Meowsical Death: A Hazel Hart Cozy Mystery Two
Page 8
He held the bottle out to her and gestured. “Violent? He attacked me! His grubby little fingers like claws on my face. Shoving dirt into my mouth. You have absolutely no idea what he’s capable of,” he said and took another long gulp.
It reminded Hazel of Simone Wilkins getting drunk at the last Lodge party, and a dark pit formed in her stomach. Simone had met an awful fate, and no matter how melodramatic and over-the-top Mr. Angel was, she didn’t want him to die as well.
“If he attacked you, you really need to go to the sheriff. I have his number on my phone,” she said and pulled it from her purse, even though he was the last person she wanted to talk to at the moment.
Ambrose looked out the window and shook his head. “It happened about thirty years ago, so there’s no point now.”
Hazel frowned. Oh. That explained it. A fight when they were children. But if she got him talking, she might as well keep him talking.
“When was the last time you saw Roberta? I mean you said you hadn’t seen her in ages, but I think it was a little bit more recently than that, wasn’t it?”
Ambrose froze, the bottle pressed to his lips, and took another long swig. Then, he turned it upside down and single drop fell on the carpet at his feet. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”
Hazel drew in a slow breath. “I’m trying to find out who killed her, and everyone who had ties to her could know something.”
Or could be the one who did it, but she didn’t mention that. Accusing people of murder tended to make them clam up, she’d learned.
Ambrose threw himself on one of the couches, and Hazel looked away as the robe flapped open. She did not want to see what was beneath. “Fine. You’re right. She came to see me in New York a few months ago. Well, I paid for her plane ticket and her hotel. She was so ecstatic that I was in the New York Philharmonic, and she’d been writing me letters and telling me how proud she was. I couldn’t stand leaving her stuck here as she was getting so much older, you see.”
Hazel felt her brow furrow. “Well, that doesn’t sound like a big deal. Why did you keep it a secret?”
Ambrose’s expression darkened. “She told me not to tell anyone about the trip. And that was probably because she thought someone was after her.”
“What?” Hazel said and sank into a chair opposite the couch he sat on. Thankfully, he’d flapped the robe back over his lap, but Hazel still didn’t glance any farther down than his chin.
“That’s what she said. She’d been getting threatening letters for years, apparently. And she had no clue who was sending them. But she was scared. And even worse, after working her whole life she was broke.”
Hazel’s frown deepened. That didn’t make any sense. She’d seen the Martin’s house, it was back in the woods without a lakefront view like her own cabin or the home she’d grown up in, and it was modest in size and scope, but her mother said the Martins owned it. And they’d owned their own boat business, which they sold when Mr. Martin retired. Not to mention Roberta had been working as a teacher for something like fifty years. Or—maybe not quite that long—but long enough to have a decent pension.
She knew they weren’t rich, but broke?
“How was she broke?”
Ambrose shrugged, and he seemed to add extra flourish to it, though Hazel didn’t see how that was even possible. “She never got a chance to tell me. I paid for the trip to New York since I knew she couldn’t afford it. And then she set up this concert for me here. I was actually going to give her half of the proceeds, so she could finally retire, which is what she wanted all along. You know she’d been working at that school for so many years, and she wanted some time to herself,” he said and choked on his own words.
He looked away, so Hazel didn’t get the chance to see if he had actual tears in his eyes or not. Even so, Ambrose Angel seemed like the kind of person that could cry on cue if needed.
If Roberta Martin was broke, it gave her some place to start. As did those threatening letters. Someone was stalking her? That was a much better lead than her mother having a slight tiff with Roberta the day before she died.
“Thank you. I need to get back to work, but can I call if I have any other questions?”
Ambrose wiped his eyes on his knuckles and nodded, bottom lip trembling. “Of course. I hope whoever did this is put away for a long time. Sweet old Roberta.” Then he dissolved into another fit of sobs.
Hazel gave one last regretful look at the view and let herself out.
Chapter 10
The problem with trying to run a business when her mother was being accused of murder was that she couldn’t leave work to investigate. Not when she promised to have Ambrose Angel’s photos done by the end of the week.
So, Hazel spent the rest of the day going over the pictures and perfecting them.
Her lighting had been right, but there were a few smudges around Mr. Angel’s eyes that she smoothed out with Photoshop. Nothing extreme. She didn’t wipe wrinkles from people’s faces unless they specifically asked her to do it. She wasn’t getting him ready for the cover of a magazine. Just his next batch of flyers. Which, if this concert was anything to go by, would have a ridiculous number too.
Michael worked near her, and they listened to some indie band that Michael favored. Hazel wasn’t up in all the hip new music the young people were listening to— which made her feel ridiculously ancient—but who had time for that?
At least this was inoffensive and low-key. Not brash and loud, like the music she heard in the local bar.
Her father hadn’t called or stopped by, but Hazel told herself it was because he was tired. And her gut clenched again. She wasn’t worried that he was the way Esther perceived him—she knew him too well for that—but he was older than she’d remembered. Which was silly. She’d seen him a year ago, and he hadn’t seemed that old then.
But time did creep up on people.
It seemed to have been creeping up on Roberta Martin for ages, and she wanted to retire. But couldn’t.
Hazel frowned at that thought. She wondered if her father was going to retire now, but she knew better than to bring it up. He’d get upset about it, them thinking he was too old to keep traveling like he’d always done.
By the time she closed up for the day, waving Michael goodbye into the twilight sky, she’d made up her mind to head home and have dinner with her parents, probably alone because she doubted Esther would be making another appearance for a family dinner without being forced.
However, Hazel didn’t get the chance.
Her sister’s silver SUV pulled up alongside Hazel’s red truck and the window rolled down. Esther was frowning heavily, and her perfectly plucked eyebrows furrowed over her blue green eyes. “Get in. We’re going to dinner, and you’re not going to argue with me.”
“Are you paying?” Hazel said and forced a grin.
Esther rolled her eyes. Ruth wasn’t singing from the backseat, so Hazel surmised she was alone.
“Is Ruth with mom and dad?”
Esther nodded. “Are you going to get in or not?”
“Fine. But if you’re taking me out to dinner, I want Indian food,” Hazel said and climbed in.
The reason for that is twofold. One: she really did want Indian food. It was like comfort food that didn’t feel as heavy or unforgiving as the stuff they served at the local American diner, the Bear’s Den. And number two: Raj worked there. And if she knew her sister, which Hazel did, Esther probably wouldn’t scream in public if Raj was nearby.
It’s not that they were dating, but Esther had expressed interest in the chef at Shanti’s, so Hazel didn’t think she would try to screw it up.
Esther let out a huff of air that blew her auburn bangs up into the air. They settled back down and she nodded. “Fine. Indian food. But you better tell me the truth.”
Shanti’s was bustling, even on a midweek night in Cedar Valley.
The weather had been equally cold that day as it had the last, but perhaps word
of Roberta Martin’s death brought everybody out to gossip about it.
Hazel smiled at Tommy, who stood at the entrance with the menus, and he led them to a booth in the corner. They didn’t even have to ask for privacy. Maybe it was the look on Esther’s face that gave him the idea.
Hazel didn’t ask.
She mulled over the menu while Tommy brought them water and a kettle of chai tea. She wasn’t sure what Esther was doing, but it involved dipping into her purse for various items and letting out great puffs of breath, she didn’t say anything until after they’d already ordered—saag paneer, tandoori chicken, and chicken masala.
Hazel had skipped lunch, and if Esther was paying, she would splurge. Not that she wouldn’t pay her younger sister back at some later point. It was how they did things. One paid for dinner when they were angry and vice versa.
Esther hadn’t paid for dinner in a while.
“When were you going to tell me?” Esther said, leaning across the table and keeping her voice down.
Hazel poured herself a cup of tea, and the spicy aroma wound its way toward her face with the steam. “What’s this about?”
Esther’s mouth thinned into a line. “You know what it’s about. Mom. Roberta Martin. They think she did it.”
Hazel shut her eyes and drew in a breath of the heavenly scented air. “Mom didn’t want to tell you because of how you get. She thought you’d end up mood baking and then throw half of it away because you couldn’t get the frosting right,” Hazel said— which was, in fact, the truth.
Esther nodded in a way that meant she was increasingly angry. “I see. Little Esther can’t handle the truth because she’ll get upset. Well, I have every right to get upset when they think my mother killed someone.”
Hazel blew on her cup before she took a sip. “You’re a lot more upset about this than you were when they accused me of murder.”
Esther opened her mouth and closed it. “You weren’t really being accused. They shut your shop for a few days. That was different. There are rumors around town. Rumors about the fight mom had, and that the sheriff brought her in last night. You know how people talk.”
That was true enough. Like any small town, Cedar Valley ran on rumors. And her mother had started quite a few in her long residence there. Probably because she was so odd, and her association with Tess didn’t help matters much.
But everybody in town had come to the same conclusion—Maureen Hart might be eccentric, but she wasn’t dangerous. Her thoughts about ghosts and tarot cards might not line up with everybody’s beliefs, but that sort of thing was allowed. Differences of opinion and the like. She wasn’t evil, and she didn’t hurt anybody. Plus, the tourists seemed to like her shop and it couldn’t hurt business. Their mother had even been known to attend church services on occasion. Although, which denomination she attended was entirely up to her own whim.
Hazel frowned. “Does anyone think she actually did this?”
Esther shrugged. “How am I supposed to know? I didn’t hear about it until after noon, and Ruth was already back from school. Joanne Collins comes and starts prattling about how the sheriff is going to arrest mom soon and she wanted to bring me a casserole to say she was sorry. ‘Oh, Esther dear, you’ve been through so much. With Will passing and now this,’” Esther said in her imitation of Joanne Collins high-pitched voice.
“Joanne is a busybody and you know it.” Hazel reached across the table to grab Esther’s hand. It trembled under her own, and Esther drew in a deep breath.
“I know, but she isn’t wrong. This—we know mom didn’t do it, but if everyone starts believing she did, things could get nasty.”
Nasty as in the entire town turning against them? Hazel didn’t like the sound of that. And it was much easier to scapegoat one person—one family—that looked guilty than it was to search for the truth. History had repeated that often enough.
Still, that sort of thing happening in her town seemed ridiculous.
“People like mom. They know she’s harmless.”
“And they also know she had a decades-long spat with Roberta Martin. So, what are you gonna do about it?”
It was the first time Esther had sounded desperate in years.
The last time Hazel remembered her voice catching like that was after her husband died. “What am I gonna do now, Hazy?” she’d said, and her voice caught at the end.
That time, Hazel could do nothing but cradle her sister in her arms as she sobbed herself to sleep.
Now, she had to do something more.
But this was a far cry from how Esther acted last time there was a murder in Cedar Valley.
“What do you want me to do?” she asked carefully.
Tommy came over then, a broad grin on his face and a tray in his arms. He sat down their plates of food, the smells mingling together, and Hazel’s mouth watered. “My brother sends his regards,” Tommy said and winked at Esther.
She gave him a pained smile. “It looks wonderful.”
Then, Tommy leaned down and gripped her shoulder. “We know your mom didn’t do anything wrong. I’m sure the sheriff will find the real culprit soon enough,” he said, and his eyes shot to Hazel.
Hazel nodded quickly. She may have accidentally thought Tommy was a murderer at one point, so he was speaking from a place of wisdom.
Once he left, Esther’s eyes caught hers and held. “Well?”
Hazel let out a sigh and scooped a pile of chicken masala onto her plate. “What do you think I’m gonna do? I’m gonna find out who really killed Roberta Martin and clear mom’s name. I’ve been working at it most of the day.”
For the first time that night, a genuine smile slid over Esther’s face. “Good. Let me know if I can help.”
That was a surprise. Esther had been adamant Hazel didn’t get involved in the last investigation, and yet now, she was offering help?
“Are you sure there aren’t people who are better suited for this? Like the police?” Hazel teased.
Esther’s eyes narrowed. “Shut up and eat your dinner.”
Hazel laughed and obliged.
Chapter 11
Usually, Hazel would have left the job of delivering the photos to the school in question to Michael alone and not made the journey with him.
However, after what she learned from Ambrose, she needed to snoop around. So, box of photos tucked under her arm, she strolled back into the Cedar Valley Elementary school.
Anthony Ray had been cross that she left him home the day before and had insisted upon coming with her. He made his intentions known by winding around her legs the entire morning and nearly tripping her. Finally, Hazel had relented and put him in his leash and harness. Now, he strolled beside her, happy as could be with his chin tilted in the air and his nose sniffing all the interesting scents around the school.
Hopefully, the principal wouldn’t be upset that she brought him again.
She arrived after school started, so there weren’t children milling the halls and staring at her with wide eyes, all of them wanting to pet Anthony Ray. She needed the relative quiet for snooping, after all.
The secretary gave Hazel a look that told her she probably heard about the rumor that Maureen Hart may have killed Roberta Martin. But if she believed it or not was up in the air. Though, she didn’t hesitate to hustle Hazel into Mrs. Jeffries’ office.
The principal wore a red blouse with a gray suit, again, and Hazel wondered if she had blouses in any other color.
She gave Hazel a warm smile from behind her desk and stood up. “Ms. Hart. You are by far the fastest photographer we’ve ever hired.”
Hazel set the box down. There were several others in the back of her truck that needed to be brought in, and Michael was handling that. “I put a rush order in at the printers. And this time of year, they were more than happy to oblige,” Hazel explained.
She didn’t mention that she wanted to have an excuse to come back to the school as soon as possible because of the Roberta Martin murder inve
stigation.
Mrs. Jeffries opened the box and picked through the pictures, nodding appreciatively. “Looks great. I believe I have a check for you.” She pulled it out of her desk drawer and slipped it across to Hazel. This one was also in an envelope, which reminded her of the cash from Ambrose the day before.
So much money in envelopes. She wondered if one of Tess’s predictions covered that.
Still, as long as she got paid, she wasn’t about to complain. And the cost for shooting an entire elementary school was nothing to sneeze at.
Mrs. Jeffries held out her hand, obviously for Hazel to shake, but that would mean their meeting was over. And Hazel needed answers. And a lead. And she wanted to find out why Mrs. Jeffries lied to the sheriff.
Hazel hesitated. “Actually, I had a question to ask about Roberta Martin.”
Mrs. Jeffries hand slid back to her side and she smoothed it over her pants. “Oh? What about her? I mean, have they found a killer?” Her brows furrowed in a way that suggested concern, but it didn’t quite reach her voice. Or her eyes.
That was interesting.
Hazel shrugged. “I’m not sure. I haven’t talked to the sheriff yet today. But someone told me yesterday that she had been aching to retire and hadn’t been able to yet. Was there not someone else qualified to take over her position?”
A shadow slipped over Mrs. Jeffries face, though her expression remained practically unchanged. Hazel wondered if it was a trick of the light.
“Wanted to retire? Who told you that?” She let out a stifled chuckle.
Hazel watched Anthony Ray try to climb on top of the box of photos. Before he could scratch any of them, she picked him up and put him back on the floor. “Just an acquaintance of hers. And her son.”
That caused Mrs. Jeffries to snort dismissively. “Bobby? I don’t think he would know anything about what his mother wanted.”
That too was interesting, but in a different way.
“Are they on bad terms? When I saw him yesterday he seemed distraught.”
Which was partially the truth. She actually wasn’t sure how Bobby Martin had seemed. He was more like fifty percent annoyed at Ambrose Angel and surprised to see her, and fifty percent distraught.