“I will, dear. I just hope, as their name says, the Sunshine Wiccan Society is full of sunshine and rainbows. I’m sure if there was anything evil going on, Dorian would sense it.” She put her hand over her mouth, realizing that Dorian had sensed it—as in her dream—or nightmare. “I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you I’m worried about her, Lizzy. Never thought a bad dream could affect someone so much.” Aunt Amelia frowned, a rare facial expression, then removed the knitted cozy from the pot and poured more tea into her cup.
“You’re right, Auntie. I can relate to the power of bad dreams.” Occasionally, Liz had woken drenched in sweat, heart racing, and head pounding after a nightmare where she’d relived the night she’d been scarred. It was a blessing they’d been coming less frequently. It was thanks to all her family and loved ones at the Indialantic, including Ryan Stone. Time didn’t heal all wounds, but it sure as heck made them sting less.
Blowing on her steaming cup of tea, Aunt Amelia said, “She’ll be fine as soon as her fiancé arrives, but I’m worried about their future together.”
The aroma of mint and orange wafted toward Liz. “Just hope whatever happens, it doesn’t happen here.”
Famous last words…
Chapter 2
An hour before the emporium closed its doors, Liz was in Deli-casies perusing the bounty of her and Ryan’s work for tomorrow’s Mystical Merfest. Tins of Aunt Amelia’s now-trademarked Island Bliss Tea had been packed up and put on a rolling cart. They’d affixed labels to the glass jars of Pop’s mango/jalapeno and guava/lime chutney and filled a basket holding brown paper bags of Deli-casies special blend coffees. Five tents corresponding to each of the emporium shops had already been erected in the emporium’s parking lot.
The tents had been Aunt Amelia’s idea to bring in extra revenue from the influx of tourists coming to the island for the festival. Besides Deli-casies by the Sea, there would be tents for Sirens by the Sea, a women’s clothing and jewelry shop; Home Arts by the Sea, a women’s lifestyle and arts collective; Zig’s Surf Shop by the Sea, a surfboard and hang ten surfer’s paradise; and Books & Browsery by the Sea, a used book and collectibles shop. Josie’s flower truck would also have a space in the parking lot, along with the Island Eats food truck. When Dorian had booked her wedding venue, she’d also asked Aunt Amelia to have a tent set up for her to do psychic readings. All the proceeds would go toward the Sight Network, Dorian’s favorite charity, where doctors traveled the world, restoring sight to people in underdeveloped countries. Seeing Julian Rhodes was so worried about Dorian’s safety, Liz wondered what he thought of Dorian being exposed to the public on the same weekend as the wedding. Dorian’s face was famous from years of being a guest on TV talk shows when she was touted ‘Psychic to the Stars,’ plus her distinctive look with her long violet hair graced all her book jackets, not to mention the time she helped the police find five-year-old Jordan Styles unharmed after being abducted from a Florida beach.
“I think we’re all set, Bossy Pants,” Ryan said, striding over, grabbing her and bending her backward, then swooping in with a satisfying kiss.
Once upright, Liz admonished, “It is important to line the crate holding the chutney jars with bubble wrap. I wasn’t being bossy, Snoopy Pants. And speaking of bossy, I noticed you rechecking my labeling of the coffees.”
“Touché,” he replied with a roughish grin. A lank of glossy, almost black hair fell in front of his dark eyes, making him appear more vulnerable than usual. Liz had been smitten ever since he’d moved into the caretaker’s cottage on the Indialantic’s grounds. It was supposed to be a temporary arrangement until Ryan’s grandfather got back on his feet following a knee operation. After the surgery, Ryan had planned on returning to Brooklyn where he was the lead FDNY arson investigator for his fire station. Fast-forward a year later, Ryan was now a permanent island resident, part-time worker in his grandfather’s gourmet deli, and a licensed private investigator who assisted Liz’s father, attorney Fenton Holt.
Ryan was also Liz’s main squeeze, or should she say, only squeeze. They were in a committed relationship. She didn’t need Dorian to foresee their future. She saw it right now in Ryan’s smiling eyes. Earlier, she’d told him all about her tea with Dorian Starwood. Ryan had met Dorian the previous night for dinner at Squidly’s Bar and Grill, a top rated seafood restaurant in walking distance of the Indialantic. Aunt Amelia and her new love interest Ziggy, owner of Zig’s Surf Shop in the emporium, had also been at the restaurant, keeping Dorian busy with her prognostications of the elderly couple’s rosy future. Aunt Amelia had giggled and blushed, saying, “Tell us more! Tell us more!” Sounding like her repetitive macaw, Barnacle Bob. Before Dorian had had a chance to move on to Liz and Ryan’s future, one of Dorian’s fans had recognized her and commandeered her over to a table of tourists from Michigan. Like TV character actress Amelia Eden Holt, Dorian seemed to love performing in front of crowd. Which made it sad that Dorian planned to have such a small wedding.
She took a sip of her macchiato, then set it on the barista counter. “I’m very curious to meet Dorian’s fiancé, Julian Rhodes, leader of the Sunshine Wiccan Society.”
“The what?” Ryan asked, arching his perfect brow. He held open one of the swinging doors while Liz passed through, pushing the cart packed with their choices for the Mystical Merfest tent.
“I know,” Liz said, stopping the cart next to the restaurant grade stainless steel stove in Deli-casies kitchen. “I’ve never met a Wiccan, witch, or warlock before. He’s supposed to be arriving soon, along with Dorian’s children, and her financial advisor. I think it should be an interesting two days. I’ve already texted Betty his name and the society’s name so she can do what she does best, cyber sleuthing from afar while visiting her granddaughter in Jacksonville.” Indialantic resident Betty Lawson was an eighty-three-year-old teenage mystery writer who back in the late sixties to early seventies had written five Nancy Drew books under the pseudonym Carolyn Keene. Because of a nondisclosure agreement Betty wasn’t even at liberty to tell Liz which books she’d written. Not that Liz hadn’t tried. She remembered reading, Mystery at the Moss Covered Mansion and knew it took place in Cocoa Beach, just a couple towns over from the Indialantic. Liz had presented her theory to Betty, saying, “Ah Ha! Gotcha!” Betty had only answered with a sly smile. She was as good at writing and solving mysteries as keeping them.
“And here we go! Off to the races,” Ryan said.
“What does that mean?”
“Getting involved in something you have no business getting involved with. And getting Betty involved too.”
“Dorian isn’t just Auntie’s psychic but a close family friend. As a P.I., I thought you of all people would understand. The guy is twenty-five years younger than her, for gosh sakes!”
“I’m younger than you.”
“By two months. Which makes me wiser and that’s what Dorian should be when marrying someone who doesn’t have any family or friends to vouch for him at their wedding. If he’s the head of a whole society, where are his followers? Dorian said he’s bringing his own altar. They’ve coordinated the wedding with the summer solstice and the Mystical Merfest. A marriage of two nontraditional spiritual beliefs, as Dorian put it.”
“Hope the altar wasn’t used for any sacrifices?”
She passed him a dirty look. “I’m serious. And why wouldn’t they get married at his Wiccany place? Surrounded by all his followers?”
Ryan laughed. “Wiccany? Maybe he just doesn’t want a big-hurrah blowout wedding. Most men don’t. It might be a guy thing. Maybe if he’s a witch or a warlock he’s cast a spell on Ms. Starwood?”
“Exactly! I rest my case.”
“Now, who’s being a Snoopy pants?”
“I