by A J Sherwood
“It’s often used as one, or mixed in a cocktail,” Caleb confirmed with a grimace. “Because people are stupid that way. Yes, I’m afraid anyone can buy this off the street.”
Sharon grumbled, “So much for narrowing our suspect pool.”
“We have a suspect pool?” Caleb asked, perking up.
“No,” Donovan denied dryly.
Caleb deflated immediately. “Well, damn. Unfortunately, I don’t have much more to add that wasn’t in my preliminary report. He was stabbed right below the right rib with something approximately one-inch in diameter, not particularly sharp, either. At a guess, I’d say something like a fireplace poker or a tent stake. Something about that width.”
I turned to Sho, who kept track of details like this, and asked, “Was there a fireplace poker?”
He opened his mouth, paused, then lifted a finger in signal for me to wait.
As he clicked through various screens, Caleb finished, “The mortal blow, as you will, was a slice across the throat. It was a single, uniform cut, which was what I meant by ‘weird.’ Normally, when someone’s throat is cut, there’s a great deal of jerking around, meaning blood splatter everywhere. The knife wound was sharp and deep. Something four inches wide and about six inches long—a butcher knife, perhaps. I believe that while injured, Witherspoon was so comatose from the ketamine, he wasn’t even aware of when he was killed.”
Some small mercy in that, at least. “So…your theory of last night still holds?”
“I think our killer is a new one.” Caleb gave me a nod. “I think he came in with a game plan that failed utterly. Witherspoon was a large man, strong from years of hard labor. I believe the murderer drugged him initially to make it easier to kill him. But when the poker failed to work, he got desperate and went for a knife instead. Some of that is conjecture, but it fits with what I know.”
“Why the poker…” Carol trailed off, staring up at the ceiling, clearly in deep thought.
Sho cleared his throat to draw our eyes to him. “To answer the previous question, no. There was no poker found at the scene. There was a set near the main fireplace, and it had everything: brush, shovel, tongs. But no poker.”
“Was this supposed to look like a crime of opportunity?” Sharon asked doubtfully.
“While drugging him?” I objected. “Any idiot who watches crime shows knows they’ll do a full tox screen on a murder victim. Hell, I know that and I can’t even watch most murder mysteries.”
Caleb leaned around Donovan to see me. “But I thought you had Google Home to run a TV for you?”
“It’s not that,” Donovan explained in a loud whisper. “The blood squicks him out.”
I smacked my lover on the arm. Ignoring the snickering, I said loudly: “ANYWAY. I can’t see the logic on this.”
“I’m not sure I see it either,” Carol sighed, going back to staring at the ceiling.
“This is a bit of a long shot…” Garrett looked around the room at each of us. “But does anyone know the history of the plantation house? How many violent deaths occurred there, aside from the whole poker-murder the captain told us about?”
One look at Donovan’s lines told just how unhappy he was with that line of questioning. I didn’t understand Garrett’s point, but for once the man didn’t look like he was teasing.
Caleb leaned forward. “Why do you ask?”
“I mean, this place is a famous haunted mansion, right? We’ve seen some spooky stuff while going through the house ourselves. What if the murderer was trying to make it look like Witherspoon was offed by a ghost?”
I went slowly taut in my chair. “Make it look like he was taking some recreational drugs, hence the ketamine, then a ghost did him in at the wrong moment?”
Garrett shrugged uncertainly. “Is that too far-fetched?”
“Apparently not.” Sho had been tapping away at his laptop, but his fingers stopped as he scrolled down a page. “Listen to this. Apparently, there were quite a few deaths at the plantation. Most of them occurred in the master bedroom—from old age, by the sounds of it. But there was a violent death too. At one point, Timothy Chandler was passed over to inherit the estate. The story goes he was an alcoholic and the mother didn’t trust her son with the plantation. She passed it down to her grandson, John, instead. Timothy Chandler flew into a rage and got into a fight with his son. John stabbed him with a poker just below the ribs, killing his father.”
“Huh.” I couldn’t come up with a better response than that. “Right, didn’t Cain say something about a murder that happened before with a poker?”
“Come to think of it, he did.” Garrett patted his own head. “Good brain. Good question, brain. Okay, hot stuff, tell me that happened in the bedroom.”
A tinge of pink graced Sho’s cheeks as he answered, “Sorry, no. Happened in the parlor. The website claims the blood stains are still there, and no attempt to clean them up—even sanding—has been able to remove them.”
Carol looked skeptical. “I’m not sure how helpful that is. It’s the right weapon, the right method, but the wrong location.”
“Anyone else feel like we’re playing Clue?” Sharon asked.
I lifted my hand, meeting her grin with one of my own. “It’s Col. Mustard in the bedroom with the poker.”
She played along without batting an eye. “Excellent, case closed.”
“Now wait.” Caleb waved us down with both hands. “Garrett’s question is a good one. What if that was the original game plan? Make it look like a ghost did it. It would explain the poker—even if it was in the bedroom instead of the parlor. I admit it seems far-fetched to us, but even knowing this was a murder, we still don’t have a viable suspect. If his original plan had gone off without a hitch, who’s to say there wouldn’t be more than a few people who’d believe a ghost did him in?”
“We might still have more than a few people believe it,” Donovan pointed out. “But okay, I see where you’re going with this. It seems a bit far-fetched, but I’ve seen people do stupider things with less. Does that mean we’re looking at someone local, someone who knows the legends?”
Sho pointed a finger toward himself. “That took me thirty seconds on Google to pull up, man.”
Donovan growled, head tipping back. “Yeah. Okay, good point. Can we get just one thing, just ONE thing to help us narrow down the suspects?”
I patted his shoulder supportively because I knew exactly how frustrated he felt. “Not sure if we have enough information right now to do that. But how about a game plan? Sho, I take it the poker wasn’t anywhere to be seen?”
“Nope, hence why it’s not on the list.”
Carol, never slow on the uptake, cottoned onto my plan immediately. “I’ll do a reading to find the poker?”
“And hope that he wasn’t wearing gloves,” I agreed with a smile at her. “It’d be nice to get some physical evidence linking our murderer to his crime. I’m all for some fingerprints. And while you’re doing that, I’ll see if I can’t get an interview arranged with the people who protested the renovation. Maybe someone there has a stronger motive we just don’t know about yet.”
Caleb caught my eye, concern threading through his lines. “But that’s quite a few people, right?”
“Ten or so,” I admitted easily. “But as long as I don’t have to go above a level one reading, it’ll be a breeze.”
10
Carol did a reading for the missing poker from the dining room, on the off chance it was the murder weapon. One of the murder weapons? No one was really clear on that. At least, not at first. When she got the results, I went out with her and Singleton to the back end of the property and we found the missing poker under the woodpile. Figured the murderer would try to dispose of both evidence and corpse in one go. If you had a nice fire going, why waste it, right?
After that, the light more or less failed us and we couldn’t do much else. We all decided to knock off for the day, and people were talking about dinner as we all headed toward
s our cars.
Sho was still on edge from seeing that glimpse of the guy at the house on our first day here. He didn’t say as much, but I think the man looked like his ex, Roy. Roy had absolutely no reason to be out here, so Sho was trying to pass it off as his imagination playing tricks on him, but it unnerved him on some level. Enough that Jon caught it. I saw Jon quietly pull Garrett aside and put a word in his ear before we separated for the night. Garrett, in turn, caught Sho up around the shoulders and offered to look up movies, see what was playing.
Even if it was just nerves messing with Sho, I had faith Garrett would unwind him so he could sleep tonight and not jump at shadows.
Jon and I followed Neil from the station and to the house. Everyone else was going for the hotel—mostly the indoor pool, to hear Carol talk about it. Jon didn’t say much on the short drive from the station to the house, but I put that down to nerves. He wasn’t sure this was a good idea. For that matter, I wasn’t sure about it. But we both agreed he needed to at least try.
Neil and Caleb’s house was a charming two-story that looked old. It was white on white, a Victorianesque style with elaborate trim around the upper balcony that wrapped around the front porch. If it was younger than the 1900s, I’d eat my boots. Despite the age, it didn’t look ready to fall down on itself. It had been well maintained, and the flower beds around the base of the house were neatly kept. We pulled in at the back, along a paved parking pad. Caleb was already home, judging from the black Honda already parked there.
Grabbing bags, we followed Neil in through the kitchen door, and I quickly realized that while the house was old, it had been updated. The cabinets were a dark brown, and a white island stood in the middle of the room. The floors were recently refinished in a mahogany stain that gleamed dully in the light. They took good care of the place.
Caleb worked in the kitchen, fussing with a crockpot. It smelled richly of a roast and vegetables cooking, making my mouth salivate. He turned as we came in, a smile lighting up his face. God, he really did look like Jon when he smiled. If this was what my lover would look like in thirty years, I had no complaints.
“Good, you made it,” Caleb greeted. “I never know if Neil’s going to be sucked into another case right as he’s trying to leave.”
“Happens far too often,” Neil muttered darkly. “I’ll show these two to their room. Is dinner ready?”
“Almost. I’m making a quick salad, then it will be.”
“Okay.”
We followed him up a circular staircase, and I noted things in passing. Most of the house had hardwood flooring, and while it was simply decorated with tasteful landscapes, the rooms were devoid of clutter. It felt like a house unoccupied most of the time. But then, these two struck me as the type to spend a lot of time on the job or out of the house altogether. Jon was like that. Everyone claimed that before he met me, he’d preferred to stay at home. But I’d never seen him act that way. I think it was more that before me, it was hard to be out in public. With me to grease the wheels, he was more than happy to go out and get into things.
Neil crossed the rather large upstairs landing and opened a door, waving us inside. The room was large—much larger than I’d expected in a house of this age. A queen-sized bed sat in the middle, a homemade quilt of whites and greens on top. There was a single dresser and nightstands on either side, but not much else.
“Bathroom next to you is all yours. There’s towels and soaps under the sink; use them as you like. I’ll meet you two back downstairs.”
“Sure, thanks.” Jon hefted his suitcase onto the bed, then paused, looking around him. “Not a trace of technology in here anywhere except the light. Thank god. Donovan, I want to have a quick conversation with Natalie. Can you call her for me?”
“Okay.” I pulled my phone out, dialed in her number, then put it on speaker on the bed. My mother had beat it into my head to never let your hosts do all the work, so I gestured for him to talk and went back out. I’d help Caleb with that salad, maybe set the table.
As I regained the kitchen, I found Caleb at the island, chopping up tomatoes. I greeted him with a smile as I went for the sink. I definitely wanted to wash my hands after all the questionable things I’d touched today. “Can I help?”
“Sure. You comfortable in a kitchen?”
“I like to eat. Cooking and eating occupy the same territory.”
That made him snort a laugh. “It must be fun keeping you fed, too. Alright, if you’ll chop, I’ll set the table.”
Amiable to this, I dried my hands and took over. His knife was a good one, sharp and precise, and it didn’t take me long to get through the tomatoes. As I reached for the apple, he stopped at the island, watching me as if wondering what to say. Or maybe how to say it.
“Donovan. I’ve heard a few comments that worry me. Is Jon in danger?”
Oh boy. I didn’t blame him for asking the question—I’d do the same in his shoes—but I wasn’t keen on answering. I didn’t like to worry people, and I didn’t know Caleb well enough to predict how he’d react to this bit of news. Then again, he’d learn sooner or later. “Unfortunately, yeah.”
“I don’t understand. In danger from what?”
“Criminals he’s exposed.” I sighed, putting the knife down to face him squarely. “Sometimes it’s from family or friends who are angry with him for exposing someone. He’s been on the receiving end of more than a few attacks. It’s why I’m here.”
Caleb didn’t like this answer. His frown grew deep and troubled. “I thought you were his anchor.”
“I am. But originally, I was hired on at Psy to be his bodyguard. I mean, that wasn’t my only job. I was his partner too—still am. I do a lot of the paperwork and handle the electronics, but really, Jim wanted me first and foremost because Jon needed protection. Me becoming his anchor came later.”
I hated his worry, and hated more that I was adding to it. “Caleb. I don’t want you to worry about him, alright? I’ve got fifteen years of military service under my belt. I’m teaching him Krav Maga. And I don’t leave him defenseless. Garrett Wilson, the guy you met today? He’s my best friend. We were in Special Forces together. He also keeps a sharp eye on Jon. Trust me, we’re doing everything in our power to keep him safe.”
He ran both hands over his face, looking stressed and unhappy. “I hear what you’re saying, Donovan. But I don’t like the idea of my son in danger.”
“Trust me, I like it even less. But anyone who tries to get to him has to get through me first. And I’m hard to take down.”
“I believe that.” Neil joined us at the island, taking me in with a half-smile. “But we don’t want you hurt either, Donovan.”
I gave him a smile. I really did like both of these men. “I prefer to be in one piece myself. We take precautions.”
“I’m surrounded by policemen on a regular basis.” Jon stepped into the kitchen with a put-out expression. He clearly didn’t like the topic of conversation. “It’s not like I’m constantly in danger.”
I decided I didn’t want to touch that statement with a ten-foot pole. A redirect seemed in order. “How’s Natalie?”
He gave me a glare—of course he knew what I was doing—but still answered. “Ready to murder Rodger. She’s got a lot of questions, and I was only able to give her answers to about thirty percent of them. She said it was okay.” Jon paused and added rhetorically, “Aside from ‘it’s okay,’ what other death threats do women use?”
Caleb chuckled. “Quite a few. I’d like to talk to her.”
“She really wants to talk to you too. I promised to give her your number when I see her this weekend. I’ve organized a family meeting to set the record straight.”
Looking a touch worried about this, Caleb asked slowly, “With everyone?”
“Yeah. No offense, but I don’t want you there. I want to straighten this out with them without a reunion being mixed in with it.” Jon stopped at the doorway, halfway between dining room and kitchen, a safe dis
tance from the electronics.
“No, I think that’s a good idea,” his father assured him. His tone made it clear he meant it.
Jon apparently read that in his lines because he nodded and looked relieved. His eyes roved over the many electronics in the kitchen and looked pained at the tally. “I’ll, uh, meet you guys at the table.”
I took that as my cue to quickly finish up the salad, which I did, and put it in the white bowl Caleb handed me. We brought the rest of the food and glasses to the table with us in one troop movement before setting it all down. The table looked massive enough for the Last Supper and clearly had been with the house for a very long time, judging from the wearing around the corners. It probably only saw use when guests came over. I couldn’t see these two sitting down here often.
The food was well seasoned and tender. I took great delight in filling my belly. The conversation lulled a little as we all focused on our food.
Caleb cleared his throat and asked, “Any luck with finding how the body was secreted out? Are we looking at one murderer or multiple?”
“Unfortunately, no idea at this point,” Neil answered. He gave me an amused glance. “We’re still combing through financials.”
“Is this preferable over investigating the house?”
“God, yes,” Donovan answered fervently. “Not nearly as spooky.”
“Too many things going bump?” Caleb also found this amusing.
“Among other things.” Neil, bless him, left it at that. Although I’m sure he’d tell Caleb all about it later. “Any more information to share with us about the body?”
“I’m still not entirely sure what was going on with him. I need the test results for his blood back, but I suspect he was heavily drugged. There wasn’t much blood spray or pooling around the body, indicating his blood pressure was very depressed. Also very strange to me was that he was struck twice, with completely different objects. Something hard and semi-blunt penetrated the subcostal plane.”