Page 1 of A Jingle of Justice
CHAPTER ONE
The fairies in the sunshine
Have many things to do.
They are busy night and day,
But have their rest time, too.
~Laura Ingalls Wilder “When Sunshine Fairies Rest”
“I LOVE BELLS,”I SAID to Joss, my stalwart sales clerk at Open Your Imagination. Today had been our day off at the fairy garden shop, and we’d set out the array of gift items I’d ordered—strands of bells, necklaces with bells, and freestanding bells. “Tomorrow’s customers are going to be so excited.”
Outside, the sky had turned dark. Inside the shop half of the lights were switched on. I didn’t want anyone to think we were open.
“During the holidays, everyone enjoys a jingle here and there,” I said, lifting a windchime of copper bells. The gentle tinkling sound was enchanting.
“These porcelain ones are amazing, Courtney.” Joss raised a bell I’d commissioned from an Etsy designer. Each bell featuredbeautiful flower fairies. Each fairy depicted a different flower, like poppy, rose, jasmine, or tulip.
“I agree. Gorgeous. They stand out well against the green velvet drape.”
We had adorned the main showroom with sprigs of holly and fairy lights and snow globes. The patio, where we displayed all the miniature fairy figurines and environmental pieces customers could purchase to construct their own gardens, was similarly decked out. The window boxes in front of the shop were planted with cyclamen and decorated with miniature ornaments.
I said, “You know, online I learned ringing bells in your garden fills it with the energy of magical bloom guardians.”
Fiona, a righteous fairy, flew into the shop from the patio. Everyone in town had heard by now that I could see fairies. In Carmel, which was a magical and mystical sort of place, most people didn’t make fun. They were fairy-curious, you might say.
“I know a few bloom guardians,” Fiona said. All three inches of her hovered above us, her gossamer wings flapping a mile a minute.
“You do?” My eyes went wide. “Are they like nurturer fairies?”
“Bloom guardians protect flora and fauna, but they are not fairies. They are—” She did a loop-the-loop and came to rest on the arch of a shepherd’s hook. The windchimes hanging from the hook dinged. “How can I explain it? They’re deities from another realm.”
“Heavens, there’s another realm?” I exchanged a look with Joss.
As a girl, I’d seen fairies and had discussed their existence with my mother. She’d regaled me with stories about forest fairies and water fairies. When she died, I lost the ability to see fairies. Color me surprised when I launched my fairy gardenshop and she appeared. In a few hours she brought me up to speed about the fairy kingdom. I was astounded to learn there were classifications of fairies. Four, to be exact—intuitive, guardian, nurturer, and righteous. I was even more stunned to learn that there was only one righteous fairy, Fiona, and one queen fairy, her mother. When the timing was right, Fiona would become the queen fairy. Not too soon, though. She’d been kicked out of the fairy kingdom by her mother for being an imp. Over the past few years she’d matured, but she loved helping humans solve problems, so she wasn’t eager to return to the realm yet. And according to Fiona, her mother, a vibrant regal fairy, was very much alive.
“The other realm . . .” Fiona flitted to the top of a bell and jiggled her wings. The merry chime of the bell made us laugh. “The other realm is sort of like how humans believe in life on other planets, except the guardian world exists on a different plane, and they travel from one plane to another.”
“Like in the Marvel movies,” Joss said. A former accountant who didn’t fit the mold, Joss enjoyed educating herself with books, poetry, and movies. Though she was in her fifties, she’d fallen hard for Tony Stark a.k.a. Ironman, the thirty-something lead character in the Marvel Avengers series. I had, too. What wasn’t to like? The talented Robert Downey Jr. played him in the films, and to be honest, my boyfriend Brady resembled him.
“Someday I’d like to meet one,” I said.
“I’ll facilitate it,” Fiona replied.
“Ooh, fifty cent word,” I teased. My sweet fairy, like Joss, loved learning. She read mysteries, which she and Joss would discussad finitum. Recently she had been intent on expanding her vocabulary. “Now”—I clapped my hands—“back to the bells. I’d like them all set out before Lissa arrives in the morning. She’ll be coming to help plan the annual holiday book club tea.”
We would hold the event on the patio Saturday, and Lissa Reade, the head librarian at Harrison Library, would lead the discussion of the mystery she’d chosen—Wreath Between the Lines. I’d read many of the Cookbook Nook mysteries and had enjoyed the series a lot. The protagonist, who reinvented herself by helping her aunt open a culinary bookshop, was as curious as I was. To make the tea even more festive, Lissa wanted Open Your Imagination to hand out bisque fairy figurines or bisque Christmas bells as party favors. The library would foot the bill. The attendees would paint them while enjoying tea and chatting.
“We have to choose the music,” I went on. “And the menu. We’ve had over forty responses so far.”
Our regular Saturday teas did well, but the annual holiday book club event always sold out.
Someone knocked on the Dutch door. I peeked through the window and saw Shara Popple, an artist who made fairy garden doors and toadstools. We’d been purchasing from her for about six months. Shara took her artistry so seriously she dressed as if she were a human fairy. Her arms were tattooed with garden images. Her eyelids sparkled with bold turquoise eyeshadow. A glittery pink swath of blush covered not only her cheeks but also the bridge of her nose. And multiple silver hoops featuring dancing fairies dangled from her ears.
She mimed for me to open the door. I tapped my watch and mouthedWe’re closed. She pressed her hands together, pleading. Resigned, I tapped the security code to disarm it and unlatched the door.
“Bless you. Thank you.” She scuttled in, closed the door, and pressed her back to it. What she called her creativity bag, similar in size to a baseball gear tote, was slung over one arm. It bulged at the bottom. I’d asked once what she carried inside and she’d joked, “Everything but the kitchen sink.”
