Candace McCauley, P.I Mysteries (5 Cozy Mystery Books Collection)

by Kira Reese

  “I am, too. You can go with me to Goff and Sons but stand in the doorway while I make my search. You aren’t allowed to do any actual sweep of the place.” She agreed but I thought she seemed reluctant to go at all. “If you feel squeamish about it, I’ll go alone.”

  “I don’t feel that way. I want to go, but it will seem strange to me to see that basement for the first time, much less a crime scene.”

  Sharon walked in the door before me when we got to the mortuary. Catherine was on the phone and hurriedly ended the call. She turned a false-friendly face toward us. I pulled the search warrant from my purse and handed it to her. Her eyes grew round, and I believe it was then that she realized I had been at Elizabeth’s visitation without having a clue of who the woman was. Her eyes flickered for a moment, and without a word, she swept her hands toward the door that led to the basement stairs. She did not question Sharon’s presence there. I figured she had no idea if Sharon was allowed to follow me or not. More than likely, she wanted both of us out of sight so she could continue what sounded like a personal conversation on the phone.

  The short hallway downstairs was flanked with two closed doors on either side. Officer Checkers had told me which door led to the crime scene. Inside was a small outer room that held catalogs having to do with mortuary supplies and two tables that held instruments unknown to me. We continued into the larger inner room. A blood stain that was several times as wide as the victim remained on the floor. I stood and observed the entire scene. The chalk mark outlining Vickie’s body was somewhat smudged at this point, but I could tell that she was found on her side. An outline was chalked to show location of the gun, as well. My eyes searched the room from where I stood. I felt and heard Sharon’s breath on my back. I told her she did not have to stay. She assured me she was fine. My gaze swept the room again. Something caught my eye. Hidden behind one of the legs of the large desk was a protruding piece of paper. The cops had missed it. I stepped around the outline and pulled at it gently. The loosely wadded paper released from under the edge of the leg. I pulled my gloves on and spread it out.

  Your take is greedy. I don’t like people who cheat me.

  “What does it say?” whispered Sharon. If the note weren’t a serious one, I would have laughed at her need to whisper. “Is it a clue?”

  I spoke aloud. “The cops missed it, and yes, it could be a good clue.” I took another long look around the room. Then I started pulling drawers open. The police beat me to anything of interest that may have been inside them. I turned around and joined Sharon at the door. The note was written in half-cursive, half-printed letters. I read it again before slipping it into a plastic bag, which went into my purse. I pulled the gloves off, turning them inside out as I did and stuffing them into the pocket of my jeans.

  “I wonder where they keep the coffins,” said Sharon. Her eyes were glued to a closed door.

  “Probably behind one of those doors,” I said. “They have to store them someplace.”

  Once back upstairs, I asked Catherine to lead me to the office door. It was locked. She inserted a key and stood back for me to go in. I looked at her long enough to give her the message that she wasn’t needed inside. Sharon stood inside the doorway while I again searched with my eyes first. I went to the tall file cabinet and began opening drawers. It seemed everything current was in file folders. The tabs were handwritten in a backward slant, indicating to me it was a left-handed person who kept the files. I glanced at Catherine a short distance away. She wrote something on a pad using her left hand. I thumbed through the files and saw Anne Mayes’s name on one of them. I pulled it out and opened it. A slip of paper fell out and I bent to pick it up. Slipping it back into the file, I laid the folder on top of the cabinet. I thumbed through more folders and was ready to give up when a file slightly thicker than the others felt different under my fingers. I pulled it out.

  “This is interesting,” I murmured. Inside was a list of things belonging to a deceased man. A Rolex watch, silver chain, two men’s rings, one diamond, and a gold chain were listed. After each listing, a monetary value was noted. I took the folder and placed it on top of Sharon’s mother’s file. Taking both, I told Sharon I felt I had enough to go on. I jotted down the names of the two files I was taking and handed it to Catherine. I asked her to sign that she knew I was taking the files. Her lips pursed, and for the first time, fine lines showed on her taut face. At my request, she made a copy of the signed note, and I took the original.

  Chapter 8

  Spreading Web

  From the funeral home, we walked toward Sharon’s car. “What was that all about?” asked Sharon.

  “I took your mother’s file and another one of interest. Did you know anyone named Peter Pemberton?”

  “Yes, he died a few weeks before my mother. The Pembertons are very wealthy but very approachable. You would never know they are so rich by the way they act.” Sharon presumed I took her mother’s file since I was on the case and didn’t ask questions about that. “What did you find in Peter’s file?”

  I told her of the list. “I took your mother’s, because a slip of paper fell out when I opened it. Do you want to know what was on it?”

  She was the driver today, and so I read the note. It listed the antique brooch and its value, which was more than I ever imagined. I asked Sharon if she knew the value. She told me her mother always remarked it was a rare piece, and she presumed it was worth a lot of money. When she heard the appraised value she was astounded at the amount.

  “I want to talk with someone close to Peter Pemberton,” I said. “His wife or an adult child would be my choice. I want to know if he asked for the jewelry to be buried with him.”

  “I know his son well. He is big in philanthropic causes and has helped women in my organization get educations and good jobs. I’ll call him when we get home. He lives a mile or so from me around the bend of the lake.”

  By evening, Thomas Pemberton arrived at Sharon’s home. He insisted on coming there when he heard why she wanted him to meet me. His handshake was firm and quick, and he told me to call him Tom.

  “I canceled something tonight to meet you. I am anxious to hear what you have to say. We always wondered if my father’s favorite items actually got buried with him. Now Sharon tells me she found her mother’s brooch in one of the shops here. I am appalled that the mortuary would steal anything from dead people.”

  We talked of my suspicions that there could be more people whose last wishes were not granted due to theft before their burials. I made a copy of the list from his father’s file and handed it to him.

  “Do they still keep records in paper file folders?” he asked.

  “They do, but they surely keep them on computers, as well.” I used that policy in my own office, though after cases were closed the papers were shredded since everything was on computers and backed up.

  Tom read the list. His surprise was not the monetary value but why values were listed at all. “I thought that was odd, also,” I said. “My first advice, if you want it, is to trace the jewelry to see if it has shown up someplace like Anne’s brooch did. It is a possibility that the items were stolen from your father before his burial and then appraised and sold off.”

  We sat in silence, digesting our thoughts. Tom stood quickly and shook my hand again. He was a man with a purpose. He promised to let us know if any items were traced. I told him to let us know but also to report it to Officer Sam Checkers if anything like that showed up. I assured him it was possible his father had taken the jewelry to his grave as he wished.

  When Tom left, Sharon said to me, “Do you really think that happened?”

  I shook my head.

  Sharon and I then made plans for the next day.

  ***

  The first thing we did in the morning was talk with Detective Bruce McMillan. Thick elbows rested on the edge of his desk, and he dipped his head into his hands.

  “I don’t know how they missed something like that,” he said. �
�This can be analyzed for handwriting and we may at least get a profile.” He thanked me and told me Officer Checkers had informed him of my purpose in Sand Ridge. “Ben Jones speaks highly of you. Let us know if we can help. I appreciate you bringing me anything that will speed the solving of these murders along.”

  I knew when I left that I would continue to work with Sam Checkers, but it made me feel good to know that the detective’s door was open to me, as well.

  Once outside, Sharon asked, “What next, Private Eye?” She was getting into the excitement of mystery solving with me.

  “Next we talk to Psychic Janice Scholten,” I said. “Do we need an appointment or do people just walk in?”

  “How would I know? I’ve never consulted a psychic in my life,” said Sharon. “Maybe I should since she may be able to tell me why I have never found the right man for myself.”

  At moments like these, I was reminded of why Sharon and I had been lifelong best friends.

  “I say we just walk in for starters,” I said.

  We soon arrived at a weathered Cape Cod house on a side street located a block from the main business district. The widow’s walk on top was missing, though it looked as if it had never been there to begin with. A sign midway up the drive pointed us to a side door. The shingle read Janice Scholten, Psychic. No specific business hours were posted. I rang the bell that echoed softly in the hallway. A bleached blonde greeted us. She appeared to be in her mid-forties after I briefly scrutinized fine lines accentuated under heavy makeup. She and Sharon recognized one another, and I was introduced as a good friend of Sharon’s.

  “Are you here for a reading?” asked Janice. “Come in and sit down. I’ll be with you in a few minutes.” She slipped through pocket doors to the left of a small sitting area and disappeared.

  “Should I have introduced you as an investigator?” whispered Sharon.

  “I will do that when the time is right.”

  Janice reappeared and looked as if more makeup had been dabbed over the rest of it. She smiled and asked which of us wanted a reading. I leaned forward.

  “Neither of us wants a reading today,” I said. “I hope we are not taking up your valuable time.”

  At first, Janice looked surprised and then returned to her amiable self. “Of course not. I don’t know how I can help you, but go ahead and state your reason for being here.”

  It was then I told her my profession. “I want to know what business your husband is in. I mean, what is his line of work?”

  “Sean is a jewelry appraiser for a company in the city. He isn’t here right now. It is the middle of the day, and he doesn’t get home until around seven. Some days he spends the nights in our apartment in New York.” She either was a very good actress, or she was completely at ease discussing her husband’s career. “Why do you ask me?”

  “I am sure you know of the recent deaths of the Goffs,” I said. “Did you and Sean know them well?”

  She faltered. “We knew them, of course. The Goff family has been here for ages. I grew up here and Sean moved here in his teens with his family. It is terrible they both ended up dead in such horrific ways. I wonder who could have done such a dastardly thing.”

  I bit my tongue so as not to voice my opinion of perhaps a psychic having the ability to know. I wanted to talk about jewelry stolen from dead bodies, too, and if she thought her husband was the thief in some way. Naturally, I said none of this. It was time to go. I thanked Janice for her time but not before noting her hands. Nails were perfectly manicured, and there were no marks of any kind, unless I wanted to mention beginning age spots not completely darkened yet.

  Sharon and I did not speak until we reached my car.

  “Janice didn’t seem to know Sean and Vickie were an item,” I said.

  “She knows,” said Sharon. “What I find interesting is that Sean is in the jewelry appraising business. I always thought he worked for investors.”

  “Maybe he does and the investors invest in rare gems.”

  Her wide eyes stared at me. “You’re right. I never knew he worked for investors in that business.”

  I laughed. “Don’t jump to conclusions. We have no proof at all that they invest in gems. I just threw that out as a possibility. Remember, Janice said he is an appraiser.”

  In my mind, I was connecting the dots like Sharon was. Before pulling out of the driveway, I glanced at the front window on the side of the sitting room. A curtain flicked and then closed.

  Chapter 9

  The Psychic

  Two days passed since Sharon and I visited Janice Scholten. I told Sharon we should sit down and pool our observations to date. Even though my friend was impulsive in her conclusions, I knew she could have seen something I missed. We went through what we knew so far. Both the mortician and his wife had been murdered at different times and in the same manner. Neither seemed to be in love with the other, and the marriage had not been a happy one. Vickie Goff had had an ongoing affair with the psychic’s husband, Sean Scholten. Sean had not been seen since the murder of Vickie.

  I suggested to Sharon she call Officer Sam Checkers and ask him if Sean had been interviewed yet. “I want to know if he has disappeared or not,” I said. “Don’t ask the officer that question, but if he tells you yes then that says he is around someplace.”

  “He may stay in the New York apartment while this is all going on,” said Sharon. I agreed with her as she picked up her cell and dialed Officer Checkers.

  The conversation was short, and Sharon told me the news. “He said they interviewed him once right after Vickie’s murder, but they have not seen him since that time. He didn’t say if they had looked for him or not, but I got the feeling he was holding something back.”

  “They can’t give out too much information to the general public. It hampers ongoing investigations. But I find it curious that Sean has been seen that one time and not since.”

  After several hours, both of us tired of the conversation. I needed to find the proverbial needle in the haystack that would spur this investigation forward. Slow times like this occurred in the middle of trying to solve cases, and those times made me more impatient. I stood up.

  “Tonight we forget this case and have a dinner out,” I said. “We need a night out with good food and good music.”

  “Are you hoping to dance with someone special tonight?” said Sharon.

  “I already have someone special, and it would be good to have a slow dance with him,” I said. “I’ll be on the lookout for you, though.”

  “I don’t mind driving tonight. The restaurant I’m thinking of is in over in Schroeppel. It’s not far from here but worth the drive.”

  I told her it was her choice. We arrived at the West Pier Restaurant around eight that night. The place buzzed with diners. Music played at the opposite end as dancers swirled to the tunes. We were led to a table for two near the windows. We ordered wine and looked at the menu.

  “I’m going for the salmon,” I said. “What looks good to you?”

  Sharon decided on the prime rib and the cocktail server set our wine on the table. Sharon gazed around the room and then her eyes locked on someone.

  “Randall Hunt is here,” she said.

  I turned slightly to see the man who held her gaze. “What is so strange about that?” I had to admit he didn’t seem to be the partying type.

  “He is with a very good looking woman. Can you see her? She is definitely much younger than he is,” said Sharon. “Good going, Randall.”

  The woman with the mortician was in her twenties. Long sand-white hair looped over one shoulder. The muted lights enhanced a beauty that reminded one of Cinderella, herself. At least she looked like the fairy-tale stepdaughter. I found it hard to take my eyes off her. Sharon quickly returned to her glass of wine.

  “He saw me,” she said. “I should say he glared at me.”

  “He probably is embarrassed you saw him with that beauty. I wonder where someone in their fifties could find some
one like her. She isn’t the woman who came in with him to Beverly’s, is she?” I said.

  “You’re right,” said Sharon. She lowered her voice. “He came into the shop with his wife. I wonder where she is tonight.”

  If nothing else, this town was one that held enough drama to make a person stick around just to see what happened next.

  Our dinners arrived and we concentrated on the presentation. The first bite told me this was first class all the way.

  “Oh my gosh,” said Sharon. The couple next to our table glanced our way. In a lower voice, Sharon said, “Sean Scholten just joined the pair. He greeted the blonde with a kiss.”

  “Really?” I said. There wasn’t much else to say at this point, but I had to turn around. Randall stood and exchanged places with Sean, who now sat to the blonde’s right. Randall’s back was to us at this point. I knew he told Sean of our presence as soon as the psychic’s husband looked in our direction. We resumed eating but failed to taste the rest of the meal, each lost in our own thoughts. I knew Sharon was eager to talk about the scene. She glanced their way on occasion and then told me they were leaving.

  “Are all three leaving together?” I asked. She nodded.

  After they left, we talked in lowered voices about what we had witnessed. “It looks like Sean is moving on very well without Vickie,” I said. “I find it interesting that he and Randall seem buddy-buddy. Wonder if they were negotiating a business deal of some kind.”

  “I can’t figure out how Randall came in with the blonde and she ended up being cozy with Sean,” said Sharon.

  That part was a mystery. Adrenalin rushed through me when I knew at least one of those haystack needles had emerged. Which one of the three killed the Goffs, and if Vickie had been involved in the thefts of valuables, why kill her off? I recalled the note. Maybe she was getting too greedy for their tastes.

  Back at Sharon’s house, we plopped down on her couch. I moved to allow her to stretch out and took the loveseat for myself.