Claire looked up and smiled when I entered. She almost looked friendly, but I didn't let my guard down. I still wasn't sure if she was friend or foe—probably foe, considering who she kept company with.
I slid into the booth opposite her, eyeing the remnants of eggs, bacon and toast on her plate. "Where's Felicity?"
Claire waved her hand "Oh, I don't spend all my time with her."
"No?" I raised my brow at her. "Only when you are following me around, I guess."
"Following you? We haven't been following you. Well, maybe that one time … or twice. But you make it sound like I'm a stalker. I'm not."
"But why would you follow me?"
"To see if you have the journal. Anyway, we haven't been following you lately and my association with Felicity is only one of necessity."
"Necessity?"
"Yes, but never mind that. Do you want coffee?" She signaled for the waitress, who came over with two pots.
"Decaf, please," I said and the waitress angled one of the pots at my cup and poured, then sauntered away.
"So, what did you want to know about Charles Van Dorn?" Claire asked after the waitress was out of earshot.
My investigator’s instincts kicked into gear and I leaned across the table. "How close were you with Charles?"
"Oh, we were quite close. We were in the same business, so …" she shrugged.
"And you spent a lot of time at his house?"
"Sure, when I was in town. I wasn't here often, though. I had a lot of engagements around the country, as did Charles."
"I read you were rivals, so your relationship wasn't always friendly."
She scooped some egg yolk onto a piece of toast. "Oh, that? That was all for publicity. We never had an adversarial relationship."
"Really? That’s not how the papers made it out."
"Oh, the papers. That’s what they do, try to create conflict where there is none. Although I will say Charles and I did encourage that sometimes … you know, it kept people interested in us." She winked at me.
"So, you didn't have any problems with Charles? Like maybe something you might have wanted to take revenge against?"
"Of course not."
I sipped my coffee and studied her for a few seconds. "Then why did you change your name?"
She blinked. "Change my name?"
"Yes, the article in the paper called you Claire Voyant. I might never have figured out it was you if I didn't see you in one of Charles' photo albums. What are you hiding?"
She laughed—not the witchy cackle I'd expected, but a light melodious sound. "Oh, dear, that was just my stage name. It was perfectly acceptable back then. "
I narrowed my eyes. "So you didn't have a falling out with Charles before he died?"
"No, in fact I was there that day."
My brows flew up. She was there? That could mean two things: either she might have a clue about who killed him, or she did it herself.
"You were at the house the day he died?" I asked. "Why?"
She speared a small piece of sausage with her fork. "We were trying to talk to Lily's spirit, if you must know."
"You were?"
She nodded, swallowed and patted her lips with a napkin. "Yes. As you know, Charles and I were mediums, so it seemed the natural thing to do. "
"To do for what?"
"Why, to talk to Lily, of course." She gave me a knowing look and leaned across the table, touching my arm with her hand. "You do know what I mean, don't you?"
I shrank back, squirming in my seat. Did she know about me, or was she just acting cagey, trying to feel me out? I decided to keep quiet—I didn't want the word to get out about my unique talents.
"Why did you want to talk to Lily. Was it about her murder?" I asked.
"Of course. Lily was a dear friend." Claire's face pinched.
"So you thought she'd reveal her murderer? But why not leave that to the police?"
Claire made a face. "The police didn't take the case seriously. I got the impression they thought we were 'outsiders', not worth their time. Plus, I don't think they thought very highly of show-people. They didn't listen to anything we said, so we decided to take matters into our own hands. I knew Lily was being stalked by someone, but the police wouldn’t listen."
"Charles?"
"Goodness, no!" She looked at me as if I were crazy. Knowing what I knew about Charles and Bruce, I figured it wasn't him, but I'd wanted to see what Claire thought.
"Who, then?"
"We never found out. There were so many people around in those days. But Lily was terrified. She said she'd gotten some strange notes. Of course, she did have an eye for Charles but he did not return her feelings." Claire gave me a knowing look.
"So, you don't think Charles killed her?"
"No, he was no killer."
"But the paper said she had his cuff-link and that she had spurned his interest."
"The cufflink was a plant. Charles had said his favorite pair had gone missing during the house party that weekend."
I settled back in my seat, my palms wrapped around the mug of coffee in front of me. "Who else was there the night Lily died?"
Claire pressed her lips together and looked up. "Let's see. There was Bruce, me, Bill Parker, Charles, Lily, and that annoying writer."
"What about house staff?"
She shoved her food around with her fork while she thought. "I seem to remember Gladys was there and the cook—Mabel something-or-other. The cook stayed in the kitchen. I didn't know her well but Gladys was always around. She was more like a sister to Charles, especially after he and his brother had a falling out."
"And you didn't notice anyone acting strange or anything weird happening?"
Claire shook her head. "No. We found Lily the next day and she had the cufflink. Charles claimed he was being framed but the police didn't listen."
"And what about the night Charles died? Who was there?"
"The same people … well, except Lily, of course. We wanted a small group because we were hoping Lily would name her killer and we could try to clear Charles."
"And did she? Did you talk to Lily?"
"No. We couldn’t even do the séance because someone had taken Charles' crystal."
"Crystal?"
"Yes, he always used large, round crystal when he contacted the departed. He couldn’t talk to them without it, but that day it was missing, which was odd, because naturally he protected it like gold."
"What about you? Couldn’t you talk to her? Your card says you are a medium."
Claire smiled patiently. "Yes, but unfortunately, Lily didn't come to me. I can't just conjure people up at will. They have to come to me. I think you know that not all of us have the talent to manifest at will."
I studied her as I took another sip of coffee. Was she being evasive or telling the truth? I couldn’t conjure up ghosts when I wanted to, either, so I had no reason to doubt her. Plus, I'd been peppering her with questions pretty hard and she seemed unfazed. My gut instinct told me she was telling the truth.
"So, you were the last person to see Charles, then?"
"Well, I wasn't the very last person to see him. The usual gang was still there when I left. I had to catch a train that night and couldn’t stay over."
"What about Gladys? Was she still there?"
Claire thought for a moment, then shrugged. "I guess she must have been. She was always there."
Chapter Twenty-Three
I woke up the next day with a headache. The Van Dorn case was getting confusing and I wasn't sure I could trust any of the information I'd gotten from Claire. I hoped Charles would make an appearance today and clear up a few things for me.
I dressed in a silky, black tank top and tan capris. Not that I was dressing for the dinner date I had with Striker or anything, but I did take some extra time to tame my red curls and swipe on mascara.
I got to the shop early and the regulars came in with their coffees. Ranger flopped down in front of Josiah and Pand
ora shot me a disgusted glance, reminding me I needed to find a forever home for the Golden Retriever or I would soon be too attached and end up keeping him for myself. I had considered Striker but hadn't seen him with the dog enough to try to coerce him into taking him.
"I see you still have Bruce's dog," Bing commented, as if reading my mind.
"Yep, trying to find him the perfect new home."
Ranger looked up at me, a deep V creased in the area in between his eyes as if he knew what I had said.
I crouched in front of him, rubbing his ears. "I'd love to keep you, but I'm not set up for a dog."
"Meow!" Pandora huffed from her cat bed and we all laughed.
"Well, at least he doesn’t seem depressed anymore," Hattie said.
"Yeah, he's a good dog. He'll make a great pet for someone." I raised my eyes at the four seniors.
Bing held up his hand. "Not me, I travel too much."
"We're cat people.” Cordelia looked at Hattie and she nodded in agreement.
"I've got a dog and she's very jealous,” Josiah said.
I wasn't surprised none of them wanted to take on a large Golden. I had a couple of good candidates in mind, anyway.
"So what’s going on with the investigation? Do you have the inside scoop?" Hattie looked at me over the rim of her Styrofoam cup.
"I heard the murder weapon was found," Bing said.
"Yeah, I guess Gus is analyzing it for clues or whatever she does. I haven't heard anything."
"Hmm. Very unsettling." Josiah rose from the couch and tossed his cup in the trash. "Well, I gotta get on with the day."
The others murmured similar farewells and they all shuffled toward the door. Jimmy came rushing in, just as Bing pulled the door open. He nodded to the four seniors as he squeezed past them in the doorway.
"Willa, I have some news!" he said, then looked back at the foursome who had paused in the door to see what he had to say.
"Oh, err… we'll see you tomorrow, Willa." Bing ushered the others out reluctantly.
"Did you find anything on the murder weapon?" I asked as soon as the door closed.
Jimmy's eyes sparkled with excitement. "Yes, that was Bruce's blood on the end. There was also some hair which was not Bruce's and a partial fingerprint."
"Whose fingerprint?"
Jimmy's face fell. "That’s the problem. AFIS didn't come up with a match, so it’s someone who has never been in the system. We don't know who it is."
"And you think the hair was from the killer?"
"Well, it could be."
I chewed my bottom lip. "But if the fingerprint isn’t in the system and all we have is some hair, how can we find out who the killer is?"
Jimmy shuffled his feet, darting a nervous glance out the window. He leaned toward me and lowered his voice. "Yesterday, after I saw the hair, I did something to help the case that I probably shouldn’t have done."
My eyes widened. "What?"
"You can't tell Augusta. She won't like it."
I made a zip-your-lip motion. "I promise."
"I figured your theory about Gladys was a good one, so I went out to pay her a visit. The hairs on the club were gray. Gladys has gray hair." He shrugged. "So, I simply got a sample of hair to match it."
"That doesn’t sound like anything bad."
"Well, it’s not really. Except it was without her permission."
"You stole her hair? How did you do that without her knowing?"
Jimmy smiled proudly. "I took a look around her place and happened to find some on her hairbrush. Saw that on TV once."
I noticed Jimmy was standing taller, his shoulders no longer slumped. Apparently, he had gained some confidence and I felt a rush of pride that I had helped him a little with that. "But will that stand up in court?"
"No, but I just did it to prove or disprove it was her. I figure if we can prove the hair is hers we can have probable cause to get her fingerprint and match it to the one on the murder weapon, and then we can arrest her."
"Well, that was very clever!"
"Yeah," Jimmy said proudly. "She wasn't very friendly, either, which makes me believe that your theory about her is correct."
"Oh? She wasn't unfriendly to me, but she did kind of brush me off."
"She seemed really put out when I was there. She said she didn't like visitors and now she'd had three in two days."
"Three?"
"You, me and Les Price."
I narrowed my eyes. "Les Price? I guess he must have gone right after I talked to him about Gladys. Probably trying to get a scoop for his book. Well, I suppose I can't really blame him. And that means one thing—Les thought my theory about Gladys could be right, too."
A customer came in and Jimmy looked at them nervously.
"I gotta go." He leaned closer to me and whispered. "Don't tell anyone until I have something official."
Then he winked and disappeared out the door.
I spent the next several hours waiting on customers, my brain whirling with the news. Was it really Gladys? Now that I knew she wasn't Charles' lover, my initial theory about them couldn’t be right, but what if she had another motive? Why did Charles leave her money? Was she supposed to do something for him after he died?
Of course, Gladys wasn't the only one with gray hair … Claire had gray hair and I already knew she was deceitful. She might have even lied to me about the rivalry being just for show and about what time she left Charles' that night. I remembered seeing a ticket stub at Bruce's place. Would that prove Claire had lied or would it prove she had told the truth?
And what about the talcum powder Charles said they found on Lily—could that have come from Claire? Maybe it wasn't talcum powder at all. Claire was known to hang around with Felicity and Felicity fancied herself to be some sort of witch. What if Claire was, too, and had sprinkled some sort of powdery potion on Lily?
None of it really seemed to add up. I was missing something important. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to picture Bruce's house with his table of clues. I remembered the one odd thing—the cuttlebone. What did birds have to do with Lily and Charles' murders?
The shop was in a lull so I scooted over to my computer and Googled ‘cuttlebone’. Jimmy was right. It was the internal structure of a Cuttlefish. The picture of them was not appealing and I would probably think twice before jumping into the ocean now that I knew they could be swimming around in the water. The bone was loaded with calcium and used for supplementing the diets of birds, chinchillas, hermit crabs and snails. It could also be ground up and used in toothpaste, (yech) and as a polishing powder, and in antacids, (double yech) or as an absorbent to help dry liquids. Interesting, but how did any of that tie into Lily or Charles’ murder?
I had to admit, I was in quite a quandary. Claire's clues could be misdirection. She knew Charles needed the crystal to talk to Lily's ghost. Maybe she didn't want Lily's ghost to speak and took the crystal, then killed Charles later on because he was getting close to figuring out who the killer was.
Of course, the same could apply to Gladys. She'd have access to the whole house and no one would question her skulking around and taking the crystal. Or maybe she was blackmailing him about Bruce. She would have had to know and he was going between them. Maybe Charles stopped paying so she killed him. But if that were true, why would he leave her money? One thing was for sure. It had nothing to do with Gladys' son—Charles was not the father.
My thoughts were interrupted by my phone blaring out the theme from the Pink Panther and I pulled it out of my hobo bag. It was Jimmy.
"Great news," his deep voice boomed over the phone.
"What?"
“The hair was a match."
"You mean Gladys is the killer?"
"Well, it looks that way. We're on our way to pick her up now and get her fingerprinted to see if we can match the partial on the murder weapon."
"Wow, that’s great. Good work." My heart warmed for him. I hoped he'd get the credit for breaking the case.
"Thanks. Couldn’t have done it without you. Gotta run."
Jimmy disconnected and I stood there, phone in hand, daydreaming. It was hard to believe after all this that the three cases were about to be solved.
"Gladys was not my killer!" Startled, I dropped the phone on the counter and whirled around to see Charles' ghost at my elbow.
"Well, it looks like she killed Bruce."
"No, it can’t be."
"There’s physical evidence."
Charles wrinkled his face at me. "She's no killer. We were as close as peas in a pod. She was a dear friend as well as my housekeeper."
"I hate to tell you, but we found her hair on the murder weapon."
"Pishaw. I don't believe it. And, furthermore, she could not have killed me."
"Why not?
"She was in New York City that day.
"What? Claire said she was at your house."
"Oh, Claire—she has a bad memory. You can’t go by what she says. Besides, why would Gladys kill me?"
That was a good question. "Why did you leave her money?"
Charles eyes darted around the shop. "You have to trust me on this. There was a reason … a reason that is bigger than any of this. But it’s got nothing to do with my murder."
I sighed. He seemed like he was telling the truth, but there was one thing that was bugging me. Elspeth had said Charles' suicide note was written in fountain pen but Charles never used fountain pens. Wouldn’t Gladys have known that? And if she did, would she have made that mistake? I decided to test Charles out and see if he really did hate fountain pens.
"I heard Gladys bought you a special fountain pen that you used to write the suicide note."
Charles wrinkled his face up. "What? Where did you hear that? It's not true. I hated fountain pens and Gladys knew it. In fact, she hated them, too—ink flying everywhere and splotching up the paper. Oh, I know some people loved using them. Like that writer, Sal Price—always fiddling with his inks and papers and whatnot. I mean, really, why use one of those when you could use a nice, neat, roller pen?"
02-A Spirited Tail Page 18