I puffed out my chest to depict one of those stodgy lawyers. “‘A ghost, Miss Cartwright? A ghost left you eleventy-billion dollars?’”
Now I nodded my head, keeping my eyes wide and innocent. “‘Uh-huh, Mr. Attorney. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, a ghost? Is she bonkers? But here’s the rub. See, I’m an ex-witch who used to be able to communicate with the dead—’”
“Oh, enough, Stephania!” Win always called me that when he was annoyed with me. “I get the picture. We’ll address this, I assure you.”
“Whiskey! Slow down, buddy!” I heard Bel holler from up ahead of us, where they’d been playing in the water. “Heel, you cretin! Heel!”
Whiskey came barreling down the shoreline with Bel on his back, water flying everywhere, his thick mahogany and white coat drenched, his enormous paws skipping over the rocks like they were glass.
And he had something in his mouth.
Ugh. I prayed to the goddess it wasn’t another pair of underwear. Whiskey loves to bring me presents. It’s his way of showing his love, his devotion. He brings me mice, and to his credit, he tries not to mutilate them with his big slobbery jaw before he leaves them on my pillow. He often brings me shoes, and again, to his credit, sometimes they’re even mine.
My boy Whiskey gifts me with all sorts of thing. But the last time we’d been here for a picnic, he’d found some soggy underwear in the sand and had proudly presented them to me by dropping them in my plate of chicken salad.
Yeah. Gross.
But that sure didn’t look like a pair of underwear in his mouth. Hiking the heavy picnic basket over the crook of my elbow, I ran toward him, worried whatever he had he’d end up eating, and then we’d have to have his stomach pumped or something.
“Oh, Whiskey, what have you done, chap?” Win chastised as I met Whiskey and Bel just a few feet from the boat.
Whiskey wagged his big thumping tail at me, splashing up more water the moment I said, “Drop it.” He panted at me, pride in his wide, soft eyes as I knelt to look closer at the item. “It’s a purse.”
“That’s not all it is,” Bel commented, his tone dry, yet almost oddly coming across as resigned.
“Whaddya mean, Bel?” I asked as the contents of the rectangular peachy clutch spilled out of the purse and fell about the rocks. I stooped and began to pick them up when I saw a postcard from our own store.
It was one of my favorites, in fact—a picture of the steamboat that took people on a dinner cruise around the Sound, with the mountains rising up majestically behind it, their snow-covered peeks like dollops of icing.
I picked it up and turned it over to snoop, because I don’t know how to stop myself. I mean, the person who’d lost the purse would surely want it back, right? I couldn’t find out whom it belonged to if I didn’t snoop at the contents.
As I quickly read the back, Win stopped me with his hiss of a gasp, making me jump as my hands grew sweaty.
“What?” But he didn’t have to explain. As I looked up, that’s when I saw it, too.
Just the mere glimpse of a peachy, soft piece of material, hanging over the side of our rowboat.
My heart began thumping in my chest, but I inched my way over to the high side of the rowboat where it sat moored crookedly on the rocks, and held my breath, leaning over the edge with closed eyes so I could send up a prayer before I opened them.
Please let this be old man Hinkle passed out after his old lady Neelie pitched him out the door for coming home drunk.
He lived up the road about a mile from our house. Sometimes he came here to our stretch of beach to sleep off his binge before going home to beg forgiveness.
In my head, I heard the question Win would surely ask if I’d spoken the request out loud. “Would old man Hinkle be in a peach sweater with a matching clutch? Come now, Stephania,” he’d chastise.
I pushed my eyes open and forced myself to look at who was in our rowboat.
And then I swallowed hard, tears stinging my eyes as sorrow filled my chest until I almost couldn’t breathe.
“Oh, Dove. How tragic,” Win whispered in my ear, his warm aura instantly cloaking me in sympathy.
“Yeah,” I whispered back, as I dropped the picnic basket and inhaled a gulp of steamy air to keep from passing out.
Almost on auto drive, I flipped the top of the basket open and felt for my cell to dial 9-1-1. Wrapping my shaky fingers around it, I yanked it out, ran my finger over the screen, hitting the appropriate numbers, my heart so heavy I thought it would drop out at my feet.
As the ugly-hot sun beat down on my head like a bongo player wailing on his drums, I heard the operator say, “9-1-1. What’s your emergency?”
Licking my dry lips, I answered, forcing my voice to remain steady, my information clear and concise. “This is Stevie Cartwright. I live at 711 Samantha Lane. I’m on my private beach as we speak. I’m not in any danger, but I’ve happened upon a dead body as I was taking a walk along the shore with my dog. It’s Sophia Fleming.”
Chapter 3
Sandwich, one of our local law enforcement officers, handed me a bottle of ice-cold water, his enormous body blocking the sun as the police milled about in every direction with crime scene tape and evidence bags. “You okay, Stevie?”
No. I was never going to be okay again. But forget me. Forget all about me and how I felt. That was insignificant. As small as the smallest concern ever.
How was Dana going to feel?
His face, his typically hard grrr-face, gone all soft and gooey yesterday, kept flashing in my mind’s eye. He’d been almost euphoric when he came to ask to borrow the boat. It wasn’t just in his eyes, but oozing from his pores, singing through his veins. His vibe was full of energy, hope and joy for a future, undoubtedly one he wanted to share with Sophia.
“Stevie?” Sandwich eyed me with a critical glance, cocking his head.
Wrapping Whiskey’s leash around my wrist, I tugged him to my side, his wet fur and bulk bringing comfort. “I’m fine. Forget about me. But who would…?”
My words hitched, but I kept thinking who would do this to someone so kind—so sweet and gentle? Who, by goddess?
Sandwich shook his head, running his beefy fingers over his chin, his eyes tired, his tone defeated. “Danged if I know, Stevie. Though, I’m sure sorry. She was one of the nicest ladies I know.”
“Does Dana know yet?” I asked, afraid of the answer as I pressed the cold bottle of water to my throbbing temple.
“He was out on a call. No one’s told him yet.”
“Maybe it’s better he doesn’t see…this…her…” Goddess, please don’t let him see Sophia like this.
“So you didn’t see anyone? Hear anything?” Sandwich asked, pulling out his notepad.
“I sleep like a rock, Sandwich. I didn’t hear a thing last night.”
Sandwich stopped writing, the beads of sweat on his brow almost disappearing when he frowned. “What does this have to do with last night? How could you know when this happened?”
I rolled my eyes. I was too wrecked to play this game today. “Don’t give me that suspicious look, Lyn Paddington. I think we’ve established I’m not a killer after Madam Zoltar and Tito. But if that didn’t cinch the deal, for sure my stepfather’s murder should have. Would I really blatantly kill people and continue to reside in Eb Falls while I did it? I’d have to be a sociopath—which I’m not.”
He gave me a sheepish glance. “Sorry, I’ve been watching too much Sherlock Holmes. Trying to brush up on my investigating skills is all.”
I’d laugh, but I did that, too. I took a chug of the water and nodded. “I get it.”
“And you did say last night like you knew the time of death. I’m paying closer attention to body language and details these days. Especially details from witnesses.”
“Well, it’s obvious it was last night, Sandwich. Look at how she was dressed. In a cute outfit and matching purse. Even though it’s smeared now, she has lipstick and mascara
on, suggesting she was dressing up for something. Sophia was a natural beauty. She hardly ever wore makeup and she didn’t dress like that at the library. Plus, at one point, her hair was up, judging from the silver barrette now stuck to the side of her head. Also, the wound just above her heart. The blood’s coagulated now and that suggests it happened a while ago…”
I stopped. I had to, because seeing that wound in my head was going to hang around for a long time.
“Wow,” he said with a touch of awe in his voice. “You’ve really been taking this investigating thing seriously.”
“I sort of have to, with the way dead people keep turning up.” Then I shook my head, my stomach turning. “Sorry. That was an awful, ugly thing to say. I’m frazzled is all. It’s hot, and the heat makes me cranky. I’m sick with upset because I really liked Sophia, and I’m sicker with worry for Dana. He was so excited… I know he’s the last person you’d expect to be all light-of-step and hearts and flowers, but last night he was in such a great mood—”
“Last night?” Sandwich interrupted, his eyes razor sharp now as he peered down at me. “There are those words again, Stevie. How do you know what Officer Nelson’s state of mind was last night?”
Aw, hellfire and toad spit. Why not just hand him over to the police on a platter with an apple in his mouth, Stevie? You know he’s going to be a suspect. The boyfriend’s always the first person the police look at. You know he took her out last night. You know he was taking her out for something important.
Thankfully, I didn’t have to answer because the roar of a police car, sirens blaring, screeched to a halt just up the cliff by our house.
Officer Nelson flew down the stairs to the shorefront; his long legs taking the rickety steps I’d been meaning to have Enzo look at, three at a time. “Sophia?” he bellowed, heading straight for the cluster of police and investigators surrounding the boat. Even from here I saw his face—stricken, a mask of inconsolable grief beneath tightly stretched, ruddy skin.
Good Cop, as I called him, Detective Ward Montgomery, grabbed him and prevented him from going any closer toward the boat, while Bad Cop, Montgomery’s partner Sean Moore, stood behind him. “Stop, man!” he shouted as Dana struggled with him, almost knocking him down. “Dana! Stop!” Detective Montgomery roared, giving him a hard shake.
That was when Officer Nelson’s wide shoulders collapsed, and I almost followed suit. The combination of the heat and Dana’s grief, watching a man so emotionally in check lose it, was almost more than I could stand to watch.
“Just let me see her, Ward!” he cried, his anguished words echoing in my ears until I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming myself.
No. He shouldn’t see Sophia. I didn’t want him to have that with him forever.
But Dana pushed away from Detective Montgomery and appeared to shake off his rage, flexing his fingers and rolling his shoulders as he blew out breaths.
Then he held up a hand to his fellow officers as they began to gather closer, move in tighter. “Okay, okay,” he said, backing away a step or two, but still pacing like a caged lion. “Just tell me who found her? Who found her, Ward?” he shouted, edging closer to the men preventing him from getting to the rowboat. “Who found her?”
“I did,” I croaked, moving toward him, my hands outstretched in apology. “I’m sorry, Dana. I’m so sorry, I—”
But Officer Nelson wasn’t paying any attention to me. He’d noticed the small gap in the collection of officers keeping him from the boat, and took that opportunity to bum rush them, barreling through their bodies until he was beside the boat where Sophia lay.
That moment, the moment he saw the woman he loved, all the life drained from her, will always be emblazoned on my heart’s memory. That bloodcurdling howl of her name as Dana Nelson fell on his knees beside the boat and raggedly sobbed was probably worse than anything I’ve ever witnessed.
Bar none.
* * * *
Tucked into a cushy lounge chair on our patio at the back of the house, I shoveled Sno Ball number four into my mouth and washed it down with some white wine.
Yes, I was stress eating. But I had to put something in my mouth to keep from screaming my hatred for the universe at the top of my lungs while I dropped to the ground on my knees and raised both fists to the sky in choked rage.
Why would something like this happen to someone as kind as Sophia? I was a muddled mess in my head as I tried to make sense of something so incredibly senseless.
The only thing I could consider was a jealous ex. Maybe she’d had a stalker no one was aware of? Maybe someone had followed her here to Eb Falls from wherever she came from, and had seen how happy she was with Officer Nelson and lost it?
I turned over and over a hundred different scenarios and came up dry every time.
“Dove?”
“Yeah?” I asked, wiping another batch of tears from my eyes and Sno Ball frosting from my lips.
Win’s way of hugging me from the afterlife enveloped me, rocked me, consoled my aching heart. “I’m sorry, love. Tell me how I can ease your suffering?”
Bel buzzed in on Whiskey’s back and hopped to my shoulder, burying himself in my hair. “Shoot, Boss. This sucks Baba Yaga’s rank toes.”
Whiskey was even somber, pressing his cold nose to my hand before letting his chin rest against my thigh with a blubbery sigh.
“What Winterbutt said. What can we do to help you through this, Boss?” Bel chirped, snuggling into the lapel of my shirt.
“Help me figure out who’d do something so awful to someone so nice,” I said, preparing to rise and do just that.
But Win chastised me. “Stevie, love, you’re traumatized. Why not let this sit for just this one day? You’re in no shape to chase after another madman. Please, I’m begging you.”
But I shook my head. “You know I can’t do that, Win. Did you hear Dana? Did you see him? He’s broken,” I choked out.
Again, there was that haunting visual of him kneeling beside Sophia in the boat while his fellow officers struggled to pull him away, as they begged him not to taint the evidence.
Officer Rigid had flown the coop right before my very eyes in that moment, and was replaced with someone very human, someone fragile and vulnerable, reminding me not everyone was as they seemed.
“I did,” Win murmured, husky and low, his voice full of emotion. “I did see. I hated seeing him like that, but I saw. Yet, I also saw you. You’re distraught, Dove. You came upon something awful. This is different than finding Madam Z or Bart. You weren’t emotionally attached to them. But you knew Sophia. You frequented the library. Chatted with her on more than one occasion at Strange Brew. It’s different.”
I thinned my lips and nodded, disgust rising in my throat like toxic sludge. “You bet it is. She was one of the nicest people in Eb Falls and she deserves to rest in peace. She can’t do that if her killer’s on the loose. We know a thing or two about catching a killer. So I’m going to use those things to find the animal.”
Win didn’t respond, but he rasped a sigh, knowing full well there was no way he could stop me from pursuing this. I pushed open the sliders leading to our unbelievably amazing kitchen, with all its shiny appliances and marble countertops, with Whiskey and Bel in tow, and grabbed a notepad and pen from one of the drawers in the kitchen island.
“So let’s get this show on the road, guys,” I muttered, doggedly determined despite feeling exhausted.
My legs were shaky, but my mind darn well wasn’t. I’d never sleep anyway. Not now. Not until I gave Sophia justice.
“Boss, maybe Win’s right,” Bel twittered against my ear. “How about we wait until tomorrow? If you throw one of those gag-worthy frozen sandwiches in the microwave and pop some popcorn, I’ll stay up all night and binge watch repeats of the Gilmore Girls with you.”
“No!” Bracing my hands on the counter, I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Bel. I didn’t mean to yell. But I can’t let this go. Okay? Please?” I
begged.
Bel snuggled next to my ear in answer and Win clucked his tongue in resignation. “Then let’s begin. Tell me what you saw, Stephania. Every detail. Let’s write it down.”
A thought occurred to me then, making me grip the edge of the smooth counter. “Wait, did you see her cross over, perchance? Maybe she’s in limbo? Alone? Confused?”
I couldn’t bear that. I just couldn’t stand the idea that Sophia might be wandering around, looking for the light, alone and afraid.
“There’s been no sign of her here on Plane Limbo, Dove. Surely you know I would have told you.”
“Right. Also, she’s definitely religious. At least to some degree, if the cross she always wore was any indication. She probably crossed. I have to believe she crossed, Win.” Tears began to well up in my eyes, but I swiped at them with impatience.
“Well done, Stevie. Good personal observation. You’re growing in leaps and bounds as an investigator.”
Win’s approval spurred me on. Squaring my shoulders, I set about remembering as much as I could from the crime scene before the police arrived. Every ugly detail.
“Cause of death,” Win said.
I squeezed my eyes shut to block out the horror of that wound and reopened them with the intent of keeping my recollections clear and my details sharp. “Gunshot wound to the chest. Maybe the heart? I know it was the left side of her chest and just above her breast. Very clean, if I do say so myself. The blood was coagulated and dried around the wound, meaning it likely happened sometime earlier, and because of the way she was dressed, I’d say it was after she left her date with Dana last night.”
“So someone who knew how to handle a gun, would you say?”
“I don’t know a lot about guns, but whoever the killer is, they were either lucky or skilled. I mean, think about it. We didn’t hear anything, right? I know I sleep like a rock, but did you hear anything last night, Win?”
The Old Witcheroo Page 3