by Lena Gregory
Mitch, who’d been quietly turning his mug in circles on the table until then, perked up considerably, his attention suddenly fully focused on his wife.
“I am a direct descendent of Celeste Garnier, and a copy of the letter has finally been passed on to me. I’ve already initiated a lawsuit demanding the house be turned over immediately.”
Was this woman out of her mind? Did she really think a court was going to turn a mansion over to her based on a century-old letter? One glance at Mitch’s eager grin was all the answer Cass needed.
Bee perched on the edge of his seat, nibbling daintily on his almond crescent, hanging on Carly’s every word. “Lucky for you the Wellingtons own the house again, huh?”
She sneered. “Luck has nothing to do with it. When Horatio Madison keeled over after seeing Buford’s ghost . . .” She elbowed her husband in the ribs. “Ahh . . . to have been a fly on the wall for that episode, huh, Mitch?” Laughter bellowed out, and this time her husband joined in. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she pulled her sleeve down over her hand and wiped them away. “Anyhow, his wife closed up the house and let it sit. When I got the letter, I went to see her. I told her everything, about Celeste and her right to the inheritance, about the curse she put on the house before she left—”
Bee held up a hand. “Wait. Back up. What curse?”
“What’d you think, she just walked away with nothing and left Annalise to live happily ever after in her house? Nah, she cursed Buford and the house. Supposedly, Buford’s ghost is trapped here forever. And everyone who lives here is doomed to bad luck. That’s why the house has stayed empty for so long. One catastrophe after another befell everyone who tried to live here. And when poor Horatio tried to do the magazine spread featuring the house, hoping to get rid of the bad rap the house had, it didn’t turn out so well for him. Who knows? Maybe they wanted to move in and live here. Anyway, his wife refused to turn over the house to me, but she did contact the Wellingtons and sold it back to them pretty cheap. Said it could be their problem.” Snatching another cookie from the plate, she heaved in a deep breath and flopped against the back of the chair.
“They should just turn it over and not make us drag this out in court,” Mitch whined, greed shining in his eyes.
“Don’t worry, dear, we’ll get what’s coming to us, one way or another . . .”
What a couple of crackpots. Cass leaned forward, rested her elbows on the table, weaved her fingers into her hair and squeezed, blocking out any more of the conversation.
Bee leaned close to her ear, pitching his voice low. “Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in.”
She looked up just in time to lock gazes with Donald. Her heart stopped. Panic clawed at her throat.
He approached Sylvia, who stood at the far corner of the room in an animated conversation with someone Cass didn’t recognize. Keeping his gaze firmly on Cass, he leaned close and said something to Sylvia.
Sylvia’s attention shot instantly to Cass, just before the two of them turned and left.
“I cannot even believe the amount of gaudy jewelry that woman has weighing her down, not to mention that dress. Can you say tacky! Puh-leease!” Bee rubbed Cass’s arm, offering her what comfort he could.
She patted his hand and dropped her head onto his shoulder then whispered, “I found him in a compromising position. Again.”
Bee gasped.
“This time in Conrad’s room.”
6
After making their excuses, then extricating themselves from the Dobbs’, Cass and Bee hurried toward the kitchen in search of Stephanie.
“Did you really find him in Conrad’s room? Who was he with?” Bee hammered her with questions she wasn’t yet ready to answer.
“Yes. And he was alone.” She strode purposefully toward the back of the house.
“Alone? Really? Hmm . . . doesn’t sound very compromising to me.” He hurried beside her, struggling to keep pace.
Cass stopped and faced him. “Look. I don’t want to have to go through the whole thing twice, so let’s just leave it at I found him wiping down Conrad’s room.” She frowned, remembering Donald’s plea and wanting to give him the benefit of the doubt. Nope. Not happening. He’d made a fool of her once. No way was he going to do it a second time. Still . . . “At least I’m pretty sure that’s what I found. Now, let’s find Stephanie so we can figure out what we’re going to do.”
A pang of regret hit Cass the instant hurt crossed Bee’s face. The same hurt she saw any time she was short with him. She should know better, but her nerves were frayed beyond rational thought. Sigh . . . “Come on. It’s good dirt, well worth waiting for.”
“Oh, yeah, speaking of good dirt.” He grinned, her momentary lack of judgment apparently forgiven. “What do you think of the Dobbs’?”
Resuming her trek toward the kitchen, Cass shrugged. “They can’t really think they’re going to win that lawsuit.”
Bee waved her off. “Of course not. I meant, do you think they could have killed Conrad?”
“Hmm . . . I wouldn’t think so. Then again, I wouldn’t think anyone would file a lawsuit based on a letter written a hundred years ago, either.”
Bee laughed. “Well, let me tell you, James Wellington nearly had a conniption when the two of them walked in.”
Cass paused. “That’s the couple you were talking about earlier? The ones Jim got angry over—”
“And Priscilla blew him off. Yup, that’s them.”
“Hmmm . . .” Cass resumed walking, their footsteps echoing in the empty corridor. “Do you know if anyone’s reached the police?”
“I have no idea if anyone’s even tried. I was keeping an eye on the remaining Wellingtons so you could . . . you know . . . do your thing.”
This time, Cass grinned. No matter what she got herself into, Bee was always there to take her back. “You know you’re awesome, right?”
“Kissing up will get you everywhere, my dear.”
She pushed open the door to the kitchen. Stephanie was drying dishes while Isabella washed.
Bee shot her a glance, lifting a brow in question, and Cass just shrugged, certain it would be safe to talk in front of Isabella. It wasn’t like she was a stranger, and she obviously wouldn’t have killed Conrad. She didn’t even know him.
“How did you get the water working with the electricity out?”
When Stephanie turned and saw them, her breath shot out in a rush. “There you are.”
Cass massaged the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. Her friend must have been worried sick it was taking so long while she’d been hanging out with the Dobbs’.
Isabella obviously didn’t notice the tension with her back to them. “I just turned it on, and it worked. I figured they probably had a well, but I guess they must have run city water at this end of Bay Island too. I can’t get hot water, though, so I’m washing everything in cold just to get it cleaned off and out of the way. When the electricity comes back on, I’ll run it all through the dishwasher.”
Stephanie tossed the towel onto the counter and rubbed a circle on Isabella’s back then shot Cass a look filled with sympathy. “You okay, Bella?”
Nodding, Isabella shut the water off and turned to Cass, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy. “I know it’s probably foolish, but . . .” She lowered her gaze to her hands, which were fidgeting with the zipper on her jacket. “I just can’t believe he’s gone.”
Stephanie led her to a stool at the breakfast bar. “Here, sit. I’ll get you a cup of hot chocolate.”
“Thanks.”
Cass and Bee slid onto the stools on either side of her. “I didn’t realize you knew Conrad Wellington.” Cass glanced over Isabella’s head at Bee, who shook his head. Apparently he hadn’t known either.
Taking a deep breath, Isabella swiped at her cheeks with the heels of her hands.
“Yeah, well . . .”
Stephanie placed the steaming mug she’d poured from a large carafe in front of her.
“I haven’t seen him in a long time. It’s just . . . well . . . I know it’s stupid, but I always held onto the hope we’d get back together.”
“Uh . . .” Bee scratched his head. “I don’t mean to be insensitive, but . . . isn’t he married?”
Isabella blew out a breath. “I guess you could call it that.”
When she didn’t elaborate, Bee frowned but didn’t press the issue.
Nothing Cass had ever seen of Isabella indicated she’d date a married man, but still . . .
“You weren’t still seeing him, were you?” The words blurted out before Cass could censor them, and a pang of guilt stabbed through her with the glare Isabella sent her. “I mean . . . umm . . .”
“No, it’s all right.” She waved a hand. “I’m sorry. I’m just a wreck right now. I can’t help thinking he wouldn’t have killed himself if he’d never gotten involved with that witch he married.”
Bee opened his mouth, but Cass shot him a shut-up look, and he snapped it closed.
Isabella twirled a spoon in her hot chocolate, staring into the mug and watching the contents swirl round and round. “He loved me.” She spoke so softly Cass had to lean forward to make out the words. “We had talked about getting married.” She shook her head and wiped her tears. “Anyway, none of that matters now.”
Bee was hanging on every word, leaning so far forward that Cass worried he’d fall off the stool. “Of course it matters, honey. If you’re this upset, he must have meant a great deal to you.”
A small laugh bubbled out, but it held more scorn than humor. “At one time he did. Not really anymore. I’ve been over him for a while now, but that little bit of hope he’d come back one day stayed buried deep in my heart, you know?”
Bee nodded, his eyes filled with sympathy. “Do you mind if I ask how he ended up with Joan?”
“That gold digger!” Isabella set her mouth in a firm line, teeth clenched together, then sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly.
Cass could almost hear her counting to ten.
“She set her sights on Conrad and didn’t stop until she had him. I’m not sure what the deal was, but I’m pretty sure she had something on him.” She blew on her hot chocolate, then took a sip and lowered the mug. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter now. It just makes it harder that he killed himself, you know what I mean? If he’d just come to me, well . . . whatever the problem was, I’d have helped him work it out. Not because I wanted to be with him, or wanted anything from him, just because that’s what friends do. You know?”
Bee and Stephanie both stared at Cass.
She caught her lower lip between her teeth. Indecision beat at her. Obviously, Isabella didn’t have anything to do with Conrad’s death and, truthfully, Cass couldn’t even be sure he’d been murdered. But could she trust her to stay quiet about their suspicions until the police could be contacted? “Do you know if anyone has been able to alert the police?”
Bee finally sat back on his stool, apparently deciding the story had ended.
Isabella shrugged. “I’m not even sure if anyone has tried.” Her pain tugged at Cass.
“You know, just because he was found hang . . . uh . . . like he was . . . It doesn’t mean he killed himself. Until the police get here to investigate, we can’t be sure no one gave him a hand.”
Hope lit Isabella’s eyes, followed almost instantly by fear. “You think someone—”
“Shhh . . .” Cass looked around the deserted kitchen then leaned closer.
Isabella lowered her voice to a frantic whisper. “You think someone killed him?”
“I’m not saying I think it. I’m just saying we can’t assume he killed himself.”
“So what do we do?”
Cass blew out a breath, blowing her hair up off her forehead. “I have no idea.”
Cass strode down the hallway toward her room, with Bee and Stephanie keeping pace on either side of her, casting what they thought were discreet glances back and forth over her head, but remaining silent. “Knock that off.”
“Knock what off?” Bee feigned innocence.
Stephanie just laughed.
Cass rolled her eyes, pulled the phone from her pocket, and dialed 911. Again. Nothing. Frustration beat at her. The thought of Conrad swinging back and forth above her head sent a shiver up her spine, and she quickly dismissed the image. She shoved the phone back in her pocket.
Pulling her room key from her pocket, Cass aimed the flashlight beam at the keyhole then jiggled the key in the lock and turned it.
The frantic scraping of Beast’s nails met her through the door as he undoubtedly scrambled to his feet to greet her. She braced herself for the onslaught and shoved the door open. A blizzard of white flakes flew everywhere. Had she left the window open? No blast of cold air rushed from the open door.
She sucked in a breath and a mouthful of . . . feathers? Ugh . . .
“What on earth did that boy get into this time?” Bee peered over her shoulder as she trained the light on Beast.
He stood in the center of the room, tail tucked between his legs, a torn comforter hanging from his clenched teeth, head tilted in his best imitation of innocence.
Bee laughed as he pushed past her, and Cass handed him the flashlight. He patted the big dog’s head and stage whispered, “Let me give you a tip, sweetie. Next time, drop the evidence.”
“Great. How am I supposed to clean this up?” She wove her fingers into her hair, squeezing the strands to relieve the tension. It didn’t work.
Stephanie dropped a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “I saw a vacuum in the closet off the kitchen when I was getting dishes. I’ll run and get it.”
“That’s all fine and good, but how are you going to run it without electricity?” Bee lifted one of the bedskirts and shone the light under the bed, then repeated the process on the other bed.
Stephanie huffed.
“Besides, you may have a bigger problem than you think.” He directed the light at the corner and ran it along the base of the wall.
Great. Just what Cass needed, another problem. Maybe if she didn’t ask it would go away. Or, maybe Bee would keep it to himself. Yeah right.
Bee aimed the light at Cass and stood, waiting.
With a sigh, Cass relented. “What now?”
He handed the flashlight to Stephanie and held up what was left of the comforter. Unfortunately, a large section was missing from one corner.
“Where’s the rest of it?”
Bee turned a glare on Beast, who let out a sound that sounded suspiciously like a belch.
Ahh . . . jeez. If she squeezed her hair any harder, she was going to tear out two large chunks. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. Blowing out a breath, she released her hair and rubbed her hands over her face. “Do you think he’ll be all right?”
“He’ll probably be fine.” Stephanie took a turn re-examining the same small spaces Bee had already searched. “I had a golden retriever once who swallowed most of a sweatshirt, and she was fine.” She shrugged. “Of course, she needed a little help . . . uh . . . getting it out.”
“There’s something to look forward to.” Cass sat on the edge of the bed and pushed her hands through Beast’s mane. “I’m sorry, boy. I don’t think I’m cut out to be a pet owner.”
Beast nuzzled her leg and dropped his head into her lap.
Bee rolled up the remnants of the comforter and stuffed it in a small trash can in the corner. “Aww . . . You’ll be fine. You just have to be a little stricter . . . and maybe get him some obedience training and a crate.”
“Really?” A small shred of hope flared. “You really think it’ll help?”
“I don’t see why not. The two of you certainl
y love each other enough.”
Such a casual, offhand comment, but it struck a spark of realization. The big, sometimes dopey dog had really grown on her. She couldn’t imagine not having him. But she was going to have to get a handle on the whole discipline thing before he got hurt. “As soon as we can get out of here, I’ll take you to the vet and have him check you out.” She stroked a hand down his back again and again, his warmth giving her comfort as he snuggled closer.
“Okay, I’ve been patient long enough.” Bee flopped onto the other bed and swung his legs up, crossing his ankles and propping his hands behind his head against the headboard. “Spill, girlfriend. What was Donald doing in Conrad’s room?”
“What?” Stephanie shot the beam of light at Cass.
The reminder snapped Cass back to reality. Covering her eyes against the bright stream of light, Cass brushed a bunch of feathers onto the floor and slid over—with Beast firmly attached—making room for Stephanie to sit. “Actually, I have no idea. It didn’t make any sense. He said he went back to look for Sylvia’s . . .” She struggled to force the words out. “. . . engagement ring.”
“Oh, honey. I’m sorry.”
“Me too.” Stephanie patted her arm. “He’s not worth worrying over, though. Let her have him.”
“Yeah, she deserves him,” Bee added.
Cass shrugged, even knowing they probably couldn’t see the gesture in the dim light from the lantern. “It is what it is. Anyway, he had a washcloth in his hand and was standing in front of the dresser. In the dark.” She struggled to think back through the shock of finding him there, wanting to make sure she relayed the events exactly as they’d happened. If she wanted Bee and Stephanie’s opinions, she had to be careful not to put her own spin on things.
“That makes no sense.” Stephanie frowned. “If it was originally his room, his fingerprints should be there. No?”
Bee held up a finger to stop her. “Not necessarily.”
“What do you mean?” Cass slid back and pulled one of the blankets around her.
“Well, if he was touching the dresser or bed or something like that, his fingerprints would be expected. But what if he had to move something that belonged to Conrad or his wife? He certainly wouldn’t be able to explain his fingerprints turning up on any of their possessions.”