Occult and Battery

by Lena Gregory

  We? She knew there were two killers. She spared a quick glance at Priscilla crumpled in the corner. His accomplice?

  “I wasn’t happy about this psychic weekend at first, but my sister is so into that nonsense, and I couldn’t come up with any logical reason to say no. How could I explain wanting to open with only a few guests?” He clenched his fist and plowed it through the wall beside the door.

  Cass jumped, true terror beginning to take hold.

  Pieces of sheetrock and dust rained down when he pulled his hand back out. “I thought I could make it work to our advantage.” He shot Priscilla a look of complete disgust. “And Mitch and Carly Dobbs, with their stupid stories about the past, only added to the confusion.” He shook his head. “Who’d have thought you’d actually be able to talk to the dead?”

  Talk to the dead? What was he talking about?

  “Who was it that ratted me out? My dear brother, or that conniving wife of his?”

  “Uh . . .”

  “I asked you a question.” He pulled a gun from his waistband and aimed it at her with a shaky hand.

  She lifted her hands. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t play innocent with me. Which one of them did you contact, or whatever it is you do?”

  Shaking her head, she took a step backward. “I wasn’t able to contact anyone.” A soft knock on the door made her freeze.

  Jim held the gun aimed at her as he sidestepped toward the door. “Who is it?”

  “It’s me, baby.”

  Cass recognized the voice. Sylvia. Her breath rushed out. Did she dare risk Jim’s wrath to warn her? Her gut screamed no, but her conscience wouldn’t allow her to let anyone—not even Sylvia—walk into danger.

  Jim unlocked the door and started to pull it open.

  “Sylvia, run! He has a gun!”

  He pulled the door open wide and peered down the hallway, then closed it and turned the lock.

  Sylvia grinned as she strode toward Priscilla. “Run? Why on earth would I run?”

  Ice water rushed through Cass’s veins.

  Sylvia gripped a handful of Priscilla’s hair and lifted her head, studying her intently, then dropped her and turned a glare on Jim. “Why is she still alive?”

  “I already told you, she doesn’t die until after she collects the inheritance.”

  Cass massaged her temples, contemplating whether or not to ask what was going on. Morbid curiosity demanded she ask, but common sense held her tongue.

  If looks could kill, the one Sylvia shot Jim would have dropped him on the spot. “If she dies, you collect anyway. What’s the difference?”

  “We’ve been through this. If she dies now, the police are going to look too hard at me.”

  Sylvia rolled her eyes. “I already told you, Donald is going to take the fall no matter what.”

  Shock slammed through Cass.

  “What’s the difference if we pin one more murder on him?” She eyed Cass, her gaze lingering only a moment before she shrugged. “Or two?”

  “We’ve already established a motive for him killing Conrad and Joan. Did you do what you were supposed to?”

  She smiled slyly. “Of course, baby. I threw his stupid engagement ring in the garbage and sent him to Conrad’s room to look for it, so his fingerprints will show up once they arrest him. The pictures you took of me seducing Conrad in the cupola are safely tucked in his suitcase, along with the length of rope.” She approached him and ran a hand along his arm. “And the last page in his diary is filled with regret for having to kill Joan when she figured out it was him.”

  Cass’s mind raced. What had Jim said? Two years they’d planned this? Two years ago, she’d still been married to Donald. The truth sucker punched her, knocking the breath from her lungs. Anger started to take root. “You did it on purpose.”

  Sylvia turned to face her. “Did what?”

  “You seduced Donald for the sole purpose of setting him up. You destroyed my marriage just to use Donald as a scapegoat?”

  “Of course I did, dear.” She held Cass’s gaze, her expression more smug than ever. “Why else would I want that spineless, sniveling loser? And why else would I befriend someone like you?” Her condescending laughter scraped Cass’s last nerve raw. If Jim ever lowered that gun . . .

  Jim used his free hand to steady his shaking wrist, holding the gun in a two-handed grip and pinning Cass with a hard stare. “I’ll only ask one more time, how did you figure it out? Who ratted me out?”

  Confusion warred with fear. Curiosity—nosiness—beat out both. She struggled to steady her voice. “Why did you kill them?”

  He tilted his head. “Why don’t you tell me?”

  Hmm . . . He obviously knew he wasn’t going to be able to walk away—she swallowed the lump of fear gagging her—or let her walk away. Could she talk her way out of this mess? “He was stealing.”

  Shock widened Jim’s eyes.

  “He’d been embezzling money from the company for years. Had stolen millions. Maybe more. It’s understandable you’d have been angry . . .” Greedy. “. . . when you found out.” Cass had no doubt it was greed that motivated him. His actions had nothing to do with revenge.

  “I don’t know how you do it, but you’re pretty good. Shame all that talent is going to go to waste.”

  If she could stall long enough, surely someone would find them. Of course, there were a lot of rooms to search. And this room was off limits, so it might be the last one they checked. “The only thing I don’t understand is what the old letter from Buford had to do with anything?”

  Eagerness lit Jim’s eyes. “Did my dearly departed brother tell you where it is?” He shook his head. “Can you believe that idiot was going to give the Dobbs’ the mansion? Said he had proof of the familial line and the original letter from Buford Wellington. He believed the curse and was terrified we would all meet a tragic end.” His laughter sent a chill up her spine. “Turns out he was partly right, anyway.”

  She licked her lips, but since her spit felt like paste, it didn’t help ease the dryness. Keeping him talking shouldn’t be too hard. He seemed more than willing to brag.

  Jim screwed something onto the front of the gun she suspected might be a silencer. Uh-oh . . . Maybe she was wrong.

  Her stomach cramped. Urgency beat at her. “But why did you kill Joan?”

  “Couldn’t have her contesting the will, could we? Now . . .” He lifted the gun toward Cass.

  “Wait. Don’t shoot. I know where the letter is.”

  He lowered the gun, just a little.

  The door burst open, slamming into the wall behind it, and Bee exploded into the room, pointing a really big handgun at Jim. “Freeze, dirtbag.” He offered Cass a quick grin. “I have always wanted to say that.”

  Jim’s eyes narrowed, and Cass knew with every fiber of her being that he was about to pull the trigger. “Bee!”

  The shot echoed through the room.

  The breath Cass had been holding whooshed out. “Oh, crap.”

  “Lift that gun again, buddy, and I’ll take out more than just your knee.” Bee stood over Jim—who lay curled on the floor clutching his knee—his gun hand rock steady.

  Sylvia dove for Jim’s gun.

  Cass grabbed a handful of her hair, pulled her head back, and punched her full force in the face. The crunch, followed by a spurt of blood from her nose, sent a rush of satisfaction shooting through her. She shoved Sylvia to the floor and heaved in a shaky breath.

  Bee grinned. “Remind me not to get on your bad side, honey.”

  • • •

  Cass lifted her gaze at the tinkle of the wind chimes. Luke’s smile warmed her heart.

  “Hey, beautiful.”

  “Hey, yourself.”

  Bee made kissy sounds behind her back, and she di
d her best to ignore him. He had saved her life, after all.

  “Did you and Tank wrap things up?”

  “More or less.” He looked over Cass’s shoulder at Stephanie. “He should be here in a few minutes.”

  “Took long enough. You guys have been there all night.”

  “There was a lot to sort out.”

  They moved to the table and sat with Bee and Stephanie, just as Tank strode through the door. After dropping a quick kiss on Stephanie’s head, he joined them.

  Cass opened her mouth to ask . . . well . . . everything, but Tank held up a hand to stop her. “Can I at least get a cup of coffee before you hammer me? I’ve been up all night.”

  She laughed. “Sure.” She grabbed the two pots of coffee from the burners and put them on trivets in the center of the table then grabbed the cups, milk, and sugar. “There. Help yourselves.” She grinned. “But talk while you’re doing it.”

  Tank laughed and grabbed a cup. “Fine. What do you want to know?”

  “Everything, of course. Starting with, is Priscilla going to be okay?”

  “She’s going to be fine, should be out of the hospital in a day or two.” He grinned at Cass. “Supposedly, she can’t get rid of that mansion fast enough. She and Jim had already met with the Madisons before the séance. Though Jim was . . . reluctant, Priscilla wanted to ditch the mansion immediately after Conrad was killed.” Tank sat beside Stephanie, blew on his coffee, and took a sip. “Anyway, Horatio Madison’s son is buying the place and keeping it a bed-and-breakfast. He’s going to reopen Memorial Day weekend, and rumor has it, he’s going to ask you to do an occasional psychic weekend.”

  Excitement surged. “Really?”

  Tank shrugged. “That’s what I heard. Anyway, you know we arrested James Wellington. And we’re positive it was him. We have the evidence we need to prove it.”

  A relieved sigh escaped. She’d known that, but it was good to hear it confirmed.

  “Once he gets out of the hospital, that is.” He shot a pointed glare at Bee.

  “Hey. Don’t look at me like that. What was I supposed to do, let him shoot her?”

  Tank grinned. “You were supposed to yell if you found her. Remember?”

  “Oh. Right. Of course, he might have killed her while I was busy yelling for help.”

  Then Tank sobered. “I suppose it could have happened that way. Luckily, you were there and it didn’t.”

  Bee lowered his gaze to his hands, and Cass noticed the slight tremor there. He’d faced a gunman with a steady hand, but the thought of what could have happened to her made them shake. She reached out and placed her hand on top of his. Meeting her gaze for just a moment, he smiled then turned away, an adorable blush creeping up his cheeks.

  “Do you know what happened to Mitch and Carly Dobbs?”

  “They were escorted out of the mansion before the séance, when they were found in the cupola searching for something. That’s why we weren’t right outside the ballroom when you left. We were dealing with that mess.”

  “Who found them?”

  “Apparently, Priscilla hired a bodyguard after Conrad was killed. He suspected the Dobbs’ might have something to do with the murders, so he went in search of them when they didn’t show up in the ballroom. When he found them in the cupola, he called the police. He also had his suspicions about James Wellington, but figured Priscilla would be safe enough in a room full of people.”

  Cass thought back to the night of the reading. She’d thought the strange man was staring at Priscilla. If that was her bodyguard, maybe he’d been glaring at Jim hovering over her.

  “What kind of evidence did you find?” Stephanie asked, bringing Cass back to the present.

  “When we searched Jim’s room at the Bay Side Hotel, we found a backpack with rope and a knife in it. Among other things. And the handgun he had when he was arrested was the same caliber used to shoot Joan Wellington. We’re pretty sure it’ll match.”

  Cass looked around the table at her friends. Tears prickled the backs of her eyes, and she reached over to take Luke’s hand. Maybe she was finally on her way to recovering from Donald’s betrayal. “Oh. What about Sylvia?”

  “Jim ratted her out before we even had him in the ambulance. According to him, she helped him kill Conrad and clean up the mess after he killed Joan.”

  She had a moment of sympathy for Donald, but then it passed. Yeah. She was definitely ready to move on. She’d find some way to make Mystical Musings work through the winter months, because there was no way she was leaving Bay Island. It was good to be home.

  Lena Gregory is also the author of Death at First Sight, the previous Bay Island Psychic Mystery. She lives in a small town on the south shore of eastern Long Island. Visit her online at lenagregory.com, facebook.com/Lena .Gregory, and twitter.com/lenagregory03.

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