Spawn with the Wind

Chapter 1

Seeing clearly is a good thing, bubbeleh. Being sure is wonderful. Knowing what’s going to happen is even better. When people like you and me—who see clearer than most—have problems seeing, it makes us upset. After all, we only care about the clear. We only care about the knowing. We only care about the light. What did that man say, once upon a time? Oh, yes, I remember: Light is the best disinfectant. But just because you can see clearly and just because you are in the light, please don’t forget about the shadows. In the shadows lurks the unknown, the unclear, and the frightening. And where there’s light, there are always shadows.

– Lesson 63, Wedding Business Advice From

Your Grandma Zelda

April 12. The second-happiest day of the year. The happiest was the thirteenth, which was my birthday. Tomorrow.

I sang a little song to myself as I walked to Tea Time for my morning latte. April wasn’t just my birthday. It was also glorious springtime in our town, when the trees started to bloom purple flowers, the short-sleeves and short skirts came out of the closets, and everyone was in a great mood. Including me. I was in a great mood.

My name’s Gladie Burger, and I live in Cannes, California, which is situated in the mountains east of San Diego. Only about two thousand people live in our town, which is a tourist haven for apple pie and antique shops. Cannes was founded when gold was discovered here in the late 1800s, but gold ran out pretty quickly. After, most of the citizens moved on to greener pastures, but some stayed on and lived in the large houses in the Historic District, scraping by to make a living, working in the apple and pear orchards.

My family lived in the Historic District since then in a grand Victorian house right in the center of the action. I had spent most of my life in temporary jobs around the country, but I moved back to Cannes four years ago to help my Grandma Zelda with her matchmaking business.

Grandma has a way of knowing things that can’t be known. She calls this the Gift, and it turns out that I have the same Gift. That’s how I knew it was going to be a perfect day today. Seventy-five degrees and not a cloud in the sky all day, with a sweet-smelling springtime breeze that made my senses tingle with joy.

Yep, I was in a very good mood.

During the past year, I had moved on from matchmaking to wedding planning. I also moved on about three years ago to marrying the hottie Police Chief, Spencer Bolton. That was going very well. Spencer was an excellent kisser. He was also talented in many other ways. And generous with his talents, too.

Lately, the wedding planning business had ground to a halt. Quiet as a church mouse. If I had to rely on it to pay my bills, I would have been royally screwed. I didn’t care, though, because I was in such a good mood. Besides, I knew business would pick up, as the sun continued to shine. We were heading into the busiest time of the year for weddings, not that I could tell by the look at my calendar.

In the meantime, while I was waiting for business to perk up, I was just happy to get my morning latte at Tea Time.

The tea shop used to be an old saloon, which still had bullet holes in one wall and the original bar at the back of the place. I opened the door and was surprised to see that no one was there. I was the only customer. It was a rare lull in Tea Time’s business, which normally was much more robust than mine. Ruth Fletcher, the cranky octogenarian owner of Tea Time, was wiping down the bar with a rag.

I put my hand up, palm forward. Ruth, you can say anything to me today—and I mean anything—and I will still be in a good mood.

The oceans are dying, she grumbled. Good luck getting fish and chips in twenty years.

I thought about that for a second. Nope, still in a good mood, Ruth. I slapped my credit card on the bar. The usual, barkeep, and throw in a chocolate chip scone.

She squinted at me. What the hell is going on with you? Your good mood is a little creepy. Don’t you have any crises to handle today? No worries about money? No dead bodies hanging around? No trouble in paradise?

Ruth, I’ve turned over a new leaf. This is my birthday week, and the weather is glorious, and nothing, nothing, nothing will get me down. In fact, I don’t think I’ll ever have another problem again. Maybe this is my season of life. Maybe it’s the season of life where nothing goes wrong and everything is easy and pleasant. You know, like in a candy bar commercial.

She waved her rag at me. Let me tell you something, girl. There is no season of life where nothing goes wrong. I’ve been on this earth a damned long time, and I can assure you that problems happen with frightening regularity in every season. If you pretend otherwise, life will bite you in the ass, and you won’t be ready for it. You know what happens when you’re not ready for something?

Is that a rhetorical question?

No, I’m asking if you know.

Oh, a riddle, I said, still happy. We’re like Greek philosophers or something. I didn’t know anything about Greek philosophers. I was a high school dropout, and I wasn’t a big reader. I’m going to guess that if we’re not ready for something, we get surprised. I love surprises, Ruth. Like birthday surprises. Those are always good. Cake and ice cream. Streamers. Presents. I love those.

She swatted my head with the rag. Snap out of this creepy mood, girl. No, you don’t get surprised. You get flattened. If you’re not ready for something, the something runs you over like a freight train over a cow. Let me tell you something, there has never been a happy cow after it gets hit by a freight train.

I patted her arm. You’re a wise woman, Ruth. Give me two scones. I’m in such a good mood that I don’t think I can gain weight, no matter how much sugar and fat I consume.

I sat at a table right in the center of the tea shop. It was odd to be the only one there. It wasn’t the first time, but it was no more than the fifth time that it had happened. Tea Time was very popular in town, and it had a ton of regulars. Usually, it was hard to find a table.

Have you ever noticed how lovely the tables are in here, Ruth? I asked when she brought me my latte and scone.

Lovely for you, maybe. I have to spend every Friday evening scraping gum and other things I won’t describe because you’re eating off the undersides of those tables you’re admiring.

Sounds heavenly, I said and took a sip of my latte. Delicious. You’ve outdone yourself.

Ruth rapped her knuckles on my forehead. Is anyone home? Where did Gladie go?

I swatted her hand away. I’m here. I’m just happy, that’s all. Nothing’s going wrong. Everything is pretty much perfect. Is that so strange?

Ruth tsked and shook her head. Denial. It’s a terrible thing.

She went back to the bar, and business began to pick up. A few tourists came and sat at the tables around me. I continued to eat my scone and washed it down with the latte. I didn’t have plans for the rest of the day, but the tourists gave me an idea. Maybe I should play a tourist and eat apple pie and buy a gnome for the lawn or a silver hand mirror, I thought.

I wasn’t really an antique sort of person. I lived in a house that looked like a giant antique store, but I bought most of my stuff from the super discount store, Walley’s.

I was just about to finish the last bit of my scone when a woman came to my table and stood over me, clutching her designer handbag to her chest. She was wearing a lot of gold and diamonds, and she had a hairstyle that I knew must have cost a lot of money, like she went out of town to get her hair done.

You’re Gladie Burger, right? I’m Annie Benoit. I want to hire you.

Oh, sure, I said and invited her to sit at my table. I signaled to Ruth for more scones and coffee. When are you getting married? I asked the woman and bit my lower lip when I noticed she was wearing a thick, gold wedding band and a huge rock of a diamond on her wedding finger. Damn it. She was already married. On the other hand, it wasn’t unheard of to keep wedding rings, even after a divorce, and vow renewals were pretty common these days, too.

I’m not getting married, Annie said. I’m divorced, and I’m planning on staying that way.

So, your daughter is getting married?

No, you don’t understand, she said, putting her purse on the table. I don’t want to hire you as a wedding planner. I want to hire you to solve a murder.

I coughed on my latte and wiped my mouth. You what? I don’t do that. I’m a wedding planner…and a matchmaker when my grandmother needs help, but I’m mostly retired from matchmaking. I don’t solve murders. That’s not my job.

Oh, come on. You’re famous. Everyone knows you do that.

I had solved some murder mysteries since I had moved to Cannes. It was kind of a compulsive thing with me.

Yes, but I don’t do that as a job, I explained. I’m a wedding planner. I used to be a matchmaker, but now I’m a wedding planner.

She leaned forward. "Look, I might have misspoken. When I say I want you to solve a murder, I mean I want you to prevent a murder."

Oh. My ears perked up, and goosebumps sprouted on my arms. Whose murder?

Mine.

Oh. Who’s going to murder you?

That’s what I want you to figure out.

I pushed the plate of scones aside and leaned over the table to make sure I was hearing her correctly. Why are you going to get murdered?

I don’t know why, but I’ll tell you this, she said, lowering her voice to a whisper. I’ve been getting weird spam calls for burial insurance. I’ve been getting them for a couple of weeks. Morning, noon, and night, I get calls for burial insurance. I think it’s a clue, like someone is trying to warn me about it. I feel it down to my bones, Gladie. I’m going to be murdered. I need you to find out who is going to do it and stop them before it happens. How much do you charge?

How much did I charge? I had never charged to solve a murder, and I had never solved a murder before it happened.

Why’re you hesitating? Ruth asked, appearing at the table. You know you’re going to do it, and she’ll do it for free, she added to Annie. She always does it for free. Mysteries are like crack to her. Or like sugar or reality TV.

I thought about that for a second. What’s the name of the insurance company? I asked Annie.

The day was still beautiful on my walk home after Tea Time. But now I wasn’t as carefree as I was an hour earlier. Now, I had a very specific goal. A mission. I had to prevent a murder.

Was there actually going to be a murder? Normally, a few spam calls and a feeling were not enough to be sure about anything. But Annie was lucky that she had come to me because I was sort of an expert on feelings. I couldn’t ignore feelings. My Gift wouldn’t allow it.

I turned the corner to Cannes Boulevard. Our house was a half-block down in the heart of the Historic District. Homeowners were outside their houses gardening in the fantastic spring weather, and I waved to them as I passed.

Your husband is four houses down, a neighbor watering his lawn told me. Everything’s going to hell.

It’s a beautiful day, I said.

Hell, I say, hell! he yelled as I kept walking.

I was still happy, still in a very good mood. It was still a nice day, my birthday was still tomorrow, and I had the whole day to relax. But as I got closer to the house four houses down, I realized that the day wasn’t going to be all that relaxing.

A burglary, I breathed, talking to myself on the sidewalk. My third eye was tingling. I knew inside me that there had been a burglary in that house four houses down, and it was part of a bigger picture.

Spencer’s car was parked on the street in front of the house, along with a black and white and an unmarked car. Remington, a police detective who looked like The Rock, got out of the other unmarked car and waved to me.

The Chief’s inside, he told me. My husband, Spencer, was chief of police, and he didn’t like me to butt in on police business, but I normally did it anyway.

I walked into the house with Remington, who carried his forensics kit.

Oh, hello there, Gladie. I was greeted by Pam Donington, who owned the house along with her husband Ewan. They were my grandmother’s age, and I had known them since I was a baby. Can you believe this is happening?

No, I said. What’s happening?

She was dressed in a black dress, which she adjusted with a hard tug. We were robbed. Can you believe that? Have you ever heard of such a thing in the Historic District?

Her husband came into the entranceway. He was wearing a black suit. They both looked like they were in mourning for the loss of their belongings.

What did they get? I asked.

My computer, Pam cried. The sewing machine.

My brand new seventy-five-incher, Ewan complained.

What’s a seventy-five-incher? I asked, half-afraid of the answer.

A Samsung Smart TV. It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever owned. I spent more time with it than I ever did with my kids. I was planning on adopting it. We’re in the middle of basketball season, and baseball season just started, and I don’t have my seventy-five-incher anymore. I feel like I’ve been violated, like my arm was chopped off.

I stepped back in surprise when he began to tear up. I had never seen him tear up before. I had heard that he had been in the war in Korea and was a prisoner of war for six months. I heard they had tortured him that whole time. Six months of torture and he never shed a tear. But the loss of a seventy-five-incher was too much for him. It broke him.

Pam gave me a hug, as if she needed my support for her husband’s distress. You want to know the worst thing? They broke in and robbed us while we were at a funeral for Jean.

Jean was a distant friend of theirs, who I had met only once or twice. I knew she rented out a room, but I didn’t know much more than that.

I’m sorry for your loss, I said.

Only sixty-nine years old, Ewan said. Only sixty-nine with no problems except for high blood pressure and cholesterol.

Pam nodded. And then she died of bone cancer. It came up unexpectedly.

I’m glad you weren’t here when it happened, I said.

Pam touched her chest. Can you imagine? They would have probably murdered us in our living room.

Remington passed us to dust for fingerprints in the house.

Any idea who did it? I asked Ewan just as Spencer walked in.

This is a surprise, he said to me, sounding like it wasn’t a good surprise.

I was just walking by, I explained.

How about I meet you at home for lunch, he said, like he wasn’t upset at all that I was at his crime scene. I’ll bring home food.

Don’t go home! Ewan cried. You could be next. We weren’t the first, you know. There’s been a couple of other burglaries in the neighborhood.

I caught Spencer looking at me. I hadn’t heard about the other burglaries, which meant that he had hidden them from me, and for some reason, my grandmother hadn’t heard about them, either.

Really? I asked.

Pam hugged me again. Save yourself. Protect Zelda. It could be you next, and this time you might be home, and they’ll carve you and Zelda up like a turkey right there in your kitchen.

I shivered. Suddenly, my mood darkened. My day-before-my-birthday rush of happiness disappeared completely. Spencer rushed me out, and I ran home. Grandma was waiting for me at the door.

Break-ins! we shouted in