Chapter Eight
I was grateful when Scarlet and Patrick stopped by later. They’d heard about Gladys and wanted to check on me.
“To add insult to injury, they think I killed her,” I said.
Patrick inclined his head. “Okay, so did they actually arrest you and, if so, who placed the handcuffs on you and how rough were they? I need a visual.”
“They didn’t arrest me, but Chief Tuck questioned me and Detective Fairfax drove me to the doctor’s so I could get treatment for this.” I held up my bandaged hand.
Scarlet winced. “Ophelia?”
I nodded. “So much for the cat recognizing me as Aunt Hazel’s blood relative. The police thought my injury was from Gladys fighting me off.”
“Good thing I brought you something that might help you bond with Ophelia.” She handed me a gold-colored sachet.
“Catnip?” I asked.
She nodded. “Sprinkle these dried leaves in her favorite spots.”
I sniffed the sachet. It smelled somewhat like tea leaves.
“And this will make her like me?” I asked, unconvinced.
“Not a guarantee, but it can’t hurt,” she said.
“Did Chief Tuck say it’s definitely murder?” Patrick asked.
“No, but it’s a suspicious, unattended death,” I said, repeating a phrase I’d heard in the police station. “The autopsy results will hopefully shed more light on it.”
“I can’t believe you found her in your garden,” Scarlet said. “That’s so scary.”
“I can’t believe they think I killed her,” I shot back. “The police cordoned off half the garden so at least I have an excuse to avoid it.”
“Come to my house,” Scarlet urged. “Take a break from this house.”
Patrick lit up. “Yes, let’s do that. I have an idea that might help. We’re going to help solve the case.”
I frowned. “‘We’ as in ‘not the police?’”
“Definitely not. We have something they don’t.”
“Good hair?”
“Well, naturally, although Derek Fairfax is a close second. But I can offer something even better.” He clasped his hands and flexed them forward. “I’m a ghost whisperer.”
“A ghost whisperer,” I repeated.
“Yes, and we’re going to hold a seance. That way we can get answers directly from the source.”
I suppressed a laugh. “Your plan is to summon the ghost of Gladys during a seance and have her tell us who killed her?”
“Pretty much,” Patrick said.
“Like the movie Ghost,” I said. I quickly became distracted by the awesomeness that was Patrick Swayze. Ghost, Dirty Dancing, the North and South miniseries…My eyebrows shot up. “While you’re working your spirit mojo, any chance you can contact Patrick Swayze, too?”
“Don’t I wish?” the non-Swayze Patrick said. “Believe me, I’ve tried.”
I didn’t object to the idea, as crazy as it sounded. Distancing myself from the scene of the crime appealed to me more than I cared to admit.
“I’ll drive,” Scarlet said.
Patrick smirked. “Of course you will.”
We piled into Scarlet’s car and drove along River Road to her house. I watched the scenery roll from the back seat. Even through a haze of painkillers and fear, I recognized the beauty of Newberry.
Scarlet’s home was no less beautiful. Surrounded by lush gardens, the multi-story house sported three terraces to maximize the views and solar panels affixed to the roof. Unlike the riverfront position that Patrick and I had, Scarlet’s house was set alongside a generous creek with a towpath that ran between the house and the water. There was also an enormous greenhouse in the yard bursting with life.
“How old is this place?” I asked, gazing at the dark red wooden building with its grey shutters.
“It’s the old grist mill,” Scarlet said. “It dates back to 1790 and was converted to a house in 1870 and then updated about twenty-five years ago.”
“It’s so cool,” I said.
“I grew up in an old house in Lancaster County and I wanted something that reminds me of home,” she said.
“Lancaster County? Isn’t that Amish country?”
Scarlet smiled. “I’m clearly not Amish. My mom’s parents came from China and my dad’s side came from England. I learned all about flowers from my mother and grandmother.”
“Tell her your Chinese name,” Patrick prodded.
Scarlet’s cheeks colored. “Fang. It means fragrant plants or agreeable.”
“Fang,” I repeated.
“Only my grandmother called me that.” She paused. “But she’s dead now.”
“I’m sorry.” My own grandparents were long gone and I’d barely known them, so it was hard to muster the same emotions Scarlet plainly felt for her grandmother.
“Scarlet watched this house like a hawk for years,” Patrick said, “waiting for it to come on the market.”
“I just hoped that the owners decided to sell at the same time I had enough money to buy it.” She smiled as she surveyed the property. “Thankfully, it all worked out.”
“I can see why you want to get your hands on Aunt Hazel’s garden. You obviously have a knack.”
Scarlet unlocked the front door. “Thank you. It’s my passion.”
She pushed open the door and I stepped into an open-plan living space with a dramatic twenty-foot stone fireplace. French doors along the back wall led to the middle-covered terrace.
I whistled. “Wow. This is stunning.” Despite the high ceilings, the room maintained a cozy atmosphere.
Scarlet fingered the black stone on her necklace. “It took a lot of work to get it exactly the way I wanted, but I think I managed.”
“We can admire your handiwork later,” Patrick said. “We have a seance to perform.”
“You’ll need something from my stash,” Scarlet said.
I assumed she meant drugs because that was the only way I imagined I’d see a ghost during a seance.
Scarlet guided us through the chef-style kitchen to a sun-drenched room. I immediately threw up my hands to cover my eyes, prompting laughter from Patrick. I peeked at him between my fingers to see he was now sporting sunglasses.
“You’ve obviously been in this room before,” I said. I fished my sunglasses from my purse and slid them on to avoid the blinding flashes of light and color. A display of colorful crystals caught the natural light. I also spotted incense, lotions, and ointments. The only thing missing was a cauldron.
“Oh, this reminds me…” Scarlet contemplated a row of shiny stones. “You should take six quartz crystals to place around the garden.”
“This is part of your landscape design?”
She turned to face me. “No, it will cleanse the energy from the space. Between Hazel’s death and the murder of Gladys, that garden has to be awash with bad juju.”
I pondered the selection of crystals. “You choose. I have no idea.”
“Why don’t you see if any speak to you?” Scarlet urged.
I laughed. “If any speak to me, then you’d better call a psychiatrist and have her order me a pill cocktail.”
Scarlet didn’t push the issue. Instead, she carefully chose six crystals, placing them into a purple pouch made of crushed velvet.
“Once the police have cleared the area, I’ll show you where to put them,” she said.
“How did you decide which ones to choose?” I asked, curious.
Scarlet smiled, appearing pleased by my interest. “A combination of knowing what the goal is and exploring the vibes for the most suitable ones.”
Crystals. Vibes. Seances. I was completely out of my depth here. Hippies, my mother would say in her scathing voice.
While Patrick selected a crystal for the seance, I poked my head into the adjoining room. The shelves were lined with dark-colored glass bottles arranged in size order.
“This is where I keep my essential oils,” Scarlet said.
; “You make all those?” I asked.
Scarlet smiled proudly. “I do.”
“Most women have a crafts room, not a craft room.”
Scarlet turned one of the bottles so that the label faced front. “I’m not most women and neither are you.”
“And here I thought your talents were limited to a green thumb.”
“It’s a calling,” Scarlet said.
We returned to the sunlit room where Patrick had opted for a pale pink crystal. “I think this one is most likely to attract her spirit.”
“I wish we could wait until Wednesday,” Scarlet said.
Patrick gave her a pointed look. “What if they decide to arrest Mia tomorrow? Do you want that on your conscience? I think not.”
“No, but Wednesday is the best day for spells that involve communication. It might be our best chance to speak to Gladys.”
Patrick heaved a dramatic sigh. “Scarlet is somewhat of a stickler when it comes to timing.”
“If you plant a flower at the wrong time, it won’t flourish. You need to choose the best possible time to increase your chance of success.”
“And hump day is best for communing with the spirits?” I queried.
She ticked off the options on her fingers. “Monday is for healing. Tuesday is for protection, Wednesday is best for communication or travel. Thursday is prosperity. Friday is for personal growth. You get the idea.”
I clucked my tongue. “I hope you don’t cut yourself on a Tuesday because then you need to wait almost a full week until you can heal yourself. You might be dead by then.”
“But at least you’ll have someone to talk to on Wednesday,” Patrick interjected, grinning.
Scarlet glowered at us. “Make fun all you want.”
“Oh, I do,” Patrick said.
“The moon phases are important to consider, too,” Scarlet said to me. “If you want to attract something to you, you want the waxing moon. If you want extra power, then wait until the full moon.”
“Is there a special calendar for that?” I asked.
“I have an app on my phone,” Scarlet said. “I can show you and then you can download the same one.”
I smiled. “I’m good, thanks.” I was starting to understand my mother’s attitude toward Aunt Hazel. I mean, I liked Patrick and Scarlet, but they seemed to be living in an alternate reality from me.
We walked back through the house and Scarlet stopped in the kitchen to offer us food and drink. I accepted an unsweetened iced tea even though I would’ve preferred two teaspoons of sugar.
“I’m worried the cops aren’t going to consider anyone else if they’re focused on me,” I said.
Patrick sipped his iced tea. “Then I guess that only leaves one option.”
“Change my name to Amaya St. John and move to the Seychelles?”
He looked at me with amused interest. “No, but I like your style. My getaway plan is to change my name to Roderick Templeton and move to Mykonos.”
I smiled. “Roderick Templeton, huh? Like a soap opera star. I can see that.”
“No offense, but I don’t see you as an Amaya St. John. Where’d you come up with that name?”
“I don’t know. It was my fake dating name when I was younger.”
Patrick beamed. “Same.”
I gulped down the iced tea so fast that I barely tasted it. “I can’t go to prison. I have to pee too frequently to wear a one-piece jumpsuit.”
Patrick splayed a hand against his chest. “Personally, I never understood the onesie craze and I’m glad it’s behind us now.”
I hung my head. “What will I do?”
Scarlet refilled my glass. “It’s going to work out. The real killer will be found and get you off the hook.”
“How can you be so sure it isn’t me?” I asked. “You only just met me.”
“I have a sixth sense,” Patrick said. “The spirits are telling me you’re innocent…” He lowered his gaze. “And that you need to shave your legs.”
I glared at him. “It’s March. Of course I need to shave my legs.”
“Ah. That might explain why your boyfriend decided to make a staffing change.”
“If Andrew broke up with me over hairy legs, then good riddance to him.” Good riddance to him anyway. I wouldn’t want him back now, even if he showed up with a three-carat diamond and a lifetime supply of Reese’s peanut butter cups.
We finished our drinks and continued through the house to a wooden staircase.
“There are two staircases on either side of the house,” Scarlet said.
We arrived at a room decorated with deep autumnal colors. There was an oversized chaise lounge in a deep cranberry color, a sumptuous settee, an antique highboy dresser, a table with four upholstered oval-back chairs, a console table, and an array of abstract artwork on the walls. The heavy golden drapes added another touch of glamour.
“This is such a cool space,” I said.
“I like to read in here,” Scarlet said.
Patrick snatched a glamorous crystal perfume bottle off the console table and squeezed the atomizer, releasing an intense fragrance. Cedarwood. Jasmine. Rose. Each scent seemed stronger than the next.
Scarlet groaned. “Did you eat broccoli again?”
He scowled at her. “No, this is for the spirit.”
“Perfume attracts spirits?” I queried. The scent was certainly powerful enough to draw attention.
He spritzed the air around my head. “No, I’ve found that ghosts have odors and I want to preemptively diffuse Gladys’s old lady smell. I have an extremely sensitive gag reflex.”
I gave him a sympathetic look. “That’s unfortunate.” I patted my purse. “Let me know if you need reinforcements. I keep a stash with me at all times thanks to my mother’s free samples.”
Patrick smiled. “I knew I liked you.” He turned and scrutinized the table. “This won’t do.”
I shot him a quizzical look. “It’s a table. What could possibly be wrong with it?”
“It’s all wrong for this.”
“Then maybe we should conduct the seance at your house,” Scarlet said archly.
Patrick whirled around and began rooting through the drawers of the highboy dresser. He pulled out a gold cloth and covered the table with it. “That’s better.”
I frowned at him. “How is that better?”
“The grain of the wood was too distracting. It reminded me too much of Clint Eastwood’s wrinkled face. I didn’t want to accidentally channel him.”
“That might be difficult since he’s still alive,” Scarlet said.
Patrick smoothed the creases from the cloth and placed a chunky white candle in the center, as well as the pale pink crystal.
“What else do you need?” I asked. “A Ouija board?”
He gave me a droll look. “Hardy har. I can hardly breathe from the force of my laughter.” He glanced at my clothes. “I’m not sure about your outfit.”
I barked a short laugh. “Is it a black tie event?”
“I just think the spirits appreciate it when we dress up for the occasion,” he said.
“Somehow I don’t think it’s the spirits who like when you dress up,” I said.
“Scarlet, do you have something she can borrow?” Patrick asked.
“She’s a little taller than me, but I’m sure I can find something.” She headed into the hallway and I trailed behind her.
“Is this really necessary?” I asked.
“Probably not, but he enjoys elevating the dramatic elements and I don’t have the heart to stop him.” She crossed the threshold of the master bedroom and went straight to a walk-in closet.
I marveled at the interior space. The organized closet looked straight out of an ‘After’ segment on HGTV. The clothing was organized by color and fabric and there were shelves for accessories and shoes. Basically, there was a place for everything and everything in its place.
“This is amazing,” I said. “Did you do this yourself?” I’d
never seen a closet this big and tidy except on television or in magazines.
“I had help,” she said. “It’s important to me to stay organized. It helps the flow of energy. Clutter in this space begets clutter in this space.” She tapped the side of her head.
Hmm. That explained a lot about me.
“I think the right hat will be enough to placate him,” Scarlet continued.
“Like what? A pointy witch hat?”
Scarlet stood on a step stool and retrieved a transparent container from a shelf. “No, just something that makes a statement.” She opened the lid and produced an oversized black hat adorned with elegant black feathers.
“That certainly does make a statement,” I said. I placed the hat on my head. “What do you think? Ghosts galore?”
“It suits you.”
Something about her smile gave me pause. “What is it?” I asked.
“The hat belonged to Hazel. She left it here after a party one year but wouldn’t let me return it. She felt that the hat wanted to stay.”
That was a clever way of getting rid of items you didn’t want. If only it worked with body fat. I’d love to take these love handles home with me, but they’ve told me they really want to stay here in the Italian restaurant.
“I don’t mind wearing it for the seance, but if Aunt Hazel felt that the hat belongs here, remind me not to leave with it.”
Scarlet looked at me for an extended moment. “We’ll see.” She turned and pulled a hanger off the rod. “This is my seance outfit.” The red beaded dress would have been at home at a party on the Upper East Side.
“It’s gorgeous,” I said.
“Are you sure you don’t want to change clothes? I have plenty of dresses. They’re sort of an addiction.”
“They’re very pretty, but one of your dresses would be a tube top on me.”
“Fair enough.” She stripped down to her undergarments without hesitation.
“Oh, we’re doing this right now? Okay.” I spun around to avoid ogling her perfect body. I didn’t need a glimpse of Scarlet to remind me of my lumps and bumps. Clearly she had age and a favorable gene pool on her side. I had wacky hormones and a deep, enduring love of carbs on mine.
We returned to the glamour room and my eyes widened at the sight of Patrick.
“What?” he asked with an air of indignation.
Petal to the Metal Page 8