Plenty of Trouble Read online

  Plenty of Trouble

  A Poppy Blue fantasy

  Magenta Wilde

  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

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Plenty of Trouble, book two in the Poppy Blue paranormal fantasy series.

  Text copyright © 2017 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.

  Cover illustration by Enrique Mesequer/darksouls1, via Pixabay.com.

  Produced with Vellum software.

  Printed through CreateSpace.com.

  I dedicated my first book, Giving Up the Ghost, to my mother, but she deserves even more of a deferential nod for this story. If you read this and like the character of Fiona, she is basically my mother. Her cigarettes may be filtered, but her thoughts and opinions rarely are.

  I also have to give a shout-out to my husband. He patiently read through a couple drafts of a genre he would normally not read, and offered endless valuable insights, both as an editor and a lover of a well-crafted story.

  Stephen, you are truly something other than else.

  1

  “DAMN! DAMN it all to hell!”

  I whipped my head in the direction of the loud exclamations. My mother stood in the side entrance of my magick shop. She squeezed her eyes shut as if she was trying to erase some ugly image from her memory, then shook her bottle-blonde head and fluttered her eyes open and shut. I had a thought that maybe she’d hoped her false eyelashes would sweep away whatever she was distressed about. Instead she grimaced and stamped a high-heeled foot on the ground as she looked around my store.

  “Bad news, Fiona?” The question came from my employee Vanessa Morgan, a smile playing at her lips.

  My mother rolled her eyes at the shapely blonde.

  “Perhaps you need some retail therapy to cheer you up,” Vanessa continued, giving me a playful wink. “What do you think, Poppy?”

  “Yes,” I agreed, latching onto the suggestion. My mother did like to buy herself shiny trinkets when she was annoyed. I waved my hand around my store. “I know you tend not to go so much for the cauldrons, mother dearest, but we did just put out some new jewelry and some lovely Halloween candles.”

  “Don’t start with me, Poppy,” Mom seethed.

  “I wasn’t starting with you,” I soothed. “I was merely trying to calm you down, and I know you love sparkly things.”

  Vanessa, as if on cue, went to the jewelry display by the cash register and held up a pair of glittery earrings adorned with crescent moons and silvery stars.

  “Don’t try and distract me,” Mom groused. She froze, then squinted her eyes. “Wait? Are those opals?”

  Vanessa and I nodded in unison.

  “Poppy Blue, damn you!” Mom said, as she strode over to the items Vanessa held out to her. She snatched them away and looked them over with keen interest. “I’ll take them! And give me a good discount for having given birth to you. I was in labor for twenty-three hours, after all.”

  Vanessa and I smiled at one another as my mother put on the earrings.

  “Stop smirking at me, you two,” Mom ordered. “I’d forgotten to put on earrings today is all.”

  “Yes, and you live and work right across the parking lot, so it was such an inconvenience,” I drawled.

  “Never joke with customers in a way that might sway them from a sale,” Mom instructed.

  “Good point, but I sensed you might need a distraction from your awful news. Now, share with the class what it is that has you all worked up.”

  “Oh, I’m going to tell you, but how about you brew some coffee for me first?”

  Vanessa went to the back of the store as I pulled an extra chair over to the small table I had set up in a back corner. It looked like a part of the Halloween décor, with a violet tablecloth adorned with shimmery silver stars and a crystal ball and candles atop that, but I kept the area pretty much intact year-round because I read cards and palms for people in that location.

  Vanessa brought a trio of steaming mugs of coffee, and the three of us sat facing one another.

  “So, what is this news?” I began. “Can I expect a little brother or sister soon?”

  “What?” My mother’s expression was blank.

  “I was referring to your marriage last month.” In September she’d taken a trip to Las Vegas with her longtime love Tom Wheeler, and they returned as man and wife. She’d taken a lot of joy in announcing the news to our small northern town during an autumn celebration event. Mom had pranced around that evening whilst wearing a beaded white dress and enough bling to choke a drag queen. “I hope it’s at least nine months after the wedding, so you don’t cause a scandal.”

  My mother scowled at me. “Please. I do look good for my age, but even I am aware that I’m too old to poop out an infant.” She sighed dramatically and then continued. “We will be having company.” She was practically vibrating, she was so riled up.

  Mom took a long sip of her coffee and nodded at Vanessa in approval.

  “Who’s coming?” I asked.

  Mom raised an index finger to still me. She pulled a flask out of her pocket and topped off her coffee with a long stream of amber fluid.

  “That bad, huh?” Vanessa said.

  My mother offered the flask to us. We both shook our heads. “It’s Drambuie. It’s good with coffee.”

  “Then leave the flask here,” I said. “We’ll have a closing time nightcap.”

  “Like hell. I’m going to need a lot of this to get me through what’s coming.” She jammed the flask back into her pocket before taking another drink from her mug.

  Vanessa and I looked at one another. Who could be getting my mother this worked into a tizzy? I knew she was wondering it as much as I was. Mom had divorced my father many years back, but he’d also died when I was fifteen, so we knew that wasn’t it, though the anxiety she was radiating seemed geared toward a visit from an ex-husband with a much-younger wife.

  “Your Aunt Lindy is coming to visit.” My mother sighed again for dramatic effect.

  “That’s not so bad,” I started. They were a bit competitive like sisters can be, but they usually got along well despite the occasional drama.

  “I’m not finished,” she said, giving me a dark look. “She’s bringing your cousin Plenty.”

  I groaned. There was the rub.

  Vanessa frowned. “Wait? Your cousin’s name is Plenty?”

  “Yes,” I replied. “My aunt thought she should be named something more unusual than Michelle or Heather.”

  “Your family does seem to go for some more unusual names, considering you’re named P
oppy and Fiona is, well, Fiona. But Plenty? That sounds like something a puritan woman would be named. Goody Plenty. Plenty Mercy or something like that,” Vanessa said.

  “My sister named her Plenty because she wanted her to have plenty of blessings, plenty of riches, plenty of opportunities, plenty of good looks, plenty of love. And so on.”

  “Well, that’s actually a really nice sentiment,” Vanessa said. “The name’s a bit corny, but still.”

  My mother and I exchanged looks. I went on to explain. “We always say she’s plenty of trouble.”

  “I see.”

  My mother and I shook our heads in unison.

  “No,” I said. “But you will.”

  “Remind me to run to the drugstore and pick up a huge box of earplugs,” Mom said, her gaze pinned on me.

  “Earplugs?” Vanessa looked confused. “Does she play violin or something badly?”

  “No. But when they get here Plenty will find, um, plenty of things to complain about,” I explained.

  Mom bobbed her head in vigorous agreement.

  “Why? Are they coming from Florida or something so your cousin won’t like the cold?”

  It’s true that it was chilly up here. It was early October, but we were in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, so for a lot of people who lived in an area with four seasons, our Octobers were easily someone else’s Novembers or even their Decembers. And, true to our calendar, it was already pretty brisk and nippy outside. Just the other day we’d spotted some snow flurries.

  “They’re coming from Detroit,” Mom said. “So, it’ll be a bit colder up here in good old Sault Ste. Marie, but not too much.”

  “Yeah, she won’t complain about that part much,” I agreed. “She’ll complain about other things.”

  “Like what?” Vanessa asked as she crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair.

  “For starters she’ll whine that it’s a boring small town,” I began.

  “It is small, but we still have about fifteen thousand people in the area, and that’s not including the Canadian side, which has like four or five times the population. And we have the college. That at least adds a youthful vibe to the bar scene.”

  “And we do have plenty of bars,” Mom nodded.

  Our town sure did. In recent years a city committee had officially named the downtown area the BAR-muda Triangle as part of an effort to promote our nightlife scene. We didn’t have quite the same offerings a huge metropolitan area would have, but we had places to go dancing, spots to drink craft beers, a couple Irish bars, a few dives, plus your run-of-the-mill watering holes. Tucked in among the bars and pubs were a fair number of eateries to satisfy most cravings, and then in between and along the edges of the restaurants and bars you could find souvenir shops and tourist attractions.

  “True, we do have a lot of bars,” I agreed, “but she’ll complain: We’re not sophisticated enough. People are too casual or too outdoorsy. There aren’t a bunch of fancy restaurants or exclusive nightclubs to visit.”

  “She’ll also flirt with every man she sees,” Mom added. “She tends to base her worth on how many men notice her.”

  “Yes,” I agreed. “She will flirt with just about any guy she thinks is cute or rich, and if she thinks a guy is cute and rich, then watch out.”

  “Cute and rich isn’t a bad combo,” Vanessa said, “but I hope you’d want more than that.”

  “One would hope,” I agreed.

  “I’d also think if you’d complain about something up here it’d be about the endless winters, which she won’t have to endure, unless they’re planning a really long visit,” Vanessa offered.

  “I agree,” I said. “She won’t land on the weather unless it’s too icy or wet to wear high heels.”

  “That won’t stop her from wearing them,” Mom said. “It rarely stops me. Although in the winter I prefer to wear high-heeled boots with fringe or fur trim. It’s stylish and practical.”

  “Yes, three-inch heels are always practical,” I drawled, before focusing again on my cousin’s impending visit. “Then, Plenty will also make little digs about people’s hairstyles or clothing choices.”

  “Mostly she’ll pick on you,” Mom cut in.

  “Why pick on Poppy?” Vanessa trained her cornflower blue eyes on me. “Poppy’s pretty, and that bright red hair looks good against her pale skin.”

  “It’s too red,” Mom said in a matter-of-fact tone.

  “For you it is too red,” I said as I ran my hands over my maraschino cherry-hued locks. I happened to like the shocking color.

  “You should be blonde,” Mom said.

  “You always say that,” I grumbled. “I was blonde as a child and part of my teen years. I prefer it bright red or hot pink.”

  Mom shook her head in disapproval. “At least it’s not that dreadful shade of pink anymore.”

  “Oh, I liked it,” Vanessa offered. “It was so cheerful and bright. Especially when February rolled around.”

  “See,” I inclined my head in Mom’s direction. “Not everyone thinks it’s awful.”

  “And Roger likes it,” Vanessa added, referring to the man I’d begun dating recently.

  “You’re lucky. But I bet he’d like it more if it was blonde. Men prefer blondes, Poppy. That’s a fact. Look at Vanessa here. Men fall all over her.”

  She was right. They did. It wasn’t just because of her long blonde hair, however. It was also her heart-shaped face, full lips, and her hourglass figure. She had a personality as attractive as her exterior, too, which only fueled men’s – and some women’s – ardor.

  “Men would fall all over Vanessa no matter her hair color,” I scoffed.

  “Probably,” Mom agreed. “We’ll have to hit that little Halloween costume shop in front of the Haunted Hideaway and try on some wigs. Maybe we’ll get Vanessa a gray wig and granny glasses and see if she can reel men in as an old lady.”

  “Hmmm,” Vanessa mused. “I wonder how people would treat me if I looked differently. The other day I had a guy following me around the market while I shopped for groceries. He kept leering. Moments like that, I wonder what it would be like to be less, um, visible,” she said as she gazed down at her ample bosom.

  “And I’m wondering if I should get some of those chicken cutlet inserts and stuff them in my bra,” Mom said as she looked at Vanessa’s chest. “I wonder how I’d be treated if I were a D cup.”

  “Probably the same,” I said, “but you’d enjoy less eye contact from men.”

  “Yeah,” Vanessa agreed. “I don’t think too many men know what color my eyes are, to be honest.” She stood up, spotting some tourists milling around the front of my store, looking at my window display.

  I rose myself as a quartet of potential customers entered my store. “Hi,” I smiled. “Welcome to my shop, Blue’s Boutique. I’m Poppy. Let me know if you have any questions about the merchandise.”

  “This visit couldn’t come at a worse time,” my mother resumed complaining later. The shoppers had left, arms heavy with purchases. They had taken a liking to some handmade soaps, lotions and candles Vanessa and I had shown them.

  The shop empty once again, my favorite (and yes, only, but still …) employee had topped off our coffees (Mom had doctored hers with more Drambuie), then gone to the stock room to fulfill some online orders. My mother fidgeted and grumbled while I dusted and priced items.

  “Why? What’s so bad about the timing?”

  “It just is. Tom and I are settling in as newlyweds.”

  “You may have just gotten married last month,” I began, “but you’ve been living together for many years.”

  “It’s still an adjustment, psychologically.”

  I had my doubts, but I held my tongue.

  “Plus, the house isn’t ready for company,” she added, “and our shop is in, um, flux.”

  Ah, there was the rub. Mom and Tom ran a rather informal antiques and collectibles shop, though it really was more a resale store, dubbed Thingamajigs.
It occupied the front part of their two-story red vinyl-sided house across the gravel parking lot our stores and their home shared. Right now, their home and Thingamajigs looked like the love child of Sanford and Son and three seasons of Hoarders. I was exaggerating, but not by much.

  “Maybe you could hire a maid service to tidy things up a bit,” I offered. “They can probably do a bang-up job in a day or two.”

  “It’s not just that,” Mom began. “I want the place to reflect me. You know, all fancy and expensive and stylish. I want Lindy to see that I’m doing well.”

  “You’re happily married and have a cozy – albeit messy – home, and want for nothing. You are doing well.”

  “Well, I want to make it look better than that.”

  “You mean you want Aunt Lindy to think you’re better off than she is.”

  Mom shrugged, then nodded. “I suppose you could put it that way.”

  “I think the house and shop will look fancier and more stylish if you clear the dirty dishes off the coffee and end tables, and you throw out all the old magazines and newspapers,” I offered. “That’d make a world of difference.”

  Mom rolled her eyes at me again. “You know, Poppy. You’re a bit piggy yourself.”

  “Yes, I know I let things pile up a bit, but I do vacuum and mop and dust regularly. I also have been known to throw things away. I think when people visit my house they think I have interesting books and nice odds and ends on my shelves. I don’t think they wonder what’s inside or behind the forty-seven office boxes that are lined along the walls.”