Read The Metaphysical Detective (A Riga Hayworth Paranormal Mystery) Online
Authors: Kirsten Weiss
Tags: #Mystery, #occult, #Paranormal, #Suspense, #San Francisco, #female sleuth, #San Mateo, #urban fantasy
The Metaphysical Detective (A Riga Hayworth Paranormal Mystery) (30 page)
Brigitte, still covered in egg, had shifted to face the cabin’s small living room. The deputy stared at the gargoyle, walked to Brigitte, and ran his hands across her stony feathers as if in a caress. Brigitte would love that, Riga thought.
“Cool harpy,” he said. “Where’d you find it?”
“Garage sale,” Riga said.
Night tucked his hat under one arm, and ruffled his blond hair with his free hand. “Do you know it’s got egg on it?”
“Forget the statue,” the Sheriff barked. Turning, he stumbled over a cheap American-Indian themed rug. “Miss Hayworth, may we sit down?”
She indicated the lumpy sofa, a cruel gesture given the state of its springs, but she didn’t want them to linger.
They sat. She remained standing.
The Sheriff removed his hat and put it on a nearby coffee table, covering decades of coffee rings. “Riga Hayworth. Is that your real name?”
Riga raised an eyebrow. “If you mean, did my parents choose it? Yes.”
“Funny sort of name,” King said. “Like that old movie star. Were your parents fans?”
She shook her head, no. Not after she’d grown to look more and more like the screen siren; that had disturbed her parents, made them wonder if they’d really picked the name or if the name had picked their daughter. Riga’s resemblance to Rita Hayworth was uncanny; auburn hair, arched eyebrows, and olive skin.
“How well did you know Sarah Glass?” King asked.
Riga looked at him blankly.
Sheriff King shifted with impatience. “Otherwise known as Lady Moonstone.”
“The palm reader?” Riga asked, surprised. “Not at all. I think she’s a member of the Tea and Tarot group. She didn’t show at last week’s meeting, which was my first, so I never had a chance to meet her.” Riga had forced herself to attend for the first and probably last time. She wasn’t a joiner.
Now, Riga knew, she was supposed to ask why the police wanted to know about Sarah Glass. But the cops weren’t here to satisfy a casual curiosity. Something bad had happened and Riga wanted to put off learning what it was for as long as possible. Though her magic had gone awry, she sensed the tug of something dark and inexorable moving towards her, and didn’t like the feeling.
“What’s Tea and Tarot?” King asked.
“The local metaphysical professionals meet twice a month to talk shop at the Fortune Teller’s Café.”
“Who was there last week?” the Sheriff said.
“The owner of the café, Tara, was there. She reads cards. Lily, a tea leaf and palm reader was too. And so was an astrologer, Audrey. She also has an energetics practice.”
“Energetics?” Night asked.
“Reiki, that sort of thing,” Riga said.
The Sheriff drummed his fingers on the nearby table. “I hear you’re a P.I. of some sort, did some consulting for the Oakland police.”
Riga crossed her arms, thinking. The Oakland connection was an odd one for them to pick up since she’d lived in San Francisco. The SF cops would have been a more obvious reference. “I’m a metaphysical detective and I have a California investigator’s license. I’m not licensed in Nevada. How did you hear of it?”
“Cops talk,” the Sheriff said. “They said you knew how to keep your mouth shut.”
It wasn’t exactly a rave review, but she couldn’t blame the Oakland PD. It had been an unusual case, even by her standards. She was surprised they talked about her at all. “Are you looking to hire a consultant?” Riga placed a subtle emphasis on the word “hire.” She’d come here for an extended vacation, but turning it into a work trip held a certain tax deductable appeal.
In response, the Sheriff unzipped his parka and pulled out a manila file folder. From it he withdrew an eight by ten photo. He extended it towards her.
Okay, she thought: he wanted to see what a metaphysical consultant could do. She took the photo, and returned to her spot against the counter beside the gargoyle. Riga held the picture before her so Brigitte could view it: a black and white glossy of a metal disk with a symbol impressed upon it – two concentric circles with oddly shaped letters drawn between the two and a hexagon overlaid in the center. The expression on her face flickered, then stilled.
“You know it?” the Sheriff said, leaning forward in his seat.
She grimaced in distaste. “It’s a sigillum used to summon and control a demon when you don’t know the demon’s name,” she said. “The style is similar to the Sigillum Dei Aemeth created by John Dee but there are key differences which make this unique. There was a man in Paris who used a system like this, invented it in fact, named Francois Lefebvre. The Parisian police will have a file on him. He died five years ago in a fire. Lefebvre didn’t take students, wasn’t the type to share, but he had servants. They may have learned his technique.”
“How did you learn it?” the Deputy asked. He was taking notes and turning a pencil between his fingers. His hands were calloused, roughened by work, and she imagined the young man swinging an axe, splitting firewood.
“I never said I learned it,” she said.
“But you know enough to identify it,” Night persisted.
“Lefebvre tried to summon a demon in my presence,” she said dryly. “It’s not something one forgets.”
The Sheriff’s bushy eyebrows rose. “Did he succeed?”
“Of course not,” she said. Lefebvre had succeeded in raising the demon, but not in controlling it. Riga had seen to that. The demon had seen to Lefebvre. Riga had managed to evade the Parisian cops, keep her involvement secret, and she wasn’t about to upset the status quo.
“You haven’t asked me what this is about,” King said.
“What’s this about, Sheriff?”
“Sarah Glass was murdered. We found this beside her, and now you tell me you’re one of the few people in the world who knows what this is and how to use it. I understand you’ve got some fighting skills? Have studied martial arts?”
“What does hapkido have to do with this sigil?”
Damn it. She should have known nothing good could come from telling them about Lefebvre. But she’d maintained a reasonable relationship with the authorities by not withholding evidence, even when the police neither liked nor believed her.
The Sheriff leaned forward, his stare unrelenting. “So what happened here? Did a demon kill her?” His voice was mocking.
“I have no idea how she died or by whose hand,” Riga said. “If I had more information—”
He stood and replaced his hat. “Can’t give you that. Thanks for your help, Miss Hayworth. Don’t leave town.”
About the Author
Kirsten Weiss grew up in San Mateo, California. After getting her MBA , she joined the Peace Corps and ended up in post-Soviet Eastern Europe. That started an international career, which took her to far flung places such as Kyrgyzstan and into the Afghan war zone. Her experiences abroad, especially in Afghanistan and the Wild East of the former Soviet Union, gave her glimpses into the darker side of human nature. They also sparked an interest in the effects of mysticism and mythology, and how both are woven into our daily lives.
She writes paranormal mysteries, blending her experiences and imagination to create a vivid world of magic and mayhem.
Kirsten has never met a dessert she didn’t like, and her guilty pleasures are watching Ghost Whisperer reruns and drinking good wine.
Follow her on Twitter @rigahayworth or check out her website at kirstenweiss.com
Table of Contents
Chapter 2: Two blondes walk into a bar
Chapter 7: Mystics and Metaphysics
Chapter 9: What Comes in Three’s
Chapter 10: An Unwelcome Guest
Chapter 11: Banished and Bewildered
Chapter 12: Pumpkins on the Shore
Chapter 21: Denial – Not Just a River in Egypt
Chapter 23: Ghost On the Loose
Chapter 27: Mothers and Daughters
Chapter 28: One Mystery, Solved
Chapter 36: Paris Was a Sucker
Chapter 37: Father of the Gods
