by Ani Gonzalez
That had certainly been the case at the rest stop. Walter had put on a show, but Wanda had been the one who argued with the security guards and the managers. Interesting.
Like Mary-Louise said, there was a chance it had been an accident. But there was a chance it wasn't; and if it wasn't an accident, the family members would fall under suspicion.
"Did she argue with Walter too?" he asked.
Mary-Louise laughed. "Not likely. She knows which way her bread is buttered. She and Lester depend on Walter. They don't make any money on their own. It's all him, and he let them know it. She is, was, subservient to Walter."
Sean nodded. That made sense, given what he knew of the fortune-telling business. It depended a lot on the personality and charisma of the person, and, from what he had seen, Wanda had neither.
That kind of dependence could cause resentment, which in turn could result in an explosion of violence. Had that been the case with Wanda Farsight?
And, if so, could it have led her to commit murder?
"Don't they inherit his wealth?" he asked.
"What there is of it. We'll have to look into that."
Ah, yes. That was the next step, following the money.
"Well, hold that thought," Mary-Louise said, finishing her paperwork. "Time to bring them in."
She gestured toward the hotel staffer. It was the same young man who had been driving the golf cart earlier. He had dark hair, a prominent Adam's apple, and a generally confused air. His nametag read Carl and disclosed he was from Delaware.
"What?" Carl asked.
Mary-Louise sighed. "Bring in Wanda and Lester."
He smiled in relief and left to do her bidding, almost tripping on his way out the door. Apparently, he was as good at walking as he was at driving.
Sean gave quiet thanks for his own very competent Banshee Creek staff. Good help was hard to find.
"Again, it could be an accident," Mary-Louise said as they waited. "One thing I've learned after many years in this town is that the diviners aren't always right." Her mouth tilted up in a half-smile. "Particularly, Walter Foresight."
Sean nodded, but he wasn't quite sure. Luanne, for example, had uncanny abilities' even if they did not extend to her own future. Luanne maintained that she was unable to see her own fate. The best she could do was triangulate it somewhat.
Had something like that happened to Walter? Had he seen a death, but been unable to identify it as his own?
"But you don't think it was an accident, do you, Sean?" she asked. "Is that why you're helping out? You're angry it happened right under your nose?"
Sean's jaw clenched, which he tried to camouflage by rubbing his chin.
Mary-Louise was not wrong. He'd heard Walter's pronouncement. He'd been in the parking lot. He'd seen the corpse. He didn't have any legal authority, but he still felt a proprietary interest in the case.
But he didn't have a chance to answer her because Carl opened the conference room door and led Wanda and Lester inside. Wanda Farsight was a portly woman with curly gray hair and sharp black eyes. Her husband, Lester, was a large man with a weak chin and the kind of male pattern baldness that made men look like monks. His all-black clothes—he had ditched the bright blue promotional shirt—-enhanced the medieval effect. Wanda was still wearing the caftan she had been wearing at the rest stop. The cheerful blue color was strangely disconcerting given the circumstances.
Sean had come across several murderers during his years as a cop. Sometimes they looked shocked. Usually, they looked cocky. Some affected an air of innocence, grief, or confusion.
Recognizing these facades was one of the things that Sean was trained to do. It was relatively simple when confronted by a known offender or usual suspect, but it was a lot harder when the suspect was an unknown quantity. It became a puzzle, a nut to crack. Was this the suspect's usual personality, or was it a cover? It didn't help that most innocent people became nervous or confused when interrogated by the police.
But Wanda Farsight showed none of those emotions. Lester looked blank and confused, but Wanda didn't.
Wanda looked angry.
Mary-Louise stood to greet them. "Hello, Wanda and Lester. This is Sheriff Sean Stickley from Banshee Creek, Virginia. He has agreed to help us with this matter."
Lester yawned. Wanda looked Sean up and down. Her gaze paused on the writing on his shirt. She did not seem impressed.
Sean tried not to smile. Next time he got involved in an investigation outside his jurisdiction, he'd leave the Feeling Crabby shirt behind.
But he noticed that Mary-Louise did not tell them that he had been the one who'd found the body. Smart.
The Mystic Bay sheriff motioned for Wanda and Lester to sit down. "Thank you for your—"
"Oh, stuff it, Sheriff," Wanda snarled, ignoring the tacit invitation. "I'm not going to thank you for bumping us up to the back of the line."
Sean raised a brow. This, Sean was fairly certain, was Wanda's true personality—harsh and abrasive and resentful of authority figures.
"We talked to the others first," Mary-Louise said, "because we wanted to make sure we understood what your uncle said to the group at the Route 50 rest stop. It seemed signi—"
Wanda rolled her eyes. "Oh, that was a show. Uncle Walter knew how to make a splash."
Mary-Louise kept her voice steady. "A very impressive one, I am told."
Wanda's lips curved into a bitter smile. "Uncle knew what he was doing."
She put particular stress on that sentence, and Sean couldn't quite figure out what she meant. It sounded like maybe she was trying to convince herself of something.
Mary Louise's eyes narrowed. "But he didn't know the victim in his vision was himself, did he?"
Wanda snorted again. "There was no vision. Uncle Walter didn't work that way. He wasn't that kind of fortune-teller. He didn't read cards or tea leaves. He pretended to, but that wasn't what made his predictions so accurate."
Sean suddenly recalled the way Walter had scanned the crowd during his speech. He'd examined people's faces, as if looking for—
"He read people," Sean exclaimed.
Wanda nodded. "Yes, that's what he did. He was a master at reading expressions and gauging the reactions. He said that was the most important skill an entertainer could have."
"Entertainer?" Mary-Louise frowned. "Then you do not think he was looking for the murderer?"
Wanda gave a long-suffering sigh. "Of course not. You don't understand. Uncle knew there was going to be a murder, but he wasn't looking for the culprit."
Sean and Mary-Louise exchanged glances.
"Why not?" the Mystic Bay sheriff finally asked.
Wanda's lips twisted into a condescending smile. "Because he knew who the murderer was, of course."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"SEAN DIDN'T say anything?" Fiona asked as she shoveled an egg-covered English muffin onto her plate. "Not even when he woke up?"
"He never discusses police business with me," Luanne grumbled, reaching for a plate. "And he left before I woke up anyway. He's very keen about this case."
They were in Neptune's Feast, the hotel's restaurant, enjoying the breakfast buffet. The restaurant was bright and airy with ocean blue décor and a casual beach feel enhanced by the gorgeous view of the water. Bright sunshine filtered through white plantation shutters and white wicker chairs with striped blue-and-white cushions beckoned invitingly. Watercolor prints of crabs and fish lined the walls and a sign on the wall declared: Life's Better at the Beach.
The buffet was served on driftwood tables decorated with seashells and decorative nets. Leslie's no-crab dictum did not seem to extend to the breakfast offerings, as the dish Fiona was sampling was labeled "Crab Cakes Eggs Benedict."
Or maybe the hotel had thrown caution to the wind after Walter's demise. A glance at the end of the buffet table revealed a pile of snow crab legs half-covered in ice. The crab veto had apparently been overridden.
Luanne spooned two servings o
f the Eggs Benedict onto her plate. She didn't care how the crab cakes made it into the menu. They looked delicious.
"Too bad," Kat said. "I'd love to know the inside scoop. The inside baseball. The scuttlebutt. As in, do they really think it's murder?"
"Apparently," Fiona answered. "They asked us to account for our 'whereabouts' last evening. They must think it's a crime."
Luanne reached for some potatoes and kept her mouth shut. She couldn't give the impression that she was sharing any inside information. Not that she had any to share. She wasn't kidding about Sean not discussing police business with her. The man was a tomb.
"She thinks it's a murder," Kat said.
"Sheriff Reynard?" Fiona asked. "I think that was just for show. She was trying to get us to remember stuff. She seems smart."
Luanne sighed and grabbed a blueberry muffin. She hadn't gotten any info about the crime last night, but she'd heard plenty about Mary-Louise Reynard being intelligent, personable, eloquent, funny, and those were the lesser compliments.
"She got me to remember that Viola left the porch for several minutes," Fiona continued. "I had completely forgotten about that."
"She said she went to refresh her makeup," Luanne noted. "But that wouldn't have taken her that long."
"I don't know," Kat replied. "Have you seen the amount of makeup she wears? I bet it takes hours."
Luanne turned and headed toward their table, not willing to hear more about Mary-Louise's attributes. The water view from the conservatory dining room was a lot more compelling.
But as she sat down in one of the hotel's trademark wicker chairs, she couldn't help but admit that Sheriff Reynard did seem to be doing a good job. Luanne had also forgotten about Viola's absence. She'd assumed Walter's assistant had been on the porch throughout the evening.
So, who else had been missing?
Kat joined her at the table, her plate heaped with eggs, bacon, and potatoes.
"You look pensive," Kat said. "Are you wondering whether we should polish off that pitcher of mimosas? I think we have a responsibility. It can only make this convention that much more exciting."
"It's already plenty exciting," Fiona said, joining them.
"Fair point," Kat conceded, putting a lace napkin on her lap.
Both the napkins and tablecloth were snowy white Battenberg lace. The old-fashioned linens, matched by flowing lace curtains, and cozy wicker chairs gave the restaurant an attractive vintage look. The salty ocean breeze added to the appeal.
Luanne sighed. The setting was idyllic. Too bad the conversation was anything but sunny.
"So, who do you think did it?" Fiona asked.
"Wanda," Kat said, cutting into her eggs. "She had a motive because she must be Walter's heir. She's the only relative, and she had an opportunity because she didn't get to the porch until long after the reception started."
"Really?" Luanne asked. "I thought she was there the whole time."
Fiona shook her head. "You arrived late, remember?"
Oh, that was right. Somehow, they had arrived after everyone else. She blamed the Mustang's GPS. Everyone else in the group was familiar with Mystic Bay and knew all the short cuts, but Sean had been stuck relying on shaky satellite directions.
"When did Walter's bus show up?" she asked.
Kat and Fiona looked at each other and shrugged.
"It must have been after we arrived," Fiona said. "We left Banshee Creek early."
Luanne nodded. Kat and Fiona had avoided the traffic jam and didn't have to wait it out at the rest stop. They had no idea when Walter had arrived at the hotel.
"He arrived when I did," Sultana Samira said, joining them at the table in a flurry of silver fabric and bright coral lipstick. "I remember because his coach almost ran my car over."
The elderly fortune-teller had resisted temptation, and her plate contained a small bowl of oatmeal and a mountain of fruit. Luanne snuck a guilty glance at the puddle of hollandaise sauce on her place. Maybe she should follow Samira's example.
Samira glanced at Luanne's plate and smiled. "Don't you worry, dear. Enjoy your youth. You'll have plenty of time for fiber and antioxidants later."
Then she reached for the mimosa pitcher and poured herself a glass, smiling as the tangerine-colored liquid splashed against the crystal.
"That has significant amounts of alcohol," Fiona warned.
Samira gave her a sidelong glance. "Of course, it does, honey. That's its purpose for being." She glanced at her oatmeal and fruit and winked at them. "It's all about balance."
Luanne couldn't help but smile.
Samira topped off her glass and placed the pitcher back. "There, that's perfect. Now we can properly enjoy the weekend."
Kat and Fiona exchanged glances.
Samira laughed. "Am I scandalizing you, youngsters? C'mon, you think I'm going to pretend for one second I miss Walter, or his death isn't a joyous occasion? Get real. We all detested him."
"Oh, surely—" Fiona started.
"Ask this one," Samira said, pointing at Luanne. "The year she joined the association, we were selling blue-suited voodoo dolls at the convention. Today, those are collectors' items."
Kat stared at Luanne, who nodded reluctantly.
"That was the year he decided to increase the dues because our operating budget was low. Of course, he forgot to explain it was because he'd spent all the money on a huge publicity drive to announce to the world he was the President of the Diviners' Association."
"Oh," Kat said.
Samira took a sip of mimosa. "Then last year he cheated Morgana out of the presidency. She had to settle for a co-president position. Maybe now she'll be able to do the big audit we've been waiting years for."
Luanne's eyes widened. "You think Walter—"
"Was robbing us blind?" Samira raised her glass in a mockery of a toast. "Well, yes, I do."
"But Leslie is the treasurer," Luanne said, shocked by the news. "And she's a certified accountant."
"Yes, she is." Samira's eyes twinkled as she sipped her drink again. "Very curious, no?"
Kat gave the old fortune-teller a shrewd look. "You are assigning motives to a lot of people, and we are talking about murder here."
"Oh, I do not take myself off the list of suspects, dear," Samira said with a smirk. "Walter stole my turban and my signature color." She gave her silver caftan a look of disgust. "My outfits used to be a glorious sky blue. Now I have to settle for aluminum foil. He used to mock my turbans, you know. He said it was what you'd expect from a Vegas stage magician." She laughed, but it sounded more like a bark. "Then he stole it." He eyes narrowed. "Do you know he had the gall to give me a copy of his new book, Reach for the Stars? He said he thought I could use the advice."
Luanne didn't know what to say. The old fortune-teller was usually a spry, good-humored person. Sure, she had a snarky side, but she was always good for a laugh. Right now, though, she seemed bitter and resentful.
And she was hinting that Leslie was somehow involved in Walter's fraud. Could it be true?
"If you are looking for a murderer, you have a veritable Oriental Express full of suspects here." Samira raised her glass. "And I'm public enemy number one."
CHAPTER TWELVE
"DO YOU suppose he wrote down the name of the murderer for us?" Mary-Louise asked with a mischievous smile. "That would have been considerate of him."
Sean rolled his eyes.
Mary-Louise laughed. "Oh, c'mon. That was one of the most surprising interrogations I've ever sat through. Too bad she couldn't come up with the name." She gestured toward their surroundings. "So, what do you think? Murderer's name hidden inside victim's home, yes or no?"
Sean looked around. They were in Walter's expensive coach and it did not look like a home at all.
The view out the windows was magnificent. Walter's disregard for parking regulations had clear benefits. The windows all looked out towards a blue-hued horizon. A few clouds dotted the azure sky here and there, but the
y did not detract form the view. Sean could practically smell the salt air.
And there was nothing inside to distract from the outdoors. The interior décor was all glossy white plastic surfaces and cream vinyl couches. Sky-blue wallpaper decorated with Zodiac constellations covered the walls, and a few blue pillows with silver Zodiac symbols broke up the all-white decor. The interior of the coach resembled a pricey urban hotel and Mary-Louise's police kit—various battered plastic boxes with equipment and evidence bags—looked incongruously dingy in the space.
The driver's area was two seats with a high-tech console, and the rest of the coach was a living space. There was a small kitchen, which looked spotless, as if it had never been used. In front of the kitchen, there was a u-shaped dinette, which seemed to double as a workspace with the walls covered with calendars and to-do lists.
A box was on top of the dinette table. Sean opened it to find a stack of promotional photographs, which Walter had apparently been in the process of signing. Sean picked one up. Walter's smiling face looked out from the picture, his turban perched at a rakish angle. He'd scrawled A boundless future lies before you, seize it—Walter Farsight on it.
Sean set the picture back down with a sigh. Every photograph had a personalized message, several of them in Spanish or Portuguese. Walter took care to address each fan and it was surprisingly poignant.
Then Sean opened the overhead cabinets. They contained office supplies, more promotional materials, and computer peripherals. Judging by the detailed to-do lists and organized cabinets, Walter was meticulous about his work.
"He didn't finish those pics," Mary-Louise said, glancing at the box. "It seems unlike him."
Sean nodded. Walter sounded like a proactive narcissist who would autograph anything as quickly as possible.
"You check the bedroom and I'll check the dinette," she continued, handing him some gloves, tape, and a box of evidence bags. "I think there's storage under the seats."
Sean smiled, knowing the Mystic Bay sheriff had picked the most evidence-rich area for herself. He didn't blame her. He would have done the same in her place.