Deja Moo

by Kirsten Weiss

  “He’s worried about his son. And I don’t think he blamed me. He came to me because we’re friends.”

  “Hmm.” She ran her hands across her beaded necklaces. “I heard you called the police.”

  “No, not the police. I mean, a friend who’s in the police. I thought he might have some advice.”

  “And did he?”

  “I don’t know. They talked outside. I didn’t want to get involved in something that personal.”

  “I can’t say I blame you, dear.” She rolled her shoulders. “Now, I didn’t come here to gossip. Your mother is indisposed—”

  “She’s not sick, is she?”

  “Sorry, poor wording. One of our more elderly members, Mrs. Tyre, fell and broke her hip. Your mother’s at the hospital with her.”

  “Oh no.”

  “It happens when you get older. Not that you’ll have to worry about that for a good long time. At any rate, your mother asked if I could provide you with any further assistance in your little problem.”

  “My problem?” Which one? There were so many.

  “The curse?”

  “Oh. Right.” I glanced at the open folder on the counter. “I was just reviewing the first deaths, from the ’80s.”

  Cora tapped Sigfried’s photo and pursed her lips. “Terrible. I’ve never seen this photo before.” She turned it to face her and shook her head. “What a ridiculous way to go.”

  “It does seem careless.”

  “He wasn’t that way at all in his public life. Sigfried wouldn’t have made it to town councilman at such a young age, otherwise. He was meticulous. Disciplined. But I suppose many of us wear two faces—public and private. And he did marry Jennifer, so he must have had a wild streak.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “She was gorgeous, vivacious, loved a good party and a good cocktail.” Cora raised a brow. “I won’t say all the men wanted her, but many did. Of course, Sigfried was going places, so it wasn’t such a surprise when the two married, even if he was a dull fish. We all expected her to turn her hostess skills toward taking her place in the community.”

  “And she didn’t?”

  “No. For a politician’s wife, she was remarkably disengaged from community events. Even today, when she’s married to a dairy man, she’s not involved in Ladies Aid.”

  The horror! I tried not to roll my eyes and failed.

  Cora smiled. “Which I suppose you think is good sense on her part.”

  “Ladies Aid can get a little intense.”

  The door opened and a middle-aged couple strolled inside. Cora edged from the counter and I sold them tickets.

  “Where are the haunted bells?” the woman demanded.

  Tensing, I pointed.

  She giggled. “What a kick!”

  The two moved off.

  “It seems the TV interview last night hasn’t hurt business,” Cora said in a low voice.

  “You saw that?”

  “I don’t sleep much. One of the benefits of age. The closer we get to dying, the more opportunity we have to enjoy life.”

  “You’re not that close to dying.”

  “Closer than you are. At least I hope I am. I must say, I don’t like the aura I’m seeing around you.” She wafted her hand about my head and shoulders as if fluffing an invisible cloud.

  “You see auras?” Repress, repress my inner skeptic. A group of twenty-somethings walked in and I sold more tickets.

  “Of course I see auras,” Cora said after they’d moved into the Gallery. “Yours is usually a lovely, iridescent sparkle. But there are all sorts of cords attached to you—other people are imposing on your energy field. If you like, I know an energy worker who can help.”

  “Maybe after the holidays,” I said.

  “Considering everything that’s been happening, I’m surprised you’re not taking this more seriously.” Her lips crimped together. “I only hope after the holidays isn’t too late.”

  So did I.

  twenty-six

  Exhausted, I locked the museum door and leaned against the counter. I wasn’t sure what the interview with Xavier had done for the curse panic, but it had been a busy Saturday at the museum. And with Leo out with a cold, my blood hummed from the tension of single-handedly selling tickets, wrapping gifts, and answering questions.

  GD glanced over his shoulder at me, then returned to his contemplation of the ogress in her cave. They’d obviously bonded, and I hoped he didn’t pitch a fit when we removed her after the holidays

  I was sweeping the black-and-white floor when the wall phone rang.

  “Paranormal Museum, this is Maddie speaking.”

  Someone breathed heavily on the line.

  “Hello?” I asked.

  “It’s Oliver,” a deep voice boomed.

  As if I was supposed to know who the heck that was … I straightened, and my broom clattered to the linoleum.

  GD hissed, one paw raised to strike. Fortunately I was nowhere near striking distance.

  “Oliver Breathnach? Kendra Breathnach’s son?” I asked.

  “Right.”

  “Hi, Oliver. I’m glad you made it back from Tahoe safely.”

  “Yeah.”

  I waited. He’d called me, so I assumed he had something to say.

  “Craig told me to call you,” he said.

  “Well, thanks. I understand you were at the Christmas Cow when—”

  “Not on the phone. Can you meet me tonight? My house?”

  Oh no, hell no. No more solo witness interviews and especially not at night. “Oliver, if you saw anything that night, the best people to talk to are the police, especially now that Craig’s father is in custody.”

  “I can’t talk to them. My mom would kill me if she found out what I’d done. Look, Craig said it was important I talk to you. If you don’t want to talk—”

  “No,” I said quickly, “I’d love to talk. I’ll be there in an hour.”

  “Cool.” He hung up.

  GD hopped onto the counter and coughed up a fur ball.

  “Gross!” Beneath his critical gaze, I cleaned up the mess.

  “I know I shouldn’t go,” I chattered. “Craig’s dad confessed. There’s no sense in me playing detective.”

  The cat washed one paw.

  “But I’m not sure it’s over. It wouldn’t hurt to tie up the loose ends.”

  GD planted his paw on the cash register and yawned.

  “Okay, maybe I don’t want to believe Craig’s father is the killer. Or Craig for that matter. Obviously, Craig’s dad is protecting him. But what if Craig’s innocent and his father is doing it all for nothing? And if Craig really is guilty, then he could hurt someone else and needs to be off the streets.”

  GD rolled onto his back and in a swift motion, lightly bit my hand.

  I studied the two pale white marks. “Or I could clear your name.”

  The cat meowed and hopped off the counter, returning to Gryla’s cave.

  I called my mom. “Hi, Mom. It’s Maddie.”

  “Yes, I know. Your name comes up on my screen. How are you, dear? I would have stopped by, but things got rather hectic with Ladies Aid.”

  I braced my elbow on the cash register. “Cora told me about Mrs. Tyre’s broken hip. How is she?”

  “Her hip is still broken, but she’s as stubborn as ever. How are you?”

  “Fine.” I’d no doubt my mom had heard about Mason’s visit last night. Everyone else had. “Oliver Breathnach called. He wants to meet at his house in an hour.”

  “So he’s finally back from his ski trip?”

  “He said Craig told him to talk to me, but he wants to keep the conversation private. It sounds like his mom doesn’t know that he was involved in the cow attack.”

  “And s
o he wants to meet at the house his mother lives in?” she asked. “He’s either a liar or not the sharpest knife in the drawer.”

  “Maybe she’s working late. Anyway, do you want to come along?”

  “I’ll meet you there.”

  “See you then. Bye.” I hung up. With my mom’s police escort returned, I didn’t imagine Oliver would be much of a threat. I also didn’t hold out much hope he’d have useful information. We’d already talked to the other members of Team Cow. But, no stone unturned and all that jazz.

  I finished sweeping and restocked the Gallery, then I locked up and left. My truck sputtered. After a breathless moment, the engine roared to life. Maybe the lifting of the curse had cured it, but I’d take it to the garage for sure once the holidays were over.

  Muttering a prayer to the truck gods, I turned onto Main Street. Christmas lights twinkled on the barren plum trees. A few pedestrians strolled the brick sidewalks, pausing to check menus and peruse shop windows.

  Past the San Benedetto arch, I turned left into a residential section. The yards between the homes widened. I drove past the turn-off to the Wildes’ house and my heart grew heavy. I didn’t hold out much hope Oliver would have information to clear both Craig and his father. But I had to try.

  A few long blocks farther, I turned the pickup into Kendra’s development and parked on the street in front of her brick Tudor home. The windows on the upper story were dark, but the Christmas tree glowed in the front window.

  Headlights illuminated my truck cab, and my mother’s rented SUV pulled up behind me. Her lights cut off.

  Stepping from my pickup, I scanned the empty street. Where was her police escort?

  She got out of the car and locked it with her fob. “I’m sorry to say, you can’t be too careful these days.”

  “You still leave your front door unlocked.”

  “That’s different,” she said. “No one bothers with my neighborhood.”

  “Where are your police?”

  “My police? I don’t have police.”

  “The guys who were watching you.”

  “Oh, they left this afternoon.”

  I muttered a curse.

  “Madelyn. Language.”

  “I called you so we’d have police protection.”

  She folded her arms. “And I thought you wanted your mother.”

  “I do, but … the police would have been useful.”

  We walked up the flagstone drive.

  “I checked in with my contacts at Ladies Aid,” she said. “Three people saw Dean selling his raw milk at the farmers’ market at the time your bell-cursing event was going on.”

  “De-cursing,” I said. “I guess that leaves him out of the running.”

  “Which we already suspected, but it’s best to be thorough.”

  “Do you know Oliver?”

  “No,” she said. “But he’s, what? Twenty? Hardly a match for the two of us.”

  “Maybe in a battle of wits, but if he’s our archer—”

  “He couldn’t be.” She stepped up to the front door and rang the bell. It echoed faintly inside the house. “He’s been in Tahoe.”

  “So his mother says,” I said darkly. “Tahoe’s only two hours away.”

  “You have a very cynical view of human nature. And that’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.”

  I stiffened.

  “I heard—”

  The front door opened and a lanky man with blond hair stared out at us. His lips were chapped, his rugged face wind-burnt. I put him at over thirty. Oliver’s stepdad? Did he have a stepdad?

  “Yeah?” he asked. He wore jeans and a rumpled sweatshirt with a comic book hero on its front.

  “I’m Maddie Kosloski. This is my mother, Fran.”

  “You didn’t say you were bringing your mom.”

  “Say?” I stuttered. “Wait. Are you … Oliver?”

  “Yeah. Who’d you think?”

  We stared at each other.

  “May we come in?” my mother asked.

  Oliver stepped outside and shut the door behind him, herding us into the driveway. “This way.” He walked across the paving stones and opened a gate on the other side of the garage. Its hinges creaked ominously.

  My mom and I glanced at each other, shrugged, and followed him through the gate.

  Fishing a set of keys from his pocket, he unlocked a side door to the garage. “More private.” He reached through the door, flipped on a light, ambled inside.

  A drum set stood in one corner and a computer with what looked like a sound setup sat on a table nearby. Wires snaked across the thin gray carpet. A second door stood shut, presumably leading into the house. Why hadn’t we used that entrance?

  “You’ve got a band,” I said.

  He shrugged and pulled out a folding chair, sat.

  My mother raised an eyebrow.

  Hastily, he rose and unfolded two more chairs for my mother and me. Then he jammed his hands in his pockets, his fists clenching and unclenching. “What have you heard?”

  I sat on the cold metal chair. “That you and a group of your college friends set the Christmas Cow on fire.”

  He scowled. “But you didn’t hear it from me. I laid low, like we agreed. But someone blabbed, and now none of the guys will talk to me.”

  “Not all of them,” my mother said, taking a seat beside me. “You talked to Craig.”

  His neck corded. “All he’d say was that I needed to talk to you. So I’m talking to you. What’s going on?”

  “A man was killed there that night,” I said.

  He shook his head. “I didn’t know about that. Not until I got home.”

  “When did you leave for Tahoe?” I asked.

  “The morning after the cow fire.”

  “Cow arson,” my mother said tartly.

  He ignored her. “My mom had gotten me tickets for the slopes the week before—some special deal.”

  “And you didn’t check the Internet for news about the cow?” I studied him carefully.

  “Why?” he asked. “I knew who set it on fire.”

  “You weren’t the least bit curious about what people had to say?” my mother asked.

  His chin dipped. “Maybe I did read something.”

  “But you decided to stay in Tahoe,” I said.

  “I didn’t know anything. If I’d seen who’d shot that guy …” He looked away.

  He probably still wouldn’t have said anything. Not if one of his buddies was responsible. “All right,” I said. “Tell us what happened that night.”

  Oliver heaved a sigh. “We met here, like we’d planned.”

  “Not at the cow?”

  “We stored the costumes here.” He glanced around the garage. “And we did our planning here between sets. If I’d known … we wouldn’t have done it.”

  “And where are the costumes now?”

  He shrugged. “We got rid of them.”

  “Okay, so you met here,” I said. “Then what?”

  “We took two cars to the cow and lit it up. We ran to where we’d parked the cars—”

  “Where was that?”

  “A few blocks away, on the street in front of the bank.”

  “And then?” my mother asked.

  “Then we went home. The next morning, I left for Tahoe.”

  “That didn’t leave you much time to ditch the costumes.” The cold from the concrete floor seeped through the soles of my thin tennis shoes, numbing my toes.

  “I took mine to Tahoe and tossed it in a dumpster behind my hotel.”

  “Clever,” my mom said. “Which hotel were you at?”

  He gave us a name, and my mother nodded. “They may not have views of the lake, but it’s close to Squaw Valley,” she said.

&nbs
p; “I had a great view,” he said. “And it’s near Northstar.”

  “Of course,” my mom said. “My mistake.”

  I eyed her. My mother knew Tahoe like the back of her hand. She was checking if Oliver was lying or not, and apparently he’d passed the test.

  “Having a hotel room and lift tickets doesn’t prove you were there,” I said.

  He swatted at the air. “You think I’m lying? Why would I do that?”

  “We believe you.” My mother crossed her legs and the metal chair squeaked. “You’ve obviously been spending a good bit of time on the slopes. But we still need evidence.”

  “I’ve got receipts from restaurants and stuff.”

  “You keep receipts?” I asked, surprised.

  His face turned the color of a brick. “My mom said she’d reimburse me for food if I brought back receipts.”

  “Let’s see them,” my mother said.

  “I’ll be back.” He strode from the garage.

  She peeled off her knit gloves. “Madelyn, there’s something I need to tell you.”

  “Mmm?”

  “I am so glad you moved out.”

  I stared.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” she said. “I hated seeing my birds leaving the nest. And then I see the birds that never leave and realize I’m lucky.”

  “It’s a tough economy,” I said, sheepish. I’d gotten the deal of the century on my garage apartment, so I was in no position to criticize.

  “Hmm. How old do you think he is?”

  “Twenty-eight? Thirty?” More? I guessed more.

  “And he’s still in college. Not grad school, college. Even if that man-child saw something,” she said, “he’s not going to admit it.”

  “Probably not. But he did call me. He wants to talk about something.”

  “He wants to get off the hook with his friends.”

  The door leading into the house opened, slamming against the wall. Kendra stormed into the garage. “How dare you interrogate my son!”

  My mother rose. “Hello, Kendra. How nice to see you again.”

  The developer flipped her blond hair over the shoulder of her red power suit. “You two have no right to be here. Leave or I’ll call the police.”

  “You should,” I said. “I’m sure they’d like to talk to Oliver and clear some things up.”