Chapter Twenty-One
Tuesday morning, Murray took off for Seattle as I headed for the shop. With Mr. B & U out of the way, I was left with my original question: Had Susan been murdered? Walter was in jail for killing Diana, but had he orchestrated his wife's death, too?
When Cinnamon saw me come through the door, she raced over. "I'm glad you're here. There's so much that Lana and I couldn't take care of." She had organized piles of paperwork on my desk, and once I was settled, she brought me a cup of cranberry tea. I opened my mail, separating the invoices and bills from everything else, and then decided that I owed myself at least a brief glance at the paper.
I shook it open to find the front headline screaming out in huge block letters, "Walter Mitchell—Murderer or Scapegoat?" As I scanned the article, my heart started beating faster. Now that he had been accused of his daughter's murder, police were checking into his background and reexamining the circumstances surrounding the death of Susan Mitchell. The police were basing their inquiries on information provided by a number of sources, including two local women: Harlow Rainmark and Emerald O'Brien.
Oh, hell. We'd been fingered, probably by some stray comment made when we gave our statements. Neither of us had accused Walter of anything, but the press managed to make it sound like we'd nailed him to a cross. Now what was going to happen? Walter was being held pending bail, but when he was out, would he hunt us down? He'd had plenty of time to stew over his incarceration.
At that moment Cinnamon opened the shop, and a gaggle of customers poured through the doors. I would have to deal with this situation later. I pushed away the paperwork and went out front to help.
As I was rearranging a display, someone tapped me on the shoulder, and I turned to find myself facing the captain from the medical rescue unit. Surprised, I almost dropped the Spode creamer I was holding. After I managed to set it back on the shelf, I reached out to shake his hand.
Dressed in a turtleneck sweater and a pair of Dockers, he looked far too young to be the man who'd held my arm as I panicked about Harlow. "Remember me?" His fingers closed gently around my own. "Joe? Joe Files?"
"Of course I remember you. Thank you, again, for saving my friend."
His eyes danced over me. "Just doing my job, but I'm glad I was there and able to help. How's she doing?"
"Fine, she's doing fine." I couldn't figure out what he was doing in my shop.
He seemed to sense my puzzlement. "I'm looking for a present for my Aunt Margaret," he said.
His aunt? Of course! Margaret Files. She was a sweet old lady, a retired county clerk who came to me for tarot readings. I led him over to the wall display of jellies and cookies. "She loves biscuits and jam," I said, handing him a couple of packets.
He took them awkwardly. "Thank you. Maybe you could pick out a teapot for her, too?" As I looked around, trying to remember what patterns of china Margaret liked, he added, "Actually, I also wanted to ask if I could take you out sometime? For coffee, or something?"
As his words sank in, I began to blush. Well, bless my soul. Captain Files of the Chiqetaw Medic-Rescue Unit, who had saved Harlow, who had watched me upchuck on the side of the road, and who was probably ten years younger than me, wanted to take me out on a date. His smile was so hopeful that I found myself saying I'd think about it. "But not till after Christmas. I'm just so busy right now, Captain…"
"Joseph, please—just call me Joe." He blushed again, and I realized that he was as nervous as I was. His sandy hair was shot through with copper highlights, and he was tall and stocky, so obviously Scandinavian. And really cute.
I ducked my head. In the midst of all the spirits and worries over the kids, here I was feeling like a teenager again. Then guilt kicked in and I sobered. What about Andrew? But I looked into Joe's twinkling green eyes and shoved caution to the wind. "Okay, Joe. My number is in the book. Call me after New Year's and we'll meet for lunch." Satisfied, he left with more than a hundred dollars' worth of trinkets for the various women in his family.
I pushed my way through the bustle of shoppers into the back room and dropped into my chair. What was I was getting myself into? Should I tell Andrew about Joe? Was it any of his business? We hadn't talked about dating exclusively. I tried to push the whole mess out of my mind for now; we were swamped, and I needed to focus on business. As I dove back into the invoices, Cinnamon's voice rose a decibel or two. She didn't sound happy. I sighed, swigged down the last of a warm bottle of Coke, and made my way back into the fray.
She was arguing with an older woman. As I glanced over the woman's short, sturdy body, I noticed that she was swathed in what was probably top-notch designer wear. I stepped in. "What seems to be the problem?"
"How dare you slander my son? Just who do you think you are? Walter didn't hurt anybody." Her voice was shrill enough to be heard by several browsers, and I hurried to move her to one side, hoping to take us out of earshot of the rest of the shop, but there wasn't anyplace in which to have a bit of privacy.
The realization that Walter's mother had come gunning for me shook me up. Nothing worse than a bear protecting her cubs. "Mrs. Mitchell, I assure you—"
"My name is not Mrs. Mitchell. I'm Mrs. Addison. I married Bernard Addison shortly after Mr. Mitchell—Walter's father—died, and I'd thank you to at least get one thing right about our family." She sniffed and shook her blued curls at me in a dare to defy her. How was I going to get out of this one gracefully?
"Mrs. Addison, I assure you, I did not tell the police I thought Walter murdered Diana or Susan." Nope, I thought. Joshua had taken care of that. "I only told the cops that Susan had recently died and we wanted to make sure Diana knew about it." I offered her a tentative smile. She did not smile back.
"You're lying. The police questioned me—me—Walter's mother!—this morning about that awful woman and her daughter. I just want you to know that once we clear my Walter of these charges, you are going to find a lawsuit for slander slapped on your door. Yes, that's what you are going to find!" With that, she harrumphed and stomped out.
How many of my customers had heard the exchange? But most of them were studiously ignoring me, going about their business, examining teapots and china cups and bone china saucers and boxes of imported Ceylon tea. I was about to call Harl and warn that the old biddy was after us, when a new batch of customers swarmed in—the lunch crowd was here, and they were hungry. I took Cinnamon's place behind the counter so she could serve the soup and bread. The rush didn't slow down until Kip burst into the shop and I caught him in a tight embrace.
"Mom! Can we come home?" He dumped his books in the corner and shrugged out of his coat. I settled down in one of the sturdier chairs, and he leaned against me.
The door banged open again as Miranda rushed in, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I hope you're happy! I don't get to go to Space Camp now!"
Oh, God, in all the craziness, I had forgotten! Today was Miranda's scholarship test, and I hadn't even called to wish her good luck. "What happened? Did something happen during the test?" I started to give her a hug, but she shook me off.
"They wouldn't even let me take the test because you forgot to drop off the permission slip. They wouldn't let me in, and they said it was too late to call you."
Great. In one single blow, I'd just managed to destroy the progress Randa and I had made this past year. My heart cracked as I looked at her face. How could I let her down? "Oh, Miranda, I'm so sorry. There's just been no time to stop and think—"
"No kidding—you've been so busy with your ghosts and your shop and everything that matters to you that you forgot all about me! Maybe you don't care if I ever get to be an astronaut, but I do, and now I'll never get to go because we don't have enough money. You didn't even remember to call and wish me good luck!" She burst into tears and rushed into the bathroom.
Feeling like the world was spinning three steps ahead of me, I knocked on the bathroom door. "Randa, Randa, honey… please come out here and talk to me."
After a few minutes, she edged open the door, glaring at me as she blew her nose on a tissue. "Why do you care? Everybody else matters more than me."
I took her by the arm and eased her out of the bathroom. "Come here. You know that you and your brother mean more to me than anything else in the world. If you didn't, we wouldn't have moved here, and I wouldn't work my butt off to make sure you have a good home." I stroked her face, gently holding her chin so she had to look at me. "I love you, Miranda, and I made a horrible mistake."
Her eyes were filled with an aching disappointment, and I desperately wanted to wipe that hurt away. With a little cough, she threw her arms around my waist, sobbing into my sweater. I held her with one arm as I motioned to Cinnamon with the other. "We're closing early. Could you run the deposit across the street for me and drop it in the night box before you head home?"
Cinnamon nodded, her face grave. I handed her the envelope and watched as she made her way across the icy street and dropped it into the night deposit box. Then she turned, waved, and headed for her car.
"Come on, kids." I bundled them into their coats. "We can go home together now—Murray and I cleared out the nasty ghost. We'll talk about this after we get there."
* * * *
By the time we got home, Miranda had calmed down enough to where she was just sniffling. I tried to think of something to make things better, but she shook off my overtures. Finally I repeated my apology and told the kids to wash up for dinner.
She stomped off to the bathroom. I ordered a couple of pizzas, then made a call to Andrew and asked him to come over and to bring the cats with him. At about the time that Andrew showed up, Murray returned from Seattle and pulled in the drive. The sight of the cats brought a little smile to Randa's wan complexion, and the kids ran off to play with them and to fix up the litter boxes. Andrew started to pull me in for a kiss, but I stopped him with a quick peck. There was just too much going on, and I needed some breathing space.
I gestured to the living room. "Help me take the food and drinks in there, okay?" We all gathered around the coffee table and, munching pizza, Murray and I gave a highly edited version of our fight with Mr. B & U, leaving out the superscary parts so the kids wouldn't have nightmares. I'd fill in Andrew about the rest later on.
"So he's really gone?" Miranda's eyes were still swollen from crying, but she gave me a tentative smile.
"Yes, and I don't think he'll be coming back. We booted him out of here. Susan may still be around, but she won't hurt you, honey."
Randa considered this for a moment. "White Deer explained to me how some spirits are okay and some are here to help us, and some are evil." I'd spent thirteen years trying to teach her the same thing. Par for the course, though. Kids would listen to a fence post before they listened to their parents.
Kip wiped pizza sauce off his face. "I wish I coulda been here."
"No, you don't. This was no game, Kip. Whatever you did with that witch's bottle was stupid. Harlow got hurt because of it, and Murray and I were in serious danger. We're going to have a long talk, and if you can't straighten up and fly right, then you won't be allowed to help me with charming anything again until you're eighteen."
That sobered him up real fast. After the kids had finished eating, they went upstairs to unpack. Murray and I had thoroughly cleansed and warded the house when we woke up and, though I had some residual apprehension, I knew they would be okay. Andrew finished off the last piece of pizza. Murray cleared away the plates and boxes.
"So, what happened at Diana's funeral?" I tried to shake off my worry about Randa. I had screwed up big time and would have to figure out a way to make it up to her. If only I had the extra cash sitting around, but the tuition for Space Camp was pricey and didn't include the airfare. Maybe I could ask Roy… but in my heart I knew he wouldn't help. He'd think it was frivolous, and in a way he was right—Randa didn't need to go. But she wanted it so much that I couldn't stand to see her disappointed.
"It was an odd affair. Walter wasn't there, of course, and neither was his mother." Murray pulled out a notebook and flipped through the pages. She took notes on everything.
"That's because she was standing in my shop, bitching at me about Walter. Were there any family members there?"
"Yeah. Joshua. I find it odd that her stepuncle, who hated his family, would be so interested in her. Doesn't set right. Anyway, he was there." Murray shrugged. "He left right after the funeral, so I didn't get a chance to speak to him. There wasn't a formal reception. Actually, it was all very sad. The minister obviously didn't know Diana; he gave the most pitiful eulogy I've ever heard. The only guests attending were a couple of people from her job; I tried to talk to them afterward, but nobody seemed to know much about her private life. From what I can make out, Diana was moody and unpredictable, a real loner."
Unstable. Several people had mentioned that now. "She obviously had emotional problems. Maybe the fact that her parents shunted her from one boarding school to another made her feel unloved. She sure didn't get along with them, at least until near the end, when she supposedly reconciled with Susan."
Or maybe, I speculated, Walter had molested her, and the abuse had skewed her ability to cope with the world. Her demeanor would certainly fit a young woman who'd been assaulted by her father. "I think we need to talk to Joshua. He was the last person we know of who spoke to Diana recently. He seemed to care about her. Maybe he can shed some light on what was going on."
Murray sniffed. "If you can ferret out where he's staying, go for it. I'm sure the department has already questioned him, but you never know what people are going to hold back. That's one thing I've learned being a cop: People underestimate the importance of small things—trivial incidents that can make or break a case."
Andrew headed out, he still had a snarl of paperwork to deal with, and Murray left after three assurances that we would be okay. When it came time for bed, I was nervous and so were the kids, but our bedrooms felt clear—Murray and I had done a good job on cleaning out the energy—and for the first time in days, everybody made it through the night without any problems or nightmares.
* * * *
Wednesday morning, I headed to the shop, where I called Lana and asked her to come in for a few hours during the afternoon; then I put in a call to Harlow. She was mending along nicely, but it would be a long time before she was back to normal. Eunice Addison had paid her a visit, too. Harl had skewered her like a suckling pig and browbeat her out the door, all the while keeping a smile on her face. I envied her ability to destroy people with sugar rather than vinegar.
I told her about the funeral and my speculations. "The one thing that doesn't fit is why Joshua took such an interest in Diana."
"Well, if Walter actually molested her, there's your answer. Joshua probably encouraged her to go to the cops because he saw it as a way to bring Walt to his knees. Don't underestimate the hatred between those two—Walter and Joshua were rivals from the beginning."
"How do you find out so much about everyone?"
She snorted. "That's what comes from cavorting with the social elite—I'm privy to all sorts of good gossip."
"Then tell me this—I want to talk to Joshua. Maybe I can get the scoop on what's going on. Where do you think he'd be staying up here? I can't just call all the motels and beds-and-breakfasts in town."
She thought for a moment. "Bernard died more than a year ago, and Walter's mother moved to a condominium. I know because her next-door neighbor is on the board of the Chiqetaw Players. That big old house that she and Bernard lived in has been standing empty for a year. It hasn't even been put up for sale. Why she's keeping it, I don't know. Maybe Joshua's staying there."
I could hear her shuffling papers. "Here—the address is 351 Plum Street
—it's still listed under Bernard's name in the phone book." She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "If I had anything better to do than snoop, I would. But sitting here all day watching reruns of Three's Company isn't my
idea of fun."
I tapped my pencil on my desk. "Well, you do have a way of ferreting out information."
Harlow sighed. "Actually, yeah." She paused for a moment, as if she were trying to find the right words to tell me something. "Em, I'm closing the gym."
"What? That gym has been your dream for years! Isn't there anything you can do? Hire a manager, maybe?"
"No," she said quietly. "Truth is, we've been going under for a while. Not enough jocks in this burg to pay its way and give me a salary, too. James told me that if I want to close up, I'd better do so before I lose everything I put into it. And with the baby, I want a job where I can work from home."
I doodled circles on the notepad, wanting to help but knowing there was nothing I could do. "Chiqetaw can exist without a gym. We have the YMCA. So, any ideas what kind of job you might be looking for?"
"I applied for one a couple of weeks ago. I think I might get it."
"Doing what?" It was hard to imagine Harlow doing something that wasn't out in the public eye. "When would you start?"
"Next month, as a research assistant. I'd be working from home, typing up notes and research on some Central American tribe a professor from WWU has been studying. The project should last six months. By the time it starts, my wrist should be out of the sling, and I'll be able to type again. I would have said something earlier, but it's just now coming together."
"Good luck, hon. I hope you get it!" I heard Cinnamon rattling around, and I glanced at the clock. "Okay, I gotta book. See you later, and give James a hug for me." As I hung up, I knew there were two things I had to do: I needed to pay a visit to the county jail to talk to Walter, if he would see me; and I needed to drive by the old Addison place. If Joshua was still in town, chances were he'd be there.
Chapter Twenty-Two
After the lunch rush, I told Cinnamon that I'd be back in an hour or so, and she waved me out. I'd never been to the Chiqetaw town jail before. Nestled beneath the city courthouse, the building was old and rose at least four stories above ground level, in red brick with a firehouse look. The jail was tucked away in the basement. There were rumors that the ghosts of men who had been sentenced to death, or who had died while in custody, haunted the courthouse. It was also common legend that Fiona Lynch, an Irishwoman who became the town's first woman law clerk, still roamed the halls, long after a massive heart attack sent her to her grave. I hoped that I wouldn't end up meeting them, considering my propensity for attracting denizens of the netherworld.
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