Occult and Battery

by Lena Gregory

  Screams and sobs reached them. “Where is my husband?”

  They heard something unintelligible as someone tried to soothe the distraught widow.

  “No. No. No! Conrad would never kill himself.”

  Cass reached up to massage her temples. What a disaster.

  “Do you think anyone checked to make sure he’s dead?”

  Cass shined the light at Stephanie, who stood gripping Bee’s hand, lower lip caught between her teeth.

  “Huh?”

  Stephanie shrugged. “Well . . . what if he’s not dead? Do you think they checked or just freaked out when they saw him?”

  “You think he could still be alive?” Bee pinned her with an incredulous look.

  “How do I know? I’m just sayin’ someone should check.” She stared pointedly at Cass.

  Crap. She was going to have to check. Blowing out a breath, she turned the light on the body. Oh yeah. He’s dead. No doubt lingered as she started to shift the light away and get out of there.

  The beam caught on something, and she played it back over the body, careful to avoid looking at his face. He wore no shirt, which seemed odd, given the temperature in the cupola was even colder than in the house, which was freezing. His slacks were still held up with his belt, and his socks and one shoe were on. She shifted the light across the floor in search of the missing shoe.

  She found it in front of the window that faced directly out over the bay. She could barely make out a soft glow where the lighthouse beacon warned sailors they were approaching the rocky coastline. She bent to retrieve his shoe.

  A hand gripped her arm. “Don’t touch anything.”

  She looked up into Stephanie’s worried frown.

  “You can’t touch anything. Even if he did kill himself, we’re going to have to call the police. They’re going to want to investigate.”

  Since Stephanie’s husband, Tank, was a detective, Cass assumed Stephanie knew what she was talking about. She pulled her hand away but cast the light at the shoe and examined it more closely. Was the black dress shoe laying on its side the same one he’d been wearing all evening? She couldn’t remember.

  Tilting her head, she tried to shine the light beneath it. It seemed as if it had hooked on something, a protruding nail maybe? A raised board? She had to know.

  “Are you crazy? I told you to leave everything alone.” Stephanie huffed out a breath when Cass didn’t pull away.

  “Here.” Bee shouldered his way between them. “Give me the light and see whatever you need to see so we can get out of here. Now.” He held the light steady, sort of, as she toed the shoe aside. A piece of the floorboard lifted with it.

  An empty space, about eight inches wide and a foot long, peered back at them.

  “That’s it. I’m outta here.” Bee turned and headed toward the stairs.

  “Wait. Give me the light for one more second.” She grabbed it from him when he stopped and turned back and crossed back to the body. What was the reflection the light had caught the first time she’d looked at Conrad? Quickly running the light from his head to his feet, she didn’t see anything. Then she moved it from side to side, and the same reflection glinted. Something clutched in his hand, a hint of gold just peeking out of his closed fist. She leaned closer but couldn’t tell what it was, and there was no way she was touching him.

  She started to back away.

  “Hey. What’s that?” Stephanie grabbed her hand and directed the light to shine on Conrad’s arm. It fell on a large, dark bruise circling his bicep. No. More than one bruise.

  Uh-oh . . . Cass quickly shot the light to the matching bruises on his other arm. A small patch of what looked like dried blood had smeared across his forearm, and she searched for an injury. Finding nothing on his arm, she let the light travel slowly up his body. When she reached his head, she stopped. A cut on his forehead had opened and dripped blood down the side of his face. Apparently, he’d wiped it with his arm . . . or it had dripped onto his arm and then somehow smeared. Either way . . .

  Her heart stopped, and her gaze jumped to Stephanie, whose mouth was hanging open, fear filling her eyes.

  “He didn’t kill himself,” Cass whispered, not wanting to alert any of the other guests.

  Stephanie nodded.

  A scowl marked Bee’s features. “What are you talking about?”

  “Shh . . . lower your voice.”

  “What?” He frowned, still keeping his gaze firmly averted from the body. “Why?”

  “Because those bruises look an awfully lot like fingermarks, and he’s got a nice knot on his head, which means someone might have helped him up there.”

  Bee’s eyes went wide.

  Swallowing the lump of fear clogging her throat, Cass squeezed her eyes closed, hoping the certainty would magically disappear. It didn’t. “Someone who must still be here.”

  Her gaze jumped from Stephanie to Bee. Without another word, they turned and fled.

  Cass stumbled down the last step, and Jim reached for her, catching her before she could face-plant on the hallway floor. Bee and Stephanie came to an abrupt halt behind her.

  “Uhh . . .”

  “Are you all right?” Jim stared at her, a frown marring his strong features.

  Was she? No. Not really. “Uhh . . . yeah.” How much should she tell him? She glanced at the group of guests staring openly at her. Was one of them a killer? He almost had to be, didn’t he? He? Her gaze fell on Priscilla, who was quietly consoling Conrad’s widow. Who said it had to be a man? The killer could just as easily have been a woman. But would a woman have had the strength necessary to haul Conrad’s weight up into the cupola rafters?

  Icy fingers of fear crept up her spine. She had to get out of there.

  “Cass?” Jim still stood staring at her, his eyebrows drawn together, intensity deepening the green of his eyes. “Is something wrong?”

  Her mouth dropped open, and he had the good grace to blush. “I mean, other than the obvious, of course.”

  All right. She was going to have to pull herself together. “Did anyone call the police?” Her voice held a tremor she wished she could have controlled.

  “The police?”

  “Yes. Stephanie’s husband is a detective, and she said even in an apparent . . . uh . . . well. Someone should still call the police.” Claustrophobia threatened to suffocate her. She’d left her cell phone on the nightstand in her room, the perfect excuse to escape the narrow confines of the dim, crowded hallway. She needed space to think. “I’ll go call.” With one last glance at Jim, she retreated, with Stephanie and Bee close on her heels.

  “What are you going to do?” Bee asked.

  “Shh . . .” She prayed fervently that Bee wouldn’t say anything about their suspicions. At least, not until they reached the privacy of their room.

  “Hey. Cass. Wait.”

  She stopped short and spun on her heel, then glared at Donald, who was standing next to Sylvia.

  “If you’re . . . umm . . .” His gaze darted around the hallway as if seeking help.

  Sylvia ran a hand up his arm then clung to him as if he might run away. Or maybe she was just trying to keep warm. Everyone else in the hallway clutched robes, coats, or blankets around them for warmth. Sylvia’s negligee and transparent robe left little—or nothing—to the imagination.

  Donald cleared his throat. “I mean, if you’re done?” He gestured toward the light she still held.

  “Whatever.” Cass tossed the flashlight, and Donald elbowed Sylvia in the chest when he fumbled to catch it.

  “Hey, watch what you’re doing, spaz.” Massaging her injury, she spun on her heel and stalked off.

  “Score.” Bee’s whisper sent a small thrill of satisfaction through Cass, and she bit back the grin that would seem highly inappropriate under such circumstances.

 
Cass stalked down the hallway and pushed their door open, and the three of them stumbled into the room.

  Apparently oblivious to the commotion down the hall, Beast greeted her with his usual enthusiasm. Tail wagging wildly, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, he jumped and planted his feet on her chest. Thankfully, she saw it coming and braced herself. “Down, boy.” She nuzzled his head for just an instant, the scent of shampoo from yesterday’s trip to the groomer still lingering, then pushed him down. Keeping a hand buried in his thick mane, she crossed the room and dropped to sit on the edge of her bed, then grabbed her phone. She dialed 911, hit send, and tapped her foot while she waited.

  Nothing.

  Frustration beat at her as she glanced at the screen. Two bars. She should be able to get a call out. She tried again. Silence, followed by the familiar beep, beep, beep of a dropped call. This time the announcement on the screen read CALL FAILED.

  She slammed the phone down on the bed, shoved her hands into her hair and squeezed, desperate to relieve some of the tension.

  “All right. Let’s all just calm down.”

  Yikes. Bee as the voice of reason. This situation was way out of control. She pinned him with a glare and lifted a brow.

  Undeterred, he held up his hands, palms forward, and sat on Stephanie’s bed, facing her. “Look, we don’t even know if he was murdered. You’re assuming he was, but what do any of us really know?” He shrugged. “For all we know, he was up there with no shirt on and wrapped his arms across his chest for warmth.” Bee demonstrated, wrapping his arms across his broad chest, gripping his upper arms. “Maybe he just squeezed a little too hard.”

  Stephanie laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  Lowering his arms, Bee pouted. “Well, it could have happened that way.”

  Cass stared at him, reclaimed her phone, and tried again.

  “Okay, so it probably didn’t, but I’m just saying there could be a perfectly logical explanation. Who knows? Maybe he got in an argument with someone earlier and they grabbed him by the arms. Just because there are bruises doesn’t mean they were put there by a killer, or at the moment of his death.”

  Ugh . . . Giving up, Cass plugged the phone back into the charger before realizing it wouldn’t charge with no electricity. She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. Something else was bothering her. A small niggle of something relentless, just out of reach, nagged at her. “So, who do you think could have killed him?”

  Bee shrugged, seemingly forgetting he was supposed to be sulking. “Maybe his wife.”

  Cass tilted her head, willing to consider the possibility. “What makes you think that?”

  “How would you like to be married to that man?”

  She had to concede that point, but still, she couldn’t see that frail woman killing her husband. Besides, she must have known what he was like when she married him.

  Stephanie, who was still standing at the foot of the bed, began to pace the braided throw rug. “How about one of his siblings? They didn’t seem to get along very well with him.”

  While that was certainly true, Cass knew plenty of siblings who bickered without murdering one another. Heck, Bee and Stephanie argued on a regular basis and didn’t kill each other. At least, they hadn’t yet.

  “You know what?” Bee tucked his legs beneath Stephanie’s blankets and rested his back against the headboard. “When I was working on the sound system earlier, I noticed Jim Wellington glaring at a couple who’d walked through the foyer. When he asked Priscilla what they were doing there, she just waved him off. It seemed as if he let it go, but he didn’t seem happy about it when he stalked off.”

  “Do you know who they were?”

  Bee shook his head. “Nah. No one said anything after that, and I was having . . . issues.”

  When Bee was concentrating on something, it took his full focus. That’s why he preferred to work through the night: fewer distractions. Cass was surprised he’d even noticed that much.

  Beast barked two seconds before a knock on the door interrupted them.

  “Who is it?” Cass’s gaze darted to the lock she’d forgotten to turn when they entered.

  “It’s Isabella.”

  “Come in.”

  Isabella Trapani cracked the door and stuck her head in. “If you guys want to come to the kitchen, I’m going to try to make some hot chocolate and something to eat.”

  “Is the electricity back on?” A small flare of hope ignited.

  “No, but the stove is gas, and I have lanterns. A few of the guests helped me move a lot of the refrigerated foods out to the sunroom when the electricity went out. I’m going to make a few trays of cookies. Want some?”

  “Sure, thanks. We’ll be down in a few minutes.”

  Cass waited until she’d left before saying anything. “What do you think the hole in the floor is? Do you think he had something hidden there?”

  “I have no idea, but I can tell you one thing, I’m not going back up there to find out.” Bee shivered and pulled the blankets up higher, tucking them beneath his chin.

  Stephanie stopped pacing to stare at Bee. “Don’t be getting too comfortable there, mister. You’re not staying.”

  Bee pushed out his bottom lip. “Ah, come on. Why don’t you sleep with Cass and let me have this bed.” He jerked a thumb toward Cass. “She snores.”

  “Forget it, buddy. Not happening. That’s my bed.”

  He huffed out a breath.

  Cass worked to ignore their squabbling. What had James said in the cupola? “What was Jim saying about Conrad insisting on having that room?”

  “When?” Bee frowned as if trying to remember.

  “When we were in the cupola.”

  “He said Conrad and Priscilla fought because she accidentally put someone in the room he wanted,” Stephanie said.

  “That’s what I thought. Why do you think it was so important he have that room? What could have been important enough to throw another guest out?”

  Stephanie shrugged.

  “Maybe it’s a really nice room,” Bee offered.

  “It seems odd he’d need the room right at the bottom of the stairway. Just below the cupola.”

  “Maybe the view is really good from there? It is at the back of the house, overlooking the bay.” Bee reached for Beast, who was still sitting between the beds, and gave his head a gentle rub. “Good night, boy.”

  “Hey. I said you’re not sleeping there.” Stephanie yanked the blanket back.

  “Knock it off. Neither of you is going to sleep yet.”

  “What do you mean?” Bee only whined when he wasn’t getting his way, which was fairly often. “I’m tired.”

  “Oh, please, Bee. You never go to sleep before it starts to get light out. You’re the closest thing to a vampire I know.”

  He laughed. “That is true, but it’s cold, and I don’t like the cold. Besides, this house gives me the creeps. The sooner I go to sleep, the sooner I can get up and get out of here.”

  If the still-howling wind was any indication, Bee wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. “Well, neither of you can go to bed yet. I need you to do me a favor,” Cass said.

  “What?” asked Stephanie.

  She knew they were going to balk, but she was pretty sure she could convince them to do what she needed. She’d heard Isabella knocking on doors as she continued down the hallway, which meant many of the guests would probably be headed for the kitchen or dining room. “I need you to go have cookies and hot chocolate.”

  “Hmm . . . works for me.” Bee swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Do you think she’ll make the almond crescents?” He slid into his shoes.

  Beast whimpered. “You can’t come, boy, but I’ll sneak you back some cookies,” Bee whispered conspiratorially. He grabbed his jacket. “Ready?”


  “You guys go ahead. I’ll meet you there in a little while.”

  “Why aren’t you coming?” Stephanie asked.

  “I will. I just need you to keep everyone down there for a while, so I can take a quick peek in Conrad’s room.” She winced and waited for the tirade. She didn’t have to wait long.

  “What is wrong with you?” Bee propped a hand on his hip.

  Stephanie pinned her with a glare. “What makes you think Joan will go to the dining room?”

  “You two are going to knock on her door and ask her to.” Cass caught her lower lip between her teeth.

  “And you don’t think that’ll look weird?”

  “No.” Cass jumped from the bed and lifted the lantern from the nightstand. “You both go to the door and tell her she shouldn’t be alone. Tell her she shouldn’t be in the room, because the police will want to search it, tell her anything, but try to get her out of there. Make sure one of you goes out behind her and leaves the door unlocked.”

  “I don’t understand why you have to get in there so badly.”

  “You said so yourself, Bee. What if Joan killed him? We can’t get ahold of the police. We don’t know if anyone else did, but I don’t hear sirens or a commotion, so I doubt it. Even if we do get in touch with them, we’re at the farthest end of Bay Island and, in case you haven’t noticed, there’s a blizzard out there. Joan will have all the time in the world to get rid of any evidence before the police do get here.”

  “What evidence?” Stephanie frowned.

  “How do I know if I don’t look?”

  Bee shook his head and rubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t know. I don’t like the idea of you searching the room by yourself.”

  “I have to. I need one of you to stay with Joan and the other to stand guard at the bottom of the main stairs and make sure no one comes up.” She’d have to hope no one went through the kitchen and came up the back stairs.

  Blowing out a frustrated breath, Bee stared at Stephanie.

  “Please. I really have to see why he wanted that room so bad.”

  “Why?” Bee glared at her. “I don’t see why you have to investigate.”

  She worked to control the tremor in her voice. “Don’t you understand? My reputation is on the line. And, if I have to start refunding everyone their money and still pay all the expenses, I’ll be broke. I’ll have to leave Bay Island.”