“Where?” I asked, scanning the hallway nervously to make sure no other cops walked by and noticed my cat with his ear to O’Hara’s office wall. Luckily, it was a small town, and the rest of the cops, besides Jimmy and Parker, who were in the squad room, were out on calls.
“At her house.”
“They could be lying.”
Jinx looked at me funny. “That’s exactly what O’Hara just said.”
Jinx listened for a few seconds, his whiskers twitching. “Aha! They were lying. Now they are saying they were at the Bubbling Cauldron.”
I knew the Cauldron well. It was a seedy little lounge on the end of town. Figures they would go there for their cheaters’ clandestine meeting.
“O’Hara’s calling to corroborate,” Jinx said.
Huh. I guess she did know a little bit about police work.
“Bad news,” Jinx said.
“What?”
“Alibi checks out. They were at the Bubbling Cauldron at eight p.m. when Bud was killed. They’re not your killers.”
Dang. Now what? That only left Steve. Steve had been at the surveyor’s office. So he was definitely up to something. But how to convey that to O’Hara? Or should I confront Steve myself?
I turned to leave and then realized Aunt Glad wasn’t beside me. I’d been so intent on Jinx overhearing the conversation that I hadn’t been paying attention to her. I whirled around to see her disappear into a small room at the end of the hall.
I hustled down there, Jinx at my side. We opened the door to find a janitor’s closet. Gladys was inside, eyeing the brooms. I pulled her out.
“Come on, Gladys. I think I better get you home and get Jinx out of here before O’Hara sees us and arrests us on some trumped-up charge of bringing animals into the police station.”
I didn’t need Moe to tell me that the next step was to question Steve and find out why he had been at Bernie Alcorn’s office. But I couldn’t do that with Aunt Gladys in tow. I had to get her home safe and sound before I did any more detecting.
Chapter Seventeen
I knew Moe was waiting at the office for an update, but it was almost suppertime, and I wanted to talk to Steve as soon as possible. I didn’t want to miss out on Wanda’s famous Cornish game hens with pineapple ham stuffing, either, but I didn’t have time to go both to Steve’s and to the office. Moe would have to wait until either tomorrow morning or after supper.
It might have seemed a little crazy going to Steve’s house now that he was my number-one suspect, but I didn’t plan on confronting him. I just wanted to find out why he’d been meeting with Bernie. I was a little worried that everyone else appeared to have an alibi except Steve. His alibi was only from nine thirty on, but Jinx had overheard O’Hara say that Bud had been killed at eight.
I always operated on the premise that I caught more flies with honey than vinegar, so my plan was to play to his sense of camaraderie and pretend I was taking his side in the feud he obviously had going with his brother. If I acted as if I thought Brent was the killer, then I could gauge his reaction. If Steve was the killer, he’d gladly play along. If he wasn’t, then maybe Brent really was the killer and Steve would give me some information I didn’t already have.
But my main goal was to try to get a look at the plans or get him to tell me why he’d been meeting with Bernie. I wanted some proof that he was doing something concerning the land behind his father’s back so I could tip off O’Hara. Hopefully her animosity toward me wouldn’t prevent her from following through on information that might solve a murder.
I wasn’t sure what Steve had been up to with Bernie, but several people had mentioned a big pharmacy wanting to buy the land, and Charlie had also said that the kids were trying to somehow claim the land on the other side of the stone wall that belonged to Charlie’s property. Either way, Steve was up to something.
Steve lived in a shabby duplex, the cheap beige vinyl siding scratched and smeared with dirt. I was in luck. His car was in the driveway. I headed toward the front door, weaving my way around abandoned kids’ toys. Presumably the neighbors’, since Steve had no kids. My hand slipped inside my purse, feeling for the security of the chocolates at the bottom.
If my theory was correct, it was possible Steve had already killed once. I didn’t want to be his second victim.
Steve answered my knock, suspicion flooding his eyes as he recognized me. “Aren’t you that lady that keeps showing up at my dad’s?”
“Yes. Jane Gallows.”
“Yeah, I remember. What do you want?”
“Look. I’m just trying to help your dad. I was wondering about your brother...” I let my voice trail off, testing him out to see if my suspicions that I might be able to create some kind of a solidarity between us would prove out.
He frowned. “What about my brother? Do you think he killed my dad?”
His interested tone suggested that he could get on board with that idea.
I shrugged. “Do you?”
He scrubbed his hands through his greasy hair. “Maybe. Do you have some proof?”
“Maybe. I figure you have some suspicions of your own?”
Steve looked conflicted. This wasn’t really going the way I had anticipated. I’d figured he’d either throw me out or try to push me toward the conclusion that Brent had done it. But instead, he seemed genuinely upset at the thought that his brother had killed their father. Clearly he already had some suspicions, but if he was the killer, wouldn’t he be delighted that I was trying to put the finger on his brother?
“Can I come in?” There was no way I was going to be able to ferret out the blueprints or plot survey standing outside on the doorstep.
He stepped back and opened the door wider to reveal faded shag carpeting and saggy plaid furniture. I stepped in. The place was small. The living room opened into a dining room on one end. Past the dining room, I could see a kitchen filled with chipped linoleum and cheap cabinets. That must have been where the smell of stale beer and old pizza was coming from.
Steve must’ve caught the look on my face. “It’s not much, but it’s home.”
It looked as if Steve could use an influx of money. Possibly from his father’s estate. “Do you really think your dad left you out of the will?”
“What? Maybe. He was always saying he was going to.” Steve’s eyes narrowed. “And I wouldn’t put it past Brent to try to talk Dad into including just him and leaving me out.”
“Really? Would you guys stand to gain a lot of money?” If Steve thought Brent was trying to turn his father against him, maybe he’d gone over to talk to Bud about it. And if Bud had been poisoned by what Brent had told him, maybe they’d argued. And if they’d argued, maybe things had gotten heated and ended in murder.
“I don’t know. Dad didn’t have any savings or investments. I have no idea what the property is worth.”
“What makes you think Brent was trying to get your dad to cut you out?”
“Well, he’s pretty sleazy. Just ask his wife.”
“Yeah, I heard he wasn’t completely loyal. Poor thing.”
“Yeah. She suffered a lot. But that’s not really any of your business, is it?”
“No. But your father’s death is my business, and I want to get to the bottom of it. I just want to do right by him.” It wasn’t a lie.
“Well, I don’t know how I can help.”
“No?” I asked. “I think you might know a little more about your father’s property than you’re letting on.”
Steve tensed. “What are you talking about?”
“Just that maybe you might know the value of his property, and if you thought you would be cut out of the will, then you might’ve taken action.”
He glanced nervously at the sideboard, and I noticed some rolled-up blueprints. Ha! That looked suspiciously like site work from Bernie Alcorn.
Steve’s entire demeanor had changed. No longer was he acting friendly. He took a step toward me, and I backed up.
“I mean, I couldn’t bla
me you for wanting to determine the exact boundaries of the lot,” I said quickly. “Charlie Henderson mentioned some sort of dispute near the stone wall that abuts his property, and with your father gone and all, it’s natural you’d want to know exactly where the boundaries are. I mean, I assume you’d be selling the property.”
I didn’t let on that I knew he’d been looking into the boundaries before his father died. I didn’t want to tip him off to the fact that I suspected him.
He folded his arms over his chest, and the murderous look in his eyes made my heart pound. “Honestly. I don’t see how that’s any of your business. Maybe you should go now.”
My eyes darted to the sideboard. Not until I found out what was on those plans.
“I’m sorry if I made you defensive. It’s quite reasonable that you might have hired a surveyor.” I tried to keep my friendly we’re-on-the-same-side act going.
“Who told you I hired a surveyor?”
I shrugged. “People saw him on your dad’s land.” I sidestepped toward the sideboard, one hand reaching into my bag for the chocolates. Would it be cheating to cast a distraction spell so he didn’t notice me looking at the blueprints? It probably would. I had vowed only to cast spells in order to get myself out of trouble if I was faced with bodily harm, which, judging by the look on Steve’s face, might happen sooner rather than later.
Steve stepped between me and the sideboard. “That’s none of your business. I’m going to have to ask you to leave now.”
I probably should have left. Steve was obviously guilty of something despite the way he’d acted friendly to me earlier and seemed truly upset about his father’s death. Maybe he was unhinged, with multiple personalities or something. But I couldn’t stop myself.
I darted around him and grabbed the plans while at the same time reaching into my purse for the chocolate. I could zap him with a slow-down-time spell or a confusion spell and get the heck out of there.
I held the plans up in front of me and popped a sea-salted caramel into my mouth. “I think this proves that you’re lying. And why would you be lying if you weren’t the killer?”
Oops, maybe I shouldn’t have accused him of being the killer.
“What are you talking about? I’m not the killer.”
“Then why do you have these?” I shook the plans open, letting them unroll in front of me. “Aha! See you are having your dad’s land surveyed so that you could sell out to a pharmacy.” I slapped the plans down on the coffee table, jabbing my index finger toward the middle of them, where the drawing of the building and how it would be sited on the lot was. Or should have been…
Whoa. Wait a minute. “These aren’t plans for a pharmacy.”
Steve looked at me funny. “No kidding. They’re plans for a conservation trust.”
“A conservation trust? But I don’t understand.”
“Well, if you must know, I was having the land surveyed for exact boundaries so it could be put in a conservation trust. My dad had talked many times about how he wanted the land to be preserved. He didn’t want a strip mall coming in and building on it or anything like that. And since we’ve been on the outs recently, I wanted to do something to prove to my dad that I really cared about him and our family home.”
“I don’t understand. You were going to have your land put in conservation?”
“A trust. He could live there as long as he was alive, but then after that, no one could build anything on it. It would go to the town. It was kind of like a gift to him.” Steve’s face crumpled, his eyes misting. “But then before I could even give it to him, someone killed him.”
I studied the drawings further. It was clear this was no land-development blueprint. And it was even time-stamped eight p.m. on the bottom right, with both Steve’s and Alcorn’s signatures below. I looked up at Steve. “You were at Bernie Alcorn’s the night your father died, weren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“But why didn’t you tell that to O’Hara? This is time-stamped with original signatures. It gives you an alibi for his time of death.”
“Well, first of all, I didn’t think I was a suspect, and second of all, I didn’t want my sketchy brother to find out. This was between me and Dad and had nothing to do with Brent. I figured if he found out I had this conservation thing in the works, he’d do whatever he could to mess with it. I know he’s after Dad’s money. He wants to sell the land out to a developer or something. I wouldn’t put it past him to bribe some town official to put the kibosh on the trust. Wouldn’t be the first time he bribed someone. And I still want to go through with this to honor my father even though he’s gone now.”
Well, this was just dandy. Unless Steve was one heck of a liar and had some nefarious reason to want to turn his ancestral home into conservation land, he wasn’t the killer. Plus the proof of his alibi was right here on the blueprints.
I left Steve’s more confused than when I had gotten there. Steve had a solid alibi, so he wasn’t the killer. But then, everyone else also had a solid alibi. Which meant that one of them was lying.
Chapter Eighteen
“Where have you been?” Jinx’s voice assaulted me as soon as I entered the foyer of the mansion. I turned to see him perched on a high pedestal, his tail curled around the neck of a bust of some long-dead ancestor.
“Investigating the case.”
“Why didn’t you let me know?”
“You were asleep. I didn’t want to wake you up. You get grouchy when I do that.”
“Me? Grouchy? You must be confusing me with someone else. You should give me a heads-up the next time you decide to investigate. Things might be starting to get dangerous now that you’re homing in on the killer.” He hopped down from the pedestal, his paws making a soft landing on the marble floor.
“I didn’t realize you cared.” Really I hadn’t. He acted as if all he cared about was sleeping and eating. Could it be that Jinx really had a heart under all that black and white fur?
A muffled bellowing sounded from somewhere deep in the bowels of the house. “What was that?”
“That’s just Hooter,” Aunt Wanda called from the kitchen. “I had to put him in the attic because we’re having Cornish game hens. You know how he gets when we eat poultry.”
The last time we’d had chicken, Hooter had gotten pretty upset and dive-bombed us at the table. No one wanted a repeat of that. His beak and claws were pretty sharp.
“Good. Maybe he’ll eat some of those bats,” Jinx said. Jinx hated the bats, mostly because he could never catch them.
The kitchen was spiced with the sweet smell of pineapple and ham mingled with the savory scent of roasted chicken. Aunt Wanda was popping some rolls into the oven.
“Where’s Zelda?” Usually Zelda helped Wanda out or cooked the meals herself when Wanda wasn’t in the mood.
“Night off. Supper’s almost ready. Why don’t you go out and see if you can get Gladys to come in.” Wanda nodded toward the pool area, where Aunt Gladys was seated at the glass patio table, an array of brooms lying on the pebble-textured cement in front of her.
“Oh no. Things still aren’t going well?” I asked.
“’Fraid not.”
I pushed through the screen door onto the patio. It was dusk, and the sky was painted in soft pinks and blues. The brightest stars were just starting to become visible against the darkening sky. Cicadas buzzed, and the lazy sound of the pool lapping at the edges added to the tranquil setting. The air was heavy with a hint of chlorine and the sweet smell of honeysuckle.
I sat down next to my aunt. “How are you doing?”
“Much better than last time you saw me down at the police station.” Aunt Gladys managed to look embarrassed, though I knew not too much embarrassed her.
“Don’t worry about that. It could happen to anyone who overimbibed potions.”
“Too bad it didn’t have the result I wanted.” Glad gestured toward the brooms.
“Don’t worry, Auntie. You’ll get your vroom ba
ck.”
Glad turned sad eyes on me. “But what if I don’t? What if all I can do is this?” She flung her hands out toward one of the brooms—an older version with a wooden handle and straw for the brush end. It wiggled. It waggled. The brush end picked up a half-inch, then it settled back down with a soft “plop.”
“That’s great! You couldn’t even move the broom last time.” I added a measure of extra-enthusiastic encouragement to my voice.
Aunt Gladys made a sour face. “Well maybe I’ve made a little progress, but it’s too little too late. You can’t ride a broom that stays on the ground. Old Coven Days is next week, and I’m afraid I won’t be able to fly in the parade. Not to mention my looming license renewal.”
Old Coven Days was kind of like Old Home Days for witches. Our entire coven got together during the last August moon for a big party that usually lasted from ten till the wee hours of the morning. Aunt Gladys always rode in the parade. My heart twisted at the despondent look on her face. I put my hand over hers.
“Is that what you’re worried about?” I asked. “It’s not such a big deal. I’ve never flown in the parade, and I still enjoy Old Coven Days.”
“Oh, Jane, you must think I’m a real complainer. With everything you’ve had to deal with given your limited powers. You’ve done so well without being a full witch.”
I knew she meant it as a compliment, but to tell the truth, her words kind of stung a little. It wasn’t easy growing up in a family of superwitches that had full powers when all you could do was cast minimal spells that barely lasted five minutes, and only under the influence of chocolate.
Aunt Glad must have seen the look on my face. Her expression softened, and she patted my hand. “Don’t worry about me, Jane, I’ll be fine.” She held her hand up and wiggled her fingers in front of my face, showing off her sparkly blue nail polish. “One consolation is that Tess is making sure my nails are in tiptop shape. We’re going to the nail salon again tomorrow. You want to come? You’ve been so busy with Bud Saunders’ case that you haven’t done much with the family.”
The Case of the Sinister Spirit (Jane Gallows Witch Private Investigator Book 1) Page 11