Pall in the Family by Dawn Eastman
To my daughter, Ellie, with love.
Acknowledgments
Solving a mystery in Crystal Haven is a group effort, just as publishing the first Family Fortune Mystery combined the talents of many generous individuals.
Thank you to my editor, Andie Avila, and the entire team at Berkley Prime Crime. From copyedits to cover art, I am fortunate to work with such a talented, dedicated group.
Forever thanks to my agent, Sharon Bowers, and her enthusiasm for these characters. My gratitude to Clare O’Donohue for opening the door.
Clyde Fortune and the rest of the crew would not exist without the encouragement, critiques, humor, and friendship of my amazing writers’ group. Wendy Delsol, Kim Stuart, Kali Van Baale, Murl Pace, and Chantal Corcoran—you are truly cherished.
I am grateful to Jamie Chavez for her editorial expertise and cheerleading.
Thanks to Barbara and Junior Morton for Tuffy’s name.
Thank you to Brent and Nancy Eastman for all the techie assistance.
My parents, Ann and Bob Eastman, instilled a love of reading and a self-confidence which is priceless. Thank you for a lifetime of comedic material.
Thank you to my children, Ellie and Jake, for support, tolerance, laughter, and love.
And to my husband, Steve, for believing.
1
I followed the shrieks to the living room, but didn’t rush. It was early in the day and I was still caffeine deprived.
Mom, Aunt Vi, and Seth ducked and watched the ceiling. Occasionally Mom screamed when the small black shadow flew in her direction. They had already divvied up the equipment.
Aunt Vi’s long red fingernails curled around a bedsheet stretched between her hands. Her brightly colored skirt swished over sturdy black shoes. She tossed her long silver braid over her shoulder.
My nephew, Seth, gripped my old butterfly net with thick leather gloves. At five feet six inches he was almost as tall as I was. He had taken to measuring himself against me on a daily basis, continually dismayed that he had not surpassed me yet. He flicked his head to the side to shake blond bangs out of his eyes. He did this so frequently it seemed to have become a twitch.
Mom wielded a large plastic bowl that she mostly used to cover her head. At almost seventy, she was petite and still beautiful. Her white hair was coiled in a tight bun, and her makeup was flawless, even though she still wore her robe and slippers.
They were after a bat. Again.
“Clyde, it’s coming your way!” Vi threw the sheet at me.
I looked up and saw the bat swoop in my direction. I tossed the sheet at him but missed. More noise ensued as he looped around the room and headed for Mom. Seth held his position like a goalie in a very slow game.
I opened three windows and popped out the screens while the hunting continued. Seth took a swing with the net but had no luck. Vi readied her sheet again. Mom cowered under the bowl. This was home.
Some people run away from home to join the circus; I had left home to escape one.
Fortunately, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I waved it at the bat-hunting trio and stepped into the dining room. It was a text from Tish. She needed to board Baxter again. He’d been with us more than he’d been home in the month since I’d returned to Crystal Haven. I wondered once again why she was away so much.
Another scream and then a crash issued from the room next door. I took a deep breath and dove in.
“Nana Rose, stop yelling. You’re scaring the poor guy.” Seth frowned and followed the bat around the room with his eyes.
“What about what he’s doing to me?” Mom turned to Vi, and said, “I thought you said all the da—arn bats were gone.” We all glanced at Seth. We had promised his mother we wouldn’t swear in front of him. She still labored under the delusion that he was five years old.
Vi shrugged and glanced at the ceiling. “I’m pretty sure this is the last one.” Aunt Vi is a pet psychic, and her pronouncements on all things animal are taken as gospel by my mother.
Vi insists each sighting of a bat in the house is a sign of impending doom. Then Mom consults the tarot cards to try to identify the coming disaster. So far, nothing. But that doesn’t stop my family from predicting dire outcomes. In a tourist town where psychics and fortune tellers are more thick on the ground than Realtors, grim prophecies are routine.
“He’s getting tired. Maybe he’ll notice the window if he flies lower.” Seth dropped his net hand to his side.
“Seth, stay on guard! He’s probably faking.” Mom continued to protect her head and track the bat.