The jukebox switched to a country lament, Patsy Cline falling to pieces.
“Don’t,” Adele said. “It’s not your fault if people are going overboard. Everyone knows you can’t take anything in that museum of yours seriously.”
“Hey,” I said, sucking in my cheeks, “I’ve got some nice antiques from the American Spiritualist movement.”
“And let’s not forget the creepy dolls,” Harper said dryly.
“I wish I could.” I hated those dolls, but they were a big draw.
Grinning, Adele braced her head on her fist. “Tell us about Detective Slate.”
My face warmed. “There’s nothing to tell.”
“You like him,” Adele said. “I could tell from the beginning.”
“What’s not to like? He’s smart and honest and easy on the eyes.”
“And single,” Harper said.
“Definitely a selling point,” I said. “But nothing’s going on between us.”
“Why not?” Harper asked.
“Mason, obviously,” Adele said. “Don’t tell me you’re still hung up on him?”
“We only broke up two months ago.” I examined the red plastic basket of fried artichoke hearts. “I don’t want to rush into anything.”
“Ah ha!” Adele pointed at me. “So there is something to rush into.”
“I never gave you this hard a time about Dieter,” I grumbled.
“Your loss.” Adele turned to Harper. “What do you think? Should we give her a break?”
“Watching her squirm is too much fun,” Harper said. “When are you going to see him next?”
“I don’t know.” I dipped a beer-battered artichoke heart in ranch dressing and bit off half. The artichoke threads caught in my teeth. “And I don’t think Tom killed Bill and Tabitha,” I said, hoping to divert them.
“He confessed, didn’t he?” Adele asked.
“Yes, but—”
“There you go,” Adele said. “Honestly, I think you like it when people try to kill you.”
I shuddered. “I don’t.”
“Why do you think Tom’s innocent?” Harper asked.
“It just doesn’t feel right.” I washed down the artichoke with a swig of beer. “Yes, everything fits. They were having an affair, her husband knew it, and he killed them both. And I don’t know who else would want to kill them both. But Craig overheard Bill bribing his mother, and that’s odd enough to look into.”
“That’s what he thought he heard,” Harper said. “Could he have misunderstood the conversation?”
“Maybe, but what if he didn’t? What if the relationship between Bill and Tabitha isn’t what we all think? What if there’s another reason someone wanted the two of them dead?” I ran my thumb along the handle of the beer mug, feeling the ridge where the glass had been pressed together.
“Someone like Dean, whose raw milk business was being threatened?” Harper asked. “I thought you’d written him off as a suspect.”
“I did, since he was trapped in the house with us when the archer struck. But if Tabitha was on the take, then she was probably getting money from more than one person. I mean, you don’t stop at one bribe, do you?”
“That’s a big if, ” Harper said.
“I checked the minutes of the last council meetings, but they don’t record any details of the discussions.” I snapped my fingers. “Dean and Penny must have been at some of those meetings. Their businesses were under discussion. Maybe they remember what happened.”
“Well, you can’t take Dieter to talk to them,” Adele said. “He nearly got an arrow through the heart the last time he played bodyguard.”
I rose from the table. “Don’t worry. I got this.”
“You’re going now?” Adele asked.
“No time like the present.”
“It’s nearly ten at night,” Harper said.
“They’ll be up.” I had to know. Craig’s father was sitting in jail. We couldn’t wait for the truth.
“No,” Harper said. “This is exactly how you get yourself into trouble.”
“But Tom Wilde—”
“Is safe at police headquarters and a confessed murderer,” Adele said. “Harper’s right. You can’t go tearing off now to harass Dean and Penny. Dean will probably shoot you for trespassing, and you’ll frighten Penny to death banging on her door at this hour.”
“A late-night surprise interrogation is not the sort of thing to loosen people’s tongues,” Harper said. “What you need is a gathering of the suspects to hash things out. Like Hercule Poirot does.”
“Hercule Poirot only calls the suspects together when he knows who the killer is,” I said. “And I don’t. But I’ll wait for daylight.”
Dieter, in a parka, ripped T-shirt, and jeans, slid into the booth beside Adele. “Hello, ladies.”
We stared at him.
“Darling, it’s girls’ night,” Adele said.
“And that’s sacred,” Harper said.
“Come on,” he said. “I’m one of the girls, aren’t I?”
“No,” we said in unison.
He rubbed his shoulder. “But I was shot at,” he said plaintively.
“Your truck was shot at,” I said.
“I was nearby, protecting you and your mother when you were shot at. You at least owe me a beer.”
“Fine.” I waved at an aproned waiter. He hustled past to a raucous bachelorette party.
“Cool.” Dieter released a gusty breath and slumped in the booth. “I’ll take the holiday ale.”
“Long day?” Adele asked him.
“I made the payout on the cow today.”
Harper raised a brow. “It’s been over a week since it burned. What took you so long?”
I tried to flag down another waiter. Unseeing, he strode past.
Dieter rumpled his shaggy hair. “Arson is serious business. I had to make sure the bettor wasn’t involved.”
I leaned forward. Dieter had been running a separate investigation? “And did you?”
He shrugged. “Sure. It was those kids who set the cow on fire.”
My eyes narrowed. I looked between him and Adele. “How did you hear the students confessed? That hasn’t made the papers.”
He looped his arm across Adele’s shoulders. “Sources.”
“Adele?” How could she! “You know my investigation is confidential. What else did you tell him?”
“Everything?” She made a rueful face. “It’s Dieter!”
“We’re a couple,” Dieter said, insufferably smug.
“Adele!”
“Sorry, Mad,” she said. “But you put me in a bad spot. I can’t keep things from him.”
I blew out my breath. I couldn’t expect Adele to keep secrets from her boyfriend. Not if she was serious about him.
“It’s okay,” I said. “No harm done, and it was a fair trade.”
Dieter frowned. “What fair trade?”
Adele frantically shook her head, her black hair rippling about her shoulders.
“Ah …” I stammered. “I misspoke.”
Spots of color rose in his cheeks. He turned toward Adele. “Did you tell them the size of the payout?”
“She’s one of my best friends,” Adele said weakly.
“She’s dating a cop!”
“I’m not actually dating …” I trailed off.
Dieter’s eyes bulged. “That information is confidential!”
“What was I supposed to do?” Adele asked. “You wanted information on Mad’s investigation. She wanted information on how much money was at stake. I couldn’t tell one of you and not the other.”
“But,” he sputtered, “it’s confidential.”
Whoops. Time to exit, stage left. “The waiters are sure busy tonight.” I slithered from the booth.
“I’m going to get your beer from the bar.”
“I’ll come with you,” Harper said quickly and followed.
I squeezed past a trio of cowboys and caught the bartender’s eye. “One holiday ale,” I shouted over the din.
He nodded and strode to the taps.
I turned to Harper, now neck-deep in grinning, lovesick cowboys. Honestly, did she use a magic potion?
My friend seemed to be enjoying herself, so I braced my elbows on the bar and watched the TV. A commercial for pillows came to an end, replaced by a local news show. The closed captioning scrolled across the screen.
WITH US TODAY IS XAVIER LANDAU, AN EXPERT ON CURSES.
Xavier? Herb’s Xavier?
The lady newscaster, blond hair shimmering, turned to Xavier. It must be true about the TV adding ten pounds, because the bell exorcist looked less cadaverous than usual.
I leaned closer.
TELL US ABOUT THE CURSE. DO WE HAVE ANYTHING TO BE WORRIED ABOUT?
Xavier stroked his salt and pepper goatee. NOT AT ALL. I CAN SAFELY SAY THE CURSE—IF THERE EVER WAS ONE—HAS BEEN BOUND.
The newscaster’s eyes narrowed. IF THERE EVER WAS ONE? DO YOU MEAN THE MUSEUM IS PERPETUATING A FRAUD?
I groaned.
Xavier shook his head. NOT AT ALL. AND I AM QUITE CERTAIN THERE ARE SEVERAL OBJECTS IN THAT MUSEUM THAT BEAR FURTHER INVESTIGATION.
SEVERAL? NOT ALL? the reporter asked.
“They have historical value!” I howled at the screen.
Harper placed a hand on my arm. She pointed at the TV. “Is that the guy from the binding ceremony?”
“They’re talking about the museum!” I looked up and realized I’d missed something critical, because now two middle-aged women in pastel twin sets had joined Xavier and the newscaster.
One woman raised her sleeve, displaying two small red punctures on her forearm. SOMETHING BIT ME THAT DAY IN THE MUSEUM.
The other woman nodded and raised her sleeve. The back of her wrist was similarly marked.
The newscaster turned to Xavier. WAS THE CURSE RESPONSIBLE?
He shook his head. BITES ARE USUALLY CAUSED BY ANGRY GHOSTS OR DEMONIC ACTIVITY.
The newscaster leaned forward. THERE’S DEMONIC ACTIVITY AT THE PARANORMAL MUSEUM?
“No, there isn’t!” I shouted. “There’s nothing demonic … Harper.” I motioned toward the screen. “Tell them!”
“They can’t hear you,” she said.
I hung my head. “I can’t believe this.”
“Do you really need me to tell you there’s nothing demonic at your museum?” She shivered. “Though those old dolls are creepy.”
“But not demonic!”
“Look.” She pointed at the TV. “He’s saying it was probably a ghost.”
I turned.
THANK YOU, the reporter said. THINGS ARE GETTING STRANGE AT SAN BENEDETTO’S PARANORMAL MUSEUM.
The show cut to the weather.
“GD probably freaked out in the crowd and bit them,” Harper said.
“No way.”
“He’s kind of a jerk.”
“Yeah, but …” I frowned. GD couldn’t have done it. He’d been on top of Gryla’s cave the entire time. I moaned. Was I liable for the bites? Would the women sue? “This is a disaster.”
Harper tossed her long hair. “What’s your favorite saying?”
“No publicity is bad publicity.” But there was a first time for everything. “Whatever I do to try to calm things down, I just make things worse.”
“Maybe you should stop trying.”
If only I knew how.
twenty-four
I drove home sober and alone. Sunk in thought about lawyers and lawsuits, I didn’t notice the motorcycle parked outside my aunt’s garage. I climbed the dark steps to my apartment.
A broad shadow detached itself from the landing. “Maddie.”
I yelped and grabbed the wooden railing to keep myself from tumbling over. “Mason! What are you doing here?”
He wore his usual—black jeans, black leather jacket, black T-shirt. No wonder I hadn’t spotted him—he’d faded into the night. His blond hair was in a shaggy ponytail. “Belle’s gone,” he said.
I walked up the remaining steps to the door and the overhead light flipped on. Mason’s broad face was carved in misery.
“Gone?” I pulled my jacket tighter, a sour taste rising in my throat. “What do you mean?”
“She left with Jordan.”
My pulse slowed. “Gone. You mean for good? Are you sure?” When Mason reconnected with Belle and Jordan, he’d opened his home and his heart. Belle couldn’t just leave.
“She left a note. Do you have any idea where they went?”
“No. My God, I’m sorry.” Confused, I shook my head, my body temperature rising. “Wait, why would you think I—”
“Because you’ve known something was up all along.” He bit off the words. “I could tell something was up between the two of you. I thought it was because you’re my ex and she’s living with me, but after she left, I realized it had to be more than that.”
I covered my mouth. “The Christmas Cow winnings.”
“What winnings?”
A light went on in my aunt’s house. My gaze darted to her front door, then to him. “Let’s go inside.” I unlocked my door and ushered him into my nautical-themed studio (my aunt’s decorating). “Belle won this year’s Christmas Cow bet,” I said. “Fifty thousand dollars.”
His blue eyes turned arctic. “And you didn’t tell me?”
“I thought she’d tell you. I didn’t know …” that she would take the money and run. I looked at the closed front door. Was this my fault too? Why hadn’t I just said something?
“She’s got my son. My son!” He swiveled and punched his fist through the sheetrock wall.
I jumped, tensing.
Mason’s hand was covered in grainy white bits of sheetrock. It drifted from the hole in the wall to the wood-beamed floor. He bent his head and breathed heavily. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have … I’ll pay for that. I’ll go.”
“Don’t,” I said. “I get it. You’re worried about Jordan. But we know he’s safe. Belle’s taken good care of him in the past—”
“They were sleeping in a van.”
“But she has money now, and I’m sure she’s doing what she thinks is best. Have you called the police?”
“They can’t help.” He paced the narrow space between the wall and the blue-gray couch. “I only found out about my son’s existence two months ago. I don’t have any parental rights.”
“How do you know that?” I asked gently.
“Because I know people who’ve been through this.”
I could have told him hearsay wasn’t legal advice and every case was different. Instead, I asked, “Did Belle say anything that might have given you a clue where she was going?”
He reached into the rear pocket of his jeans and handed me a folded piece of paper. Rough-edged, it looked like it had been torn from one of Jordan’s spiral-bound notebooks.
I read.
It’s time for us to go. You’ve been wonderful, but I need some space to be on my own. I would have told you in person, but I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to leave. Thank you for everything.
My throat squeezed. “That doesn’t sound too bad.”
He clawed his mane of blond hair. “She’s got my son. They could be anywhere. I wish you’d told me about the money.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I thought it was between you and Belle, and none of my business.” I compressed my lips and looked at my tennis shoes.
He collapsed onto the sofa. “Three months ago, I didn’t know I had a son. Now I can’t imagine life without him.”
I sat on the lounge chair across from him, my elbows on my knee
s. “I’m sure she’ll get in touch with you once she’s settled.” I wanted to believe it, but parents left with their kids all the time. Mason didn’t have formal custody, so this probably wouldn’t be considered a kidnapping. But whatever it was, I’d played a peripheral role.
“She kept Jordan from me for years,” he said bitterly. “Why would you assume she’d get in touch now?”
“Because you two have a relationship again. We could ask a friend of mine at the police department for advice. He must have a better handle on the laws than either of us.”
Mason stared at me, his expression hollow. “Make the call.”
Some of the tension leaked from the back of my neck and shoulders. I pulled my cell phone from the pocket of my jeans and called Jason.
“Maddie,” he said, his voice warm. “Your museum’s made the news again.”
“And not in a good way. Jason, I’m at home. Mason’s here. His girlfriend left with their son. He doesn’t know where they are, and he’s really worried.”
“Is he sure she didn’t just leave to see a movie?”
“She left a note,” I said. “I wondered if you might be able to help, give him some advice.”
There was a long pause. “Your ex is at your house?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” he asked.
Mason’s girlfriend had left, and he’d run to me, his ex. I knew how this sounded, and I grimaced. “He thought I might know where she went.”
“Do you?”
“I wish I did.” There had to be a way to make this right.
Another beat, two. Then, “Why don’t you hand him the phone?”
Relieved, I passed off the phone and went to the 1950s-era kitchen, where I made as much noise as possible brewing chamomile tea. Not that there was much to eavesdrop on. Mason’s side of the conversation consisted largely of grunts.
Within a few minutes, he walked into the kitchen and laid the phone on the cracked tile counter. “He’s coming over.”
“Great!” I chirped. I opened a pale blue cupboard and extracted three mugs. “So he thinks he can help?”
“Mmm.”
The teakettle whistled.
“Tea?” I asked.
Mason’s smile looked forced. “No thanks.” Slowly, he walked from the kitchen.
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