Double Trouble

by London Lovett

  Raine squinted behind her thick lenses and brought the first photo closer. "Looks like a smudge or some mistake in the developing."

  "See, that's what I told you," I said, feeling yet another tsunami of relief. I pinched the edge of the photo between my thumb and forefinger and was about to give it a gentle pull when Raine sucked in a breath and yanked it out of my grasp.

  "This is no smudge. I see a face. He's standing right there next to her," Raine's voice drifted off in quiet disbelief. For someone who had spoken to spirits, she looked floored and a good deal paler.

  "You've been in this house numerous times and you've yet to communicate with the ghost. Maybe it is like you said earlier, a double exposure or something wrong with the development." I took the photos from her grasp. She was too stunned to react and hold onto them.

  "I think that's him," Raine said on a breath. "I think that's the man who died in the duel. It's him."

  "We don't know that, and we have no proof of any spirit haunting this house." There was nothing I hated worse than flat out lying, but I had no choice in the matter. "I would just assume keep it that way. Like I said, I want this to be a nice, quiet bed and breakfast, preferably without people showing up with their ghost hunting devices. Now, I think we've all got plans and we should get on with our day." I spoke somewhat sharply to let Raine know the discussion was over. At least for the time being.

  My hands were actually shaking a bit as I returned the photos to their hiding spot. It was all out in the open now. Raine was probably going to be sore with me for awhile, but I was sure her newfound excitement about the ghost was going to eventually overtake any resentment.

  Raine was switching to her prescription sunglasses. "I guess I'll head out. Have a good day, everyone." Her usual spirited good-bye was hidden behind a layer of befuddlement and astonishment. I knew she was processing the whole thing in her mind.

  "Yes, have a great day," I said with an apologetic smile. I didn't get a smile in return, but then, I didn't expect it.

  Raine walked out. I felt as if a lead ball had just taken root in my stomach. I had betrayed my best friend by keeping a secret. But not just any secret, a secret that was hugely significant to her. Of course, it was nothing compared to the really big secret I was keeping from her, but there just wasn't any way around my predicament. I only hoped she would forgive me for the photos.

  Chapter 12

  Lacey, who was extremely intuitive, sensed that the morning hadn't gone too smoothly for me. She kept the banter light and enjoyable or at least light and enjoyable for two women who loved a good murder mystery. She caught me up to speed on all the evidence she had uncovered in the Hawksworth murders. It sounded so intriguing, I was instantly envious that I, too, didn't have some century old mystery to solve. Then I reminded myself that even though it wasn't a murder, unraveling the reason for why Edward Beckett had been caught between two worlds was no small bowl of peaches. I hoped to get back to my research into the life of James Henry Milton, Edward's son, as soon as I had time.

  I pulled the jeep up to the curb in front of Minnie's Shop of Magick. Jackson's car and two black and whites were parked out front. Obviously, the shop was closed to customers. I put the jeep in park. "I suppose I should have expected them to be here this morning."

  "Actually, that works in our favor," Lacey said. "Now we'll be able to get inside and sniff around for clues." She tapped her nose, then slumped back. "I just remembered the embarrassing sneeze fit I broke into when I walked in there yesterday. It might be impossible for me to smell anything between all the—well, all the smells."

  "We can certainly nose around though." I unfastened my seatbelt. "As long as a certain someone allows us to come inside, which he probably will if he doesn't want the cold shoulder for the rest of the weekend."

  Right then, Jackson stepped out of the shop and into the sunshine, a ray of light seemed to come through the trees just to illuminate him in all his handsome glory.

  Lacey turned to me. "I'll bet it's really hard giving that man the cold shoulder."

  "Yes, I was talking brave and like a big shot, but in truth, you are right. He just has to flash those amber orbs and that smile my way and I'm melted butter."

  Lacey sighed. "Yep, it's the same for me. Only James has brown eyes." She opened the door. "Let's go solve this murder, partner."

  "I'm with ya." We climbed out of the jeep.

  Jackson's smile greeted us. "Yep, that's a butter melter," Lacey muttered from the side of her mouth as we reached him.

  "Why am I not surprised to see you two at this particular location this fine morning," Jackson said.

  I patted my purse. "Just out doing a little shopping. That's all."

  "In Hickory Flats?" He glanced at the shop behind him. "And at a magic shop, no less."

  I waved my hand at him. "All right, let's dispense with the charade. Lacey and I are here to do a little snooping around. Just like me, she knows her way around a possible crime scene so we won't be in anybody's way."

  "I guess you two can look around. But be careful. Someone pushed over a few of the shelves. Terrifying scene," he said with a dose of sarcasm. "There are broken candles, handmade soaps and crystals all over the place."

  "That does sound horrifying. We'll be cautious. Do you think it was some kind of robbery? Why would someone push over displays?" I asked.

  "Maybe they just wanted to make it look like a robbery," Lacey suggested.

  Jackson nodded. "That's probably the case. The coroner says she died of asphyxiation by suffocation. He says there wasn't much sign of struggle, so that makes the scene inside the shop more confusing. Her twin sister, Etta, came to identify the body this morning. She was distraught enough that she had to be rolled out in a wheelchair. Her housekeeper accompanied her. Both women left sobbing and shaken. She died between two and five in the afternoon, a good seven hours before she was discovered. "

  I nodded at Lacey. "That gives us some solid information."

  "Uh oh, I forgot about the double trouble team combining forces. Remember my rules," he started.

  "Yes, I remember them . . . sort of," I said.

  "Maybe you should recite them so Lacey can hear them too," he suggested.

  Lacey put up her finger. "Let me see—stay out of trouble." She tilted her head side to side. "That's sort of a given. Stay clear of killers and don't ever approach a suspect. Not necessarily in that order."

  "Impressive," Jackson said.

  "Not really. I hear the same set of rules from my boyfriend, Detective James Briggs."

  Jackson smiled. "I think Briggs and I should exchange stories sometime. Seems like we'd have a lot to talk about." He led us to the front door of the shop and motioned us to step inside. He didn't follow but popped his head in to speak to the two officers searching for evidence. "Officer Pierce, these two women are going to check out the scene. They know not to touch anything, and they won't get in your way." He winked at me. "I'm off on another case. I'll call you later."

  Lacey and I walked around a fallen cabinet. Minnie's colorful crystals were strewn about the floor like rocks on the beach. "Do you think Minnie was murdered right here in the shop?" Lacey asked.

  I stopped and looked around. Certain shelves, the lighter ones, had been pushed over to create a sense of havoc as if a massive, terrible fight had occurred. But it looked more staged than violent. "I think the killer was trying to set the scene, make it look as if a wild brawl had happened, but it feels sort of—"

  "Fake?" Lacey asked. "Like they picked and chose which displays to push over."

  "Exactly." I stepped back and nearly tripped over a broken candle. "I can almost see the person, you know, rubbing their chin and trying to figure out what to topple to create the biggest mess to distract the investigators." I peered over at the officers. One was on his phone and the other was lifting some of the fallen debris, looking for evidence.

  I lifted my foot to avoid some handmade bars of soaps and managed to step right
into a slippery mess of spilled body lotion. "Great, so much for me not disturbing anything." I reached inside my purse for a tissue to wipe the bottom of my shoe. "Wait, the rug is missing. Minnie had it right here in the center of the room."

  "That's right. That was the rug wrapped around Minnie's body. And if the lotions are all over the floor, that proves the killer did this after the fact. Just like we thought, to make it seem as if there had been a fight. But Minnie was probably already dead and wrapped in the rug when the killer pushed over the displays."

  "I would high five you right now"—I glanced over at the officers who both looked to be early twenties—"but I think we'd be dating ourselves."

  "We'll just pretend we did it." She reached up and rubbed her nose.

  "Are the smells getting to you?"

  "A little. It's all the spilled lotions and soaps. I prepared myself for the onslaught of fragrances I encountered yesterday, but everything is magnified now that the stuff is spilled everywhere."

  "This place is a mess. Now that we know it was just a staged scene, I doubt we'll find anything worthwhile." I took one last survey of the shop. "I don't understand how Minnie was suffocated standing in her own shop. The usual go-to device for suffocation is a pillow over someone's face in bed. Or did the killer knock her out and put her body in the trunk, then she suffocated inside?"

  "But the coroner would have found a head wound or some signs of violence if she had been knocked unconscious." Lacey turned her head and covered a sneeze.

  "Good point. Boy, this double trouble thing kind of works. Now, let's get you out of here and give your olfactory cells a break. I've got an idea of where to go next."

  Chapter 13

  We pulled up to the house. The front yard had grass that was tall enough for a small child to hide in. What once must have been a well thought out, organized rose garden was just a wild, out of control tangle of thorny stems with the occasional voluminous rose bloom. The unmanaged flower bushes lined the path to the front door. Window boxes beneath the two front windows overflowed with dark matted mounds of dead plants. It was the only shabby house in an otherwise pretty and nicely kept neighborhood.

  "Wanda Wonder doesn't seem to be much into gardening." Lacey's nose crinkled at the unruly, overgrown landscaping. She turned to me. "I don't understand. How do we get inside to talk to her? I've worked cases without James a few times, and there were so many obstacles between me and potential witnesses and suspects, I nearly threw in the sleuthing towel."

  I reached for my purse. "It's definitely easier when you're accompanied by someone with a badge. Which is why I brought mine. Only it's a little different than a police badge." I held up my press pass from the Junction Times. "I'm supposed to be covering the flea market for next week's paper, but I think the death of a local shopkeeper is much more exciting."

  Lacey, who seemed baffled at first when I held up my press pass, caught on quickly. Her confusion morphed into happy comprehension. "You need to interview witnesses and local people who knew the victim."

  "Exactly. I've found that people are always happy to talk to reporters if it means getting their names and opinions in the paper. Unless, of course, they have something to hide." I clipped the press pass onto my sweater.

  "I guess we'll find that out." We climbed out of the jeep. Lacey tugged at my arm as we walked up the driveway. "Who will I be? Wanda saw us together last night."

  "Yes, but we were never fully introduced. I'll tell her you're an intern for a city paper and you're shadowing me to learn the craft of journalism."

  Lacey reached into her purse and pulled out a notebook and pen. "Perfect. I even brought my own props. It's a little something I learned from James. Always carry a notepad and pen because you just never know when someone will wind up dead."

  "I like the way you think, Miss Pinkerton."

  We scooted and turned side to side to avoid the thorny rose bush stems. Lacey's purse brushed past a flower and its petals fell to the ground.

  Lacey stared down at the pile of yellow petals. "I feel bad. That poor flower survived living in terrible conditions with no one to care for it and my big, clumsy purse just took it out."

  "We need to thank your big clumsy purse. That is a yellow rose." It only took a second for Lacey to figure out why I was stating the obvious.

  She pointed at me. "You're right. A yellow rose. Good work, partner."

  Music thrummed through the house signaling that Wanda was home. I prepared my journalist's speech as we climbed the two front steps to the door. Most of the blue paint was peeling off in long strips. I pushed the bell but didn't hear it ring inside so I decided to add a knock, one that was loud enough to be heard over the music, which was a beautiful Celtic sounding ballad, according to my non-expert ears.

  The door swung open and a cloud of musty sage rolled out. Lacey rubbed her nose. Wanda eyed us suspiciously under her curtain of streaked bangs. She was wearing a black tank shirt with the words Witchy World and a triple moon pentacle emblazoned across the chest. "Yes? Can I help you?" I knew she recognized us form the night before but she pretended we were strangers.

  "Hello, Wanda," I said and lifted my pass. "I'm Sunni Taylor from the Junction Times. And Miss Pinkerton is shadowing me, learning the venerable art of journalism." A touch of cocky always gave a nice air of confidence, which, in turn, with any luck, would get us through the door.

  She took a fleeting glance at the press pass. "I don't understand." There was enough chill in her tone to assure us that she was not one of those open, candid, let's chat kind of gals.

  "I don't know if you noticed us last night. Minnie had invited us to take part in your Mabon Apple Harvest Rite. It was destined to be a lovely event, by the way. I'm so sorry it ended the way it did."

  "Minnie was always big on inviting outsiders to our events. That will change now that I'm in charge."

  It seemed we were going to be stuck doing a hasty, inconclusive interview on the front stoop. I was waiting for the door to be slammed in our faces any second when Lacey perked up. "Is that the Gothard Sisters? I love their music." She added a cute little jig to go along with the beat and, with that, managed to charm herself (and her speechless mentor) right through the front door.

  "They're one of my favorites too," Wanda said, some of the ice thawed from her tone. "I'm cleaning house. It always seems to go faster when I have them playing in the background."

  A bucket with a mop stood in the center of a white tile kitchen floor, but rather than smell the usual cleaning chemicals, the fresh scent of citrus wafted around the room, mingling with the musky odor of burnt sage. Wanda's house was filled with colorful rugs, gossamer curtains and candles. So many candles. A white sage smudge, a bundle of the dried herb leaves, sat smoldering in a bright blue glass bowl on the coffee table. Next to the bowl was a large, ornate looking book that seemed to be old or at the very least made to look old. It had a brass lock and the pages were slightly rough and yellowed around the edges.

  "Are you writing an article about Minnie's murder?" Wanda asked. She tossed the rag she was carrying on a chair. "I talked to the police last night. I don't know any more than the two of you." She turned on that edge of defensiveness I'd heard often during my investigations. I'd discovered it was a natural reaction and didn't necessarily mean the person had something to hide.

  "I've decided to write an article about her life, more as a tribute to a unique person and shop owner in the community," I said. "I know you belonged to the same coven. Judging by the nice collection of candles, I assume you shopped at Minnie's store often."

  A short dry laugh escaped her. "These candles are far superior to the ones Minnie sold. I drive into the city when I need Wiccan supplies. Mikhaila's Den of Sage is a much bigger store and worth the thirty mile trip. I've never shopped at Minnie's store."

  "I see. I just assumed that you two were close."

  Lacey made herself busy, pretending to be interested in the books and crystals displayed on a shelf in th
e small living room. She swayed happily to the fiddle music as it chirped through the speakers overhead. Wanda didn't seem to mind her snooping around. I was sure it had to do with Lacey's quick and clever mention of the wonderful Celtic music.

  Wanda straightened some scarves draped over a hat rack. "No, we weren't the least bit close. The rest of my sisters, my coven, are good friends, but Minnie and I rarely spoke. We had very different ideas on how to run things. Like our difference of opinion on inviting outsiders to our ceremonies. I personally think a person has to show a commitment and loyalty to the Wiccan lifestyle to join in a rite or celebration."

  "Yes, I can see your point," I said, "and I apologize if you thought we were intruding last night." I'd always found that with less forward and friendly interviewees, over-the-top kindness helped.

  Wanda shook her head to brush the bangs from her eyes. "Not a problem. I noticed you came with Raine. She's sort of an unofficial member of the coven. She doesn't practice the Wiccan way but she understands our connection with mother earth and nature. Besides, it was a good thing you two were there. I confess, I've never been close to a dead body. I was more than a little freaked out when I saw Minnie in the trunk. Have the police found the killer?" she asked in a way that seemed to be saying see me asking about the killer, I'm letting you know I had nothing to do with it. It was hardly an alibi. I wondered if the police had already zeroed in on possible suspects.

  "Not sure. Like you said, we know as much as you." I smiled Lacey's direction. She was giving the room a nice scrutiny all under the guise of admiring Wanda's collection of trinkets. Two pewter dragons, each with a crystal on their tail, held up two red candles in the center of a floating shelf. The dragons were surrounded by tiny glass bottles filled with herbs.

  "One thing is for sure," Wanda said. "Minnie had her share of enemies."

  The statement perked up my partner's ears too. She sidled her way back through the maze of furniture for a closer listen.