“Okay,” I said. “Thanks.”
“Ellie, why are you asking—”
“I’ll be by the hotel in a while,” I said.
“Wait a sec—oh, heck. There’s a problem with a reservation I need to take care of.” She was already talking to someone else as she hung up.
“What did she say?” Maria asked.
“Eureka was alone with the butter churn after Felicity went to talk to the mayor. She must have opened it, looked inside, and taken this journal. Either the page fell out then, or it had already come loose, and she didn’t notice it.”
Maria rubbed both hands over her face. “Why would she do that?”
I shook my head. “Curiosity? Scholarship? I bet Eureka was willing to break the rules here and there. Dr. Radcliffe told me she didn’t much care for authority.”
“Yes, I guess I can see that.” Maria hesitated, then said, “Do you think someone knew she’d opened the time capsule early? That it might have something to do with her death?”
Eyeing the old journal that sat in the middle of her desk, I said, “There must be something in there worth more than gold.”
She smiled. “Literally, to Eureka. She removed this book but left the gold nugget worth a quarter of a million dollars in the time capsule.” She bit her lip, then nodded to the journal. “You need to keep reading to see why.”
I started in again, skimming the boring bits about what Charles had had for dinner or what horses he’d tended to at the stables that day. I slowed when I came to another passage that mentioned Alma.
Alma agreed to share a meal with me at the hotel last evening! I immediately visited the barber, yet could not help feeling trepidation as I shaved and dressed, afraid that my meager wardrobe might offend her sensibilities. She was graciousness personified, however. Her brother warned me to have her home by eight thirty and to come straight back from the dining hall, and to that end I delivered her to him at precisely that hour. I have hopes of another meal with her soon.
“So they dated,” I murmured.
Maria said. “Keep going.”
I skimmed some more until I reached another entry about my distant aunt.
My dear Alma is known to heal those who dare come to her with teas and tinctures made from the plants she gathers outside of Springtown. I’m coming to realize she has a reputation for more than doctoring, however. Some think her a witch, and she tells me she’s met with threats in the street on more than one occasion.
Hands shaking, I paused in my reading to take a deep breath. Had something happened to Alma Hammond because of her knowledge of plants? Seriously? I thought about how different it would have been for me to live in this place, but at that time. I felt a surge of gratitude that my talents and abilities were appreciated by my friends and customers rather than reviled out of superstition and fear.
The next mention of Alma again gave me pause.
Alma tells me she is tired of the way the townspeople treat her, and the tight reins her brother keeps on her. I told her about my gold nugget, which I’ve kept hidden in hopes of it funding a solid future. I asked her to be my bride, to come away with me. My gold will give us a decent beginning in a life together. I await her answer.
Charles’ earnest love for the young Alma saddened me since I knew something must have happened to destroy his hopes. In the next entry, I found out what it was.
Alma Hammond has broken my heart. She told me she is in love, not with me as I’d dared to dream, but with Rolly Crump, a cad and a thief. My gold is of no matter to her. She intended to run away with him. To leave me alone and without succor.
Dear God above, I know I will never be forgiven for what I have done. I lost all my wits when she told me good-bye. The devil himself possessed me, and I did a terrible, terrible thing.
Alma was different than anyone I’ve ever met—man, woman, or child. At the same time strong and delicate, wise and silly, she could read those around her like Indians read the signs of passing game. Her affinity for plants and their essences was mystical, a gift beyond measure. One of her most prized possessions was the ancient stitched book in the language no one but she could understand. They said she was a witch, but if there was magic in her, it was that of the faeries and elementals, not the evil of which they speak.
I robbed the world of her magic, and for that there is no forgiveness.
After long thought, I have collected all remnants of our time together and placed them in a butter churn I stole. The menu from our first meal at the hotel. The picture she deigned to give me in the envelope with the crushed orange flowers. The photo of the building on the main thoroughfare where she lived with her brother while their house was being built. Her precious book. The heavy piece of gold meant to start our life together but which I used to end hers. This diary to explain what I’ve done, and, finally, a map to show where I buried her sweet, lifeless body in the foothills.
I will seal the churn, place it in the safe, and direct it be delivered to her brother, Zebulon, who searches for her so frantically. I will have taken my own life by the time he receives this confession, so he will not be burdened with having to do so himself.
When I was finished, I set the diary down and closed my eyes. When I finally opened them again, Maria was sitting with her elbows on her desk and her chin in her hands, watching me.
“It wasn’t a time capsule at all,” I said. “It was a murder confession.”
“And a suicide note,” Maria added.
I nodded. “Sad.”
“She was your aunt. Even so removed, it must hit home. I’m sorry.”
“How do we tell everyone?” I asked.
She lifted her shoulders and let them drop. “We just do. I don’t think it’ll be a problem. This is one of those cases of truth being stranger than fiction. I always thought it was kind of odd that there were no notes or letters in that butter churn. Real time capsules tend to contain that kind of thing.”
I remembered the dark smear of what I’d assumed was dirt on the gold nugget when the mayor held it up for us all to see. Now I wasn’t so sure. “I wonder if her blood is still on that chunk of gold over at the bank.”
Maria paled.
“We’ll tell everyone once the gold has been tested for blood,” I said.
“It will be quite the display in the museum—grisly and tragic at the same time. The tourists will love it,” Maria said with a grim expression.
I leaned back in my chair. “And Eureka knew what kind of appeal Charles’ story would have.”
She gave a little nod. “And that was the book she was researching before she died. The one Odell Radcliffe is researching now, apparently.”
“Do you think she told him?”
“She must have told him something. But she didn’t give him this.” She pointed at the journal.
“She hid it,” I said slowly. “So he took everything from the time capsule after he killed her.”
And apparently tried to kill me—and Ritter—as well.
Abruptly, I stood. “He’s not going to get away with it. Maria, make sure that diary is locked in your desk overnight.”
“Okay.” She watched wide-eyed as I marched out of her office and beelined to the open doorway of the reference room, where Odell Radcliffe was still poring over the birth and death entries in the back of the Bible.
“Hi, Dr. Radcliffe,” I said brightly.
Startled, he peered up at me. “Ellie! Hello. And remember—call me Odell.”
I smiled. “Odell. Right. I see you’ve discovered our old town Bible. You know, I heard Eureka found something really interesting in it the week before her death.”
He straightened. “I heard that, too. Do you know what it was? See, she asked me to come to Poppyville to work on a new idea she had for a book. A true-crime story, don’t you know. I’d love to be able to carry on with
her work.”
Something must have shown on my face, because he hastened to add, “In her honor, you understand. I’d like to find out whatever I can before my daughter and I leave tomorrow. Unfortunately, all vacations must come to an end.” He smiled.
I smiled back through gritted teeth. “I see. Well, gosh, I’m not sure exactly what she was researching. But I think it had something to do with a diary we found over in Heritage House. She said there was a crazy story in it, one that would be unbelievable if there wasn’t evidence to prove it’s true. It’s too bad the police have shut the museum down and you can’t get in there.” I took a few steps into the room. “Honestly? I think she might have pilfered that diary from the time capsule before it was opened. But I don’t want to tell the police that because I don’t want her to get in trouble.”
His eyes flashed. “Is that so? Well, we’ll just keep that to ourselves, then. For Eureka.”
I nodded, gave him a little wave, and walked away.
For Eureka indeed.
Once I was outside the library, I called Maria to tell her what I’d told Odell and that I’d check in with her after I talked to Lupe.
Charles’ revelations haunted me as I slowly walked the rest of the way to the Hotel California. However, the last paragraphs in the diary haunted me more than the others.
The book written in a language only she could understand.
Alma Hammond had been like me.
* * *
• • •
THE big covered veranda of the Hotel California was empty. I climbed the steps and went inside. Pausing just inside the threshold, I looked around. Straight ahead, the wide staircase led to the second floor. The traditional welcome motif of pineapples adorned the columns that flanked the stairs, as well as the ornately carved crown molding near the high ceiling.
Clusters of sofas and brocade-covered wingbacks waited for guests to gather, and gas fires burned behind glass doors at each end of the lobby. A woman plinked out something unrecognizable on the grand piano. A combination of cooking smells from the Empire Room down the hallway, cheap aftershave, and rug shampoo swirled through the air.
Lupe was standing at the reception desk. Felicity stood on the other side. They were deep in conversation. The looked up when I joined them.
“So, we’re trying to figure out how Odell could have made the room service call if he wasn’t in the room,” Lupe said.
“Are you sure it was him? Or just the room calling? As in, could Haley have covered for her father by making the calls to room service and then acting like her dad was in the room?”
“Maybe,” Felicity said. “The staff aren’t stupid, but they wouldn’t be expecting her to try to establish an alibi for her father, either.”
“Have you asked her about it?” I asked Lupe.
She shook her head. “Can’t find either of them.”
“Well, I can tell you where Odell is. The library. Apparently, he’s going to write the book Eureka had planned. Which, by the way, is a different book than what she had been working on for the past year. He says she asked for his help with it. I think he might have killed her so he could write it himself.”
“Really?” Lupe looked skeptical. “Seems Warren and Trixie Perez would have a better motive than some book about the gold rush.”
Bending my head and leaning toward them, I quickly related what Maria and I had learned from Charles Bettelheim’s diary. When I was done, they both just stared at me.
“Seriously,” Lupe said finally.
I nodded. “Test that gold. I bet you find blood on it. But that’s not the important thing. At least not right now. Because right now, Odell Radcliffe is using Eureka’s research to write the book she was going to before he killed her. That’s why he’s in Poppyville. Every time I’ve seen him, he’s brought up Eureka’s book.”
“But why use someone else’s idea?” Lupe asked. “And why Eureka’s? Wouldn’t he know we’d suspect him of murder if he used her research to write his own book? Especially if it sells.”
“Not if she asked him to help her in the first place. Which is what he claims. And not if he’s now writing it to honor her memory. Plus, he can’t use just any old idea. A book about Alma Hammond’s murder would be based on a real crime. You know, like In Cold Blood. I’d think that you’d have to have the right story to start with for that to work, to spark the interest of the reading public, don’t you? And boy, this one’s a doozy.” I sighed.
Straightening my shoulders, I said, “Which is exactly why I told Odell about Charles Bettelheim’s diary. I told him it’s locked away in Heritage House, and that the police won’t let anyone inside. If he killed Eureka, he’s not going to pass up the chance to get the final piece of the puzzle.”
“You laid a trap?” Felicity hooted, then quickly checked to make sure no one was nearby to overhear.
“In the museum,” Lupe said wryly.
“Exactly. Have you released the crime scene yet?”
She shook her head.
“But you could, right?”
“Oh, Ellie. You’ve got to be kidding.”
“You’ll know once and for all that you have the right guy if he shows up,” I said, all sweet persuasion. “And no harm, no foul if he doesn’t. Max doesn’t have to know anything about it. Neither does the chief.”
She shook her head. “I don’t feel good about that.”
I shrugged. “Then tell him.”
After a few seconds of hesitation, she capitulated. “Tell me what you have in mind.”
“Maria said the chief asked her to remove the valuable items from Heritage House, but Odell wouldn’t know that, right? So, I told him the diary tells the whole story behind Alma Hammond’s disappearance, a crazy story that’s darn near unbelievable and utterly gripping.” I grinned. “If he killed her and stole her laptop, he’s going to fall for it hook, line, and sinker. Not to mention, it’s true!”
Felicity leaned forward. “Detective Garcia, it can’t hurt. If we say it’s at the museum and no one shows up, then we’re just out some time and effort.” She gave me a look. “But if Ellie’s plan does work, we’ve netted ourselves a killer.”
“I don’t like all this ‘we’ talk,” Lupe grumbled.
“Well, I have to work until the wee hours, covering for a sick employee,” Felicity said. “So you can take me out of the ‘we.’”
Lupe said, “I think I can get the crime scene released. When do you think he’ll show up?”
“After dark. I’ll talk Astrid into waiting with me in Heritage House.”
“I’ll be there, too,” Lupe said. “But let’s leave Thea and Gessie out of it.”
“Why?”
“Too many of us, and he might catch wind of what’s going on. Keep it simple.”
“I get it. And thank you.” I meant it.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” she said.
“Don’t even joke about something like that.”
* * *
• • •
ON the way back to the shop, I made a detour down Gilpin toward Dr. Ericcson’s office. On Saturdays, Astrid attended the front desk until one o’clock, when the vet’s office closed for the rest of the weekend. It was just after that now, but I knew she rarely left on time. I hoped to catch her, so I could tell her about tonight’s plan to trap Odell in person.
I turned the corner, and sure enough, there was her rickety old car parked right in front. And in front of that, a shiny Corvette that I hadn’t seen around town before was snugged up to the curb. As I approached, a woman with wild blond curls exited the vehicle and stood looking at the front of the building.
Walking up beside her on the sidewalk, I saw Astrid through the window. She sat at the desk, phone in one hand while she jotted something in the giant appointment book with the other. Dr. Ericcson was a Luddite if
ever there was one, and my friend was always trying to get him to digitize his office operations. She apparently hadn’t had much success.
There was movement behind her, and I recognized Dylan. He must have gotten back from that morning’s estate sale and was waiting for her to get off work.
Great. The last thing I need is that guy trying to horn in on our plan to catch Odell.
The woman on the sidewalk turned and looked me up and down. She was sporty looking, like she played tennis and ran marathons and golfed the rest of the time. In fact, something about her reminded me of Astrid, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.
“The sign says they’re closed until Monday,” she said.
“I know,” I said. “Are you looking for the vet?”
She sniffed and turned back to the window, where neither Astrid nor Dylan had noticed us looking in at them. “I’m looking for my husband.”
Ohhhhh. And uh-oh. And then: I knew there was something off about that guy!
“Dylan Wong?” I asked casually.
“Oh, God. Not you, too.”
“Um, no. But that’s my friend in there. It’s not her fault.”
Her jaw set. “It never is.” She marched to the front door.
Sighing, I followed. At least there wouldn’t be a big audience for this confrontation.
She tried the door, but it was locked, so she commenced to bang on the glass with her fist. A few seconds later, Astrid came around the corner, a concerned expression on her face. Of course, she’d think anyone pounding on the door of a veterinarian’s office would have an animal emergency.
Then she saw me and stopped, tipping her head to one side in puzzlement.
Dylan came up behind her to see what was going on. Then he saw it was his wife making the ruckus. I’d never seen anyone go so pale so quickly in all my life.
He said something in Astrid’s ear and tried to pull her away from the door.
Big mistake.
Her eyes flared with anger, and she shook him off. The door was unlocked and open in a flash.
“Please,” she said. “Come in. I understand you’re probably here for this guy.” She grated out the last two words.
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