Pushing Up Daisies Read online

  Table of Contents

  Pushing Up Daisies (A Pet Psychic Book 5)

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  PUSHING UP DAISIES

  (A Pet Psychic Mystery Book 5)

  Shannon Esposito

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  Copyright © Shannon Esposito, 2019

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  Published by misterio press

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  Visit Shannon Esposito’s official website at

  http://www.murderinparadise.com/

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  Cover by Dar Albert

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

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  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

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  To Atlas, forever in our hearts.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Ruth Russo stepped out of the St. Pete Journal building with an uncharacteristic smile on her face. The box cradled in her arms contained the last contents of her desk—hand sanitizer, Tums, letters and files, her favorite blonde wig. It was the first time she’d set foot outside the building without a disguise, and she felt free at last. Her body was lighter, her mind unburdened. She didn’t even mind the slight, leftover drizzle from a summer storm soaking through her blouse as she crossed the dark, deserted parking lot to her car.

  This night marked the end of a chapter in her life, but also the beginning of a new one. She’d never imagined herself on TV. Didn’t have the face for it, if she was being honest with herself. Or the body, thanks to a successful career as a food critic. But what she did have was tenacity and the willingness to expose local restaurants’ claims of farm fresh, wild caught, locally grown and all the other BS they feed unsuspecting customers with a side of wilted greens. Which is exactly what she’d done in an explosive article series that had caught the attention of a TV producer. A TV producer! That still sent a zing of excitement right up her spine.

  She wasn’t quite sure what to expect from signing that contract for a twelve-show series to continue exposing restaurant claims in the new venue. But the world truly was her oyster right now, and she was finally getting her chance to pluck out that pearl.

  As she neared her silver Cadillac, A prickling of unease teased the back of her neck. The smell hit her first. It filled her nostrils, clogged her throat and made her gag.

  “What the ...?” Dropping the box on the blacktop, she covered her nose with both hands and moved slowly toward her car. The clouds parted, and in the sudden moonlight, a pile of glass glittered on the ground next to her car. Her gaze darted to the driver’s side window, which had been smashed out.

  She gingerly stepped one foot onto the glass to peer into her car. It crunched under her leather loafer. Leaning over, she gasped. Slick, silvery bodies and round, cloudy eyes greeted her.

  Someone had filled her car with dead, rotting fish.

  “Who would do this?” she whispered.

  Only the slight rustle of wind through the palm trees lining the back of the lot answered her.

  Anger bubbled up within her, along with bile from the stench. Keeping her nose covered with one hand, she reached in and plucked a note off her dashboard. Tilting it into the moonlight she read:

  Your gonna sleep with the fishes traitor!

  She blinked back the tears now blurring her vision. Her heart pounding, she glanced around the parking lot. She was so tired of the threats. So tired of being the bad guy. Didn’t they understand she just cared about the food industry? She was the reason restaurants tried so hard to please their customers.

  Removing her hand from her face she yelled, “It’s you’re! Y-O-U-apostrophe-R-E you illiterate coward!”

  Her voice echoed in the silence and died. With a sniffle, she scooped up the box and marched back into the building to call the police ... again.

  CHAPTER TWO

  For the second day in a row, our morning began with the scent of fried food and thumping music coming from the St. Pete Seafood Festival across the street in Straub Park. Yesterday it had been a real distraction for me and my sister, Mallory, as we’d worked at Darwin’s Pet Boutique.

  Mallory was helping me out while my business partner and groomer extraordinaire, Sylvia, trekked around Europe on her two-week honeymoon.

  But Sundays the pet boutique was closed, so we were finally free to partake in the festivities.

  Willow, our middle sister, had volunteered to stay with Grandma Winters—who’d shown up unexpectedly a few days ago—and give her a tour of the less crowded parts of St. Pete. Neither of them was a big fan of crowds or seafood.

  Mallory and I stepped out of the townhouse gate in flip-flops and sunhats, both of us grinning like a possum eatin’ a sweet potato. Mallory was also holding our current foster puppy, a Yorkie named Petey. We were supposed to be trying to find him a home, but Mallory has gotten real attached to the little guy, so she’s been procrastinating.

  “Ready?” I asked.

  “Born ready.” Grabbing my hand with her free one, Mallory pulled me through the stand-still traffic on Beach Drive toward Straub Park.

  “Mal, this is jaywalking!” I protested. “Sorry, sorry.” I waved to the cars we were weaving our way past.

  We were across the street and heading toward the front entrance before she answered me. “Some rules are begging to be broken, Sis.” Tugging me faster down the sidewalk, she added, “There’s the gate. Is Will meeting you here?”

  I smirked and narrowed my eyes at her, as we got in line to buy our tickets. “Yeah, why? Eager to get rid of me?”

  “’Course not.” But the mischievous gleam in her green eyes said differently.

  We’d all grown up in Savannah, Georgia, sheltered from the world by an over-protective mother. I knew Mal was itching to explore the festival alone, to feel independent. Plus, she was boy-crazy, and I’d inherited our mother’s overprotective gene.

  My stomach gurgled at the mixture of aromas. I eyed the red-and-white-striped awnings of the vendor booths scattered around the park beneath a cloudless, azure sky. Good heavens there was an overwhelming array of foods available. How would we ever choose?

  Mallory pushed me through the crowd and steered me toward a booth. Well, that answers that question. “I know you’re having lunch with Will, but we can grab something small.”

  I glanced up at the sign as we waited in line. “Tempura fried ice cream?”

  “Yes, dessert first, my treat. Live a little.” She pulled cash out of her jean shorts pocket. When it was our turn, she said, “Two, please.”

  I held up my hand. “Just one.” I didn’t have anything on my stom
ach except a cup of tea. At eighteen, Mallory could still get away with eating sugar for breakfast without feeling sick as a dog. I couldn’t.

  Mallory’s hand went to her hip as she glanced at me. “Prude.”

  “I’ll have a bite of yours,” I said in the spirit of compromise.

  “Here, hold Petey.” She transferred the weightless ball of fluff to me. While he struggled to nibble my chin with his sharp puppy teeth, Mallory accepted the Styrofoam bowl. In it sat a fried, golden globe, which was cut in half to showcase the green ice cream, then drizzled with chocolate syrup. “Now this here is real magic.” She grinned.

  Taking a bite as we walked away, she moaned. “Heaven.” Then she threaded her arm through mine. “Come on, let’s go watch the band while you help me eat this.”

  We took a seat at the end of a long banquet table. I checked the ground by my feet for red ant piles, and finding none, I sat Petey down in the shade beneath the table.

  He licked my toe and then stretched out and yipped at a grasshopper in his high puppy voice.

  “Oh, my stars!” Mallory said, pointing her spoon at the five musicians playing their hearts out on the raised stage. “That’s Brad Rose! The one with the red guitar. I heard he was leaving The Firestarters. This must be his new band. I can’t believe he’s here!”

  I eyed the object of my sister’s admiration. “Kinda has a Keith Urban vibe going on.”

  “Yeah, except way younger ... and hotter.” She pushed the ice cream toward me without taking her eyes off the young man with the red guitar.

  Oh boy. I rolled my eyes. Target acquired.

  I put a little dab of ice cream on the spoon and offered it to Petey. His tiny tongue lapped it up, and then he sneezed and rolled over on his back. Slipping off a flip-flop, I rubbed his soft belly with my toe.

  My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was Will. Thank heavens. I wasn’t sure how long I could sit here and watch my sister drool. “Hey, Mal, that’s Will. I’m going to go meet him at the front gate. You want to keep Petey with you?”

  “Yeah, sure.” She held out her hand, her attention still riveted to the stage.

  Sighing, I placed the end of the leash in her hand. “Text me when you’re done watching the band, and I’ll let you know where we are.”

  I found Will waiting just inside the entrance. Even dressed in old workout clothes and a worn-thin baseball cap, he still made my heart flutter. “Hey, you.” I smiled as I removed my sunhat and slipped into his arms. He was damp with sweat, but I didn’t care.

  “Sorry, snuck a run in before I came.”

  He tried to pull away, but I held him tight. “If you think I’m going to let you go because of a little sweat, you don’t know me very well, Detective.”

  I’d meant it as a joke, but a wave of Will’s insecurity washed over me. Shoot. I knew my friendship with Zach Faraday—half-human, half-jinn and all male—was probably the cause of that. And from the shocking news Grandma Winters had brought us about Father, I knew things were about to get harder for Will in that department.

  Nothing I could do about it right now, though. Leaning back a bit, I looked up into his eyes, which matched the color of the sky today. “Hungry?”

  “Starving.” From the way his eyes swept over my face and landed on my mouth, I suddenly got the idea he wasn’t talking about food.

  I grinned and plopped my sunhat back on. “Me too. Come on.”

  He took my hand in his as we navigated the crowd. “Where’s Mallory? Thought she was coming with you.”

  I stopped short as two squealing boys running with ice cream bowls almost plowed into me. “Sorry!” A harried lady running after them said as she passed.

  “No harm done,” I called after her. We continued walking. “Yeah, Mal’s here. I left her droolin’ all over some guy in the country-pop band that’s playing right now.”

  Will chuckled and listened to the music for a second. “Well, at least he’s not just a pretty face, sounds talented.” And then he stopped dead in his tracks in the middle of the crowd.

  I glanced up at his expression. It was frozen, his eyes crinkled in the corners under the shade of his ball cap. His body tensed up beside me. His grip on my hand tightened.

  “Will?” He didn’t answer. I followed his gaze and saw her.

  Cynthia. Will’s ex-wife.

  I’d seen pictures of her one night when we were going through his photo albums. She was even more stunning in person with long, silky hair, a curvy figure, and a confident strut. The complete opposite of me, with my lanky frame and short, frost-white hair. After five years of marriage she’d left Will for a German plastic surgeon. That was almost seven years ago.

  She spotted Will at the same time and made her way toward him. Her smile widened until it lit up her whole face.

  “Will! I was hoping I’d run into you here.” Her eyes swept over me dismissively and then locked back on Will, who still hadn’t moved. Her smile faltered but her chest puffed out. “Happy to see me?”

  Will finally cleared his throat. “What brings you back to the states?”

  We both glanced down at her hand at the same time. No wedding band.

  Crap on a cracker.

  “I’ve moved back to St. Pete actually.” She shifted her ample hip and tilted her head. I could see her trying to figure out if that pleased Will.

  Double crap.

  Will’s body was stiff, his arms crossed. “Didn’t work out with Hans, huh?”

  Her mouth curved a little but fell short of a smile. Her eyes, the color of sunlit honey, filled with regret. “You could say that. Anyway, I was really homesick, so here I am. Home.”

  Silence stretched out between them as Will refused to take the bait. “How’s Toffee?” he asked, changing the subject. Toffee was their cat, which she’d taken with her when she’d left.

  Cynthia’s chin dipped, but she watched Will carefully from beneath lush, dark lashes. “Still alive, though he’s pretty much deaf and just likes to lounge around. No more chasing lizards.” She lifted her head and a dimple punctuated her smile. “You should come by and see him. I’ve bought a place over on 11th Avenue. I’m going to restore it.”

  Suddenly she gasped and jumped back a step. Water had sloshed out of the cup she was holding and soaked the front of her white, silk shirt. “What in the world?”

  My face burned. Oops. I really needed to get control of my water magick during emotional upsets. Though, who in the world wears silk to a seafood festival?

  A woman dressing to impress her ex, that’s who.

  Will took the distraction as an opportunity to cut the conversation short. Grabbing my hand, he said, “Darwin and I are meeting someone, so we have to go. See you around.”

  I watched her open her mouth to protest, but she was too flustered to get anything out before Will pulled me past her, and we disappeared into the crowd.

  I snuck a glance up at him. His nostrils were flared, jaw set tight.

  “Well,” I said, “that was awkward.”

  Will took a breath and slowed down. “Yeah, sorry I didn’t introduce you. It was just a shock to see her in town again.”

  “It’s okay.” But was it? She obviously had her sights set on him again. I needed to get his mind off of her quickly. “Hey, there’s a booth from that sushi place Frankie’s been raving about. Come on.”

  I led him over to the booth with the Happi Sushi banner stretched above the spread of food, and we got in line behind a dozen other hungry festivalgoers.

  When it was finally our turn, the young man in a backwards ball cap and white apron smiled at us. “What can I get for you folks?”

  I eyed the silver trays nestled in ice and decorated with lettuce and dozens of colorful displays of sushi pieces. They were like works of art.

  “What do you recommend? Everything looks good,” Will said, reading my mind.

  As he and the aproned man talked, I couldn’t help but notice the argument going on in the background. A young Japanese wo
man, her dark hair pulled up in a knot on top her head, gripped a gold lobster statue in her fist and was shaking it at a large, well-built Black man with shoulder-length dreadlocks. His hands rested lightly on his hips, and his head was bowed.

  Will followed my gaze. “Oh ...whoa ... that’s Ogden Stewart.”

  I glanced up at the star-struck expression on his face. “Who?”

  “Ogden Stewart. Best Tampa Bay defensive end and linebacker we’ve ever had. Holds the fifth all-time career sacks record, all-time leader in fumble return touchdowns and was the NFL Defensive Player of the Year in 2010.”

  The aproned man glanced back at Ogden and then nodded. “These days Oggie’s retired. He’s a nice guy and Hana’s boyfriend. She owns Happi Sushi. You wanna meet him?”

  We were all staring as Hana tossed the gold lobster statue into a large plastic trash can behind her and crossed her arms.

  Oggie lifted his hands in a ‘what did you do that for?’ gesture.

  “Maybe now’s not the best time,” Will said. “Why’d he retire? He’s only in his thirties, right?”

  “Yeah. He was forced out when they discovered he has post-concussion syndrome.”

  “Rough game.” Will shook his head. “Too bad. All right. You’ve sold me on the barbequed eel sashimi and the volcano roll. We’ll take two orders of each. Darwin, want to add anything? California rolls?”

  “Sure,” I said, suddenly distracted by a snuffling on my toe. I glanced down. A miniature dachshund was poking its head out from beneath the white tablecloth.

  “Well, hello there,” I said, bending down.

  The dog belly-crawled out further and sniffed the air. Expressive, brown eyes peered up at my face. It had a black and tan, smooth coat, and looked pretty young. When my hand got too close, it let out a warning bark.

  “All right.” I held my hand where it was. “You come to me.”

  “That’s Daisy,” the man behind the table said, peering over. “Hana’s dog. She talks tough but she’s harmless. The dog, not Hana.” He snorted at some private joke.

  “Well, hello there, Daisy girl,” I cooed.

  She pushed herself up on short, stocky legs and touched her cold nose to my hand.