Double Trouble

by London Lovett

  "Is that right?" I asked. "I'm surprised. She struck me as such a friendly, sweet woman."

  Wanda scoffed. "Hardly. Her ex-husband, Roland, hated her, and I don't think she ever talked to her sister. They were identical twins. Etta lived only a few miles away but they never spoke. At least, that's what I've heard. Again, Minnie and I rarely had contact outside our rituals and meetings. So I don't think I can help at all with your article."

  We were being dismissed it seemed, but we'd gotten in the door (thanks to Lacey). I wasn't quite ready to give up the quest. "I understand that Minnie was the high priestess of the coven, an important position to be sure. Who will take charge of the coven now? Are there—I don't know what you'd call it—elections? Do people campaign for the position?"

  She made no attempt to hide an eye roll. "We're not a government office," she said curtly, to assure me she considered my questions ridiculous. My intention exactly. I'd discovered early on that particularly silly questions could often make an interviewee feel haughty and self-important and, most of all, anxious to set the simple minded reporter straight. It seemed my technique had worked again. Rather than shoo us out the door, Wanda explained the process.

  "Generally, the Wiccan with the most skills and knowledge is lifted to the position. The other members must be in favor, of course, but that's usually just a formality. Honestly, I never understood how that bumbling woman ever became high priestess in the first place."

  "Oh, you mean Minnie?" I feigned ignorance. "Well, if the other members had to come to a consensus, maybe she was just well liked in the coven. Sometimes it's the most popular person who wins class president." I caught myself just short of being patronizing but Wanda didn't seem to notice. "If the coven decides to pick the most skilled and knowledgeable member, who will take over for Minnie?" I already knew the answer. In fact, I'd seen what I would consider just short of coercion the night before. Minnie's body, not completely cold, was just fifteen feet away while Wanda quickly gathered the stunned, shocked group in for some coaxing and good ole fashioned campaigning.

  "That still needs to be decided," she said curtly. "Now, I need to get back to cleaning my house before I talk myself out of it."

  Lacey and I laughed gently, but our response was genuine because we had both been there and done that. As Wanda ushered us out the door, I decided to toss out one more question.

  "Why did Minnie's ex-husband hate her? Was it just an ugly divorce?"

  Wanda's mouth pulled tight. She seemed to want to say something but changed her mind. "I'm not sure. I guess that's something you'll have to find out on your own. You're the journalist," she said snidely.

  "Right. Good point. Thanks for your time."

  Wanda snapped the door shut sharply behind us.

  "If the high priestess position was based on charm, that woman wouldn't have a chance," I muttered.

  "Couldn't agree more." Lacey and I once again zigged and zagged between the unruly rose bushes. We reached the car and climbed inside.

  "By the way," Lacey said as she buckled her seatbelt. "Maybe Aubrey and Nora were onto something last night."

  "Really?" I started the jeep.

  "That leather bound book with the brass clasp on the table—it was titled The Book of Curses and Spells. They mentioned that Wanda had been dabbling in dark arts."

  I backed out of the driveway. "You aren't suggesting that Wanda used a curse to kill Minnie?"

  She chuckled. "No, if that's the case, then I pity the prosecutor in the murder trial. But she obviously takes it seriously."

  I looked at Lacey and it seemed we had identical thoughts. "Wanda might have been looking for a way to kill Minnie that would leave no trail of evidence," I said. "Like a curse."

  "And when the hex didn't work—" Lacey said.

  "Then she resorted to murder," I finished. "It's a stretch but I don't think we should cross her off our list."

  "Agreed."

  Chapter 14

  Lola was still busy bartering and haggling, as she phrased it. Raine had clients so Lacey and I were alone for lunch. Naturally, I had to take her to my favorite lunch spot, Layers.

  Lacey stopped to admire the restaurant. "This place is so cute, and it's tucked nicely inside a wall of tulip poplars, one of my favorite trees."

  "It's definitely a local favorite." I opened the door.

  Lacey took a whiff. "Wow, pastrami, onions, pickles, it's like walking into a big city deli. Something tells me I'm going to have a hard time deciding."

  I stopped short and looked at her. "Uh oh, I should have probably warned you about the indecision fever that overtakes people if they don't walk in already knowing what they're going to order. For instance, I've already prepared my brain to accept that today is Richard Burton day, roast beef and gouda on pumpernickel. And I will stick with that plan or risk spending the entire day here."

  "Hmm, that actually sounds delicious." Lacey nodded emphatically. "I will go with the Richard Burton too. I love that the food is named after movie stars. I'll bet that's one of the reasons for indecision fever. People want to pick their Hollywood favorites along with the perfectly layered confection."

  Ballard waved from behind the counter. "Sit anywhere. I'll be right with you."

  I waved back to the owner and led Lacey to my favorite table, next to the front window. Ballard came over with menus and silverware. "Ballard, this is my friend Lacey. She's visiting from Port Danby."

  "Welcome to Firefly Junction and Layers. I hope you enjoy your stay and just let me know when you decide." I was about to let her know that we had already decided on two Burtons when I saw Lacey staring with wide, glassy eyes at the menu choices.

  I smiled up at Ballard. "We'll let you know, thanks."

  Lacey looked up as Ballard walked away. "My original decision to have the Richard Burton is fine," she said unconvincingly as her finger moved down the menu. "Although, the Lauren Bacall, turkey and avocado on a croissant, sounds good too." She sat up straight. "Oh wow, what about the William Holden? I haven't had bologna on anything since I was a kid." She pulled her riveted gaze briefly from the menu. "My mom used to put a slice on white bread, you know that doughy kind that has absolutely no nutritional value. Then, she'd plop a spoonful of sweet pickle relish on it. So tasty on a hot summer day with a glass of lemonade." She lightly slapped the table. "That's it. My trip down memory lane has made me nostalgic for my childhood. I'm getting the William Holden."

  "Great and Ballard makes a delicious blueberry lemonade. I highly recommend it. And might I also commend you on making what I consider to be a lightning fast decision in this place."

  "Thank you but I'm more surprised than you. I think it was my little head trip back to the good ole days of summer and bologna sandwiches." Lacey pushed the menu a few inches away but her lashes kept fluttering down as she tried to sneak a few more glances.

  I rested back against the vinyl seat. "So we have a few connections between Wanda and the murder. She obviously uses a lot of sage."

  "Yes, I can still smell it on my hair and clothes." Lacey took a sniff of her shoulder and crinkled her nose. "I might have to burn this sweater. It's an intrusive smell that might never come out. Not that I mind it. It's pleasant enough and at the same time—it's intrusive. When I think about it, I'm not sure which side I fall on when it comes to sage. However, I do like it in my mom's turkey stuffing." Her brows squeezed together. "I'm sure stuck on my mom and memories today. I guess I'm feeling a little homesick being away from my house and my cat and crow and . . . James. Gosh, can't believe I just listed them in that order."

  I chuckled. "I'm right there with you. Boyfriends are important but pets—well—they're irreplaceable. Newman and Redford are smiling at me the second I wake up and they are just as happy to smile when I'm climbing into bed. They never criticize or get angry or tell me I'm doing something wrong. They're pretty much my most perfect companions. Although, Newman's spitty ball on my pillow puts him just a hair beneath his buddy, Redford."<
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  "I love their names. In fact, I was sort of thinking about getting the Paul Newman." She put her finger on the menu. "I love hummus and avocado." She bit her lip and her eyes were flitting up and down the shiny laminated menu. "Now you've done it with your clever dog names. I'm rethinking my order."

  "Yep, you've caught indecision fever," I said. "May I once again remind you about the Richard Burton. It's delicious and filling and it's only been married to Elizabeth Taylor twice." I tossed in the wit at the end hoping to pull her from her feverish perusal of the menu.

  "That's right. They did marry twice, didn't they? Didn't he buy her a diamond that was like the size of a Volkswagen?"

  "He did, which is I guess why she decided to give it another go."

  Ballard returned. "I gave you a little extra time since this is Lacey's first lunch here at Layers. Were you able to whittle down the choices?"

  "Just when I think I've zeroed in on one sandwich, another one grabs my attention." Lacey flipped the menu over with confidence. "But I've decided. I'd like the Hepburn."

  Ballard nodded. "Katherine or Audrey?"

  Lacey had a fleeting look of fear. "Kath-er-ine?" she said hesitantly.

  "That's the melted havarti on marble rye. The Audrey has radish slices, arugula and our homemade ricotta."

  Lacey picked up the menu to hand off. "The Katherine." As Ballard reached for the menu, Lacey held onto it and a short tug of war followed. "Did you say homemade ricotta?"

  "Yes and we top it all off with flakes of sea salt." Ballard always knew how to seal the deal. She knew the torturous indecision that came with her marvelous menu.

  "Then it's the Audrey Hepburn. Final answer." Lacey released the menu and relaxed back with a sigh as if she had just finished an impossible challenge. Which she technically had.

  "Aside from the sage," I started our investigation conversation again, "we did see yellow roses in Wanda's front yard. Since they were so overgrown, it would be easy to see how a rug being carried out the front walk might have picked up a spare flower."

  "True." Lacey put her napkin on her lap. "But if Minnie and Wanda weren't friends, why would Minnie have been in Wanda's house? It doesn't sound like she would have dropped by for tea or trading recipes."

  "Good point. Unless, of course, Minnie showed up to confront Wanda about trying to take over as high priestess. An argument might have caused Wanda to lose it so—"

  "So she picked up a pillow and held it against Minnie's face?" Lacey shook her head. "The way she died makes this whole thing much harder. No murder weapon and no sign of an attack or violence. It was as if Minnie was just sleeping peacefully in bed when someone walked in and pushed a pillow over her."

  I snapped my fingers. "You are brilliant. I've been trying to visualize just how it happened. That's the only thing that makes sense. But why would she be in bed in the middle of the day?"

  "A nap?" Lacey suggested. "I know I love a good nap occasionally."

  "Yes, me too. There's one more thing that has me baffled. How did Minnie end up wrapped in her shop rug?" I asked. "It means the killer had to go to the store, steal the rug, and stage the vandalism scene we just left. Seems like a lot of trouble if they killed her at home."

  "True. According to movies and television, the easiest way to move a body without being noticed is to wrap it in a rug. The lumps and bumps don't show and none of the limbs can fall loose. That's just a theory, by the way."

  "It's a good theory. The rug was chosen because if Minnie's body was moved during the middle of the day, the killer had to make it look as if they were just moving a rolled up rug." I sat back. "I feel a little lost. How about you?"

  "Yes. The evidence is scant and sort of all over the place. Maybe we should focus on suspects. Wanda might have been deflecting attention from her own bad personal relationship with the victim but she did mention other people who disliked Minnie."

  I sat forward. "Minnie's estranged twin sister lives nearby. Maybe our journalistic team should head over there to ask for details to include in our story."

  "That's just what I was thinking," Lacey said.

  I couldn't hold back a smile. "I don't know about you but this is twice as much fun with someone equally excited about murder."

  "Once again—agreed."

  Chapter 15

  The paved driveway leading up to Etta Derricot's stately colonial mansion was lined with junipers. The trees were so tall, their tips leaned toward each other creating a fragrant, green tunnel over the asphalt. At the top, the asphalt turned to rustic brick laid in herringbone fashion. The intricate pattern rolled on toward the magnificent house, stopping only to allow a massive cement fountain to show off its lion head spigots. Rows of symmetrical, multi-paned windows, smooth columns and a large shiny white portico gave the house a look of polished yesteryear. A large green truck with the words Trundle Landscaping was parked in front of the double garage. It made sense that the estate would employ a gardener, especially with Mrs. Derricot being an elderly widow.

  Lacey leaned forward to get a better view out the front window. "Wow, wow, wow, and yes, I realize that I'm showing off my limited vocabulary and to a journalist, no less, but that's all I can come up with."

  "I'm a seasoned journalist and wow is about the best I can do too. It does make me itch to get my old inn restored to its former glory. It won't be nearly as grand as this, but I think it'll be beautiful."

  "Absolutely, and frankly, I think the Georgian architecture of the inn has more charm than this colonial. I love colonials but there's always something a little too organized and prim about them."

  "Yes," I said too loudly, considering the space between us. "That's what I think too. It's almost uncanny how much we think alike." I pulled out my press pass and clipped it to my sweater. "Shall we?"

  "We shall."

  Lacey and I stepped out of the jeep. A long brick pathway in the same herringbone pattern stretched between two kelly green swaths of perfectly manicured lawn. A gardener's wheelbarrow was sitting on the walkway and the gardener, himself, was pruning roses that ran along the front of the house.

  "Red, pink and white," I noted.

  "No yellow," Lacey added. "I've found that people who live on the edges of another person's life, like for example, a gardener, often see and hear more than anyone else."

  "I like the way you think, Miss Pinkerton." I squinted sideways at her. "Are you sure you're not related to the famous Detective Pinkerton from the mid-nineteenth century?"

  She sighed. "Oh, how I wish I were."

  The gardener, a man in his forties with leathery, suntanned skin despite the broad brimmed straw hat, pulled his upper body out of the rose bushes. He lifted his chin to see us past the brim of his hat. "Can I help you?" He pushed to his feet and lowered the pruning shears into the pocket of his khaki trousers. His nametag said Barnaby Trundle.

  I lifted my pass. He shook his head. "Don't have on my reading glasses. Are you a salesperson? I doubt Mrs. Derricot is interested in unsolicited visitors. There's been a death in the family."

  "Yes, I know. I'm Sunni Taylor with the Junction Times and this is my assistant. The editor has asked me to do a human interest story on Minnie Smithers' life and her contribution to the community. We thought—who better to ask than her twin sister."

  He snickered but cut it short. "Not sure if her sister will consider Minnie's hocus pocus lifestyle worthy of a newspaper article. I think she might be having her tea."

  "Thanks a lot." I was ready to head to the door but Lacey seemed to have a plan.

  "These roses are so beautiful." Lacey leaned over to smell one, even though I was sure it was unnecessary, with her nose. "I suppose you must be here every day taking care of this picturesque yard and these flowers." She was brilliantly trying to find out just how much the gardener might see or hear.

  He beamed proudly as he scanned the front yard. "It's a chore. Yes, I'm here at least five days a week. Just mowing the grass front and back takes an entire
day. Although, with winter around the corner, I'll be able to slow down a bit. I can't take much credit for these roses. Mrs. Derricot planted them. Up until a year ago, when her arthritis started acting up making it too hard for her to prune and what not, these flowers were her babies. I wasn't allowed near them but now I've taken over."

  "Guess you're like their adopted father," Lacey said.

  Mr. Trundle laughed. "I suppose so."

  Lacey ran her fingers over the blooms. "That's too bad to hear that Mrs. Derricot can't tend to them herself anymore. I guess the arthritis makes it hard to move her shoulders and hands."

  "Sure does. My grandmother had it. For sixty years that woman got up before dawn to milk cows and tend sheep. One day she just said 'I can't do it anymore'. That arthritis zapped the strength out of her."

  "That's too bad. I'm sure she missed it," I said.

  He laughed. "Not really. She got used to sitting inside with her coffee and watching my brother and me bundle up and head out before the sun to milk the cows. I best get back to these roses. The last blooms of the season, I think. Like I said, Mrs. Derricot is probably having her tea. It's just past two and she likes to keep a strict schedule. Two is tea time."

  With a grunt, he knelt back onto his foam pad. "Feels like I'm getting that arthritis too," he said. "Pretty soon, I'm going to need a lift just to get me up and down on my knees."

  "Seems like you have a few more years before those bones start creaking," Lacey said brightly.

  "Thanks for your time," I said.

  Lacey and I headed up the front steps to the tall double doors. I leaned closer to lower my voice, in case it carried across the yard. "Guess Etta would have a hard time suffocating someone with arthritis."

  "Let alone carrying that someone to a car and lifting them into a trunk." She stopped short of ringing the doorbell. "Come to think of it, that entire scenario would take someone of great strength, unless—"

  "Unless there was an accomplice," I finished for her.