by Ani Gonzalez
He put on the gloves and headed to the bedroom, resigned to his fate. It was larger than he'd expected, with a queen-sized bed, two nightstands, and an overhead cabinet. A decent-sized flat-screen television hung in front of the bed, and an armoire stood next to the entrance. The furniture was, like that in the kitchen, glossy white.
He opened the armoire and was not surprised to find several sky-blue suits hanging neatly. Two were still in dry-cleaning wrappers. He noted that the dry cleaner was in Delaware. Walter had brought clean clothes to the convention. He'd come prepared to stay for the weekend.
The shelf on top contained turbans, six of them. Mr. Farsight was a man who planned ahead.
Sean closed the armoire doors and opened the drawers, which contained underwear, pajamas, and socks. He searched through all the clothes diligently, but there seemed to be nothing hidden—wait. He stiffened as his fingers touched something that felt like a piece of paper.
He extracted a blank envelope from between rolls of socks and opened it. Well, well, well, it seemed that Walter did have some secrets after all.
But the contents were disappointing. It was a single typewritten page that read, "Stop snooping through my stuff, Wanda. Sincerely, Walter."
Sean sighed. So much for that idea. Unfortunately for them, Walter Farsight had not left the name of his murderer tidily folded between his socks. Sean put the envelope in an evidence bag and placed it on the bed.
Wanda was most definitely still a suspect. They would have to wait for the autopsy report to find out how Walter died and what happened right before his death, but Wanda was already most the most prominent name on the list.
The side tables were even less useful, as they contained only books and exercise clothes. The books were psychology tomes on how to influence people and the pages were dog-eared and covered with notes. Walter, it seemed, did his research thoroughly.
Sean laid the books on the bed and regarded them with distaste. He was glad Luanne didn't go for this kind of trickery. Not that she'd be able to carry it out. Luanne was painfully transparent. Last night, for example, she'd done her best to extract information about the investigation. Her attempts had been both obvious and unsuccessful, although amusing.
But they illustrated how concerned the fortune-telling group was about Walter's death. Mary-Louise was half-convinced that he died from natural causes and the whole thing was a big coincidence, but that explanation would not satisfy the Diviners' Association, and that was no small matter in a town housing a substantial population of psychics. This would have to be handled carefully.
He searched the bed mattress and found nothing. He inspected the storage unit underneath and found boxes of dehydrated meals and water bottles. Walter, it appeared, had survived on a diet of instant oatmeal, mac 'n' cheese, and cans of tuna. That explained the spotless kitchen.
Sean sealed the boxes and left the food alone. Depending on the results of the autopsy, they could re-open them and test the contents.
He moved on to the bathroom, humming under his breath. It had been a long time since he'd done this kind of basic police work. It made him feel young again.
In the bathroom he found an enormous collection of theatrical makeup. The assortment was even more impressive given the diminutive size of the space. Walter had various baskets and rods around the bath and each one contained multiple bottles and tubes.
It took Sean a long time to put everything in evidence bags. Next, he tackled the medicine cabinet, which was comparatively empty. He put the toothpaste and mouthwash into a bag and taped all the doors.
There, he was done.
He put everything into Mary-Louise's plastic boxes and returned to the dining room area, or maybe it constituted a family room? It was hard to tell with this kind of vehicle.
The Mystic Bay sheriff was still looking through Walter's things. She now had several notebooks open in front of her. The blue-lined pages were full of numbers.
"Still at it?" Sean asked.
The sheriff shook her head. "I'm going to bring in an accountant to look through this. The numbers don't look right to me, but I can't make heads or tails of them." She slid the notebook toward him. "Can you?"
Sean examined the notebook's contents. The numbers were arranged in columns. One column was titled D&M. Another column was titled Share. The third column seemed to be the difference between the first two. A fourth column provided the amounts added to the first column.
Mary-Louise then took some printouts and placed them next to the notebook. They were spreadsheets of "Dues and Memberships" totals generated by the Diviners' Association, and their totals matched the numbers in the first column.
"You're right. An accountant should look at this," he said. "Numbers are not my forte."
Mary-Louise nodded. "It looks like someone is taking out money from somewhere and putting it back."
"Yep, that's exactly what it looks like." He glanced at the papers now strewn over the table. There were receipts, shopping lists, bills...
And a bunch of pharmacy slips.
Sean frowned. "What are those?"
Mary-Louise glanced at the papers. "Prescriptions receipts. He was sending them to his health insurance company. The man was either seriously ill or a complete hypochondriac. He had dozens of prescriptions."
"Really?" Sean asked. "Did he keep them in the kitchen?"
"No," Mary-Louise said. "Those cabinets have pots and plates and cleaning materials. I searched them." She waved a piece of paper. "This is a common tranquilizer, but the other ones are obscure. I'll need to check the names to be able to identify them."
"That's interesting," Sean said, picking up the pharmacy slips, "because here we have a bunch of prescriptions, but Walter's medicine cabinet is completely empty."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
LUANNE LEFT the conference registration table with a new tote bag, a lanyard stating she was one of the convention's "distinguished" speakers, and a new Magic 8-Ball souvenir to add to her collection.
"Do they always give these out?" Fiona asked, shaking her souvenir.
"Every year," Luanne said. "They pick a different color for each convention. Last year's color was aqua and this year's color is yellow."
"Let's see if it works," Kat said. "Oh, mighty eight ball, answer my question. Will the crab cake Eggs Benedict go straight to my hips?" She turned the ball over and read the answer. "All signs point to yes. Yep, it works."
"You're making me feel guilty now," Fiona said. "I should have gotten the oatmeal, like Samira."
"And I should have followed her example and polished off the mimosas," Luanne muttered. "Look at this crowd."
The hotel's conference area was bustling with people mingling and chatting everywhere. Samira was clearly not the only association member determined to not let Walter's demise ruin their weekend.
It was a perfect opportunity to network, a prospect that filled Luanne with dread. She loved fortune-telling because she dealt with people one-on-one. She could do presentations because that was more performing than socializing, but she hated big crowds.
"Oh, heck," Kat said. "I thought we were getting here early. I have to go man my table."
"Me too," said Fiona. "Thank heavens we set them up as soon as we arrived yesterday."
They both ran off, leaving Luanne alone with a crowd of people.
She fought down her rising anxiety and steeled herself. She could do this. After all, she hadn't come to the convention just to stay in the room eating Old Bay-flavored potato chips all day long.
But at the moment, that's what she felt like doing. They had a bridal suite overlooking the ocean. It was the "Chessie" room and it had white-and-yellow gingham fabrics and dinosaur shapes everywhere. The balcony had a fabulous view of the beach and a pair of tempting loungers for sunbathing. The room was adorable, and she wanted to return to it right now.
But she couldn't. She had to do this.
She took a deep breath and headed for the career guidance sect
ion. That looked like a good place to start. After all, that's what she was here for, no? The main purpose of the association was to provide business support and guidance. It was a testament to the strength of the group that everyone had coped with the previous night's tragedy and rallied together.
There were several tables in the career guidance area, all filled with people. Leslie, who had a booth on financial record keeping and accounting, gave her a friendly wave. The association treasurer was chatting with Rachel, who manned the association's table this morning. Next to her, the AstroChart computer people had three whole tables, where they presented information on their software offerings, including a brand new astrology program.
Luanne's mood instantly lifted. She itched to head over that way and geek out over the new tech. A lot of fortune-tellers were skeptical of computers, but Luanne loved them. AstroChart in particular, was a favorite.
But there was another table next to the AstroChart folks, one that stood mostly empty. Viola sat behind it in a pale blue dress, rearranging the books and materials. With her floaty muslin dress and long blonde hair, she looked even more fragile than usual.
It was Walter's table. His books, How to Build a Fortune-Telling Business and Reach for the Stars, were displayed in vertiginous stacks. Walter's turbaned facade smiled down from a fluttering banner.
"Oh, dear," Leslie said from behind Luanne. "Should we ask her to leave?"
"We can't," Rachel answered. "Walter paid for the table. I don't think the poor thing wants to be here, but Wanda is making her."
Leslie sighed. "Anything for a buck, that's Wanda."
"She looks sad," Rachel said about Viola
Viola was clearly trying to keep up a good front, but a woebegone air still hung around her.
Luanne straightened and walked over to Viola's table. She wasn't sure what she was going to say, but anything was better than leaving Viola sitting at that table all by herself.
"Hey, girl," she said, as she approached Viola. "How are you holding up?"
Walter's assistant greeted her with a wide, albeit completely fake smile. "As well as can be expected."
Which wasn't very well at all. Viola's dress, usually immaculate, was wrinkled, and her trademark heavy makeup could not hide the dark shadows under her eyes. The perfect assistant was, for once, not-so-perfect.
Her table was another story, though. Those book piles were impressive.
That was the nuance about Viola. Walter treated her like eye candy, but she actually tried to do her job right and mostly succeeded.
"You could take a break," Luanne suggested. "No one would blame you."
Viola scanned the crowd, as if looking for someone, then gestured toward the books. "Wanda would mind. She really wants to sell these."
Luanne examined Viola's offerings. It wasn't necessarily a bad idea to sell Walter's books now. He was, after all, one of the association's most successful members. He'd written those books on how to make a splash with your predictions because he had succeeded at it. And he'd actually caused quite the commotion with yesterday's—
Never mind, on second thought, it was a really bad idea.
Viola seemed to notice Luanne's doubts. "I know it's weird, but she wanted it done. I may need a good job recommendation now that Walter is gone, so I have to at least try."
That last part was true enough. Viola was out of a job, since Wanda wouldn't want to keep her around. Luanne gave Viola a sympathetic smile. Starting over was hard, as she well knew.
"If you need any help, call me," she said.
"I appreciate that. Not everyone has been so supportive." Viola then leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner. "I'm hoping not to need the recommendation, actually. If everything goes well, I may be starting my own act."
Viola smiled, looking positively giddy at the prospect.
"Good luck," Luanne said, even if she was taken aback by Viola's choice of words. Most fortune-tellers didn't think of their work as an "act." It was a service, a calling.
But maybe not for Walter Foresight, or for his assistant.
"But it's always good to have a backup." Viola shrugged. "And I set up the table yesterday before the cocktail reception, so I might as well take advantage of that."
Luanne frowned. Hadn't Viola and the Farsights left the rest stop after she and Sean had?
"How did you get here so fast?" she asked.
"Oh, I drove Walter here," Viola replied. "I have my little Miata, and Walter knew all the back roads. Wanda and Lester were left to drive the coach and their car."
Luanne raised a brow. She'd assumed all the Farsights lived and traveled in the coach together. Was that not the case?
"You have a Miata?"
Viola smiled and this time it seemed genuine. "Yes, it's cherry red and it's my baby. Walter doesn't—didn't—like it very much, but I didn't care. I bought it with my first couple of paychecks and it's so much fun." She grinned. "You can't imagine what a relief it is to have my own ride."
She did sound relieved, which shouldn't come as a surprise. Dealing with Walter, Wanda and Lester must have been tough, especially in a confined space.
"But you still had to live there, no?" Luanne asked.
Viola laughed. "Oh, no. The coach was just for Walter's use. We slept in hotels. He wouldn't even let me inside the living area." She laughed. "I only know what it looks like from his Instagram pictures. I hear there's a lot of white in there."
She looked over Luanne's shoulder and paled. "Uh, oh, it's Wanda. I better look busy."
Viola grabbed a book from the pile. "Would you like to purchase a book? It's autographed, and it has a lovely inscription."
She opened the book to reveal Walter's scrawled signature beneath the legend A boundless future lies before you, seize it.
Viola's smile grew a little shaky. "He really wasn't a bad person, even if he was a bit, you know..."
"Obnoxious?" Luanne asked, raising a brow.
Viola nodded. "He had a kind heart. He took a chance on me when no one else wouldn't, and I'll never forget that."
Luanne examined the proffered item. It was a copy of Reach for the Stars. That was the book Kat got the dress challenge from. It was also the one Walter had given Samira. The subtitle was The Secrets to How I Became the Most Successful Fortune-teller in History.
Wasn't that what she was interested in? Walter's secrets?
And she'd already discovered one. Walter had arrived long before his coach got in.
And he'd arrived with Viola.
"Tell you what." Luanne fished her credit card out of her bag. "I'll buy a copy."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
SEAN EXITED the coach, admiring again the fantastic view. The sun was shining and the sky was a brilliant blue. It was a perfect beach day.
And he was not enjoying the sand and surf. Instead, he was investigation a murder. Go figure. He squinted at the blazing sky, wishing he'd remembered to slather on some sunblock. If he got sunburned during a murder investigation, he'd never hear the end of it.
He ignored the siren call of the waves and inspected Walter's vehicle instead. There were openings on the side of the coach, some kind of exterior storage compartments. He tried to open one, but it was locked.
"Here you go," Mary-Louise said behind him.
He turned and she threw a keyring at him. He tried it and it opened the compartment.
"Is it the same key for all of them?" He asked, peering inside and finding a wide range of hoses, blocks, and tools.
"Not all. It also opens the front door," Mary-Louise replied.
The next container was empty, which was interesting, given the tight spaces in the coach. Sean would have expected every nook and cranny to be used.
"That one has a different lock," Sean said, moving on to the next compartment. "It's newer than the other locks. We need to find out who has the key."
"No one does."
The voice came from behind the coach. Sean looked up to see the hotel porter getting out
of a car.
"Sorry," Carl said, looking like he regretted bringing attention to himself. "I was valet parking for one of the guests. I couldn't help but overhear."
"How do you know that no one has the key?" Mary-Louise asked.
"The lady asked me for help when she arrived with the coach. She wanted to get the bags inside the hotel as fast as possible, but when she tried to get them out of the coach, she couldn't because the doors were locked. She was really angry about it."
Sean stared at the empty space. "Walter had locked up his stuff."
He recalled the note he'd found in the underwear drawer. Stop snooping through my stuff, Wanda.
Walter, it seemed, cherished his privacy. They would have to search through his personal belongings. The keys were likely in his pockets. "Were you covering the parking lot all day, Carl?" Mary-Louise asked.
"Sort of," Carl replied, gesturing toward the golf cart. "I was helping people with their bags."
"When did the coach arrive?" Mary-Louise asked.
"Pretty late in the day," Carl said. "The first arrivals were the locals, and they were here by mid-afternoon, except for the turban lady."
"Sultana Samira?" Sean asked. "She lives in town?"
Carl nodded. "Yes, but she checked in yesterday. She said she wanted to relax before the 'chaos' started." He gave them a nervous glance. "Her words, not mine."
"Chaos is the right word," Mary-Louise muttered.
"A few people arrived from the airport after," Carl continued. "As well as a pair of ladies from your hometown, Sheriff Stickely."
Sean nodded. Those would be Kat and Fiona. They had left about two hours before he'd managed to set off with Luanne and had, thus, avoided most of rush hour.
But what about those who hadn't gotten lucky?
"When did the, err, chaos arrive?" Sean asked.
"Around six or seven," Carl said. "Everyone was complaining about the traffic."
"A group got stuck at the rest stop, no?" Mary-Louise asked Sean.
"Yes," Sean replied.
"They must have all been talking about Walter's little announcement," Mary-Louise said. "I'm told it was very dramatic."