A Candidate For Murder (Old Maids of Mercer Island Mysteries Book 2)

by Lynn Bohart

  “What exactly did you see?” I asked, sitting up against the headboard and rubbing my eyes back to life.

  She took a deep breath. “You…and the dogs, barking. I don’t know what it meant.”

  “Was I in danger?”

  “I’m not sure,” she sighed. “But I thought you were in trouble of some kind.”

  “Hmmm,” I murmured.

  “What?” April asked.

  “I had a visit from Elizabeth tonight after my shower. She drew the picture of a bird on the bathroom mirror.”

  “Nothing else?”

  “No.” I replied. “And the only bird we have is Ahab. Was Ahab in your dream?”

  “No,” she said. “Just the dogs.”

  “Well, I’m fine. You go back to sleep,” I told her. “And I’ll call you if I even hear an owl outside my window.”

  “Speaking of birds,” she said with a chuckle. “Okay, but be careful and call me if you need me.”

  “Will do.”

  I hung up and tried to relax back into the bed, feeling uncomfortable at April’s phone call. The fact that she had had a vision right after someone had been brutally murdered on the island wasn’t good news.

  As Mickey pushed his way back under my elbow, I stroked his head and contemplated April. We’d been friends since college. When Graham announced he wanted a divorce shortly after finishing renovations on the Inn, I’d asked April to join me in the business. Word of her baking skills quickly brought in customers, making her orange scones legendary. She was living in Bellevue with her husband at the time. He was retired from the surgery department at the University of Washington Medical Center. Shortly after, he was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. April had cared for him as long as she could, but eventually had to put him into an expensive care facility. He died just before Christmas, and it was then that I’d learned that he’d also left April deeply in debt.

  Fortunately, right around the same time Jose´ decided to move out of our guest house and in with his boyfriend. This gave April a chance to move in and save some money. But something changed after her husband died. She was quieter and more solitary. She and her husband had been together since high school. And although he’d been a very successful surgeon, the disease had impaired his judgment before he’d been diagnosed, forcing him to make a myriad of bad decisions. I suspected she was not only lonely, but embarrassed by her financial situation.

  My eyelids began to droop, and I dozed off, only to be jerked awake a few moments later by the musical tones of the song, Rock Around the Clock. It had been the ringtone on my mother’s cell phone before she died, and I came suddenly awake.

  No one would claim my life was normal. But one of the strangest parts about it was that during Martha’s murder investigation, my deceased mother had begun calling me on her cell phone. At first, it had totally freaked me out. But in the end, she had helped to keep me safe during those dark days, although her cell phone had been destroyed in the process. So I was surprised to hear her ringtone on my phone.

  I sat up and grabbed my phone, but this time my hand shook as I answered it. “Hello.”

  “Julia!” my mother snapped. “What’s happening? Are you okay?”

  My excitement at hearing from my mother again was cut short when I realized she was repeating April’s question.

  “What? You, too? What’s the big deal? I’m fine.”

  “What d’you mean, you too?”

  My mother had been a big smoker and had died from emphysema. For as long as I could remember, she spoke in a husky, Lauren Bacall voice, with a slight mid-western accent.

  “April just called and asked me the same thing. What are you two seeing that I can’t?”

  “I don’t know what April saw, but I just had an overpowering sense that you were in trouble again. There was lots of commotion. Barking. Squawking. Why would that be? What did you get yourself into this time?”

  My mother and I had always sparred. It’s what we did when she was alive, and apparently, things hadn’t changed much just because she was dead. “Why do you always assume that I’m the one who gets me into trouble? Maybe it was someone else’s fault.”

  “Are you kidding?” she snapped. “Don’t forget that just a few weeks ago you were being held prisoner in the basement of a church because you’d gotten involved in a murder investigation.”

  I sighed. “No. I haven’t forgotten. But this time someone tried to kill Dana Finkle.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Who cares about that?”

  “Mother!”

  “You don’t like her any better than I did. By ‘tried to kill,’ I assume you mean they failed.”

  “Yes,” I replied.

  I told her about Trudy and my email account. My mom had been pretty tech savvy before she died.

  “Wow,” she exhaled. “That’s got to be a piece of bad luck.”

  “That’s just what Goldie said,” I commented. “But you mentioned squawking. Did you hear Ahab?”

  “I don’t know if it was Ahab,” she said. “I just heard a bird squawking.”

  “I’m not a target, Mom. But I think someone was trying to set me up for the fall.”

  “Okay, Button,” she said with relief, using my childhood nickname. “Good to know. Well, not good for Finkle’s campaign assistant, but you know what I mean.”

  “Yes, I do. Thanks. I just haven’t heard from you since Christmas. It’s good to know you’re still looking out for me.”

  “Always,” she said. “Now, I have to go.”

  “Mom.”

  “Nope, gotta go. Take care of yourself.”

  And with that, she was gone. I was left to look at the cell phone as I had so many times before, befuddled at how she could contact me from the other side and frustrated that I never got enough time to talk to her.

  I slammed the phone back down on the bedside table and flopped back onto my pillow, eyes wide open, my brain humming.

  Two warnings in a matter of minutes, along with Elizabeth’s pictograph in the bathroom mirror. How could I sleep after all of that?

  I couldn’t.

  I needed chocolate.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Chocolate was my alcohol. It relaxed me and made me feel comforted. I glanced at my alarm clock. It was now 2:20 a.m. I sighed and threw my legs over the side of the bed. There were no sweets in my apartment because I was trying to lose a few pounds now that I had an admirer. But the thought of chocolate was too strong, and I had to have it. So, I slipped my feet into my slippers and donned my robe.

  My destination was the Inn’s main kitchen, where I knew April had stashed the chocolate chip cookies for the snack tray we put out for the guests every day. I usually get up a couple of times a night to go to the restroom, so Mickey and Minnie merely looked at me from the center of the bed as I headed for the bedroom door. As soon as I stepped into the hallway, however, their little internal alarms went off. They scurried out from under the blanket and flew off the bed, shaking and wiggling to wake themselves up.

  “Okay, but you have to be quiet,” I warned, looking down at them.

  They watched me eagerly. They were both long-haired miniature Dachshunds, with short, stubby little legs. Mickey was black and tan, while Minnie was a copper red. Mickey plopped down into a prone position and let out a pathetic groan, as if he thought I was going to leave him behind.

  “Oh, c’mon,” I said.

  The hallways in the Inn are floored in dark hardwood, softened with red and gold carpet runners. Small plug-in night lights lit my way. My slippers made little sound as I padded toward the kitchen, but the dogs’ nails clickety-clacked as they wandered off the carpet.

  My apartment sat down a curved corridor, with only a public restroom and the laundry past me. I wound my way around to the front entryway. No one was about. It was the middle of the night after all – or the early morning, however you chose to look at it.

  As I passed the Inn’s front door, I could hear my big grandfather c
lock ticking softly in the entryway. It was one of the few antique pieces not for sale at the Inn. I used the area to the right of the door and next to the clock to display small collections of other antiques that were for sale. Currently, I had crafted a shipboard themed display, including two steamer trunks, an old ship’s wheel, a captain’s cap and a solid brass ship bell. We always leave one small lamp lit on a table in the entry, and another one on the reception desk for anyone coming back late. The rest of the ground floor was left in shadow.

  Ahab’s cage sat next to a patio door on the far side of the breakfast room, but I always draped it at night. I glanced that way as I tip-toed into the room, hoping I wouldn’t wake him. The breakfast room was shaped in the half of an octagon, which jutted out onto the back deck. Each of the four angled walls held paned windows. We always drew the lightweight drapes at night, so I was startled by the flash of a light from outside.

  I stopped and stared a moment, wondering if I’d seen it at all.

  The breakfast room looked out onto Lake Washington and the South Seattle shoreline. To the right was a grove of trees and a path that led to Goldie’s home.

  I couldn’t imagine anyone out for a stroll at this time of morning, especially because it was so cold. The rain had stopped, so more likely it was a boat out for some early fishing.

  I shrugged it off and turned for the kitchen, pushing through the swinging door. The dogs scooted in after me as the door swung closed. I headed straight for the big Tupperware container that sat on the counter next to the sink. I didn’t have to turn on a light, because April always left a small hurricane lamp lit on the kitchen table.

  My first task was to give the dogs each a dental stick. That would keep them busy, while I grabbed a couple of cookies and a glass of milk. They settled in on opposite sides of a big dog bed we kept in the corner, and I sat at the center island to enjoy my snack.

  The cookies were divine. If I didn’t know better, I would have sworn they were still warm, but I knew that was just my over-active imagination.

  Thunck!

  A soft noise made me glance outside nervously. A flowering cherry tree hugged the window, and I looked past that to the stake lights, which dotted two small lawns on either side of the deck. The dock was lit by a string of lights along the railing so that boats didn’t ram into it in the dark.

  I surveyed the area, looking for moving shadows, but didn’t see anything. No one was about.

  The lights from the far shore glistened and a breeze rattled the branches of the cherry tree, scraping them against the window. Another storm was probably moving in. No doubt tomorrow would be wet and blustery again.

  I relaxed and glanced over at the dogs, who were oblivious to all else but making mincemeat of the dental chews. Give them a bone, a chew toy, or something with a squeaker in it and they entered a state of complete nirvana. It was like drugging them.

  That’s why the second thud was only acknowledged by Minnie, who glanced at the kitchen door and then went right back to her dental stick.

  It was time to investigate. Perhaps someone had, in fact, come in very late and was knocking at the front door.

  I went to the kitchen door and listened first. A rattling sound raised the hair on the back of my neck. Then I heard a squawk.

  I pushed the kitchen door open and stepped through, allowing it to swing closed behind me.

  The shadow of a large man wearing a hoodie stood at Ahab’s cage. The patio door was open behind him, letting in a draft of cold air. Ahab’s drape was off, and the cage door was open. Ahab squawked again, and the intruder reached in and grabbed him and stuffed him into a bag.

  “What are you doing?” I erupted, starting forward. “You can’t do that!”

  The intruder glanced at me, but his face was draped in shadow. He hurriedly drew the bag closed, trapping the frantic bird inside. As I rushed across the room, he started to turn toward the open door. He was about to escape, but I snagged the back of his hoodie and yanked him backwards.

  “Come back here,” I yelled. “You can’t take him.”

  The man whipped around and shoved me away, but I came at him again, grabbing his left arm. He dropped the bag and whipped me around and put me into a headlock. I kicked over a chair and managed a short cry, which was enough to set off the dogs.

  “Shut up!” the man whispered, his forearm pressing against my windpipe. “Or I swear I’ll kill you.”

  This man was a good six inches or more taller than me and had the strength of a bull moose. I made a feeble attempt to loosen his grip around my neck, all the while gagging from the chokehold and his cheap cologne, with the dogs barking frantically in the background.

  I finally managed a strangled cry and the kitchen door swung open. Mickey rocketed into the breakfast room. Unfortunately, Mickey goes into a frantic spin when he gets excited. So my would-be hero stopped at my feet, turning like an egg beater and barking in circles.

  Good dog, Mickey.

  Minnie was still in the kitchen squealing like a stuck pig at being left behind. The man’s leg shot out and kicked Mickey, eliciting a cry of pain, which sent Minnie into overdrive.

  She must have finally taken a run at the closed door, slamming her tiny body against it. She shot through like a bullet and used the springs in those back legs to leap onto one of the chairs, launching herself at the man’s face.

  I saw her coming and pulled my head to the side just before she slammed into my attacker. There was a cry of pain, and a warm liquid ran down my neck.

  Blood!

  He let me go and began to howl louder than the dogs. I fell forward gasping for air, while he struggled with Minnie, who had attached herself to his face. Mickey continued to turn circles and bark.

  Then a cannon went off.

  “I have another barrel just for you!” a voice called out.

  My ears rang as the intruder finally flung Minnie free and grabbed Ahab. He ran for the front door, followed by two very fast miniature Dachshunds who were mad as hell.

  The dogs followed him out the front door and into the night, their very high-pitched barks ringing through the neighborhood.

  I took a deep breath and stumbled to my feet, one hand to my throbbing throat, and the other to my ear. A light went on, and I glanced up to find a gaggle of guests staring at me from the entryway with a mixture of fear and alarm etched on their faces. I turned to find Goldie, standing behind me with her shotgun in her hand, a look of sublime satisfaction on her face.

  “You okay, Julia?” she asked.

  I looked from her and back to my guests and thought, Damn! Here we go again.

  CHAPTER TEN

  I left Goldie in the breakfast room and went to address the guests.

  “It’s okay,” I lied, breathing heavily and massaging my throat. “Someone…uh…someone broke in and stole our parrot. But no one was hurt.”

  “But that woman shot off a gun,” an older woman said in an accusing tone.

  Her name was Mrs. Fenster, and she was in town for her granddaughter’s christening.

  “Yes, just to scare him away,” I said, turning toward Goldie. “But no one is in any danger. We’re fine.”

  “Well, I called the police,” she stated, straightening up. “As soon as I heard the dogs bark.”

  “Very good,” I replied. “That’s good. Now maybe everyone should go back upstairs.”

  A new guest, Mr. Dalton, appeared at the open front door. “What’s going on?” he said upon seeing the gathered crowd.

  He wasn’t much over twenty-five and was in town for a conference at Microsoft. The cold air made me step past him to close the door.

  “There was a thief,” an elderly man named Mr. Brewster said. “You missed all of the excitement.” He and his wife were in town for a second honeymoon, and he looked pleased to have a story to tell.

  Mr. Dalton’s face was flushed, and he smelled of alcohol. He looked around warily. “Too bad. I was…uh, out with a friend.”

  “Did yo
u see anyone running away from the Inn?” I asked him.

  He paused and glanced around to the anxious faces. “No. Sorry. Is everyone okay?”

  “Yes,” I said. The sound of sirens made me look out the sidelight window. “Um…the police will take care of things. Maybe you all could just go back upstairs.” I made a motion to usher them along.

  “Won’t they need to interview us?” Mrs. Fenster asked.

  “I doubt it,” I said, thinking she was just a busybody who wanted in on whatever gossip she could muster. “Unless you saw something, of course.”

  I stared at her for a moment, but she shrugged. “No. Of course I didn’t.”

  She turned and retreated up the stairs, followed by the Brewsters. Mr. Dalton was last to go.

  “Are you sure you didn’t see anyone as you were coming in?” I asked him anxiously.

  “Uh…no. I heard some dogs barking, but my friend dropped me off at the street. Sorry. Well, I’m going to bed,” he said, and climbed the stairs.

  I stood for a moment, listening to the sirens as they got closer and dreading the approaching encounter.

  “Sorry about your ceiling,” a voice rang out from the breakfast room.

  “Goldie,” I said, whipping around and putting a hand to my chest. “Sorry, I forgot you were here. But then how could I? You just blew a hole in my breakfast room.”

  Goldie was dressed in a baggy hooded sweatshirt thrown over a long nightgown, with a pair of hiking boots peeking out from beneath. She was a good two inches shorter than me, which made the enormous shotgun in her hand look like a bazooka.

  “Psshaw,” she waved the bazooka in the air. I flinched backwards as the barrel rounded towards me. “I didn’t point it at anyone.”

  “Yes, but, my wall,” I said, pushing past her to look for holes in my walls.

  She followed me as I studied the walls, and then tapped me on the shoulder and pointed an index finger to the ceiling above Ahab’s cage. I rolled my eyes upwards and groaned. My hammered copper ceiling looked like Swiss cheese.