by Lena Gregory
Luke eased the door open about an inch, then it hit something hard and stopped.
What the . . . ?
He peeked into the crack between the door and the jamb. Laughter rocked him.
Beast yelped once.
Ah jeez. What’d he do now?
Wedging his shoulder against the door, Luke pushed it open.
Apparently forgetting he was probably going to be in trouble for something, Beast jumped, landing his paws on Luke’s chest.
“Hey, big guy.” He looked past Beast’s head and into the kitchen. “I think you’re going to be in trouble.” He ruffled the fur of Beast’s mane then dropped him onto the floor and moved into the room.
Cass hesitated. How bad could it be, really? She braced herself and strode through the doorway Luke held open, then took a moment to survey the damage. All in all, not so bad. Tearing his new bed apart had apparently kept him busy most of the time. She perked up. At least he’d gone into the cage to get the bed. That was progress. Right? Sighing, she patted the big dog on the head and grabbed a garbage bag from beneath the sink.
Luke started picking up the larger pieces of the bed.
“Go run for a little while.” She opened the back door to the fenced yard. “And stay out of trouble,” she yelled after him. But he had already launched himself off the deck and was rolling in the deepest snow bank he could find. How she ever inherited this problem she’d never . . . Wait. Inherited. “Shoot.”
“What’s wrong?”
Cass shook her head. “I forgot to ask Tank something.” She shut the door against the chill and held the bag open for Luke to drop the pieces of bed into. “Actually, it probably doesn’t matter anymore, anyway.”
He frowned but bent to clean up more of the mess. “Is everything all right?”
“Yeah.” She waved it off. “I was talking to Bee and Stephanie, and we were trying to figure out why Conrad’s death would have been staged as a suicide since that would stop the life insurance from paying out. But then Joan was killed, too, so I guess she wouldn’t be able to inherit anyway.” She shrugged. “So it doesn’t matter.”
Luke paused and stood. He studied her for a moment, then ran a hand over his face. “Look.” Leaning back against the counter, he folded his arms across his chest and crossed his ankles. “You can’t repeat this, okay?”
Ignoring the mess on the floor, Cass held her breath and nodded.
“Joan wasn’t Conrad’s beneficiary.”
Cass gasped. “What?”
He shook his head. “When I talked to Tank earlier, he said Conrad’s will was changed about the same time they bought the estate.”
“So who inherited everything?”
He studied her for a moment, and she was afraid he wasn’t going to answer. “You can’t share this with anyone.”
“I won’t.” Except maybe Bee and Stephanie.
He tilted his head and lifted a brow. “Cass.”
Shoot. “Oh fine. I won’t tell anyone.” She held up a hand in oath. “I promise. Not even Bee and Stephanie.”
“Conrad left everything to Priscilla.”
“No way.”
He nodded. “Tank said she didn’t seem surprised at the news but didn’t have too much to say about why the will was changed. James Wellington, however was a different story. He told them Conrad approached him a few months ago and said he was going to have his will changed. Said he finally figured out what a gold-digging witch Joan was.” Luke frowned. “He also said something seemed weird about the whole thing. Especially when he asked James to keep it a secret, because he wasn’t telling Joan. Apparently Jim had always thought it strange Conrad had up and married Joan in the first place. One minute she was his receptionist, the next his wife.”
“And?”
“And nothing.” He pushed away from the counter and started cleaning again. “That’s all Tank said.”
“Well, what does he think? Do you think Joan had something to do with Conrad’s death?”
Luke held up his hands and started to laugh. “I didn’t gossip with him, Cass. He shared that bit of evidence, among other things, when we were discussing the case.”
Funny, she didn’t see much difference between sharing details and gossiping. She checked to make sure all of the legs were still attached then dropped onto one of the kitchen chairs to sulk. “Do you think Joan would have been able to contest the will?”
“Who knows? Maybe, but it doesn’t matter now.”
“True.”
“Do you think that’s why James is so protective of his sister?” An image of Jim hovering close to Priscilla flashed through her mind, followed almost immediately by a vision of the stranger who’d been staring at her during the reading. “Do you think they’re afraid she’s next on the killer’s hit list?” Mitch Dobbs’ warning resonated through her head.
“No idea. If it was someone I cared about, I’d definitely have concerns for her safety.” Luke pulled out a chair and sat close enough to reach across the table and grip both of her hands in his. “As it is, I have enough on my mind worrying about you.” He ran a thumb over her wrist, sending a tingle all the way up her arm and into her chest. “Is there any way I can convince you to cancel the séance and stay out of this?”
She kept her gaze on their intertwined hands and shook her head. “I have to do this, Luke. I’ve worked too hard to establish Mystical Musings to allow this whole mess to ruin my reputation.”
“Look at me, Cass.”
She lifted her gaze to his, but his dark blue eyes were unreadable.
“I care about you. I may not get here to see you as often as I’d like, but you’re important to me. If nothing else, I’d like the chance to see where this will lead.” He lifted her hand to his lips and brushed feather-light kisses across her fingertips.
Her belly flip-flopped. His grin sent a wave of heat crashing through her.
“Thanks for letting me sleep on your couch.”
She was relieved he’d let the séance issue drop, but probably more relieved he’d changed the subject about his feelings for her. She liked Luke. A lot. But she wasn’t ready for any level of intimacy. Maybe it was a good thing he couldn’t get away too often. At least they were forced to take things slow. She smiled. “Can’t have you sleeping out in the cold. And the Bay Side Hotel is full with the guests from the bed-and-breakfast.” She shrugged. “It’s either the couch . . .” She gestured toward Beast’s cage. “Or the crate. It’s not like Beast’s using it.”
Luke captured her gaze with his, the intensity fluttering her stomach. “The couch is fine. Unless, of course, you’d like to share your room.”
Her mouth fell open. “Uh . . . uh . . .”
Luke laughed. “I’m just playing with you, sweetie.” He stood and kissed her head, then bent to finish cleaning up.
After a moment of admiring the view, Cass had to wonder if she was making a mistake.
20
Cass strolled through the empty mansion with Bee and Stephanie trailing a little behind. Their soft murmurs drifted to her but didn’t interfere with her concentration. At least not too much. Beast padded softly at her side.
With no clue what to expect, Cass wandered aimlessly. The séance wouldn’t start until later that night, but they still hadn’t scripted the entire thing yet. Luke and Tank had balked about the idea at first but, with a little convincing, they’d grudgingly relented. They had even offered a few suggestions and agreed to wait outside and ensure she was left alone while she did the walk through. But Cass would have to figure most of what she would say on her own. After examining all of the downstairs rooms, except the ballroom, she climbed the stairs to the second floor. She’d go back to the ballroom later.
Bee cleared his throat. She tried to ignore the sound and the knowledge that they were both anxiously following her, pads and pens at the
ready, waiting for her to have some sort of revelation so they could get started.
Goose bumps prickled her skin, and she shivered, but there was no obvious source of the cold invading her bones. She stopped at the bottom of the cupola stairs and glanced up. The police had agreed to allow the séance, and would have several plainclothes officers in attendance, but the cupola was strictly off limits. She chewed on a thumbnail, indecision grating on her already raw nerves.
She tilted her head back and forth, then rolled her shoulders, desperate to relieve some of the tension plaguing her. Turning away from the cupola, she stopped and stared at the closed door in front of her. Conrad’s door. There was something in there. Of that she was certain. She’d been drawn to that room since the night of the murder. So had Conrad. And Donald. And whomever Joan had been arguing with. This was the source of Cass’s current unease, not the cupola. Sucking in a breath, she turned the knob and eased the door open.
She hesitated. Her gut twisted into knots. Wiping beads of sweat from her forehead, despite the intensity of the chill, she glanced back at her friends. Neither of them said anything. Bee stood still. Waiting. Stephanie caught her lower lip between her teeth and shifted nervously. But neither of them discouraged her. She turned, lifted the crime scene tape, and ducked underneath.
Bee and Stephanie followed, closing the door quietly behind them. Bee gripped Beast’s collar, and the big dog stopped and sat beside him. Even Beast seemed to feel the tension.
“There’s something here. There has to be. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Why else would Conrad have been so insistent on having this room?” The room had been cleaned up since she was last there. None of the Wellingtons’ personal items remained. The box spring and mattress had been returned to their spot on the frame.
Bee crossed the room and looked out the window. “The view really is nice from here. You can see all the way across the bay to the lighthouse.” He turned his back to the view, resting his hands against the sill, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other.
Cass shook her head. “It doesn’t feel right.” The same image she’d first seen when Joan came in for her reading assailed Cass, relentlessly playing over and over in her mind. “Help me.” She started to lift the mattress.
“Wait. What are you doing?” Stephanie put a hand on her arm to stop her. “You can’t move anything. You’re not even supposed to be in here.”
“We’ll put it back when we’re done. I have to roll up the rug and see if there’s a compartment in the wood floor like the one up in the cupola.”
Stephanie held her gaze a moment longer then sighed and gripped the other side of the mattress. They stood the mattress and box spring against the wall. The headboard was attached to the wall, so they couldn’t budge it. “Okay. I’m going to roll up the rug on this side all the way to the bed. Stephanie, you do the other side. Bee, you see if you can lift the frame enough so we can pull the rug out from under it.”
“You know there’s no way this is going to work, right?”
Cass shrugged. “I have to try.”
Without another word, Bee took his place and waited.
Beast tilted his head and studied them.
Cass searched the floor beneath the section of rug she’d rolled up. Nothing. “Anything on your side, Stephanie?”
“Not that I see.”
Cass stood and propped her hands on her hips. She studied the sections of the floor that hadn’t been covered by the rug. Again. She’d already searched every inch of the uncovered wood. There simply wasn’t anything there. She looked back at the bed.
Bee lifted a brow and stared at her. “You do know, if we get that rug out from beneath that bed, it’s not going back. Right?”
She realized that. She just couldn’t figure out if it was worth it. Scanning the room, she tried to decide what to do. Her gaze skipped across the wall. It caught on the painting hanging above the bed. She moved closer.
A stormy sea, done in deep blues and blacks, with just a hint of the moon peeking from between the clouds. Gorgeous. She hadn’t taken much notice before, but thinking back, she realized very little artwork adorned the walls throughout the mansion. The Wellingtons probably hadn’t had time for little details like that yet. So, why this painting, in the room Conrad had to have badly enough to throw Donald and Sylvia out? Had he brought it with him?
Reaching out, she ran her fingers along the rough surface. A small, barely visible lighthouse sat in the deepest shadows on the rocky shore in the distance. She gripped both sides of the frame and tried to lift it. Nothing happened.
A small tingle of excitement sizzled through her. She tried again to lift the painting off the wall. It didn’t budge. “Hey, Bee. Give me a hand.”
“What’s the matter?”
Beast looked up from where he lay chewing on the corner of the bed frame. He probably couldn’t do too much damage to metal. Right?
She returned her attention to the painting. “I want to see what’s behind this painting, but I can’t move it.”
“Here. Let me see.” He took her place in front of the painting, grabbed the frame from either side, and lifted. Nothing. He looked beneath the frame on either side of the painting then stared at the front and frowned. “It seems like it’s glued to the wall or something.”
Cass climbed onto the bed frame and peeked down behind the top of the picture, running her fingers along the wall behind the frame. The painting was firmly lodged on the wall. She felt down the side, keeping her fingers pressed firmly against the seam between the wall and the back of the painting. Nothing.
Bracing one foot against the wall, Bee took a firm grip on both sides and yanked with all of his strength.
Just then, Cass’s finger encountered something sticking out at the bottom of the frame. She wiggled it.
“Ahhh . . .” The painting swung down from the top, and Bee landed flat on his back, Cass tumbling with him as he went.
Beast jumped to his feet and barked once.
“Shhh . . .” Stephanie grabbed Cass’s arm and pulled her up off Bee. “Are you two all right?”
“I’m fine.” Brushing herself off, Cass turned to Bee.
He rolled onto his side and used the bed frame to help him climb to his feet. “That’s because you had something soft to land on.” He glanced at the box spring and mattress against the wall as he rubbed his back. “Probably should have put those back on first, huh?”
Cass laughed, but her interest had already turned to whatever Stephanie was pulling out of the hole in the wall behind the painting. “I guess now we know why he had to have this room.”
“No kidding.” Stephanie handed Cass a small, black, plastic box.
She looked around, unsure where to put it down.
“Here. Look out.” Bee shooed Beast from where he’d returned to chewing on the bed frame, then dropped the box spring and mattress back onto the bed.
Cass pushed the box to the center and sat. A chill raced up her spine, and she shivered as she pulled the top off the box. Bee and Stephanie leaned over the small open box with her. Three heads crowded together, staring into a box the size of a shoebox.
“Don’t touch anything,” Stephanie reminded her.
As if I don’t know that. Cass reached into the box and pulled out a small journal stuffed with papers. Tank is so gonna kill me. She held her breath and opened the cover. When no one protested, she set the small stack of papers aside and stared at the lists of numbers handwritten in neat print. She flipped through the pages. Column after column of numbers covered three quarters of the book. “I can make out dates . . .” She squinted and held the book closer to read the small print. “They go back more than ten years. But I have no clue what the rest of the numbers mean.”
“Let me see.” Stephanie held out her hand.
She handed Stephanie the journal and started si
fting through the other pages. She unfolded a piece of computer paper. “Check this out. It’s a family tree. Look.” She shifted to allow Bee to see what she was reading and pointed to the name, Celeste Garnier, at the top of the page beside the name Buford Wellington. Skimming the page, she followed the branches down the line until she came to Carly Garnier Dobbs.
“Well, well, well . . .” Bee leaned closer over her shoulder. “Lookie what we have here.” He pointed to a line on the opposite side of the family tree. A descendent of one of Celeste’s granddaughters.
Cass sucked in a breath. “Joan Marris Wellington.” Her gaze shot over her shoulder to Bee. “You think Joan was a descendent of Celeste and Buford?”
He shrugged. “According to that paper, she is.”
Interest thoroughly piqued now, Cass turned over the page. Blank. “Give me those other papers.”
Bee was already unfolding a sheet of yellow lined paper. He turned it over, then back to the front. There were only a few lines on the page, written in bold script. He read, “‘Conrad. I know what you’re doing, and I want in. Joan.’”
Cass frowned. “What was he doing?”
Bee shook his head. “No idea. It doesn’t say.”
“I might have an idea.” Stephanie held her finger against a spot in the journal. “This is a ledger. From the looks of it, Conrad—assuming this was his—was stealing from their investment company, Wellington, Wellington, and Wellington.” She looked into Cass’s gaze. “A lot.”
Cass sucked in a breath.
“See these numbers?” She ran her finger along a line of numbers in one of the columns. “They’re account numbers. And these are dollar amounts. If the numbers are accurate, he syphoned off millions and invested it immediately, making even more money. The guy was worth a whole lot more than we figured.”