Calamity at the Carnival: Firefly Junction Cozy Mystery, #5

Chapter 1

It was one of those halfway slumbers. I was aware of my surroundings but my eyelids were heavy and my head was in a drowsy fog. The tickle on my nose was all too real.

With a heavy hand, I swiped at my face without opening my eyes. The tickle returned, only more insistent and annoying. I crinkled my nose and waved my hand at my face again. The tickle persisted. My eyes popped open and I sat up straight from my slump on the couch. The pillow I'd been clutching, like my old teddy bear friend, Chub-chub, fell to the floor.

Edward, my housemate, if one could call a two century old ghost a housemate, was hovering in front of me. The only part of the vision that was solid and not transparent was the feather in his long, white fingers.

I rubbed my nose again, not because of the tickle but to brush away the idea that a dirty feather had been so close to my mouth. Were you touching me with that? Yuck.

Edward lifted the feather and scrutinized it with his bold blue eyes. They were incredibly expressive for a pair of dead eyes. Not a yuck. A pigeon, I think. It was sitting on the porch.

That's what I figured, which is why I said yuck. It's not a bird species, it's another word for disgusting. You don't know where that feather has been, I said, recycling one of my mom's favorite warnings.

Edward waved the feather. My best guess is that it's been sitting in a pigeon's rear end.

My point exactly. Besides, I was awake. I was just resting my eyes.

Then you snore while you're awake. He floated across to the window of the sitting parlor and stared outside. It's still early in the day, but you're falling asleep because you stayed out too late with that unkempt man and his wild hair.

It's not wild, it's thick, I countered. I stood from the couch and pounded the hug marks out of the pillow I'd been clutching.

Thick, he scoffed. My hair is thick, and you don't see me floating around as if I've been walking through a windstorm.

That's because your hair is permanently tied back in a blue ribbon. And before you even suggest it, that same blue ribbon would definitely not work today. Let's just say, the men's hair ribbon fad fizzled out a few years back.

I could tell by the fading in and out of his features, something that happened when his ghostly emotions were running high, that we were not finished with the discussion.

Edward tossed the feather into the hearth. The sitting parlor was one of the first rooms to be completely restored. It had a carved marble mantle that I loved and that gave the room terrific character. Edward's dislike of my original color choice, Cupid Pink, was what had prodded him to reveal his existence to me. It was a day I will never, ever forget.

He keeps you out far too long. It's not right, Edward harrumphed in his posh accent.

I stopped to pick up the three tennis balls Newman had left in the room. I'm perfectly safe with Jackson. As I've told you many times—he's a detective.

Edward laughed dryly. That's supposed to ease my mind? he asked. In my day, I knew constables who were even more dissolute than the criminals they chased.

I decided not to respond. Edward's memory was still anchored firmly to the early nineteenth century. I'd learned it was futile and a waste of energy to try and change his opinion about the ways of the world.

My dog, suddenly alerted that someone was moving his precious tennis balls, came bounding into the room. I tossed the three balls out into the hallway, and he skittered after them.

You have no chaperone, Edward continued. If I could leave this—this prison—I'd go along on your outings to make sure he doesn't take advantage of you.

We'd had the same argument so often, it normally just amused me, but this morning, his words tugged at my chest. I smiled and walked toward him. His face came more into focus. Incorporeal or not, the man presented a dashing image.

I'm perfectly safe with Jackson, but thank you for worrying, Edward.

His face dipped so I couldn't see his expression clearly. You're welcome, he said quietly.

I turned to leave.

After all, someone has to. It's obvious your own judgment is clouded when it comes to this man.

I threw up my arms. There you go obliterating our moment.

What moment? He floated after me as I left the room.

You and I were having a heartfelt moment back there, but instead of leaving it at 'you're welcome', you had to keep blathering on.

"I don't blather. I just reason things out. By the way, you should probably look at that silly metal tablet you're always staring at. It's been buzzing like an angry hive of bees ever since you fell—fell awake on the couch," he quipped.

Instinctively, I patted the pocket on my sweatshirt, but there was no phone. I must have left it in the kitchen.

I hurried down the hallway. My phone was sitting on the table next to my half empty coffee cup. Jackson and I had gone out to a movie and dinner. Then I'd made the mistake of reading a book until two in the morning. I got up early but felt so tired, I decided to take a quick nap. According to the clock on the wall, that quick nap had lasted a good hour and a half.

I grabbed my phone and flicked my thumb across the screen. There were four voice mails. I quickly pressed the star key to listen to them.

Edward was at the window. I think your sister is in pain. She has a contorted look on her face.

I tossed the phone back on the table and raced to the window. Lana was trudging toward the house with her right arm wrapped in a bag of frozen peas. She must have hurt herself. My heart pounded as I raced to the entry.

Lana was just climbing the front steps as I swung open the door. What happened? I asked.

Lana shook her head. Her face was pale. Even her lips looked white. Just darn bad luck. I was on a stepladder trying to pull down a box of lights, and my foot slipped off. How come you didn't answer your phone?

I'm sorry. I didn't hear it. I helped her inside. Did you hurt your arm? I asked, motioning toward the bag of frozen peas.

I think so. She winced and held her breath as she lifted the makeshift ice pack. Her slim wrist was red from the icy bag. It definitely looked different than normal. She held both arms out for comparison. I guess the S shape at the wrist is not supposed to be there.

I felt the color from my face drain as I stared down at her warped arm. I don't think we need an x-ray machine to diagnose that as a broken wrist. You poor thing, it must hurt badly.

Surprisingly, I can't feel too much, even my fingers are numb. But I don't think that's from the peas.

I'll get my coat and keys so I can drive you to the clinic. I rushed down the hallway and past a concerned looking ghost to the kitchen. Do you need something? I called to my sister. Aspirin or a cup of water?

No, thanks. Lana was at the kitchen entrance. Let's not tell Emi and Nick. They only just left for their romantic stay at the bed and breakfast. If we tell them, they'll probably turn right around.

I agree. I tapped the side of my head. That's right. You and I are taking care of the animals.

Lana lifted up one side of her lip. I might still be able to toss a bit of scratch out for the chickens.

I pulled on my coat. Nonsense. You're going to need to rest. I'll take care of the farm.

She stood there with the same apologetic grin. And how do you feel about filling a hundred goodie bags for a sweet sixteen party?

I forgot you had a big party next weekend. Lana's event planning business had taken off like a rocket, and it seemed she was always swamped with work. A broken wrist, especially a right wrist, was going to set her back. The last thing she needed was to fret about the business. Don't worry, Raine and I will make sure everything gets finished.

We headed to the door.

How are you going to take care of the farm, help out my business and work on the newspaper, all at the same time? she asked with perfectly reasonable skepticism.

I'll take vitamins and drink a lot of coffee. The late spring morning had started out with a few clouds, but the sky had cleared to a bright blue. I held my hand under her elbow to help her down the steps.

Sunni, I broke my wrist, not my hip. I can walk on my own.

Guess you're lucky it was only your wrist. I know I've said this to the point of irritation, but you need to hire more help. Your business is blooming, but you're still trying to do it all on your own and Raine can only help out when she's not busy with her own business.

I know, and yes, it has been to the point of irritation. But you're right. We stopped at my jeep. Lana stared at the step to climb up into the passenger seat. It wasn't going to be an easy task with one arm. You need a much lower car for emergency runs to the doctor.

I helped her into the jeep and buckled her seatbelt. Let's just hope this emergency run thing doesn't become a habit.

Chapter 2

Iwaited for Jackson on the front porch, deciding it was always better to keep him out of the house. Edward had complained about me staying out late with Jackson the night before, so I was certain I could expect shenanigans from my live-in ghost. Edward had already made it clear how he felt about Jackson, and I didn't need the aggravation. Whenever Edward was upset, he tended to forget that I was the only person who was privileged enough to hear and see him. More than once, the persistent noise that my contractors, Ursula and Henry Rice, made in the house, had driven him to get sloppy and nearly expose his existence. At Christmas, he'd gone so far as to rip a hammer from Ursula's hand, an antic that nearly cost me my contractors. It had taken a good two weeks before Henry could talk his sister into working at the inn again. And in those two weeks, I'd made it crystal clear to Edward that he had to stay well away from the pair. Henry and Ursula had been back a few months. So far, the truce was holding firm. The Rice siblings were making good progress on the restoration project, and my easily annoyed spirit was behaving.

Jackson had pulled on a black baseball cap. His thick hair stuck jutted out in every direction. He stopped in front of the porch and pointed down at his brown leather cowboy boots. Did you call for a cowboy, little lady? He pulled off his cap. I'm ready for my farm chores. Just point me toward the hungry chickens.

Shouldn't that hat you're holding be in the shape of a Stetson? I do like a nice black cowboy hat. I bounded down the steps to him.

He pulled me close for a quick kiss, then peered down at me with his amber gaze. Sorry, the boots are the closest thing I've got to cowboy gear. He released me. How is your sister?

Loopy from the painkillers, but the doctor said he thinks six weeks in a cast should do the trick. No surgery.

That's good to hear. We headed to his car and got inside. I thought we could check out the spring carnival after we get done feeding the animals. I hear they're serving deep fried cupcakes on a stick this year.

Nothing about that sounds right. Cupcakes belong on cute little doily covered plates and not on a stick or anywhere near a deep fryer, for that matter. But I won't say no to cotton candy.

Well, as long as you're going for the healthy option. Jackson pulled onto the road for the brief drive to Emily's farm.

I missed the carnival last year. Lana mentioned it's a yearly thing, I said.

Every year when the kids are on spring break, the Stockton Traveling Carnival rolls into town. I've been going since I was a wee little guy.

I laughed. "I can't imagine you were ever small enough to be called wee, but I'll bet you were cute and rascally."

I was definitely a rascal. He pulled onto the gravel path leading to the chicken farm. Just don't expect to be too wowed by the carnival. You know how when you're little and a carnival and amusement park seems like a gigantic, magical universe with scream-worthy rides, games offering cool prizes and sugary treats as far as the eye can see?

I nodded. Yes, and when those kid glasses with the magical filters come off, you see a run-down, shabby collection of rides that look underwhelming and unsafe, games where it takes defying all rules of physics to win the big teddy bear on the wall and treats that make your stomach head back to the car in surrender. I'm familiar with the phenomenon. It's called 'everything looks way better when you're a kid'.

He laughed as he parked the car just outside of the chicken coop area. Busy hens of every color, shape and size scratched at the ground in front of the whimsically painted nesting houses.

Jackson turned to me. We don't have to go to the carnival.

No, let's go. It'll be fun. It's been a long time since I've sat on the sticky seat of a carnival ride.

We climbed out of the car. Which do you prefer, chickens or horses and goats? I asked.

The hens saw us nearing the coop and began a thunderous chorus of hysterical chicken sounds.

Uh, I think I'm more of a horse and goat person, Jackson said. I'll let you handle that enthusiastic flock.

All right. The hay is inside the green door in the barn. Make sure they all have water. Oh, and don't forget to muck. I smiled.

Guess it makes sense that mucking is part of the deal, he said. Good thing I'm wearing my boots.

I took a moment to watch him lumber away on his long legs. His flannel shirt was stretched tightly across his back, and the black boots made him even taller. I sighed quietly. For the first few months of our relationship, I'd cautioned myself not to fall head over heels for Jackson. Feet always on the ground, Sunni, I'd chanted more than once. But it was pretty hard to keep two feet on the ground around Detective Brady Jackson. Gravity just didn't seem to work right when he was near.

Merely lifting the lid on the can, where the buckets of feed were stored, sent the flock into a frenzy. I'd fed the chickens several times but usually under Emily's watchful eye. I was slightly reluctant to walk into the hen yard with my bucket full of grain. I glanced back toward the barn. Jackson had disappeared inside, so it was too late to switch jobs. He was in there getting nuzzled by sweet goats, while I was walking into an angry, anxious mob with sharp beaks and attitudes. Some of the bigger hens were elbowing, (without the actual elbows) through the crowd to get first crack at the frightened woman with the feed bucket. A terrifying memory flashed through my head of a ten-year-old Sunni walking excitedly to the dolphin feeding pool at Marine World, only to have the paper plate of dead sardines ripped from her hand by rude seagulls long before she reached the dolphins.

I took a