A Spot of Bother Read online

  A Spot of Bother

  A Poppy Blue paranormal fantasy

  Magenta Wilde

  Wilde Magenta Publications

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  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

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Also by Magenta Wilde

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  A Spot of Bother, book four in the Poppy Blue paranormal fantasy series.

  Text copyright 2019 Magenta Wilde. All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, businesses, places and events written about herein are either the creation of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover art by Nadine Veresk, via DepositPhotos.com.

  Produced with Vellum software.

  Dedication

  I’ve dedicated my other books to my mother, and was considering leaving this page blank, for simplicity’s sake, but this year turned out to be one of loss.

  On June 15, 2019, my mother passed away at the age of 81.

  It took some struggles to get this book finished because she’d been under hospice care, and then, well, grief.

  Oddly, though, once I returned to finish this book, bringing her to life (sort of, since Fiona is heavily based on her but she’s not quite a carbon copy, either), it felt kind of good.

  She had a life of ups and downs and many highs and lows, and I struggled to figure out the best tribute. Eventually the best place seemed to be on the written page. Some stories in these books, they’re real things that my mother has said and done, and others are things that have come almost eerily easily to me.

  I am pretty certain she’d like to live on as a sassy broad who both shocks and delights.

  With that said, rest in peace, Mama. If there is an afterlife, I hope it’s populated with dogs, a private beach to sun yourself by, Chippendale dancers who carry you around and light your cigarettes for you, and the biggest lobster dinners garnished with loads of butter.

  1

  “Would you get a load of this place!”

  The place in question was a century-old building that Scott Seymour — a good friend and amicable (really!) ex-boyfriend twice over — was planning to turn into the Upper Peninsula's latest and greatest brewpub. Accompanying us was Roger Montgomery — the scion of a local lumber mill and my new boyfriend of some months.

  Scott asked us to look over the place because we were not only friends but local business owners ourselves. Roger ran a successful auto repair shop and I had a store called Blue’s Boutique — named after me, Poppy Blue — where I sold witchy wares and souvenirs.

  It was November in northern Michigan and the weather had turned cold and drab. The trees had been stripped of autumn leaves for nearly a month, and the last couple days we’d experienced icy winds and sleet, so we couldn’t even indulge in a snowball fight or a ride on a snowmobile.

  Tonight in particular it was bone-chillingly cold and we’d all agreed to congregate at Scott’s place to throw a little elbow grease toward helping him ready the site. To warm our spirits Scott had some of his new brews and ciders for us to sample. We’d be working, sure, but most of us were feeling downright giddy, quickly falling into some joshing and play fighting within the confines of the future Redmond Keep.

  It was dubbed Redmond because of Scott’s silent investor. The Keep part was for Jordan.

  Jordan was here now, his color high and his hazel eyes sparkling. He’d arrived a bit soaked from the rain and his mop of dark hair was drying and twisting into a few locks that tumbled over his forehead. It looked surprisingly good for having been whipped and wetted by weather not so long ago, but whether it was his good genes, some good product, or his magical ability to sort things into their proper order was beyond me. Still, he looked cute.

  Jordan also happened to work for my magick shop as well as for my mother and stepfather’s resale and collectibles store, Thingamajigs. Jordan had quickly become a very welcome addition to our weird and witchy family.

  I had accepted a large cider a few moments before and made quick work of quenching my thirst, so I was feeling a bit tipsy and I marveled at just how pretty-handsome the eighteen-year-old was. Not that he was inspiring any lust in me — for one thing, I was head over heels for Roger. I was simply admiring his beauty.

  “God, he sure is easy on the eyes,” Vanessa sighed as she swayed over to me. She also worked for my shop and for Thingamajigs. She had gotten to the Keep a little before we had, and had already kicked off her boots and been sliding around on her thick woolen socks. Even without shoes she stood taller — just a bit — than me. She also took up more space, in all the ways men like, with her curves and her flowing honey-blonde locks. My mother had hired her because, well, to put it simply, she was a babe. Even I, who had never done the collegiate sapphic explorations that some girls dabble in, found her astonishingly beautiful.

  I had hired her around the same time as Mom because I had just fired a problematic employee and I needed a new one. We’d both kept her on because she was good, honest and smart.

  Vanessa also thought Jordan was that intriguing blend of beautiful and manly, but she, too, was in a happy relationship. Her beau, Ethan, was here to help as well.

  Ethan was drinking soda pop, but he seemed inclined to let Vanessa indulge in as many drinks as she liked. He was already bringing her another glass of cider.

  “This is a spicy one,” he smiled as he handed the drink to her.

  I took a quick look around and it seemed like most of the men here were sticking to the non-alcoholic options, and the women were allowed to run wild.

  Jordan wasn’t drinking because he was underage, of course, but he was definitely a bit drunk on love. His sweetheart Ash was out of town, dealing with some sort of matter, but he’d alerted Jordan that he’d be returning to town before Thanksgiving. The teen had gone from plain good spirited to downright giddy at the news.

  Tom, Mom’s husband, and my guy Roger also weren’t drinking, but those two were members of Alcoholics Anonymous so they abstained.

  Mike Milligan, my friend Trish’s boyfriend, was draining a beer with one hand, and then promptly shoveling in a huge slice of pizza with the other. He was a big and burly guy, so he presumably had a higher tolerance (or thought he had). Trish, in true Trish fashion, was keeping pace with her man, but when she spotted Vanessa and me off to the side, she handed her bottle to Mike, sang out my name and did an enthusiastic cartwheel in my direction.

  “Ta-dah!” she capped off the move, jabbing her arms in the air and turning in a circle to face everyone in the room in a sort of victory salute. “A perfect score, and Trish gets the gold.”

  Vanessa and I set our drinks to the side and applauded and whooped in apprec
iation as we bumped hips and did a little dance amongst ourselves.

  The racket caught the men’s attention. Roger approached, his pale blue eyes sparkling with mirth. “I see you guys are really in the spirit of helping,” he teased.

  “We’ll be keeping your spirits up while you lug things around and labor,” I teased back as I hopped over to meet him. I wrapped my arms around him and swayed back and forth. In response he scooped me up and swung me around before setting me down.

  “You keep moving like that,” Roger breathed into my ear, his deep voice sending a shiver up my spine, “and something else is going to be up, if you know what I mean.” I smiled in response.

  “I want a turn!” Vanessa sang out, motioning for Ethan to do the same with her. She met him halfway and he spun and dipped her low before giving her a deep kiss. As he was about to pull back, she clamped the sides of his face and held him firmly to her lips and the pair got lost in their lust for a moment. When Vanessa released him, he had this expression of “whoa!” on his face.

  I began to laugh. “Now I know why you keep serving her. She’s a wild one when liquored up.”

  “You know it,” he said, his eyes crinkling. He took her glass and topped it off before handing it back to her.

  Remembering that Roger was appraising the space I turned to him. “Did you find anything of interest?” I asked.

  “This whole place is of interest,” he replied. “This building is at least a hundred years old, and not much has been changed. It’s mostly just been masked with drywall, and only the plumbing and electric was renovated a couple decades back, so it’s like the whole place is a time capsule.”

  His eyes were bright as he looked around at the old brick and stone work. He pointed up at some wood detailing. “Look at that. You don’t see carved wood like that these days.” He reached up and gave a knock. “Solid oak, too.”

  “There is a lot of cool stuff around here,” I agreed, my eyes drifting to the ceiling.

  Roger’s gaze followed mine as he held me in his arms. “Look at the details in those tin ceiling tiles. You rarely see that level of craftsmanship anymore.”

  I smiled. The workmanship was beautiful. So was his enthusiasm. I liked history, but his glee over the detail work shone a new light on it for me.

  I turned to Scott. “Are you preserving a lot of these details?”

  He nodded. “Yes, and uncovering a lot. Some stuff was drywalled and tiled over years ago for the place’s various incarnations. Mostly for the ’50s place, since they wanted to fast-forward the décor a few decades.”

  “Yes, I remember the checkerboard floor tiles. I’m glad this didn’t get torn down or ripped out,” I said as I tapped my foot on the hardwood floor for emphasis.

  “They wouldn’t have been allowed to,” Roger said. “The city frowns upon destroying these historic buildings in the downtown zone.”

  “They also offer a few nice tax incentives,” Scott added. “Plus, this building in particular fit the vibe of the place I want to run.”

  I looked around. “It does look like you’re going for that retro-cool feel, but not trendy so much. Not something that’ll fall out of style in five years.”

  “Exactly,” Scott smiled.

  “Have you had any major issues,” Roger asked.

  “A few, but that’s to be expected,” Scott said. “We’re making a few updates to the electric and plumbing, repainting, refinishing, and a lot — I mean a lot — of cleaning. We just installed some new drywall and have started painting.”

  I looked at the walls in question. They were a pretty and delicate forget-me-not blue, but I wasn’t sure if I was looking at a before or after. “Um, who’s painting the walls?” I asked, squinting at the work.

  “Amber and I started that section, after drywalling and priming, and it warped and streaked,” Scott explained. “Then we primed it again, and the same problem happened. I’ve never had that issue before. I had a pro come in and he can’t find a sign of a leak or anything that would cause the issue.”

  I drew nearer, examining the paint job. It was streaky and warped and patchy, and had pilled in some spots. Out of the corner of my eye I thought I spied something. I turned and directed my gaze to that portion of the wall and was certain I saw a face, almost like the paint had dried randomly and the darker, still-wet spots had outlined a pair of eyes, a nose and lips.

  I drew nearer to examine the paint pattern but it seemed to dry up and vanish right before my eyes. I reached out to touch the spot in question. It was bone-dry but felt icy cold. I moved my hand a few feet away, and the wall there also felt dry, but only cool — not freezing cold — on my fingertips.

  “See something?” Roger asked, drawing near.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe a trick of the light,” I murmured.

  “Did you see some strange pattern in the paint, too?” Scott asked.

  I turned to Scott, and he gave a bleak nod. “Yeah, I can tell you saw it, too. I don’t know if it’s a trick of the light or if it dried unevenly, but I swear I’ve seen a face in the shadows or some kind of shadow out of the corner of my eye. Do you see or sense anything?”

  I’m a witch and can sometimes see ghosts. Scott knew, so the question wasn’t as strange as one might think.

  “I’m not sure. I thought I saw a couple features that brought to mind a face,” I admitted. “But it vanished so quickly. I also have never seen anything like that before. Now you’ve got me questioning things, like if some of those weird wood-grain patterns you see in some doors might be more than wood grain.”

  I smiled. I was half going for levity, but the freezing cold spot where the “face” had been made me wonder if something more was there.

  “A ghost is possible, though,” Scott said, “considering the age of this place.”

  “One hundred years is more than enough time,” I agreed, “so yes. Plus, this city is pretty old, having been settled in the 1600s.”

  “Do you see anything now?” Roger asked.

  I took another look around the place but didn’t, so I shook my head no.

  “What are you planning on doing about the walls now?” I asked.

  “Amber suggested changing the color,” Scott replied.

  “What? Like the color is the problem?” Roger asked.

  “Not really,” Scott smirked. “She’s just tired of it after seeing two coats of it. She’s decided on a warm medium green, I guess you could call it.”

  “I hope it’s just a wonky batch of paint,” I said.

  “You and me both.”

  “So are you having any other issues?” I asked.

  “Just all kinds of odd little things,” Scott continued. “Sometimes we catch a really intense draft, and not always by a window. I’m trying to track down the source. Sometimes the mirrors seem to smudge or fog for no apparent reason. The lights go out in the basement a lot, but the electrician can’t pinpoint a reason. Hopefully the upgrade will fix that. Sometimes things seem to go missing or get misplaced. At best it’s quirky, but at worst … .”

  “It has been vacant for awhile and you’re making a lot of changes, so you’re bound to have a few hiccups,” Roger offered, his tone reassuring.

  “Maybe,” Scott said, “but sometimes I wonder, especially considering this spot’s track record.”

  “Let’s see … It’s been an ice cream parlor, a fifties joint, a gay bar, an Irish pub, a rib joint, among other things,” I rattled off, using my fingers.

  Scott nodded.

  “I still think it’s just not had the right business. I mean an ice cream parlor — year-round — in the Sault? We only have warm weather in June, July and August really. It only makes sense to have a seasonal whippy-dip around here.”

  “Plus, fudge is king,” Roger added.

  “Followed by doughnuts,” I added. “And beer. If you serve the sacred hops and barley, they will come.”

  “I know you guys are trying to reassure me, but some of those businesses should ha
ve succeeded,” Scott argued.

  “Don’t get discouraged. Those other places had problems. Bad food, or bad management. You’ll do alright.”

  “I hope so. I really want this to work.”

  “Plus, my mother wants to go out a lot of the time,” I added. “So long as you serve food on real plates with real cutlery, she’ll want to come in often. And you know how she loves beer.”

  “And lots of it,” Scott laughed.

  I could see a bit of the unease lift from his eyes. “Don’t worry. It’ll work out. The place is looking great so far,” I added.

  Scott nodded. “Thanks. It’ll keep improving, too. I’m adding some cool new features. New sinks. I’m bringing in a pool table, and I’ll have a space for a small dance floor and a spot for bands to play. I might even do an open mic night. New lighting fixtures are on order. I managed to find some that look a bit old-fashioned but are more efficient, so it’ll keep an old-timey feel to the building without it running on old-timey inefficiencies. And fire hazards.” Scott grinned, then reached up to knock on a wooden beam above him. “Just in case.”

  “See,” I said, patting his arm in a reassuring manner. “You’ve got it all worked out.”

  “I just hope the plumbing stops acting up once it’s updated. We’re trying to troubleshoot now. We’ve had to clean up some water backup. I’m ready to invest in a maid’s uniform for myself.”

  I laughed at the visual that presented.

  “Are you thinking of that time I wore a kilt to the Renaissance Festival outside of Detroit?”