by Louise Lynn
As soon as they exited the shop, her mother leaned in close and grabbed her arm. “I lied about returning to the shop. Well, not exactly, but I needed to talk to you about something, and I know how your sister gets. Didn’t want to frighten her.” She waved her hand dismissively. She wore mittens instead of gloves and they were at least two inches too long in the fingers. They looked handmade too.
Hazel smiled. “I’m not doing a spirit board. Ghosts didn’t kill Dirk.”
Her mother worried her bottom lip, which resulted in lipstick on her teeth. “I’m not so sure about that. Stop by my shop for a moment and I’ll tell you the story. Please? It would make me feel much better if you knew.” She pointed to the only shop in the street that didn’t fit the rest of Cedar Valley’s alpine village theme.
Well, the building was the right shape, with its heavily sloped roof and Bavarian window design, but the number of crystals hanging outside told a different story. As did the bright purple trim.
Even if Hilltop Realty tried to bully their mother out of the shop, they wouldn’t have any ground to stand on because she owned it. She didn’t lease it like the rest of them did. At least that thought gave Hazel some solace.
Her mother ushered her quickly into the shop, toward the lumpy armchairs near the wood-burning stove in the corner. The shop was quiet, and Tess, the woman that ran it with their mom, wasn’t present.
She locked the door behind them, and sat across from Hazel.
Hazel tried to ignore the pit in her gut and the thought of Anthony Ray’s wrath when she finally returned home. She was going to be a good four hours late, maybe longer, depending on how long this took. “Okay, what was so important?”
“Do you remember all that business when Dirk Barkley was building that atrocious house? I know you didn’t live here yet, but—”
“But, both you and Esther filled me in on every little detail. Yeah, I remember. I even came back to town just to sign the petition against the house.”
Though, Hazel didn’t mention that at the time, it had been a respite from her failing marriage. A reason to come back to Cedar Valley for a couple of weeks that summer and pretend that everything wasn’t falling apart at home.
“Yes, well it was after that. I’m not sure we ever mentioned it because you were so busy with that snake husband of yours, and it was just such a shock,” she said, and shook her head sadly.
Hazel furrowed her brow and her heart beat faster. “What was a shock?”
Her mother drew in a breath and let it out slowly. “Now, you know I don’t like to gossip, and I’m only telling you this because I think it might be important as to who killed him.”
Hazel fought not to smile. Their mother not a gossip? That was like saying Anthony Ray didn’t like tuna. Or that Ruth didn’t like chocolate. Well, that was pretty standard for all the women in the Hart family, but still.
“Okay. You’re not gossiping. What happened? Did somebody else have a grudge against him?”
“You could say that. Probably his wife,” her mother said, and fiddled her thumbs in her lap. She hadn’t removed the mittens.
Hazel frowned. “Wife? Are you saying he’s a polygamist? He’s getting married to someone else. Was getting married to someone else,” she said, and thought of Simone’s fake tears that day at the studio.
“Oh yes. His first wife. But you see that’s the thing. She died.”
Hazel let the words flow over her, and a vague memory came back to her. It had been right at the worst part of her marriage, when she found out why her husband was being so distant and awful. The affairs and everything clicked together. She recalled Esther saying something about a death at the lake.
“How’d she die?” Hazel asked.
Her mother leaned close as if they weren’t completely alone in the shop and someone might be eavesdropping. She probably thought the spirits were. “That’s the thing. She drowned. They were on his big ugly boat in the middle of the lake, and one of those freak storms came up, threw the boat around, and she fell in. She didn’t wash up on shore until weeks later.” She shivered.
Hazel swallowed the lump in her throat. Growing up in Cedar Valley they weren’t immune from drownings at the lake. Usually a couple happened every year, but it was mostly people who weren’t wearing life vests or who were drunk at the time. Though, hypothermia was common, even in the summer. Lake Celeste was so high in the mountains that the average temperature in the middle of August wasn’t above fifty degrees Fahrenheit.
But still, Hazel had seen Dirk Barkley’s ‘ugly boat’ as her mother put it, and it was practically a yacht. One of those freak storms could toss around a dinghy or even a speedboat easily, but a yacht? That was more questionable in her mind.
It also depended on the strength of the freak storm. With a strong wind the lake could have waves as high as eight to ten-feet tall, almost like the ocean. She’d seen it happen before, although that had usually been from the safety of the shore.
“Was there any foul play involved?”
Her mother glanced at the front of the store and watched a pair of tourists walk by holding hands. “You know how the old sheriff was. Dirk had the man in his pocket. So, if they suspected anything, it was well covered up. The townsfolk though, well, he didn’t have a good reputation.”
Hazel sat back in her seat and let the warmth from the stove wash over her before she spoke again. It did give her more information about Dirk Barkley’s life before his untimely death that morning, but it didn’t really supply her with a suspect.
Not unless—
“Oh no. Are you suggesting that the ghost of Dirk Barkley’s wife shot him today?”
Her mother held up her hands and shook her head. “You just suggested it. I didn’t say a word. I only provided you with the information. But, if you need me to get my spirit board and tarot cards, we can see if she has any ill will toward her husband. Perhaps she’s trying to blame it on the new fiancée. Isn’t she that blonde twit who keeps hanging around Paul’s shop?”
Hazel snorted. Paul did seem like the kind of guy Simone would go after. Yet, she was supposed to be engaged to another man so—
“I can’t say. Wouldn’t want to gossip, right, Mom?”
“It’s not gossip if I’m helping a murder investigation,” her mom said, and stood. “And it wouldn’t hurt to email your father. He’ll have some advice, I’m sure.”
Hazel followed suit, and she almost made it to the door before her mother pressed the dream catcher and a bunch of dried sage into her hands.
“Esther told me about that figure in your photos. Now don’t get mad at your sister. She’s worried. And you should be too. But here’s some sage, and this dream catcher will catch any nasty things that come out of your head during the night. Hang it above your bed. And, you know the routine, burn the sage around the house. If I come over in the next few days and your place doesn’t reek of it—”
“You’ll do it yourself. I know,” Hazel said, and carried the items back outside.
If she argued with her mother about it, she’d lose. She learned that a long time ago. Nor did she mention she already had at least ten dream catchers at home, and that most of them couldn’t be hung because the feathers on the end prompted Anthony Ray to tear them down and rip them apart.
Maybe he just felt as strongly anti-spiritualist about them as Hazel herself.
She filed that information away in the back of her mind as she headed home. It may be nothing, but then, the fact that both Dirk and his wife had died tragically in Cedar Valley could mean they were both killed by the same person.
She needed to find out who else was on that boat.
Chapter 6
Hazel spent the next morning making calls to everyone in her appointment book either rescheduling or changing the location from the studio to someplace else. In a few cases, her clients didn’t know what had happened. In others, she got an earful of questions about why her shop was now a crime scene and who had killed Dirk Barkl
ey?
She bit her lip and told as much of the truth as she could. No, she had no idea who’d killed him since it happened when she wasn’t there. But the police were handling it, and as far as she could tell, the new sheriff wasn’t corrupt like the last had been.
Thankfully, no one outright cancelled. Yet. But she wasn’t sure if her luck would hold much longer. At least this hadn’t happened during the spring and summer busy season when everyone and their sister came to Lake Celeste to get married.
She also called Michael and told him to take the day off as well.
Then she got to work.
Anthony Ray forgave Hazel for her tardiness the day before, but only after she settled on the couch and started researching Dirk and his wife. He sprawled on her lap, his purr a low, constant rumble, and faced the stove which blared with heat.
The day outside was overcast, but her cabin’s large windows let in enough light to see by.
Hazel sat with her laptop and searched for online articles about the drowning. It didn’t take her long to find what she was looking for.
Sara Barkley, age forty-six, died in a boat accident. Survived by her husband Dirk, forty-eight, and a younger sister, Avril Vanderbilt. There was a picture of Dirk and Sara together on the page, apparently taken earlier in the day before the fatal accident. The woman didn’t look anything like Simone, although she was blonde. Her skin was honey kissed and her hair more golden than platinum. She wore a knee length floral sundress and a pair of designer sunglasses. Dirk’s fingers dug into her side and he smiled at the camera in that sleazy salesman way that made Hazel’s skin crawl.
She stared at the picture for a long time before she read the article. It was written by the local news organization, Cedar Valley Post, and wasn’t much longer than five or six paragraphs.
According to them, Sara and Dirk had gone out for a midday boat ride, and, like her mother told her the day before, the weather changed suddenly and threw Sara out of the boat.
She hadn’t been wearing a life-vest, which was a requirement for everyone who went boating on Lake Celeste, and Dirk had gotten a citation for that. But it didn’t look like the former sheriff suspected anyone of foul play.
Hazel snorted.
The article did, however, mention who else had been on the boat when Sara fell off. The first name surprised Hazel: Tommy Kholi. She nodded grimly as she read it, and jotted his name on a piece of paper. The fact that he’d been on both the boat and in her studio the day before spoke volumes.
The other person onboard was a man named Giorgio Vincente, a name she swore she’d heard before but couldn’t place. At the very end of the article, it mentioned that Sara’s personal assistant was also on the boat though it didn’t give a name. Hazel frowned and jotted down all names and put personal assistant with a little question mark next to it.
Then she ran a search on Dirk’s businesses. He had a variety of companies under his name, but they didn’t seem to do much of anything. She did find out that Sara Barkley had been Sara Vanderbilt before she was married, and heiress to a pretty sizable fortune, which Hazel assumed had gone to Dirk after her death. Though there was mention of her younger sister, Avril again, so perhaps the money went to her instead.
Hazel couldn’t find much about it online. Unlike some other rich families, it looked like the Vanderbilts were rather low-key. She only found a few pictures of Sara before she’d married Dirk, and most of those had been for mental health benefits. Apparently, Sara had been a big proponent for better mental health in the country.
And all the other searches Hazel did brought up articles about Avril Vanderbilt as an Olympic-hopeful gymnast, which didn’t tell her anything.
With a sigh, she closed her computer and absently petted Anthony Ray.
“That wasn’t as helpful as I thought it would be,” she said, and scratched under his chin as he purred louder. “But I guess I can’t expect the murderer’s name to be in the first place I look, can I?”
She remembered watching the detectives in the LAPD go about their cases, and the varying information they had to sift through. Everything from phone records to items from the victim’s life. All the things she had zero access to.
But, she did have the list.
“I should probably share this information with Sheriff Smirks, shouldn’t I?” she asked Anthony Ray.
He yawned and let out a brief meow in response.
Hazel smiled. “I don’t want to talk to him either.”
But if it helped them solve the case faster, it would help her in the long run too. It also meant she had to dislodge her cat from her lap, and he looked far too comfortable to move.
Not to mention the gray cold weather outside. Since the sun hadn’t come out from behind the clouds, the temperature didn’t seem to be rising above freezing. It would be so much easier to stay at home snuggled up with a cup of tea, Anthony Ray, and catch up on some episodes of Scandal.
Hazel shook her head and carefully moved her legs out from under Anthony Ray’s body. She’d have time for relaxing later.
It didn’t take long to get ready, and she shoved the mustard hat on her head out of spite for the sheriff more than anything else. Well, the cold might have had something to do with it as well.
The Sheriff’s Office was on the far side of town, so she had to drive down Lake Street and passed her own sad little studio still covered in crime scene tape to get there. Her heart sank when she saw it, and she focused on the road instead. Not as many tourists were out that day, odd for Sunday, but then the weather wasn’t really suitable for walking around.
The few people out were all locals. She spotted Paul ducking into CATfeinated and grinned. Hazel thought Celia really should give him a chance. Paul wasn’t a bad guy, and he seemed sweet enough. Celia always had terrible taste in men, not unlike Hazel herself. But Celia kept running back to her on again, off again, ex—Jay Turner. At least Hazel would never go back to her own ex.
There were only a few cars in front of the Sheriff’s Office Office, including the sheriff’s SUV. She ignored the heavy pit in her stomach and climbed out clutching the folded bunch of papers between her gloved fingers.
She hadn’t been inside the Sheriff’s Office before, and it was more sparsely decorated than she assumed. The chairs looked like they’ve been there since the 1960s, the vinyl cracked in places and repaired with duct tape in others. The secretary who sat at the desk and chewed on a piece of gum had been a fixture in town for ages, but she used to work at Dr. Harding’s office. Hazel swore the woman looked the same as she had when she and Esther were kids. She had the same short beehive hairdo dyed brown. Her eyelids were bright blue and her lips a pale shimmery pink. Not to mention the dark rouge on the high points of her sagging cheeks.
Hazel leaned across the desk and smiled.
The older woman looked at her, expression blank. “Can I help you?” she said in a growly smoker’s voice.
“Yes, I need to speak with Sheriff Cross about the current murder investigation, if he’s available,” Hazel said, and internally kicked herself for adding the last bit.
The woman’s expression didn’t change, and she barely glanced over her shoulder at the few offices that stood behind her, each one cracked open. “Sheriff Cross. Someone is here to see you about that murder.”
“Who is it, Edith?” Sheriff Cross’s voice came from the office on the end.
Hazel felt like turning around and bolting right then, which was something she hadn’t experienced since she found out the truth about her ex-husband, Dylan. It had taken every ounce of restraint to stay and have an actual conversation with him instead of throwing her photo equipment in a bag and driving straight to her mother’s house. With how things had turned out, bolting might’ve been a better option in that case.
But the paper in her hand gave her strength, and the secretary let out a beleaguered sigh and hitched her thumb toward the office. “Go on. Don’t be wasting the sheriff’s time. He’s a busy man.”
Hazel bit back a snort. She swore Edith said the same thing anytime she went to the doctor when she was younger. As if going in because she had strep throat was a waste of the doctor’s time.
Hazel didn’t bother knocking, but she popped her head in the room before she walked in fully.
Sheriff Cross stood at his desk with a collage of crime scene photos spread out before him. His mouth twitched into a smirk when he looked up. He wore the same uniform he had the day before, pressed and clean, and Hazel tugged at the hem of her oversized sweater which she’d paired with skinny jeans and boots.
“Come to confess?” Sheriff Cross said, and stood up straight.
Hazel felt her expression curl into a scowl and shook her head. “No. But I found some information you might find helpful.”
Sheriff Cross lifted his eyebrows and gave her an incredulous look that made her feel like a bug under a magnifying glass. Which, in turn, reminded her of Ruth’s offer to loan her Auntie Hazel the Nancy Drew Detective kit. She fought not to smile at that thought.
“Okay, what’s this information? You trying to crack the case before we do?”
Hazel took out the pieces of paper she printed from the newspaper articles. “The sooner you solve this murder, the faster I can get back to work. And back to my studio.”
Sheriff Cross flipped through them, scanning them quickly. He looked up at her again. “So?” He handed the papers back to Hazel.
She felt like crinkling them into a ball but refrained. “So, Tommy, this Giorgio Vincente guy, and Sara’s personal assistant were all on the boat the day she died. Tommy was in my studio yesterday. I find it a little bit circumspect they were both around when members of the Barkley family died.”
The sheriff let out a light chuckle. “You’re right, but I already knew this. And as far as the county is concerned, Sara Barkley’s death was an accident,” he said the last bit through slightly gritted teeth.
Hazel raised an eyebrow. “But you don’t think it was an accident, do you?”
The sheriff’s smirk transformed into a grimace. “It was before my time, and if I have new evidence I’ll reopen the case. As it is, I don’t.”