Spirits, Pies, and Alibis

by Nicole St Claire

  “Broke in?” My forehead scrunched as my eyes widened. Is that what he thought happened? “I would never do that.”

  “Right.” It was clear he didn’t believe me. “Then how do you explain the fact that you were traipsing through the woods from the direction of Cliffside, holding my cousin’s DNA testing kit?”

  My eyes shifted to the bright purple box, which he’d set beside him on the couch. “That’s what was in the box?”

  “Yes. Remember how I told you Uncle Doug had ordered these kits for everyone because he was trying to prove we were related to the Davenport family who built Cliffside Manor? I sent mine in before Uncle Doug died.”

  “Oh, that’s right. I remember you saying that now, but I had no idea what it was when I grabbed it.”

  “What, you just rummaged around and took something without knowing what it was?”

  “Look, it’s true I was at Cliffside just now, but I swear I didn’t go anywhere near the house. I found the box behind the pool-house trash.” Yeah, that pretty much sounded as bad out loud as it had in my head. I knew bright red circles were forming on my chalk-white cheeks, making me look like a poorly painted china doll. Why could I never act like a normal human being when Noah was around?

  “And you make a habit of stealing trash?” His delivery was so deadpan that it left it impossible to tell how much humor, if any, he found in the situation. My guess was not much.

  “I was looking for my cat,” I responded, bristling at whatever it was he was implying about my dumpster-diving habits while ignoring the fact that I had been doing exactly that. “You haven’t even asked why I think Curtis was embezzling from Strong Corp., you know.”

  “Haven’t I?” His tone had shifted from incredulity to bemusement, which under the circumstances was an improvement. “I guess I got distracted.”

  “Shall I fill you in?” When he nodded with a half-amused smile, I continued, feeling somewhat relieved that we’d moved past my garbage issues. “Two years ago, Curtis got involved with a condo timeshare development scheme in Costa Rica being run by a man named Marcus Levine.”

  “I’ve heard him mention Marcus, although I didn’t know about the Costa Rica deal.”

  I nodded. “Marcus was the man I saw at Cabot Field that day, the one I told you about who was arguing and then tossed a briefcase at Curtis.”

  “I remember that. Any idea what was in the briefcase?”

  I thought for a moment. “Money, I assume. Curtis invested over a million dollars with the Papagayo Development Initiative, and he hadn’t seen any of the returns he’d been promised. When the life insurance got delayed, he may have demanded a payment.”

  “But what does this mean in terms of my uncle’s death?” A deep furrow formed between Noah’s brows. “Surely you don’t think Curtis slipped Uncle Doug sleeping pills before the flight.”

  “I don’t know.” I chose my words carefully, not wanting to add to the pain that was evident on his face. “But I think it’s worth considering if it’s possible. Any crime show on TV will tell you that a killer needs means, motive, and opportunity. Curtis was a million dollars in the hole, and your uncle had a million-dollar life insurance policy. That’s a pretty strong motive.”

  “But what about means? I happen to know that Curtis doesn’t take sleeping pills.”

  “Maybe not, but someone in the house does, or did.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “The other day when we went to Cliffside, I found an empty bottle of pills. The label had been torn, but I’m pretty sure it was the type of pill you said was found in your uncle’s lab results, and I could read the last name Strong.”

  Noah gave me a long, searching look. “Where did you find these pills?”

  I sucked in my breath, visibly cringing at the question I should have seen coming. “In the bathroom trash. Don’t—” I held up my hand as he opened his mouth to point out the obvious. “I know how it sounds, okay? But it gives him the means, for sure.”

  To my surprise, Noah chuckled. “You know, you’re not at all the way I remember you.”

  Was that a good thing or a bad thing? I waited for him to continue, but he didn’t, so I was left to assume the worst. “Look, I’m sorry to lay this all on you, Noah. I just thought you should know. What you do with the information is entirely up to you.”

  “What I’m going to do is talk to Curtis. Right now.” Noah’s voice was firm, his expression filled with a steely determination that set my heart pounding. “And you’re coming with me.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The darkness was palpable as we drove through Cliffside’s iron gates, and the light from the waning moon hidden behind a thick layer of clouds provided the only illumination along the long driveway. The house itself was dark except for a single light that shone from a side window on the first floor. No one was expecting us, as Noah hadn’t called ahead, preferring not to give his cousin time to prepare answers to our questions in advance. Or flee if he was so inclined, which was more what I expected of him.

  The deep gong of the doorbell reverberated throughout the house, which was enough on its own to make me jittery, but the feeling intensified as the clouds parted and a beam of moonlight revealed a massive blackbird sitting still as a statue on the grass beside the house. The moment my eyes landed on him, the bird let out a loud, mournful croak that sent a shiver racing from the base of my neck all the way to my tailbone. Clearly the bird was a sign, but of what I wasn’t sure.

  An eternity passed before the door swung open, the creak of the hinges making nearly the same noise as the bird. Curtis stood in the doorway, appearing drained of life. Even in the darkness, I could make out the circles beneath his sunken eyes, and the expression he wore was devoid of all emotion.

  “Noah. Polly. What are you doing here?” he asked.

  Noah stiffened beside me. “You know that’s not her name, Curtis.”

  Curtis stared blankly, almost confused, and it seemed he hadn’t intended to tease. I doubted he was fully aware he’d used the wrong name. He blinked slowly, and the faintest spark of animation returned to his features. “Tamsyn. Sorry. Please, both of you, come in.”

  We entered the house and followed him past the opulent staircase and through the echoing front room, down the hall, and into a smaller room that appeared to be a study. There were oversized leather chairs and built-in shelves filled with books. Though it was the middle of summer, a fire crackled in the fireplace to ward off the chill that was common for evenings on the island.

  “Have a seat.” Curtis gestured toward the chairs as he crossed the room to a large globe, which he opened to reveal a hidden bar. “Can I get either of you a drink?”

  “This isn’t exactly a social call, Curt,” Noah said. “Tamsyn’s been helping me review the Strong Corp. financials for Mom, and I have some questions.”

  “Well, then we’ll definitely need drinks.” Curtis set out three cut-crystal glasses and a fancy soda bottle with a ceramic stopper instead of a cap. There was a quick hiss of pressure being relieved as he popped the top open and filled each glass until it was about two-thirds of the way to the top. Then he filled each one the rest of the way with a generous measure of rum. “Dark and stormy. Uncle Doug’s favorite. Cheers.”

  As I raised the drink to my lips, I detected the strong, biting scent of ginger. Bubbles tickled my nose as I pretended to take a sip. The smell was inviting, and under normal circumstances I would’ve been happy to give it a try, but I had a healthy enough sense of self-preservation not to consume anything that had been offered to me by someone I suspected of murder. I noticed Noah, too, set his drink down untouched. Then he let out a long, slow sigh.

  “I know about Costa Rica, Curt.”

  Curtis slumped in his chair at Noah’s words, shutting his eyes and placing a hand to his temple. “Marcus swore it was a sure thing.”

  “Nothing’s ever a sure thing,” Noah chided.

  There was a flash of fire in Curtis’s eyes.
“Quadruple my money in six months tops. Fast enough that no one would even notice it missing from the accounts. Until the tropical storm hit.”

  “Was it the life insurance you needed?” Noah’s words were soft, nearly a whisper, but there was no mistaking the gravity of his meaning.

  “Hold on there, bud.” Curtis sat up straight, his shoulders and jawline equally stiff. “You think I killed Uncle Doug?”

  “Look, I’m not saying you did,” Noah soothed. “But I’m saying I can see how it sure would’ve made things easier for you. You’d have the insurance money to pay back what you owed the company, and Uncle Doug would never have to find out what you did.”

  “Nah, you don’t get it.” Curtis waved a hand, frustrated. “He already knew.”

  “Are you saying he was in on it?” I asked, unable to hide my surprise. “The real estate deal? The shell accounts?”

  “No, not all that,” Curtis said. “He only found out after the fact, when he discovered the money was missing.”

  “When did that happen?” Noah asked.

  “Right after we got the notice from the IRS about the audit. He started reviewing the accounts, confronted me about the numbers not lining up, and I confessed everything.”

  “It was a million dollars, Curtis,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief. “You’re making it sound like your uncle just forgave you for it on the spot.”

  “He would do anything for blood,” Curtis stated with utter firmness.

  “It’s true.” Noah turned toward me. “I know the reputation our uncle had on the island, but when it came to family, that wouldn’t be so far-fetched.”

  Curtis nodded. “Exactly. I mean, I don’t want to make it sound like he was fine with what I’d done. He wasn’t. But he didn’t want me getting into trouble for it. He said he wanted to deal with the matter internally so it wouldn’t hurt the family name.”

  “What did that mean, internally?” I asked.

  “He was going to replenish the accounts with his own money, and I’d pay him back when I got the rest of what I was owed from Marcus. The day before the party, when he was leaving for the mainland, he told me he’d figured out how to move some stuff around so it wouldn’t raise any red flags with the auditors.”

  “But he died before he could do it,” I said, understanding sinking in. “Which means you’re—”

  “Up a creek,” Curtis finished with a bitter laugh. “The money never got transferred, and what I got from Marcus won’t make a dent. Without Uncle Doug to intervene, I’m ruined, and the company might be, too.”

  “I had no idea,” Noah said, his face a mask of concern. “I’m really sorry.”

  “Yeah, well, at least now you know I didn’t have anything to do with his death. I’m the last person in the world who would’ve wanted him dead.” Curtis sniffed loudly, and I couldn’t tell for sure, but I thought it might have been because he was holding back tears, though whether for his uncle or for himself I wasn’t sure. He might not have been a murderer, but he was still Curtis Strong, instigator of Polly Parrot and tormentor of my youth, after all. “Can I get you another drink?”

  “Still working on this one,” I replied, raising my glass. This time, I took a real sip. Since Curtis most likely wasn’t a murderer anymore, I could no longer see any harm. As I swallowed, I choked back a cough when the intense flavor of ginger hit the back of my throat. “Whoa. Powerful.”

  “The rum?” Noah asked.

  “The ginger ale,” I said.

  “Ginger beer, you mean.” Curtis chuckled. “Yeah, that was Uncle Doug’s secret ingredient. He got it from a craft brewer on the mainland once a month. It’s the spiciest ginger beer I’ve ever tasted, for sure. But he swore you couldn’t make a proper dark and stormy without it. He’d have one every night before bed.”

  “Could I take a look at it?” I stretched out my arm as Curtis passed me the bottle. It was made of light-green glass and had a label on it that looked hand stenciled, with a blue anchor. Even empty, the gingery scent was intense enough to burn my nostrils. “Do you mind if I keep it? I wouldn’t mind picking some up next time I’m off the island.”

  “Sure, be my guest,” he replied, and I dropped the empty bottle into my bag.

  It was an odd request, to be sure, but I had my reasons. You see, I hadn’t forgotten my earlier mission of finding a personal item that belonged to Douglas Strong so the coven could attempt a second summoning spell. It wasn’t an ideal choice, but let’s face it, if I’d slipped out of the room and tried to smuggle one of Uncle Doug’s bathrobes from the house, it would have been noticed. Plus, now that I’d accused Curtis of murder, there was a good chance that another invitation to Cliffside was not in my future.

  “I haven’t been off the island in a while, have you?” I directed this question at Curtis with as much nonchalance as I could manage. Sure, he’d given a solidly convincing motive for wanting his uncle alive, but it never hurt to double-check a suspect’s alibi.

  “Not since early June. Mom and I were up to our ears getting ready for Uncle Doug’s party. We barely left the house. Then again, I rarely leave Summerhaven this time of year because so many investors are on the island.”

  That settled it. If Curtis hadn’t left the island since well before the crash, there was no way he had slipped his uncle those sleeping pills.

  After the final awkward pleasantries were exchanged, Noah and I found ourselves in his car, heading back down the driveway toward the main road. This time, Curtis had turned on the lights, so it was slightly less dark and foreboding than it had been upon our arrival. As a result, we were driving at a good clip when we reached the iron gates. The area around Cliffside was usually deserted late at night, but just as he began to turn onto the main road, Noah slammed on the brakes, pushing the seat belt deep into my flesh and causing a biting pain to rip through my shoulder. I gasped as a car careened toward us. It was an antique roadster, the convertible top folded back, and I could see a female driver with blonde hair frantically spinning the steering wheel. The car swerved toward the center of the road with a jerk, passing mere inches from Noah’s front bumper.

  “Schnookerdookies!” I exclaimed, thoroughly rattled.

  His hands still gripping the wheel, Noah turned to me with a look that shifted rapidly from fright to confusion. “What did you say?”

  “I…uh,” I muttered, because I wasn’t sure what to make of the revelation that the last thing I said on earth could have been “schnookerdookies,” let alone how to explain that to another human being. “Any idea who that was?”

  “Audrey.” Noah’s expression was grim. “One of these days her drinking is going to get her, or someone else, killed.”

  “Should we call the sheriff?”

  “I hate to bring more trouble on the family than there already is. She’s home now, parked around the back entrance.” He sighed deeply, clearly troubled. “Maybe I’ll call Sheila and let her bring it up to Grady in an unofficial capacity.”

  “Sheila from the diner?” My brain whirred with half-remembered snippets of conversation from the ferry about the sheriff and his new lady friend. “Oh, she’s that Sheila.”

  “Rumors spread like the plague on this island.” His words were tinged with a bitterness that made me wonder just how miserable his teenage years had been thanks to his crush on me.

  I watched as Noah inched the car the rest of the way out of the driveway and onto the road, but instead of seeing the handsome doctor, I saw the geeky kid he’d once been. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “It’s just, well, your cousin was pretty awful to you when we were young.” I tripped over the words just a little. It was the closest we’d come to discussing the unfortunate poetry incident, and I felt every bit as self-conscious about it as I was certain he must. “Why are you so quick to stand by him now?”

  “You’re right. He could be a real jerk sometimes. But he’s family, and he’s been through a lot. We all need someone
in our corner, and I guess I like knowing I can be that person for him.”

  “Yeah,” I scoffed, “but would he be there for you? Because if he thought you’d slipped those pills to your uncle, he strikes me as the type to sell you out in a heartbeat if it meant speeding up that insurance money.”

  “I guess I don’t place value on people the same way you do.”

  Oh, schnookerdookies. My flippant observation on human nature had not gone over the way I’d intended. Not at all. But before I could figure out whether I’d angered Noah by criticizing his family, or merely disappointed him with my cynicism, we’d reached the sign for Pinecroft Inn. As soon as the car had made it to the end of the driveway, I threw the door open and hopped out.

  “I’ll walk you to the door,” Noah said, pushing the shifter into park.

  “No need,” I called over my shoulder as I all but sprinted to the front steps. He waited to back away until I’d opened the door and stepped inside, his sense of chivalry outweighing whatever annoyance or anger I’d provoked by criticizing his bully of a cousin. I wasn’t sure I’d ever understand what made Noah Caldwell tick, or where I stood with him.

  The stairs creaked beneath my feet as I headed up to my room, the groaning sound echoing through the otherwise silent house. It was late, and except for a light on the second-floor landing, the house was dark, and all had gone to bed. Wearily, I snapped on the bedroom light, then stared, astounded, at the black lump of purring fur on my quilt.

  “Gus?” I broke into a broad grin when the little devil opened one eye as if he’d done nothing all day but nap in precisely that spot. “Oh, thank goodness. I thought…well, I don’t know what I thought, but I’m glad you’re back.”

  I rushed toward him with an arm outstretched to give his head a pat, almost unable to believe I’d just said so many nice words to a cat in one breath. He responded by plastering his ears back and fixing me with an icy stare, a sure sign this sudden rush of affection was not mutual. I retreated, and he readjusted his position on the bed so that his back was turned toward me, his gaze now fixed on the bedroom window. My eyes followed his to where the curtain billowed gently on a rose-scented breeze. I was certain I’d closed it before I’d left, and the sight of it standing wide open now sent a stab of unease through my gut. The last thing I needed after the day’s upheaval was any repeat of feline defenestration.