Olivia whipped out her cell and unlocked the screen. The light flared, and she hid it underneath the hem of her long coat. “Shoot,” she whispered, and peered over the top of her hiding bush.
Nope, the lovers hadn’t noticed her slip-up.
She fired off a text to Jake.
Just arrived at Walter’s residence to find Mrs. Horn in his car. They’re kissing.
She sent that off with a smirk. No doubt, it would shock the socks off poor Jake. He’d never have seen this coming. Olivia switched the phone to silent.
A text pinged through a second later and she opened it.
I know. Another avenue the police are investigating.
Olivia growled under her breath. Dodgy joined in, so she had to stop.
What do you mean, you know? Why didn’t you tell me?? And after the entire phone conversation they’d had, too.
Didn’t think it was important at the time. Get out of there before you get caught. Detective Keane won’t—
Olivia closed the text without reading the rest of it. She didn’t need a lecture about her nighttime mission. She was well aware it was reckless and a little impulsive, but this was her son on the line.
He might be grown, but he’d always be her child.
Finally, the two lovebirds separated. The engine of the Buick 8 started up and reversed out of the driveway. Olivia sneaked around to the other side of the bush. The headlights flared and glanced across the spot she’d just vacated.
“Close,” she breathed and slipped her cell back into the pocket of her jeans.
The Buick took off down the street at a speed to rival a race car.
“Now’s our chance, Dodgy, my boy. Are you with me?”
Dodger whined.
“Grow a backbone,” Olivia said and patted him on the head.
She shimmied out from behind the bush and ran for the side alley that led to the back of the house and, she hoped, to an entrance that would lead her to her son.
Sebastian had to be in there. He just had to be.
Chapter Nineteen
Olivia rounded the corner of the house and slowed down, Dodger’s paws tap-tapping on the stone path beside it. The Walter residence was a double-story, but a light shone near the back of the house, and the muffled tones of an argument leaked out an open window up ahead. It sounded a lot like a sitcom without the canned laughter.
Olivia ducked down and pressed her finger to her lips.
Dodger had to know what the sign meant by now, but he plonked onto his butt and scratched beneath his collar, clinking the tag.
“Shush,” Olivia whispered, then tugged him along.
The night shrouded them, but it wasn’t enough. Where was Sebastian? She had to get him out of there before it was too late and everything exploded.
Prickles raced down the back of her neck—what if the cops turned up now? No, they didn’t have enough to arrest him. They couldn’t have, or they’d have done it the minute they found the picture on Jason’s phone.
“I don’t believe this,” Sebby said.
Olivia froze.
His voice had come from that open window. She dodged around the sliver of light, then peeked through the window. Sebby and Kerry stood face to face in the middle of her bedroom. This wasn’t a sitcom. This was a classic drama movie. Or a Western.
They squared off, Kerry with her eyes narrowed and Sebastian with his thumbs hooked into his belt loops, shoulders rigid.
“You can’t hide it anymore,” Kerry said. She walked to her desk and snatched a picture off her wall. A collage of them had been pinned to a corkboard, along with cut-out paper hearts and sayings. Each of those images contained two people only: Kerry and Jason.
Boyfriend and girlfriend.
“I’ve had enough of this. If you wanted me to leave, you should have just said so.”
“I didn’t ask for this,” Kerry replied and tossed the picture at her friend. “I didn’t ask for any of this to happen.”
The picture flopped to the carpet. “Kerry, no one did.”
“You did,” she hissed. “You wanted Jason dead. I know you did. Like I said, you can’t hide it anymore.”
Sebastian clenched his fists. “I didn’t want my best friend dead.”
The two glared at each other, paces apart, and the silence swelled.
Dodger shifted beside Olivia, and she nudged him with her knee. He quieted down again.
Finally, Sebby released his fists and took a step toward his friend. “I—I know this is difficult. I’ve got mixed feelings, too.”
“Mixed feelings!”
“I’m just saying that we had something. We—look, you can’t deny the fact that we kissed and we had a connection,” Sebastian said. “It’s something that should never have happened, and I felt terrible about it. I still do. But Kerry, I would never hurt Jason because of that.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not lying. I didn’t want Jason to get hurt by what happened between us,” Sebastian said. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “He was the one who got angry.”
Kerry’s shoulders shook.
“Don’t cry.” He reached out to her, but she jerked away from him.
“Don’t touch me. Don’t you dare touch me.”
“Stop,” Sebastian replied, and frowned. “Just stop being like this. It’s not helping anything.”
“You killed him.”
“Stop it,” Sebastian yelled. “Stop saying that!”
Kerry raised her palm. A ‘thwack’ rang out—the slap of flesh meeting flesh—then silence. Dodger growled, and Olivia had to nudge him again.
“You’re a murderer,” Kerry hissed. “That kiss was nothing. We were nothing. You’re nothing, Sebastian Cloud.”
“Kerry—”
“I’m going to tell my father everything, and then I’m going to tell the police. They’re going to put you where you belong.” She spun on her heel and stormed out of the bedroom.
Sebby touched his cheek, then bent and picked up the picture of Jason and Kerry. He put it down on the desk.
Olivia had never seen her son this defeated. It hurt her from the inside out, made only worse by the fact that there was really nothing she could do. All she had to offer was a warm home to sleep in. She couldn’t protect him from the truth or from Kerry’s temper tantrums.
Sebastian stared at the pictures for a moment. His face crumpled into a mask of anger. He raised his fist, then punched the wall so hard that a framed picture dropped from a hook and smashed to the ground.
Olivia started forward. “Se—”
Her son marched out of the bedroom and disappeared. Doors slammed in the building. The distant growl of an engine grew closer, and Olivia’s heart skipped a few beats. She had to get to Sebastian before Mr. Walter got back—heaven knew what would happen once Kerry told him there was a ‘murderer’ living under his roof.
Olivia took off down the side path and rounded the corner of the house.
The back door slapped open, and a figure appeared. It had to be Sebastian. He jogged down the back stairs and out into the garden.
“Sebastian,” Olivia hissed.
The person didn’t stop moving.
“Sebby!” She whispered, louder this time.
A slight pause, and then her son vaulted over the back fence. His footsteps crunched through the neighbor’s yard.
“Oh, heavens,” Olivia muttered. That hadn’t gone to plan.
The sound of car doors slamming drove that point home again. Mr. Walter had arrived home. Any minute now, his daughter would rush out to tell him her version of the truth.
“Time to get out of here, Dodgy,” she whispered.
The dog wagged his tail and slapped it on her leg.
“This way,” Olivia whispered.
They backtracked toward the side of the house, rounded the corner once again, and hightailed it past Kerry’s bedroom window.
Muffled shouts drifted out of the house. Olivia caught the mention of ‘Se
bastian’ and chewed the inside of her cheek.
Trouble wasn’t on its way. It had already arrived.
Chapter Twenty
Sitting on the sofa in the living room of the Horn house gave Olivia every type of creepy feeling imaginable. The dining table where Jason had sat, his chair now empty, stood at the other end of the room, glaring at her. The cold winter sunshine glinted on the chandelier and the gilt frame of the family photo above the mantel.
Alvira shifted beside her and fiddled with the straps of her handbag. “This feels weird,” she muttered. “I wasn’t even here the night it happened and it just feels—”
“Creepy,” Olivia finished.
“Uh-huh.”
Mrs. Horn had let them in then disappeared into the kitchen to organize a tea tray or a cup of coffee or whatever it was she’d mumbled under her breath before she’d shuffled out.
Olivia wrinkled her nose. The last time she’d been here, the Horns had had a flock of butlers at their fingertips. Why would she need to organize their refreshments herself?
That question was the least of her worries at the moment. She’d called Sebastian continuously since she’d arrived back at the shop the night before, but he hadn’t answered his phone.
And he wasn’t at the Walter residence, that was for sure. She’d have heard about the fallout through the Chester grapevine. Sebby had gone dark, and the mystery hadn’t been solved. Never mind the tarot cards that had been plastered to her front door—they’d spooked the A’s, too.
Mrs. Horn strode back into the room, her cardigan creased and a tray of cups in her hands. She set it down on the coffee table, then lowered herself onto the sofa opposite theirs. “I’ve removed the help,” she said. “I don’t trust any of them to make anything for us after what happened to Jason.”
“I understand,” Olivia replied and eyed the coffee cups. A porcelain pitcher of milk sat beside them. She picked it up and sloshed some into one of the cups, then passed it to Alvira. “How are you feeling, Mrs. Horn?”
The woman’s eyelid twitched. “As well as can be expected. My Jason is gone, and the police don’t have any answers.”
“I’m so sorry, and my condolences for your loss. Jason was a lovely—”
“What do you want, Ms. Cloud?”
“I—we came to express our—”
“Don’t bother with that,” she said. “My husband told me you came over to accuse him of murdering our child.”
Olivia sucked in a breath. Alvira spilled milk on the tray, then clinked the pitcher onto it.
“If you’ve got something to say, you should go ahead and say it.” Mrs. Horn stared Olivia down. “Don’t pull your punches, because I won’t pull mine.”
Why had the woman made them refreshments with negative intent? Olivia ignored the suspicion curling through her gut. She didn’t trust Lucia Horn, but she highly doubted the woman would poison their drinks.
It would only lead to a swift arrest and more suspicion laid at her feet.
“I’m not here to upset you, Mrs. Horn. I’m trying to help you.”
“By accusing me of murder, too?”
“Of course not,” Olivia said, though it had run through her mind on the way over. Jake insisted she keep it professional. Pity, all of her suspects, insisted on pushing the boundaries and her buttons.
“Then why have you come?”
“I just wanted to know if you have any information about your son’s murder. Anything that might help me—uh, the police to figure out why he was harmed,” Olivia said.
Mrs. Horn’s lips writhed. “No.”
“No,” Olivia repeated.
“No. I have no new information. And even if I did, I wouldn’t share it with you,” Mrs. Horn said.
“I’m confused. Why did you invite us in for coffee if you had no intention of—?”
“To give you a warning,” Mrs. Horn said. “Stay away from my family. Stay away from my home, or I’ll make sure you regret it.”
Alvira popped out of her seat, gripping her handbag to her side. Olivia followed her lead, but took her time about it—she’d never been good with threats. Or authority, apparently, since she’d flouted the rules and interfered in investigations multiple times now.
She chewed on her guilt and tracked toward the arch which led into the hall. She wavered half-in, half-out of the living room. “I’m sorry to do this, but we walked all the way here, and I really need to use the bathroom. I—may I? Please?”
Mrs. Horn heaved herself off the sofa and narrowed her eyes. “Really? Now?”
“Yeah. I’m sorry,” Olivia said and joggled on the spot to get the point across.
“All right.” Mrs. Horn folded her arms. “It’s upstairs. Down the hall, third door on the left.”
Clearly, the Horns had a lot of rooms. “Thank you so much. Alvie, I’ll be right back.” She patted her A on the back, then darted up the broad wooden staircase.
Olivia hit the landing and slowed her pace. She didn’t go anywhere near the third door on the left. Forget Jake and his insistence on playing by the rules. Her son was in danger, and she couldn’t afford a lack of evidence in this case.
She didn’t have time to stay within the confines of the law.
Olivia opened the first door and shut it again. Just a guestroom. She moved to the next one, slightly ajar, then creaked it open. Nothing but an upstairs entertainment area, complete with a widescreen LCD TV.
She skipped the third door on the left and crossed to the one on the right. The burnished knob glinted in the light of yet another chandelier overhead. She turned it and… “Bingo,” she whispered.
The master bedroom.
She’d have to be quick. Hopefully, Alvira would keep Mrs. Horn distracted long enough for her to find something—anything that would give her extra info on the relationship between Mrs. Horn and Walter, or her son.
Olivia scooted over to the dressing table, then slid open the drawers all at once. Nothing but make-up and a pack of Kleenex. Shoot, that didn’t help. She shut them quietly, then moved over to the four-poster bed and focused on the bedside table on the right.
She opened that drawer and found a few hunting magazines. This had to be Mr. Horn’s side of the bed, though he didn’t look like much of a hunter to her. She put everything back in place.
“What’s taking so long?” Mrs. Horn’s voice drifted up from downstairs.
Olivia’s panic mode threatened to kick in. She dashed to the other side of the bed and slid open the drawer.
Double Bingo.
A leather-bound journal, marked 2017 on the cover, sat nestled against the wood. Surely, Mrs. Horn would notice it missing if she took it.
“Ms. Cloud?!” Mrs. Horn’s snatched the choice from her grasp.
This was all she had. She lifted the journal out of the drawer then bumped it shut with her hip. She slipped the book into her handbag.
Footsteps sounded in the hall below. Olivia rushed out of the master bedroom and pulled the door shut behind her. She sprinted across the hall and slammed into the bathroom door, then opened it and stepped inside.
She hurried to the sink, turned on the faucet, then scrubbed her hands with a fancy, butterfly-shaped soap.
“What’s taking so long?” Mrs. Horn asked from the doorway.
Olivia turned off the faucet. “Sorry,” she said. “I had a little trouble with the toilet.”
“Trouble?”
“It wouldn’t flush, but I figured it out.” Olivia hadn’t even glanced at the toilet, but she guessed it was probably as fancy as everything else in the house.
“Oh,” Mrs. Horn said. “Yes. Jason used to complain about the—” She cut off and swallowed. “If you’re done, Ms. Cloud, I think it’s time for you to leave.”
“Of course,” Olivia said. “Once again, I’m sorry for your loss.” She gripped the straps of her handbag and hurried past the lady of the house, the journal burning a hole in her consciousness.
Chapter Twenty-One
“What have you done, Olivia Cloud?”
So much for the ‘not pulling punches’ thing. “I—it was right there.”
“Right where, exactly?” Jake asked, and glanced over his shoulder at the shop’s locked front door. Dusk embraced the sidewalk and sky, shades of lavender settling throughout Chester to bid the day farewell. “Olivia. Where did you get this?”
“I went to visit Mrs. Horn today. Just to check in. See how she was doing, that kind of thing.” The lie didn’t come out smoothly.
“Right. Just to check in,” Jake said and shook his head. “You’re supposed to stay away from confrontation. If Keane figures out you’re investigating—”
“I think that ship has already sailed. Mrs. Horn knew all about my chat with Mr. Horn. They’ve probably reported me to the cops already.”
“That’s wonderful news,” Jake said. “Really super. Olivia, if you’d just stop—”
“Spare me the lecture,” Olivia replied and raised her palm. “I’ve been giving it to myself all day. I’d prefer not to get the repeat from you.”
“Fine,” Jake said.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Have one of the chocolates and cheer up. I’d prefer to do this when you’re not huffing and puffing like the big bad wolf.”
Jake took a chocolate from the plate. He examined it, then slipped it into his mouth. “Do what? What do you want to do?”
“Read the journal, obviously,” she said. “I didn’t stea—borrow it for nothing.”
“You’re going to get us both arrested at this rate.”
She leveled him with her ‘determination’ gaze. “I will do whatever it takes to make sure Sebby’s name is cleared.”
Jake didn’t reply, but doubt was scrawled across his face.
“You’ve got something to say, Morgan?”
Fudgement Day (Chocolate Cozy Mystery Book 3) Page 7