I looked down the table at my new partner. "You know what Minnie's house needs?" I asked Lacey.
She was quite enamored with the lemon pie but put down her fork long enough to answer. "A nasal inspection."
"Exactly."
"So you really do have a super nose, just like Sunni mentioned?" Jackson asked.
A raspberry blew from Lola's lips. "Super is almost too light of a word. Not of this world, is more like it."
I turned to Jackson and put my hand on his arm. "Lucky for me, I know a wonderful detective who can get Lacey and me inside Minnie's house for a snoop and sniff around."
"My team already scoured the house. They didn't find anything out of place," Jackson said. "At least wait until the results for the pillow fibers come back from the lab. That way we'll know if Minnie was killed in her bed."
"Where's the fun in waiting?" I asked. "Besides, your team didn't have a super nose with them." I tilted my head and batted my eyelashes. "Please, Detective Jackson, most handsome detective this side of the Mississippi." I winked to let Lacey know that she had the most handsome detective on the other side.
Jackson's sigh echoed through the kitchen. "I guess I could get you the keys. I'm going into the office tomorrow to catch up on paperwork. Come by the station and I'll give them to you. And remember—"
"Stay out of trouble," Lacey and I said in perfect unison.
Lola looked at Lacey then me and back again. "Are you sure you two weren't separated at birth?"
Chapter 22
Minnie Smithers' house was surprisingly average. It was a cute, little midcentury in the center of a tree-lined family neighborhood. She had a nice front lawn but no roses. Lacey and I expected to walk into a house decorated something like her shop, crystals on display, candles in every nook, dark damask curtains and leather bound books. Instead, we found a nicely appointed house with ivory walls, landscape paintings and trinkets such as a milk pitcher shaped like a cow and a cookie jar shaped like a rabbit. It was quite different than the gothic decor inside Wanda's house. One thing was clear—Minnie lived a much more average, simple life than her wealthy sister.
Something that was quite similar to Wanda's house was the scent of sage. It was faint to me but Lacey said she could smell traces of it the second we walked inside. She stood in the center of the front room and took deep breaths. I could almost see the little gears in her head working as she catalogued the various scents, odors too faint for a regular old nose like mine.
"Sage, lavender, patchouli," she listed. "And cigar."
"Cigar?" I asked. "Are you sure?"
Lacey's little nose twitched. "I'm sure. There are certain smells that transcend all others, sage being one, and cigar being another. Both are competing for air space in this front room."
"Interesting. So unless Minnie was a cigar smoker, we can conclude she had a visitor, most likely a man, who lit up his cigar right in this room."
We headed into the bedroom next. It was always a little strange and creepy standing in a stranger's house, especially one where the owner had recently been murdered. But Lacey seemed quite at ease running her nose along blankets, pillows and sweaters hanging on a chair.
"Ugh," she said, after getting a whiff of the neatly made bed, "that sage is so overpowering. Still, camphor would be just as overwhelming and I can't catch even a whiff of it. I'll check the bathroom after we're through in this room."
I stared down at the bed, gloved hands on hips. (Jackson had insisted we wear latex gloves.) "Unless someone came in here and fixed this bed up, it seems impossible to think that Minnie was suffocated here. The linens are tucked so tightly, I could flip a coin and it would bounce off that top blanket."
I glanced around the room. There was nothing overturned or out of place. It looked as if the entire house had just been cleaned.
"Do you think the murderer came back and cleaned up to hide evidence?" Lacey asked.
"That's always a possibility. Only, it still doesn't explain how Minnie ended up wrapped in the rug from her shop."
Lacey rubbed her chin. "Good point." She dropped her hand. "I'm confused."
"Me too. If Minnie was killed with a pillow or some soft object, that implies she was resting against a solid object or at least as solid as a bed," I said. "Unless the person was so big and powerful they could hold her head against the pillow, all the while fighting off what had to be her flailing arms and legs."
"I would certainly be kicking like a Ninja if someone were holding my head against a pillow." Lacey wandered over to Minnie's dresser where a few lotions from her own shop were sitting. She carefully picked up each bottle and waved it under her nose. "Hmm, almond and possibly cocoa butter," she said about one. The second one made her pull back and squint her eyes.
"Camphor?" I asked hopefully.
"No, grapefruit, really strong grapefruit." She placed the lotion back down. "Huh, there's a facedown picture frame back here, behind the lotions."
I headed across the room as Lacey lifted the frame. It was engraved with silver Celtic knots. Minnie was in the photo in the frame. It was taken some time in the past because Minnie looked a good deal younger. She was standing with a massively built man (including an impressive beer belly). He had his arm around Minnie. She was beaming as if she was thrilled to be standing next to him. The man had a clean shaven head and a long droopy Fu Manchu moustache. A tight little goatee finished off his rather unconventional look.
"Do you think this is Roland?" Lacey asked.
"Hard to know for sure, but if I had to pick a type for Minnie, I'd say that guy fits the bill."
"I think you're right. He looks pretty tough too. Tough enough to hold a pillow over a small woman's face, all while fighting her off," she added.
"Yes, that does seem plausible given the size difference. If this is, indeed, Roland Fisher," I said. "Maybe I should open the frame and see if there's something written on the back. My mom writes down names and the date on every family picture. You know, in case I don't recognize my sisters at the yearly New Year's party."
"Mine does the same. When I asked her why, my mom shot back with a 'why does your generation take a picture of every other moment of their lives?' I had to give her that one. She had a good point." Lacey handed me the picture. "I'll let you do the honors while I slip into the bathroom and sniff around for ointments with camphor."
"Great." Latex gloves always made every simple task ten times harder. I placed the frame on the dresser to make sure it didn't fall and break. I was just slipping the black cardboard out of the back when Lacey came dashing back into the room.
"Someone's here," she said frantically. "I saw a large figure creep past the front window."
She had to cut her explanation short as the front door opened. "They have a key," she whispered. She pointed to two louver doors on the closet. We tiptoed at a run toward the closet.
Heavy footsteps nearly shook the small house, but I could barely hear them over my own pulse. I slid the louver door open and nearly sighed out loud when it opened without a sound. Lacey and I tucked ourselves into Minnie's hanging clothes and wedged our feet between her shoes. I had to pinch one of the louvers on the door to slide it shut.
Whoever was in the living room was searching for something. Drawers opened and shut, each snapping noise causing Lacey and I to startle. "Do you think this is what James and Jax mean when they say to stay out of trouble?" Lacey whispered.
"I think this falls into that category," I whispered back.
Chapter 23
Five minutes in a tightly packed closet, with our heart rates far above normal, was enough to make both Lacey and I feel woozy and overheated. We'd gotten lucky in that the person searching frantically through Minnie's things had not stepped into the bedroom. Hopefully, they'd find what they were looking for in the front room. Although, my curiosity was going to gnaw at me if I didn't get a glimpse of the intruder.
Lacey and I both sighed when we heard the front door. Unfortunately, the move
ment caused Lacey's shoulder to rub against a heavy belt that was hanging over a dress. It slipped to the closet floor with a clatter. We both froze like rabbits in front of a wolf. I held my breath, which didn't help my dizzy head.
Footsteps pounded down the hallway. Lacey slipped her hand around mine. I was relieved to see she was shaking as badly as me.
A large figure filled the doorway to the bedroom. It was the man in the picture. He was still cue ball bald with a long droopy moustache and goatee but his beer belly had grown by a few twelve packs. A t-shirt with a logo for Carl's Custom Bikes was stretched over it.
The menacing man stuck boxing glove sized fists on his hips and scoured the room with a suspicious, dark gaze. Lacey squeezed my hand in hers and I squeezed back with just as much angst. As I held my breath, I considered how we might both fight off the giant if he decided to check the closet. Screaming and running seemed our best bet. With any luck, his size and age would render him less agile than two small, young women.
I was just about to allow myself to sip in a thin stream of air when he dropped his fists and turned around. We both listened (over the drum of our heartbeats) as his big feet plodded down the hallway and out the door. We were both still frozen enough from fear that it took us a second to release hands.
"Do you think it's safe yet?" Lacey whispered.
I raised a finger. "Let's give it another two minutes. Maybe one. This closet is getting pretty stuffy."
After a long, quiet minute we deemed the coast clear and freed ourselves from Minnie's dresses and coats. We gulped the cooler, fresh air as our heart rates returned to normal.
"I think our guess that the man in the photo is Roland Fisher might be right. He obviously had a key," I said.
"I was thinking the same thing. Sorry about my clumsiness and the belt debacle That was pretty tense for a few seconds."
"Couldn't be helped in a jam-packed closet. I was envisioning the two of us screaming and flailing our small fists at the giant as we tried to slip past him."
Lacey nodded. "Yep, that was about the best escape scenario I could come up with." She held up her hand and made a fist. "I think our fists would have been about as effective as beating him with Q-tips. That is a beast of a man."
"He did look solidly built." I glanced around once more at the neat as a pin room. "I don't know about you but I think I've had enough of this search."
"Me too."
We headed out to the front room. Kitchen drawers were open and items had been thrown on the floor. A small desk just past the refrigerator had a cork board behind it with reminder notes and grocery lists. The drawer had been yanked clear from the desk and turned upside down. A blue file folder had been opened and the contents were spilled on the kitchen floor.
Lacey and I looked at each other and quickly read each other's minds. (We were thinking alike . . . again.)
We walked into the kitchen. I picked up the papers that had been strewn about the tile floor. "The Last Will and Testament of Minnie Joan Smithers, formerly Minnie Joan Fisher."
"Do you think this is what Roland was looking for?" I asked.
Lacey looked around at the clutter on the floor and counters. "Unless he was looking for a particular serving spoon or a potato peeler, I'd say yes. He must have known she kept it in the kitchen. I have a great aunt who keeps all her important paperwork inside a snowman shaped cookie jar. I won't tell you how I know that because I hate to bring shame upon the family name."
"Caught with the ole hand in the cookie jar, eh?" I said. "Been there, done that. Only my grandmother kept her stash of dried prunes in her cookie jar. Probably just as disappointing as finding paperwork instead of an oatmeal chocolate chip."
"Sounds like we've both suffered through our share of cookie jar trauma."
We both had a good, hearty laugh, although I suspected most of it was a release of the earlier tension. I flipped past all the legal jargon on the first pages. Lacey peered over my shoulder and we skimmed for the nitty gritty part, namely the section that laid out the benefactors of Minnie's estate. It was a much smaller estate than her twin sister but she had the house and a savings account. My finger ran across the page to the name of the benefactor. It was not Roland Fisher or Etta Derricot.
"The Hickory Flats Wiccan Society," Lacey read. "She left all her money to the coven."
I folded the papers up and placed them right where we found them. "I'm loathe to do it but I'll have to let Jax know about the intruder we encountered while we snooped around. The police will want to come check out the mess. It just means I'm going to have to sit through a leave it to the police, investigative work is dangerous lecture." I rubbed my chin. "I need to come up with a shorter title for the obligatory after danger lecture."
"I've sat through that same lecture many times. I'll bet the delivery and words are almost identical."
Lacey and I headed to the door.
"Do you think Roland was searching for the will to see if he was getting the house?" Lacey asked.
"That would be my guess. As scary as he looks, I think we journalists need to have a chat with Roland Fisher."
"I was just thinking the same thing."
Chapter 24
After our morning of adventure, we caught up to Lola at the flea market. She was carrying a pull toy, a fuzzy goat that was attached to a wooden platform with wheels, in one arm and an old metal Flintstones lunchbox in the other.
Lacey looked at the items Lola was carrying. "I see you've regressed to your childhood while we were gone."
"I wish I'd been a kid in the sixties." She lifted the metal lunch box. It was still in great condition. "All we had were My Little Pony backpacks. I would have had a different one of these for each day of the week. Fred Flintstone on Monday. George Jetson on Tuesday. Batman on Wednesday."
Lacey stopped her list. "Yep, we get the picture. I'm glad to see you made a few purchases."
"A few. This German made pull toy will catch a pretty penny at the store. Especially because goats are really popular now."
"And with good reason," I said brusquely, causing them both to laugh. "Sorry, I'm a proud aunt who jumps at a chance to brag about her nieces, Tinkerbell and Cuddlebug."
"How was your morning on the murder trail?" Lola asked as we made our way between the vendor tables.
Lacey winked at me. "It was adventurous but not terribly productive." Her voice trailed off and she touched my arm. "But things are looking up." I followed her line of sight across the aisle and two vendors down. Etta's assistant, Grace, was flipping through some vintage movie posters. Lacey looked at me. "I sure would love to know why Etta didn't take her usual walk to the park on Friday, like her neighbor mentioned."
"You're right. If anyone knew what Etta was up to during that time, it would be Grace. She seems to keep tight control over Etta's schedule." I hopped up on tiptoes to see over the heads of other visitors. "Do you see Etta with her?"
"I don't," Lacey said. "Which is even better."
"You two detectives have at it. I'm going to take Billy"—she held up the goat—"and Fred"—she held up the lunch box—"to the car so I can have my arms free to buy more stuff."
Lacey and I made our way through the throng of shoppers to get to the same vendor booth as Grace. "I don't mean this the way it sounds," Lacey said as we headed to the vintage movie poster table, "but if Minnie hadn't been murdered, I would have been spending hours and hours standing next to Lola, my arms filled with dusty, mildewy antiques, while she combed through every vendor's table for hidden treasures. Don't get me wrong, I love to go antique shopping as much as the next gal, just not as much as that one particular gal, namely Lola."
"I'm with you. My sisters can spend hours at these events. For me, I can take one sweeping look around and if something catches my eye, I'll buy it—if it's reasonably priced. But then I'm through."
Grace was still flipping through the movie posters. She stopped and pulled out an old Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid poster that was in
nice condition and obviously a reprint.
"Hey, your dogs look stunning in old west gear. Redford looks great in a black hat," Lacey said with a laugh.
"I almost didn't recognize Newman without the ball stuck between his teeth." We spoke and joked around loud enough to get Grace's attention.
She glanced back at us and forced a smile. "Oh, it's the reporters," she said with more than a hint of derision.
"Hello," I said cheerily. "Nice seeing you again. Sorry, we were just admiring Newman and Redford."
Grace put the poster back on the pile. Apparently, we'd helped make her decision against it. She was just flustered enough by our presence to send a dozen posters flying off the table.
"Here, let us help you pick those up." Lacey hopped into poster retrieval action. I lunged after a flyaway Gone With the Wind poster.
I placed the poster back on the table and decided to speed things up before we scared her off. "Boy, Mrs. Derricot sure had her neighbor worried." I helped her straighten out the scattered pile.
Grace peered up from her task for just a second. "When on earth did you talk to that silly, busy body Weston Fielding?" She phrased the question offhandedly to reassure me that Weston's comments meant very little.
"He caught us as we were leaving Etta's house yesterday. He wanted to make sure she was all right because—" I looked at Lacey, pretending to remember what he said.
"Yes, he said something about her missing her usual four o'clock walk to the park to feed pigeons," Lacey said.
Grace made a pish posh sort of gesture. "He's getting even sillier then because it's not even four o'clock. How could she have missed her walk to the park?"
I tried to imitate her pish posh gesture but it fell short. "Yes, well, as I mentioned, we spoke to Weston yesterday, so he wasn't talking about her Sunday walk. He said it was her Friday afternoon walk to the park. He was out bird watching and he noticed she never walked past."
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