Read Nightingale's Nightmare (Cassadaga Book 4 Online
Authors: Elizabeth Owens
Nightingale's Nightmare (Cassadaga Book 4
Nightingale’s
Nightmare
Book 4 in the
Cassadaga Book Series
Nightingale’s
Nightmare
Book 4
Cassadaga Book
Series
Elizabeth Owens
Pisces Publishing
Cassadaga, FL
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by an information storage or retrieval systems available, without written permission from the author.
©
Copyright January 2013, Elizabeth Owens
Printed in the USA
Pisces Publishing
P.O. Box 55
Cassadaga, FL. 32706
Cover Art: “Nun So Pure,” 24x30 oil painting, Elizabeth Owens. $800.00
This is a work of fiction. All characters, names or incidents are either invented or used fictitiously. This is a vivid example of my imagination.
Gratitude
My deep appreciation goes to Elaine
Waidelich for always supporting me through the years and being such a beautiful person, inside and out. I love you, Mom!
Appreciation goes to Rev. Diane Davis for always having my back when I needed that sort of comfort.
Gratitude goes to my husband, Vincent, who doesn’t expect me to go to work a nine to five job. Having the peace and serenity that is present in my home is necessary to compose, and I am blessed with that condition, thanks to him.
I am so grateful to the fans of my series! Thank you so very much for staying interested in my books! A new series is next on the horizon, so stay tuned!
O
ne
“You’
ll have to repeat that, Detective Martinez,” Nightingale said into the phone. “I’m sure I didn’t hear you correctly.”
Bill and
Nightingale had just returned home from their overnight outing down toward Cocoa Beach. They had barely walked in the door when the phone rang.
“Nightingale, you know the fire you four ladies were involved in at The Tavern just prior to Chloe’s wedding?”
“Yes, of course I remember. I was throwing Chloe a bachelorette party,” Nightingale said.
“
As you know, when we were investigating the cause of the fire, we found a charred male body with a knife stuck in his back.”
“
Yes, that was awful. I can’t imagine who would do such a thing.”
“
Well, it gets even worse.”
“What could be worse than that?”
“We identified the body as Bradford Perry, your former husband.”
Nightingale
couldn’t speak. It was like someone had grabbed hold of her vocal cords and braided them tightly together.
“Nightingale?” Martinez asked.
“I’m here. I’m just in shock,” she croaked out.
“When was the last time you saw your ex?”
“Probably six months ago. We don’t run into each other often, even though he just lives
over in DeLand.”
“Do you have any idea who might have killed him?”
“I haven’t kept up on his antics of late, so I can’t help you there.” She had no clue at that moment who might have wanted to kill Brad.
“Did he have enemies that you know of?”
“Well, sure. Plenty of people didn’t like him. As charming as he could be, and believe me when I say he could be super charming, he also had an ugly side to him.” She vividly remembered his ugly side because she had seen it up close and personal. “Revenge was his middle name. He pissed off a lot of people in his line of work.”
“What did he do for a living?”
“Investments. He used other people’s money to invest in deals, and he got a commission off of that, plus the fee to hire him, whether it worked out to be a good investment or not.” Brad had quite a racket going for himself. “He did really well.”
“Anyone in particular
over the years who invested with him come to mind who might have been angry with him?”
“How many hours do you have? As I said, he pissed off a lot of people. But we’ve been divorced for several years, so I
don’t remember much.”
“Okay, let me ask you
this, would you make a list of people you do remember who might have a grievance toward your ex-husband, even if it’s been a while back?”
“Oh, certainly, I’d be happy to do that for you,”
Nightingale said. “I’ll have a list for you tomorrow.”
“That will be fine. You can drop it by the office, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“Oh, no trouble at all.”
“Have a good day, Nightingale.”
She turned around to look at Bill. He was the polar opposite of Brad. Bill France, a corporal with the Volusia County Sheriffs Office in Florida, was gentle, kind and open minded. He put to shame Nightingale’s ex-husband.
“You won’t believe this,”
Nightingale said to Bill. “That charred body they found in the debris at The Tavern?”
“Yeah, with a knife in his back,” he stated.
“T
urns out to be my ex-husband, Bradford Perry.”
“Son of a bitch!”
“Yeah. Weird, huh? Detective Martinez wants me to make a list of his enemies.”
“It didn’t sound like you know
of any.”
“No, I don’t. And why would I? We haven’t been together for quite a while.”
“Well, make the list of potentials for Martinez and I can turn it in for you.”
“What an ending for such a happy time we had.”
“Yes, it was really great, wasn’t it?” Bill gathered her into his arms and kissed her forehead.
“All good things must come to an end,”
Nightingale said ruefully. “I just didn’t expect to be yanked back to reality so quickly. My ex-husband, murdered. Shit. That’s just crazy.”
“Does that upset you?”
“No. I’m sorry he died, but I’m not upset.” She answered the question honestly. “I have no feelings for him anymore.”
“
Well, you’d better not,” he said, grinning. “I have to go on duty at six, so if you have the list prepared before then, I can deliver it.” Bill was so sweet. Always.
Nightingale knew she
was a lucky woman.
Two
It was election time in Cassadaga and the energy was heating up, as it did every year at this time. Each year two or three positions became available on the board of trustees and the battle was on to get elected. Anyone who had ever served on the board knew it wasn’t a pleasant position to be in, but people still sought to be elected. Worse yet, for all their dedication, no matter how popular they once were, serving on the board killed that admiration pretty quickly.
This year
several people naively thought they could make a difference. Everyone had that delusional thought at first, but soon learned they were just the most recent in a long line of similarly thinking people. On occasion, it appeared that there was a change for the better, depending which side of the fence you were on. But then another election could reverse what one may have seen as positive, so the situation returned right back to where it had been. The only thing that really seemed to change were the faces.
Nightingale
had no intention of putting her hat into the ring and wasn’t sure who she wanted to see get elected. Sheila Chambers was running, for one. She had great organizational skills and a clerical background, so Sheila would be a good choice, Nightingale thought. She was also her friend.
Then there was
Alexandra Daniels, or Alex, but she had such a caustic personality, Nightingale wasn’t sure she’d have a chance of being elected. While dignified in appearance, every time she opened up her mouth, she stuck her foot in and spit out venom.
Joe Schmidt had an accounting background, so he was definitely a good choice.
Nightingale had already decided she was voting for him. No one else had his credentials and honest personality. The man was truthful to a fault.
As
Nightingale was walking up to the post office for her mail, all of these thoughts were bouncing around in her head. Then she saw Poppy Portinari coming out of the building, all of her bountiful attributes proudly on display.
“Hey, Poppy!”
“
Hola
,” she said in her thick Spanish accent as her bosom bounced its greeting. “You hear ‘bout man in The Tavern? He your husband.”
Poppy was a beautiful Brazilian woman, with long black curls and a body to die for. And she sure knew how to show off all of her assets in that department.
“Ex-husband, Poppy.” She wanted to make sure that was abundantly clear to everyone. “Ex. And, yes, I heard. Pretty shocking.”
“
Si.
Who do that to him?”
“I really have no idea.”
Poppy fluffed her hair out with one hand and pulled her shoulders back, studying Nightingale’s face as if deciding whether to believe her or not.
“Well, must get back to gallery, Nightingale.” Poppy
announced, turning toward the Romano Art Gallery where she worked for Michael, a famous artist. Her hips wagged back and forth as she strutted in her three inch heels.
Cassadaga
is a tiny community that is home to mediums and psychics where people come from all over the world to receive spiritual counseling. Being quite historic, its quaint and peaceful ambiance was attractive to most visitors. However, that didn’t mean it was immune from crime.
The community had experienced some murders in the last year, and now a charred body had been found in the rubbish left from a terrible fire that burned down The Tavern.
Not that that was any great loss. The building was old and worn beyond its years and was home to many nasty fights when the bikers invaded the town twice a year. But then there was that little issue of a knife found lodged in the charred man’s back. So it appeared the tiny town had another murder to contend with.
Nightingale
Perry was the premier psychic medium in Cassadaga, Florida, and she needed to get ready for her first appointment of the day. She scurried back home and into her cottage, then ran up the stairs to the bedroom. Quickly changing into a soft pink skirt, she pulled her red curls away from her chubby face and clamped them tightly with a barrette. Looking in the mirror, Nightingale saw what she thought was a cute woman in her early thirties. Yes, she could stand to lose twenty pounds, but that probably wasn’t going to happen. Fortunately, Bill accepted her as she was, which was much more than she could ever have anticipated from Brad.
~~
“I don’t trust none of them,” Helen stated to Ralph. “My guides told me that Sheila is the only one worth the fuss.”
“Sheila’s okay with me. I kinda like that Schmidt fella, too.” The old gentleman was leaning on his rake
, pausing from his work to chat with Helen Draper.
Helen and Ralph
Abernathy were an item, which was amusing to more than one person in Cassadaga. Helen was in her mid-eighties and relatively spry, while Ralph was every bit of ninety-one and moving around remarkably well for any age. A romance had bloomed when Ralph moved into one of the rental homes available in the community at the time.
Everyone speculated whether or not there was any sexual activity happening between them.
The only reason there was speculation was that Helen had always voiced how she was sexually active and even enjoyed a vibrator when she was between men. No one knew if that was truth talking or her dementia. She had been a superb medium in her younger days, but now lived off of her social security check since her readings had fallen off.