Bohemian Tragedy, page 1
BOHEMIAN TRAGEDY
BEWITCHING MIDLIFE CRISIS MYSTERIES
BOOK 2
DAKOTA CASSIDY
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Cover Artist: Renee George
Editor: Kelli Collins
Bohemian Tragedy Book 2
Bewitching Midlife Crisis Mysteries
Published 2023 by Dakota Cassidy
Copyright © 2023, Dakota Cassidy
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of Dakota Cassidy.
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, locales, or events is wholly coincidental. The names, characters, dialogue, and events in this book are from the author’s imagination and should not to be construed as real.
Manufactured in the USA.
Created with Vellum
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Hellloooo!
Welcome to Bewitching Midlife Crisis Mysteries, where being over fifty is phenomenal, empowering, and sometimes exhausting!
Please note, I’ve taken much artistic license with the various types of witches and thrown them all into a pot of witch’s stew—or is that brew?—and made up my own concoction of witch. If you know me, I’m sure you’re thinking, go figure, right?
Either way, this is my fictional take on witches in my equally fictional town of Buttermilk Bay, Massachusetts, where my intrepid sleuth, Evanora Lavinia Dark is over fifty, not without the inevitable aches and pains, yet still maintains a healthy zest for life and an appetite for solving a good mystery.
She’s left her corporate job full of stress and intestinal discord for her old hometown to open her own staging business. Much like me, Evan has a passion for decorating, but no formal training or degrees in design. She (again, like me) just loves a good throw pillow and even better, a good bargain throw pillow.
Thus, it seemed only natural for me to write an amateur sleuth with a love of decor.
On that note, thanks to all the YouTube designers (amateur and pro) for all the inspiration, and to all the HGTV shows I watch. Among just a few, No Demo Reno, Home Town, Unsellable Houses, Good Bones, Bargain Block, and naturally, my ultimate favorite, Fixer Upper. I’ve learned so much and I’m so grateful to have a channel to de-stress with when I need to come down from Investigation ID. LOL! But the biggest lesson I learned? Love what you love and the heck with what’s trendy and “out of style.” If you like duck wallpaper borders ala 1990, do it. You only live once!
Also, please note, the mystery in this book revolves around ancient history, but is totally made up. Complete fiction. So for all you history buffs, don’t shoot!
That said, I hope you enjoy the fun people of Buttermilk Bay and a strong, independent woman with solid female friendships, who’s empowered and living her life to the fullest, even with the ailments and challenges (can you say menopause) being over fifty can bring!
BOHEMIAN TRAGEDY
Hello again! It’s me, Evanora Dark, Buttermilk Bay’s newest sage of house staging and recently discovered unalived whisperer (that’s ghost-talker to you lay folk).
Business is booming, a certain silver-fox contractor named Cary Mann is hot in pursuit (wink-wink), and me and my bestie Fab are as tight as ever. Life is good—newly inherited boggart-in-a-crystal ball aside (don’t ask; he’s a handful. And libidinous. And it’s more of a snow globe than a crystal ball…)
Good, that is, until the next ghost shows up with an untimely demise to solve. Turns out, she’s a blast from my past…a painful one at that, one I could have gone the rest of my life without ever seeing again. My loved ones—both living and dead—all have my back though, ready to throw down with this particularly pesky poltergeist.
But my gift for helping the unalived comes with certain responsibilities. I’ll help this ghost solve the mystery behind her death and see her to the light. Even if, years ago, I would’ve liked to have bumped her off myself. After all…isn’t that how most of us feel toward the person who helped blow up their marriage?
Yep. I’m tasked with helping the very woman who ruined my marriage. But the more I get to know her ghost, the more I realize things are never as cut-and-dried as they seem. Not life, not love, not relationships… And certainly not murder!
CONTENTS
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
Exit Stage Death
About the Author
Also by Dakota Cassidy
1
“Listen to me, Evanora Lavinia Dark, I know you think this is crazy, but I’d classify this as ah-may-zing! It’s like a deranged snow globe come to life. It’s not crazy at all. It’s crazy cool,” my real estate best friend and staging business enabler said, clapping her hands together with glee.
She’d used my full name—middle name included—which meant I was behaving as though something was permanently lodged up my backside and a good yank would rectify all my ills.
Because it really was pretty nuts on the scale of nuttery.
So nuts, in fact, I have to admit I’m really having trouble with this new addition to my paranormal tribe.
Though, wait. Maybe trouble isn’t the right word. Maybe the word is purpose. I didn’t understand the purpose of my new addition.
I leaned forward on my kitchen counter and squinted at the “snow globe” that Fab found so exciting.
It was a gift Aunt Tuppence had given to me a couple of weeks ago, after she’d quite suddenly popped back into my life and, with a thousand-watt smile, said, “Welcome to the fold, precious girl…”
She gave it to me after she’d explained why I’d suddenly started astral projecting and seeing ghosts after my heart attack three years ago.
Since birth, I’d been the recipient of a protection spell my mother placed on me by way of a necklace. A necklace I’d never once taken off until my open-heart surgery, when the nursing staff took all my jewelry for safekeeping until my procedure was complete.
While I recuperated on lots and lots of lovely drugs, I’d pretty much forgotten about the necklace. And once it was off my neck, the proverbial gloves had also come off, and it was an all-out rager of a paranormal party.
Ghosts from here till Sunday showed up at all sorts of inconvenient times, until I’d finally had to put my foot down and explain that privacy was a thing I cherished and lack of personal space was detrimental not only to my well-being, but theirs, too.
I’ve made it clear from the jump: if anyone from the afterlife hopes to find answers to their problems, they’d have to respect my personal life, as well. What little I had of one, anyway.
I mean, I live in a mobile home park with a bunch of seniors—it’s not like I’m living the life of a socialite. I’m usually home by seven (unless a staging job runs long), with my dogs and my opossum, and in bed by eleven after binging one Netflix show or another.
Anyway, Aunt T said she’d been holding onto this “gift” for a very long time. Since shortly before my mother’s passing, in fact. My mother had acquired it at a garage sale, and she’d only kept it because, according to my aunt, Mom had a soft spot for anyone without a family and a home to call their own.
That’s how this crystal ball fell into my hands.
Yeah. You read that right. I’m now the proud owner of a crystal ball.
And a guy named Jarvis lives in it.
Rather like a genie in a bottle. In fact, it was a lot like that, minus three wishes.
Swear it on my beloved throw pillows—the cashmere ones. He’s real. And the fact he once belonged to my mother is what made me agree to take him.
Because Mom died when I was an infant, I craved anything that had to do with her, any small tidbit of information. Any new perspective on my mother’s life—from anyone other than my fathers—was precious to me.
Though, I now understand why Aunt Tuppence appeared so relieved to hand him over.
I winced while watching Jarvis press his fingers to the top of the globe, pretending to be trapped inside like a mime, then laughing his fool head off at his cleverness.
Jarvis is a boggart. A mischievous little prankster. As a matter of fact, his mischief and penchant for shifting the reality around him is how he’d ended up with my mother in the first place.
Jarvis, in all his tomfoolery, had turned the inside of his crystal ball into a beautiful snowy landscape, thus tricking my mom into thinking she was adding a cool new bargain Christmas decoration to her holiday treasures.
That was anything but the truth. I’d give my dwindling savings account just to have seen the look on her face when she found out someone lived inside the ball.
I imagine it was a lot like mine. I’m still a little in disbelief. Like, someone actually lives in a crystal ball. Pause and give that a moment’s thought.
But I’ve discovered
I tapped the globe and waved to him as he crossed his eyes at me before asking Fab, “How do you suppose he helped my mother solve the answer to two plus two, let alone crimes with ghosts from the afterlife?”
Fab shook a finger at me with scolding eyes. “Now, now. Aunt Tupp said Jarvis was her friend and could be useful when she needed someone to bounce around whodunnit theories with. He didn’t actually solve the crimes. Your mom did that.”
I nodded as Jarvis made goofy faces at his reflection in the glass ball. “Naw, really?”
Fab nudged me with her elbow and a chuckle. “Aw, c’mon, Ev. Your mother did a nice thing by keeping him for all those years. She could have just left him on the side of a road somewhere and been done. She had a good heart. Just like you. She kept him safe.”
Aunt Tuppence explained there’d once been an evil witch who hated Jarvis (hate seems like such a strong word, but I could get with a healthy dislike), and wanted to possess his particular brand of magic. She tried to banish him to a plane where only darkness lives.
“Right. From the evil witch who tried to curse him to an eternity of darkness.”
Fab jabbed her finger in the air. “Exactly! So he preserved himself in the crystal ball for his own safety.”
I popped my lips at how bizarre this all was. “Like preserving an insect in amber…” I murmured.
Fab swatted the air in my direction. “Oh, stop. If what your aunt says is true, he eventually became a dear friend.”
I took a sip of my morning coffee, swishing it around in my mouth. “But Aunt Tuppence said the witch in question is long since dead and he’s free to do as he pleases. Why would he want to stay in there?”
“He is right here in the room with you,” Jarvis retorted, swiveling his head on his neck. “But the answer to your question is, I like it in here. I can have whatever I desire, conjure whatever I want. Why would I want to leave?”
I leaned in on my elbows and squinted at him in all his craggy glory. Jarvis was a stubby little man with arms as long as an orangutang and feet the size of canoes. “Aunt T says it’s because your fellow boggarts all want your head on a platter. What could you have possibly done to deserve a bounty on your head, little man?”
He scrunched up his face and fiddled with the wisp of black hair on top of his head. “I sense sarcasm.”
“You sense right, buddy,” I retorted.
Jarvis simply shrugged his pudgy shoulders and twerked in my face. ”They’re all just a bunch of jealous wankers, that’s all there is to it. Now, if you don’t mind, I got a hot dish on her way with a cheese plate and some lingerie.”
Have I mentioned Jarvis is also a little misogynistic?
Groaning, I scooped up the ball and put it on the shelf in my living room, covering it with a scarf because no one wanted to see what was about to occur with this hot dish.
“Now I know why Aunt Tuppence kept him in her pantry in the cellar.”
Jarvis’s mocking laughter echoed through my tiny mobile home.
Fab grinned and rinsed her coffee cup in the sink before running her hands down her sleek red pencil skirt. “You have to admit, he’s kinda cute in a hobgoblin sort of way. And I remind you, he was her friend. You can never have too many of those, can you?”
Rolling my eyes, I grabbed a hair tie and pulled my hair up into a ponytail. “I keep hearing that, but my cup of friends is pretty full.”
Fab’s head fell back, revealing her long, slender neck. “I admit, he’s a lot, but remember…he knows all sorts of stuff about your mom. Things your dads probably don’t even know. It could be nice to hear about her and the methods she used to solve crimes. It might even help you. But above all, Jarvis loved her. You can’t deny that.”
No. I guess I couldn’t. When he’d first met me, he’d literally wept gulping sobs because he said he couldn’t get over how much I looked like my mother, whom he called “his Chrissie.”
But that was the only tender moment we’d shared. The rest of the time I spent either covering my eyes (and his crystal ball of iniquity) or scolding him for teasing the dogs.
I rolled my tongue along the inside of my cheek. “Maybe he’ll grow on me. Until then, let’s talk about this new house Cary just flipped. He wants me to come by today and give him an estimate on what it’ll cost to stage it.”
Fab gave me a coy grin. “Ooor maybe we could just talk about Cary? Why haven’t you had another date?”
Ah, Cary Mann. A local contractor who did a lot of work for Fab’s flipping business. He was the personification of sex on a stick. Silver-haired, rippled abs, thighs like heavily muscled tree trunks and a smile that made my heart do jumping jacks.
After I had a really scary encounter with a psycho killer and a gun in the parking lot of a nursing home, we’d had a coffee and some pie, and it had been amazing.
Cary was everything a woman could want in a date. He wasn’t only handsome, he was a great conversationalist, smart and funny. A perfect gentleman.
But that night had really knocked me for a loop. Once I’d had time to digest, my aunt and her revelations about my mother had happened and then, well, Jarvis came along.
On top of that, because of what happened with the psycho killer, and my part in said psycho’s arrest, I’d been getting staging bookings like crazy due to an article about me in the Buttermilk Bay Gazette.
“Because life’s been a little hectic,” I said, keeping my face placid as I dabbed on some lipstick in the mirror by my entryway.
Fab gripped my shoulders and swung me around, her beautiful, almost entirely unlined dark eyes searched my face. “But he’s called, right?”
Called, texted, all but sent up smoke signals, and while I hadn’t ghosted him, I hadn’t exactly been chatty either.
Nodding, I replied, “Yep.”
Fab sucked her teeth before asking in a voice on par with Vincent Price, “Is it The Fear again? Tell me what you’re afraid of. Talk it out with me.”
My insecurity was so big, it had a name. When Fab said it, it reminded me of The Shadow. The Shadow knows… dum-dum-duuuum.
My BFF knew me better than anyone, and of course she knew I didn’t think I’d ever want another serious relationship after my very ugly divorce from my ex, Silas.
It wasn’t so much about Silas as it was about failing. My marriage had failed, which in turn made me feel like a failure. No matter how hard I’d tried, I just couldn’t save it—and in the end, when I finally found my spine, it left me with a healthy distaste for even a whiff of weakness on my part.
I’d chosen a man who’d failed us both, and as a result, my son Callum had grown up with an absentee father who was about as reliable as dial-up Internet.
I’m sure to all the empowered, strong women of the world, that sounds absurd. I like to think I’m pretty empowered myself, but it was an insecurity, an enormous gaffe in my life, I just couldn’t shake. Not even twenty years after the fact.
Then of course, there’s my seeing ghosts. It was easy enough to keep my witchy status from my ex simply due to the fact that, back then, I really only dabbled in poultices and herbal healing methods. I always had a home remedy for a cold or a sore throat.
But so much had changed since my marriage had fallen apart.
How could I explain the chaos my life has become since I began seeing ghosts, to someone who’d likely have more than a little trouble swallowing my story?
I tweaked her cheek and smiled. “Yes. It’s The Fear. Failure. I don’t want to fail again, and no matter what you say, or how stupid that is all these years later, I can’t shake it.”
Fab’s smile was sympathetic and so very patient. “You can’t fail something you haven’t started, my friend. Cary really likes you, you like him. Have mercy on the man and go grab a burger, but don’t throw your hands up in the air before you’ve even given it a chance. You do want to make a little noise again in this lifetime, don’t you?”
