by Sharon Pape
I groaned. “Please tell me you didn’t give her another freebie.”
“I said, ‘Yes, if you can spare a dollar. I’m given to understand that’s how commerce works.’”
I clapped, delighted. “And?”
“She pulled a dollar out of her purse and slammed it down so hard on the display case I thought the glass would break. “She said, ‘I’ll take another dark chocolate covered caramel’ and stormed out of the shop.”
“Think she’ll ever come back?”
“Lord, I hope not,” Lolly said, laughing. “But with that sweet tooth, I suspect she will. Listen, I had another reason for coming to talk to you.”
“What’s up?”
“A number of locals who came into my shop today were talking about your cousin Merlin and his sign.”
“You’re not smiling,” I said. “Why aren’t you smiling?” When Lolly was this serious, it was generally due to well-founded concern. And Merlin plus “serious” added up to trouble.
“Mostly they were talking about his eccentric appearance and whether or not his sign was correct. Chances are nothing will come of it, but I thought you should know in case it snowballs into something more.”
“Thanks, I prefer not to be ambushed.” I’d never told Lolly the truth about Merlin and how he’d arrived here. She believed our story that he was my eccentric cousin from England. Though I felt a little guilty about it, we needed to keep the secret limited to as few people as possible. Tilly, Elise, and Travis were the only ones who knew as much as I did.
“Caleb Winston was one of the locals who came in today,” Lolly continued. I knew the name, but couldn’t immediately put it with a face. “The town historian,” she added in response to my puzzled expression. “He must be a hundred by now. I hadn’t seen him in ages.”
I’d forgotten all about Caleb. The picture that came to mind was dredged up from my childhood. Even then he was an impossibly old man with a cane, his eyes all but hidden in the deep shadow of his brow. No child wants to dwell on old age while they’re still feeling immortal, and I’d been no different. “What brought him out?” I asked, although I was pretty sure I knew the answer.
“Merlin and his sign. Caleb’s in a wheelchair now, not at all the imposing figure he was in his prime. According to his aide, Louise, they were coming home from a doctor’s visit when they were caught in the traffic jam. Caleb insisted on stopping in town to find out what it was all about. Louise decided if she had to stop, it was going to be at my shop.”
“What did you tell them?”
Lolly shrugged. “That I knew as much as they did. But as it happened, Caleb knew more. He claimed the town’s name never had anything to do with camels. It had to do with sorcery. Then Louise bought a quarter pound of Forbidden Fudge and a praline toffee bar and off they went.”
“Could it just be dementia talking?” I asked, hoping people would dismiss his words. I didn’t want the issue debated by the whole town. No good could come of that.
“I don’t think that’s a concern. As old as Caleb is, he still sounded clear-minded to me.”
“Maybe we should ask the current town historian,” I said. With any luck, he or she would render the issue moot.
“We don’t have one,” Lolly said. “As far as I know, it’s always been an informal position created by some ancestor of Caleb’s and tolerated by the board as innocuous. Caleb never had children, so…”
“No younger town historian. Did Caleb or any of his family members keep notes or diaries?”
“It wouldn’t matter if they did, the Winston family homestead burned to the ground in the early twentieth century. Nothing escaped the fire, but the people and their dogs.”
Although the thought of learning more about the Wilde family in America was intriguing, I told myself that it was all for the best. Without proof that New Camelot was the original name of the town, talk about it should quiet down in spite of Merlin’s efforts. Travis and I had a murder investigation on our hands. We didn’t need additional distractions.
Chapter 15
Tilly made her hearty split pea soup for dinner the next night. The cold weather had kick-started her annual parade of soups, and she believed it would be easier to set Merlin straight about his recent behavior with his belly full of split pea in a bread bowl. If not, at least it would fortify us for a battle of wills.
I kept checking my watch during dinner. Travis had texted that he’d call about eight to discuss Ryan’s case. I didn’t want to miss his call for a variety of reasons, not all of which had to do with the investigation. Merlin guzzled his soup plus two more servings in the same amount of time it took Tilly and me to eat our single portions. It was quickly apparent he could benefit from a tutorial on how to eat soup in the company of others, but that would have to wait its turn.
When he finished eating, Tilly insisted he go into the bathroom and rinse out his beard in the sink. A sunken ship had less barnacles attached to it than the amount of soup detritus clinging to his facial hair. He returned to the table reasonably clean and asked what was for dessert.
“Dessert will have to wait until after we discuss something,” I said. “How many times have we told you that drawing attention to yourself will end in disaster one day?”
“I have never kept count,” he said. “Was I expected to?”
“Well no, that’s not the point. Merlin. Why do you constantly flout the rules meant to keep you safe?” I repeated the usual litany of horrors that can befall someone without ID or any means of securing it. He brought up his objections. I shot them down. He suggested magick and I forbade it. We were left in a veritable stalemate as usual. Tilly had spent the time clearing the table and setting up for dessert. At seven forty-five she brought in her dark chocolate peanut butter pie with a pint of vanilla ice cream and resumed her seat. She fixed Merlin with a beatific smile that made her look like an overgrown Hawaiian cherub.
“Aren’t you going to serve dessert?” he demanded when she made no move to cut the pie or scoop the ice cream.
“As soon as you and Kailyn settle your dispute,” she said.
“Good woman, that’s blackmail,” he sputtered.
“Nope—my pie, my rules.”
He lasted another three minutes. “All right,” he grumbled, “what must I do to be allowed dessert?”
“It’s simple,” I said, “stop making a spectacle of yourself.”
“How else is one supposed to bring about change in your democratic system? If this were the kingdom of Camelot, all I’d need do is talk to the king, we were very chummy, and he would accede to my wishes. Clearly a better system.”
“Maybe for you, but not for the average citizen,” I pointed out.
“So what is it you would have me do?”
“Nothing,” I said.
“But then nothing will change.” He seemed appalled by the concept.
“Precisely.”
“Kailyn,” Tilly said, “Would you like some pie?”
“I’d love some. With ice cream, please.”
Merlin watched her slide a piece of pie onto a plate and scoop up a big ball of ice cream to set beside it. As she handed me the plate, it passed directly under Merlin’s nose.
“Ready to agree, Your Loftiness?” Tilly asked sweetly.
“No,” he said, rising from his seat. “There comes the hour when a man of worth must take a stand against injustice, and this be mine.” He strutted away from the table as if there were a golden halo of virtue atop his head, leaving Tilly and me with our mouths agape.
“I know his game,” my aunt said finally. “He intends to wait until I’m off to bed, and then sneak down to have his fill of dessert.”
I laughed. “You’re probably right. Maybe I should take it home with me.”
“Yes, indeed.”
I was pulling on my coat when the door
bell rang. It was after eight, an odd time for someone to come by unannounced in our little town. Tilly peered through the peephole and immediately flung the door open. Travis stepped inside and gave her a hug that made her giggle. I was happy to see Travis, but not particularly surprised. He had a habit of showing up when I least expected him.
“You’d better keep tabs on this one, Kailyn, he’s very free with his affections,” Tilly said.
“Not guilty,” he protested, turning to fold me into his arms. “It’s some kind of magick you Wilde women have over me. Although I have to admit,” he said, giving Tilly a wink, “I’ve always been attracted to red hair.”
“Ah,” she said knowingly, “is your mother a redhead?”
“No, but growing up I did have a fabulous Irish setter named Maggie.” We all laughed, my voice all but lost in his coat. When he finally released me, Tilly handed me my purse from the bench in the foyer. She handed Travis the pie and the pint of ice cream. “Hey, you even come with dessert,” he said. “Am I a lucky guy or what?”
Tilly shooed us out the door with a promise to let me know what happened when Merlin discovered his plot had been foiled.
Back at my house, Travis declined my offer to make him dinner. I could hardly blame him. I hadn’t been grocery shopping in a while. It came down to a choice between pasta, eggs, or PB’n J. “What’s wrong with chocolate peanut butter pie and ice cream?” he asked with all the innocence of a child. I couldn’t come up with a valid answer. So we sat at the kitchen table while he ate, and I gave him the lowdown on my visit with Nina Frank Lewis.
“Her kid’s got issues,” he agreed. “Could be a variety of things from his father’s passing, to his mother’s remarriage, to being the one who killed his dad.”
“Do you really think that’s a possibility? It crossed my mind at the time, because his reaction had seemed over the top, given the years that had passed. I could tell that Nina was distressed by it, but I don’t think she was surprised.”
“If all the victims on Ryan’s list had something in common, I doubt it was Martin’s son. But let’s keep him on the back burner for now.”
“I scheduled an interview for tomorrow with Max Gonzalez, Calista’s older brother,” I said, “but I can postpone it until after you leave.”
“Actually, I’d like to come along and get my feet wet in the case.”
I was all for it. “Max wasn’t the least bit reluctant to talk to me,” I said ready to launch into a full synopsis of our conversation along with my first impressions of the man.
“Can’t it wait till morning?” Travis asked, carrying his plate and fork to the sink. He turned around, leaning back against the counter. “I’m bushed. If I try to input one more byte of data, my brain is going to crash.”
“Yes, sure,” I said. I chucked the empty ice cream container into the garbage and stowed what was left of the pie in the fridge where the cats couldn’t get at it. When I passed Travis, he reached out, hooked a finger into my belt loop and pulled me closer. You didn’t have to hit me over the head with a rubber mallet. Even before moonlighting as an investigator, I was pretty good at understanding non-verbal cues.
Chapter 16
Max Gonzalez was as pleasant in person as he was on the phone. At seventy-five, he was Calista’s older brother, but he had a ready smile and an agile stride that carved years off his appearance. He answered the door promptly and led us into the kitchen where his wife, Esmeralda, was brewing a fresh pot of coffee. Although she acknowledged us politely, I could tell she wasn’t happy to have us in her home. Max was surely aware of it too, because he didn’t give us time to dawdle there before continuing into the adjacent family room. The house had been built with an abundance of oversized windows that bathed every room in sunlight and made the house feel like a joyful place. In contrast, the furnishings were heavy and ornate. Maybe Max and Esmeralda were worried that the light-filled house might up and fly away without such means of anchoring it to the ground.
Seating in the room was limited to a large sectional couch that formed a semicircle around the largest wall-mounted screen I’d ever seen outside of a movie theater. It was a perfect arrangement for watching television, but awkward for conversation. Travis and I sat at one end of the sofa and Max sat in the center. In order to face each other, we had to sit at an angle that made it impossible to lean back.
“I must confess,” Max said, “I don’t really understand the purpose of your visit any more than I did Mr. Cutler’s.” At Travis’s request, I’d made no mention of his personal connection to Ryan. As far as Max knew, we were simply continuing the investigation initiated by our fallen colleague. “I’d like to extend my condolences,” Max added. “I was sorry to hear about his passing. Far too young. When something like that happens, you’re reminded of how fragile life is and how easily snuffed out.” We both nodded and I saw Travis’s jaw tighten. I’d done the same thing to stave off tears when the loss of my mother and grandmother was still an open wound.
“Thank you. Ryan believed there might be an underlying link between several deaths in the county over the past five or so years,” I said to give Travis an extra moment to compose himself.
“I know,” Max said, “but Calista died of a cerebral hemorrhage, and when I asked Ryan if the others died of a similar problem, he said they hadn’t.”
Esmeralda entered the room carrying a tray with three mugs of coffee and the fixings. She set it on the wood and wrought iron coffee table and walked out. “Please, help yourselves,” Max said. I’d learned that accepting refreshments often moved things along more quickly than refusing them. No need for the host to ask: “Are you sure? Would you prefer tea or a cold drink? Please let me know if you change your mind.” Travis must have come to the same conclusion over time, because we each took a mug and murmured “thank you.”
“Unfortunately Ryan never told me much about his investigation,” Travis said, picking up the dialogue, “but he was an award-winning journalist and if he suspected a link, we believe it should be explored.”
“To honor his memory,” I added, “as well as to uncover the truth for the families involved.”
“I’ll tell you,” Max said, “my wife is a religious woman and she thinks we should let Calista rest in peace. After all, we were satisfied with the coroner’s report until Ryan showed up. I guess I have a curious nature. If there was more to my sister’s death, I want to know about it.”
Travis took a sip of his coffee. “Did she have any physical condition, any illness that could have produced the hemorrhage?”
“She never discussed her health with us, or much of anything else,” Max said, pouring a packet of sweetener into his mug. “She lived alone. When we couldn’t reach her by ten that night, we drove over and let ourselves in. Calista and I had keys to each other’s houses in case of emergency.” He shook his head. “Not that it did my sister any good. We found her at the bottom of the stairs. Esmeralda called 911, while I gave her CPR, but it was too late. The EMT confirmed that she was gone. The coroner’s report said that the bleed could have been the result of falling down the stairs or it could have precipitated the fall.”
“Is there any reason to believe Calista might have been pushed down the stairs?” Travis asked.
“The police didn’t find any evidence of forced entry, and as far as I could tell, nothing was missing. Could someone have pushed her on purpose or by accident and then fled the scene? It’s possible, I suppose.”
“Did she ever confide in you about regrets she had in her life?” I asked, thinking of my interview with Nina and her hesitation with that question.
Max shook his head. “If she had regrets, she never told me. I doubt she ever let anyone inside.”
“Was she ever married?” Travis asked.
“Once, about thirty years ago, but it lasted less than two years. No one was surprised. Calista was not an easy person to live with.
Even when we were kids, I thought of her as prickly.”
“A curmudgeon?” I said.
“I suppose, but not the kind with a heart of gold like you see in the movies. How do two kids grow up in the same house with the same parents and turn out so differently? I once asked a psychologist friend who knew us both. He believed Calista suffered from psychiatric issues. But in spite of all the difficulties between us over the years, it broke my heart that she died alone.” Tears welled up in his eyes and he tried to blink them back. Travis and I busied ourselves with our coffees to give him time to settle himself.
“I imagine you have some more questions for me,” he said moments later with only the slightest hitch in his voice.
“If you don’t mind,” Travis replied.
“At my age you don’t put off for tomorrow what you can do today,” Max said wryly, “so you’d best get your answers while you can.”
When we were back in the car, Travis asked if there was anything I’d heard so far from Nina or Max that stood out to me, a similarity that might have drawn a killer’s attention. “No, and we’re two down, three to go if they all agree to speak to us.”
“They will,” he said. “We need to think positive.”
“Right there with you.” Travis’s phone rang through the car’s Bluetooth. I’d never heard the news director’s voice before. It was intense, the words clipped as if he could barely afford them. “Another probable homicide. Outside Watkins Glen. Sending the address now. What’s your ETA?”
“Twenty minutes,” Travis responded. That seemed a little optimistic to me.
“A news van’s en route. Stafford covering.”
“On my way.” The call ended and Travis glanced at me. “I’m sorry—I don’t have time to drop you off. I have to get over there.”
“I’ll see if Tilly can open for me,” I said. I hated to miss an entire day’s sales, but his sudden tension was palpable. It crackled in the air between us like static. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t mind how easily he dismissed my livelihood in favor of his own. After all, the director said there was a van on the way with a covering reporter. But truth be told, I wanted to go to the site of this latest murder myself.