Fantastical Island (Old School Book 2) Read online

  “A mothman.” Naomi flipped back through one of the project files she’d put aside. There’d been a fake, over-sized raven that Corey had created for an Edgar Allan Poe festival. It had “flown” through the air on wires. She didn’t know if Corey could replicate the wires somewhere on the island without them being discovered, but perhaps that was what he wanted the Roman ghost, Iovanius, for: the poltergeist could give whatever creature Corey created movement and an illusion of life.

  “Sorry. The meeting went even longer than I expected.” Corey entered the quiet room and paused. He studied her face. “You have an idea.”

  She smiled at him, loving the energy he brought into the room, and the fact that she could contribute to solving their shared problem. “How do you feel about creating a mothman?”

  Chapter 5

  “A mothman is certainly feasible. I could attach something to a drone, although the noise…the island’s not like Los Angeles. It’s quiet.” Corey trailed off, thinking about his options, only to be startled when Naomi bounced up and hugged him. He was startled, but not too startled to fail to instantly return her excited embrace.

  “I have a good feeling about the mothman. Of course they’re really called death divers—”

  “Sorry to interrupt.” Axel really did sound sorry, so Corey considered forgiving his friend the interruption. “But there’s a problem with the exploding lotus.”

  Reluctantly, Corey released Naomi and turned.

  Axel waited two steps from the top of the stairs. “We’re meant to ship it tomorrow.”

  Corey rubbed the back of his neck.

  “Go.” Naomi gave him a gentle shove.

  He didn’t move. “Two minutes,” he said to Axel and his friend clattered back down the stairs.

  “I’ll be fine.” Naomi gathered up the project files. “I’ll replace these, then I have some shopping to do. Phone me when you get back to the island and we can talk.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck harder. “The thing is, it would be better if we talked before returning to the island. If I need to bring anything from the studio…”

  “Gotcha. Okay.” She hooked her bag over one shoulder and carried the files in her other arm.

  He reached out and took them from her. “Siam does the filing.” He tucked them under one arm. “Why don’t you do your shopping and when you return we can have lunch? There’s a Greek restaurant on the next street that does amazing souvlaki.”

  “And baklava?”

  He grinned, reassured by her smile even more than her words that she didn’t mind waiting for him. “As many as you can eat.”

  “I’m greedy,” she warned.

  “I hope so.”

  She blushed, looking happy and excited rather than embarrassed. The embarrassment happened when all of his staff paused in their work to watch Naomi and him walk down the stairs. “I’m assuming you don’t usually bring a girlfriend to the studio,” she whispered.

  “No,” he said shortly, feeling a bit embarrassed himself.

  She gave him a sympathetic yet wry smile and hurried out the side door, not so much rushing off to shop as to escape.

  He scowled around at his friends and employees.

  They grinned back at him.

  He raised one finger. “Don’t say a word.” He gave Siam the stack of files and plunged into the problem with the exploding lotus. The largest petal was failing to retract.

  Catching the ferry back from Long Beach to Avalon, this time Naomi and Corey stayed inside the cabin. A group of elderly tourists with overnight bags heaped around their feet sat near them. The tourists chatted loudly. They were hyped up, excited for a big adventure. The hotel was hosting a murder mystery dinner. The theme was 1930s Hollywood glamour, and all of the group had done their best to dress in costume. Naomi thought they looked cute.

  To a background of giggles, exaggerated “darlings”, and a vigorous debate as to whether Dorothy L. Sayers or Agatha Christie was the better Golden Age mystery author, Naomi and Corey finalized their plan to lure out the hunters with a fake death diver.

  He kept calling it a mothman, and since that worked for him, Naomi was willing to go along with the misnaming. He thought he could make a convincing-at-a-distance mothman from materials he had in his workshop behind the garage at Bunyip House, so they hadn’t had to take anything from his studio. They’d eaten lunch—the souvlaki as good as he’d promised—and walked back to the ferry.

  “Ideally, Iovanius will cooperate and ‘fly’ the mothman around. If not, I have a drone. I’m not keen on setting up wires at the lighthouse.”

  They’d chosen the island’s decommissioned lighthouse as a suitable location for the stunt. It stood at the edge of town, near enough yet removed from residents to fake a fantastical creatures sighting.

  “I love lighthouses.” Naomi stared out the window as the ferry approached Avalon Bay. The lighthouse stood out clearly to the north. Its white walls stark against the blue sky. In its heyday, it had saved thousands of boats, but modern warning systems had superseded it. Usefully, from their perspective, its light still worked and was turned on regularly for tourist events.

  On an island where tourism was a mainstay of the economy, everything sooner or later was exploited to entertain tourists. And Corey was going to use that.

  Rather than stage a sighting at the lighthouse to ignite a rumor of a mothman and hope it reached the hunters’ ears fast, they would start the rumor, using the spooky Friday night tourist event at the lighthouse as the basis for it. Then Corey would fake an actual mothman appearance. He was confident of the strategy. “One thing about an island community, we grow great rumors.”

  Noticing how the ferry crew observed her and him together, then lingered to suss out their relationship with seemingly casual questions, convinced Naomi he was right. Catalina Island thrived on gossip.

  He helped a couple of older ladies with their luggage as they disembarked. Two golf carts waited at the end of the pier to transport luggage and those hotel visitors who preferred not to walk to their destination.

  “Hi, Janelle, Roy.” Corey greeted the drivers of the golf carts.

  Janelle was a short, curvy redhead wearing a navy blue and white polka-dotted sundress with a 1930s cut. A bright sunshine yellow belt defined her waist, and her personality seemed just as bright.

  “Corey! Just the man I hoped to see!” Janelle jumped out of the cart. “Don’t run off!” She wagged a finger at him, before addressing the tourist group. “Welcome to Catalina Island. I’m Janelle Smith. Driving the other cart is my boyfriend, Roy. He doesn’t work at the hotel. He’s just helping out since he’s a good guy and we are soooo busy! This evening is going to be wonderful! You have a few hours to settle in and explore before cocktails in the lobby of the hotel from six o’clock. The murder mystery evening begins then, so don’t be late!” She winked elaborately.

  The tourist group sorted themselves out. All of them chose to walk to the hotel.

  “One cart would have been enough,” Roy said. He had a flat tone of voice that detracted from his attractive southern accent. Unlike his livewire girlfriend, his brown eyes were as expressionless as the Hollywood producer’s Naomi had met at Corey’s studio.

  Was it that the two men both had dead eyes, or was it simply that in comparison to Corey’s vivid green eyes it seemed that way to her?

  Janelle clutched Corey’s arm and Naomi’s own eyes narrowed.

  “You are such a difficult man to catch.” Janelle fluttered her eyelashes, exaggerating the same southern accent Roy had.

  “I guess it depends whether I want to be caught.” Corey glanced at Naomi and the corners of his mouth curved upward.

  Her ridiculous tension eased. Surely she wasn’t jealous of Janelle’s taloned hand on his arm? Although the woman’s long yellow nails—yellow to match her belt?—were stupid. Naomi glanced at her own neat, short cut nails. They were practical for the work she did.

  Janelle shifted so that she stood be
tween Naomi and Corey.

  Okay then. I’m not being ridiculously jealous. With her boyfriend standing right there, Janelle was trying to claim Corey.

  Roy stowed the final piece of luggage, unconcerned by Janelle’s antics. He was about Corey’s height and age, but leaner and scruffier. Rougher. Rather than watch his girlfriend’s behavior, he slouched against the golf cart and studied the boats in the harbor.

  “Corey, I’ve thought of a compromise.” Janelle smiled broadly. The smile didn’t reach her eyes, though. Her pale blue eyes remained shrewd and determined. “I can understand that you don’t want strangers, even closely supervised strangers, in your house.”

  Naomi threw him a startled look.

  He shrugged slightly, but the tightening in his jaw indicated annoyance. “Janelle wants to include Bunyip House on a haunted houses tour of Avalon.”

  “It’s a fantastic idea.” Janelle bounced on her toes and that started her boobs bouncing, too. She was generously endowed and her top had a deep scooped neckline.

  Naomi frowned. “Are there ghosts on Catalina Island?” Considering that she’d seen one yesterday, she was amused at her own skeptical tone.

  Janelle wasn’t. She cast Naomi a scathing look.

  Roy, on the other hand, grinned faintly.

  “Of course there are ghosts on the island!” Janelle exclaimed. “Glory be! There are ghosts everywhere!”

  “Would those be 1930s ghosts, the glamorous kind that tourists are keen to meet? Ones from the era when movie stars made the island their playground?” Naomi thought she understood Janelle’s idea. A murder mystery dinner themed for Hollywood glamour could be extended to a two-night stay if the second night offered a ghost tour.

  “The island needs all the tourist attractions it can muster.” Janelle drew herself up self-righteously, but even then, she was inches shorter than Naomi. Her fingers tightened on Corey’s wrist. “Corey, Bunyip House is the essence of that era. Built by a Hollywood power couple—”

  “My great-grandparents were costume and set designers. Not Hollywood royalty.”

  “But they knew everyone! I’ve seen photos of them with the big stars. And, as I said, I’ve thought of a compromise. Instead of bringing my tour group into Bunyip House, I’ll just walk them around outside it. You won’t even know we’re there!”

  He shook his head and detached himself from her clinging grasp. “I’ve told you it’s not going to happen, but if you want to hear a final and definite no, my great-uncle Otis, who owns Bunyip House, is back on the island. Ask him.”

  Janelle clapped her hands, setting the bangles she wore rattling. “But that’s perfect! Otis Madrigal is an authority on hauntings. The tour groups will be thrilled to meet him!”

  “I doubt Otis will be thrilled to meet them,” Naomi said. She hadn’t met the man, but given the ghosts and other secrets like fantastical creatures that Bunyip House hid, she’d bet a million dollars that Corey’s uncle wouldn’t want to encourage tourists. “But ask him.”

  Corey grinned wryly at her.

  “I will!” Janelle said, before climbing back into the cart.

  Roy straightened from his slouch.

  Corey spoke up, his voice casual. “Speaking of ghosts and hauntings, though. Have you heard the rumor about the sightings at the lighthouse Friday night? Not that the rumor mentions a ghost.”

  Roy halted, spinning around rather than climbing into the driver’s seat of his cart. “What does it mention?” His brown eyes remained expressionless, but a frown drew his light brown eyebrows together.

  “A man-sized flying monster.” Corey flapped his arms in amused scorn. “I make my money creating special effects for movies, but I’ll never understand why people base their knowledge on what they see in a movie theatre.” He laughed and reached for Naomi’s hand. “Come on. Hot chocolate or ice cream?”

  Janelle jumped out of her golf cart. “You can’t leave it there! I haven’t heard the rumor. I want details! Maybe I can work this into my ghost tour.”

  “Ask Lorraine at the bar,” Corey threw over his shoulder. “A big creature with wide black wings like a bat. Or a giant moth. It was probably the shadow of a confused seagull.”

  Naomi whispered as they walked away. “Clever. ‘Have you heard the rumor?’” she quoted him.

  He grinned. “Well, now there’s a rumor. Janelle will ask everyone, and people like Lorraine—have you met Lorraine?” Naomi shook her head. “Lorraine has never met a story she doesn’t want to top. There’ll be a dozen mothmen or their equivalent flying round the lighthouse by the time she’s done.”

  “Fiendishly clever.” Naomi snuggled into his shoulder, just a little bit closer than friendship.

  Janelle and Roy passed them in the golf carts. Roy stared straight ahead, but Janelle watched them. Without a perky smile on her face, she looked older. More calculating.

  Miaow. Naomi accused herself of jealousy and determinedly shifted her focus from their recent encounter.

  Now that she was back on the island, her first stop had to be collecting the amulet from Cait. Fortunately, the name of the hotel emblazoned on Janelle and Roy’s golf carts was different to the one where Cait was staying. She mentioned it to Corey, and he held her hand as they walked there. His clasp was light but…right.

  I never believed in love at first sight. Maybe this wasn’t love. They had known each other for hours rather than days, let alone weeks and months. Yet, she felt so comfortable with him, as if all the little protections a person put up to keep their inner self safe weren’t needed with him. Her soul trusted him.

  And he kissed like a fallen angel.

  Their kiss on the ferry that morning had teased her all day. Just as soon as she had the amulet, they needed to find somewhere private…

  After the brightness of the afternoon sunshine, the hotel lobby seemed extra dim. She and Corey halted just inside the entrance. She thought he was giving their eyes a chance to adjust as he slipped his sunglasses off and she did the same. Instead, he stared in the direction of the hotel restaurant where tables spilled into the lobby and potted palms provided private nooks.

  “Tell me, is your friend Cait a slim, silver-haired woman inclined to wear tailored clothes?”

  Naomi followed his gaze.

  Cait sat behind a potted palm tree, her back to the white wall, and the remains of afternoon tea on the table in front of her. Seated across from her was an elderly man with ruffled, longish white hair, ferocious eyebrows and eyes that when Naomi got closer, she expected would be green. “Tell me, is that your uncle Otis?”

  “The one and only.” Corey released her hand to run his palm down her spine. “I think Uncle Otis has taken it upon himself to intrude.”

  Cait and Otis looked across at them, and Otis beckoned. “No, don’t sit down,” he added as Corey grabbed a chair from an adjacent table and angled it for Naomi. “We have things to talk about.” He dropped some money on the table, obviously not counting it since it was far more than an afternoon tea for two cost, and stood. “Now that you’re finally home, we can get moving.”

  And move they did.

  Otis had a golf cart parked nearby and he drove them all to Bunyip House. Seated beside him in the front, Cait turned and handed Naomi the amulet.

  “Thanks.” Naomi looped it over her head and immediately felt better. Nothing of the day changed, there were no fantastical creatures in sight, but now she could see them if they did appear. When they appeared.

  Cliff, wings and all, waited for them on the back veranda of Bunyip House.

  He squealed and trotted to meet them, getting scratches from everyone, even from Cait who saw him as an ordinary, wingless and cute pig.

  Corey grabbed a carrot from inside the house and gave it to Cliff, who excitedly flew off the veranda to eat the carrot on the lawn, then wandered off to sleep among the flowering golden Californian poppies in the shaggy garden bed.

  “You were right.” Otis looked at Corey from under his bushy whit
e eyebrows. “There is trouble on the island.” He and Cait sat on wicker chairs on the veranda.

  Corey pulled Naomi down onto the porch swing with him. It rocked gently.

  Otis fiddled with his phone. “I thought about what you said last night, and this morning I went for a drive out to a jackalope burrow I remembered as being near a patch of metz. This is what I found.” He passed his phone to Corey, who angled it so that Naomi could also see the screen.

  She gasped.

  “Yes, it’s bad,” Otis said heavily. “Seven jackalopes. Two adults, a mated pair. Two juveniles and three babies. All poisoned.”

  “Is that what did this? Poison?” All Naomi could tell from the appalling photo of seven flaccid, obviously lifeless bodies, was that they were dead. Not how they’d died. The killing method could have been snares or blunt trauma. There was no blood.

  “Mint poisoning.” Otis stared at his phone although he couldn’t see the photos on it, photos that Corey was swiping through, revealing close-ups of the dead jackalopes and of the plants that their corpses lay on.

  One photo had enlarged the plant material that had fallen from the mouth of the largest of the jackalopes. The alpha male’s antlers had grooved the dirt, suggesting he’d died convulsing.

  “It does look like mint.” Naomi squinted at the picture. “But mint isn’t poisonous.”

  “It is to jackalopes, if taken in sufficient quantity.” Otis accepted his phone back and switched it off. “I met a fantastical creatures hunter in the Carpathian Mountains years ago. He cared about the creatures he hunted, considering the few he took to be part of managing their wild numbers.”

  “A responsible criminal,” Naomi said sourly.

  Otis disagreed. “He wasn’t a criminal. It was his family’s trade. They hunted other animals, too. Some for skins, some for meat. The fantastical creatures went to witches and shamans for specific spells. Some probably became familiars.”

  Corey set the porch swing rocking. “The hunters who’ve moved onto Catalina Island aren’t being responsible. They’re decimating populations, like the metz and sea serpents. But I thought they’d want the creatures alive?” He looked a question at Naomi.