The Ghost Dances the Nutcracker

by Kristine Frost

  face blossomed a deep brick red. His mouth pulled back from his teeth. His hand was shaking making the bag rattle. He shook the bag in her face.

  “Prove it.” His voice was a snarl.

  Tabitha sat back in her chair, folded her arms across her chest and appeared to go into a trance. That was stupid, Tab. You shouldn’t have said anything. Mark is going to be furious.

  Parker shook the bag, almost hitting her in the nose. “Who did you kill with this knife?”

  She looked startled but bit her lips to keep from speaking.

  Killed? What does he mean killed? Jess was strangled. I saw the ligature marks myself.

  Parker kept yelling at her. “Tell me the truth.”

  Just when she thought she couldn’t remain silent a moment longer, Mark opened the door. “Parker, I told you not to question my client without me being present. And you certainly don’t have the right to yell at her. This isn’t the inquisition.”

  Tabitha’s sigh of relief could have been heard in the next county. “Thank heavens you’re here. He’s accusing me of killing someone but he won’t say who.”

  Mark glared at her. “I told you to go mute until I got here.”

  She hung her head. “Sorry. He startled me. I spoke without thinking.”

  He leaned close his mouth close to his ear. “With Parker, speaking without thinking could get you 30 to life.”

  His tone of voice scared her. It was cold, hard, unforgiving.

  She nodded, fighting to hold back tears. She squared her shoulders. She wasn’t a wimp. She wouldn’t act like it now no matter what Mark or Parker said.

  He turned toward Parker. “Show me this new evidence.” It was an order, not a request.

  Tabitha had never heard him talk in that tone before. She was beginning to understand why he was so successful in the courtroom.

  Parker handed him the evidence bag.

  “Where was this found?” Mark examined the palette knife through the plastic of the evidence bag.

  “Jess Duval’s flat.”

  “I understand you also found a number of items of jewelry.”

  “True. Why aren’t you asking Miss Black about them?” Mark’s tone was accusatory.

  Parker shrugged. “I can’t tie them to her. But the knife is a different story. It has her name on it.”

  Mark turned to Tabitha can you explain how the knife came to be in Duval’s flat?”

  “No, I can’t. I have never been in Duval’s flat. We were not friends, merely business acquaintances. I knew her because I painted her at Mr. Cabot’s order.” She stopped, trying to swallow, but her mouth was so dry her tongue felt swollen, but her brain began to thaw.

  “However.” She finally managed a swallow. “You should know that those knives were a giveaway from my last public showing. Everyone who came to the gallery got one. We had several thousand made up special.”

  “Several thousand?” Mark asked. “Can you tell Parker the exact amount?”

  “No, I can’t. Mrs. Gifford ordered them. If she told me how many, I don’t remember.”

  “Were Tabitha’s fingerprints on the knife?” Mark turned on Parker.

  “No. It had been wiped.” He pointed at her. “But she could have wiped the knife. She reads murder mysteries and knows about fingerprints.”

  “So do six million people who reside in London.” Mark glared at Parker.

  “Parker, I believe you have stepped over the line. You are harassing my client. You have already decided that she is guilty. You pull her in for questioning when you have no evidence that she is indeed guilty. I suggest you back-off or I will be filing a motion to have you removed from this case.”

  He looked down at Tabitha. “Let’s go. From now on, you are not obligated to answer Parker’s summons until I say you can. Do you understand that?”

  “Yes.” Her tone of voice was meek, but she was seething inside. How dare Mark talk to her in that tone.

  When they were back in his car, Tabitha, her mind boiling, glared at Mark.

  He smiled, holding up his hands. “I’m sorry I spoke to you like that, but I needed to get through to Parker that you weren’t going to talk to him again without me there.”

  She smiled but it held no warmth. “He startled me or I wouldn’t have said anything. As soon as I realized what he was doing, I shut up.”

  She turned to look out the window, not noticing the white lights wrapped around the trees giving everything an ethereal look. It might be the Christmas season, but Tabitha didn’t feel very excited. She felt like it should be Halloween.

  Her thoughts churned round and round. Why couldn’t London have caught the case? He might hate me, but at least he knows what he’s doing. He hasn’t gotten promotions because his wife’s father is in Parliament, like Parker has.

  Chapter 24—Tabitha’s Flat

  That evening, Leland Cabot banged on the door of Tabitha’s flat. He barged in when Courtney opened the door. “Where’s Tabitha. I need to talk to her.”

  He brushed by the real Christmas tree loaded with ornaments from Tabitha’s childhood. It teetered, the ornaments swinging wildly. Courtney hastily grabbed for the tree, but several ornaments dropped to the floor.

  Tabitha walked out of her studio. A paintbrush in her hands.

  “I heard about the break-in. Was anything damaged?” He pushed past her to stare at the painting of the gigantic Nutcracker holding on to Clara as the mouse king tried to pull her away.

  “I like that!” His face lit up, a smile so big it didn’t fit his face. “It’s perfect.”

  He looked around. “Did you finish the Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy? I thought you were going to paint that one first.”

  “It’s over here.” With Courtney’s help, Tabitha turned the canvas so it faced Cabot.

  “The skirt is taking longer than I thought it would. It has to dry completely between coats so I’m doing both paintings at once.”

  His mouth dropped open. “That’s phenomenal. It’s perfect. What more do you need to do to it?”

  Tabitha shrugged. “The skirt isn’t right. It needs to float more.”

  “Nonsense. I think it’s perfect.”

  Tabitha frowned as Courtney started to giggle. Tabitha’s voice was like the wind off the North Pole. “It’s done when I say it’s done. It’s in the contract.”

  Cabot looked like she’d just told him the stock market crashed. “Is it really? You aren’t satisfied with it being perfect. How do you make it better than perfect?”

  Courtney put her arm around Tabitha. “Hey, girl. He means it as a compliment.”

  She looked at Cabot. “Mr. Cabot. It’s obvious you don’t know much about painters in general and Tabitha in particular. She is a perfectionist. That’s why she gets the rave reviews. That’s why you wanted her to paint your pictures.”

  Cabot swallowed loudly. “You’re right. I don’t see what more it needs, but if you say it needs more, then it needs more.

  He looked around. “After what happened to the Duval painting, I was scared to death that something had been damaged even though the first five paintings are finished and secured in a fireproof vault.”

  “Whoever tried it didn’t succeed in getting in. They set off an alarm. Security was on high because of what happened at the theatre. They stopped the man before he got the door open.”

  Cabot began pacing. “I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all.” He walked to the window, pulling open the curtain and looking out.

  Frowning, he let the curtain drop closed. “Did you know there is a man on the porch across the street watching your window?”

  Tabitha and Courtney exclaimed, “What” in a single voice.

  Tabitha strode over to Cabot. “You’ve got to be kidding. I’ve looked out several times today and haven’t seen anyone.”

  “Nevertheless, he was out there.”

  Courtney’s eyes widened. “I’m calling Mark. He might have posted a guard and not told us.”

>   “Doubtful.” Tabitha walked to her studio window. Cabot followed. As she pushed back the curtain, there was a crack.

  Cabot pulled her back as a small round hole appeared in the pane where she had been standing. Tabitha looked at the hole, her eyes wide, her mouth open, her brain spinning.

  “I tell you, you aren’t safe here.” Cabot’s voice was loud, shaken.

  Courtney walked into the room, her phone to her ear. “What happened?”

  Tabitha pointed at the neat little hole in the window. Courtney’s pale face went sheet white, her mouth forming a tight little o.

  “Mark, someone just shot at Tabitha. You’ve got to do something. This is attempted murder.”

  They could hear Mark talking but couldn’t make out the words. Finally Courtney said, “Okay. But get him here fast.”

  Courtney looked at Tabitha. Mark is calling Inspector Jarret since he was the lead on the investigation before it was handed to Parker.

  “What can he do?” Tabitha’s mood just hit rock bottom. “The shooter is long gone.”

  Courtney shrugged. “Mark says that Jarret is really good. He has an impressive solve rate. Next to London, Mark thinks he’s our best bet.”

  Tabitha sighed. “I really want to go back to Ghost Haven. I wish I could just finish these paintings turn them over to you, and be done with Parker and everything I seem to be involved in.”

  Cabot looked at the bullet hole in the ceiling. “Why couldn’t you finish these two paintings at Ghost Haven? There is plenty of room to put them.”

  “I wish I could.” Tabitha rubbed her arms. “I see two problems though.”

  “What?” Cabot’s voice was a growl. It was obvious that he didn’t like people throwing up roadblocks to his ideas.”

  “I’d have to hire a van to get them to Ghost Haven. Since the flat is being watched, whoever is doing this would know. What’s to stop them from wrecking the van and destroying the paintings?”

  “I could hire a security van with protection.” Cabot looked like he’d love to take on Tabitha’s enemy, tearing him apart with his bare hands.

  Courtney nodded. “I think that’s a good idea. What’s the second problem?”

  “Parker told me not to leave London, the city not the person.” Tabitha’s eyes softened at London’s name.

  Before Cabot could say anything, there was a tap at the door.

  Tabitha turned to answer it, but Cabot grabbed her arm. “I’ll answer it. I’d love to ring someone’s neck.”

  “Such violence.” Courtney smiled. “I like it. Ringing someone’s neck sounds great to me.”

  Cabot took a moment to look through the peephole, then he pulled a Colt Revolver from a belt holster. Standing to the side of the door, he pushed it open.

  When Inspector Jarret walked through the door, he stopped, faced with a very large gun, held in a very steady hand. He raised his hands.

  “You need to put that gun away.” He kept his voice even, quiet, nonconfrontational.

  Tabitha came up behind Cabot. “Put your gun away. This is Inspector Jarrett.”

  Cabot quickly lowered the revolver, sliding it into his belt holster.

  “You’d better have a permit for that.” Jarret’s voice was stern.

  Cabot pulled out his wallet, showing Jarret is hidden carry permit. “Sorry about that. I couldn’t see your face in the window. I guess we’re all a little skittish.”

  Cabot stepped back and Jarret walked into Tabitha’s flat, followed by Inspector Holman.

  “Brown called, said someone shot at you through the window.” Jarret almost acted like he didn’t believe her.

  “This way, Inspector.” Courtney led the way to Tabitha’s studio. She pointed at the hole in the window, then at the hole in the ceiling. “There’s your proof.” Her voice was so tight he could barely understand her.

  Tabitha frowned. It was odd that Jarret was so cold after having helped her so much the night Duval was killed.

  Jarret pulled a phone from his pocket. “Ed, I need your forensics team. Of course, I’m sure. You wanted to know if there were any more problems. Someone shot at Miss Black through her window. The bullet is in the ceiling. I don’t want amateur’s removing that bullet.”

  “Ed’s team will be here in a few minutes. I want a full chain of evidence.” His voice was stern.

  He looked at Tabitha. “This is the second attempt on your life?”

  She looked startled. “Second?”

  “Detective Chief Inspector London told me that someone tried to run you down yesterday morning.”

  There was a knock on the door.

  “That was fast,” Jarret said as he pulled open the door.

  Mark Brown stood in the doorway. “Were you expecting me?”

  “No. Ed Tolliver’s team is coming to do forensics. London’s orders.” He looked from Mark to Courtney to Tabitha. “But no one is to know. Parker complained to Superintendent Hinckley when he found you and London at the crime scene. Hinckley told London to stay out of this case.”

  Tabitha frowned. “I didn’t think Parker knew London was there. He stayed in the background.”

  “When you’re as paranoid as Parker, you notice things even when there is nothing to notice.”

  Mark shook his head. “Can you use London’s team without getting London in trouble?”

  “London is, conveniently, out of the city this weekend. Tolliver’s team has the rotation so I called him.”

  “That works.” Mark said. “I suppose if London is needed he can come back.”

  “He’s just at his aunt’s apartment. It’s in Southwark. It won’t take him any time to get back especially at this time of night.” Jarret grinned.

  “He told Tolliver to keep him in the loop without keeping him in the loop. He won’t be happy you were shot at.”

  “I’m not happy to be shot at.” Tabitha shuddered. “Twice in two days plus two break-ins. Life is getting way too exciting.”

  Chapter 25—Tabitha’s Flat

  There was a knock on the door. Cabot pulled open the door. “Come on in.”

  He looked at Tolliver. “This is the second time someone has tried to kill Tabitha. She wants to finish up her paintings at Ghost Haven. I think she’ll be safer there, too. What do we have to do to make that happen?”

  Tabitha came over to them. “Hi, Ed. You know Parker doesn’t have a case against me. Why can’t I go back to Ghost Haven? You know where to find me.”

  Ed smiled at her. “I totally agree with you, but I don’t have the authority to let you go. Even London doesn’t have that authority even though he’s considered the top Detective Chief Inspector. Only Parker or Hinckley can let you leave London. I’m sorry.”

  Tabitha put her fists on her hips. “I can promise you that if anything happens to me, I will come back and haunt Parker until his hair turns white, then I’ll go after Superintendent Hinckley.”

  Mark motioned to Tabitha. “It won’t do any good to threaten to Tolliver. He’s on your side. Neither Parker nor Hinckley will let you go until they figure out whose blood was on Duval’s floor. I know that you didn’t have anything to do with the knife that was found there, but your name was on it.”

  “Yeah, on one of three thousand knives my manager ordered for my last showing over a year ago. My fingerprints weren’t even on the knife.”

  “True, but it was plain it was wiped.”

  Georgette came from the studio. “We got the bullet. I can’t see any obvious fingerprint, but the rifling may hook it to another crime. If so, it will give us more information. Deacon determined where the shot came from. He and Farmer are going to find where the shooter was. They may be able to get some DNA from the area.”

  Tabitha took a deep breath. “Georgette. Is there any news on the blood in Jess Duval’s apartment?”

  “So far, no. We have a lead on the jewelry. It was purchased by a man. He paid cash from a pretty dubious pawn broker. His security camera didn’t work—on purpose, I’m s
ure. The man wore a Homberg pulled low and a scarf wrapped around his face so the man couldn’t give us a helpful description. The jewelry was the real deal. We think it was from a robbery about 9 months ago.”

  Tabitha tried to smile. “We don’t seem to be catching many breaks. I feel like the eggshells I’m walking on cover a very thin cracking icefield over a very deep, cold river. I feel like I could fall through any minute and there’s no one there to catch me.”

  Georgette gave her a hug. “I’m sorry. I wish there was something more we could do. I’ve used all the favors Jeff Wilson owes me to stay on his team. I’m afraid I’m going to end up owing him if things continue.”

  Deacon hurried down the hall. “We found the apartment where the shooter stayed. I’m not sure if the shooter was a little slow or unprofessional or just plain dumb, but the apartment was a floor down from yours. That’s why the bullet lodged in the ceiling.”

  He handed Georgette an evidence bag. “This is the cartridge case.” He a handed her another bag, much larger. “I used the vacuum to cover where he was standing. I may have gotten some DNA.”

  He held up a cigarette encased in an evidence bag. “This was under the window the shooter used. The room wasn’t super clean, but I think this might have the shooter’s DNA on it.”

  Cabot snapped his fingers. “Come with me. The man I saw watching the entrance to this building tossed a cigarette just before he saw me watching me. I don’t know if the watcher and the shooter are one and the same, but if the butt is still where he threw it, it might give us more information.”

  Deacon nodded. “Show me where it is. Hopefully, some homeless man hasn’t picked it up.”

  Chapter 26—Tabitha’s flat that night

  Tabitha sighed as she pulled on the long T shirt that she slept in. Getting some sleep would be a heavenly relief. She turned on her side.

  The dream began at once, almost before she was asleep.

  The van Cabot had hired made the trip in record time. It slid back and forth across the road. The driver barely able to keep the wheels on the tarmac. Tabitha kept wondering when she’d lose the lunch she couldn’t remember eating.