The Mystery of the Pink Aura by Vella Day

Author:Vella Day [Day, Vella]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Paranormal, cozy, Mystery
ISBN: 9781951430085
Publisher: Vella Day
Published: 2020-03-23T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

As soon as my mother and I cleaned up after the séance, we rushed upstairs to finish the preparations for the party. The guests would be arriving soon.

“Can you set out the glasses? Put out ones for water as well as for wine.”

Wine, huh? This was going to be fancy. It wasn’t often she served wine with dinner. Then again, my father, who had been looking pale for the last few days, might not have that many more birthdays to celebrate. To think he was only fifty really shook me up. But I was determined to paint on a happy face.

I counted the chairs. “There are two extra seats,” I called to my mom, who was in the kitchen.

She came out, wiping her hands on her apron. “We invited Horace Crumfield, as well as a friend of your fathers.”

“Horace? Really?”

“Yes. Your father depends on getting good discounts from him.”

I didn’t believe that was the only reason he was invited. Horace was about thirty-six—ten years older than me—and he had inherited the coffin-making business from his father who had inherited it from his dad. Don’t get me wrong, the world needed coffins, especially my family who was in the funeral business, but Horace? He just wasn’t my type.

I might be jumping the gun here though. I was assuming Mom, who was a hopeless matchmaker like everyone else in town, had invited him for me. She was always going on and on about when I would find a guy and settle down. Personally, I didn’t think I needed a man to complete me—like Tom Cruise famously commented in Jerry McGuire.

While Horace wasn’t bad looking, he had the personality of the dead. It might be the lighting, but I swear he wore light foundation to give the appearance of one who understood the needs of the dearly departed.

“Does my father’s friend have a name? And do I know him?”

“I doubt it, sweetie. I’ve not met him either, but your father asked him.”

Hold the presses. “Dad has friends?”

I know that sounded bad, but the only people he spoke with were grieving family members of the deceased. Other than going out once a month with the couple who ran the local flower shop, my parents were homebodies.

“Your father recently realized that he lacked any kind of life outside of the funeral home, and he wanted to do something about it.”

“Good for him.”

My mother didn’t have much of a life outside of the house either, unless I counted her monthly coven meetings—ones she wanted me to attend—as social outings. Being a lousy witch, I didn’t want to be surrounded by highly competent women. I had my own abilities, ones that didn’t revolve solely around contacting the dead or doing spells.

“What does this new life of his entail?” I asked.

“Hunting.”

I almost choked. “Hunting? As in he uses a gun to shoot a rabbit?” I’m sure he’d never shoot a deer. “I thought he hated the idea of harming animals.”

“His hunts are not inhumane. He says he uses a bow and arrow.

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