“You being a little dramatic about this.”
“I like to think I’m being just the right amount of dramatic.”
“Story of your life.”
We climbed out of the car and I looked around. Indeed, I wasn’t at all sure how Sicily had built the place. Three ramshackle little buildings clustered together, and when I looked more closely I realized that they were connected by boarded-up walkways.
There was a falling down barn to my right, the driveway was overgrown, and a collection of rusting contraptions leaned against the walls of the “house.” Old vines and weeds pulled at the siding.
My first sign that not all was as it seemed was the cat in the window. Everything looked decrepit, as if it had been allowed to fall into disrepair, but there in the window was a cat with a gorgeous yellow coat.
Having taken in the cat, I then noticed the collar around its neck. It was barely visible because of the fur that puffed out around it, but even so I could tell that it was made of fine leather. A jewel hung from the collar and dangled below the cat’s chin, and I wondered what that gem allowed the animal to see.
“Do you have a feeling we’re missing something?” I asked Paws.
“I’ve had that feeling since the day I met you,” he said.
I was about to knock when I noticed a bell next to the door and a little sign that said “Ring.”
I did so.
A sound like a gong rang out, inspiring Paws to yelp and start running in tiny circles. The orange cat in the window blinked slowly.
After a few moments, I heard a series of bangs and swear words from behind the door. I exchanged glances with Paws, who had just calmed down but now looked like he might lose it again.
The door swung open. It was in such poor shape I wondered why she bothered having a door at all.
“Oh, it’s you,” said Sicily.
She was dressed in jeans and a purple sweater, looking as well put together as ever.
And completely out of place.
“Hi,” I said. “I thought I’d come and give you an update on the case.”
“My granddaughter missing isn’t a case, it’s an emergency,” she said sternly. “Come in.”
“I brought Paws,” I said.
“Very well,” she said. “Hello, cat.”
“Good afternoon to you,” said Paws, suddenly polite and deferential.
If I had been expecting some magical difference between the outside of Sicily’s shacks and the inside, I’d have been sorely mistaken. If anything, the inside was even more cluttered, more haphazard, and in generally worse repair than the outside.
Given how well put together Sicily was, I was very confused.
“Meeeeoowwww.” The orange cat had arrived, yowling as if he owned the place. Actually, his owning the place would have accounted for what it looked like. Then again, cats are known to be clean animals, so maybe not.
“That’s Hey Penny Times Ten,” said Sicily. “For short I call him Hey.”
I knelt down and extended my hand to the cat, hoping for tolerance if not friendship. The cat very regally deigned to sniff my fingers. Finding no fault, he rubbed his head along them.
“Tea?” Sicily asked. I glanced over at the stove, which was covered in a layer of grime. My urge not to be rude fought with my urge for self-preservation.
Sicily was watching me closely.
“Sure,” I said. “Thank you.”
Sicily’s face split into a broad grin. “Right answer.”
I wasn’t so sure about that, but Sicily turned to an open doorway that looked as if it led into the rest of the house. “Follow me,” she said.
I quit petting Hey and followed Sicily, the two cats trotting along behind us. I had the distinct impression that even though Hey couldn’t speak, he could see Paws.
For his part, Paws was being very polite. I promised myself to ask him later what had happened to make him so uncharacteristically not difficult.
In the next room, on the right, was a closed door with at least eight locks fixed to it.
Sicily pulled out her wand and waved it. Not so much as a spark needed to fly for all the bolts to move aside.
“Lovely,” she said.
She went to the door and opened it, and over her shoulder I could see a warm glow. Then she disappeared down a flight of stairs. Not wanting to stay in this ramshackle house alone, I followed quickly. I was a step away from the door when my smile blossomed.
Cinnamon buns.
“Close the door on your way down,” Sicily yelled.
I knew something was fishy as soon as we set foot on the stairs. My host had already disappeared into a golden light around a corner.
“You call those stairs?” Paws asked.
We both looked down. If the stairs had been made of solid gold I wouldn’t have been more surprised. They were long and smooth, the most beautiful and expensive-looking stairs I had ever seen.
It was obvious that my first guess had been right: not everything in this place was as it appeared.
To put it mildly.
At the bottom of the steps was a cavernous room, with a kitchen section first, then on the right a library and on the left a garden. In the distance I thought I could see a bedroom, and beyond that there was a door. For a split second there was so much to look at that I didn’t even see Sicily.
“Welcome, welcome,” said Sicily, who was bustling around the kitchen portion of the space. “Make yourself at home over there in the drawing room and I’ll be right along with tea and biscuits.”
“No cinnamon buns?” Paws asked, sounding disappointed.
I shrugged.
The drawing room, as Sicily styled it, was off the kitchen, furnished with plush couches and stacks of books and divided down the middle by a large cherry coffee table. I chose one of the couches, but reluctantly. It was the kind of situation where you’re afraid to break something.
Like I could break a couch.
Before I sat down I did a quick swipe of my jeans to make sure I was clean. I had the distinct impression that of all the things in that huge room, I was the least fancy. Right in front of me was a crystal cabinet, and all the glassware sparkled in the light. The rest of the room was polished to match.
A crackle drew my attention to the fire, and it was only then that I realized that there was a fire in a hidden underground house in the basement in the summer in Maine. I tried to wrap my head around it and quickly gave up.
Paws hopped onto my lap. The orange cat then curled up by the door, as if guarding it.
“Do you think he’ll let us leave if we want to?” I asked.
“Probably, since he doesn’t seem to want to us to be here in the first place,” said Paws.
“But we’re such good company,” I said.
“Speak for yourself,” said the cat.
A rattling drew my attention to Sicily.
“Can I help you with anything?” I asked her, half rising.
“I’m all set, thank you, dear,” she said. She hauled a silver tray over, complete with a china tea set, and placed it on the cherry table between us. She drew her own chair right up to the tray and looked at it eagerly. “Biscuit?”
I nodded.
She busied herself making us cups of what smelled like chamomile tea. Then she picked up two fine china plates and plopped biscuits, a dollop of jam, and a few pieces of cheese onto each. She handed me one, kept one for herself, and sat back in her chair with a sigh.
“Now you can give me a report,” she said eagerly.
I swallowed. Truth be told, I had almost forgotten that I was there for anything other than to look at the museum.
“Yes, right, well, I went back to the spot where we found Scarlett’s water bottle,” I explained.
“Very good,” she said. “What did you find?”
“Nothing good,” said Paws.
The grandmother’s eyes sharpened. She suddenly looked concerned.
“We didn’t find any evidence th
at Scarlett was harmed,” I hastened to add before glaring down at the cat.
If cats could shrug, I was sure Paws would have.
“What did you find?” Sicily asked.
I told Sicily about the mudslide that had occurred only days ago, and suddenly she looked interested.
“I found evidence of dark magic there,” I said, for some reason not wanting to be terribly specific. “I don’t know what it means, but I know it’s bad.”
Sicily looked grim.
“But there was no clear evidence that Scarlett had been where the dark magic was?” she asked.
“No, but it was near where we found the water bottle. I’m wondering if Scarlett saw something she shouldn’t have,” I said. “That is, something someone else didn’t want her to see.”
“And now maybe she’s hiding,” said Sicily.
“Something like that,” I agreed.
“I doubt Ellie has her,” I said. “My impression every time I’ve met her is that Ellie isn’t patient. She wouldn’t wait around and ask for ransom. If she’d taken Scarlett prisoner you would’ve heard from her by now.”
Sicily took a long sip of tea while I nibbled on a biscuit. At least, that was my intention. When I tasted how good it was I devoured both the biscuits on my plate. Without commenting on my embarrassing table manners, Sicily reached over, picked up two more biscuits, and gave them to me.
“So you think it’s not a good thing that Ellie isn’t holding Scarlett prisoner?” I asked, confused.
“I think it’s a good thing,” Sicily said. “The only problem is that it means that Scarlett is staying away by choice, which in turn suggests that she’s afraid. But of what?”
I hadn’t thought of it that way, but now that Sicily had framed it that way it made sense.
What was Scarlett afraid of, that she would stay in hiding for days and not get word out to her grandmother or, apparently, anyone else?
“This is a beautiful home,” I said.
“Yes, isn’t it?”
“Why is the upstairs . . .” I didn’t know how to finish that question.
“In such disrepair?” she asked.
“Yeah, that,” I said.
“It’s to throw people off. No one ever visits here because the upstairs is such a mess. Why would you want to encourage people to come here?” she asked.
“It’s a façade, or a ploy,” said Paws.
“Exactly,” said Sicily.
“Like my porch,” I said smugly.
Chapter Sixteen
At least Sicily knew what I had discovered and was more dedicated than ever to finding her granddaughter. The only problem was that I had a whole second mystery to look into, and Charlie had been calling me for an hour trying to get in touch with me about it.
Luckily, there was cell phone service here. Well, some people would think it was lucky. And at least I could see the eighteen missed calls
“Where to now?” Paws asked as we headed out to the Beetle.
“Charlie says there are more family members to interview,” I said.
“You need me for that?” Paws asked.
“I’m sure your impressions will be invaluable,” I said.
“Well, if you put it that way,” said the cat generously.
We made our way to the Daily Brew, where Charlie had said that she’d be waiting for me with two more of Isabel’s family members who had just arrived. Greer would meet us there as well.
For the most part I had managed to forget about my little interaction with Dylan Wolf. Keeping busy with mysteries and a witchy coven helped. But on drives like this my mind would drift to him telling me to stay away from my boyfriend. I just couldn’t do it, and really, why should I?
Luckily, Jasper seemed to feel the same. But would that last? Family ties carried a lot of weight, and Dylan Wolf really didn’t like me.
“Earth to Lemmi, come in Lemmi,” said Paws.
I snapped back to attention. “What?”
“Are you thinking about Dylan Wolf?” he asked.
“How did you know?” I asked.
“You get a particular kind of terrified look on your face,” said the cat.
“I do not,” I said.
“Yeah, okay,” said the cat.
As usual on a beautiful summer day, the Daily Brew was hopping.
It took us a while to find a parking spot, but when we finally did we quickly headed for the café. In a far back corner I could see Charlie sitting with a woman and a man, both of whom looked as if they were in their sixties. Charlie had her notebook out and was writing furiously.
I got in line and ordered a coffee. I figured I had earned it. So I added a chocolate croissant.
Once I had my order I headed over to Charlie’s table and smiled at her companions.
Charlie looked up and said, “This is my roommate, Lemmi. This is Dana and Horace. They’re Isabel’s sister and cousin.”
After the introductions I slid into my seat, while Paws jumped up on the table and went to the far end. Charlie was used to such things, so she did a pretty good job of not noticing.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I told Isabel’s relatives. In the back of my mind I wondered what they would have said if they knew that her ghost was drinking, or wishing she was drinking, at Greer’s bar right at that very minute.
“Thank you,” said Horace.
“We appreciate it,” said Dana.
“They were just telling me about last summer,” said Charlie.
“Like what?” I asked.
“We have a big family,” said Horace. “We visit here a lot in the summer, but the house was Isabel’s.”
“Coming here is lovely, but there’s always a lot of tension,” said Dana. “Isabel has four daughters. She married them all off, but they all want the house here.”
She paused as if to think it over. “Except for Charlotte. Charlotte lives in Europe,” she added with a quirk of her eyebrow.
“She had better things to do than own a house in good old Maine,” Horace added.
“But the extended family also comes,” I said. “Your girl cousins, right?”
“Yes. Isabel always liked to have a lot of visitors. The house is big enough and she didn’t like it to be empty,” Dana explained.
“Had she decided who she was going to leave the house to?” Charlie asked.
“No one can be sure,” said Dana.
“We think she had decided,” said Horace, “but no one has found a will.”
“You think she knew which daughter she wanted to have the house?” I asked.
Horace and Dana nodded.
“Which daughter spent the most time there?” Charlie asked.
“Matilda,” said Horace. “The other girls are jealous, but Matilda worked from home, which allows for a lot of flexibility. She would come all summer and help her mother. The other kids just couldn’t do it.”
“Do you think Matilda will use that as an excuse to say that the house should be hers?” I said.
“Is there any chance the house was in fact left to Matilda?” Charlie asked. “Maybe the other daughters were jealous.”
“It sounds like whichever daughter was left out was probably jealous,” I said thoughtfully.
“Exactly,” said Horace.
“We usually just came up on weekends,” Dana explained.
“And Isabel was always popular locally?” Charlie asked.
“It’s hard to say. But as to the family, not only did she not get along with the family, but they didn’t get along with each other. Usually she calmed everyone down eventually, and the stars aligned and everything was all better,” Horace smiled.
“You really like the library, right?” I asked.
“We went to the library all the time,” said Dana. “Enough peace and quiet to go around. If it couldn’t be had at the lake house, we’d go there.”
“What was the best section?” Horace asked his cousin.
“Always history,” said Dana with a fo
nd smile. “We used to go there together,” she explained, turning to me.
“You were with your sister the day she died?” Charlie asked.
“No, I wasn’t there that day. I decided to go blueberry picking with some of the younger cousins,” she said.
“Were you with her?” Charlie asked Horace.
“I’m afraid I wasn’t,” he said. “I have some friends in Arizona that were visiting my house in Connecticut that weekend.”
“You really think one of Isabel’s daughters would kill her?” Charlie asked.
“I don’t rightly know,” said Dana. “I wouldn’t have thought so. But without a will, everything would be divided among her four children,” said Dana. “Which means Charlotte too. I think she’d try to sell it.”
“It’s nice of your family to keep letting everyone use it,” Charlie said.
“Yes, they’ve been very generous,” said Dana. “Our mothers both used to vacation here, so mine was always welcome, as were her children once the house was Isabel’s.”
“She didn’t inherit it through her husband, did she?” Charlie asked.
“No, she inherited it through my father,” said Dana.
“I’m from a different branch of the family,” said Horace.
“It’s all very confusing,” said Charlie, staring hard at her notes as if they would magically re-order themselves. She looked at me hopefully.
“You’re telling us,” said Horace with a smile. “I’ve always loved coming here, though.”
“How many of the daughters are going to be here this week?” Charlie asked.
“All of them,” said Dana, shifting on the hard chair. “They’ve flown in, and now the body has been found, so it’s more important than ever. None of us thought that Isabel was still alive, mind you. It was too much to hope for, but still, having the body be found is jarring.”
Charlie nodded sympathetically.
Dana and Horace left to go to their weekly bingo game, and Charlie sighed and stared at her notes. “There are just so many family members, it’s hard to sort out all their stories.”
“I can’t believe Isabel really thinks they all had it in for her,” I said.
“Family is difficult,” said Charlie.
“What did you think of what they had to say?” I asked.
“I think we need more information,” interjected the cat. “And I really think we need to find that will.”
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