Dark Blossoming

DARK BLOSSOMING –––––––– A CORNWALL & REDFERN MYSTERY –––––––– Gloria Ferris GENRE: Mystery/Thriller & Suspense/Police Procedural/Humour Copyright © Gloria Ferris 2023 –––––––– DARK BLOSSOMING –––––––– Book 4, A Cornwall & Redfern Mystery –––––––– ISBN: 978-1-7753392-6-7 Print ISBN: 978-1-7753392-5-0 ebook –––––––– All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted to any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, except for brief passages for purposes of review, without prior permission from the author/publisher. –––––––– All characters in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. –––––––– Cover Design: GetCovers –––––––– Written in Canadian English. Table of Contents Title Page Copyright Page CHAPTER 1 CHAPTER 2 CHAPTER 3 CHAPTER 4 CHAPTER 5 CHAPTER 6 CHAPTER 7 CHAPTER 8 CHAPTER 9 CHAPTER 10 CHAPTER 11 CHAPTER 12 CHAPTER 13 CHAPTER 14 CHAPTER 15 CHAPTER 16 CHAPTER 17 CHAPTER 18 CHAPTER 19 CHAPTER 20 CHAPTER 21 CHAPTER 22 CHAPTER 23 CHAPTER 24 CHAPTER 25 CHAPTER 26 CHAPTER 27 CHAPTER 28 CHAPTER 29 CHAPTER 30 CHAPTER 31 CHAPTER 32 CHAPTER 33 CHAPTER 34 CHAPTER 35 CHAPTER 36 CHAPTER 37 CHAPTER 38 CHAPTER 39 CHAPTER 40 CHAPTER 41 CHAPTER 42 CHAPTER 43 CHAPTER 44 CHAPTER 45 CHAPTER 46 CHAPTER 47 CHAPTER 48 CHAPTER 49 CHAPTER 50 CHAPTER 51 CHAPTER 52 CHAPTER 53 CHAPTER 54 CHAPTER 55 CHAPTER 56 CHAPTER 57 CHAPTER 58 CHAPTER 59 CHAPTER 60 CHAPTER 61 CHAPTER 62 CHAPTER 63 CHAPTER 64 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR Also by Gloria Ferris ABOUT THE AUTHOR CHAPTER 1 Bliss –––––––– The aroma of my spiced latte was no match for Blackmire Swamp on a wet October afternoon. Just for context, if I was a super hero, my power would be smelling a decomposed raccoon months after it was digested by a vulture. The swamp smelled like that, but worse. I removed the lid of the take-out cup and stuck my nose in. Didn’t help. “Come on, troops.” The leader of the expedition and, incidentally, the owner of the swamp, Chesley Belcourt, flipped his chin-length hair back, looking more like Lara Croft than Indiana Jones. I wasn’t keen on spending my afternoon following Chesley around, carrying the twigs he dug out of the stinky mud. My sack had to weigh five pounds already, and I wasn’t adding one more specimen to my load. I slouched along behind Chesley and Ciera as the path we’d taken into the swamp from behind the greenhouse disappeared into a water-logged, brown landscape. Even the half-drowned trees appeared defeated. Doubtful I’d find my way back if I made a run for it. Chesley droned into Ciera’s ear about the differences between swamps and marshes. Ciera listened politely as Chesley explained that swamps were full of trees while marshes were home to mostly grasses and other aquatic specimens. Shit, even I knew that. I lagged behind until his voice faded, but not so far as to lose sight of them. Chesley stopped lecturing to ask me, “Bliss, did you deliver the Bat Flowers to local businesses as I asked?” “Of course.” “Did you give them the instructions on the care of the plant and the flyer for my Halloween Gala?” “Yes, Chesley.” The black flowers were almost three feet tall, planted in appropriately-sized pots filled with heavy dirt. The owner of the Sweet Shoppe bakery had chased me to the door, shoving the plant back at me. The others took the plant but I could tell by their expressions the whiskery blooms were destined for an early trip to the recycling depot. “Everyone expressed their gratitude and promised to come to your gala thing.” His wide, gargoyle grin prompted Ciera to step behind and wait for me. She grunted with the effort of pulling each boot out of the sucking mud. “Are your rain boots designer, Bliss?” “Coach,” I replied, jumping over an evil mud hole. Reaching back, I grabbed her hand and pulled her through. She carried a few extra pounds and hadn’t the option of leaping over puddles. “You wore Coach to a swamp?” “It’s all I have.” Ciera and Chesley wore black rubber boots from the greenhouse’s stockpile, but nothing there fit my size fives. Moot point anyway — Bliss Moonbeam Cornwall did not wear footwear from a big box chain store. My left boot and sock stayed firmly in the mud while my frozen toes fluttered in the dank air. “I swear by Lucifer’s black ass, I will never step foot in this place again.” Above me, a water-bloated tree shook icy raindrops on my head. An hour into this safari, our boots were covered to the calves in thick, reeking sludge. “They must’ve cost you a lot of money. I hope the mud will wash off.” I examined the dainty pattern on my boots. “These will never be clean again. I found a website where I buy most of my shoes and bags at a great discount. I can snag another pair.” “You mean the deep web?” Ciera’s blond plait hung over her shoulder and glistened with moisture, the one bright splash of colour in this dismal place. “No, I mean the dark web. Stay away from the deep web.” Ciera held the title of High Priestess of the Lockport Wiccan coven and owned a shop that sold esoteric items as well as crystals and books on occult subjects. Her coven celebrated the pagan holidays, and I can attest to the fact that some of these ceremonies were conducted with bonfires that you had to leap over while naked. I’ve observed it firsthand. We returned our attention to Chesley as he emitted a hoot of triumph and dug into his backpack, his rear end encased in stretch jeans and vibrating like an excited bumblebee. He pulled out a fistful of small flags and stuck them into the ground around his feet. He handed Ciera and me a flag each. For a few minutes, he hopped around planting flags