Read Online The Metaphysical Detective (A Riga Hayworth Paranormal Mystery) by Kirsten Weiss - Free Book Online

There’ll probably be an extra tax to pay for the repairs.”
    “Back up,” Riga said.  “Was Pen nearby when it happened?”
    “She’d just driven down the street!  The sinkhole opened up right behind her.”
    “Shit,” Riga said, thinking hard.  It could have been a coincidence.  Sinkholes did happen.  But she didn’t like it.
    “Damn right,” Rebecca said.  “Pen’s thrilled though.  She was first to post the footage on YouTube and that Tweeter thing.”
    “Twitter,” Riga corrected absently.  She heard frantic barking in the background.
    “Ranger!  Down!  Down, Ranger!  Oh for heaven’s sake, you’d think he wanted to talk to you.  I’ve got to go – this stupid dog…”
    Her sister rung off and Riga carefully replaced the handset.  She turned on the TV, waiting for the local news station to start its ten o’clock show.  A sci-fi series was playing and she left it on as background noise, catching the occasional phrase:  A body only turns to soap under certain conditions. 
    She filled the sink and began washing the dishes, glancing at the television sporadically to see if the news had begun. 
    A mad scientist raved:  The universes are colliding!  The laws of physics no longer apply! 
    The wine glass she was washing slipped from her grasp.  She cursed as it juggled between her two hands, but caught the glass before it hit the tile floor.  Dramatic music swelled on the TV and there was a quick cut to a car insurance commercial. 
    Universes colliding.  Well, that could be a problem.  There were a lot of theories about the unseen world – alternate dimensions, spirit worlds, worlds of thought forms, daemonic reality, Plato’s realm of the ideal...  Riga thought any and all could all be possible, but there were always certain rules. The worlds might occasionally brush up against each other, but these encounters had to be brief. 
    She pulled the plug in the sink, wiped her hands on a towel, then poured herself a glass of Zin.  Wandering to the living room, she dropped onto the couch in front of the television.  The news started, teasing the sinkhole story.  Riga kicked off her shoes, stretched her legs before her. 
    The news station held the story until the very end and when it finally came on, her glass was empty.  The piece was dissatisfying, with no explanation of the cause, and an overhead view of the collapsed road.  Riga thought she saw her sister’s house in the far edge of the shot.  Rebecca would not be happy.
     

Chapter 12:  Pumpkins on the Shore
    The next day, Riga kept her mind fixed on prosaic rituals: washing windows, scattering dust bunnies from beneath the couch, mopping the kitchen floor.  She gave Brigitte the mystery novel.  The gargoyle exclaimed delightedly and soared to the rooftop to read.  At least Riga had made someone happy today.
    By afternoon, however, she was restless enough to eat her way through the refrigerator.  Recognizing that impulse for what it was (bad) she drove down the coast to Half Moon Bay, its farm fields dotted with orange pumpkins.  She stopped at a beach, pulling into its small gravel parking lot.  As she stepped from her car, a wind kicked up, lashing the waves into a dark frenzy.  Riga crunched down the shore, feeling her tennis shoes fill with sand.  She found a rock and sat against it in the sun, a woolen shawl pulled taut around her shoulders.  Drawing an Agatha Christie from her bag, she began to read, her gaze drifting from the Pacific to the page, with little attention paid to either.  Like the pull of the tide, sleep tugged at her.  Her eyelids drifted downward and in that liminal place she fancied there was another beach, just on the edge of her perception, someplace warm and perfect.
    A cry rang out from behind her.  She stumbled to her feet, turning toward the source of the sound – a young couple, arms wrapped around each other.  The woman pointed towards the ocean, her mouth open in