Murder at the Candlelight Cabaret (A Brickstone Paranormal Cozy Mystery Book 1) by Cozy E.K

Author:Cozy, E.K.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Greek Fire Press
Published: 2024-10-01T00:00:00+00:00

It was a brisk Saturday morning when I made my way through Brickstone’s Farmers’ Market, enjoying the fall breeze and peppery tinge of leaves in the air.

The Farmer's Market was a beloved fixture in our small town, a place where you could find everything from fresh produce to jars of pickled stars — bioluminescent fungi — harvested under the autumn moon. More than that, it was a community hub where neighbors gathered to trade stories and tidbits of local lore along with their goods.

Bright pumpkins and gourds were arranged on simple wood tables, their colors popping against the gray sky. Scents of apple cider and cinnamon mixed with the natural smell of fruits and vegetables.

I browsed the stalls, admiring the local crafts and produce, when a heated voice caught my attention. Intrigued, I casually moved closer to its source.

“I told you, it’s buried for a reason.” The woman’s voice was low but intense. “We can’t risk digging up old secrets. Not now, not ever.”

Sonja. I recognized the woman on the phone as the market’s organizer. Her picture was on the wooden sign out front, along with the board members’. She stood partially hidden behind a display of autumn squash, her hair pulled back in a practical ponytail. Her face was flushed, and she gripped her phone tightly.

“No, you listen to me,” Sonja said quietly but with urgency. “What happened back then is best left in the past, Mar. For everyone’s sake.”

Mar? A quick mental review of the old files suggested she could be speaking to Marguerite Grayson. I pretended to examine a particularly knobby butternut squash, straining to hear more, but Sonja’s voice dropped even lower, making it impossible to catch her words.

After a moment, she ended the call, clearly frustrated. I observed her taking a moment to smooth her features into a calm mask before turning back to the market.

I seized the moment. Approaching her stall, I smiled, reaching for a vibrant bundle of purple and crimson violets.

"Hello. These flowers are shunning. I think I need them for my office. The only color in there lately was my assistant's mismatched socks."

Sonja laughed, her demeanor changing from a few minutes before. "You have good taste." She set about wrapping the bundle of flowers in paper, then handed them to me. "You know, back in my youth, I had hair this exact color. Everyone called me Violet."

I smiled, picturing a young Sonja with vibrant purple locks. "Violet suits you. It has a certain dramatic flair."

"You're telling me! Back then, I was quite the theater kid — always chasing the spotlight and dreaming of becoming a star."

"I can see it," I said with a grin. "Though these days, you seem more content running your fabulous farmer's market stall."

Sonja waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, that was a lifetime ago. These days, I leave the theatrics to the young ones. Though..." She dropped her voice. "I still have a flair for the dramatic when baking. You should see the tantrums I throw over a fallen soufflé!"

We both laughed.

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