Dead Tide (Blackmoore Sisters Romantic Cozy Mystery Series)

by Dobbs, Leighann

  “Yeah, lucky for me he died of natural causes.” Celeste bit into another tomato slice.

  “Or unlucky for you,” Jolene said, “because he did have some interesting news.”

  “Really?” Morgan turned from the cabinet with the homemade herbal tea bag she’d apparently been searching for.

  “Yeah, I was just telling Jolene that he said he may have found something significant in the journal.”

  “Significant and worth a lot of money,” Jolene added.

  “Which is why she was asking if we need to get someone else,” Celeste said.

  “So there really is a treasure, then.” Morgan sipped her steaming cup of tea.

  “Well, he didn’t actually say treasure, but he did use the words significant and valuable.”

  “Sounds like a treasure to me,” Fiona said looking out the window toward the Atlantic Ocean. “And that means we might find ourselves fighting off pirates again.”

  Celeste shivered as she followed Fiona’s gaze across Morgan’s herb garden to their side yard, where the cliff sat eighty feet above the Atlantic Ocean … or the big gaping hole where the cliff once was.

  Earlier in the summer, the journal had led them to an old treasure map which had started a hunt for a cache their ancestor, Isaiah Blackmoore, was rumored to have buried. Unfortunately, modern day pirates had tried to get to it first. What no one knew was Isaiah had booby trapped the site and when the pirates tried to take it, they blew off half the cliff—and themselves—in the process.

  The modern day pirates had been a nasty bunch, killing at least one man, breaking into Celeste’s home and even kidnapping Morgan to get her to reveal the location found on the map. Celeste cringed at the thought of having to deal with anyone like them again.

  “But I thought the treasure was either blown into the ocean or dug up long ago,” Jolene said.

  Celeste shrugged. “Who knows? All I know is that Skinner said he made an important find and I want to know what it is.”

  The three sisters nodded their agreement.

  “So what do we do now?”

  “He must have had some notes,” Fiona said.

  “Right. And we need to get the copies of those journal pages we gave him and the poetry book,” Morgan added.

  “So we need to visit his office.” Celeste picked up the last tomato slice and popped it in her mouth.

  “I guess it’s a good thing we didn’t give him the original journal,” Jolene said.

  “Yeah, I would hate to think of that just sitting around in his office where anyone could take it." Morgan bobbed her tea bag up and down in her mug. “As it is, I feel a little nervous about him having the key book.”

  Celeste bit her lower lip. Isaiah Blackmoore’s journal had been written in code. A certain type of code called a book cipher that required a second book in order to decipher it. The way it worked was that the words in the journal referred to certain passages in the second book, called the key, and those passages revealed the actual word in the message. They had given the key, a poetry book, to Skinner and they’d need it back if they had hopes of a new historian taking over the job. And the only way to get it back was to go to his office at the museum and take it.

  “Okay, so who wants to go to the museum with me tomorrow?” Celeste asked.

  “I will, if Fiona doesn’t mind watching the shop in the morning.” Morgan glanced at Fiona who nodded her assent. The two sisters had a store, Sticks and Stones, where they sold herbal remedies and crystal healing stones and jewelry.

  “Okay, sounds like a plan," Celeste said.

  “Great. I think the museum opens at eight, so if we leave here by seven thirty tomorrow morning we’ll get there right when they open.” Morgan looked at Celeste for confirmation, and her ice-blue eyes clouded over. “I think it would be smart to keep this to ourselves. I have a funny feeling that letting word get out about this important find could be very dangerous for us.”

  Chapter Three

  Celeste jumped out of bed the next morning just as the sun was starting to make its appearance. She pushed aside her sheer purple curtains and shoved open the wooden window, struggling against the ancient weights that held the window in place.

  Her room was in one of the oldest parts of the house. The windows could use some modernizing, but she loved the other details of the room like the marble fireplace, glass doorknobs and wide pine floors.

  The corners of her lips turned up in a smile as she leaned out the window taking a deep breath of sharp, salty sea air. Her room had a gorgeous view of the Atlantic Ocean and she’d been privileged to view decades of spectacular sunrises from it. Those sunrises always lifted her spirits, not that she really needed it—Celeste was normally a very happy and positive person.

  This morning, she was her usual upbeat self, except for one small thought that irritated her conscious like a piece of grit inside an oyster. She couldn’t forget Morgan’s warning the night before and how she’d said she had “a funny feeling” word getting out about the important find could be dangerous. Over the summer Celeste had come to recognize that Morgan’s feelings usually turned out to be right and Celeste couldn’t shake that dark foreboding she’d felt when she’d heard her warning.

  She took another deep breath and made a conscious effort to push her worries aside. It promised to be a gorgeous day and she wanted to start it off right with a glass of wheat grass juice and herbs from the garden.

  She ran her fingers through her short blonde hair, not really caring how she looked. There was no one here to see her except her sisters and she didn’t really care about impressing people with her looks anyway. She pushed her feet into a pair of purple flip-flops and started toward the door.

  “Mew.” Belladonna stretched, her front legs elongated in front of her.

  “Where did you come from?” Celeste frowned at the cat. She didn’t remember letting Belladonna into her room the night before and the door was closed. Then again, the cat seemed to have a way of appearing out of nowhere … especially when she wanted food, which was probably what she was after now. Celeste was always the first one up and the cat always knew just who to follow to get her breakfast.

  Celeste opened the door and made her way to the kitchen with Belladonna trailing at her heels.

  In the kitchen, she dumped some cat food into Belladonna’s bowl, grabbed a pair of scissors from the drawer, and headed out the side door to the garden. Picking her way through the rows of herbs, she headed toward the far corner where her little patch of wheatgrass grew.

  Although the sisters shared the garden space for whatever they wanted to grow, it was mostly home to Morgan’s various herbs—her sister was a master herbalist and loved growing her own organic plants to use in the remedies she sold at Sticks and Stones. On her way to the wheat grass, Celeste passed a few herbs she recognized such as basil, echinacea, and chamomile. She also passed dozens of others for which she knew neither the names nor what remedies they were used in.

  The garden was both aromatic and beautiful. Most of the herbs boasted gorgeous flowers, like the echinacea with its purple petals. Morgan had perfected her growing technique to extend the growing season for many of the plants and the garden was still flourishing, even in September.

  Celeste stopped at the wheat grass which was neither aromatic nor beautiful, but made up for that with its many health benefits. As she bent to cut a handful, she saw Belladonna pawing at something a few rows over.

  She squinted over at the cat and her heart froze when she recognized the purple spires of flowers. Monkshood. Wasn’t that one of the plants Morgan said was toxic?

  “Belladonna … shoo!” Celeste waved her arms, catching the cat’s attention.

  “Get away from there.” Celeste jerked her head in the direction of the catnip two rows over. Belladonna took the hint, shaking her head then plodding off toward the catnip and proceeding to nibble.

  Celeste grabbed a handful of wheatgrass and picked some parsley and mint for flavor
then headed back to the kitchen.

  She was feeding the wheat grass, parsley and mint into the juicer, along with some spinach, when Morgan appeared freshly showered and wearing black jeans, a white tee-shirt and black blazer.

  Celeste looked down at her pajamas. “Do you think I’m underdressed for the museum?”

  Morgan laughed. “Maybe a tad. I just figured if I looked a little professional maybe they wouldn’t mind us poking around in Skinner’s files. I have to admit I’m a little worried about getting his notes. Do you think they’ll just give them to us?”

  “I was wondering about that myself. I’m not even sure how we will know which notes are about the journal, but all we can do is try.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” Morgan grabbed a mug from the cabinet and set about making hot water for tea.

  “Do you think we should ask them to recommend another historian while we are there?” Celeste asked as she settled into a chair at the kitchen island.

  Morgan wrinkled her brow. “I’m not sure. We’d need someone who is really discreet. I don’t want word getting ou—”

  “Meoooow!” Celeste’s heart jerked as she saw a white blur hurtle across the kitchen hitting the basement door and landing in a writhing pile.

  “Belladonna! Are you okay?” Morgan rushed over to the cat who squirmed on her back, then flipped in the air twisting herself around before she landed.

  The cat then proceeded to roll around on her back making mewling noises. Celeste was relieved to recognize this as the way she acted when she was high on catnip.

  “What the heck?” Morgan’s brows mashed together as she looked up at Celeste.

  Celeste shrugged. “Catnip”

  “Oh.” Morgan laughed and gave Belladonna an affectionate scratch behind the ears. The cat ignored her and continued her writhing, pushing her front paws under the basement door as if there was something playing with her on the other side.

  Morgan stood, looking at her watch. “Are you almost ready?”

  Celeste sucked down the last of her juice. “Yep. I just need to change and throw on some mascara.”

  “Well, get a move on.” Morgan gestured toward her juice glass. Celeste handed it over, and then pushed away from the island as Morgan rinsed the glass in the sink.

  Starting toward the hallway, Celeste looked back at Belladonna who was still batting at the invisible playmate on the other side of the basement door. She’d seen the cat do stranger things after eating catnip, so why did the fact she’d picked this particular door to do it in front of give her such a strange feeling?

  Celeste shrugged to herself. She was probably just still spooked from the other day when she’d had to stop the cat from venturing into the basement. She headed off toward the stairs that led to her room, forgetting all about the cat and the basement. She had more important things to worry about today.

  Chapter Four

  Celeste caught her reflection in the museum’s glass doors. Not bad, she thought. The linen jacket and faded jeans gave her a dressy-casual appearance. Her short haircut always looked trendy, even on days like today when she didn’t have time to wash it.

  The reflection highlighted the differences between her and her sister. Morgan was taller, her frame more voluptuous than Celeste’s thin one which had been sculpted by years of Yoga and Pilates. Morgan’s long black hair a stark contrast to Celeste’s short blonde crop. The only thing that gave them away as sisters was their ice-blue eyes—the same eyes that all the Blackmoore women had.

  Morgan’s shoes clicked on the marble floor as they crossed the vast lobby to the elevators that would bring them to the museum offices. Celeste looked down at her own soft-soled Skechers and wondered if she should have chosen more formal footwear.

  The elevator dinged its arrival and the girls got in. Morgan punched the button for the second floor as the doors closed.

  “I guess we’ll need to see the director. Beasley, I think her name is,” Morgan said as the elevator spilled them out onto the second floor.

  “Or we could go straight to his office.” Celeste pointed to a placard on the wall that listed the staff members along with the office numbers. Skinner’s was 217. The arrow pointed right, so the girls turned in that direction, walking quietly down the hall until they came to a door marked 217. A metal rail was attached to the wall to the right of the door. A faux wood grain nameplate with “Skinner” chiseled in white sat inside the rail.

  “I guess this is it," Celeste said.

  Morgan wrinkled her brow. “Do you think they just left it unlocked?”

  “Only one way to find out.” Celeste grasped the knob and turned, her heart skipping when the door opened.

  She raised her brows at Morgan who answered with a shrug and the two of them slipped inside, closing the door quietly behind them.

  The office was neat and orderly. Celeste felt a twinge of sadness at the thought of the historian. She pushed aside a pang of guilt for going through his things. It was critical they get his notes on the project and the “key” book back no matter what they had to do to get them.

  “You look through that filing cabinet and I’ll rifle through the table here.” Morgan leaned against a utilitarian steel table that was piled with papers and pointed to an oak filing cabinet next to another, smaller door on the far wall.

  Celeste’s heart thudded in her chest as she went over and pulled open one of the drawers. The files inside were labeled with letters A-Z. She pushed the files back to reveal the “B” section and her heart jumped when she saw a manila folder labeled “Blackmoore”.

  “Bingo!” she whispered. Morgan crossed the room as she pushed the folder open inside the filing cabinet, her heart plummeting when it proved to be empty.

  “There’s nothing in it," Morgan said.

  “Did someone take what was in here, or was it always empty?”

  “Maybe Skinner hid his notes? If it was that important he might not have wanted to just leave them in such an obvious place where anyone could find them.”

  “If he even had notes.” Celeste bit her lower lip as she scanned the room for likely hiding places. One wall was covered in a giant green chalkboard—no hiding places there. The wall opposite had an old but sturdy mahogany desk. Built-in bookshelves behind the desk held a variety of books. The wall next to it held the door they came in and the table Morgan had already looked through.

  “I guess the desk and bookshelf are the likely places,” Celeste said.

  “I’ll take the desk, you take the bookshelf. Be on the lookout for that poetry book. Without that no one will ever be able to figure out what’s in the journal.”

  The girls went about their various tasks. Celeste scanned through the books, her heart sinking as she realized nothing was the shape, size or color of the poetry book. Behind her she could hear Morgan rummaging through the drawers. The curses her sister muttered under her breath told Celeste that she wasn’t having any better luck.

  Celeste resorted to taking out each book to rifle through them, just in case Skinner had hidden the notes in a book. She was becoming mesmerized by the task when the squeaking of a door jolted her back to reality.

  She whirled around in the direction of the smaller door near the filing cabinet just in time to see it crack open. A dark haired man stepped in. He hadn’t seen them yet as he was busy looking back out into the hall. Her heartbeat kicked up the pace.

  The man turned to face the room, his dark eyes growing wide when he noticed Morgan and Celeste.

  The three of them stood there staring at each other for several rib thumping heartbeats.

  “Who are you?” Morgan finally broke the silence.

  “Who are you and what do you think you are doing,” the man replied looking at them suspiciously. Celeste detected a hint of an accent but she couldn’t place the origin.

  She had to admit, it did seem kind of suspicious what with her thumbing through the dead man’s books and Morgan rifling through his desk.

  Morgan shut the d
rawer she had been searching and straightened up. “We’re clients of Mr. Skinner looking for our files … and you?”

  “I’m Mateo, Mr. Skinners ... colleague.”

  Celeste appraised the man. He was just shy of six feet tall, thick dark wavy hair and dark, velvety eyes that were framed by lashes so long they’d make a super model envious. Even though she got the sense he was lying, his eyes had a sincerity about them that put her off her guard.

  They stared at each other for a few more heartbeats.

  Finally Mateo said. “Reinhardt mentioned your case to me.”

  Warning bells went off in Celeste’s head. Skinner had seemed like he had the utmost integrity and he’d sworn that he would discuss their project with no one. And how did Mateo know who they were?

  “Oh really?” Morgan crossed her arms against her chest. “What did he tell you?”

  Mateo answered her question with a question. “Was he able to give you the full details before he died?”

  More warning bells went off. Was he trying to be helpful, or just fishing for information?

  Celeste glanced at Morgan who shook her head slightly. It was too risky to tell him anything.

  A loud voice in the hall startled all three of them. It was a voice that made both Celeste and Morgan cringe … and it was coming from just outside the door they’d entered by. Overton.

  “I want this office secured. Have you let anyone in here?” Overton’s voice boomed into the office.

  “No. Not since he … you know …” A woman’s voice, much lower.

  Celeste’s heart jerked in her chest. If Overton found them in there she was sure he’d find a way to use it against them.

  Mateo’s brows shot up. “I must go.”

  He turned toward the door he had come in through—the one on the opposite side of the room from where Overton was approaching. Opening it, he quickly glanced out then disappeared into the hall.

  Celeste looked at Morgan, raised her eyebrows and nodded at the door. Overton’s voice was getting closer. The two girls hurried over to the door and slipped out into the hall following Mateo.