Death by Chocolate (The Davenports 2)

Sam pulled out his black Chrome Book. “We had a follow-up from the case in Milford. Two months strong, and they’ve experienced no further activity. The house blessing and protection of their yard with the Four St. Benedict Medals in the four corners.”

“Excellent. Another successful case closed,” Eric said. His youthful exuberance was contagious. The college student was their technical whiz kid. He ran the cameras and bought the newest gadgets their budget could handle. He then proceeded to teach each of them how to use it. His brown eyes sparkled with happiness. He brushed his coal black hair away from his forehead.

“Any news on the Meyer case?” Carl asked. The older man had salt and pepper hair, a kind face with smile lines and crow’s feet, and psychic abilities. He often went into a home to pick up on what might have happened. Rooted in his Christian faith, he kept them safe and often advised the families.

“None so far. In this case, I’d say no news was good news. They might want to distance themselves from everything that happened, which includes us,” Mel, their active Wiccan, said. Her multi-colored, pastel-colored mermaid hair framed her delicate heart-shaped face.

“I understand it, but it’s a shame. I want to know they’re okay,” Micah admitted.

“I always feel the same way,” Scott agreed.

“It’s one of the tough parts of what we do. A lot of people are ashamed of having paranormal activity. They think it’s a reflection on them or how they live their lives. It’s the number one reason why most people don’t even contact us until their issues are out of control and they can no longer deal with them,” Brendon explained.

“It’s a thankless job in some cases.” Peter set his mug down and shrugged. “But if we don’t do it who will?”

“That should be our new motto,” Eric quipped.

“No, it took us long enough to come up with a slogan,” Mel protested.

“We have some business we’d like to go over with you, Micah.” Brendon brought the conversation back under control with his stern tone.

Micah swallowed as he tried to think of what he might’ve done to earn a talking to. “Yeah?”

“We all discussed it, and we think it’s time for you to head an investigation,” Brendon said.

“What? You do?” Suddenly, Micah was a child offered endless candy.

Brendon’s wife, Maria, placed a hand on his. “You know the protocol, and you’ve put in the work. We have a new case in. We want to hand it over to you.”

Silenced, he blinked. He hadn’t expected this.

“Will you take it?” Brendon asked.

“Yeah. I-I’d be honored.” He nodded his head enthusiastically.

“Let’s show him what we have.” Brendon produced a manila file folder and slid it across the table as everyone began to place their order. Daize Kahle, age thirty-one. A recent move from California landed her here for a job. She moved into the Claymore 300 apartments. She noticed creaks, groans, and missing items in the first month, but wrote it off. Two months later, the presence made itself known in an aggressive display of flickering lights, booms, knocking, and opening and closing doors and dresser drawers.

“This one is a 9-1-1.” Micah looked up from the file.

“Yeah. We want to meet with her as soon as possible. She’s been in a hotel for the past few days, but that can only last so long. I want us to be there when she returns to her apartment,” Brendon said. Maria nodded.

“I’ll get a game plan started tonight and have a course of action ready. Have we started researching the apartment or the area?” Micah asked.

“We plan on doing that tonight, too,” Maria said.

“No time like the present.” Scott’s fingers fly over the keys of his tablet. The Clifton Gaslight area had become a trendy place frequented by college kids, but many of the areas had roots that went back a hundred years or more. He sympathized with Daize. He couldn’t imagine relocating so far from everyone and everything you knew to face things you didn’t understand or know how to fight. He wanted to solve this for her to bring her peace and give her a chance to like the city he’d been born and raised in.

“I’ll arrange a meeting with her this weekend,” Micah promised.

A barely audible whisper to his left made him turn his head. No one had entered the shop, and the waiter was busy in the kitchen. He shuddered. The case was trying to get into his head. He couldn’t let that happen. He had things to prove.

HE ARRIVED AT LYDIA’S on Ludlow early to go over her case one more time before she arrived and snagged a seat in the library section. He’d chosen the cozy café because they served freshly baked goods, artisan coffee, and had a laid-back vibe that set most people at ease. A spiritual center with candles, innocence, and various stones behind a glass case greeted guests when they came in. Tables and booths with mismatched salt and pepper shakers filled the main area leading up to a counter with stools. Neatly written on chalkboards hanging on the walls were the soups of the day and coffee selections.

On the far left was a library section with shelves full of books on a variety of topics, and board games. The coffee shop hosted a number of events from live music to family game nights and book signings. The table in the library gave him the anonymity they needed to speak openly.

Micah wasn’t sure what to expect from Daize. It felt like an awkward first date when they agreed to look for the curly brown-haired person in a pink peacoat, and the man dressed in black with light brown hair. As far as he could tell, there was no history of paranormal activity in the Claymore apartments—at least, none anyone had documented.

It was odd to have such sudden intense activity unexpectedly. He’d have to look at Daize, her belief system, and her life. It would take getting up close and personal. I hope she’s ready for that.