02-A Spirited Tail

by Leighann Dobbs

  I looked down at the glossy photos, newspaper clippings, and what looked like some old ticket stubs. A cherry red fountain pen sat on the table next to a strange, white oval object in a plastic bag. The object had apparently deteriorated over the years and some white powder had caked the inside of the bag.

  "What's that?" I pointed to the white object.

  Jimmy wrinkled his face at it, then picked it up and studied it. "Huh, that’s weird. It's a cuttlebone."

  "Cuttlebone? What the heck is a cuttlebone?"

  "It's for birds. They sharpen their beaks on it. It's actually the spine of some type of squid - cuttlefish."

  I was kind of grossed out about the whole squid spine thing. "Did Bruce have a bird?"

  Jimmy looked around the room. "I didn't see one when we were here before."

  I made a quick survey of the house, my gut churning at the thought of finding a cage with the fragile body of a parakeet or canary dead on the bottom. It didn't take long. The cabin was small, just one floor, and the only door, besides the front door and the one in the kitchen was a door off the dining room leading to a crawlspace under the cottage. I was glad I didn't find a dead bird, or a birdcage. My search brought me back to the dining room where I looked down at the photos again.

  In one of the pictures, I recognized the bedroom in which Lily died. This one had no body, though. This picture must have been taken after … or before.

  "Didn't Gus and Striker think it was odd that Bruce would have these pictures of Van Dorn’s?" I asked. "Some of these look similar to the police photos.

  "Well, that’s just it. We didn't know these were of Van Dorn’s—none of us had seen the other photos from the old case."

  He had a point. None of them had been in Van Dorn's until after they'd been to Bruce's, so they wouldn’t recognize the interior of the house in the photos and besides, why would Striker and Gus care about an old solved case anyway?

  I turned to the pile of newspaper clippings, all from the month of Charles' death. There were articles about parties and some of the attendees. Then, of course, several about Lily's death and Charles' alleged suicide. Something in one of the articles caught my eye.

  "Check this out. It says Charles had a rival. Someone named Claire Voyant … it sounds like they were real enemies."

  "Bad enough enemies that she would have killed him? And what kind of name is Claire Voyant, anyway?" Jimmy asked.

  "Yeah, it is kind of silly name. She must have been a medium or wanted people to think she was. Maybe Charles and this Claire Voyant were battling over customers. Maybe she thought if she got Charles out of the way, there would be more customers for her."

  "Money is one of the common motives for murder," Jimmy said.

  "And so is jealousy. Maybe there was a love triangle between her, Charles and Lily," I added.

  "Or her, Charles and Gladys," Jimmy mused. "You keep going for this love triangle angle, but I'm not so sure about that."

  I didn't want to have to tell him about the love letters in order to get him to see why I was so sure about that. "Well, it makes sense, and Les Price seems to think it could be Gladys, too. She'd fit the bill for the older crimes as well."

  "Les Price? The writer? How does he know?"

  I told him about my talk with Les and how he'd said his father's notes also indicated there might be something funny going on with Gladys. My mind drifted to the stream gaging station but I didn't tell Jimmy since I didn't want to send him on a wild goose chase and get him in trouble with Gus.

  "What do you make of all this?" Jimmy asked me, indicating the table full of notes and pictures.

  "It looks like maybe Bruce wasn't satisfied with the way things were handled back then and had been investigating it himself all these years."

  "For fifty years?"

  He had a point. Fifty years was a long time to investigate something. "Maybe not all this time. It could be that the recent events with Charles’ brother dying and Steve selling stuff off brought it all up again and he decided to look into it."

  "Maybe he was looking into it because he had something to hide," Jimmy suggested.

  "He might have had something to hide from fifty years ago, but he certainly didn't bash himself in the back of the head, so even if Bruce Norton did have a secret, there's someone else out there now who has one, too."

  ***

  We got back to the shop with a few hours to spare before I had to head out to Van Dorn’s. When I opened the door, something caught my attention behind me. I looked over to see a black car and I got the distinct impression the driver was watching me, even though I couldn’t see through the dark windows. Had it been following me?

  I shrugged and entered the shop. I wasn't worried. Felicity and Claire must have changed cars—didn't they think I would know it was them?

  Ranger greeted me as soon as we stepped in. He sniffed me thoroughly and barked loudly.

  "Shhh...” I stroked his ears and he calmed down. "Good boy."

  Ranger must have been coming out of his funk. He'd greeted me in a similar manner when I'd gone to pick the two of them up at my house after my trip to the Moonlight Motel this morning. Except at home, he'd seemed very agitated and barked much louder. I hoped he wasn't becoming too attached to me and showing some sort of separation anxiety. I needed to find him a new home and quick.

  "Ranger must smell his old home on me. He needs to find his new forever home." I glanced slyly at Jimmy but he wasn't paying any attention. He was busy petting Pandora, who had ignored me entirely and was now lying on her back while Jimmy rubbed her belly.

  "Yeah, poor guy." Jimmy stood up amidst a cacophony of protesting mewls from Pandora.

  The bells over the door jangled and Pepper rushed in, tea bags in hand.

  "I saw you guys come in. Did you get any more clues?" She looked hopefully from me to Jimmy.

  "You might say that." I filled her in on everything that had happened since I last talked to her

  "Wow, you've been busy." She turned to Jimmy. "I made you some more of my special tea bags."

  She handed the tea bags to Jimmy, winking at me over his shoulder when he wasn't looking.

  "Thanks." He beamed at her and I noticed her looking at him approvingly like he was some sort of successful experiment. I had to admit, he did seem more confident, and looked it, too. His shoulders weren't slumped now as if he was trying to disappear, which made his chest seem broader, and I noticed how he looked me in the eye more instead of always avoiding eye contact. Of course, I liked to think his newfound confidence was due to me passing along some of my investigative skills, but maybe Pepper's teas did have something to do with it.

  "So you really think Gladys is the killer? Isn’t she kind of old?" Pepper's question pulled me out of my thoughts.

  "I can think of several motives for her and Les Price seems to think she could have been the killer fifty years ago. I saw her chopping wood and she could definitely club someone to death."

  "This Claire Voyant person … if she really had a rivalry with him, she would have had a good motive, too," Pepper said.

  "But what would her motive be to kill Lily?" I asked

  "And what about Steve? Does this mean he's all in the clear now?" Pepper flopped down in one of the purple chairs. "This is getting complicated."

  "Steve has an alibi for Bruce's death and he was only a child when Charles and Lily were killed," Jimmy pointed out.

  "I still don't understand why Bruce would be involved," Pepper said.

  "Well, he hung around there back in the day. Maybe he didn't think the investigations were done right and wanted to make sure he did right by his old friends," I answered

  "For all we know, he was involved with Lily," Jimmy added.

  "Or maybe he killed one of them," Pepper said.

  I hadn't thought about that, but didn't have time to mull it over, because just then, the shop door opened and Emma came in, carrying a plastic cat carrier. Ranger ran over, vacuuming his nose across th
e entire area of the cage while something mewled inside. Pandora looked at it quizzically, then turned and curled up in her cat bed.

  I peeked inside to see the black and white tuxedo cat from the cattery.

  "I was just picking up Scooter from Doc Ellis and thought I'd stop in here," Emma said, looking at Pepper and Jimmy nervously. I figured the nervous look was because she didn't know if Pepper and Jimmy would be friends of the cattery and didn't want me to say anything, so I kept my mouth shut.

  "Scooter?" Jimmy poked his finger into one of the crate openings and I tensed knowing that most feral cats don't like to be poked at. Luckily, Scooter didn't seem to mind and I was surprised to see the cat butting his head up against Jimmy's finger through the holes. Emma looked a little surprised, herself.

  "Scooter’s looking for a good home. He's been neutered and has all his shots." Emma looked at Jimmy hopefully.

  "Aww, well, I hope he finds one." Jimmy straightened. "I have to get back to the station. I’ll talk to you guys later."

  "Bye, Jimmy," Pepper said.

  Jimmy paused at the door and gave me a pointed look. "Willa, you let me know if anything comes up."

  "Will do."

  "Well, I should be going back to my shop. I saw Jimmy and wanted to drop those tea bags off. Don't you think Jimmy seems more confident now?" Pepper asked.

  "He does," Emma said. "Is it something in your tea or is he just a late bloomer?"

  Pepper shrugged, her cheeks pink. She started toward the door, shooting me an I-told-you-so look over her shoulder.

  "Well, I need to be going, too." Emma picked up the cat carrier. "I was just bringing Scooter back to the cattery from his overnight stay with Doc Evans and I wanted to be sure to stop in and talk to you about Steve Van Dorn."

  "Oh, why?"

  "Well, I know you thought less of him because of the whole thing with Bruce Nelson." She shivered. "It is reprehensible what he did, but he's not that bad, really. He's actually quite nice. You have to understand his mother died when he was very young and he's had a hard life."

  I nodded. "Okay, I’ll take that into consideration."

  Emma opened the door, backing out with the cat carrier in front of her. "Give him a chance," she said and then closed the door.

  I thought about what she said. If Steve was devoted to cats, he couldn’t be all that bad, but I still thought writing on a dead guy was creepy and I wasn't convinced he had nothing to do with Bruce's death. Luckily, I had a secret weapon I could use to test out that theory. If Steve had something to do with Bruce's death, I felt certain that Ranger would act accordingly. Either he would bark, or growl or do something to indicate that Steve was up to no good. That’s why I was bringing Ranger with me to the Van Dorn's.

  Too bad I wasn't taking Pandora. I knew she was going to be mad, but I couldn’t very well take a cat with me.

  I threw some cat treats in her bowl.

  "I’ll be back to get you in a few," I yelled. I expected a lot of angry mewling and hissing, but instead there was silence. She must have sensed I was leaving her here and taking Ranger and had gone off somewhere to sulk.

  I hooked Ranger's leash to his collar, grabbed my leather hobo bag and jangled my keys at the door. Pandora must have been really mad, because I locked up and then glanced back inside through the window as I walked by and she was still nowhere to be seen.

  Chapter Twenty

  On my way to Van Dorn's, I thought about the stream gaging station that Les had mentioned. Had Gladys hidden some sort of evidence there fifty years ago? Could Bruce's murder weapon the police had been looking for be there now?

  I drove past Van Dorn's driveway to take a peek. The stream gaging station was just a small, brick structure filled with pipes and meters. I guessed it was used for measuring the flow or level of the stream that led to the larger river. I'd actually never seen it. Driving by now, I could see why—there was only an overgrown dirt trail in the woods to mark its presence. The structure itself was hidden inside the wood, and a small plaque at the head of the trail with letters and the identification number for the station—SGS 17 06-82—was the only thing that marked its existence.

  Beside me, Ranger started whining, his gaze intent on something in the woods.

  "You know something's in there, don't you?"

  I was dying to get out and see for myself, but if I did find something, how would I explain that to Gus and Striker? They were already suspicious enough of my involvement. I turned the car around and headed to Van Dorn's.

  "Don't worry, I’ll think of something," I promised Ranger.

  A prickle of worry settled in my stomach as I pulled into the Van Dorn driveway next to Steve's yellow Dodge. I glanced over at Ranger, who squirmed uneasily. Would he have an adverse reaction to Steve … and if he did, what would I do?

  "Looks like we're going to find out," I said aloud and Ranger looked at me quizzically as I led him toward the house.

  Steve must have seen us coming, because he greeted us at the door. I tensed as he squatted and fluffed Ranger's fur, but Ranger didn't bark or growl—he went willingly to Steve, wagging his tail so hard that his rear end wriggled back and forth as Steve petted him. I guess he harbored no ill will toward Steve, but did that really prove Steve wasn't involved with Bruce's murder?

  After a few minutes of mutual adoration, Steve looked up at me. "I was just taking some of the sheets off the furniture and setting the house up proper. I guess Uncle Charles deserves at least that much."

  He held the door open and I stepped inside. The living room had been transformed. With the boards off the windows and the sheets removed, it looked as it must have in Charles' day. I felt as though I’d stepped through a time capsule and traveled even further back than the 1960s because Charles had furnished the house in antiques.

  "Wow, it looks great," I said.

  "Well, I've only done the living room so far." Steve's face softened with pride as he looked around. "You know, I'm starting to get interested in Charles' story now. My father always painted him to be a bad guy, but maybe he wasn't so bad. He sure was interesting."

  "Yeah, he was a celebrity in his day. Do you think he really had psychic abilities?"

  Steve frowned. "Well, I don't know. But if he did, it sure would be nice if he came and told us what really happened fifty years ago."

  "Indeed." I glanced around for Charles’ ghost, suppressing a smile.

  "I did find another photo album under the coffee table in here." Steve pointed to a two-tiered table where I could see a leather album sitting on the bottom tier.

  "Let’s check it out. Maybe we can get some insight into Charles’ life."

  "Sounds good. I'm beginning to question if Charles really did kill Lily … or himself."

  "Actually, we might be able to find some clues about that right here in the house," I said, glad to have an opening to make my case for searching the house.

  "Really? Wouldn’t the police have found all the clues back then?"

  "Not necessarily. Once Charles died and left that note, they stopped looking into both the deaths and closed both cases." I told him about the pictures and files I'd seen, taking care not to mention that it was Jimmy who had provided them.

  "He died in my office?" Steve grimaced. "That’s kind of creepy."

  Yeah. I thought it best not to mention he died on the very desk Steve was using, even though Steve's earlier actions with Bruce proved he didn't have any qualms about dead bodies.

  "Have you looked upstairs yet?" I asked.

  "I went up and looked around the other day, but didn't delve into each room. Do you think you would recognize the one that you saw the pictures of Lily in?"

  "I think so." I had a pretty good memory for that kind of stuff and it had served me well down South. I just hoped I hadn't lost too much of it to middle age. "Let’s start in the office."

  Steve headed down the hall, with Ranger trotting alongside him. We got to the office and I felt a chill. I hadn't thought much abo
ut the office before, but now that I'd seen the pictures of Charles dead in it, the room made me feel a little light-headed. I glanced at the desk surface, my mind conjuring up the picture of Charles, his head slumped on the desk, the note off to the right … and the dark stain.

  There was only slight evidence of that on the desk now. The blotter had stopped the blood from staining the wood except for a few spots. I didn't point them out to Steve.

  Steve had pretty much taken over the room with his printer, computer, shipping boxes and a pile of items, which I bent down to inspect.

  "I was gonna list those on eBay." He glanced at the computer. "But now I kind of feel like a heel, selling his stuff off like that."

  "Well, I guess you'd have to sell it sometime, unless you plan to move in and live here."

  "Oh, no, I couldn’t afford the upkeep, plus I have responsibilities at home." He leaned toward me and lowered his voice. "My feral cats and all."

  I nodded, bending down to look under the desk where I noticed a small stain that marred the Oriental rug. But no clues. "Did you look in the desk drawers?"

  "Yeah, nothing in there but pens and paper."

  I opened them one by one. Old roller ball pens of good quality and writing paper. I fingered the sheaf of thick, manila writing paper, embossed with Charles' initials. Probably the same paper used to write his suicide note.

  I sighed. The room didn't have any clues as to who had been here the night Charles died, or if it did, I couldn’t find them.

  "Lets look upstairs," I suggested.

  The three of us ascended the ornate stairway. At the top, a wide hallway led off in both directions. I turned right, peeking into the rooms to see sheet-covered furniture. I passed several bedrooms, then a bathroom in black and white tile with an old, claw foot tub. I'd remembered the fireplace in Lily's room—rounded, white marble with a cherub in the center—and stopped in front of a room that fit the bill.

  "I think this is it, but I need to uncover the furniture to see for sure."

  "Okay." Steve pulled the cover off the bed to reveal that it was still fully made with silver satin bedding. The dresser and vanity were next and sparkled with 1930s splendor, as if they had just come out of the factory. They were the same as the furniture in Lily’s picture.