Ginger of the West: A Witches of Broomfield Bay Mystery

by Meg Muldoon

  “Oh good, you found it!” she said.

  I was relieved I wouldn’t have to answer her last question.

  “You know about this?” I said, holding the book up.

  “Yes. I meant to tell you about it. Somebody left it in the café a little while ago. I found it on a table. I meant to tell you sooner, but I clear forgot! So I guess if anybody comes in looking for their missing book, we can tell them that we kept it safe for them. Although, I don’t know why anybody would want to read that boring stuff.”

  She grinned brightly.

  I felt goosebumps break out across the back of my neck.

  “So you don’t have any idea who left this here?” I asked.

  “No,” she said. “I mean I wasn’t really paying attention. Lately, it’s weird. I feel like I’m some other place a lot of the day. Like, usually, I’m always deep in thought about stuff. But lately, it’s like I’m here, but I’m not here, too, you know? Like I’m clearing tables and taking out pastries to the front of the house, but all the while, I don’t know… it’s like a part of me is doing somersaults in some happy place all day.”

  Sapphire went over to the cupboard and began gathering ingredients, going for the sugar first, but I intervened.

  “Uh… I think Héctor could use more help up front this morning. Would you mind manning the cash register instead? Let me do all the baking today.”

  She grinned.

  “Excellent,” she said, lowering her voice and winking. “And thank you!”

  She abandoned the sugar and marched out of the kitchen.

  I stared back down at the beat-up, well-used book in my hands.

  “A Guide to Car Repair.”

  I shivered hard, feeling a draft blow through the kitchen.

  Red sky in the morning, sailor’s warning.

  Chapter 47

  Eddie and I sat in the silence of Nigel Parks’ private library, looking at everything in the room except each other.

  Nigel’s plane from Los Angeles had been delayed by an hour – at least that’s what the butler had told us – and we’d been patiently waiting for him for 45 minutes. Nigel was taking his sweet time upstairs, preparing himself to talk to us. Every once and a while, a whiff of lavender drifted through the room, and if I was a betting woman like Aunt Viv, I’d have put money down that Nigel was taking a long hot bath, disregarding our time altogether.

  But I shouldn’t have been so negative. After all, Nigel Parks’ butler hadn’t slammed the front door in our faces the way most of the book club members had. And additionally, the butler made sure we were comfortable, leading us to the large library, which smelled of rich leather and cigar smoke, and offering us biscuits and tea with real Devonshire cream to boot. He’d even lit a fire in the large hearth for us.

  But while Nigel Parks’ butler had done everything to make us comfortable, there were limits to his hospitality powers. And no amount of tea and cream and biscuits could take away the awkwardness between Eddie and me.

  I stole a glance at Eddie. He was looking out the large window framing the desk, watching in silence as sea spray shot up from the cove just beyond the mansion.

  I held back a sigh.

  It had been this way the whole car ride over here, too. After Eddie had picked me up at the café, we’d exchanged pleasantries, but the waters had most certainly changed. He tried to hide it, but the hurt that I’d seen in his eyes the night before was still there. We made forced small talk – about the weather, the rest of the book club members we had to talk to, and even about Maddy, who had driven down to Florence after discovering where Jerry Ashby now lived.

  But when the small talk petered out, a painful silence took its place.

  I wanted to tell Eddie so many things. About what he meant to me. About how he would always mean so much. About how I was so sorry about the accident.

  But in the end, I couldn’t find the courage to tell him anything.

  Which left us sitting there in that library, twiddling our thumbs, stewing in a strange silence.

  A silence that roared louder than the ocean outside.

  I finally couldn’t take it.

  “Eddie?”

  He turned toward me, raising his eyebrows.

  “I can’t stand it anymore. I have to tell you. I have to tell you that—”

  The door to the library creaked open suddenly.

  “Ms. Westbrook, Mr. Cross.”

  Wearing a silk smoking jacket, blue silk pajama bottoms, and a pair of slippers, Nigel Parks walked softly across the mahogany wood floor toward us. He reached his hand out, weakly shaking both of ours – despite the fact that he’d met me many times and already knew exactly who I was.

  “Morrison tells me you have some matter you wish to discuss with me? Something of singular importance. However, I do not give media interviews anymore unless it is cleared with my agent and the questions are provided beforehand.”

  “I understand, Mr. Parks,” Eddie said. “But I’m not here to write a story.”

  Nigel studied Eddie, obviously surprised.

  “Well, if it’s not for an article, then just why have you two come?”

  I cleared my throat.

  “Well, we wanted to ask…”

  I glanced over at Eddie. He gave me a reassuring nod.

  “We wanted to ask about Penelope Ashby’s book club, and if you could tell us about the meeting you spoke at recently.”

  His face noticeably darkened.

  “Oh, that,” he mumbled. “I’m afraid there’s really nothing to tell. I spoke to the group because they were reading my latest release. I spent about an hour or so at Ms. Ashby’s house and then left. That’s all there is to it, so if you’d excuse me, it’s been a long weekend of wining and dining, and I really need some rest—”

  “Was Penelope Ashby in love with you?” Eddie said in a strong voice, cutting Nigel off.

  Nigel looked as though a ghost had just entered the room.

  “Why, I…” he said, fumbling for words. “I’m afraid… I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to—”

  “She was, wasn’t she?” I said.

  “This conversation is over—”

  I stared deep into his eyes and then began to nudge him, using my powers of persuasion.

  Tell us the truth, Nigel. Tell us the truth. What really happened with Penelope? All that weight you’ve been carrying around since her death… get it off your shoulders. Tell us the truth. Set it free…

  His face relaxed as tension leaked away.

  “Penelope was obsessed with me,” he said in a flat voice, staring at me with large, empty eyes. “At first, I was flattered by her infatuation. She loved my books. She loved my characters. She spent many hours right here in this library, discussing my work with me.”

  I kept my eyes on Nigel’s, nudging him along.

  “At the café, you mentioned to me that you spoke at her book club because you owed her. What did you mean?” I asked.

  “The view,” he said in that same flat voice, nodding to the massive windows facing the ocean. “Tourists kept standing out there, lingering on my beach for hours like vultures, taking pictures of the house. They were destroying my view. I would have Morrison scare them off, but they’d always come back. It got to the point where I couldn’t even enjoy Cliffside Manor anymore.

  “I asked for Penelope’s help to clear them out. She got the local police on it and made sure they were vigilant in keeping the stretch of beach out there free of spectators.”

  I could feel Eddie’s eyes on me as Nigel spoke.

  “She saved my beautiful view, but I had no idea that the favor came with a price tag,” Nigel continued. “Penelope made it clear that I owed her and suggested that I could pay it off by spending time with her. That’s why I had her here at the house so often. That’s why I talked at her little book club meeting in May. I was clearing the debt the easiest way I knew how. But I’m afraid it only encouraged her. She was beginning to think of us as a�
� I dare say… an item!”

  That confirmed it – Nigel was the man Penelope wanted the spell for.

  “And then what?” I asked.

  “Then, one day, shortly after the book club meeting, she was here for afternoon tea, and she tried to kiss me. I told her I was very flattered, but that I don’t date my fans. It’s a policy I have. Not to mention the fact that I’m involved with someone else at the present moment.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a look of surprise cross Eddie’s face.

  “Then what happened?”

  “She was inconsolable.”

  Nigel tried to look away out the window, but I couldn’t let him break the stare, otherwise he’d snap out of the daze.

  I moved in front of him to block the view.

  “Then what?”

  He stared back at me with big, black eyes.

  “She wouldn’t let it go. She began showing up here at all hours of the day and night. Then, two weeks before her death, she crossed the line so wholly and completely, there was no going back.”

  “What did she do?”

  My mind was beginning to get tired. My power of persuasion could only last as long as I had pure concentration to keep it up. We needed to get to the end of this story, and fast, before he fell out of the trance.

  “I had a visitor, staying here at the house. My agent, Chandra. She was here from Los Angeles to discuss a potential movie deal for Lust of the City. I’ve always been quite fond of that book and was hoping to get it on the big screen. It’s about a lost love between two…”

  “Nigel!” I said in a booming voice. “Tell us about Penelope!”

  “Yes, yes, of course. Chandra spent the night here at Cliffside Manor. Our relationship is purely business. Platonic. But when Penelope showed up to the house that night, she started yelling bloody murder. She began running through the halls of my home, screaming, calling my poor agent vile, horrid things. She accused me of being a womanizer and leading her on all this time. It was mortifying. Needless to say I was livid with Penelope. Truly livid.”

  Something sparked in his eyes, then.

  Anger.

  An expression of rage that didn’t look at home on his mild-mannered features.

  His fists curled up at his sides. His voice began to tremble.

  “I told her to get out and never come back here again. But she told me that she would never let me go. That she loved me, and that she would have me one way or another… and…”

  “And what, Nigel?”

  “And that she always got everything she wanted. Everything.”

  Like a fire fanned by the wind, the anger in Nigel Parks’ eyes flickered.

  I had written Nigel Parks off as a harmless romance author. But now, I realized that I’d assumed too much.

  I felt Eddie’s hand on my back and heard his steady words in my ear.

  “Ask him, Ging.”

  I sucked in a deep breath, gathering up my courage.

  Then I asked.

  “Nigel, did you kill Penelope Ashby?” I said, my voice shaking. “Did you cut the brake lines of her car the night before she died?”

  I could hear my heart in my ears.

  He opened his mouth and started to answer the question.

  “I—”

  “Excuse me, my apologies, Mr. Parks, but I must interrupt. There’s an important phone call for you.”

  A refined English accent echoed from the library door.

  Nigel blinked hard.

  “Uh… what was that, Morrison?” he said.

  “A call, sir,” Morrison said again. “Shall I transfer it to the library phone?”

  Dammit, dammit, dammit.

  The wrath in Nigel’s eyes faded – the fire doused by a bucket of water. A look of confusion took its place.

  I nudged as much as I could, trying to get him to come back to me.

  But the trance was broken.

  “It’s Chandra Reagan, sir,” the butler continued. “She said she has important news concerning the movie deal with Sony Pictures.”

  “Oh, thank you, Morrison.”

  Nigel swallowed hard, looking back at us. He seemed perplexed.

  “It must be my low blood sugar acting up again,” he said. “Did I black out? I’m afraid I must have.”

  “You were about to say something,” I said, desperation oozing from every word. “Something important. Can you remember?”

  He brought his hands together in front of him, clasping them.

  “I’m afraid I don’t have the foggiest idea what I was speaking of,” he said. “But please send a notice for whatever charity you represent, and I’d be happy to donate.”

  “Mr. Parks, you know we’re not here representing charity,” Eddie interjected as the Englishman headed for the phone on the desk. “We’re here to ask—”

  “Morrison, would you please show Mr. Cross and Ms. Westbrook out?”

  “Nigel, you have to answer for—” Eddie started, but Nigel picked up the phone, cutting him off.

  “Chandra, darling! What wonderful news do you have for me?”

  A second later, Morrison was at our elbows, politely pushing us through the library doors and down the hallway, out of Nigel Parks’ Cliffside Manor.

  Chapter 48

  “He did it,” Eddie said, staring out the windshield. “I saw that look in his eyes. He was angry and he wanted Penelope dead.”

  The coastal winds had picked back up again. They were once again blowing in off the ocean, howling around the sides of the car as we sat in the parking lot of the crumbling Yachats Lighthouse, waiting for Maddy.

  These winds were mean and cold. The weather forecast was calling for heavy rain by tonight. The authorities were advising to keep emergency supplies of candles and matches handy and to stay off the roads.

  But I wasn’t too worried about the storm.

  I was more worried about a killer like Nigel Parks roaming free in Broomfield Bay.

  And I was worried about Aunt Viv, sitting in jail, taking the fall for his brutal crime.

  “Was that your impression, too, Ging?” Eddie said, turning toward me. “That he had wanted Penelope dead?”

  I nodded, pulling my jean jacket tighter around me, fighting off a wave of chills sweeping through my body.

  “Those eyes,” I said, getting goosebumps. “Nigel Parks is not the man I thought he was. I think he’s completely capable of murder.”

  “I think so too,” Eddie said. “He was probably the one who left the mechanic book at your shop.”

  I’d told Eddie about the book Sapphire had found at the café.

  “Doesn’t he usually come for lunch every day?”

  “When he’s in town, yes,” I said. “Dammit. I almost had him, Eddie. He was about to admit that he murdered her. I know it. If I had just gotten to that question sooner and—”

  Eddie placed a hand on my arm.

  “Are you kidding? What you were able to do in there? That was amazing, Ging. That was…”

  He trailed off, shaking his head.

  “I should get my editor to hire you. You could get people to actually tell the truth for once. You’d make all of our lives easier.”

  Talking to him again without all the tension made me feel better.

  “How do you do that, anyway?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. I just… I kind of just nudge them with my thoughts. Some people listen, some don’t. Nigel listened. And he almost told us the whole story. Almost.”

  Eddie was being nice about it, but I was beside myself with frustration. If we’d had the confession, then we probably could have gone to the police with that. But an almost-confession wasn’t the same thing.

  We’d been so close. So, so close—

  “There’s Maddy,” Eddie said, eyeing the rearview mirror.

  Her red pick-up truck rolled through the parking lot. Eddie lowered his window, letting in a sharp gust of chilly air. The summer solstice was today, but it certainly didn’t feel
like anything that remotely resembled summer here in Broomfield Bay.

  Maddy pulled up, her driver’s side facing our driver’s side just like the cops did on TV shows.

  “Jerry Ashby didn’t do it,” she shouted.

  No greeting. Just straight to the point in perfect Maddy fashion.

  “What’d he say?” I asked.

  “I found him down in Florence. He’s living in this Buddhist retreat center there, which is why he probably was so hard to track down. According to the retreat’s owners, Jerry’s been living there for the past two years. And he hasn’t left the premises in months. There are about a dozen witnesses that saw him the week of Mayor Ashby’s death.”

  “Did you talk to him about Penelope?” I said.

  “Yeah. He spoke very calmly and didn’t seem to be agitated in the least about the questions I asked him. I think he was saddened by her passing.”

  “Were they on speaking terms at all?” Eddie asked.

  His phone rang. He looked at it and grimaced. Then he hit a button and silenced the ringing.

  “Yes, they were speaking,” Maddy said. “He said he talked to Penelope once a month or so. Oh, and get this – I’ve got that mystery man that Penelope was so in love with confirmed for you.”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “Nigel Parks,” Maddy said with a measure of satisfaction. “And it wasn’t just a recent infatuation either. Jerry said that she’d been in love with Nigel for years. And that it was actually a large contributing factor to their divorce.”

  Eddie glanced back at me.

  “Wow,” I said. “For years?”

  It was clearer than ever now.

  Penelope had pushed Nigel Parks to his limit.

  And he couldn’t take it anymore.

  Feeling trapped and out of options, he took matters into his own manicured hands and cut her car brakes, murdering Broomfield Bay’s controversial mayor.

  It was almost unbelievable.

  But people did nutty, unpredictable things when they were pushed to their breaking point.

  Maddy stared at us, looking from Eddie to me and back to Eddie again.

  “You found something big, didn’t you?” she asked.