side of the mountain there, so it’s three levels overall. Servants quarters out back, but they’re mostly unused. Only Philip and his wife, a leprechaun couple on staff, live on site.

Aleks nodded, flipping through screens on his tablet again. You just listed this yesterday? And photos already?

I took a photographer with me yesterday when Corbin Corbie signed the listing contract. He practically insisted that I have one along. He was leaving for his European vacation last night and wanted to be present for the staging of the house. Took over four hours to get the portfolio of images.

There are quite a few images here. Aleks flipped back to the screen of thumbnail images and started scrolling down.

We darn near wore out Philip and Keeva, I said. You can see from the photos on the listing, there is more potential for developing this property.

Zoning will allow what?

Corbin had the property zoned for hotel and resort after his father passed, back in the early 1900s, I said. But he never saw that through. There’s room and potential to build a guest wing beyond the three small suites already in the residence.

This is quite a drive up here. Aleks waved out the window as we climbed the hillside. Will guests want to spend time up here when the attractions are mostly in the valley?

Teleport gem between here and the bayside resort? I offered. Corbie Mansion can be our executive-level resort for those who want the view and the seclusion.

What else can be developed at this level? Golf?

Doubtful. The terrain is fairly steep. I pointed out the window as we passed the G’Sisters of Faerock Academy. They housed and cared for both orphans and mundanes and fae dramatically affected by faerock. The gnome sisters have the most level part of the hillside until we reach the crest.

Hit the ball, chase the ball, lose the ball, Yuri chimed in from the front seat. Don’t want to hit the faerock patients with a bad chip shot.

Yuri caddies for me whenever I’m forced to play, Aleks said. He’s a far better golfer than I am.

Just do what I tell you, boss. You’ll get through the course. Yuri looked at me in the rearview mirror. He is better at putt-putt.

That is more challenging. Aleks said. Trying to get the ball in the correct gap in the smile of those clowns. All golf courses should have giant clowns. It’s quite fun when you miss and hit them with the ball. Hole in one becomes a five putt before one tires of aiming at the grinning face. Those putt-putt designers are evil.

I giggled. You try to hit the clown? No wonder you have a five-putt hole.

A putt-putt golf course could be challenging. Our patrons would need to resist the urge to hit the clown. And there is the threading between the windmill blades only to have your shot roll down the wrong ramp. Could be quite the challenge for some of our executive clientele.

Yuri shook his head, then turned where the GPS told him. Are you sure you want putt-putt at a resort, boss? Is that is the type of client you want up here?

I don’t know, I said. After my blowup with my old broker, I would have paid for an hour of smacking little round colored balls at his face. We could magic up something that makes the faces look like their worst enemy?

Aleks nodded. Ah… a new level of competitive gaming that favors the house. We should let you design our next set of slots.

Game design is Chaz’s department. I’m in charge of finding good property.

Yuri drove the car up to a steel gate set between two adobe columns. He pulled up far enough for me to lean out my window and toggle the intercom.

Miss Twist, a male voice said. Please have the driver park at the front door. Mr. Corbie has already left, and you won’t be in anyone’s way there.

The gate slid open, and a moment later we were in front of a red slate door that matched the red tiles of the roofs. The sun-dried, semi-arid SoCal climate led to a landscape that featured succulents and other drought-tolerant plants.

Underbrush cleared far away, good. I’m learning about natural wildfire defenses. Aleks slid out of his door. Yuri had my door open before I had my seatbelt retracted. The door of the manor opened as we approached.

Welcome, Miss Twist, Mr. Baranov, said a petite leprechaun in light-green dress slacks and a white shirt. He was only a few feet tall, so he didn’t offer his hand. Small folk rarely did to taller fae. Instead he held a rocks glass, and ice clinked in an amber liquid.

Philip, I said. This is Aleks. And Yuri.

Make sure they wipe their feet, a shrill voice called from down the hill. I’ll not be mopping the floors again, Philip!

The leprechaun sighed and rolled his eyes.

A pleasure, gents. Do come in. He pulled the door open and waved us inside, then nodded toward a low side table lined with a variety of alcohol choices. Mr. Corbie insists I offer all guests a drink as soon as they arrive.

Aleks waved him off. Philip looked at me. I had the missus pull a bottle of dessert wine out of the cellar, Miss Twist.

Not while I’m with a client. He knew of my rule from the day before when his employer signed the listing contract.

Aleks gestured for Philip to lead. I hope this early showing didn’t upset your schedule.

Not at all. We did all the cleaning for the photography session. Wanted the place to look its best. Philip waved a hand toward a large stairway with a wrought-iron handrail and supports.

After Mr. Corbie drove off late last night, I came over this morning to make sure he hadn’t left a stray glass of half-drunk rum out in his study or bedroom.

I let Philip lead us on a tour of the lower level. A large sitting room, overlooking the valley to one side and the mansion’s Spanish courtyard to the other, dominated the southern wing. A billiard table and wet bar, well stocked, were the keynotes of this section. The exit at the far end led to a path along the mountaintop that ended in a columned gazebo with a matching red-tiled roof.

The other wing of the lower level consisted of kitchen, laundry, and other support for the operation of the household.

Philip strolled through the kitchen area. I had thought Chaz’s kitchen at Rapier Place was overly large. This one dwarfed that by at least a factor of four.

You can see that the facilities are large enough to handle sizable dinners. Mr. Corbie’s father built the home to entertain. Of course, the late nineteenth century lacked many of today’s avenues of entertainment and recreation.

Like putt-putt, Yuri said behind us.

Aleks ignored him and looked around, taking in the modern stainless-steel appliances and work surfaces. The present Mr. Corbie is not the original owner?

Corbin Corbie is the son of Captain Corbie.

Captain Corbie the pirate? Aleks raised an eyebrow. I was not aware he used St. Maurice as his home port.

Only in retirement. Philip waved us on with the tour but filled in some of the Corbie history as we climbed the stairs to the second level. Captain Corbie was a rough but kind soul. He wouldn’t talk about his time with Captain Willie nor when Dirty Max joined up with them. At least not according to my parents. They were his first hire for staff here. Actually, my parents were his only hire because of Captain Corbie’s demise near the faerock mine.

Aleks cocked an eyebrow. Oh? I thought Captain Corbie was lost at sea.

Not at all, though the old tavern tales are more entertaining than what actually happened. In the late 1860s, there was a series of quakes. The worst was up in Hayward, according to my father’s journal. But one of them struck here in the valley.

This mansion seems sturdy enough. Aleks glanced around, looking at the ceiling and exposed beams of dark stained wood. A painted portrait of old Captain Corbie hung prominently at the top of the staircase. The silver-haired gent had a bit of a pirate sense about him. Is that…?

Captain Corbie. However, the current Mr. Corbie much resembles his father, Philip said. Though without the sailor’s coat and ruffles of the 1800s.

Aleks nodded politely and looked around. I’m surprised a house this old withstood a major quake. Were there building codes back then?

Captain Corbie was a stickler for strong construction. But that of Dirty Max… Philip shook his head. My father said no one could talk sense to that scoundrel. He built his home hanging from the cliff face, smack dab in the middle of the high western wall of the valley. There was barely a village here. The gnomes were just getting the mines up and running.

Let me guess, Aleks said. The quake struck, and the structure plunged down the mountain, killing all inside?

Philip gave a nod. According my father’s stories, they dug through the rubble but never recovered the bodies.

I nodded. The area is known now as Fool’s Slide. Teens go there hoping to find old pirate treasure.

The current Mr. Corbie, Philip continued, is the son of Captain Corbie by his first wife. She left him and took their son when he took up pirating. Father said she was of good east coast fae blood, and didn’t want the stigma of being married to a notorious smuggler.

I can understand how she felt. Aleks caught my eye. He and Yelena were attempting to blaze a path for his family to leave the criminal side of their wereshark mafia, and strike out with legitimate businesses. That’s what the land acquisition was part of. Developing an underpriced sector of our valley into an upscale resort community.

Philip led us into the upper story. Bedroom suites and a study overlooked either the valley or the courtyard.

Fairly decent sized, Aleks noted, looking out at the pool that dominated the courtyard. Covered portico all around for shaded seating. An arched exit in the northeast and southwest corners to let a breeze through.

The upper story wound completely around, but the archways separated the lower level into the kitchen, the L-shaped support wing, and the entertaining wing.

Philip suggested we visit the wine cellar next. Built using some of the old mining tunnels, he said. The garage is down on that level too. The main drive dips, and the entrance is back under the kitchen.

Was there much faerock here? Aleks asked.

Hardly any, according to my father’s journal, Philip said. That is why this side of the valley, and over where Captain Willie built his place, were affordable. Only a few thin veins that were quickly mined. Other than the view, there was no value to the land in those days.

Perhaps a trip out to the gazebo to see the view first? Aleks suggested.

Philip nodded and led the way.

The gazebo itself was built to match the house. Adobe columns and tile roof. The flagstone floor was of the same stock as the drive and paths. It stood on a promontory open on three sides to a steep drop off. Wooden chairs and tables sat under the tiled roof. In the center of the flagstone floor, a dark stone, probably granite, was carved with what looked like the symbol of the house of Corbie—a sailing ship with a raven on its largest sail, with crossed flintlock pistols behind the ship.

Philip hung back. I’ll stay back here. Heights like those make my belly flop when I get too close. We little folk don’t fly as well as you pixies, Miss Twist.

I can sympathize. I’m not known for my flying ability. I tapped my gimpy foot with my cane. Faerock got my wing and my leg.

You did say that Mr. Corbie, the owner, left last night? Aleks asked.

Of course. The missus and I heard his MG belch brimstone about eleven, or maybe half past. We were both in bed. I checked the garage this morning. The MG’s spot was empty.

Then who is that poor chap? Aleks pointed down the cliff.

Even Philip rushed to the railing and poked his head through to look down the cliff face. Oh, faerocks! Poor Mr. Corbie. He didn’t deserve to go like that.

I looked at Alex, then at Yuri, my phone already in my hand.

I’ll call the detective.

Aleks looked back at the house. I wonder who drove the MG away last night?

3

Dom looked at me as he approached the gazebo. Why do you keep finding the dead bodies?

Gus and Ralph found the last one, I replied. And Aleks found this one.

Detective Sanchez, or Dom to his friends—and in a town the size of St. Mo, Dom was everyone’s friend—let his eyes flick to Aleks and Yuri.

I see. Mr. Baranov is still your client?

And landlord. Twist Realty opens our location in the Faerock building next week.

Faerock, hmmm? Changed the name? Thought you already moved in? Dom waved off my reply. Never mind. The deceased is where?

Aleks used an open-palmed hand to gesture over the railing. Dom stepped up to the edge of the cliff and took a long look, then pulled his phone out.

Kami, sorry to bother you. Need a flyover of a crime scene. Dom turned away from the railing. Yes. I’m sorry. You’re the only one on the force who can fly.

Dom glanced my way and gave me a weak smile. He knew he was asking a lot from Kami. Yes. The Corbie mansion.

He punched the disconnect button, then shook his head. I owe her. She and Roman finally got a day off together, and they’re heading out to Big Sur. She said I was interrupting their romantic drive up the coast.

Had they left yet?

No. Roman called me ten minutes ago. He was running late, otherwise I wouldn’t have intruded.

I crossed my arms and leaned back on the railing. You know, my father’s air wing runs a civilian air service in their off-duty time. You could have called him.

Dom stared off for a second, then nodded. We’ve gotten so used to having Kami on the force, I forget about the other providers. Which reminds me. Doc is going to need help.

He wandered off to make another phone call. All I heard was leprechaun teleport service. As shaken as Philip looked, I wasn’t about to volunteer him to teleport his deceased employer up the cliff.

After he finished his call, Dom stepped into Corbie Mansion and interviewed Philip. After about fifteen minutes, Dom called Aleks inside. Yuri followed along but waited outside, leaning against the wall where he could see his boss sitting across from the detective. While they chatted, Roman and Kami pulled into the main drive. I waved. Kami popped pixie and flew over, then popped tall again.

She gave me a quick hug, then looked around. I pointed over the cliff to where my client’s body lay. Sorry to ruin your romantic drive. I reminded Dom that there is a pixie air service.

Thanks. Harold wants to use drones with cameras, but the chief hasn’t approved that yet. I suspect it’s because Dom doesn’t want to deal with Harold at crime scenes. She shifted her eyes to the drive where Dom had emerged from the mansion long enough to pass the camera gear from his trunk to Roman.

Well, no one wants to deal with Harold. I flashed her a grin. You’ve got a deceased person to photograph on the side of the hill below.

A jumper? Or accidental?

I shrugged. Looks like my client. He was supposed to be on his way to a vacation in Europe. He didn’t seem like the kind to jump.

Kami peered over the railing and shook her head. That’s not a good way to get to Europe. You going to be able to sell the mansion if the owner is dead?

Depends on his next of kin, or whoever his will says the mansion goes to.

Kami looked back at the house. I see you’re keeping company with the wereshark shiver.

Aleks has asked to have first look at any of the properties I list. I wasn’t sure where she was going with it.

You’re not thinking of dumping Number 87 undead dude, are you?

"What? No!"

She laughed. "Just wanted to make sure. So it’s business only with the Tiger leader?"

Yep. He helped me when I told Dick Gates to shove it. We’ve got a good business relationship growing. Chaz is even in the business loop as a potential investor. I paused for a moment, thinking. "Has the crew of the Tiger been true to their word about the various runners and deadbeats?"

Definitely. Judge Myrtle is happy with the arrangements. We got a runner report two nights ago while the shuttle was still sailing in. Two of our officers boarded and took the girl into custody. Her hearing before Judge Myrtle is today.

What if the runner jumps ship?

We notify the mercops before that happens, and they shadow the shuttle. If the perp is a mer, then they take over. Fortunately, we only get a runner every few months. And only one a year is merfolk, if that many. Kami turned back toward where Yuri sat. Good luck dealing with the townsfolk.

What do you mean?

She wore a light mesh cover-up over a swimsuit, with shorts long enough to considered clothing, but short enough to be California beach style. Her outfit revealed more of her dark-brown legs than I would have been comfortable showing, but I was always self-conscious about my wonky leg.

Fae are pretty mellow when it comes to different races, and different appearances within the magical races. I only experience racism from a few mundanes. She tilted her head toward Yuri. Roman took the path up toward us.

One of the few times fae will show overt prejudice is around shifters, and especially fringe shifters like weresharks.

I nodded. Yeah… I’m having a tough time getting Amanda to look past Aleks’s nature.

Hey, Twiz. Roman set the camera bag down on the flagstones. How come you keep finding the dead bodies?

If I knew, I’d stop doing whatever is causing it.

Kami looped the camera strap over her head. Twiz needs to sell houses. It’s not her fault people keep dying in them.

That made me nod. I would prefer they not die in or around houses I’m showing.

Let me get this over with so we can go on our date. Kami popped pixie and zoomed off with the camera.

You’ve got a new buddy. Roman tilted his head toward the mansion. One that comes with his own Oddjob.

Oddjob?

The henchman from the Bond movie. The one that threw his bowler hat and killed a statue.

"Oh… yeah. Chaz warned me we were going to watch Goldfinger soon. He said Yuri’s cousin is in it."

Might be Yuri himself. Has he ever acted?

I shook my head. He’s not much of a talker. I know little about his past. Why? Are you worried about them?

Roman leaned out over the railing, watching Kami. I’d seen enough of Corbin Corbie’s broken body thirty feet below us. I didn’t need to watch any longer.

Not racially, like some of the townsfolk are. Weresharks get a lot of blowback from normal fae. Sharks are scary, you know. It’s more that I’m worried the shifter mafia still has control of those guys. Watch your six with them. Once a crook, always a crook.

I liked Roman. Had even considered dating him for a few years, but we never quite made it past the flirting stage. Which worked out well, considering he and Kami were now officially dating.

How’s the runner reform program working out?

Not bad. He turned his head with Kami’s flying. Got to meet a few of the past runners. The ones we didn’t get to in time. They seem to be doing well in the program that wereshark guy set up. I’m glad they’ve turned over that new leaf.

What about once a crook, always a crook?

Roman looked at me, his stern cop face on. Then he grinned. Touché, Twiz. But we’re talking amateurs reforming—he tilted his head down toward Yuri—versus the professionals.

You should spend some time talking to Aleks and Yelena. I gave him my polite, customer doesn’t really know what they’re talking about smile. Without your uniform on. Perhaps we’ll have you two and them out for drinks on the veranda.

Does Oddjob come with them? Roman’s gaze shifted toward Yuri.

That was a good question.

Probably. You know, security. He’d probably sit in the car and read, though. Or come in and play one of Chaz’s video games.

Just make sure you don’t have any statues on display. If you do, make him leave his hat in the car.

He’s not wearing a hat. I punched Roman’s arm.

Look, Twiz, I told you before that Dad and I kind of adopted you as an honorary Sanchez. You’re family. And we keep an eye on you. Watch your back. Now you’re hanging out with the mob boss’s grandnephew or such.

I wasn’t going to correct him. If Aleks hadn’t shared who his grandfather was, I wasn’t going to volunteer it. That would only make Roman even more leery.

Tires squeaked on the main drive as Doc Stevens’s long black SUV pulled in front of the mansion.

I’d better go help him get the gurney up here. Not sure what Dad has in mind for the recovery, though. It’s my day off. He’ll have to figure that out himself.

A crackle of magic and a shimmer gave way to a small man in a green business suit in the center of the pavilion.

Oh, that’s how Dad’s getting the deceased off the mountainside. I’ll go fetch Doc, and they can work out the details.

Is the detective about, lass? the leprechaun asked, his accent only slightly Irish.

Down at the main house. I pointed. Dom had just exited and was heading toward Doc Stevens. Roman would be a few steps behind him.

Where is the item to teleport? the leprechaun looked around.

Down the hillside, Kami said. She flitted up next to me, then popped tall. She pointed through the railing.

Ah. Let’s have a look, then… He stuck his feet between the spindles on the lower railing bar and levered himself up.

Oh, shamrocks! That is a nasty fall. And it will take two teleports. With hazard pay. I’m not sure there’s a safe place for me to zap down to.

Hazard pay? Dom shook his head and flipped his badge and ID out. Detective Sanchez, SMPD.

The little guy in green passed Dom a business card. Norris Neddleson. Junior Vice President, Fae Bank of California, head of the teleport services division. And yes, that’s a tricky recovery location. I can see why you sent for me.

Dom cocked his head. You can’t just teleport him back up here?

Norris Neddleson shook his head. No, I have to either touch the item… er… body or place a teleport crystal on it. Not a real gem, but a one-time activation crystal.

Dom looked at Kami. She sucked in a deep breath. We’re going to have to get Harold’s drone’s ramped up.

You expect Harold to actually transport something vital, like a crystal, without dropping it several times?

No… How large is the crystal? She watched Norris reach into his jacket’s inner breast pocket. Out came a leather case. He shook out two green crystals with blue flickers dancing inside. Each crystal was about as long as one knuckle of an index finger.

So, just place it on the deceased’s back?

Touching skin, please. That way I don’t transport just the clothing. Norris plucked one gem off his palm and held the other out to Kami. She looked at Dom, staring over her sunglasses at him.

I owe you, officer Brightflight, Dom said with a nod.

Yes… you do. Kami popped small, then flew in and took the crystal. It was large enough to slow her down as she wrapped both her pixie-sized arms around it. Dom and I peered over the rail at her. A moment later, she zipped back up. Norris nodded approval.

Roman and Doc Stevens wheeled the gurney up, accompanied by Philip. Kami popped tall next to me.

Kami took a deep breath. He’s a tad, well, aromatic.

Already? Roman shook his head. He was down there that long?

You’ll see… or smell.

Where would you like him teleported to? Norris looked at Dom.

Doc pointed. The gazebo center is good. I’ll do an initial examination there.

Norris set the second crystal where Doc had indicated, then slid his wand out of his sleeve. With a surge of magic, Corbin Corbie’s broken body shimmered onto the flagstones.

Doc knelt next to my former client, while Norris pulled out a tablet and began tapping on the screen.

Here you are, Detective Sanchez. Norris held the tablet out. You’ll see I discounted the recovery fee since your officer was able to place the crystal.

No hazard pay? Dom asked, and gave it a scan.

None. A very easy gig. Norris pointed at the tablet. Just tap the lower line with your official wand, and we’ll submit the bill to your chief.

Roman knelt next to Doc and helped roll Mr. Corbie’s body over. A flash of light caught my eye. Glass shards littered Corbie’s clothing.

Oh! Shamrocks! Norris said, looking their way as he stowed his table. I like my Irish whiskey as well as the next leprechaun. Smells like he smashed a full bottle in that tumble. Such a waste.

From his tone, I got the sense that the leprechaun was more concerned over the spilled whiskey covering Corbin Corbie’s corpse than the man himself.

4

We pulled in under the sandwich shop, across from Diego’s Dives.

Get them to go, please, Aleks said. I want to get back in time for the hearing of the girl who ran out on her debt.

Two cookies or three? Yuri asked me.

Just one chocolate chip. And a bottled Coke. The one with real sugar. After dealing with the loss of a client and the hold that put on our plans, I was more interested in getting back to the pier to pick up my car. But I could also use the sugar buzz to fuel my pixie nature.

Aleks had his phone out, checking the real estate section. Ah, that is new.

I pulled my tablet out, on which I had access to the professional side of the local real estate listings. A moment later, I nodded. Dick Gates scored a big listing. But I’m not surprised. Trina Renard is more in Star Sinclair’s orbit.

Renard? Isn’t that the other captain with Mr. Corbie?

It was. Trina is the daughter of Captain Willie Renard. She might have a brother, but I haven’t researched her family. I wonder why she decided to list now? She’s hardly ever in St. Mo. That place has sat empty for as long as I’ve been alive.

Coincidence? Or connected to Mr. Corbie’s death? Aleks had an inquisitive look on his face, then shook his head. How fast could one get a property listed?

Fairly fast, but there are plenty of professional images of Renard Mansion on the listing. Dick would need a photographer for that. He has problems remembering how to take pics with his phone.

I wonder… Aleks let the thought drift. Should we schedule a visit?

Do you need a second mansion, and one on the opposite side of the valley?

Well… your listing with the deceased Mr. Corbie is frozen until you get a new contract. Aleks tilted his head. If your idea of a resort is workable, why not two? I’d rather position two in the market to complement each other than have to react to how a different business positions themselves.

Star Sinclair is vying for properties in and around the prestigious downtown area. If we save the pier, she may have to refocus her property development strategy.

If your friends find someone to run against Ms. Parler, then we have a good chance of saving the pier. Aleks smiled his support for the idea.

Cookie and Coke. Yuri slid into the front seat. He passed them back to me, then handed a cookie to Aleks.

How many did you get? I leaned forward until my seatbelt tugged at me.

Only three. Yuri flashed a grin, then pushed the button to wake up the demon in the Infernal brand engine.

They dropped me off at the Hippodrome on the pier. I decided to walk down to check in with Amanda before I headed up to the Faerock building where Lexi was working with the last of the vendors and suppliers to get our new Twist Realty office established. That reminded me. I pulled out my phone and tapped the icon to call my office manager.

Hey, Lex, I said once she answered. Dick Gates got the Renard mansion listing. Did the owner contact us at all?

No. I’m not surprised. Trina Renard is on the country club’s board of directors. An honorary seat based on her role in funding the initial build. Next time you go have lunch there with your father, look at the plaques in the lobby. She and her brother are on the founders’ plaque.

I should pay more attention to those.

Lexi gave a small sigh. You basically conceded most of the country club bigwigs to Dick. You need to start making some inroads there. Ask your father out to lunch again.

She was correct. I hadn’t wanted to directly challenge my old broker by trying to drum up business within the country club. I wasn’t much of a golfer and rarely visited the club. Only when my father, who had spent a term on the board, needed to get an extra meal in to keep his membership active, did I head that way. And since Chaz and I started dating, Dad hadn’t made the invite. We were both tip toeing around bringing Chaz and my mother together.

I sighed. Hate to do this, but it’s inevitable. Please call Dick’s office and get a showing set. Tomorrow or the next day. Aleks said he’d clear his schedule to get in to see it.

Lexi gave a small laugh. No problem. Dick still has Pete answering the phone. No pixies are willing to work for Dick, and he only wants a pixie for the front desk.

So he’s sticking Pete there until he finds a pixie who doesn’t know his reputation? I shook my head. Pete is no pixie.

Definitely not. I’ll get right on that, Miss Twist. Will you be in this afternoon?

I hope to. Any nibbles on renting the mining offices? Twist Realty was the onsite leasing agent for Aleks’s Faerock building.

A few calls. No appointments yet. Dick Gates called in to see what the pricing was. He tried to disguise his voice.

Did you give him the rates?

Lexi laughed. Yes, then I told him he wasn’t being sneaky enough. He shouldn’t call in on his own cell. I’ve got that number memorized.

I shook my head. Leave it to Dick to be annoying and incompetent at the same time. Well, St. Mo is a sleepy town. It will take time for businesses to want to move. Or new ones to come in.

Hey, Twiz! Billie Quinn said. Buy you a coffee?

I told Lexi I’d be in shortly, then turned to the reporter. Hmm…. You want to buy me a coffee? You know I’m not running against Penny Parler. And I thought buying food and drink for sources is against journalistic principles?

G’Knuckles allows me to purchase coffee for sources. But no booze. And your other talent seems to be in play. She winked at me, then waved me toward a table in front of Beanzies.

My other talent? Selling real estate? I didn’t bother to sit, and opted to step up to the order window. Caramel tornado, please.

Oh, been talking to your cousin in the UK again? Amanda rang it into the till. I tapped my cane handle, which was also my wand, against the payment pad.

I said I’d get your coffee. Billie sounded hurt, but one glance back at her showed a grin on her round face.

On a reporter’s salary? You’d order a black coffee in the kid-sized cup.

No… Old G’Knuckles gave me an expense account for major stories, and you’re in the middle of a big one.

Amanda gave a small gasp. Did you find another body? Who is it? Or would that be was?

Corbin Corbie, the jet-setting playboy. Billie flipped her notebook open. Seems to have fallen off the cliff up at Corbie Mansion. Or was pushed.

Or fell. I remembering the smell of booze on him. He seemed more like a social drinker. Someone who had a drink in hand at all times but rarely sipped it.

Well, he was a huge playboy. Billie checked her notes. Hardly ever in St. Mo. When he was, always had a few of the jet-setter fae crowd with him. The crazy-rich level, even though he barely qualified for that level. The young ladies liked his company, though. Pity he was pushed off the cliff.

You keep saying pushed. Who said pushed? He could have easily fallen given the smell of whiskey on him.

Ah, you corroborate my other source, then. Billie said.

You chatted with Norris Neddleson from the bank? I shook my head. I thought they sign a non-disclosure form as part of their teleport duties?

I’m sure he did. Billie’s grin grew. But you can’t keep a leprechaun quiet over spilt Irish whiskey. The entire bank staff was bemoaning it when I went in to transfer money into my expense account. The teller even said a Realtor was there with Mr. Neddleson. I figured it had to be you, since Corbie wasn’t the type to put up with your old boss.

Amanda set the milk pitcher under the steam wand. The gurgle of the wand belching steam into the metal pitcher died off then she looked my way. "So you found him? Poor thing. Always finding dead people."

She and her mafioso client did.

I gave Billie a stern look. Have you asked Aleks Baranov if he’s in the mafia?

Please. He’s a wereshark. All Russian weresharks are part of the mafia. Billie glanced off toward the bay, where, three miles out, the Tiger was anchored. Since he’s your client, can you make the introductions? I’d love to interview him.

Perhaps you should contact their media relations person. I gave her a polite smile that had a don’t push me on a client–privacy issue embedded in it.

Oh, fine. Let’s get back to old man Corbie. You listed his estate right before he died. Did he tell you where the old pirate treasure from his father’s time is buried? Billie dropped onto a bench at the steel table right next to where I stood. Only one other patron was nearby. He sat two tables away, reading a paper. He had a fae glamour about him, so I didn’t worry about gabbing about fae issues.

"I thought every teen in St. Mo spent a few years looking for that