“She normally scheduled things like that with your mom, but Glenda was doing her charity work.”
“Did you know that Rockford wrote a check for a half a million dollars out of the company account for his illegitimate son?” Carson asked.
“No, but I’m not surprised. He had the funds. When an opportunity came up to sell the business, I was ready to retire. I wanted to spend more time with your mom. Rockford wasn’t happy about it. We argued for a week straight.”
“That must have made you mad,” I said, leaning back in the chair, looking for any sign that he was being deceitful.
“It did at first, but I was willing to find someone to buy out my portion if he didn’t want to get out of the business. It never came down to that. He had a car accident, and after that, he changed his mind about selling his portion of the business. He told me to expect some big checks written out of his portion of the buyout money.”
“Did he say how many checks and to whom?” Carson asked, tilting his head. “That gives us additional motive.”
“Um, four, I think or maybe it was three. I don’t remember.” Frank rubbed his chin.
“Have any been cashed?” I asked.
“Yeah, one. I made a copy and put it in the file for you.”
“Mr. Anderson, did you have anything to do with Rockford’s death?”
Frank let out an exhaustive sigh. “No, Georgia, I didn’t. Rockford and I were business partners, but we’d grown kind of distant. I have no idea what he’d gotten himself into.”
“Thank you,” I said and glanced up at Carson. “You want to ask him anything else? Now is the time.” I smiled. I slid my hand into my purse and gripped my truth serum.
A big grin filled his face. “When I was five, did my fish die and you replaced it?”
“Of course I did. You loved that stupid fish, but what does that have to do with anything?” he asked.
“It doesn’t,” I said, rising from my chair. Carson shoved the manila file beneath his arm and grinned like a kid with free reign in a candy store. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Carson…” Frank growled.
Carson led me out of the office and back through the house. I thanked his mom and said goodbye to his sister as we left. Stepping out into the evening air, I inhaled a deep breath.
“You didn’t tell me you were going to use the spray,” Carson said, walking me to the SUV. He pulled open my door and held it open while I climbed inside.
“I didn’t. I trusted my gut. If I’d thought for a second that he was lying, I would have used the spray just to be sure, but I’m not seeing how your dad was a part of it.”
“That’s because he wasn’t.” Carson shut the door and drove me home.
No lights were on at the inn when we pulled up, not even a porch light. The moon glinted off the metal yard animals, but this was the first time I was seeing the inn look as though no one was home.
“Is that normal?” Carson asked.
“No,” I answered, sliding out of the SUV and easing the door shut. I headed into the yard without even waiting to see if Carson followed.
13
Not one single light was on inside the inn or even on the porch. I reached my hand into my purse and had to dig around since I couldn’t see. When my fingers landed on the key, I used it in the lock.
Carson slid me out of the way and opened the door himself, with a gun gripped in his hand. I wasn’t scared of what I would find. I was capable of taking care of myself. I’d just been surprised to see the inn so dark. I stepped into the house behind Carson, flicking on the hall light.
There was no sound coming from any of the rooms. Carson made his way to the kitchen and turned on the light. A slip of paper was sitting on the kitchen table with my name scrolled across the front.
“I think this is meant for you.”
I took the note from him and read out loud.
Went to Glendale for an old manuscript that was mentioned in our spellbook. Theo went with me. We’ll head back soon.
Love, Margo
“Are you going to be okay here by yourself?”
“I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time.”
Carson took my phone and saved his number on speed dial. “Call me if you need anything.”
“Thanks, but I’ll be all right.”
“Well, I figure you should have my number on speed dial anyway.” Carson winked before I walked him to the front door. “Make sure you lock up behind me.”
I saluted. “You don’t have to worry about me.”
If only that were true.
At three a.m., I questioned my decision on sending the detective home instead of letting him stay in one of the spare rooms. It wasn’t that I was scared of the house or anything in it. It was our family home, after all, and it should feel comfortable. But when the sound of breaking glass bolted me awake from a deep sleep, it took several minutes for the sound to register as I strained to listen in an attempt to hear it again. My hand rested over my heart to calm the erratic beats before I jumped out of the bed.
I grabbed the bat in the corner and slowly tiptoed down the stairs. The bat was a new addition to each room since Tess’s abduction from the inn. I said a silent thanks for that as I tiptoed down the stairs. With bat in hand, I was ready to strike as a surge of energy gathered in my palms ready to singe any trespassers.
I flipped on the light at the top of the stairs to illuminate the foyer below. A single brick lay on top of a hundred glass shards scattered on the wood floor. A single note was attached around the block by a rubber band. I knew better than to remove the paper in case of fingerprints, but I didn’t let that stop me. I grabbed a tissue and gently eased the band over the brick and pulled out the note by the corner tip. I shook it until it unfolded and then read the words.
Keep digging, and you’re next.
It was going to take a lot more than that to scare me off from figuring out the identity of Rockford’s killer. A simple note and a brick would never do the trick. Maybe something like burning down the house might make me hesitate.
I trotted back upstairs and put on my shoes, cussing the entire time while thinking about the mess that awaited me in the foyer. It was probably good that Margo wasn’t here to experience this. She would’ve attributed it to the killer that wasn’t supposed to strike for another two months.
I rested my hands on my hips while I debated what to do with the broken glass. If I called Carson, I’d wake him up, but I knew that he would want to take pictures or call in a crime scene unit to access the damage and look for fingerprints.
So, instead, I made a pot of coffee and took my own pictures. I cleaned up the glass from around where the brick lay and kept everything in its own separate bag in the event they wanted to run any forensics on it. But my guess was this was someone’s feeble attempt to scare us off.
I was working on my second pot of coffee and sitting outside on the swing when Carson showed up the next morning on my doorstep. He climbed the steps, carrying coffee from the café in town, and came to a halt in front of the door. He peeked inside the broken window before turning to face me.
“Georgia, is that what I think it is?”
“Well, that depends, Carson. If you think it was someone trying to scare us away from figuring out who the killer is, then you’re right. Whoever did that woke me up out of a sound sleep at three a.m. But don’t worry, I barely touched the note so you should still be able to get fingerprints off of it.”
“Did you call the police?”
“No, I was waiting for you. I didn’t want them to start asking questions on who I thought did this without being able to answer them.”
“You think it’s related to this case?”
“I know it is. The note I left on the kitchen table is warning us to back off.”
I followed Carson into the house and listened to him make arrangements for a forensic team to come out to collect the stuff I’d gathered for them. The second call he made was for someon
e to come replace the glass in the door. As far as personal 5-0’s went, I’d gotten the pick of the litter.
After everything was fixed, I clapped my hands together. “What’s on the agenda today? Are we meeting with the secretary? Or are we going to the hotel to find out who this new lunch time mistress was? Or maybe we should go to talk to whoever cashed Rockford’s check. If this is money related, maybe we can crack this case today.”
His gaze tracked the repairman’s truck as it pulled out of our driveway. “I think this is where your sleuthing should end.”
“You are not kicking me off this case,” I said, folding my arms across my chest. “It’s going to take more than a brick and broken glass to stop me from helping you.”
He turned to face me. “This is an official police investigation, Georgia.”
“You knew that last night when you took me to dinner, Carson.”
“Let me handle this from here on out.”
Like that was going to happen. I was too invested in figuring out who the killer was, especially if I didn’t want a repeat of dinner mayhem like the other night. “I can’t do that, Carson. What if Rockford shows back up and sends Helen, Francine, or Alma into an early heart attack? I’d never be able to forgive myself. So, with or without you, I’ve got to see this through. My sanity depends on it.”
“This would be easier if you could just ask Rockford who did him in,” Carson said, gesturing me toward the SUV.
“If he could talk, I would,” I said, following him to the SUV. I climbed into the passenger seat. “So who are we questioning first, the secretary, the check casher, or the private eye?”
“The check casher. I already have her name and pulled her address,” he said, getting in the SUV. He started it up and began to drive away.
The morning had already slipped by us with getting the window fixed and waiting on forensics to come collect the brick and the note. I wasn’t hopeful that they’d get a hit on any of it, but it would be nice if they did.
We pulled up outside a mansion, and Carson rang the bell and flashed his badge at the security guard before he allowed us to enter. He parked in the driveway in front of the three-story home that was about five times the size of the inn.
Carson knocked on the door, and I stood in shock as a teen answered, skateboard in hand. His pink spiked hair did little to hide the fact that this kid had Rockford’s eyes and bone structure. I knew instantly that they were related.
Carson flashed his badge, and I watched the color drain from the kid’s face.
“Whatever you heard, I didn’t do it,” the kid said.
14
“Does Sylvia Tanner live here?” Carson asked.
“Yeah,” he answered without further acknowledgment.
“We’d like to speak to her, please.”
The kid shook his head as if Carson’s words finally penetrated through his brain. The punk yelled out, “Mom, the cops are here to see you.”
He stepped out into the driveway and hopped on his skateboard and peddled up the drive while, every few seconds, turning back to see if we were following him.
A woman appeared at the door. Her ponytail was frazzled and falling out, and she wore an apron covered in blue paint. “Can I help you?”
Carson flashed his badge again. “Ms. Tanner, I’m Detective Anderson, and I’d like to ask you some questions.”
She glanced over her shoulder before opening the door farther. “If you can stand the smell of paint, come on in. We can talk by the pool.”
We followed the woman inside, and it took everything I had not to cover my mouth with my hand. The instant sting of the smell assaulted all of my senses.
“I just bought the place, and I’m repainting,” she explained, opening the back door to a pool area. The pool didn’t have any water and could have been beautiful if it weren’t for the graffiti on the concrete walls.
“Did you report the vandalism?” I asked, taking a seat where she directed me.
“Oh no.” Her cheeks tinted pink. “My son, Matthew, and his friends did that to the pool. I’m a painter, and I’ve taught him to follow his creative urges.”
If that were my kid, I might have killed him on the spot and then buried his bones in the rose garden. This was why I’d never reproduced. Nope, I would never look pretty in jailbird orange.
“We’d like to ask you some questions about a check you recently deposited.”
Her face lit with concern as she glanced between us both and finally settled on me. “You aren’t Rockford’s wife, are you? Because he gave me that check. I didn’t steal it.”
“I’ve never met Rockford.” Well, technically it was true. I’d never met the guy while he was alive. I wondered if meeting him in ghost form counted as knowing him.
The stress lines on her forehead smoothed. “What about the check? Rockford didn’t steal the money, did he?”
“We’d like to know why he gave it to you.”
“My son, Matthew, is his child. He wanted to make sure he was taken care of.”
I leaned into Carson. “He looks maybe two years older than Phillip.”
“He’s a year and a half older than Phillip,” Sylvia corrected.
“You know Rockford had another kid?” Carson asked.
“Did that make you mad?” I asked.
Her brows dipped. “Rockford and I were soul mates. He told me everything about all of his women, including Vivian.”
“He had more than you and Vivian Smith,” Carson asked.
I held up my hand. “How is it that you were okay with the fact that he’s married and has other mistresses?”
Sylvia’s face softened. “What you need to understand about Rockford is that he didn’t hide his mistresses from each other, only us from his wife. He told me once that he gets something different from each of us. With Vivian, it was emotional. With me, it was purely quickies during his lunch break. I helped ease his stress, and with the others…well, you’d have to ask him.”
“We would, but he’s dead,” Carson announced.
Sylvia’s hand flew to cover her mouth. Her skin turned an unnatural shade of green as her eyes widened and started to cloud with tears.
“Excuse me. I think I’m going to be sick.” Her words were muffled around her hand as she rose and ran into the house.
Five minutes later, we were still waiting on her to return. Carson had walked down into the pool to check out the artwork when he glanced my direction. “Maybe you should check on her.”
“Why me? You’re the cop.”
“But you’re a woman. She might respond better to you and not be as embarrassed.”
I shoved out of my chair and gave him an earnest glare before I headed into the house. For all we knew, this could be a ruse. She could’ve used these five minutes to hightail it out of the house. She could be the killer, and he was sending me in to check on her.
In all honesty, I didn’t think that. This woman was so petite, and from what I’d seen of Rockford’s ghost, he was so tall she would’ve had to stand on something to deliver a blow to his head. She just wasn’t tall enough to have committed the deed, unless she had an accomplice or portable stairs.
I walked into the house, following the sounds of crying from the direction of the second floor.
“Sylvia, are you up there?” I took the stairs slowly in the event somebody else might be in the house waiting to jump out and kill me like in a slasher flick.
“In here.” Sylvia’s muffled voice came from down the hall.
I peeked in each room as I passed and paused outside the room with the black walls covered in band posters and half-naked women. It wasn’t the teen’s choice of art that rankled my nerves. Anger filled my veins the minute I saw Helen’s cane propped up in the corner of the punk’s room. This wasn’t just Rockford’s kid; he was a damn thief.
I kept walking toward the sound of sobs and stopped outside the woman’s bedroom. A picture of her and Rockford hung on the wall. “Are you okay?”<
br />
She pressed against her knees, straightening her arms while sitting on the bed.
“He told me that he was going back to his wife.” She sniffled. “Did that bitch kill him?” She lifted her gaze, and anger filled her face.
“We don’t know who killed him, but I’ve had some guys at the station prove the wife’s alibi. She didn’t do it. Well, not personally,” I added. At her startled look, I shrugged. “What, haven’t you heard of a hired hitman?”
“A hitman?” she asked.
“I’m speculating. There is no evidence that we’ve uncovered to believe his wife was involved.”
The tension in her shoulders eased but not the emotional trauma cascading over her face. Her gaze was clouded as she stared at the picture of her and Rockford. “He wasn’t the same after the accident.”
I stared up at the picture of Rockford. “Others have implied the same thing. He decided to go back to his wife.”
“Almost dying tends to change a man, but I honestly believe there was more to it.”
“How so?” I asked.
“Well, if it was just a blown tire, it would be one thing, but it wasn’t. He told me he thought someone was following him and he heard a gunshot before the tire blew out, which sent him careening down the embankment.”
I folded my arms over my chest. This was the first I’d heard that he thought someone was after him. Wouldn’t that have been something that he’d told his wife or even the other mistress?
“Did he say who he thought was following him?”
She shook her head. “He had no idea. Well, that’s a lie….”
“Who did he think it was?”
She rested her hand over her stomach. “I don’t want to get anyone in trouble, so I’d rather not say.”
I dropped my folded arms. “You don’t get to do that. Rockford is dead, and you’re withholding the name of a potential suspect.”
“Rockford doesn’t have just two sons. He has three.”
“Who’s the other one?” I asked.
Witchy Warning Page 6