The Case of the Sanft Sasquatch, Eerie Falls #2 eboook

“Oh, Sammi,” Lenora Needles said, as she pushed through the door to the bookshop. I made sure it closed behind her. Even though the calendar said spring, April in Southern Ontario was no time to leave a door open. “I haven’t had the chance to congratulate you on your romance with our new officer of the law. A pity that you and my son Robert never connected.”

The knitting and notions shop owner smiled as she pulled off her gloves, then thrust them in her pocket. Her oversized bag hung from a shoulder. Red yarn impaled by two blue knitting needles peeked out of the bag. 

“Boys aren’t my thing.” I raised an eyebrow. Courtney and I had been dating three months now. And Mrs. Needles really meant she hadn’t found an excuse to fish for gossip from me. I wondered what she was after to bring her in today.

“Well, I wish you the best. I’m sure Robert will be happy for you too. We’re having dinner tonight. He’s coming in from Toronto this evening. Says a friend of his is playing at the bar tonight.”

“Um. Thanks. I’ll tell Courtney you stopped by.” I kept my tone polite and knew from years of interaction with the town gossip to not say any more than necessary. “Were you looking for anything in particular today that I can help you find?”

“Well, is your grandfather here?” 

“Not yet,” I said politely. “He rarely arrives this early. He should be along in another hour when he takes over the shop for the afternoon.” 

That nosy wench is fishing for details on Merlin and Betty! The mental voice of Cleo, my undead cat, filtered into my mind. Tell her to go pound sand. Preferably in the Sahara.

Mrs. Needles’ eyes darted around the shop, settling on the staircase along the side wall of the store that ascended to Gramps’s study above us. “Or is Merlin still spending late nights and early mornings with that widowed witch, Betty Grindlespool?”

I kept my customer service smile plastered on my face but turned to tap the stuffed owl on our checkout counter. The owl’s eyes glowed with a red magical light. The sign that there was a mundane in our store. Witch was a term we fae could use as a polite title or as an insult. Mrs. Needles’ tone left no doubt which witch she implied.

“How rude!” DeAnn Powers said, stepping out from behind one of our free-standing book stacks near the back of the store. Trust DeAnn, with no knowledge of fae, to get the implied use right off. “Lenora! You should take that back. Betty is a wonderful lady, and it’s none of your business if she’s keeping company with a man.”

“Oh. Hello Miss Powers,” Lenora Needles stammered, her cheeks glowing red to match the owl’s eyes.

DeAnn crossed her arms over her cable knit maroon sweater and stared at Eerie Falls’ number one gossip monger. “You know, I think I figured out what’s missing from my newest mystery series. The town gossip. Always sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong and stirring up trouble just to feel important.”

Mrs. Needles’s brow dropped, and she scrunched her eyes tight to glare at the author. “I’d best not see my name in any of your books.”

“Oh, I aways change the names to protect the guilty,” DeAnn said, her own smile growing. “I wonder if Laverna Bechard would work for a gossip character.”

“Wasn’t Laverna the Roman goddess of thieves?” I asked, rolling a lip in, very aware of what that name meant.

“And Bechard is a name that means gossip,” DeAnn said with a nod. “Of course, it sees common usage now, and there are many good people with the last name. But astute readers will recognize the name for what it is.”

Mrs. Needles eyes darted back and forth between DeAnn and I. “Well, I never expected that kind of greeting right here in Eerie Falls.”

“Then, perhaps you should aspire to not be the town gossip,” DeAnn said, her eyes locked on Mrs. Needles. “I’m sure that Merlin and Betty can have a nice dinner together, without telling you about their social schedule.”

“So they are seeing each other.” Mrs. Needles’ eyes squinted even tighter, her mouth hardening into a fine line. She turned toward me, gave a nod, and jerked the front door open. “Good day, Sammi.”

To say Mrs. Needles used a forceful tug to close the door behind her would have been an understatement. Fortunately, the piston mechanism on it kept her from being able to slam it. I heard Cleo’s mental chuckle. Her sleek, grey, Abyssinian cat form jumped up onto the counter. I absently reached out to stroke her.

That was so perfect! Cleo’s thought came into my mind. I’ve wanted to tell that old witch off for decades but polite society and all. 

I raised an eyebrow since I knew my grams had done exactly that several times. She must miss that activity to bring it up again.

“Oh, dear,” DeAnn said, dropping onto the tall stool in front of our checkout counter. “I hope I didn’t make an enemy there.”

“If you’re not gossiping with Mrs. Needles,” I said with a chuckle, “then she’s probably gossiping about you.”

“That’s how town gossips work, don’t they?” DeAnn shrugged and set a couple of books on the counter. I scanned them into our computer, and a total with the Value Added Tax, or VAT, showed on the tablet facing the client side of the counter.

DeAnn tapped her debit card to the pad. 

I glanced at the titles as I slid the books towards her and gave a light chuckle.

“Those titles don’t move very often. Respecting the Government of Ontario. That is one to fight off insomnia.” 

The author dropped the books into her cloth shopping bag. “Well, if I’m writing about a small town here in the province, then I need to understand the interactions of the various ministers, and is it a premier? Or Lieutenant Governor?”

“Ontario is a parliamentary system,” I said, trying to think back to my classes many years before and trying to stick to the mundane systems. DeAnn didn’t need to know about how the fae government interacted with our mundane cousins. “The Lieutenant Governor acts like a chief executive on behalf of His Majesty, but the duties are few and mostly ceremonial.”

“I assumed they were much like a governor of one of the U.S. states?” DeAnn nodded. “Then what is the premier?”

“The premier might actually be closer to the governor of your state of New York,” I said as the front door opened. My smile brightened when I spied Courtney, wearing her uniform jacket and knitted Provincial Police toque. That was one of the few things Mrs. Needles insisted on, providing cold weather hats and mittens made by her local knitting club for our two town constables.

“Nice hat,” I said with a chuckle. “Mrs. Needles was just in here.”

“She didn’t look too happy when she stomped by me,” Courtney said, and leaned over the counter. I got a quick kiss from her before she grabbed the open tall stool I kept there.

“Well, I only told her I was going to put her in one of my books,” DeAnn said with a strong sarcastic tone. “I’ve no idea why she wouldn’t want to be known as the town’s gossip monger.”

“That’ll do it.” Courtney chuckled. “Did I interrupt your nefarious plotting? Will Mrs. Needles be the perp or the suspect in the latest mystery?”

“Hmmmm…. That probably depends on whether the real Mrs. Needles behaves herself.” DeAnn chuckled and gave us a sly look. “I’ve got a coffee mug back in New York that says I’m an author. Honk me off, and I’ll kill you in my next book.”

“Be careful with that,” Courtney said with a grin. “If Mrs. Needles turned up dead, that mug could be considered an indication of motive.”

“Oh. I would never harm someone in real life. But fictionally, I do that all the time.” DeAnn’s eyes twinkled, and her mouth curled up with mirth, as she glanced out to the street. “Oh!”

Outside, a panel van, one that easily could have carried a logo for a plumber or other home service contractor, pulled up on our side of the street. But that wasn’t what caught DeAnn’s attention. 

“I know it’s still nippy,” she said with a nod to the tall figure that emerged from the far side and stood staring across the road at Darcy’s bar. “I mean, a full Bigfoot costume? Isn’t that overkill for this time of year?”

Courtney and I shared a glance. She rose from the stool. “I’ll go ask them to back up and not be so close to the hydrant.”

I knew she meant she would warn the real Sasquatch that there was a mundane in town. We really didn’t need the author writing Bigfoot into a mystery book, did we?

DeAnn shrugged and turned back to stroke Cleo’s chin and cheeks. “I really should see about getting a cat now that I’ve got a real rental in town.”

“Did Mr. McGristle say if you’re allowed pets?” 

She shrugged. “I think he said nothing over twelve pounds. Surely a cat like Cleo doesn’t weight that much.”

I should say not, Cleo’s voice scoffed in my mind, as she turned away from DeAnn’s touch. I’m barely up to eight pounds. Of course, my diet shifted radically when I grabbed this body.

I rolled my lower lip in, so I didn’t blab out my response to Cleo.

“Oh, I hope I didn’t offend the little dear,” DeAnn asked, tilting her head to watch Cleo. Fortunately, Cleo stood and leaned into the author’s outstretched hand again.

“She’s a lady. Best not to inquire about her weight,” I volunteered with a chuckle.

I glanced outside. The driver of the van had his door open and watched the curb as he backed the panel van up another foot. Across the street, the Sasquatch, now in human form, stood with a petite Asian girl. Both wore coats. Or, if my suspicion was correct, the Sasquatch wore an illusion to make his own furry form resemble a furry jacket.

Courtney nodded to the driver and then headed back to the bookshop. But she paused and held the door open for our other town cop, Sergeant Lorne Pebblebrook. He waved a woman with jet black hair and steel-grey eyes in first. Everything about the woman screamed high fashion, and not in a good way. She wore an expensive T3 designer coat, one from top fae designer Thaddeus Trevor Thurburg III, or better known as T3. She also sported the latest T3 knee-high slouch boots. Her thin and high heels were barely passable for this time of year. Despite the warming weather, there was still too much ice around for walking far in those.

Courtney’s face slid into what I teasingly called her cop face. Emotionless. But her eyes had hardened. 

“Excellent, you’re both here. Mizz Durand, this is Sammi Cupertino, owner of our town’s bookstore,” Lorne said, coming in behind the woman. “And this is our visitor from New York State, Miss Powers.”

Lorne added extra emphasis on both the miss title for the woman and on visitor for DeAnn. The way Lorne said mizz let me know that Ms. Durand was pushing her social status as a replacement for a real title.

She pulled her leather gloves off and held her hand out toward DeAnn. “I’m Niki Durand, Special Assistant to Giles Neverwind, MPP. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Powers.”

“Likewise,” DeAnn stayed polite, but even she was being cautious around the newcomer. “What’s an MPP?”

“Minister of the Provincial Parliament,” Lorne explained. “Minister Neverwind represents the riding that includes Eerie Falls.” 

Chuckles Neverwind is anything but what his surname implies, Cleo’s laugh intruded into my thoughts. He always eating something he shouldn’t. Though I suspect he tried snooping where he shouldn’t have and caught a curse that makes him gassy.

“What does a special assistant to our MPP do?” I inquired, extending my hand. Niki took it, and her eyes lingered on my face for a second before she smiled one of the most political smiles I had ever seen on a political type.

“In this case, I’m researching how our provincial agencies are performing,” Durand said. “Police and other agencies.”

“Snooping, she means,” Courtney said. “Hello Niki. Didn’t expect to see you slumming it out here in the… what did you used to call this part of Ontario, you know, the parts that weren’t Toronto or Ottawa?”

“You mean the various ridings, Court?” Niki said, her eyes and voice both going cold as she looked at my girlfriend. The air between them picked up an electric sizzle that almost devolved into the beginning of a spell feud.

“Evidently,” Lorne interjected, his voice in a friendly tone, “you and our new constable know each other?”

“Roommates our first semester at university,” Courtney said, her eyes glued to the newcomer. “At least until she pledged to a sorority and moved out of the residence building.”

“You should have pledged with me,” Durand said with a sweet yet insincere smile. “I tried to get you to. Pity. You missed out on a great sisterhood. Our cov–” her eyes shifted to DeAnn, “house was made up of all sorts of future leaders.”

She’d almost said coven, which told me it was the fae sorority on campus. Several of Toronto’s top covens used the university’s Greek houses as training covens. Since we fae didn’t get our full powers until our mid-thirties, our twenties were spent learning a lot about our magical natures.

“Criminology and the… sisterhoods don’t mix,” Courtney said, then her cheeks flared red, and her eyes shifted to DeAnn. She’d almost added magical to the term sisterhood but caught herself.

“That’s why you should have gone into Political Science,” Durand said, shaking her head. “I tried to warn you that you’d end up in some cheap little podunk backwater like Eerie Falls.”