Deja Moo

by Kirsten Weiss

  The wall phone jangled. Forgetting the museum was closed, I hurried inside and answered it. “Paranormal Museum, this is Maddie speaking.”

  “I heard bells,” a man whispered. “And something bit me last night. Is it true?”

  My gaze clouded. “Is it true that you heard bells and something bit you?”

  “Is it true that you made the curse worse?”

  “No. The curse is not worse.” I winced. Now I was rhyming? “The binding ritual worked. My experts assure me that everything is fine.”

  “But I heard bells, I tell you.”

  “It’s ten days until Christmas. Bells are ringing everywhere. I’ve got one over my door. Who is this?”

  He hung up.

  Atop the antique cash register, GD meowed.

  “Don’t start.” My grand plan to cool the town’s fears had crashed like the Hindenburg. “How am I supposed to debunk a curse?”

  GD sneezed and dropped to the floor. He swaggered to Gryla’s cave and vanished beneath the ogress’s skirts.

  “Fat lot of help you are.”

  Okay, forget the curse. Someone had tried to blow up my mother and run Jason and me down—someone who had killed Bill with a bow and arrow. And since anyone could have tried to run us down, and, it seemed, blow us up too, I was left with only the arrows as a clue. Penny at the Wine and Visitors Bureau had been an almost-Olympic archer. And according to Tabitha Wilde, she had had a motive to kill Bill Eldrich. I had a hard time picturing Penny as an arrow-slinging killer, but I couldn’t ignore this lead. Dean Pinkerton was also handy with a bow and arrow, but it was easier to annoy Penny.

  I locked up the museum and squinted into the crisp morning light. On the sidewalk, the plum trees were barren. Green cords of unlit twinkle lights wrapped around their silvery-gray bark.

  I walked past Mason’s motorcycle shop. In its window, Belle adjusted a holly wreath over the headlight of a cherry-red Harley. It was a gorgeous bike—even I could admire its lines—but I had zero desire to ever get on one again.

  I slowed to a halt, and our gazes met. Deliberately, Belle turned her back.

  She had reason to be peeved with me, even though I hadn’t spilled the beans to Mason about her secret Christmas Cow bet. Or was it a secret? Just because Mason hadn’t brought it up didn’t mean he didn’t know about it. Maybe he was keeping mum to protect her. Or even to protect Dieter. I still wasn’t clear on the legality of the contractor’s betting service, but I was pretty sure it fell on the wrong side of the law.

  I got into my pickup. It coughed, and I drove off.

  The Wine and Visitors Bureau was also closed on Monday mornings. But I knew the not-so-secret entrance, a metal door in the brick side wall. And I knew Penny would be there. She was always there.

  I rapped on the cold metal. It clanged hollowly beneath my knuckles. Blowing into my hands to warm them, I waited.

  The door creaked open and Penny peered out.

  She opened the door wider and tugged down the hem of her holiday sweater. It managed to incorporate wine bottles, goblets, and howling holiday wolves. “Oh. I thought you were a delivery.”

  “Can I come in?”

  “Sure.” She stepped away from the door.

  I walked into the dimly lit hall and shivered.

  “Since it’s only me today,” she said, “I didn’t bother turning on the heat. Come into my office. I’m running a space heater there.”

  I followed her into the room stacked with boxes and brochures. Penny lowered herself into a swivel chair behind her desk, and I shifted a stack of wine maps from the chair opposite and sat.

  “What can I do for you?” Penny asked.

  “You heard what happened yesterday at the museum?” Lowering my head, I studied her. I’d invited Penny to the binding event, but she’d been conspicuously absent. True, it had been a last-minute thing, but Penny was usually on hand to support me. After all, my museum was an associate member of the Wine and Visitors Bureau.

  Her lips pressed together. “Terrible. I was sorry I couldn’t make it, but now I’m glad. No offense.”

  “None taken.” I faked a smile. “Did you have a conflicting appointment?”

  She eyed me. “A family matter. I read in the papers that the detective’s injuries weren’t life threatening.”

  “Yes. The car grazed him. But you do know how much damage an arrow can do when it hits.”

  She straightened in surprise, her grape earrings tangling in her gray hair. “How would I know that? All I’ve hit are targets.”

  “Well, you know more about it than I do,” I said peevishly.

  “I had no reason to want Bill or anyone else dead.”

  “Oh?” I cocked my head.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I heard you and Bill were at odds over some tax funding.”

  “At odds?” Penny’s ample chest heaved. “He stabbed the Wine and Visitors Bureau in the back. I was furious when he submitted his own bid on behalf of the Dairy Association. If it wasn’t for him, I’m sure the bureau would have gotten the extra funding. He sank that opportunity. It was pure greed. Fear and greed.”

  “So it’s true,” I said unhappily.

  “Yes, I was angry. But not angry enough to kill him. Not over a government grant.”

  All my instincts said Penny was no killer. But my instincts had also told me a public exorcism was a good idea. Clearly, my instincts were the Benedict Arnold of trustworthiness. “All right,” I said. “Then who did hate Bill enough to kill him?”

  She rolled a pencil between her fingers. “I couldn’t say.”

  “Penny, Bill’s dead. A policeman could have been killed. If you know anything, you have to come forward.”

  “I don’t know anything.”

  “But you suspect something?”

  She didn’t respond.

  “Please,” I said.

  She stared at a metal bookshelf stacked with wine boxes. “There were some odd … currents between Bill and Tabitha at the last meeting. I’m not sure if you’ve met her. Tabitha Wilde is one of our town council representatives.”

  “We’ve met. Which meeting was this?”

  “The Christmas Cow committee meeting.”

  I relaxed in my chair. “Interesting. What do you mean by ‘odd currents’?”

  Her round shoulders lifted and dropped. “I’m not sure how to explain it. Normally they were quite at ease with each other. But that night, something seemed strained. They wouldn’t even look at each other.”

  “Do you have any idea why?”

  “If I did, I’d tell you. Or I’d tell the police if I thought it had any bearing on what’s going on.”

  “Did anything else happen between them?”

  “Not between Bill and Tabitha, no,” she said slowly.

  I sat forward, my knees brushing an open cardboard box. “Between Bill and someone else?”

  “At our last meeting, I overheard something between Bill and Kendra.”

  “Kendra Breathnach? The developer? She’s not on the committee.”

  “No,” Penny said, “but she donated the straw for the Cow. Didn’t you see the sign thanking her company for its sponsorship? You must have seen it at the park. It’s quite prominently displayed.”

  “Right.” I vaguely remembered a sign getting knocked down by the fire department.

  “At any rate, it sounded like an argument, but I can’t be sure.”

  “What were they saying?”

  “Something about zoning. They were standing outside the Wine and Visitors Bureau after the meeting. I thought everyone had left and was locking up. I think I startled them.”

  “Who was talking about the zoning?” I asked.

  “Kendra. Her voice was quite sharp. Maybe it was nothing. It was a cold night,
and it had been a long meeting. All our nerves were frayed, except of course your mother’s.”

  I made a mental note to ask my mother about the so-called tension. I’d need to follow up with Kendra and Tabitha too. Not liking the idea, I rubbed my temple. “When was this?” I asked.

  “December 5th.” Penny regarded me speculatively. “There is one other thing.”

  “Oh?”

  “I only bring it up because … well. Maybe I shouldn’t bring it up at all. I have tremendous respect for your mother.”

  “My mother?” I straightened. “What do you mean?”

  “I know she had nothing to do with this. She’d never cause problems for your museum.”

  I tapped my fingers on the arm of the chair. “Penny, what about my mother?”

  “There seemed to be something between Bill and your mother as well.”

  “He thought guarding the cow was beneath him,” I said. “My mom wanted him to set an example and help out.”

  “No.” Penny pursed her mouth. “I don’t think that was it at all.”

  “Oh? Then what?”

  Penny colored. “It’s none of my business. I’m sure I was wrong.”

  “Penny, just tell me.”

  “It’s only that …” She flushed more deeply. “I was under the impression that Bill and your mother were dating.”

  fifteen

  Hands tight on the wide steering wheel, I cruised toward downtown. My mom and Bill Eldrich? It couldn’t be true. My mom would have said something. I’d have known if she was seeing someone.

  Wouldn’t I? I tugged at the seat belt, suddenly uncomfortably tight across my middle.

  If Laurel ever found out about this so-called relationship, she’d think my mom had a motive.

  Maybe Penny was wrong. The president of the Wine and Visitors Bureau had pretty much admitted she was guessing.

  Twisting my hands on the wheel, I slowed, bumping across the railroad tracks. Enough speculation. My mom and I were adults. If she was hiding a relationship to protect me, then that couldn’t be very nice for her. I’d tackle this head-on and put the whole business to rest.

  After lunch.

  I pulled into the parking lot of my favorite taqueria. A rack of newspapers hung by the open double doors, and I grabbed the local paper.

  HIT AND RUN AT PARANORMAL MUSEUM, the front page proclaimed. I winced.

  Shuffling forward in the line along the counter, I read the article. It mentioned something Jason had not: he was now on medical leave. Did that mean Laurel was in charge of the Bill Eldrich investigation? I rolled my shoulders. At the bottom of the page was a tag to turn to page three for another story about the museum.

  “Next,” the Hispanic woman behind the counter called out.

  I stepped to the register and ordered a veggie burrito. The checker gave me my number and I went to collect green salsa from the bar, then to stand in a corner and read while I waited.

  I flipped to page three and winced. FAILED EXORCISM CAUSES MASS PANIC.

  “Number twenty-seven!”

  Shielding my face behind the paper, I grabbed the red plastic basket from the counter and scuttled outside.

  While my burrito cooled in its foil wrapper, I sat at a wooden patio table and forced myself to read the article.

  An attempted exorcism at San Benedetto’s Paranormal Museum caused mass panic after observers reported being bitten by an invisible entity.

  The museum was attempting to remove the curse from the town’s haunted cowbells, which are reputed to have caused the deaths of the original Christmas Cow committee members.

  “Curses of this sort can be bound,” said local expert Xavier Landau. “It’s important to cut the psychic link between the curse and its victims.”

  However, the “psychic link” appeared not to have been broken. At the closing of the ceremony, at least two participants claimed something bit them, causing a sudden panicked rush from the museum. No other injuries were reported.

  “At least they didn’t blame the cat,” I muttered to the small black birds hopping about my feet. But the article had done me no favors. Not that I deserved any. It was sheer luck no one had been hurt in the stampede.

  I ate my burrito, tossed the remains into the garbage can, and got into my vintage pickup. Penny had given me two good leads: Kendra and Tabitha. It was time to follow them.

  Kendra’s office was closest, a low, 1950s-era building with floor-to-ceiling windows. Its mid-century-modern lobby was decorated with turquoise sofas, orange ottomans, and fluffy white rugs. A young brunette looked up from behind a glass table and smiled.

  “May I help you?” she asked. A wreath with matching turquoise ornaments hung on the wall behind her.

  “I’m here to see Kendra.”

  Faint twin furrows appeared between her brows. “Who may I say is here?”

  “Maddie Kosloski.” I straightened my jacket. Would Kendra even talk to me after our last encounter?

  “One moment please.” The young woman picked up a phone and angled her chair away from me.

  I studied a watercolor of a new development, oddly elongated people strolling along tree-lined paths.

  The receptionist hung up and rose, smiling brightly. “This way, please.” She led me down a wide hallway to an oak door. Knocking twice, she opened it. “Ms. Kosloski is here to see you, Ms. Breath­nach.”

  Expression impassive, Kendra rose from behind her glass desk. “Thank you, Sally.” She tucked her blond hair behind one ear and motioned me to an orange chair.

  The receptionist nodded and left, closing the door softly behind her.

  Kendra flecked an imaginary piece of lint off her crisp white blouse. She wore jeans and a blazer, and I could tell neither had come from the bargain shops I haunted. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  “First, I’m sorry about the other day.”

  Kendra sat back down in the turquoise-leather chair behind her desk. “So you’re not trying to pin the blame for what happened at your museum yesterday on my son?”

  My cheeks tingled with warmth. “I assumed Oliver was still in Tahoe.”

  Her smile was wry. “Yes, he is.”

  But Tahoe was only two hours away. Oliver could have easily returned to cause trouble. I shifted in my chair. “This has gone beyond a college prank gone wrong.”

  “No kidding. It looks like the killer’s targeting holiday events.”

  My head rocked back. I wouldn’t have exactly called the binding ritual a holiday event. But could she be right?

  “Maybe, but someone also blew up my mother’s car when we were leaving the Wildes’ house,” I pointed out.

  “So you think you were the target yesterday?”

  I drew a slow breath, remembering Jason pushing me sideways, the blood. “I don’t know why I’d be a target.”

  “You’ve been asking a lot of questions.” Kendra cocked her head, her blond hair falling loose over her shoulder. “Maybe the killer thinks you’re close to an answer.”

  I looked out the picture windows. Cars inched past on the street outside. “Not close enough,” I said. “But my mother and I have each been in the line of fire twice.”

  “Why are you here?” she asked, brusque.

  “I’m sorry to keep bothering you, but you knew Bill Eldrich. Why might someone have wanted him dead?”

  “Even if I knew, why should I tell you anything? You’re not the police.”

  “Maybe that’s reason enough,” I said. “I heard there was tension between Bill and Tabitha Wilde at the last committee meeting. Did you notice anything?”

  She gave me a long look, and her lips pursed. “I did.”

  “Do you have any idea what it was about?”

  “You said you were at the Wildes’ house when someone attacked you?”
<
br />   I nodded.

  She rubbed her chin. “Then I suppose you should know, though I dislike gossip.”

  “What gossip?”

  An odd expression crossed her face, a mix of shame and curiosity. “That Tabitha and Bill were having an affair.”

  Weirdly disappointed, I blew out my breath. No outsider really knows what goes on in a marriage. But I liked Tabitha, and I didn’t like the idea of her as a cheater. Did her husband know? Did her son, Craig?

  Kendra canted her head, studying me. “And now I suppose you’re wondering how I know?”

  I shook myself. “How do you know?”

  “I saw them together at Lake Tahoe. I was consulting on a lodge project. They were holding hands, and obviously … well. They didn’t see me. At least I don’t think they did. They never spoke to me about it, and I never brought it up. It’s none of my business.” She gave me a repressive look, but I was done with feeling shame over my role as a busybody. I was already marinating in guilt for my role in the museum near-disaster.

  “Have you told the police?” I asked.

  “As I said, it’s none of my business.”

  “I think you should. Detective Slate is in charge of the investigation.”

  “After getting hit by a car? That seems unlikely.”

  My heart plummeted. She was right. They’d put him on leave, and that made Laurel the lead detective. She was a decent cop, but she detested me. Jason had always been a moderating influence, reining her in when her temper got the better of her. “Then it will be Detective Hammer.”

  “I’ll tell her if you think it’s important,” Kendra said, dismissive.

  “I do.” Now even more depressed, I rose and walked to a massive watercolor on the wall. I had to ask Kendra about her own conflict with Bill, but I wasn’t sure how to start.

  “Is there anything else?” she asked.

  I squinted at the watercolor: a map of homes surrounding a vineyard. A squad of dairy farms encircled the whole development, and I wrinkled my nose. On a hot summer day, those dairy farms made quite a stink. “Is this the new vineyard housing development?” I asked, stalling for time.

  “Our agrihood, yes. We got final approval to rezone the land from agriculture to residential at the November town council meeting.”