Beth speaks. “No, I suppose I didn’t like her very much,” she says. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”
“Did you go upstairs to use the bathroom, right after Janice?” I ask.
Beth’s eyes widen. “You think I killed her, don’t you!” she says.
Oops. I may have been a bit too obvious there. “Uh... “
Beth is glaring at me. “I can’t believe this!” she exclaims.
“Well—did you go upstairs right after Janice?” I ask. “I mean, Beth, come on, you have to know you’re an obvious suspect. You were carrying the trophy that killed Janice in your bag. You had easy access to it.”
“I set my bag down at the entryway,” Beth says. “Anyone could have reached in and pulled the trophy out. My luggage isn’t locked. Everyone knew that the trophy was in there. All it would take is a quick unzip—the trophy was right on top.”
She folds her arms over her chest, squishing the muffin in her hand even more. She’s still glaring at me as she continues. “I did go upstairs to the bathroom, but when I found that Janice was in there, I decided to take a peek around. I’d heard we were going to stay with the Earth Realm coven, and I wanted to see what the guest bedrooms were like. I need a very firm mattress, you know. I found a guest room, laid down on the mattress for a few minutes, and then got up. When I came out of the room, I—”
“Wait a minute,” I say. “Sorry for interrupting. Really, I am. I know it’s rude, but I have to ask a quick question.”
“What’s that?” Beth asks.
I adjust my glasses, and then watch her carefully as I ask, “What did you think of the bed?”
“Hmm?” says Beth.
“The bed in Cora’s guest bedroom,” I say. “What did you think of it? You said that you like a really firm mattress. So did the bed fit the bill? Was it firm or soft?”
Beth looks off to the side. I’ve seen this look before, in other suspects. It usually means they are lying.
Beth hesitates before speaking. “It was ... sort of in between,” she says.
I don’t like her answer. “Was it on the firmer side of in between, or was it on the softer side?” I ask.
She hesitates again. Then she says, “Firmer.” More hesitation. “Yes, it was on the firmer side.”
“Got it,” I say. “Okay, you can go on. What happened next?”
Beth looks relieved that we’re moving on. “Well, next I went to see if the bathroom was unoccupied. I knocked and no one answered. I opened the door, and that’s when I saw Janice—dead in the tub.”
Beth frowns and looks down at her coffee. She bends down and picks it up. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get that image out of my mind,” she says. Then, she shivers. I know that it’s not due to the cold, though it is in the twenties outside. Instead, she’s shivering at the recollection of the body.
She holds the cup out to me. “You know, I don’t think I can drink this now,” she says. “I’d better keep warming up.”
She practically throws the muffin at me. I stuff it back into my pocket and just barely free my hand before she shoves the coffee cup at me again. As I struggle to grip it without spilling all over myself, she gives me a very unhappy look.
“When you said you were a detective, I thought you’d get to the bottom of things quickly. Instead, you're poking around in old business that would be better off forgotten. I haven’t thought about the rumors about my husband and Janice in years.”
“Oh, you haven’t?” I ask. I study her face.
“No,” she responds, narrowing her eyes and lifting her chin. “The past is best left in the past, you know. I’ve put all that behind me. Henry and I are very happy now. Besides, it seems obvious to me who killed Janice.”
“Who?” I ask.
“Well,” Beth says. “When I came out of the guest room, I saw Boris hurrying down the last few steps. What was he doing upstairs?”
She asks me as if I might know. I shrug. “He did say that he had to use the restroom,” I say.
“Well, that sounds like an excuse to me, to creep into the bathroom and kill Janice,” Beth says.
“Could be,” I admit. “I’m just not sure.”
“Well, maybe you’d better find out,” Beth says. Then she turns on her heels and jogs away.
Chapter Seven
I watch Beth jog away from me, back to Henry. She leans towards him and begins whispering. Then she points to me.
Well, if I’ve learned one thing about being a PI it’s that interrogation isn’t exactly a way to start friendships. I’ve upset more than a few people over the years. I wouldn’t say that I’ve developed a thick skin, but I have learned not to take every little indication of upset personally.
If I want to get to the truth, I have to piss a few people off.
It’s unavoidable, unfortunately.
I used to daydream that I did a job that caused nothing but happiness. I fantasized about working in a flower shop.
There was one on Main Street in particular, called “Happy Day-Zee’s”. A woman called Zee works there, and I’d fantasize to myself: What would it be like to be Zee? She seemed to always be smiling, and kind of floating around her shop. She got to hand out beautiful bouquets of flowers to her customers, and when she wasn’t serving a customer, she was working on flower arrangement.
‘Wouldn’t that just be the most peaceful kind of work,’ I used to think, over and over.
Then, one day I had an epiphany.
I would be bored working in a flower shop. It’s not in my nature to arrange flowers all day. It is in my nature to seek justice. I’m curious. I’m determined. I get a rush of adrenaline when I feel I’m closing in on solving a case. I love the fact that I carry a handgun and handcuffs in my messenger bag. I love that every day’s different. I love the thrill that comes when I know I’m hot on a criminal’s trail.
However, right now, standing in the shadows of the park and looking over the odd, lit up scene before me, I realize that I am not hot on anyone’s track.
This case is pretty cold.
In the single-digits, I’d say. I only have a hazy, vague idea of what happened at Cora’s house, and I have way too many suspects. I have to narrow down my list—and fast.
Beth has pointed her finger at Boris, but a quick survey of the tennis court informs me that Boris is still totally tied up with his tennis match.
My interview with Boris is going to have to wait. It makes sense to me that Beth has implicated him. After all, Fred did say that Janice was close to several of the players—including Henry and Boris.
Maybe Janice’s affair with Boris was more than just a rumor. Maybe the two were lovers and had gotten into a fight.
I was by no means an ‘A’ student in my PI program, but one lecture, in particular, did stick with me. It was all about family ties and murder. My professor impressed upon us that in seventy-five percent of murder cases the victim is close to the killer. When two people are in a relationship, said my professor, emotions run high. He said that if we were to investigate a murder, we should always include the spouse as a prime suspect.
Since Janice wasn’t married, I have little to go on except the claim that she had a history with two of the competitors. That means that I should have Boris and Henry on top of my suspect list. Since Henry was in the kitchen and dining room, and certainly not upstairs in the bathroom while Janice was murdered, I cross him off of my mental list. A killer must have motive and means, after all.
I chew my lip, thinking hard. Jealousy could motivate Boris or Henry’s spouses to kill Janice too, especially if the affair was still going on. I add Beth and Boleslava to my list. Because Boleslava was in the kitchen and dining room during the murder, I cross her off.
Who else should be on my list? Who else could have snuck upstairs into that bathroom?
Fred or Marve! I snap my fingers together. They stayed outside after the rest of us headed in. Fred wanted to look at the stars, and Marve decided t
o film it. Come to think of it, I didn’t see either of them come into the kitchen to fill out a plate with spaghetti and meatballs, while I was serving mine.
I might not know what their motivation could be, but they certainly had the means to kill Janice. Beth’s duffel was right there in the lobby, according to Beth, and it would be easy to take the trophy out and jaunt upstairs with it.
I’m adding Fred and Marve to my suspect list.
There. Now I’m really getting somewhere! My list is just in my head, but it will have to do.
Boris
Beth
Fred
Marve
I spot Cora, standing to the side of the tennis court, watching the game. She’s wearing a baby carrier on her chest, and I have a feeling I know who’s inside. Cora is rarely out and about without her familiar, and the little Chihuahua is known to love being snuggled up in the baby carrier.
Since I can’t interview Boris at the moment, I walk over to Cora. I sneak a peek at Blueberry Muffin and see that she’s nestled in a cocoon of fleece blankets, dozing happily.
“How are you doing?” I ask Cora. I’m thinking of the remains of the crime scene in her bathroom.
Cora is a neat freak. I’m sure she doesn’t like the fact that her pristine white tiles are splattered in blood.
“Good,” Cora says, surprising me. “You know, at first I wasn’t happy about all of this. It just feels so chaotic. So messy. But you were right, you know.”
“I know,” I say. It feels good to be told I was right. I’m not quite sure which of the many things I was right about that she’s referring to, so I ask, “About what?”
“About opening the portal,” Cora says. “It’s a magical portal. There’s no telling what kind of amazing beings could come through there. Our world has become so much bigger. I met my husband-to-be, for goodness sake—the father of my baby.” Cora has a huge grin on her face as she places her hands on her belly. “I never thought I could be this happy.”
“And that’s saying a lot,” I say. “You were happy before you got engaged and pregnant.”
Cora laughs. “I was, wasn’t I? And now I’m even happier. It’s a miracle. So, if I have to put up with a mess in my bathtub now and again, so be it. I just have to go with the flow.”
“Wow, Cora,” I say. “I’m glad you’re being so relaxed about this! You sound like Marley.”
Cora laughs some more. “I think it’s the hormones from the pregnancy,” she says. “My doctor says my body is flooded with prolactin, which has tranquilizing effects.”
I laugh along with her. “That explains a lot,” I say.
“Sorry if I wasn’t on-board with this investigation right from the beginning,” Cora says. “I just needed to sit with it for a minute. Now I’m completely—”
Suddenly, the sound of a whistle interrupts us. “Tweet! Tweet!” On the court, Max is motioning with his hands. “Out of bounds!” he calls, once the whistle drops from his lips.
Pat grumbles something inaudible and shakes her head as if she’s not happy.
“Yes!” I hear Boris shout.
Blueberry Muffin stirs in her carrier. The loud whistle woke her. Her mouth stretches open in a yawn.
“I’m glad you’re on-board with the investigation,” I say, as I watch Blueberry look around with wide, bleary eyes. “And you’re right. It is kind of chaotic.”
“We can handle it,” Cora says. She bounces Blueberry up and down a few times as if she’s bouncing a baby. “Can’t we, little Muffin?”
There’s a lull in our conversation, and when Cora speaks again, I know why. “Penny,” Cora says. “Muffin was just filling me in on some information that I think could help us with this case.”
“Telepathically?” I ask. “You guys do that too?”
“Mmm hmm,” Cora says happily. “We have been since she moved in with me. Haven’t we, little Muffin?”
Cora scratches Blueberry’s chin and Blueberry gives a happy little yip.
I look down at the little bug-eyed furball. She looks back at me and blinks twice.
“What did she say?” I ask Cora.
“Blueberry said that she was in the entryway, guarding over the front door and she saw Boris take the trophy out of Beth’s bag.”
“Guarding over the front door hmm?” I ask, eyeing the little dog.
Cora is quiet, as though she’s listening. Then she laughs. “Yes,” she says. “Blueberry insists that Chihuahuas are small but fierce. She says she’s a skilled guard dog. I have to say, I believe it.”
Blueberry lifts her little black upper lip and shows her teeth in a strange kind of smile. Goodness, her teeth are sharp. I feel as though she’s making a point by putting them on display for me.
Point taken. I wouldn’t want to have this little girl bite at my ankles.
“Okay,” I say with a laugh. “You’re a fierce guard dog.” I pat Blueberry’s head, and she wiggles beneath my palm. “You know,” I say. “That’s really interesting. Can you ask Blueberry if she saw Boris climb the stairs?”
I allow for silence as Cora communicates with her familiar.
After a moment, Cora shakes her head. “Blueberry says that she ran off right after she watched Boris take out the trophy. She wanted to check on the rest of the house.”
“Shoot,” I say. “I wish Blueberry saw more. That would let us verify what Beth told me about seeing Boris on the staircase.”
“You already interviewed Beth?” asks Cora. “Wow, Penny, you’re all business! I thought for sure you’d watch one of the games first—especially since Max is out there looking as fine as ever, I have to say.” Cora wiggles her brows.
I look out at the court. Max has taken a knee. Every time he follows the ball back and forth across the net, I catch sight of his handsome profile. He does look good out there.
It is nice to watch the game. For a few minutes, I become hypnotized by the thunk, thunk, thunk of racket-against-ball as the two teams volley back and forth. Then Boris spikes the ball, and Camille swings for it but misses. The ball sails past her into the far corner of the court and then out of bounds.
“Game!” Max shouts. “Six games to four. That ends the second set. ”
It’s clear that Boris and Boleslava have won the second group of games, and therefore will move on in the tournament. I still don’t understand the whole game, set, match thing. It’s a good thing Max is judging instead of me! As the players leave the court, the spell that was cast by the rhythmic volley is broken. “It is fun to watch them play, isn’t it?” I say.
“They really are good,” Cora agrees. Even Blueberry gives a little bark of agreement.
I continue, “But we only have the weekend. I knew I had to get down to business. I saw Beth over there by the playground alone, so I kind of cornered her.”
“I bet she wasn’t too thrilled about that,” Cora guesses.
I shake my head. “Nope. She wasn’t. Didn’t even drink the coffee I brought her. But it had to be done. It was clear that she was not a fan of Janice.”
“No?” Cora says, widening her eyes. “Well now, that’s interesting, isn’t it?”
“It sure is,” I say, nodding. In my mind, I think over my conversation with Beth. “She said that Janice was always seeking attention. She even thought that Janice might have started the romance rumors herself.”
“You know what they say in marketing,” Cora says, “There’s no such thing as bad press.”
“Right,” I say, chewing my lip. Internally, I’m still processing the conversation I had with Beth.
“You know,” I say. “She said something else interesting. She said that while she was waiting for Janice to come out of the bathroom, she laid down on the guest bed. She said that she likes a mattress that’s pretty firm.”
“Oh, then she won’t like my guest bed,” Cora says. “She should probably stay up at the building site with Silas tonight. He’s going to put out sleeping mats and sleeping bags. That will be firm for sure
.”
“Why wouldn’t she like your guest bed?” I ask.
“That thing is like a marshmallow,” Cora says. “It’s so soft! That’s how my mom likes it when she comes in from Arizona to visit. She made me get two pillow toppers for it. The minute you lie down on it, you sink down about two feet—no exaggeration. I can’t stand it, but that’s what my mom likes, so...” Cora shrugs.
“Beth lied to me!” I say. “She must not have tested the bed at all!”
“Sounds like it,” Cora says. “If she had tried it out, she would have never described it as firm.”
“I could tell she was lying!” I say proudly.
Just then Marley approaches us. “You’re a master of psychology, Penny Banks!” she says cheerily. Then, she slings an arm around my shoulder. “You could tell who was lying?”
“Beth,” I say.
“Ah ha!” Marley says with a smile. “So you’ve solved the case already? Beth is the killer?”
I shake my head. “It’s not that simple,” I say. “We have lots of work left. In fact....” I watch as Boris leaves the court. Boleslava wanders away from him, towards Annie’s little concession stand. Boris leans down to put his racket into his case.
“I think I just spotted our chance to question the next suspect,” I say.
“Oh! Can I help?” Marley asks, jumping up and down next to me, jostling me as she bounces.
I remain planted on the ground. That’s how it usually is between Marley and me. I’m the one rooted to the ground while she can sometimes have her head in the clouds.
I know. I’m not exactly the most grounded person in the world. But compared to my free-spirited friend, I’m as steady as a rock.
I eye Boris. He’s big. Under the lights, his transparency makes him pretty creepy looking. I find that I’m not quite as comfortable with the idea of upsetting him as I was with the idea of upsetting Beth.
I don’t think it would be fun to be around Boris when he was angry.
“Yeah,” I say to Marley. “You can help... but let me take the lead on the questions, okay? I’m the one who graduated from a PI program, after all.”
The Case of the Trust Spell: A Hillcrest Witch Mystery (Hillcrest Witch Cozy Mystery Book 4) Page 7