The Bigfoot Blunder (A Charlie Rhodes Cozy Mystery Book 1)

  The Bigfoot Blunder

  A Charlie Rhodes Cozy Mystery Book One

  Amanda M. Lee

  WinchesterShaw Publications

  Copyright © 2017 by Amanda M. Lee

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. One

  2. Two

  3. Three

  4. Four

  5. Five

  6. Six

  7. Seven

  8. Eight

  9. Nine

  10. Ten

  11. Eleven

  12. Twelve

  13. Thirteen

  14. Fourteen

  15. Fifteen

  16. Sixteen

  17. Seventeen

  18. Eighteen

  19. Nineteen

  20. Twenty

  21. Twenty-One

  22. Twenty-Two

  23. Twenty-Three

  24. Twenty-Four

  25. Twenty-Five

  26. Twenty-Six

  27. Twenty-Seven

  28. Twenty-Eight

  29. Twenty-Nine

  30. Thirty

  31. Thirty-One

  Mailing List

  About the Author

  Books by Amanda M. Lee

  Prologue

  13 years ago

  “Math is stupid.”

  Kate Rhodes arched an eyebrow, her powder blue eyes full of mirth as she glanced up from the dishwasher she was emptying and fixed her only daughter with a dubious look.

  Charlotte “Charlie” Rhodes, her long dark hair standing up at odd angles because she’d been dragging her hands through it for hours, stood on the other side of the kitchen island. She had a fascinating way of looking at life – as only a ten-year-old could – and Kate always got a kick out of talking to the youngster. Charlie had a lot of gripes when it came to her existence, but they were almost always entertaining.

  “Math is important,” Kate argued, adopting a pragmatic tone. “You won’t get very far in life if you don’t know how to multiply … or figure out sales tax when it comes time to go shopping.”

  “I don’t care about multiplication,” Charlie shot back. “I have a calculator. That’s all I need.”

  Kate was famous for her patience, which almost never frayed. A little thing like pre-teen angst wasn’t going to send her over the edge. “Did you finish your homework?”

  Charlie rolled her eyes and Kate had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from smirking. “Why do you think I hate math?”

  “That wasn’t an answer.”

  “Yes, Mom. I finished my math. Geez.” Charlie, a lovely child on most occasions, wielded a deft hand when it came to delivering snark.

  Kate’s husband, Caleb, picked that moment to stroll into the kitchen, an empty pie plate in his hand. He stepped around his wife so he could rinse it, sliding the plate into the dishwasher while glancing between his wife and daughter.

  “Geez, Louise,” Caleb teased, smirking as Charlie made an exasperated face. “What are you complaining about now, my little terror?”

  “I’m not little,” Charlie argued. “I’m growing up. I even can wear Mom’s shoes now. I know, because I tried them on and only fell once because of the heels.”

  “She can,” Kate agreed, bobbing her head. “She has to put on only three pairs of socks to get them to fit, but they look amazing otherwise.”

  “Oh, well, that sounds lovely.” Caleb rested his elbows on the counter and leaned closer. “Did you do your homework?”

  Charlie let loose a long-suffering sigh only preteens can pull off without risking public mocking. Anyone trying to sigh like that in the real world would get fired … or punched in the face. “I finished my homework. Don’t I always finish my homework?”

  “No.” Caleb didn’t hesitate before answering. “In fact, when your mother and I went to parent-teacher conferences your teacher told us that you’ve been pretty lax in your homework over the past few months. That’s why we’re always asking about your homework.”

  “Yes, well, Mrs. Butter Butt should mind her own business,” Charlie grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest and averting her gaze.

  “Mrs. Butterfield is a perfectly nice woman. You’re the one in the wrong here,” Kate clarified, her tone stern. “She’s right in this instance, Charlie. “She says you’re distracted, and she’s worried about you. Do you want to tell us what’s distracting you?”

  In truth, Mrs. Butterfield explained to the Rhodes that Charlie was her brightest student. She also was prone to staring out windows and completely losing her train of thought in the middle of a lecture. Mrs. Butterfield suggested having Charlie tested for potential learning disabilities, but Kate didn’t believe for a second that Charlie’s problem was medical or mental. Charlie simply refused to apply herself.

  “I’m not distracted,” Charlie snapped. “I don’t know why she says that.”

  “She says it because you’re too smart to be getting Cs and Ds,” Caleb argued. “I agree that your problem is internal and something you can easily fix. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried, though. Is it a boy?”

  Charlie made an exaggerated face. “It’s not a boy.”

  “That’s good.” Caleb’s grin was mischievous. “I don’t believe I’m ready to share you yet. When you do find a boy, keep in mind that girls always fall in love with their fathers. That means I have to approve of your boyfriend.”

  “Oh, geez!” Charlie stared at the ceiling as she rubbed her nose. “It’s not my fault that math is stupid. I don’t know how you can expect me to focus on math when it’s just so … stupid.”

  “It sounds like you’re having a problem with your vocabulary lessons, too,” Kate teased, pushing a strand of Charlie’s flyaway hair from her face. “If there’s something wrong, you can tell us. We’ll fix it together.”

  “We will,” Caleb agreed. “You have to tell us before we can help, though.”

  Charlie pressed her lips together and exhaled heavily through her nose, reminding Kate of a bull as the girl shifted from one foot to the other. “There’s nothing wrong.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Kate said, maintaining a level demeanor. “But you’re clearly not ready to talk about it. We’ll be here when you’re ready to talk. It’s okay. If you don’t want to confide in us we’ll simply wait until you are ready.”

  “It’s not that,” Charlie said, shaking her head as guilt swamped her. Her parents never yelled or threatened. They were always reasonable. Things would be easier if they weren’t always so reasonable. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”

  “Then I look forward to you doing better in school,” Caleb pressed. “If there’s nothing wrong, you have no excuse.”

  “And if there is something wrong, all you have to do is tell us,” Kate added.

  “There’s nothing wrong.” Charlie gritted out the words before turning on her heel and stalking toward the hallway. Her shoulder brushed against the doorjamb as she did and she reached out to steady herself, myriad images she couldn’t untangle slamming into her head and causing her to jolt sideways.

  Concerned at the way his daughter moved, Caleb rushed toward her, catching the thin girl around the waist before she could flop backward and hit her head on the kitchen island. “What is it, Charlie?”

  Charlie didn’t immedi
ately answer, her eyes rolling back in her head. Kate panicked when she saw the girl staring into nothing, her fingers shaking, and looked for the cordless phone. “Oh, my … she’s having a seizure! I’ll call 911.”

  “I’m not sure she’s having a seizure,” Caleb gritted out, his expression serious. He gripped Charlie’s shoulders, but except for her shaking fingers she didn’t so much as twitch.

  “Is she breathing?” Kate asked, fumbling for the phone.

  “She is.” Caleb bobbed his head. “In fact, I think she’s … .”

  As if on cue, Charlie bolted into a sitting position, her eyes back to normal but her pallor unearthly white. “Call for help,” she blurted out, her breath coming in ragged gasps. “The Fitzgerald house is on fire.”

  Caleb remained where he was, staring at Charlie with a dubious expression on his face. “The Fitzgerald house? You mean next door? How can you possibly know that?”

  “I just do.” Charlie’s eyes filled with tears as she gripped her hands into tight fists. “I’m not lying. Mrs. Fitzgerald is trapped in the house. She can’t get out. She’s … screaming!”

  Caleb shot a worried glance at Kate, rubbing Charlie’s shoulders before releasing them and rising to his full height. “I’ll go look.”

  “You’ll be too late,” Charlie screeched, her voice breaking. “She’s going to be gone … and soon!”

  “Charlie, calm down.” Caleb forced a smile before disappearing into the hallway. “I’m sure the Fitzgerald house is fine. You just … imagined the fire or something. I think you fainted.”

  Kate kept the phone in her hand as she stared at the back of Charlie’s head. Despite Caleb’s misgivings, she believed Charlie. Kate had no knowledge of the house next door being on fire, or the elderly woman trapped inside, but she instinctively believed Charlie.

  Caleb was back in the kitchen in seconds. “Charlie’s right,” he said grimly. “The house is fully engulfed. Call for a fire truck. Tell them to hurry.”

  “Where are you going?” Kate asked, her heart rolling when she saw Caleb scurrying toward the door.

  “I have to see if I can help her.” Caleb briefly glanced between his wife and daughter. “It will be all right.”

  Charlie remained on the kitchen floor, staring blankly at the wall. She looked smaller than her ten years, vulnerable even. She also looked abandoned and alone.

  “It’s not going to be all right,” she intoned, pressing her eyes shut. “It’s already too late. Mrs. Fitzgerald is gone.”

  “You can’t know that,” Caleb hedged.

  “I know it!” Charlie’s temper flared and at the light fixture over the sink exploded. “I know it. It’s already too late. I’m always too late.”

  1

  One

  Present Day

  It took every ounce of energy I had not to use my rather impressive and yet woefully uncontrollable magic to fling my coffee mug at my new boss’s head.

  Okay, that could be the nerves talking. Myron Biggs is not a bad man. That’s what I kept telling myself when I caught him staring at my chest … and my butt as he ushered me into his office … and then my cleavage when he leaned over to ostensibly make me feel warm and welcome in my new work environment.

  He’s not a bad man. Really. That line was stuck on repeat in my mind while my heart begged to differ. My foot wanted to agree with my heart and kick him. This was probably not the best way to start a new job.

  “I think you’re going to fit right in with the team,” Myron offered, his smile more “cat that ate the canary, the canary’s family and the canary’s neighbor’s family” than “I’m going to win boss of the year accolades in the near future.” His eyes lit up as they locked with mine. “I think you’re going to offer a youthful vibe to our team that is sorely needed and missed.”

  The words themselves weren’t terrible. The fact that he was staring at my breasts when he said them, on the other hand, was enough to make my stomach roll. I had my doubts that he could pick me up out of a police lineup if a murder conviction was on the line, but believed completely he would be able to identify my breasts in a sea of strippers at a porn convention.

  I bit the inside of my cheek and quickly counted to five to calm myself, fixing a pleasing smile on my face as I maintained my world-famous calm. “Yes, well, I’m looking forward to being part of the team. Hopefully my teammates won’t stare at my breasts as much as you. Fingers crossed!”

  Whoops. Did I say I had world-famous patience? That was my mother, may she rest in peace. I’m the exact opposite. It’s more like I have a notorious reputation for foot-in-mouth disease. That’s the same thing, right?

  My name is Charlotte Madison Deborah Winifred Rhodes (my mother was one of four sisters, and simply refused to favor one over the others), but everyone calls me Charlie. I’m a recent graduate of the Gendry Metaphysics Institute.

  Yes, that’s a real thing.

  I have a degree in parapsychology, focusing on psychokinesis and paranormal phenomenon.

  Why did I pick that field? Because I have psychic dreams and relatively regular flashes that show me the near future or various times from the past. Oh, and I can occasionally move things with my mind – only when I’m upset or angry, though – so there’s that to contend with, too. I’m like the Hulk if he were mixed with Carrie and there was a lot of pig’s blood at places other than the prom.

  No, I’m not delusional. Wait … that does kind of make me sound unbalanced, doesn’t it?

  On top of all that, this is my first official job that doesn’t involve asking, “Do you want fries with that?” at the end of every conversation.

  I’m only mildly nervous. Okay, I’m completely nervous. My palms are sweaty, my eyes refuse to focus and I’m fairly certain I’m suffering brief bouts of deafness because I hear only half of what Myron Biggs is saying to me. Wait … he’s talking again.

  “I was not looking at your breasts,” Myron sputtered, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “If you think that … .”

  “I must’ve been mistaken,” I said hurriedly, forcing my temper to remain in check. The last thing I needed was to cause Myron Biggs’ head to explode. That’s never happened, mind you, but it’s one of my biggest fears. Other people worry about car accidents or ghosts (for the record, I would love to meet a ghost, and expect to do that one day in the near future thanks to this job), but I worry about magical abilities that I can’t always control and hide from everyone for fear of being burned at the stake or locked away and studied like a lab rat. Yeah, I’m a massive coward. Sue me. “I’m just really nervous and tend to blurt out random things when I’m in a new situation. I promise it won’t happen again.”

  Biggs narrowed his eyes, understandably dubious. “How can you guarantee that?”

  “Because we’ll never be in this situation again.”

  He stared me down for a long time, finally shaking his head and leaning back in his chair. “You have outstanding academic records, and my nephew insisted you were the one for the job. I allow him to be in charge of all the hiring for the Legacy Foundation. He wanted you … so here you are.”

  “Chris Biggs is your nephew?” I probably should’ve put that together before now. That’s the nerves again. “I didn’t realize.”

  “Yes, well, the Legacy Foundation was started by my father thirty years ago and it was always very important to him. Since his death, my brother and I have focused our interests on other parts of the business,” Biggs supplied. “The foundation is almost entirely funded by private grants, and believe it or not, it’s funded well. My father included a stipulation in his will that the Legacy Foundation continue after his death, so my nephew took over operations about five years ago. He’s very … passionate … about the endeavor.”

  Biggs said “passionate” like someone else might say “loony.” I didn’t bother to point that out. “Well, I happen to be passionate about it, too. I look forward to being a contributing member of the team.”

  Big
gs’ smile was tolerant, but just barely. “Yes, well, I’ll call my nephew so he can collect you and start your tour. I’m sure he will be able to answer any questions you have.”

  CHRIS BIGGS was nothing like his uncle. While Myron boasted snowy white hair, perverted green eyes and a mouth that made me want to vomit because he constantly used his tongue to lick the corners, Chris was the exact opposite. He had a friendly and open smile, chiseled cheekbones, broad shoulders and warm green eyes that reminded me of a walk in the meadow.

  What? He’s young and hot. He almost looks like a male fashion model, with that perfect blondish brown hair and those broad shoulders and that tight little … um … where was I again? Criminy, I’m allowed a little work crush. Sue me.

  “I’m so glad you arrived when you did,” Chris enthused, gesturing wildly with his hands as he led me down a basement hallway. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that the Legacy Foundation was housed in the basement – where else would they hide the paranormal investigators, right? – but it was still disappointing when Chris led me into the elevator and pressed the button for the bottom floor.

  “I’m glad to be here,” I enthused, taking a moment to study the ridiculously attractive lines of his face. I surreptitiously glanced at his left hand for a wedding ring, my heart settling a bit when I saw it was bare. That didn’t necessarily mean that he was open for offers – or that I would make them – but the realization filled me with warmth.