by Lena Gregory
21
Cass spread a deep blue tablecloth over a round table in the far corner of her new upstairs room in Mystical Musings, then smoothed the wrinkles and placed one of her homemade mason jar centerpieces on top. She’d made extras with things she’d collected from the beach and displayed them on a table along the sidewall. Hopefully some would sell after the reading.
“What do you think, Beast?” She surveyed the end results. Tables were scattered sporadically throughout the room, with plenty of space for her to walk between them and interact with the crowd. The beach-themed centerpieces atop the deep blue tablecloths added warmth to the large, open, otherwise-empty area. The lights she’d strung above would allow her to turn off the overheads and set the mood.
A couple of paintings would help make the room feel cozier. Maybe she’d look for an artist to talk to about commissioning a beach and a lighthouse scene, not one of the dark, foreboding ones Leighton displayed in her window, but something light and breezy, something that brought the viewer a sense of peace, something that would complement Cass’s new stress-free attitude.
Since she’d decided to leave the investigating to the police and denied Stevie Rhymes’s repeated requests for interviews, the rest of her week had been pleasantly uneventful, and she had every intention of keeping it that way. The phone rang, and she lifted it from one of the tables, still distracted by her to-do list. She was pretty sure she had everything ready, and it was time to open the shop for the day. “Mystical Musings, how may I help you?”
“Hey there, beautiful.”
Warmth flooded her at Luke’s slow, easy drawl. “Hey yourself.”
She glanced at the rustic clock made from weathered boards that hung over the door. “Are you here already? The first ferry didn’t even come in yet.”
“Uh, not exactly. About that . . .”
Disappointment surged.
“Something came up this morning . . .”
It seemed something always came up lately.
“I’m going to try to get there later, but I can’t promise. I’m really sorry, Cass.”
His words dampened the sense of peace she’d worked so hard for. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure you couldn’t help it.”
“Actually, a great opportunity presented itself, and I can’t pass it up, so I need to be here today to go over the details with my boss. If I can get out later, I will. Promise.”
“Sure, I understand.” And she did, but that didn’t mean she had to like it. “I’m going to be crazy busy today setting up for tonight’s reading, anyway. Speaking of which, I’d better get going. I spent all morning setting up the room for the reading, and I have to get the shop open.”
“Hopefully I’ll see you tonight. I want to be there for your first reading in the new room.”
“That would be nice.” They said their good-byes, and Cass placed the phone in the charger.
She knew he really did want to be there, and it wasn’t always his fault they couldn’t get together. During the winter, it was easier to close the shop, since she wasn’t that busy, but during the spring and fall months, she could only afford to take Wednesdays off. Sometimes during the summer, she didn’t even take that. And then there was Beast. She couldn’t leave him alone all day to go to the mainland. But Luke’s job as a detective was also important, and she couldn’t always expect him to drop everything and run to Bay Island.
She sighed. As much as she liked Luke and wanted a chance to see where their relationship was going, it might be time to cut her losses and move on. She hadn’t really been ready for a relationship anyway. She still had trust issues to work out. Maybe it was time to take a break. She’d see how the weekend played out, then talk to him about it.
“Looks like it might be just you and me for a while longer, Beast.” The sadness that thought brought came as a bit of a surprise. Maybe she was finally moving past the betrayal her ex-husband’s affair with her ex–best friend had brought.
She unlocked the doors, turned the signs over, and counted out the register, then pulled out her to-do list. She checked off make centerpieces and set up tables.
She still had to bring up the coffeemakers, but she couldn’t do that until she closed the shop. The long table was already set up for the caterer, so there was nothing more she could do there until Isabella Trapani showed up with the trays of food.
Bee was supposed to come by and set up the sound system when he got up, so they’d have soft background music after the actual reading.
The wind chimes tinkled, and she looked up from her list. Her smile died when her gaze fell on Artie Becker strolling into the shop. He stopped and turned the sign to CLOSED before he strode toward her, his face red, one thick vein throbbing at the side of his temple.
Good thing I decided on a more stress-free lifestyle.
Beast growled.
“Shut that thing up. I’m in no mood for it.”
Cass bristled. Who did he think he was? She had half a mind to let Beast bite his nasty . . . She reined in her temper. “It’s okay, Beast.”
She tried for a smile, but she couldn’t manage to conjure one, so she just settled for not going off on him. “What can I do for you, Mr. Becker?”
Beast moved beside her and sat, but thankfully refrained from growling again and escalating the situation.
She put a hand on his head, her need to comfort him as strong as the need for her own comfort.
“I need answers.”
“About?”
“Is that Kelly they found on the beach?”
“You’d need to ask the police that, Mr. Becker.”
“I did ask. They won’t give me any answers. Now I’m asking you.” He splayed his hands on the driftwood countertop and leaned forward. “And I want answers.”
Cass took a step back.
Beast issued another low warning growl.
It did nothing to faze Artie. He leaned farther over the counter. “Now.”
“Look, Mr. Becker, I’m not sure what I can tell you. The police haven’t told me who the bod—uh, woman—they found on the beach is . . .”
“So, it was a woman? That’s what I’ve heard, but the police wouldn’t confirm it.”
Oh, dang. “I meant person. I . . . um . . . I just didn’t want to say body, you know . . . just in case.” All right, kind of lame but the best she could do under current circumstances.
His eyebrows drew together, but he didn’t comment further on her slipup.
“So, I’m afraid there’s not much I can do for you.” She inched her way toward the side of the counter, intent on seeing him out.
“I want you to contact her . . . the woman on the beach. Everyone is saying she led you to her body. Even the news reporters. That means you can find out if it’s Kelly.”
Hmm . . . Actually, the idea kind of piqued her interest again. But as hard as she’d tried to contact the woman on the beach with Bee and Stephanie, she’d failed. Besides, what if Artie Becker was the killer? Of course, if Artie had killed his daughter, he’d already know it was her buried on the beach.
“It doesn’t really work that way—”
“Does that mean you won’t help me?”
For the first time Cass looked past the anger that emanated from him in waves and saw something else in the depths of his eyes. Sadness.
She was going to relent. She could feel it coming, despite her own admonishments and Tank’s irate voice screaming in her head. Had Artie just continued his temper tantrum, she’d have been able to say no and either escort him out or call the police. As it was . . . It was the sheer agony in his eyes that did her in. She just didn’t have it in her to turn away someone in pain.
She sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.”
He nodded once, then shoved away from the counter and paced.
She thought of sending him awa
y, but she’d tried to contact the woman with the séance on the beach and hadn’t been able to. Of course, that had turned into a fiasco, but still . . . Maybe with her father in the shop, if it was Kelly, Cass could convince her to show up. “Have a seat at the table, but I need you to do something for me.”
“What?”
“You have to try to be calm. It’s hard for me to concentrate when you’re . . . agitated, and it might scare Kelly away.” She had no idea if the second part was true, but she didn’t need him pitching a fit in her shop either. “Would you like something to drink?”
“I’m fine.” He pulled out a chair and sat.
Beast tilted his head at her and whined.
She ruffled his fur and reassured him it was okay, then lit a thick, white pillar candle and placed it on the side of the table. She’d already done a color reading with Artie, without much luck, so she took the crystal ball from the shelf, even though that hadn’t helped much either lately. She placed it on the table and took a seat across from him.
She inhaled deeply and blocked all of the negative energy Artie had brought in with him. She concentrated on the woman’s image as she remembered it.
The air shimmered, and a vague distortion of color appeared. Intense fear invaded Cass. She gasped.
“Is she here?”
She struggled to maintain whatever shallow connection she’d achieved and nodded.
“Can I talk to her? Will she hear me?”
Cass nodded again, trying to pinpoint the source of the all-encompassing fear surrounding her.
“I just want to say I’m sorry, Kelly. I should have done better by you. I knew what your mother was, knew she was hurting you, but I loved her so much.” He looked down at his hands clasped together in a white-knuckled grip on the table. “The drugs did things to her, and I should have protected you.”
He sniffed. “I should have come looking for you sooner, but I figured maybe you were better off. Then your mother up and disappeared, and the police thought I had something to do with it, and I just couldn’t deal with it all.”
His shoulders slumped beneath the weight of burdens he’d carried far too long. “Then, when I found you here with that . . . loser . . .” He shook his head. “I should have handled it better, shouldn’t have threatened him . . . or you . . .”
Blood roared in Cass’s ears. Her hands shook violently, and she stuffed them under the table so Artie wouldn’t notice. Artie had told Cass he hadn’t seen his daughter in years. He’d lied. Fear evolved into stark terror. Her own? She didn’t think so, and yet . . . was that a premonition?
“Anyway. I just wanted the chance to tell you, I’m sorry. For everything.” He shoved his chair back, stood, and walked out of the shop without another word.
Cass sat perfectly still, fear holding her hostage in a way she didn’t understand.
She had no idea how much time had passed when the chimes tinkled, ripping her from her trance.
“Hey, Cass.” Emmett turned the sign to OPEN. “I just have a few last-minute things to do upstairs, then I’ll be outta your hair.” He started toward the stairs, then grunted and detoured to the counter, pulled her shop key from his pocket, and held it up before placing it beside the register. “I almost forgot. I’ll leave the key on the counter, since I won’t be needing it anymore.”
She nodded, then forced out a thank-you as he jogged up the stairs.
How long had she been sitting there? She glanced at the clock, shocked to see a little more than an hour had passed since she’d sat down with Artie Becker. Even given the time she’d spent with him, and possibly Kelly, she’d still been sitting unaware of anything for more than forty-five minutes. The fear she’d experienced before blacking out was gone, as was the shimmer of color she’d attributed to Kelly, but a new dread had begun to creep in. Was she going crazy?
Cass stood, the stiffness in her joints confirming what the clock had already told her. She grabbed the key Emmett had left on the register, flipped her appointment book open to the folder in the back where she always kept a couple of spare keys, and went to drop it in. It was empty. The second spare key she kept was gone. And she only knew of one person who’d touched her appointment book. She had two choices. She could contact Tank and let the police handle it. Or she could find the little rat and see what he wanted from her shop. So much for letting the police handle the investigation.
22
The shop had maintained a steady flow of customers throughout the day, but Cass finally managed a minute to call Tank and tell him about the missing key. “The guy who broke into Leighton’s gallery was in here looking through my appointment book. He’s the only one who could have taken the key, so he must have been the one to break in.”
Tank’s frustrated breath echoed through the phone. “I understand that, Cass, and I’m not saying he didn’t take it. Or that he wasn’t the intruder. I’m just saying I can’t arrest him for breaking into your shop without any kind of evidence.”
“He wasn’t wearing gloves when he came in for the reading and he was looking through my book.”
“We’ve been over this already, Cass. He was there as a customer. The book was sitting on the table. Touching it isn’t a crime. If we caught him with the key, we’d be able to do something, but as it is . . .”
Knowing he was right didn’t dampen her anger. “Did you find out who he is, at least?”
“His name’s Vincent DiSilva.”
His name hit her like a punch in the gut. Cass sucked in a breath.
“You know him?”
“Uh . . .” She rushed to connect the dots.
“Cass.” His tone held a note of warning.
“No. I don’t know him, but I have heard the name. Did you ask Leighton about him?”
“Yes. She said she didn’t know him.”
What! Her mind raced. Leighton had told her he was the woman from the portrait’s boyfriend. When he’d been in Mystical Musings asking her to help him find the necklace, he’d said he’d been working in the art gallery.
“When he was in the shop that day, he said he worked at the gallery.”
“Hmm . . . I’ll look into that. You said you’ve heard his name before?”
“Oh, yeah.” Dang. She was hoping he’d forget she’d blurted that out. If he went to the gallery and searched for the painting, they might still be able to retrieve her thumbprint. But what had Tank said? He couldn’t arrest Vincent for breaking into Cass’s shop, even though his prints were on her appointment book, because he’d been there for a legitimate reason? Hopefully, the same went for her. “I was asking Leighton about a portrait she painted. It was displayed in the art gallery window, and it bore a striking resemblance to the woman . . .” She swallowed hard, still uncomfortable discussing anything relating to spirits with Tank.
He saved her the trouble. “The woman you’ve been seeing in your . . . uh . . .”
“Yeah, her. Leighton said she came in with her boyfriend, Vincent DiSilva, to commission the painting, but neither of them ever returned to pick it up, and she wasn’t able to contact either of them.”
Tank didn’t say anything at first.
Cass just waited.
“All right. Let me talk to Chief Rawlins about it. Maybe we can bring him back in and ask a few more questions. Oh, and by the way, Emmett’s coming over later to change your locks.”
“Sure. Thanks, Tank.”
“No problem. I’ll see you tonight.”
Warmth surged through her. Of course, he’d be there for her tonight. “Great, thanks. See ya then.”
The chimes sounded, and Cass jumped, still a little unnerved by the episode with Artie Becker. For a few moments early on, she’d been sure he wasn’t the killer. By the time he left, well . . . she had no clue what to think, but she was terrified of having another blackout. She should have told Tank about their
conversation, but she hadn’t thought of it. Dang. She’d have to call him back.
“Hey, there.” Bee hugged her.
“Hi.”
Stephanie hugged her next. “So, are you ready for tonight?” As she stepped back, she glanced at Bee over Cass’s shoulder.
When Cass turned to Bee, he jerked his gaze away from Stephanie and smiled at her.
Cass nailed them with a glare. “Okay, spill it.”
Bee’s eyes widened innocently. A little too innocently. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s obvious there’s something going on between you two. What is it?”
Bee huffed. “You tell her, Stephanie.”
“Uh-uh. Not me. You’re the gossipmonger,” Stephanie countered.
He grinned. “Well, that is true, but since this isn’t exactly gossip, I’ll let you do the honors.”
“What do you mean it isn’t gossip? Everyone is talking about it.”
Cass massaged her temples. “I don’t care which one of you tells me, but I don’t have time to listen to you two bicker. One of you, tell me.”
“Oh, all right.” Bee offered a sympathetic look and rubbed her arm.
Uh-oh. This could not be good.
“You know that reporter, Stevie Rhymes?”
“Yeah. I’ve been dodging her for days. She wanted to do an interview with me, but I refused.”
Bee winced. “Maybe you should have just agreed to the interview.”
“Are you kidding? Tank would have killed me.”
“That’s true.”
She shot Stephanie a look.
Stephanie only shrugged.
Cass waved it off. “Anyway, what did she do?”
“She does a series on the local news about local events, businesses, people, stuff like that, you know?”
“Uh-oh.”
“Uh-oh is right. Last night’s piece was on Herb Cox’s dog training program and how people are falling over themselves to get in.”
A vision of the man hovering behind Stevie, his camera ready, flashed before her. “Please don’t tell me the camera was running when Beast pulled me down.”