Tarnished and Torn: A Witchcraft Mystery Read online

  PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS OF JULIET BLACKWELL

  THE WITCHCRAFT MYSTERIES

  In a Witch’s Wardrobe

  “A smashingly fabulous tale.”

  —New York Times bestselling author Victoria Laurie

  “Funny and thoughtful, In a Witch’s Wardrobe is an easy read with an enjoyable heroine and a touch of witchy intuition.”

  —The Mystery Reader

  “Another engrossing story by an author with marvelous storytelling skills.”

  —Vibrant Nation

  “A really entertaining read. . . . I look forward to the next installment.”

  —Cozy Crimes

  “Juliet’s writing is creative and wickedly imaginative.”

  —Once Upon a Romance

  “A wonderful paranormal amateur sleuth tale. . . . Fans will enjoy Lily’s magical mystery tour of San Francisco.”

  —Genre Go Round Reviews

  Hexes and Hemlines

  “This exciting urban fantasy murder mystery . . . is an entertaining paranormal whodunit. . . . Her familiar, Oscar, half goblin-gargoyle, becomes a cute potbellied pig who adds jocularity to the fast-paced story line as part of the quirky cast (benign, kind, and evil) that helps make this spellbinding tale a fun read.”

  —Genre Go Round Reviews

  “Hexes and Hemlines carries you along with an unconventional cast, where nothing is out of bounds. Extraordinarily entertaining.”

  —Suspense Magazine

  “Blending a mystery with all things paranormal and her customary light humor, this title doesn’t disappoint. Strong writing, a solid plot, and a spunky, likable heroine add up to this cleverly written, top-notch cozy mystery.”

  —Romantic Times

  “This is a fun and totally engrossing series that hooks you instantly and makes you want more. . . . I love the mix of vintage clothes, magic, and a lingering possibility of romance combined with mystery.”

  —Fang-tastic Books

  “Juliet Blackwell has created a series that will appeal to mystery fans as well as paranormal enthusiasts.”

  —Debbie’s Book Bag

  A Cast-Off Coven

  “If you like your mysteries with a side of spell-casting and demon-vanquishing, you’ll enjoy the second title in Blackwell’s Witchcraft Mysteries.”

  —Romantic Times

  “This awesome paranormal mystery stars a terrific heroine.”

  —Genre Go Round Reviews

  Secondhand Spirits

  “An excellent blend of mystery, paranormal, and light humor, creating a cozy that is a must read for anyone with an interest in literature with paranormal elements.”

  —The Romance Readers Connection

  “It’s a fun story, with romance possibilities with a couple of hunky men, terrific vintage clothing, and the enchanting Oscar. But there is so much more to this book. It has serious depth.”

  —The Herald News (MA)

  THE HAUNTED HOME RENOVATION MYSTERIES

  Dead Bolt

  “Juliet Blackwell’s writing is like that of a master painter, placing a perfect splash of detail, drama, color, and whimsy in all the right places!”

  —New York Times bestselling author Victoria Laurie

  “Cleverly plotted with a terrific sense of the history of the greater Bay Area, Blackwell’s series has plenty of ghosts and supernatural happenings to keep readers entertained and off-balance.”

  —Library Journal

  “Smooth, seductive. . . . Fans will want to see a lot more of the endearing Mel.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  If Walls Could Talk

  “A riveting tale with a twisting plot, likeable characters, and an ending that will make you shudder with how easily something small can get totally out of hand . . . a good solid read.”

  —The Romance Readers Connection

  “Ms. Blackwell’s offbeat, humorous book is a fun, light read. . . . Overall, a terrific blend of suspense and laughter with a dash of the paranormal thrown in make this a great read.”

  —TwoLips Reviews

  “Kudos and high fives to Ms. Blackwell for creating a new set of characters for readers to hang around with as well as a new twist on the ghostly paranormal mystery niche.”

  —Once Upon a Romance

  THE ART LOVER’S MYSTERIES BY JULIET BLACKWELL WRITING AS HAILEY LIND

  Brush with Death

  “Lind deftly combines a smart and witty sleuth with entertaining characters who are all engaged in a fascinating new adventure.”

  —Romantic Times

  Shooting Gallery

  “If you enjoy Janet Evanovich’s Stephanie Plum books, Jonathan Gash’s Lovejoy series, or Ian Pears’ art history mysteries . . . then you will enjoy Shooting Gallery.”

  —Gumshoe

  “An artfully crafted new mystery series!”

  —Tim Myers, Agatha Award–nominated author of Slow-Cooked Murder

  “The art world is murder in this witty and entertaining mystery!”

  —Cleo Coyle, national bestselling author of A Brew to a Kill

  Feint of Art

  “Annie Kincaid is a wonderful cozy heroine. . . . It’s a rollicking good read.”

  —Mystery Book News

  Also by Juliet Blackwell

  WITCHCRAFT MYSTERIES

  Secondhand Spirits

  A Cast-Off Coven

  Hexes and Hemlines

  In a Witch’s Wardrobe

  HAUNTED HOME RENOVATION MYSTERIES

  If Walls Could Talk

  Dead Bolt

  Murder on the House

  TARNISHED AND TORN

  A

  Witchcraft

  Mystery

  Juliet Blackwell

  OBSIDIAN

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,

  New York, New York 10014, USA

  USA | Canada | UK | Ireland | Australia | New Zealand | India | South Africa | China

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  For more information about the Penguin Group visit penguin.com.

  First published by Obsidian, an imprint of New American Library,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  Copyright © Julie Goodson-Lawes, 2013

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  OBSIDIAN and logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  ISBN 978-1-101-61569-0

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  Contents

  Praise

  Also by Juliet Blackwell

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

&n
bsp; Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Excerpt from HOME FOR THE HAUNTING

  About the Author

  À Eric

  Encore . . . et toujours

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks, as always, to my wonderful editor, Kerry Donovan, and all the other professionals at Penguin who contribute to the editing, copyediting, printing, and art for my beautiful books. . . . I am thankful for all of you. To Kristin Lindstrom for her continuing friendship and support, and to Jim McCarthy for all his wisdom and cheerleading. I don’t know how I would survive in this business without you.

  My sister Carolyn Lawes has been more than just a supportive source of ideas and edits—she has helped mold my books, scene by scene. You are a true writing partner. Thank you.

  To Cathy Romero for her font of knowledge about rural Mexican traditions, and for inspiring Graciela. To Jeremy Reiss for answering my annoying questions about antique jewelry and gemology. To the street fire dancers of Ashland, Oregon, for sharing their beautiful art and a few secrets of their mesmerizing dance! And thanks to Rosa Quinones for her incredible witch’s garden.

  To the wonderful authors who write with me and inspire me and listen to me complain: Sophie Littlefield, Rachael Herron, Nicole Peeler, Gigi Pandian, Victoria Laurie, Mysti Berry, Adrienne Miller, Cecilia Gray, Lisa Hughey, and LGC Smith. And a special shout-out to Maddee James, whose design sense and smarts are superseded only by her big heart.

  To my neighbors and all the members, near and far, of the Mira Vista Social Club—Oaktown rocks! Also to J. C. Johnson, Bee Enos, Pamela Groves, Anna Cabrera, Mary Grae, Karen Thompson, Susan Baker, Claudia Escobar, Kendall Moalem, Wanda Klor, Antonio Jimenez, Gomez Gomez, and Bruce Nikolai, all of whom put up with my forgetful writer brain and remind me what friendship is, on a daily basis. And to Muffy Srinavasan and Tim Rood, Jan Strout, Bill Logan, Brian Casey, Shay Demetrius, Suzanne Chan, and the good people of Castillones for helping make my life-in-the-French-countryside fantasy come true!

  To my father, who always challenges me and makes me laugh; and to my sister Susan for her ongoing love and support. And thanks to my son, Sergio, for being a constant and wildly interesting inspiration to me, every single day.

  And finally, to Oscar. You are welcome in my window anytime, sneezes or no.

  Chapter 1

  “Let me get this straight: This is a palace . . . for cows?” I asked, staring in disbelief at the hulking Cow Palace, which sported a colossal banner that read: GEM FAIRE THIS WEEKEND!

  Where I’m from in West Texas, a royal bovine showplace wouldn’t have been entirely out of the realm of possibility. Here in the urban outskirts of San Francisco, it seemed rather . . . anomalous. In fact, downright preposterous.

  “It’s not a moo-cow palace,” Bronwyn said, adjusting her new-to-her tunic, a rare find from the 1960s. The purple gauze, decorated with rune symbols and pentagrams, matched the violets woven through Bronwyn’s frizzy brown hair. “The ‘C-O-W’ stands for California, Oregon, and Washington. It started out in 1941 as a livestock showcase. They still hold rodeos here sometimes, but they also have concerts and sports events. Anyway, as you’ll soon see, the Cow Palace has more in common with an airport hangar than with Versailles.”

  “And here I had an image of cattle taking tea with the queen,” teased our friend and coworker Maya.

  “Just wait until we get inside, you cynics. I guarantee you, the Gem Faire will take your breath away,” said Bronwyn with a cat-that-swallowed-the-canary grin.

  The three of us were standing in a long queue of eager shoppers, waiting for the doors to open. We each had several canvas bags slung over our shoulders in anticipation of acquiring loot for my vintage clothing store, Aunt Cora’s Closet. When Bronwyn suggested we close the shop this morning in favor of attending the Gem Faire, I almost balked. After all, my customers had been so good to me—and my store—over the past few months that I hated to disappoint any who might be desperate for vintage clothing this warm, summery Sunday.

  But on second thought, I realized, a trade show full of wholesale decorative jewels, stones, and ornaments?

  Too tempting to pass up. Way too tempting.

  One of many wonderful things about my chosen profession was that I could file “pursuit of objects of beauty and history” under the category of “job-related obligations.” And shopping with my closest friends by my side? Even better.

  Maya craned her neck to see ahead of us. “I think the doors are opening. All set?”

  “Set,” Bronwyn confirmed.

  “Set for what?” I asked, alarmed. I was unfamiliar with the protocol involved in being a part of such a crowd. Going to concerts, amusement parks, and state fairs had not been a part of my youth.

  “Eyes straight ahead, hold on to your purse, and whatever you do, don’t trip,” Bronwyn said. The Cow Palace’s many double doors opened with a series of metallic clangs, and the crowd surged forward.

  Carried along by the press of bodies—and smiling at Maya, who was mooing under her breath—we surrendered our tickets, passed through the entryway, and spilled out into the main display area, a gargantuan space undeniably capable of accommodating several herds of cattle. Despite the building’s workaday architectural details—massive concrete support beams upheld the domed roof high overhead, crisscrossed by aluminum air ducts and industrial pipes—the structure could indeed have been a royal palace, given the finery on display in the hundreds of booths.

  Jiminy Crickets, I thought as I looked around us. A thousand pirates would have had to rob and pillage for centuries to amass such a treasure trove of goodies.

  Display boards and folding tables were covered with trays overflowing with sparkling jewels, gleaming pearls, precious stones, glowing amber, fossilized wood, million-year-old ammonites . . . and then there were the pendants, necklaces, earrings, medallions, rings, anklets, and decorative tchotchkes ranging from bejeweled hairbrushes to tiny curio boxes. Overhead hung massive placards touting everything from investing in antique cameos to the health benefits of copper bracelets. Half a dozen posters solicited the public to INVITE WEALTH INTO YOUR LIFE BY LEARNING TO FIRE DANCE—the scantily clad prima ballerinas shown in the photos were dripping with jewels, coin necklaces, silver and gold chains, and amulets.

  “Hey, look,” said Maya. “That’s the dance troupe I was telling you about. I saw them in Golden Gate Park the other day.”

  “The what?” Bronwyn shouted over the noise of the crowd.

  “Dance troupe!”

  “Oh, I though you said ‘pants loop.’”

  “What’s a ‘pants loop’?”

  “That was my point.”

  “No, I said ‘dance’— Never mind,” Maya responded with a smile as she was jostled by a group of young women intent on squeezing in at the front of a table selling discount designer bracelets. “Tell ya later.”

  All around us was chaos. Glittery, cacophonous bedlam.

  “Glad we came?” asked Bronwyn as we started to meander through the aisles of gem-laden tables.

  I nodded, dumbstruck.

  “I’d say it’s worth opening the store a little late on a Sunday,” said Maya as she paused to stroke a long strand of polished garnets. The deep wine color of the beads was a perfect match to the ruby highlights in Maya’s black locks.

  “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” I said a little breathlessly.

  I noticed Maya and Bronwyn sharing a smile. Coming here today—playing hooky to go shopping with friends—was an important rite of passage for me. I had never done such a thing, and I was reveling in the experience. The crowd milling around us was mostly female—some appeared to be jewelry makers and wedding
planners and artists and dealers like me, but mostly they were shopping just for the fun of it.

  “Well, then, we’ll have to start doing it more often,” Bronwyn murmured. “It’s a very important bonding thing. Oooh, look there! Have you ever seen so many pearls?”

  We strolled by a dealer with strands of pearls in just about every color imaginable: sky blue, indigo, purple, pink, green, gray. In addition to the rainbow of color possibilities, the oyster-born treasures were offered in myriad different shapes, from the classic gleaming spheres to misshapen, elongated forms that looked like lumpy grains of rice or twisty bits of coral.

  The next booth specialized in Venetian glass beads, handmade and swirling with color. Strands of multicolored glass pieces hung from a long fishing line and created the effect of a beaded curtain. The sumptuous glass twinkled beguilingly in the harsh fluorescent lights of the exhibit hall. There were a few dozen finished necklaces and earrings hanging from display racks, but most of the offerings were loose beads in lined baskets.

  Maya reached out to caress one piece after another, stroking their slick surfaces, her long fingers rippling the beaded curtain with a pleasant clickety-clackety sound.

  Although tempted to follow Maya’s example, I kept my hands tucked tight into the pockets of my vintage 1960s sundress. The buzzing crowd already felt just a mite overwhelming; I didn’t want to add to my overloaded senses by tuning in to an untold number of possible sensations emanating from the jewelry.

  Not that I normally picked up much from metal or stone . . . but given my sometimes unpredictable supernatural abilities, it was best to play it safe.

  In witchcraft—as in the rest of my life—I’m a misfit. For instance, I’m no good at scrying, or seeing the future in a crystal ball. And when it comes to psychometrics—the ability to feel vibrations from inanimate objects—I am especially out of step. Elemental minerals reflect and hold their owners’ energy, so most sensitives are adept at picking up sensations from metal and stone artifacts.

  But I gather sensations from clothing. The warmth of humanity shows itself to me in the everyday items we wear on our backs. Textiles talk to me. In contrast, metal and stones leave me cold.