A Taste of Trickery (Japanese Tea Garden Mysteries Book 3) by Blythe Baker

Author:Blythe Baker [Baker, Blythe]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-07-30T04:00:00+00:00

I KNOW ABOUT THE ACCIDENTS. I KNOW ABOUT THE TRESPASSING. MEET ME AT THE SAN JUAN CAPISTRANO MISSION TONIGHT AT MIDNIGHT. COME ALONE

I looked around but didn’t see anyone. I wondered if the inspectors had anything to do with this. They could’ve stuck the note to the door for me to notice later, while I was inside earlier, grabbing their drinks. There was no proof but I added them to the file of suspects I kept in my head. Mentally, I put their names right below Zane Jones. I folded the note, locked up the gift shop, and went home.

It was going to be a long time before midnight rolled around.

The San Juan Capistrano Mission was an ancient tourist attraction. I believed it must have been beautiful at one time, with desert flowers in pots at its magnificent doors and a comforting sound to the huge bells that rang Sunday service to the faithful of the area. But, as with so many of the old missions, it had lost its shepherd, the flock had dispersed, and now the only ones to pay their respects were a few people interested in historic buildings.

It was located on a section of parkland. The green grass lead to its entrance and lush trees tried to peek inside the two bell towers.

I looked at my watch. It was five minutes to midnight. My theory was that if I waited long enough I might see my informant walk inside the structure before me. I could see if it was a man or woman and if they looked threatening or like they were really trying to help. But no one approached the mission.

“Maybe they’re already inside. Maybe they’re waiting for me,” I whispered to the shadows and the cicadas around me. My heart began to gallop as I emerged from the shrubbery where I’d been lurking and began walking toward the structure.

With only one simple light over the doorway, the blackness of the night sky was breathtaking. It looked like a blanket of sparkling diamonds. The little noises of nocturnal critters and insects were the only sounds, other than the padding of my gym shoes on the sidewalk, followed by the whispering of the grass as I crossed the lawn.

Once I finally reached the entrance, I pulled the thick handle and the heavy door opened slowly. I had to slip inside quickly. As the door closed behind me, I leaned against the sturdy wood, letting my eyes adjust to the even darker interior.

There was nobody inside. When my eyes were finally accustomed to the dim setting, I carefully stepped further indoors. There were only two rows of eight dilapidated and eroded wooden benches facing a spot where an altar must have long ago been removed along with all the religious statues and relics.

The marble floor was a maze of cracks. The carvings over the doors and along the walls that still remained standing had been worn and bleached by the Texas sun and winds. Since the roof had collapsed, probably many years ago, looking up made me feel incredibly small.

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