Bonus Fiction: A Mystical Vendetta
Fictionista's Prompt Party unveils a mysterious arson at a mountain Psychic Faire
This Prompt comes from the
April Prompt Party with and . They pulled out Create A Story from Chartwell Books. We were given 15 minutes to start a story and a few days to finish it.A detective investigating fortune tellers
Use these words: Mind, prediction, future, power, crime, destiny, sage, voodoo, magic, spirit, whisper, secret, tarot, divination, foresight
A Mystical Vendetta
By Vince Wetzel
“What’s that smell?” I asked, waving the air in front of my space. “This isn’t weed these hippies are smoking.”
“Sage,” said Daniel Sorenson, the fair’s organizer. He was dressed in white robes and a majestic turbin, like he had raided the Aladdin costume closet. “They’re getting in touch with their spirit life.”
“Whatever kind of voodoo grass it is, at least it’s masking the skunk weed and body odor of these festivals up here.”
After being reassigned to be the resident Fresno County Sheriff Deputy up here in the mountain town of Shaver Lake, I knew the weeks would be peaceful, but the weekends would be a hellscape of weekend warriors. But I didn’t have the foresight to see the weird festivals that would include a more hippy natural lifestyle and a lack of hygiene that came with it. These summer warriors, who were normal folks fifty-one weeks of the year, let themselves go without deodorant. Add to that the various incense they burned, and it was enough to buy nose plugs. I had come across corpses that smelled better. Even the presence of turkey legs for sale didn’t improve my spirits. Sorenson directed me toward the lingering smoke puffing out of the vendor area.
“Over here,” said an old woman. She looked like the DIY part, repurposing her curtain for the elaborate robe she was wearing, complete with the rope tied around her waist and two fringe knots dangling around her torso. “My tent has been vandalized. I demand justice for this crime.”
Down in the city, this would hardly warrant a report. But up in Shaver Lake, during the mountain town’s annual psychic fair, this could lead to a tourism crisis. It was no secret that Sorenson was notorious for shutting any bad publicity down. The rumors were that he nearly kicked out the spiritual healer because her moans were nearly sexual in their tone and intensity. Why couldn’t I have an indecent exposure complaint?
As I approached, I looked at her sparse setup. The ordinary pop-up tent frame was on its side, singed by fire. At first glance, the fringes on the edges of the second-hand rugs strung across the tent itself were the ignition source. They had caught near one of the posts and burned the sides of the tent. Inside, the table and chairs were flipped over, and tarot cards were scattered across the ground.
“I want someone arrested,” she said, her voice cutting through the sounds of lutes and harps playing in the background. I couldn’t tell if the music was live or pumped in through speakers, which was not surprising given this Disneyland view into this fantasy world. “I want justice.”
“Ma’am, I’m Officer Scott,” I said.
“Darlene Rose, I practice divination,” she said, looking pained as I shook her hand, cold and slimy with ointment.
“Any idea who would do this to you?” I asked and immediately wiped my hand on the side of my trousers. “Any enemies?”
“I know who exactly did this,” she said. Her white hair fell out of her scarf. “Him, Tony Connor.”
She pointed to an old man dressed as some sort of magical wizard, complete with half-moon glasses and a hair tie in his beard. I swore my kid would have thought him to be out of that Harry Potter movie.
“She lies,” Connor said in a booming voice as though he was keeping a dragon from crossing a Rubicon. He was standing his own untouched booth with enough crystals necklaces and trinkets to outfit his own cave. “Why would I vandalize her booth? She is a two-bit con artist who couldn’t read a palm even if she was possessed.”
“Why don’t you all calm down,” I said. “Mr. Connor, I’ll come talk to you after I take Ms. Ross’s statement.
We stood inside what was left of her tent. At closer glance, the tent, outside of the burned rugs, was sparsely decorated. Compared to the rest of the booths, it looked like she only offered readings from her crystal ball, which lay shattered on the ground with an electric plug tied to it.
“That electric?” I asked.
“Yes,” she whispered, leaning in close. “It enhances the power of imagination.”
Ross shared how she left her booth late last night to go to the cabin where she was staying. When she came in this morning, around 6 a.m., this was how she found it.
“Why do you think Mr. Connor vandalized your booth?”
“Yes! He was the one putting out the fire so it wouldn’t touch his booth. He was the only one here. He doesn’t like that I am next to him and take all of his customers,” she said. “I have a service my customers pay for. He has trinkets. They don’t compare. Once you finish your report, take it directly to Mr. Sorenson so he can kick him out.”
This was already taking too much of my time, but I went next door to Connor’s booth. As I turned the corner into his realm, I saw a dark motif of blacks with crystal blue wolves, moons, and shooting stars.
“That woman is crazy,” he said, his eyes staring straight ahead and his mouth speaking monotone. “Don’t believe anything she says. She’s out of her mind like her friend?”
“Who’s that?”
“Beverly Summit, the fortune teller who was kicked out for being…” He took a breath, searching for the word. “Aroused at her readings.”
“So, did you burn down her booth?” I asked.
“No, I don’t like her, but I wouldn’t do that.” his stoicism faded, and his accent went from a low faux British dialect to Texas. “Why do you think I was putting out the fire in the first place? I’ve got plenty of flammable rugs here. Why would I risk my own stuff to ruin her?”
“She says you’re jealous.”
“Please.”
I ended the conversation and walked over to Sorenson, who was talking to another vendor with her own booth, complete with an infrared camera to read people’s “aura” and selling products to induce positive transformations.
“Officer Scott, what did you learn?. Do you know who did it? I hope so. I can’t make money if people think their booth is a threat of arson.”
“I have some thoughts,” I said. “Can you tell me about Beverly Summit and why she was kicked out?”
Sorenson shook his head. “She didn’t fit our family vibe. I mean, it was almost obscene. You know that scene in When Harry Met Sally? She wasn’t at the ‘climax,’ you would say, but at the beginning when Meg Ryan is running her hand through her hair? That was Summit reading the Tarot. We wouldn’t have known about it, really, if not for the guy selling the crystals.”
“Connor?”
“Yeah, the Dumbledore dude. Yeah, he told me about it, and I went by, and sure enough, I almost got aroused.”
“Do you think Connor could have done anything?
“That wouldn’t be my prediction. Part of his act is staring straight ahead. They all have something. I have this Prince of Persian thing myself. No, I don’t think he could harm a fly. Summit, and her friend, what’s her name?”.
“Darlene Ross?”
“Yeah, her. They both are passionately annoying. If it wasn’t her own booth, I’d suspect her.”
“Really?”
“Oh yeah. I didn’t just ban Summit for her sexual moaning. It was the last straw,” he said. I looked across the fair. Every inch of every booth was designed to promote some kind of commerce. Even if they were providing a service, there were trinkets available to buy. “You find something?”
“Maybe,” I said, standing up. “You can join me if you want.”
We crossed the aisle to the Ross’s booth, who was standing and assessing the damage. When she saw us, she turned and put her hands on her hips, smiling.
“Oh good,” she said. “Connor, get ready to pack up your stupid fake shit and go home. And don’t be surprised if you get charged too for arson.”
“Enough lies,” Connor said. His stately British accent was returning.
Ross shook her head. “Well, is he gone or what?”
“No,” I said. “Mr. Connor had nothing to do with your fire. But you know who did because you did it.”
A look of shock came across Ross’s face. “I did no such thing,” she said with overemphasized indignation. “I am appalled to be accused.”
I sighed. “Well, believe it. First off, where are your products to sell? You only have a broken, cheap, electric crystal ball that wouldn’t fulfill anyone and certainly wouldn’t induce jealousy from Mr. Connor. Yet, you have ointment on your hands like you burned yourself. While others have a look and feel, you just have rugs strewn about with no rhyme or reason. I bet your friend Beverly Summit put you up to this just so she could get revenge on Gandalf over here and get him kicked out. Am I right?”
Ross just stared and turned back toward her booth. Her and Summit’s plan, like the booth, had gone up in flames. Sorenson shook his head and told Ross that both she and Summit were banned from the Psychic Faire and any other Sorenson production in the future. I could have charged Ross with making a false statement, but I wanted out of there. Well, after I got myself a turkey leg. It was my destiny.
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