None of this made sense. Although it might explain why Leticia had called Piper a Gorgon. What it didn’t explain was why Piper had left her mansion at dawn to huddle with the local eccentric on the beach.
Something else bothered me. Only an hour ago, Chief Hitchcock had cautioned Kit and Greg not to rush to judgment about Leticia’s guilt, adding, “Especially with what’s going on this week at the health fair.”
If the murder was connected in any way to the fair, the connection also included Piper, who had organized the entire event. It looked like Piper’s health fair might not be as healthy as advertised.
Chapter Eight
The discovery of Bonaventure’s body had shaken me. So did learning that Piper met with the Lake Lady on the beach. I was also worried about the welfare of those cats on Leticia’s property, especially the kittens. Leticia had not answered my text messages for twenty-four hours. If she had left town, what would happen to the cats, only some of whom were feral?
I had an hour before Dean’s shift at the store ended. Enough time to make a detour and stop at the headquarters of Humane Hearts, the local animal rescue organization founded by my aunt. The twenty-acre farm held kennels, an aviary, dog runs, annex buildings, a barn, and a stable. The grounds were always filled with volunteers and animals. Since Aunt Vicki also lived in a yellow farmhouse on the property. I had a good chance of finding her there.
Theo looked delighted when I told him we were swinging by Humane Hearts on the way back to Oriole Point. Aunt Vicki’s rescue llamas fascinated him. Theo also surprised us by bonding with my aunt’s trio of Doberman Pinschers: Buffy, Willow, and Xander. I would have thought the Dobermans too intimidating for his tastes, but he adored them.
On the way over, I gave her a quick call to make sure she wasn’t too busy for a discussion about Leticia’s cats. I also let her know we’d had another murder in the county. This news was met with a long sigh. I knew just how she felt.
I found her waiting on the front porch when I pulled up the driveway; the Dobermans grouped about her like three bodyguards. Every time I saw Aunt Vicki, I thought of my dad, who closely resembled his blond, blue-eyed sister. They also boasted full-figured, robust frames. I took after my mother and her Italian family: dark haired, brown-eyed, with a lean body type. I lucked out with the Rossi gene since I had the appetite of a hungry wrestler.
The dogs’ tails wagged as soon as I got out of my SUV, but it was Theo they ran to.
“Can I take them for a walk?” Theo asked as Willow licked his face.
“I’ve got volunteers out exercising some recent rescue dogs who might get nervous about the Dobermans.” She gestured at the corral by the stable. “Let them run around in there. And you can feed the llamas some hay.”
As a euphoric Theo left for the corral with the dogs, I explained the situation at Leticia’s house.
“There must be at least fifty cats. A lot were hiding in the shrubs and bushes.” I sat on her porch swing. “Most are feral with matted, dirty fur. I couldn’t get within twenty feet of them. Others look tame. Especially the ones who wanted to get inside the house.”
Aunt Vicki sat beside me. “I’m guessing there were already feral cats on her property when she bought it. That parcel is almost as big as mine. With woods, too. She probably brought a few kittens into her house. The others stayed wild.” She frowned. “And kept breeding. I’ve seen this situation play out a hundred times on the farms around here.”
Oriole County was largely rural, and far too many farmers refused to spay or neuter their cats. Many of them mistakenly believed the procedure made the cats less effective as mouse catchers. Their blind refusal resulted in a countryside overrun with neglected cats and endless litters of kittens. Some cold-blooded farmers even drowned newborn kittens, which enraged me.
Humane Hearts worked tirelessly to prevent that from happening. Sterilizing the animals was essential, even if they were feral and had to be released once again. At least that prevented more unwanted kittens. Those kittens we did round up were fostered and eventually adopted.
I described the food dishes by the shed and how Kit and I had found metal trash cans filled with bags of kibble inside the shed. “Before I left, I filled the food dishes and gave them fresh water. But if she doesn’t come back, who will take care of the cats?”
She gave me a sad smile. “Cats are good at surviving in the wild, hon. Although to paraphrase Thomas Hobbes, their lives are likely to be ‘nasty, brutish, and short.’ I’m more interested in trapping them. I can have a team of volunteers there tomorrow.”
“We’ll have to wait on that. The property is being treated as a crime scene.” I pushed back so the swing would sway. “But I do have permission to feed them.”
“Let’s leave the cats aside for the moment,” my aunt said. “What happened at Leticia’s house? Who was the dead man? And how is that poor woman involved with this?”
I told her what had occurred since my conversation with Leticia on Saturday. Including my discovery that Leticia, a.k.a. Ellen Clark, had served time in prison for murder.
Aunt Vicki gasped. “Murder? I can’t believe it. Who did she kill?”
“Don’t know. Chief Hitchcock’s spent the most time looking into her past. But he refused to tell me any details about the murder itself. To be honest, I think he regretted telling me as much as he had.” I gave her a wink. “I intend to get the rest of the story when I see Kit.”
“I knew Leticia must have had trials in her life.” Aunt Vicki shook her head. “Only I never thought a murder trial was one of them. I wonder where she is.”
“Maybe there’s nothing mysterious about her absence. She might be home tomorrow. If she is, I’ll convince her to let you take the cats to the vet.” A significant portion of cash donations to Humane Hearts were earmarked for this purpose.
She patted my knee. “For now, all they need is food and water. And don’t go out there to feed them unless Kit is with you. A man was murdered on that property. Maybe by Leticia. Maybe not. But as much as I care about saving cats, I care about your safety more.”
I thought she was being overly cautious. I couldn’t imagine why the murderer would return to the scene of the crime. The computer and manuscript were already gone. So was Leticia. What reason would the killer have to come back?
In the distance I heard barking and Theo’s laughter. I wondered if it might not be time for him to adopt a dog. Although I’m sure he would prefer one of the llamas.
“You’ve made me wonder how many cats are on her property,” Aunt Vicki mused. “A lot of the cats may spend part of the time next door at the pumpkin farm.”
I stopped swinging. “There’s a pumpkin farm near her property?”
“The Rasmussen place. Jill and Norbert belong to my church. They’ve had a pumpkin farm for decades, but once they hit their seventies, they decided to retire. Now they fly off to Arizona at the beginning of October and don’t come back until April.” She looked at me with a regretful expression. “Too bad they already left. You could have asked them about Leticia and her cats. Jill is allergic to cats. The situation next door is probably unpleasant.”
“Then it no longer is a pumpkin farm.”
“Jill and Norbert still plant part of the patch. But they don’t sell the pumpkins. Instead, they donate them to the church. We have a pumpkin sale in late September to raise money for charity.”
I thought it might be a good idea to check out the cat situation at the pumpkin farm.
“By the way, I’m glad I looked at the Haunted Health Fair Facebook page today,” she went on. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have known you were giving a talk about berries tomorrow.”
I smacked my head so hard, I hurt myself. “I forgot about that.”
“Joe and I will definitely be there.” Joe Coyle was my aunt’s latest boyfriend.
When was I going to find the time to prepare a forty-minute talk? And I didn’t want to wing it, not at an event with so many heavy hitters holding
workshops. “I don’t know why I let that woman bamboozle me into ‘volunteering’ my services so often. Speaking of Piper . . .”
As my confused aunt watched, I called Piper on my cell. She picked up on the third ring.
“This better be good, Marlee,” Piper said. “I’m on my way to the catering staff to complain about the Folgers coffee they’re serving attendees. Can you believe it? I gave strict instructions the coffee had to be organic, freshly ground, and fair trade. Who do they think they’re dealing with? Some nitwit who doesn’t know Sanka from a French roast?”
“Piper, we need to talk. Privately. Something has happened. It involves the Lake Lady.”
The resulting silence dragged on so long, I thought my phone died. “I was afraid she would do something,” she said finally. “But I can’t talk now. I’m swamped for the next few hours. Meet me for dinner. San Sebastian. Seven thirty.”
This time when I heard silence, it was because she had hung up. Although I was pleased she’d chosen Oriole Point’s most upscale restaurant. The food whipped up by chef/owner Diego Theroux was as irresistible as his good looks.
“She must be distracted,” I told my aunt. “She didn’t even ask for details.”
If she had, I would have told Piper that along with Diego’s signature dishes, murder would also be on the menu tonight.
* * *
I never dressed casually for dinner at San Sebastian. The elegant décor and Diego’s haute cuisine demanded an extra effort. That required time to get cleaned up and go through my wardrobe.
When I finally got home, I began the arduous task of searching through my closet. I normally wore jeans and a Berry Basket T-shirt at the store, both covered by the chef apron. But I had spent ten years as a TV producer in NYC, which demanded a fashionable wardrobe. At the time, I had the disposable income to purchase the designer pieces necessary.
For tonight, I chose a Rodarte leather midi skirt, black silk blouse with a floral print, and a metallic trimmed faux bomber jacket. To complete the look, I slipped on my favorite pair of knee-high boots. When I looked at myself in the full-length mirror, I worried I might be a tad too trendy for Oriole Point. Then I remembered I was dining with Piper, who once met me for scrambled eggs at the Sourdough Café decked out in vintage Chanel.
I did make certain to leave early. Piper did not tolerate tardiness. And I was starving. If I got there ahead of time, I’d ask the waiter to bring me a bread basket or appetizer.
Piper must have been even hungrier than me. When I walked through the door, I spotted her in one of the curved burgundy leather booths near the back. She waved me over.
As I followed the hostess, I noticed all three dining rooms were packed. I did a double take when I saw Ellie Vaughn, the Pilates Queen, seated with several people at a table near the pebbled fountain. In a booth to her right sat the award-winning dancers from Dance with Me. They looked even more glamorous in person. I was glad now that I had worn Rodarte.
“It’s about time,” Piper said when I reached our table. A glass of red wine sat before her.
“You do realize I’m ten minutes early.”
She gave me an injured look. “I’ve been here since seven.”
“And if you’d come an hour earlier, you could have eaten dinner and been on the way home by now.” I slipped off my jacket.
This exchange got us off on the wrong foot, and we silently perused the menu until our server appeared. “I’ll have the bavette steak, medium, with Spanish onions and ramps,” I told him. “And the Perigord salad.”
“The same,” Piper said in a curt voice.
I looked at Piper’s half-empty wineglass. “Also a glass of red wine. Rioja.”
Although I preferred German white wines, I liked to immerse myself in the San Sebastian experience when I dined here. Diego’s family came from the Basque town of San Sebastian, Spain, near the Bay of Biscay, and his menu reflected his heritage. Since dining here, I had gained an appreciation for that region’s wines and flavor profiles, which combined elements of French and Spanish cuisine.
I also had an appreciation for his devastating good looks. Looking out over the restaurant, I saw him speaking to a table of guests by the bar. I smiled. Any sighting of Diego in his chef whites brought pleasure to his female diners. And some male ones as well.
Piper cleared her throat to get my attention. “Rodarte?” She eyed my outfit.
I nodded, then examined her dark teal cocktail dress. “Zac Posen?”
Her disapproving expression softened. “At least you’ve retained a little of your New York fashion sense.”
“Along with my subscription to Vogue.”
We both finally smiled.
“Now why did you want to talk with me? And about Leticia, of all people.”
“She approached me the other day. Right after you and I talked at the Berry Basket booth in the park. She asked me to order dried mulberries for her. Enough berries to cover her house.”
She rolled her eyes. “The woman is insane. I hope you ended that conversation quickly.”
“Actually no.” I described my encounter with Leticia, then told her about the visit of Felix Bonaventure to my shop on Monday. Piper listened intently, but said nothing. “Have you ever heard of this man? Or Leticia calling herself ‘Ellen Mulberry’?”
“No. I don’t waste my time thinking about any of the odd ducks in this village. Unless they cause trouble.”
“Speaking of trouble, Leticia thought someone was trying to kill her.”
“So you said.” Piper avoided my gaze.
“Do you have any idea who might want to harm her?”
“Maybe it was this Bonaventure fellow. And I’d tell all this to your boyfriend at the sheriff’s department. By the way, I approve of Atticus Holt. He’s far more likable than that dreadful man you were engaged to.”
“I agree. Which is why I broke off our engagement.”
The server brought our salads and my wine to the table. Our conversation didn’t resume until he left. “I did tell Kit. The state police and Chief Hitchcock know about Bonaventure, too.”
“Why? Is he some sort of international criminal?” She lifted up a forkful of lettuce.
“No.” I paused. “He’s dead.”
Piper froze with the fork an inch from her face. “What?”
“He’s dead. Murdered. Shot through the heart with an arrow.”
She dropped her fork with a clatter onto her plate. “When did this happen?”
“This morning.” I put down my own fork at the memory of Felix Bonaventure’s blood-spattered shirt. “He was killed on Leticia’s property.”
She looked dazed. “Is this some sort of sick joke?”
“You know I never joke about murder. I am literally sick of murdered bodies dropping in my vicinity.”
“I can’t believe this. Murdered? And with a bow and arrow?”
“We’ve learned Bonaventure was a ghostwriter of true crime books.” I described how I found the manuscript in Leticia’s house and the books that Bonaventure had co-authored. “Because of her concern about the ‘ghost,’ I think he was helping her write a book of her own. Maybe about the crime she committed. Now the book has gone missing.”
I’d never seen Piper look so shocked. “Are you okay?” I asked her. “You seem upset.”
“Of course I’m upset. When is a murder good for any small town? Especially one that has had far too much lurid publicity lately. And right now I am in the middle of hosting the biggest event the conference center has ever seen. How do you think this will look? All the attendees came here to learn how to be healthy, happy, and holistic. Now a stranger is found murdered.”
“He died out in the country, not the middle of town. Most people here will be too busy to give it much thought.”
“Some people will.” Piper shot a furtive glance at a table of diners in the far corner.
At least sixteen people sat at the table she seemed worried about. I recognized two of them: Cam
eron Sable and his wife Ingrid. I’d seen them on TV and book covers. Even if they hadn’t been famous, the couple would have drawn attention. Eighty-year-old Cameron Sable was bald, slender, and boasted a Roman profile that accentuated his aristocratic bearing. As for Ingrid, I didn’t know if it was her Scandinavian ancestors, surgery, or the Sable natural beauty line, but she looked better at seventy-seven than most women half her age.
“Why should they care about Bonaventure? Unless there’s some connection to him.”
Piper responded with her own question. “Have they arrested Leticia yet?”
“They haven’t arrested anyone. And Leticia has vanished.”
Her mouth fell open. “They must find her. Immediately.”
“Kit told me they put out an APB on her.”
She looked disgusted. “As if that ever works. I recall the police doing the same thing after your Russian friend disappeared in June. Fat lot of good that did.”
“I hope they do find her. Leticia was afraid of what she called the shadow people, especially one particular person. She was also afraid for her ghost, which must be Bonaventure. Now the ghostwriter is dead and she’s gone. I believe she’s in danger.”
“You don’t know anything about her, Marlee.”
“I know she was in prison for murder.”
Piper gave a start. “How did you find out?”
I waved away her question. “I also know you spoke with Leticia last month, the morning of the OPBA meeting, to be exact. The two of you met at Oriole Beach shortly after dawn.”
Despite the low light given off by the tabletop candles, I saw Piper blanch. “What?”
“Lionel drove you to Oriole Beach, where you met with Leticia. You and she talked by the water for about ten minutes. There was a witness.”
“You’re mistaken. No one else was there.”
“Someone was watching from the pier. That person saw you and Leticia argue. You even shook a finger at her. Apparently, the meeting doesn’t seem to have been cordial.”
Piper grabbed her half-full glass of wine and downed it in one swallow. “Why did that woman move to Oriole County? She’s been a ticking time bomb since she got here.”
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