Fried Chicken & Fangs (A Southern Charms Cozy Mystery Book 2) Read online

  Fried Chicken & Fangs

  A Southern Charms Cozy Mystery

  Bella Falls

  Evermore Press

  Copyright © 2018 by Bella Falls

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author, except where permitted by law or for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  All Rights Reserved.

  Cover by Victoria Cooper

  Created with Vellum

  Also by Bella Falls

  A Southern Charms Cozy Mystery Series

  Moonshine & Magic: Book 1

  Fried Chicken & Fangs: Book 2

  Sweet Tea & Spells: Book 3

  Lemonade & Love Potions (a short in the Hexes & Ohs Anthology)

  For a FREE exclusive copy of the prequel Chess Pie & Choices, sign up for my newsletter!

  Share recipes, talk about Southern Charms and all things cozy mysteries, and connect with me by joining my reader group Southern Charms Cozy Companions!

  Contents

  Preface

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Southern Charms Cozy Mystery Series

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Preface

  The story of Fried Chicken & Fangs occurs after the Southern Charms short Lemonade & Love Potions, found in the Hexes & Ohs Anthology, where failed cupid Skeeter Jones throws a singles mingle event that goes slightly wrong.

  Reading the short isn’t necessary, but it will enhance your experience in enjoying Southern Charms Cozy Mystery Book 2.

  Chapter One

  “I hate you.” I glared at Blythe, sitting down next to me, smugness radiating off her.

  The bright sun’s rays beat down on us, giving me a powerful hankerin’ for some sweet tea. But even some of the sweet nectar of the South might not improve my mood.

  “Next time, maybe you should volunteer to be on the committee. Then you might not get stuck doing something you don’t want to do. Here.” One of my closest friends and longtime confidantes pushed a tall cup with a lid and straw into my hand. “Maybe this will make it all better and stop your sulking.”

  I had been one of the biggest supporters of making changes to Honeysuckle Hollow, and I counted the idea to add a Saturday market open to the magical community at large surrounding our small isolated town as one of my better contributions…behind the scenes. But I would figure out who volunteered my behind to sit at a table with a sign labeled Lost & Found. I would find them, and then I would hex their hiney into the next century.

  “Not likely,” I pouted. “Who’s bright idea was it to make me in charge of this?” I tore off the sign and waved it in front of my friend’s face.

  Blythe made little effort to stifle a chuckle. “Someone said that at other farmers’ markets and flea markets that they’ve been to, there’s always a Lost & Found table. We wanted to be like all the others.”

  “But who decided to make me be in charge of it?” I narrowed my eyes at her. I didn’t know how a table like mine worked at markets outside in the human world, but I had a nagging suspicion how it would turn out with me and my tracking powers in charge of things.

  She shrugged her shoulders. “Not my place to tell. If you want to join the committee—”

  “I am not going to join a group with that name,” I interrupted.

  “Aw, come on. You know that’s not the official name. That’s what Henry calls us whenever he hangs out at Harvest Moon,” protested my friend.

  “He calls you POOP. Posse Of Open Progress. Nobody should volunteer to be a part of POOP. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. Names are important.” Taking a sip of sweet tea, I slumped into the back of my chair, giving side eye to the few people lingering in front of my table and reading the sign that Blythe had put back in place.

  “The committee doesn’t have a name. It’s just a group of us that the council put together to discuss and help implement new ideas and changes to our sleepy little Southern community. With the upcoming election for the new council seat, you know things are gonna get tense around here.” Blythe looked over at the gazebo where others were setting up for the candidate speeches later that evening.

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “Whenever Nana’s stressed, she cooks and bakes up a storm. She’s sent so much good food home with me to Tipper’s house, I haven’t had to fire up the stove once.”

  “Not Tipper’s house. Your house. You need to get used to saying that. It’s been long enough, honey bun.” My friend rubbed my back. “How’s the clean out going, by the way?”

  “It’s gonna take me a long time to go through all of my great-uncle’s things. I don’t want to throw anything out that has value.” I sighed at the thought of the daunting task. “Beau has actually been a big help.”

  When I’d offered the plump older vampire and former best friend to my great-uncle the opportunity to continue to stay and live in the house as my roommate, I would have never guessed how much I would appreciate his presence. And not just for his cheerful willingness to sort through all the stuff that Tipper had hoarded, although my occasional and usually empty threats to kick him Beau might have been an influencing factor.

  Blythe pointed in front of us. “Uh-oh. Incoming.”

  Skeeter Johnson bobbed and fluttered in our direction until he hovered up and down in front of us, his wings working overtime to hold up his plump cherub body. The disgraced and unemployed cupid’s hangdog face drooped with even more disappointment than usual. “Excuse me, Miss Charli. But I could use your help findin’ something.” He pointed at the sign.

  “What’s missing?” I asked. “Did you lose something here at the market?”

  He shook his head, the trucker’s hat he wore on top of his messy curls shaking off-center. “No, no, Miss Charli. I mean, I could use your skills to help me find a specific item that I seem to have misplaced.” He cast his eyes to the ground in shame.

  My heart took pity on the poor fella, and I sighed. “Fine. What is it you lost?”

  His eyes brightened at my willingness to help. “You see, I have an interview coming up. The supervisor of Cupid Local 303 is willing to reinstate me on a probationary basis.”

  “That’s great. Congratulations.” Unable to clap him on the back due to his wings, I held up my fist for him to bump.

  He stared at my hand, unwilling to accept my praise, his lower lip trembling. “Except, I lost my quiver.” He rung his small hands together in worry, his eyes darting around him to make sure nobody heard his shame.

  Having had experience with one of his disasters, I pushed the tiny troublemaker. “Just the quiver? Or what goes inside it as well?”

  Any cupid worth his or her salt needed their offici
al equipment. On top of that, having a Cupid's arrow out in the open for anyone to find meant trouble with a capital T. The little bugger blushed and averted his eyes in response. Pixie poop.

  I stood up, stopping Blythe from yelling at the helpless guy. “Okay, Skeeter. Give me your hand, and I'll see what I can do.” I concentrated and gathered my energy and focus, waiting for the touch of his skin.

  For a few months, I had been working on building my tracking skills, or birddoggin’ as my late great-Uncle Tipper used to call it. Before that, I had left my hometown to learn from others with magical talents like mine. When I'd first returned, my practicing time got waylaid by a teeny tiny little death curse that almost killed me. My skin had grown much tougher to the odd stares and occasional whispers. Still, after details of how I’d helped solve my great-uncle’s murder leaked, most everybody at least respected my peculiar magic.

  With the cupid’s hands clasped in mine, I gave him instructions to help me. “Picture the items you want. It might help to think about where they were the last time that you saw your things? You got that in your mind?”

  Skeeter scrunched his eyes closed. “Think so.” The trucker’s hat on his curly little head threatened to fall off his nodding head.

  I closed my eyes, commencing the first steps of connection. “Concentrate on them,” I demanded, following his lead and shutting out the rest of the world.

  “Hold on,” interrupted Skeeter.

  I blinked my eyes open. “What?” I asked in annoyance.

  He tilted his head. “Aren't you going to say a rhyme or something? I thought that you needed words to help?”

  “No, not always.” I rolled my shoulders back and pulled the hovering cupid closer to me. “But if you need me to say them, then I will,” I granted through gritted teeth.

  Composing quickly in my mind, I cast my rhyme. “So Skeeter’s chances don't wane or wither, help me find where he placed his quiver. Let's not make the search too narrow, we also need the bow and arrow.”

  Making sure the cupid was satisfied, I shut both eyes and concentrated. Images flashed in my head, and I felt the connection to the items draw me to them. His house. The Harvest Moon Cafe. The post office. Images of places where Skeeter might have visited appeared and vanished as I mentally followed the trail. One final place popped up, and I had it.

  I let go of him. “How much money did you lose?” I accused.

  “Lose?” His puffy cheeks reddened. “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

  Rolling my eyes, I got straight to the point. “At Lucky's. Guessing you had some money ridin’ on a game of darts with the leprechaun. Not exactly a smart plan, considering that the Rainbow's End is his bar, and luck tends to be on his side.” I raised my left eyebrow at the cupid.

  Skeeter hung his head. “I took off my equipment so that I could have more arm movement. And you're right, he took most of everything I had with me.”

  “Well, he's got your stuff, too. But Lucky’s good people, and he has it stashed behind his bar, waiting for you to come get it. So you better hurry,” I advised. When he wobbled away in the air, he left someone else waiting for me.

  A couple of teenage boys smirked and stepped up, elbowing each other and trying to push the other one into talking to me.

  “Can I help you?” I asked with suspicion.

  The taller of the two got pushed by his friend and stumbled into the table. “Hey. I, uh, need to find something,” he stammered. His face reddened while his friend snickered at him behind his back.

  “And what's that?” asked Blythe, joining me at my side, challenging him.

  Clearing his throat for courage, the towering teenager pointed at me. “Don't I get to hold her hand first before I say?”

  “Depends.” I crossed my arms over my chest, looking up at him. “Do you really have something you need to find?”

  Despite his friend’s chuckles, the boy in front of me lost his nerve and shook his head. “No, ma'am. Not really. He bolted away from the table, and his friend followed close behind, laughing with too much glee.

  Blythe glared in their direction. “I may have to tell their mom about their behavior.”

  “Who’s their mom?” I asked, miffed at being called ma’am.

  “Lina Mosely.”

  My mouth dropped. “Those are the two Mosely boys? The last time I remember talking to them, they were knee-high to a gnome.”

  Blythe elbowed me. “Look out. Here comes trouble.”

  My brother Matt approached with his wife following behind. “We come in peace,” he declared, placing a plate full of food and another cup of sweet tea in front of me.

  “I’ve never been so happy to see you,” I said in relief. “Whoever assigned me to this table should be fried in hot oil like chicken.”

  My brother snickered. “Someone definitely has a sick sense of humor.”

  I left my post and maneuvered around the table to hug my sister-in-law. Her growing belly pushed against me so that my hug became a little awkward. “Hey, Traci Jo, what do you know? Although I should say Traci Jo and Junior now.

  Despite my troubles at the Founders’ ceremony, my brother had found the time to celebrate the event and take advantage of the massive amounts of magic released that evening, resulting in our newest family member still cooking inside TJ's belly, which had finally popped out. “I can't wait to meet the new Goodwin.”

  TJ blushed. “We still have a while to go. In the meantime, tell your brother that he doesn't have to act as my bodyguard for the next few months.” Their large dog, Ross, leaned his massive body against my brother, proving he had what it took to take care of his Mistress and the precious cargo she carried.

  “See, even Ross the Hoss agrees with your wife.” The dog rightfully earned his nickname. If I were a few years younger and a lot of pounds lighter, I might have attempted to ride him like a horse. Instead, I accepted loads of his slobber while attempting to pet him. “Are you neglecting your warden duties, Deputy Goodwin?” I nagged.

  “No, I do my job just fine.” My brother snatched a slice of cornbread from my plate and ate it out of spite. “But tell my stubborn wife that she can hire people to help her take care of the animals. She doesn't have to do it all on her own.”

  “I keep telling you, pregnancy does not make me an invalid,” countered my sister-in-law.

  “Still, you shouldn't be moving heavy bags of feed or putting yourself in a dangerous position when you're checking on the bigger animals.” My brother turned his attention to me. “The Tanners’ old mule almost kicked her when she checked on it the other day.”

  “And yet, I'm still standing.” TJ stole the last of the cornbread out of my brother’s hand and gulped it down.

  I held up my hands. “If you think I'm getting in the middle of this, then the two of you have unicorn manure between your ears. You're both right, and you both love each other. If you start from there, then I'll bet you can figure it out. If you don't, Nana is bound to find out, and then you'll both be sorry.”

  Reminding my brother about what happened when our grandmother got involved to solve arguments straightened him up real quick. He sighed and kissed his wife on the forehead, the nose, and then her lips. “Let's leave my brat of a sister alone to work the table. Maybe she can spend the rest of her time here pondering whose idea it was to put her there.” He flinched out the way of my swinging hand and ushered his wife away with a protective arm hovering behind her.

  “Coward,” I screamed after him. “Using a pregnant wife as a shield against a hex.” Shaking my head, I returned to my seat.

  Blythe patted my back and stood up. “I’m gonna go find Lily and Lavender and see if they sold out of all their flowers. I might buy Granny a bunch to brighten her day.”

  “You mean you really do have a heart beating somewhere in that chest of yours?” I teased, grinning at my friend’s sweet soul she did her best to hide from the rest of the world.

  “Shh. Don’t go spreading that aro
und. I have my reputation to preserve. Hey, you’re going to the candidate speeches tonight, right?” she asked as she backed away.

  “I intend to. Save me a seat?” I requested.

  Shooting me two thumbs up, she waved and headed in the opposite direction. She stopped for a moment to speak to Horatio, who handed her a piece of paper.

  Maggie West, Sheriff Big Willie’s wife, approached me and asked for my help in locating their half-Sasquatch baby’s favorite blanket. I held up my forefinger and let the little hairy fingers of the baby curl around it. With little effort, the connection formed, and I told her to retrace her steps to the vegetable stand and check on the ground beside a large basket of zucchini. She thanked me and went to retrieve the dropped item.

  “Excuse me,” croaked a familiar elderly witch who had waited patiently. She squinted at me. “I seem to have misplaced my glasses somewhere.”

  “Okay, Ms. Flossy. Let me see if I can help.” I held out my hand.

  When I focused my talents, a clear image formed in my head. My eyes popped open, and I shivered in disgust. “On a bedside table,” I uttered. “Do I need to say where?”

  Ms. Flossy tittered. “Oh, that’s right. I’ll have to get Beau to bring them to me.” She thanked me and shuffled off.

  I would have to scrub my brain at the thought of her being with my roommate. And I might have to threaten the old vampire within an inch of his undead life about bringing his dates back to my house. If not anything else, I did not need to know about any hankyin’ or pankyin’ happening under my roof when nothing more than a brief friendly hug was going on in my life.