Home Strange Home

by CeeCee James

  “That means he has a lot of baggage.”

  “It means he needs to meet a nice person as well. So, come to dinner. Help restore his faith in humanity. Besides, I really think you two will really hit it off. I promise. It’ll be a nice dinner. We’re barbecuing steak.”

  I huffed but finally said all right. Kari was a persuasive person. And I knew I was no match for her. She confirmed the plans for the weekend and then hung up.

  As I drove to the office, a million thoughts tumbled through my mind. Was it because Jasmine was pregnant that she refused the wine? And, was it even possible to slip poison into a corked bottle? Why had Ian taken the antacids? Stress?

  There was also that curious phone call Ian had been on when he first walked into the house. Didn’t he accuse that person of extortion?

  I wondered if the police knew about the phone call. If Jasmine was somehow guilty, would she have mentioned it to them? Would anyone? I know I didn’t.

  No one was at the realty when I arrived. I walked inside and threw my keys on my desk, only to be confronted with a giant note. Well, the note was normal paper size, but the writing, scrawled in Uncle Chris’s chicken scratch, could have been read across the room.

  “Stella! It needs to be signed today.”

  The note was lying on a folder. I opened it and saw some forms that the Clark’s had signed to dissolve the contract. All that was needed was a signature from Jasmine. I wrinkled my nose and groaned.

  Why hadn’t he brought it to Jasmine to sign himself? He’s friends with her. I was going to be like the Abominable Snowman stomping all over the poor woman’s grief.

  A tiny voice added… unless she’s guilty.

  I rolled my eyes. I just couldn’t see how that young woman would have been capable of such cold-blooded murder, and with all of us there. Technically, we were each other’s alibis.

  I picked up the phone as dread settled in the pit of my stomach. I mean, the guy wasn’t even buried yet. Still, the forms had to be signed by today.

  I sighed and scrolled for Jasmine’s number. Figuratively crossing my fingers, I pushed send, hoping I wasn’t going to get a crying widow on the other end.

  “Hello?” Jasmine answered. Her voice so soft, I couldn’t get a read on her emotional state.

  “Jasmine? It’s Stella from Flamingo Realty. How are you?”

  “Oh,” she sniffed. “I’ve been better.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, cringing. That had been a stupid question to ask.

  “It’s okay. I miss him. The doctor has me on some amazing pills to help me stay calm though. I’m so relaxed now, I could do brain surgery.”

  That kind of took me off guard. Can you take a prescription like that when you’re pregnant? Maybe Jennifer misheard. I shook my head. That wasn’t possible, not with it hitting so close to home for the Clarks. The medication was either safe, or she wasn’t pregnant. Either way, it gave me no new information.

  I glanced at the papers and tried to reel myself in to the business at hand. “I’m glad the doctor gave you something that helps. I really hate to bother you, but is there any way I could stop by for a minute?”

  “Sure. What’s going on?”

  “I just have one more thing for you to sign to release everyone from the contract.”

  She laughed. “Join the club. Everyone has something for me to do. The funeral home, the coroner, the insurance company. It’s been a deluge of requests around here.”

  “I’m so sorry. I promise I’ll make it quick.”

  “It’s fine. We need to get it done and, after all, life goes on. I’m free this afternoon.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you soon.”

  I hung up and gathered my things. Why did I feel so icky?

  A Greek gyro and fries and an hour later, I pulled into Jasmine Stuber’s driveway. There was a red car already there, along with a white Hummer. I popped a mint into my mouth and then gathered the papers. That little inner voice tried to chime in and accuse me of delaying, but I ignored it and slammed the car door instead. Taking a deep breath, I walked up to the porch.

  Jasmine answered, looking chic in a simple beige shirt, pencil skirt and a pearl necklace. I was surprised to see her so put-together but remembered the doctor had her somewhat sedated.

  “Stella,” she said with a smile. She touched my arm, surprising me. We were practically strangers, but she was acting like I was an old friend that she hadn’t seen in a long time. “Come in. Celeste is already here.”

  I remembered Celeste. Jasmine’s cousin.

  She led me through the house into the kitchen, which was filled with an array of white arrangements of flowers. Although lovely, I couldn’t see how comforting they would be. These flowers had a funeral look about them, both stiff and formal.

  Her home smelled amazing thought. I sniffed deeply and let out a contented hum. I saw steam rising from a little figurine on a buffet in the living room.

  She pointed to it and said, “That’s my diffuser. I have stress relief oil going right now.”

  “It smells wonderful,” I said. “Does it really take stress away? I might need a gallon.”

  She laughed, high and tinkling, taking me off guard. “Not as well as this does,” she said, producing a prescription bottle from her hidden pocket.

  I wondered if maybe she should have her prescription lowered. She seemed awfully jovial for what she’d just gone through.

  We walked down the long hallway and into the kitchen.

  Celeste stood from the bar stool when I entered. She wore a leather jacket and designer jeans, the tips of a pair of boots peeping out from the long cuffs. Her blonde hair was slicked back in a style that appeared slightly wet.

  “Hello, Celeste.” I bobbed my head in her direction.

  “Nice to see you again, Stella,” she coolly acknowledged. She perched back on the bar stool where a cup sat before her.

  “Can I get you some coffee?” Jasmine asked me.

  I shuffled through my purse for a pen. “No, I don’t want to be a bother.” I set the paper on the counter. “There’s just one little signature needed, and a couple of initials.” I pointed to the highlighted line.

  Celeste leaned over in a cloud of perfume. “What’s this?”

  “Oh, just something I need to sign to get out of the contract,” Jasmine answered.

  “So, you’re keeping your house after all.” Celeste stared at Jasmine and I swear some sort of communication flashed between their eyes.

  But Jasmine didn’t let on if there was a deeper meaning to Celeste’s statement. She shrugged casually and accepted my pen. “Until I know better what I’m going to do, it’s best for me to stay here. My body’s having a hard time with the stress.”

  I noticed a bottle of antacids on the counter, the same ones I’d tucked to one side on the day of the party. “Is your stomach acting up? I hope you’re feeling okay.”

  She quickly scribbled where I pointed and then followed my gaze. She shook her head. “No, those are… were Ian’s. He had indigestion something terrible. He was on several prescriptions for it. Finally, we tried essential oils. It was the first thing that seemed to help.”

  I was surprised. I’d never heard of using oil before for heartburn. “Did he eat them?” Maybe that was the cause of his stomach upset at the party.

  “No, it came in a roller ball. Celeste made it for him. You rub it on your skin, and it absorbs to help balance out the heartburn. Here, look at the one she made me.” At that, she opened a drawer and rummaged through it. Not finding what she wanted, she dug into her purse. With a hum of satisfaction, she brought out a little glass bottle. She unscrewed the black top to reveal a metal roller ball.

  “Smell it,” Jasmine said. “This one helps with anxiety.”

  I sniffed it. The musky mixture of sandalwood and something else was appealing.

  “Can’t you just feel your worries draining away?” Jasmine asked.

  I nodded. The muscles in my neck did seem mor
e relaxed. “That’s amazing.” Carefully, I screwed on the cap and handed it back.

  “You can get the oils down at Heritage Dispensary. This is my own special blend.” Jasmine glanced at her cousin. “Well, Celeste’s special blend. They have all styles. Roller balls, tinctures, necklace lockets, bracelets, and concentrate. There are soap, lotions, body oils. I could get lost in there all day.”

  “Wow! I had no idea.” It did make me wonder. I understood why Jasmine would use a doctor’s prescription now, in light of Ian’s murder. But she was using the stress and anxiety oils before his death. What had been going on that kept her so agitated?

  That agitation seemed to have disappeared as she smiled at me. “I can get you one if you want. I have lots. Celeste keeps me supplied.”

  Celeste leaned forward on the stool. “It’s a passion. It’s amazing how oils can bring balance to the system. Of course, not all oils are the same. It can be a little overwhelming. If you have any questions or want an education, let me know.”

  “She’s obsessed. But they do work, so I give her that. And she has such a talent at making blends."

  They were both so enthusiastic it was hard not to smile. “I’ll have to check that dispensary out. Heritage, you say?”

  Jasmine tucked a fallen blonde wisp behind her ear. “They have classes, too. I was thinking of taking one to make my own perfume. The owner is super nice.”

  I gathered the papers back into the manila folder. “I’ll be sure to stop by there one day when I’m in town. And, thank you for doing this, Jasmine. Again, I’m sorry. I’ll get out of your hair, now.”

  “Oh, it’s fine. You’re not in my hair,” she reassured me. “The distraction is actually nice.” Her bottom lip trembled. “Otherwise, I’m left to my own thoughts. It feels like a nightmare that keeps getting worse and worse. And the latest news… I just can’t believe… can’t believe he was murdered.”

  “Shh.” Celeste put an arm around her and pulled her close like she was a little girl.

  My heart dropped to see her crying. I’d rather face a forest fire than this poor woman’s grief. I had no idea what to do.

  “Who would have done something like that, Celeste? Who?” Jasmine sobbed into her cousin’s shoulder.

  “I’m not sure, sweetheart. But we’ll find him.”

  Jasmine leaned away and wiped her cheeks. Her spiky eyelashes still had managed not to smudge. She bit her lip, appearing young and fragile. “Who do you think could have done it, Stella?”

  I definitely wasn’t expecting that question to pop out of her mouth. But it seemed like the perfect opportunity to ask one of my own. “Jasmine, Ian was yelling at someone on the phone when he came in that day. Do you remember? Do you have any idea who he was arguing with?”

  “Arguing with?” she looked confused.

  “Yes. Remember, we were all hiding, and he came in sounding upset on the phone. I was just curious if you ever tracked that down.”

  “Oh,” she nodded.

  “Wasn’t that his brother?” Celeste suggested.

  “That’s right! He said his brother was teasing him about going to St. John’s instead of his parent’s party.”

  “Is there any way you could check that? Maybe look over his phone records just to be sure.” I suggested, my stomach sinking for being so pushy.

  “I guess I could find out,” she answered, a little dubious. Her thin hands twisted together.

  “Sure, it would be easy,” Celeste said. “It could be important, you never know.”

  My face was hot. I’d used up all my time, and I needed to get out of there. “I’m sorry to bother you with that. I just was curious.”

  “Oh, no bother at all. It’s a good point. It might be nice for me to find out for myself,” she said.

  I reached into my purse for my keys and felt the piece of jewelry. “I almost forgot. When I was cleaning up, I found this the other day.”

  Jasmine took it from me and examined it. Her face appeared confused.

  “I’m sorry I took it with me. I got distracted about something and forgot about that,” I explained.

  “I have no idea who it belongs to. It looks like it’s a part of a necklace.”

  “I found it in the bathroom, the one where Ian…” I paused, not sure how to continue.

  Celeste took a turn looking at it and the handed it back. “It’s not mine, either.”

  I dropped it back in my purse. The conversation great stale, and the air had that heavy prickliness of me overstaying my welcome.

  For an excuse to leave, I peeked at my phone. “Oh, shoot. I’m sorry, I’m running late. Jasmine, if there is anything I can do for you, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to call us at the office. I apologize again for the intrusion.” With a dip of my head, I hurried from the kitchen and out to my car.

  9

  At the first stop sign leaving Jasmine’s house, I picked up the phone again. I wasn’t really late anywhere, but the jewelry piece was suddenly making me worried. Call it a hunch, but I felt pressed to get this piece out of my hands. After all, I did find it in the bathroom that Ian had died in. I dialed the police station and sent the call through my car’s microphone.

  “Is Officer Daniels available?” I asked when the phone was answered. “He’s working on a case. Ian Stuber’s death. I found something that might be a clue.”

  I was told he was out on his shift and would be happy to meet me outside the Post Office.

  Very well. I headed into Brookfield and drove through Darcy’s Doughnuts for an Americano—whimpering slightly at the scent of freshly glazed cream-puffs—and then on to the Post Office. Like nearly everything else in town, it was the original founding building with brick edifices and columns carefully preserved. A golden decal of an eagle decorated the front door. Through the glass, I could see the dark head of Jan as she walked by, carrying a stack of boxes.

  Jan was the postmaster who knew everything about everybody. I took a sip of coffee and watched her move about the office like a busy bee. She disappeared in the back, only to reappear a moment later with a broom in her hand. She was a hard worker and seemed motivated to prove it. I knew how she feared retirement.

  A police car pulled in behind me. I immediately stiffened when I realized it was not Officer Daniels, but his partner, Officer Carlson behind the wheel. His bald head was hidden under his police cap, but I’d recognize him anywhere. With the narrowing of his eyes and the way the lines carved around his lips, he wore a scowl that could have made Al Capone shiver.

  What was his problem? I climbed out of my car and saw that Jan’s sweeping activity had stalled as she watched. Terrific. Her nose was practically pressed against the glass like Gladys Kravitz from Bewitched. She was probably taking notes, I was sure, and it wouldn’t be long now before the entire town knew I was meeting with the police. In fact, by the time the news got back to me, I bet the story would be that I was in handcuffs, being carted off to the pokey.

  Of course, by Officer Carlson’s glower, that might not be out of the realm of possibility.

  “Hi, Officer Carlson,” I said, walking back to him.

  He eased one foot to step onto the curb. “Hollywood,” he said with a nod.

  He was never going to let that go, was he? I’d roll my eyes, but like I said, he looked like he was in a mood. Still, I had to defend myself. “It’s Washington, remember? The Northwest.”

  His eyebrows slanted upward like he didn’t care. “You still seem like Hollywood to me. Now, what is it you have that’s so important?”

  I held out the metal piece of jewelry. “I stumbled across this in the bathroom. You know, the one Ian was discovered in. I couldn’t find out who it belonged to so I figured I better hand it to you.”

  He pulled out a clear plastic bag, making the muscles under his shirt flex, and held it open with a heavy sigh. I dropped it in and he lifted it to examine it. Like up, up. The guy was well over a foot taller than me. “Looks nice and pawed on. What have you be
en doing? Carrying this thing in a vaseline jar?”

  “Sorry.” I cringed. “I never even thought about trying to preserve fingerprints until later.” My cheeks heated under the melting glare of the cop. But how was I supposed to know it could be a clue? At the time I found it, Ian appeared to have died from a heart attack. Heck, I was trying to do a good deed by tidying things up so there weren’t any party remnants for the grieving widow.

  “So let me guess. You tried to do some detecting into who this belongs to. How exactly did you do that?” he asked.

  Feeling like a deer in headlights under his stern expression, I swallowed. “I asked both Jasmine and Celeste if it was theirs.”

  “And what did they say?” he seemed interested, holding the bag up again.

  “They both denied that it belonged to them.”

  “Are you saying that you actually handed it over to them to examine?”

  “Yeah. They both got a good look,” I reassured him.

  Shaking his head, he twisted the bag closed as the frown lines around his lips creased deeper than the wrinkles in the plastic.

  “What?” I finally asked.

  “Oh, nothing,” he said, pursing his lips sarcastically. “It’s just that we don’t usually tell our suspects about our evidence, let alone offer them a chance to handle it.”

  My jaw dropped. “Jasmine really is a suspect?” I finally whispered.

  “What would you call a woman who stands to inherit a five million dollar life insurance policy?” he asked.

  I was shocked. “Was it poison?” I asked, remembering what Uncle Chris said.

  He casually lifted a shoulder, clearly not interested in sharing information. “I’m not here to confirm nor deny, but usually the common sense answer is the right one. Anyway, we’re aiming to find out. It’s kind of what the detecting business is. Weirdly, what we are trained for.” His gaze flicked at me, and the corner of his lip lifted, revealing a dimple.

  I ignored the jab. “I might have another clue. On the day of the party, while we were all hiding, Ian was yelling at someone on the phone when he first came in. Something about extortion. And he was going to kill them.”