A Midwinter's Tail

by Sofie Kelly

  It looked like a package.

  Package.

  Liv. Package.

  No. That was crazy.

  I scrolled through the other photos of Olivia as quickly as I could. She wasn’t carrying any padded envelope in any of the later pictures.

  “Olivia Ramsey killed Dayna,” I said out loud. “Why?”

  I had to call Marcus. I started for the living room, but there was a knock at the back door. That had to be Lita.

  It was.

  “I’ll take this out to Maggie,” I said. “Thanks for bringing it out to me.”

  “Thank you for helping Rebecca,” Lita said. “And Brady said you may have come up with something that will help figure out who killed his mother.”

  “I hope so,” I said.

  I took the list into the kitchen. There was lots of time to take the seating chart out to Maggie, then come back and convince Marcus that I knew who had killed Dayna Chapman, but didn’t know why.

  I put on my coat and boots and was about to leave when it occurred to me that I should call Maggie to make sure she didn’t leave for any reason before I got to Marsh Farm.

  “Hey,” I said when she answered her phone. “I have a seating chart from Everett that I’m about to bring out to you, so don’t leave.”

  “Kath, could you bring Owen with you?” she asked.

  “Um, yes, I guess I could,” I said. “Why?” I was pretty sure I knew the answer to my own question.

  “Because I think I just saw a mouse on the stairs.”

  Maggie was afraid of mice. She wasn’t that crazy about hamsters, gerbils or guinea pigs, either.

  “Go wait in your car,” I said. “The furry cavalry is on its way.”

  I reached over to the counter, grabbed the bag of sardine treats I’d made just a few days ago and gave it a shake. It was the fastest way to get Owen’s attention. His gray head peered around the living room doorway before I got my boots laced.

  “Road trip,” I said. “Maggie needs us.”

  I left a few crackers in his dish for Hercules and took the rest with me.

  I tried Marcus before I pulled out of the driveway, but the call went straight to voice mail. I didn’t leave a message. My theory was a bit too complicated to explain in just a few words. I figured fifteen minutes to drive to Marsh Farm. Fifteen for Owen to do his thing and for me to act as cleanup crew and fifteen more to drive back. At the most I’d be back in an hour and then I could try Marcus again.

  I wasn’t even close to right.

  26

  Maggie’s Bug was parked in the circular driveway in front of the main entrance to Marsh Farm, but she wasn’t in it.

  “That’s a good sign,” I said to Owen. There was a small silver truck in front of her Volkswagen.

  I’d brought the cat carrier bag with me, and Owen climbed inside without argument.

  Marsh Farm looked nothing like any farm I’d ever seen. The house was bigger than Wisteria Hill—three floors instead of two. It was shingled with blue-gray cedar shakes and had many large, multipaneled windows. The wine-colored front door was unlocked and I stepped into a beautiful foyer with cream-colored walls and an elegant crystal chandelier overhead. A wide staircase led to the upper floors. The treads were dark polished wood with an Oriental carpet runner in shades of burgundy and cream. Behind the stairs I could see a huge window and above it there was a massive oil painting of a Victorian-era woman on a horse.

  “Maggie, where are you?” I called.

  “Back here,” she answered.

  “That was helpful,” I said to Owen.

  I got a snippy meow in return. Owen didn’t like any criticism of his ladylove.

  Maggie’s voice had come from the left side of the big house, so I went in that direction. The huge front room looked as though it had been a parlor of some kind. It led into a smaller room, which in turn led to the kitchen, which was where I found Maggie and Olivia Ramsey.

  “Oh, uh, hi, Olivia,” I said. “What are you doing out here?”

  “She came to check out the kitchen for Georgia,” Maggie said. She leaned toward the cat carrier. “Hey, Owen.”

  He murped a hello back at her.

  “Where is it?” I asked.

  Maggie gave a little shudder. “The second set of stairs up to the third floor.”

  “I offered to go take a look,” Olivia said.

  “But I thought it would be safer if she stayed down here. With me,” Maggie hastily added.

  “It’s okay,” I said, giving her what I hoped looked like a reassuring smile. “Owen and I will go see what’s going on.” What I really wanted was to grab Maggie and get out of there, but I didn’t want Olivia to know I was onto her.

  I let Owen out of the bag on the second-floor landing. “Go for it,” I said.

  I could see something gray and furry about five steps from the top. Owen crept slowly from tread to tread. Suddenly, he stopped. I held on to the strap of the cat bag, ready to swing it if something decided to make a run for it in my direction.

  Owen was already on the step with whatever the furry animal was. He grabbed it in his teeth and started back down to me.

  Great. It wasn’t dead. I really hoped Maggie wasn’t waiting down by the front door. As Owen got closer to me, I realized whatever he was carrying in his mouth definitely wasn’t dead. Because it had never been alive. The cat stopped at my feet and looked up at me.

  “What is that?” I said. He dropped his find on the floor and then swatted it with one paw. It rolled about six inches.

  I leaned over for a closer look. It was a fur pompom, probably from a hat or a fur coat.

  “Good job,” I said.

  He preened appropriately.

  Maggie and Olivia were still in the kitchen.

  “Did he get it already?” Maggie asked.

  “Yep,” I said, holding up the little ball of gray fur. “You were menaced by a pompom.”

  Maggie had her arms folded over her chest, shoulders hunched, and now she gave me a sheepish look.

  “Well, that’s embarrassing,” she said. She looked at Owen, who was standing just to my right. “But you’re still my hero.”

  He smiled at her. I swear.

  I handed her the seating chart Lita had given me. Maggie looked at it and frowned. “I don’t think this is going to work,” she muttered. Then she looked up at me. “Would you like to see the room Everett wants to use?” she asked.

  “I would,” I said.

  Olivia was opening cupboards and making notes on a small pad.

  “We’ll be back,” Maggie said.

  Olivia nodded over her shoulder. “Okay.”

  I scooped up Owen and put him back in the carrier bag before he had a chance to disappear into another room or disappear altogether.

  Maggie took us back through the two rooms I’d passed through, to another large space on the other side of the huge house. It was actually two rooms, separated by a set of leaded-glass sliding French doors.

  “This is beautiful,” I said

  She nodded. “I know. But it’s a lot fancier than what Rebecca had in mind.”

  “Everett seems to have lost his mind when it comes to this wedding.”

  Maggie pulled out her phone. “I’m going to take some pictures of the room on the other side. I think it might be the better choice.”

  Maggie snapped several shots of the other room and then stopped dead in the center of the space. “I’m supposed to meet Oren in about forty-five minutes,” she said, rubbing her forehead. “I completely forgot.”

  “You have lots of time to get back to town,” I said.

  “I know. But Olivia needs to take some measurements in the kitchen and make an inventory of some of the equipment for Georgia.” She looked around uncertainly. “I’ll try Oren’s house. Maybe he’s still there.”

  Oren Kenyon was one of the few people I knew who didn’t have a cell phone.

  There was no answer at Oren’s.

  Maggie put
her phone in her pocket. “Kath, I hate to ask, but could you stay here with Olivia and then lock up?”

  I nodded. “Go,” I said. I could fake it with Olivia for a few more minutes.

  I followed Maggie back to the kitchen, where she explained to Olivia what was going on. A small blowtorch was sitting in the middle of the large island in the center of the room.

  “Are you sure you don’t mind staying?” she asked me. “Georgia really needs to figure out her dessert menu and get back to Everett about the price. She’s working at Fern’s this morning, so I said I’d come out and look at the kitchen for her.”

  “It’s not a problem,” I said.

  “Why do you have a blowtorch?” Maggie asked, gesturing at it.

  Olivia smiled. “Would you believe it was one of the things Georgia asked me to look for? She uses it to caramelize the top of crème brûlée.”

  Maggie smiled. “I didn’t know that. Then again, I’ve never made crème brûlée.” She handed me the keys and gave me a hug. “I owe you lunch at Eric’s for this,” she said.

  Olivia had gone back to looking in cupboards and writing in a wire-bound notepad.

  “I’m just going to look around a little,” I said to her. It made me a bit uncomfortable being in the same room with her, given what I believed she’d done. But then again, there was absolutely no way she could know what I suspected. Once I was in the front parlor again, I pulled my phone out of my pocket, thinking maybe I’d see if I could reach Marcus.

  “Put the phone away,” Olivia said behind me.

  I turned around to look at her. I hadn’t realized she’d followed me.

  She was holding the blowtorch except now it was lit, a tight blue flame coming out of the end.

  “What are you doing?” I said.

  She smiled, but the gesture was cold. “Protecting myself.”

  I frowned. “From me?”

  Olivia shrugged and looked around. Then she took a couple of steps toward me. I backed up toward the foyer. She knew, I realized. She knew that I knew what she’d done.

  “You’ve been looking at Ed Jensen’s Web site,” she said. “You’ve been spying on me.”

  Behind me Maggie’s voice said, “Olivia, what are you talking about?”

  I swung around. Maggie was standing just inside the big front door. “I forgot my phone,” she said, walking over to me. She looked at Olivia. “Why are you carrying that blowtorch? What’s going on?”

  I swallowed down the lump in my throat. “Nothing’s going on, Mags. But you’d better get going or you’ll be late for your meeting.” I tried to keep my voice even and calm.

  “Not so fast,” Olivia said.

  I put the strap of the cat carrier over my head so the bag was resting against my hip. “I don’t understand,” Maggie said, her forehead wrinkling into a frown. “Kathleen wasn’t spying on you.”

  I stepped in front of her so I was between her and Olivia and the blowtorch.

  “Edwin Jensen has some kind of software on his computer to monitor visitors,” I said.

  Olivia nodded. “He has the coolest tracking widget. He could tell someone from Mayville Heights was looking at the pictures he took the night of the robbery, and”—there was a disconcerting cunningness to the smile she gave me—“he could also tell which Web site that person arrived at the blog from.” She arched an eyebrow at me. “When Edwin told me it was a news service for libraries, I knew it had to be you poking around.”

  “That’s why you confessed to me that you knew Dayna. You knew I’d been checking you out.”

  “You’re right,” she said. “Pretty smart of me, wasn’t it?”

  I took a step backward. Maybe I could keep her talking and we could make it to the door. Even though I was in sock feet and Olivia was wearing boots, I felt pretty sure I could outrun her in those heels she had on, and I knew Maggie could.

  “How did you get him to help you?” I asked.

  “I played the helpless victim,” she said. “I told him an old boyfriend wouldn’t leave me alone.” She shrugged. “I had to do him a couple of times, but it was worth it.”

  I swallowed down the sour taste at the back of my throat.

  “I don’t understand,” Maggie said. “You killed Dayna Chapman? But you ate one of those chocolates. You could have died.”

  Olivia shook her head. “No. I had that all worked out.” She looked at me. “I did improvise the part where you got my autoinjector. That was pretty good.” She turned the blowtorch and studied the blue flame. “I really wish I didn’t have to kill you. You know, I came up with the whole plan in the library. I did all my research into that old book on your computers and I borrowed every single Edgar Allan Poe book you had. That’s how I got the idea that I was going to have to eat one of those chocolates, too.”

  “‘The Purloined Letter,’” I said.

  Maggie looked lost.

  “It’s a Poe short story,” I explained. “About a hidden letter. Poe’s detective finds the letter when the police can’t because it’s been hidden in plain sight with some other mail.” I didn’t take my eyes off Olivia. “Who would look for a valuable, stolen letter in with the everyday correspondence? Just like who would think anyone would deliberately eat a chocolate that could kill them?”

  Olivia turned the blowtorch back around so it was facing us again. “Uh-huh,” she said. “Since I almost died, too, why would anyone suspect me?”

  She looked pleased with herself.

  “You were the lookout the night of the robbery,” I said. I nudged Maggie backward another step, hoping I’d get an opportunity to shove her toward the front door.

  “And no one was supposed to get hurt,” she said. “If that old man had just opened the safe when Jake told him to, everything would have stayed on track.”

  “You knew the book was there.” I eased my right hand toward the pocket of my jacket. Could I get my phone and hand it back to Maggie?

  Olivia suddenly leaned forward and flicked the torch at me. “Hands where I can see them,” she said. She straightened up. “Yes. We knew that old book was there. A friend of Jake’s saw it. Leo figured if the old man had some crappy old book in his safe, it had to be worth something. Turns out he was right.”

  “How did Dayna find out?”

  She shook her head in frustration. “The stupid-ass prosecutor let Dayna look at the pictures from the night it all happened. She noticed the parcel I’d had just disappeared.”

  “She knew you had something valuable.”

  Olivia was moving her fingers back and forth, just beyond the edge of the blowtorch flame. She didn’t even look at me. “I knew she’d be bleeding us dry for the rest of our lives. I didn’t really have a choice.” She glanced at me for a brief second. “I told Dayna she should come for the rare-book lecture so we could find out how much that Poe book was worth. Thank you for setting that up, by the way. It made it so easy to get her to come here.” She smiled at me. “Now that we’ve finished the recap for anyone who tuned in late, move away from the door.”

  I stayed where I was and reached behind me to grip Maggie’s arm.

  “There’s no point in trying to make a run for it,” Olivia said, gesturing at my hair with the flaming torch.

  I could feel the heat as she flashed it by my face. Still I didn’t move. Our best chance to get away from Olivia was to get close enough to the door to bolt for the yard. Unfortunately, we were about halfway between the stairs and the door.

  She made a sour face, took several steps to her left and with her gaze still locked on my face used the blowtorch to set the semi-sheer, floor-length curtains on the big window behind the stairs on fire. The flames shot up the thin fabric.

  “Next time that’ll be your friend’s hair,” she said. “Move away from the door.”

  I gave Maggie’s arm a reassuring squeeze and stepped away from her.

  “No,” Olivia said, emphatically. “Her too.” She took a step toward Maggie.

  I looked at
Mags, hoping the fear that was squeezing all the air out of my chest wasn’t showing on my face.

  “Up,” Olivia said, gesturing with her free hand. I knew going up those stairs was a bad idea, but I couldn’t chance her setting Maggie’s clothes on fire.

  The elaborate staircase went up six steps to a small landing. Then it turned ninety degrees for another four steps before making one more ninety-degree curve up to the second floor.

  I could feel the heat from the burning curtains. I looked around for any sign of a sprinkler system, but I didn’t see anything. Owen moved in the bag against my hip. Through the top mesh panel I could see him crouched down inside, ears flattened against his head. I needed to keep Olivia distracted long enough to open the top of the bag the rest of the way so hopefully Owen would do his disappearing act, jump out and somehow have a chance at getting away.

  I slid my hand up the nylon fabric so it was resting on the top of the bag. “How are you going to explain the fire?” I asked.

  Maggie started to cough. The foyer was filling with smoke. Whatever those filmy curtains were made of gave off a foul, chemical smell that mixed with the smoke.

  Olivia brushed her hair back from her face and swiped at her eyes. She continued to move toward us. I had to start up the first turn of steps to stay ahead of her.

  “I think I’ll blame it on Maggie,” she said. She looked at Mags and shrugged. “I’m sorry. I really only want to kill Kathleen, but you’re kind of a package deal.” She turned her attention to me. “You’ll tragically lose your life trying to save your friend. I’ll tell everyone how brave you were.”

  We were about halfway up the stairs now, facing the wall of flame behind the stairs. The fire had made it up to the curtain rod and as I watched, it jumped to the huge oil painting on the wall above the windows. It crackled and snapped, fueled by the oil paint and dry canvas. The smoke was heavier and I pressed one hand to my mouth. Next to me Maggie had another coughing fit.