“I stand corrected.”
“You’re the reason they called Belinda Larson to the office. You’re here to find out how the murder weapon got removed from the locked cabinet.”
“Officer Reed is talking to her right now. I decided she might be more open with a female officer.”
“Well, while you and your team of investigators are moving at a sloth-like pace, I’ve been finding a few things out on my own. Which reminds me, did you find the flattened box I mentioned in the park on the day of the murder? That was my bonus freebie, by the way.”
The last part made his jaw tighten. “Bonus freebie? Does that mean you have found other pieces of evidence? Because this isn’t a bartering game, Miss Taylor, it’s a murder investigation.”
“I’m well aware of that. But if I give up a pertinent piece of information, something I’ve found through grit, determination andâ”
“And climbing trees and sneaking through back gates.”
“What can I say, a good reporter does whatever it takes to get her story. Besides, I started Monday morning with an assignment to cover the long career and retirement of Alder Stevens. Only that assignment was cut short by his murder. In a way, I’m just finishing that story. You knowâdoing my job.”
Detective Jackson stepped closer, close enough that his big steel-toed boots tapped the front of my sneakers. Close enough that I could smell his aftershave, which was a pleasing, musky, woody scent. His earlier amused, smug grin was replaced by an amber eyed glower, reminding me of a wolf. “You can do your job any time and any way you like, Bluebird, just as long as you stay out of my investigation.”
“So we’re back to Bluebird?”
He stepped back with a broad shouldered shrug. “I like it. It fits.”
“Don’t I get a say in it?”
“Nope. Now why don’t you take your expired visitor’s pass and go back to the newsroom. I’m sure you’ve got plenty of work to do on the summer program article.”
“That? Please. I wrote that one while I was taking a midday nap. It practically wrote itself. But before you start ordering me about again, I’m leaving. I think I’ve found out everything I need to know. And frankly, I’ll be leaving here with a few juicy morsels.” I tapped my temple. “It’s all stored up here.”
Jackson stared at me, apparently trying to see if I was bluffing. The truth was, I had some juicy tidbits, I just wasn’t sure how they were connected to each other or to Alder’s murder.
“If you’ve uncovered something, you can’t withhold evidence.”
“No? How about I give you something, and you tell me if you’ve found any persons of interest?”
“How about you tell me and I won’t haul you down to the station for questioning.”
I straightened. “On what grounds?”
“For starters? Entering a locked school campus without permission. You could have snuck through that back gate for all kinds of nefarious reasons.”
My stiff posture crumpled some. “Fine, you’ve got me there, I suppose.”
Most everything I’d heard about Alder was strictly hearsay, unsubstantiated stories and rumors from students. The yearbooks and peep hole were probably so far removed from the case, if I told Jackson it would probably give him a good laugh. And I didn’t need to feed his ego. It was already enormous. Like his arms.
“There isn’t much. It’s just that I noticed that the school kitchen uses Bounty Foods for their canned fruits and vegetables.”
“Wow, I didn’t realize you had something so important. I’ll probably be able to close this case by noon with that sort of evidence.”
I thought I was saving myself a moment of mocking by holding back some of the irrelevant information, but apparently not. “And you, Detective Jackson are quite a Sherlock Holmes. If you paid any attention to detail, you would have noticed that the flattened box you pulled from the trash can in the park was a Bounty Foods box. Canned peaches, if my memory serves me right. Which it always does.”
“I don’t know if I need Sherlock Holmes skills to read the label on a flattened box. But I should probably tell you that Bounty Foods is a local cannery. The distribution facility is right here in Smithville. Almost every restaurant, school and food establishment within a two hundred mile radius uses Bounty Foods. But I’ll make a mental note of that. In the meantime, I’ve got work to do. And just a warning, if you’re going out the back gate, the kitchen manager is like a pit bull when she’s mad.”
“Yes, I’ve met the pit bull. Thank you and good luck with the investigation, Detective Jackson.” I stopped, sure I’d caught him divulging an investigation secret. Maybe Mills was a person of interest and she was angry when he questioned her. “One question, how do you know that Ms. Mills is mean?”
He flashed a far too white grin. “I went to school here and I may or may not have started a few food fights in the cafeteria.”
“Yep, I can see you as a food fight instigator. Good day.”
Chapter 23
The busy morning had left me hungry for lunch. I’d collected a few puzzle pieces but none of them fit together. If nothing else, I would at least have my lackluster article about the summer work program for my Junction Times debut. It wasn’t ideal or anything I could be proud of, but I figured it would go mostly unread, leaving me an opportunity for a second debut article next week. Hopefully, by then, I’d have something more interesting to write about.
I was still shaking off my somewhat passive-aggressive chat with Detective Jackson. Of course I couldn’t blame him for trying to keep the integrity of his investigation by putting a stop to any meddling by a curious, ambitious journalist. Just like he couldn’t blame me for trying to meddle in the investigation. I was, after all, a curious, ambitious journalist.
I hadn’t figured out my next plan of action yet. Mostly because I was too light headed from hunger to think straight.
Raine’s Psychic Shop was inside a cute, early century cottage on Edgewood Drive, just a few blocks from the newspaper office. She lived in the back of the house and conducted her tarot card reading and fortune telling business in the front room. I parked my jeep and skipped the newspaper office, heading straight to Raine’s shop. I didn’t have the energy to chat with Myrna. I needed sustenance in the form of a Katherine Hepburn, a chicken salad sandwich on pumpernickel with a side of citrusy fruit salad.
Raine was standing in the side yard outside her shop, filling a two-tiered birdbath. The shop was painted a creamy cerulean blue with ivory trim and dark pink highlights painted around the windows. The front door, my favorite part of the house, was a Dutch door painted navy blue. The top half of the door was open, and patchouli incense smoke streamed out over the front stoop.
“I hope you’re ready for lunch,” I said as I swung open the white gate to enter the front yard of the shop. “I’m half past starved and two shades past famished. Whatever that means. See, I’m just babbling because of low blood sugar.”
Raine laughed as she walked over to turn off the hose. “I’m hungry too. Your sister had me holding light strands as she hooked them up on the barn rafters. She sure has no problem climbing those high ladders. Makes me dizzy just watching her. I told her she should hire Mike Frey. He’s a house painter.”
“That’s my sister’s motto. Don’t let any job be done by a man, when it can just as easily be done by a woman.” I followed Raine into the shop. The front room, where all the psychic stuff happened, was kept dark and incense filled for ambience. The two front windows were covered in thick, gold and blue damask curtains. Victorian style lampshades with scallops and fringe gave the room a dated but gothic feel. Two tall dark green tufted chairs sat on either side of a tiny round walnut table with the obligatory crystal ball as a centerpiece. The carved wood mantel over the slate hearth held some of Raine’s tools of the trade, including an antique Ouija board and a stack of tarot cards.
Raine quickly gathered up a tea cup that was sitting on the table.
“We
re you reading tea leaves?” I asked.
“I do occasionally, but I find them aggravating to work with. There is never a clear message. Especially in the chamomile tea I used today. The store was out of my usual leaf reading tea, black cinnamon. It was just Marylou Tuttle anyhow. She wanted to know if she would beat her friend Rita at this summer’s pie baking event.” She rolled her eyes. “Waste of a good cup of tea. I told her I had no way of knowing if she would beat her unless I actually tried her pie.” She laughed. “I mean what a waste of time. I tell fortunes and talk to spirits. I don’t have time to predict the winner of a baking contest.”
I always tried to be supportive of Raine’s business, but like my sister, Lana, I was a realist. I needed proof. I needed tangible evidence. But Raine was my friend and she took her psychic skills very seriously. I wasn’t going to do anything that might hurt her feelings or our friendship.
Raine disappeared into the small kitchen at the back of the shop to put away the tea cup. She returned to extinguish the incense sticks. “By the way, when I was at Lana’s, Ursula came by on her break.” She rolled her eyes. “She said she couldn’t watch her brother lick mayonnaise off his fingers one more moment without wanting to bop him over the head with her thermos.”
“They are entertaining. No doubt about that.”
“I’ll say. She said something about a special monogrammed hammer that had gone missing.” Raine put the last stick of incense out. “Who monograms a hammer?”
“Ursula, apparently. And I forgot about that darn thing. I was going to look for it. It was the source of a big fight yesterday afternoon.”
“You can save yourself the time. The hammer showed up and, of all places, it was sitting in one of your kitchen drawers. Ursula went through the drawers to find a bottle opener for her soda, and there it was, the monogrammed hammer, sitting snugly in the drawer with your utensils.”
“What? How on earth did it get there?” I shook my head. “If those two weren’t so good at restoring old houses, I swear I’d think twice about keeping them on.”
“Naturally Ursula put all the blame on Henry. She said he was either losing his mind or playing tricks on her so that she would lose her mind. Either way, I think they’re both halfway to the loony bin. Of course, there’s always a more logical explanation for the hammer turning up in the drawer.”
“What, that I’m losing my mind?”
Raine grabbed her straw hat from a hook by the door. “No. The ghost might be playing tricks to get some attention. Just like the bad kid in class who acts out because no one is looking at him.”
We walked out to the sidewalk and headed toward Layers. “So you’re telling me my house is not only haunted, but it’s haunted by a troublemaker.”
“Generally, they are all troublemakers. After all, they are here because they haven’t been able to rest in peace. Usually it’s some unrequited love or a death that was never avenged or something along those lines.”
She spoke so matter-of-factly, I was almost inclined to take her seriously. I knew she believed every word, but I was still strongly in the disbeliever category. Then it occurred to me, I’d been saying no to the séance mostly because I thought it was just a silly waste of time, especially for adults. I could remember more than my share of spooky ghost stories and séances at friends’ slumber parties when I was a kid. The thought of a group of perfectly respectable and clear thinking adults holding hands around a table waiting for the spirit world to show some kind of sign that it existed seemed nothing short of ridiculous. But maybe I wasn’t being fair to Raine or to my resident ghost, I thought wryly. If I allowed Raine to have a séance in the house, it might prove to her and to my younger sister, for that matter, that there are no unhappy spirits haunting the inn. She’d have to drop the subject for good.
We picked up the pace when the mouthwatering smell of grilled onions drifted to us from the stove vent on Layers’ roof. “You know something, Raine. You’re right. Let’s have that séance at the inn.”
Raine stopped and grabbed my arm. “Really?”
I motioned toward the restaurant. “Keep it going, buddy. Remember, I’ve got low blood sugar.”
Her shoulders sank. “Oh, then we really aren’t going to have a séance. This is just you suffering from a light head.”
I started walking, and she came along too. “It probably is just that, but let’s have one anyhow. My sisters will like it too. It’s a chance to eat goodies and drink wine spritzers. And talk to ghosts, of course.”
She clapped a few times in rapid succession. “Yay. Tonight?”
“Sure, tonight works. I’ll let my sisters know.”
We reached Layers. Raine opened the door. My head grew lighter at the delicious scents floating around the restaurant. “We should invite Henry and Ursula,” Raine suggested. “Séances always work better with more people.”
“Are you sure?” I asked. “They might start arguing and scare off the spirits.”
We sat at our usual table by the window. Raine pointed to me with her menu. “You have to take this seriously and be opened minded, Sunni, or it won’t work. Spirits know when they are being mocked.” She raised her brow. “So do mediums.”
“You’re right. I will be on my best behavior, and I will open up my mind as wide as possible.”
“Woo hoo, we’re having a séance,” Raine said in a sing-song voice.
“Yes we are.” This time I pointed my menu at her. “But if nothing happens and no ghost makes contact, then we drop the subject of the haunted inn for good.” I reached across and shook her hand.
“Deal.”
Chapter 24
I was less in need of eggs than I was of a baby goat fix when I’d decided to walk to Emily’s place. And fix I got.
Tinkerbell, the gray kid, as baby goats were called, pushed her miniature hooves into my thigh as she stretched her tiny muzzle up to suck down the last few drops of milk from the bottle. Nick was cradling Cuddlebug while she took an impromptu nap after her bottle.
I stroked the top of Tinkerbell’s head. Tiny nubs of horns were just starting to sprout. “Well, it’s official. After nineteen years, I’m finally an aunt again. Only Oliver didn’t have horns.” Tinkerbell balanced on my leg. “Or hooves.” The goat pulled its mouth off the empty bottle and bleated a cute teensy wail. “Although, the sound is similar to the way Ollie sounded when he wanted more milk.” With the bottle drained, Tinkerbell jumped off of my lap and half-danced, half-leapt across the kitchen floor. Cuddlebug woke up and followed behind her.
Nick got up to lead the two kids out to the shed he had layered with warm, dry straw and a few old tires to act as jungle gyms.
Emily handed me an egg collection basket. “I’m so excited about Raine’s séance. Just think what a great marketing bonus that would be if you could advertise the inn as a haunted bed and breakfast.”
I put the basket on my arm and followed her out the back door to the chicken coop. “I’m not sure about that. It might very well keep a lot of people away. Besides, Emi, I’ve agreed to let Raine do this so she can stop obsessing about the so-called ghost at Cider Ridge Inn. She’s even got Ursula and Henry convinced that some otherworldly entity is watching them work. I’ll let Raine do her thing. She’ll see there is nothing unusual about the house except that it is old and creaky.”
“You never know what will happen.”
“Yes, I do. We’ll fill ourselves on sandwiches, potato salad and wine spritzers, and Raine will eventually be full and tipsy enough not to care about the lack of spirits. And that will put an end to it.”
Emily grabbed a bag of scratch from the storage bin outside the coop. Her hens came scurrying toward us in a mad frenzy. “I’ll keep them busy with food. There should only be a few eggs left in the next boxes. I got most of them this morning.”
I looked around the chicken yard with noticeable apprehension.
Emily sensed my fear and laughed. “Don’t worry, I’ve got the roosters
in their cages. You’re safe to wander, free from attack.”
“I wasn’t afraid. Terrified maybe but never afraid. After all they are just birds.” Right then one of the hens came full fury with beating wings out from the nest boxes, startling me into dropping the basket.
Emily had another good laugh. “What is happening at work? Lana seemed to think you were working on the murder case.”
“The police are working on it. I’m just snooping around to see if I can find out what happened to Alder Stevens. He just didn’t seem like a prime murder target. Just an old guy who worked hard his entire life and then lost his wife right at the time he was suppose to retire and enjoy his time off.” I pulled a warm egg out of a straw nest and placed it in the basket.
Emily doled out the cracked corn. Her hens waltzed around her, pushing each other to get to the goodies. “I agree. I don’t see how he could have had too many enemies. Is it possible that it was just a horrible act of violence with no motive or target, and Alder just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time?”
“I suppose that’s possible but highly unlikely. It seems the killer went through a great deal of effort to steal the murder weapon from the pawn shop.” A plump rust colored hen sat in the next nest box. Her beady black eyes seemed to be saying, ‘move on unless you want your hand pecked’ so I did just that. “I’m sure the plan was to use a weapon that couldn’t be traced back to the owner. They tossed it into the ravine at the park, only that’s where their plan went awry. Rather than get washed down to the sea with last winter’s runoff, the gun landed on a pylon where the agile and athletic Detective Jackson could easily retrieve it.”
“Ah yes, Detective Jackson. I understand aside from being a good detective, he is quite the player. Best stay clear of that guy.”
“I’m trying my best to do just that. Only this murder investigation keeps putting us in the same place. I think he’s getting rather annoyed about finding me in the middle of his investigation. But that just makes me want to work harder to find the murderer first.”
Death in the Park (Firefly Junction Cozy Mystery Book 1) Page 12