Petal to the Metal

by Annabel Chase

  “You’ve somehow morphed into Marlena Dietrich in a matter of minutes,” I said.

  Patrick wore a stark white turban cinched together by a sparkling red stone. His makeup was equally dramatic, with thick black eyeliner and mascara that made it look like he had two spiders stuck to his eyelids.

  “The spirits demand respect and I show them respect by dressing appropriately,” he huffed, jerking the drapes closed.

  I didn’t bother to ask where he’d been hiding his turban.

  He motioned for us to sit. Then he lit the candle and placed his phone on the table.

  “Shouldn’t we put our phones away?” I asked.

  “Oh, the ringer is off,” Patrick said. “This is for mood music.” He tapped the screen and music began to play softly in the background.

  Scarlet rolled her eyes. “I thought we talked about Enya.”

  “We talked about it and agreed to disagree,” Patrick said.

  “Seems like you’ve really got a solid system in place,” I said, impressed.

  “You say that as though you doubt my expertise,” Patrick said.

  Scarlet leaned over. “Please don’t doubt his expertise or we’ll have to hear about it for the next twenty minutes.”

  “I’m simply admiring your process,” I said.

  Patrick held out his hands for Scarlet and I to take one. When I clasped his hand, he frowned at me. “If you need lotion, I can recommend an excellent brand that isn’t too expensive.”

  “What makes you think I need lotion?”

  “Because I feel like I’ve grabbed a snake in the desert.”

  “I feel slimy?”

  “No, that’s a common misconception,” he said. “Snakeskin is actually dry.”

  “We can swap places,” Scarlet offered. “You can hold the bandaged hand.”

  Patrick scrunched his nose. “No thanks.”

  He closed his eyes and began to hum. I looked at Scarlet, silently asking if we needed to hum too. She nodded, so I closed my eyes and joined the sound. It was only after a full minute that I realized my hum had morphed into the theme song from Friends—and that I was the only one still humming.

  I peeked one eye open to find Patrick and Scarlet staring at me in silence. Well, Scarlet was staring. Patrick was glaring.

  “Sorry, I don’t hum a lot,” I said. It wasn’t the first time I’d turned a meditative hum into a theme song either. There was a yoga teacher in New York that I was certain had blackballed me from classes after a similar incident.

  “We gather together to call forth the spirit of Gladys Spencer,” Patrick said in an ominous tone.

  A shiver traveled down my spine. What if it worked? What if a ghost appeared and identified her killer? How would we use that as evidence to convince the police and, even more crucially, how would I not pee my pants at the sight of a ghost?

  I’d never seen a ghost—I didn’t even believe in them—yet here I sat in a feathered hat listening to Patrick’s dulcet tones, waiting for Gladys Spencer to shimmer into view and tell us what happened. One flash mob proposal and poor taste in men and this was my life now.

  “Commune with us, sweet Gladys. We bring you gifts that you may bring with you into the afterlife.”

  I arched an eyebrow at the mention of gifts. It didn’t seem smart to lure a ghost here under false pretenses. What if spectral Gladys got angry when she discovered it was a ruse? On the other hand, we were trying to solve her murder. Arguably that was a gift.

  “We await your presence,” Patrick continued.

  “Maybe you should’ve chosen a blue crystal,” I whispered.

  Patrick shushed me and called again for Gladys’s spirit to join us.

  A silhouette appeared behind Scarlet and the air escaped from my lungs. I opened my mouth to scream but no sound came out.

  “I think we should call it,” Scarlet said glumly. “Maybe try again on Wednesday.”

  I couldn’t find my voice to tell her that someone was in the room with us.

  “I have plans on Wednesday,” Patrick whispered.

  I released my hand to point at the silhouette just as it dissipated. I gripped the edge of the table instead.

  “Mia, are you okay?” Scarlet asked.

  “Yes, fine.” I shook off my discomfort. Whatever I thought I’d seen was gone now.

  “I’m sorry it didn’t work,” Scarlet said. “Maybe she’s not ready to come to us.”

  Patrick ripped the turban off his head and flung it onto the table. “Or maybe I suck.”

  “You don’t suck,” I said quickly.

  If that silhouette had belonged to Gladys, then Patrick had done his part. I pinched the bridge of my nose. What was I thinking? Of course that wasn’t an old lady’s ghost. It was a trick of the light. An illusion. Andrew always accused me of being a highly suggestible person. It was the reason he refused to let me accompany him to Las Vegas for a work trip a few months ago. He said he didn’t want to have to hide my cash and credit cards to keep me from losing all my money. Now that I thought about it, though, I realized that he’d probably taken his new girlfriend to Vegas instead and that had been the real reason. He’d cheated on me and used an unfair criticism of me to cover his tracks. Wow. This seance didn’t suck. Andrew sucked.

  “There are other things we can try,” Scarlet said in a cheerful tone.

  “That’s right,” I said. “There’s more than one way to skin a cat.” I immediately cringed at my poor choice of words. Good thing Ophelia wasn’t within earshot or I’d probably find cat vomit on my pillow tonight.

  “For what it’s worth,” Scarlet said, “I don’t need a ghost to tell me you didn’t kill anyone.”

  “Thanks, Scarlet. I appreciate that.”

  Scarlet and I looked at Patrick expectantly.

  “What?” he said. “Obviously I don’t think she’s guilty, but it would be nice to have Gladys confirm it.”

  “Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence,” I said.

  “I can drive you home,” Scarlet said, “unless you’d rather stay here until the police figure things out. There’s plenty of room.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but who knows how long that might take?” I also worried that living elsewhere would trigger the provision that prevented me from owning the house.

  It was only after Scarlet dropped me off at Red Clover that I realized I was still wearing the black plumed hat. I smiled to myself as I removed the hat and placed it on a side table. It seemed that the hat wanted to return home after all.

  Chapter Nine

  I must’ve gotten up at least five times in the night and I couldn’t blame my bladder or hot flashes. Every sound seemed to bring the threat of a ghost or murder. Ophelia wisely didn’t make an appearance. She probably realized that biting me was the wrong move. I’d also left catnip on the window seat so she might’ve spent the night downstairs in a dopey fog.

  The sound of the doorbell jolted me upright in bed. I was surprised when I glanced at my phone and noticed it was eight o’clock. Still, who would turn up unannounced at this hour?

  I grabbed a robe off the hook on the closet door and cinched it around me as I made my way downstairs. I’d worn plaid pajama pants so my hairy legs were concealed from view. There was nothing I could do about my tangled mess of hair on my head, though. If I frightened away the visitor, then they deserved it for showing up this early.

  Ophelia stood sentry at the front door. She meowed at me as I brushed past her and opened it.

  “Detective Fairfax. A little early, isn’t it?”

  His gaze flicked over my appearance. “Your property is a crime scene. There’s no such thing as too early.”

  “Would you like to come in? I haven’t made coffee yet, but I’m about to.”

  “Don’t mind if I do.” He swaggered into the house and I could see his eyes darting left to right—checking for clues, I guess. Well, I had nothing to hide, except my legs.

  He followed me into the kitchen where I re
trieved the ground coffee from the cabinet.

  “How’s your hand?” he asked.

  “Sore, but better, thanks.”

  “I can make the coffee, if that would be easier.”

  I cut a glance over my shoulder. Was this a gentlemanly offer or a sneaky detective one? I couldn’t decide. I stepped away from the coffee machine.

  I watched him carefully measure out the scoops and tip them into the filter.

  “Thought you’d want to know the preliminary results of the autopsy.”

  “Already?” I asked.

  His focus shifted to me. “It’s not the official report, just the preliminary findings. It isn’t every day we get a case like this. It’s a priority.”

  “Makes sense.”

  He turned on the coffee machine and opened the cupboard above it. “Where are your mugs?”

  I pointed to the cupboard next to the refrigerator.

  “Why do you keep them over there if the coffee machine is here?”

  “That’s where Aunt Hazel kept them, apparently. I haven’t rearranged anything yet.”

  He crossed the kitchen and retrieved two mugs. I watched with amusement as he deliberated over the designs before choosing an owl mug and a cat mug.

  “They put the time of death between six and eight on Thursday evening.”

  “Thursday evening? I wasn’t even in town yet. Now you have to rule me out.”

  “Can you prove that?”

  “Of course. I took a train to Princeton and then a car to Newberry on Friday. I met Stella and she drove me to the house. Then I signed papers at your brother’s office.”

  “Yes, I spoke to my brother about it,” he said in a tone I couldn’t quite identify.

  “And he confirmed my story, right?”

  “He did.” Detective Fairfax filled both mugs and grinned as he handed me the cat mug. “Figured you’d want this one.”

  “Funny.”

  We leaned against the counter, sipping coffee and eyeing each other. Was there chemistry between us or was it my imagination? Was it possible to have chemistry with a certain segment of DNA? That would explain the attraction to the Fairfax brothers. Then again, it could be the fact that they were both scorching hot.

  “Do you have your train ticket with the date?”

  “I’m sure I do. I’m not good at throwing things away.” My purse was filled with relics of my past, including a tin of mints with only one mint left that I saved for bad breath emergencies, receipts from every store where I’d made purchases over the past three months, sample perfumes, a comb, three pens—one which ran out of ink last year, and a handful of coins. I had no doubt the ticket stub would be among the contents.

  “I’ll wait if you want to find it now.”

  I set down the mug and went to search my purse on the opposite counter. I found the stub of the train ticket wedged in one of the tiny pockets that seemed to serve no purpose whatsoever.

  I took a photo of the stub with my phone before handing it over.

  He chuckled. “Don’t you trust me?”

  “I don’t think you’re trying to frame me, but if your office is anything like mine, it might disappear into a black hole never to be seen again.”

  He swilled another mouthful of coffee. “My office is nothing like yours.”

  “Good to know.” I popped off the lid to the amoxycillin and swallowed the pills with coffee.

  “The victim died of severe injury to her head. We think someone hit her in the side of the head with an object of some kind.”

  “An object doesn’t really narrow it down. I mean, a pencil is an object.”

  He pressed his lips together. “I can confirm it wasn’t a pencil. We’re searching the property for a shovel or a hoe—something that might’ve been used as a weapon. I have a warrant to check the outbuildings and we’re combing the gardens, too. It’s a jungle, though. Hard to see anything on the ground.”

  “You’ll have to ask Stella whether the outbuildings have been locked up since Aunt Hazel’s death. They were open when I got here, and friends of hers had been coming and going to feed the cat.”

  “Friends like Gladys.”

  I remembered Stella’s surprise at the empty bowls upon my arrival. “I bet Gladys was on her way to feed Ophelia when she was killed. That’s why she was in the garden.”

  Detective Fairfax continued to drink his coffee, but I could tell he was listening intently. “There’s more.”

  “Okay.”

  “You need to take your cat to a vet.”

  I glanced at the empty doorway as though Ophelia might appear. “Why?”

  “Because Gladys’s head wound was infected with a bacteria carried by cats called Pasteurella multocida.”

  “Oh.” An uneasy feeling crept over me. “Is it possible that Ophelia attacked her and caused Gladys to fall and hit her head?”

  “It’s possible, but we haven’t found any evidence on the ground to explain the injury. There were rocks nearby but none with blood.”

  “Then what? You think Ophelia scratched her after she fell?” I wouldn’t put it past her.

  “Just get the cat checked out.” He inclined his head. “Might want to check that hand of yours for an infection, too.”

  I’d been taking painkillers around the clock in addition to the amoxycillin, so I hadn’t given myself time to feel anything. I unwrapped the bandage to inspect the wound. It seemed red and swollen, but it was hard to know whether that was from an infection or the bite itself.

  “I’m already taking medicine for it, so I don’t think there’s anything else to do.” I plucked a banana from the fruit bowl and peeled it. I needed food in my stomach to absorb all these pills. “Any other theories?”

  “A few. She didn’t weigh much. The killer might have hit her somewhere else and carried her to a more overgrown part of the garden and left her there, hoping it would take longer to find the body.”

  “Yeah, I’m not skilled in the art of murder, but if I had done it, I certainly wouldn’t leave her on my own property. I would’ve driven her somewhere.”

  He snorted. “On your scooter? I don’t think she would’ve fit in the wicker basket.”

  I glowered at him. “I’ll have you know that basket is metal, not wicker.”

  He chuckled. “You’re not helping your case. You don’t have a vehicle capable of transporting a dead body. Your only option would’ve been to drag her into the bushes.”

  “Good thing we’ve already ruled me out then, isn’t it?” I shoved the banana into my mouth and practically swallowed it whole.

  Detective Fairfax raised his eyebrows. “That was almost pornographic.”

  My cheeks burned. “I have an appetite.”

  “Not helping.” He polished off the rest of the coffee and rinsed his mug in the sink.

  “Why are you here instead of Chief Tuck? I would think the chief of police would want to handle a priority case.”

  Detective Fairfax raked a hand through his hair. “Chief Tuck is a good cop, but everybody knows he’d prefer to be retired.”

  “Then why isn’t he?” I asked.

  The detective shrugged. “Because he’s stubborn, which is part of what makes him a good cop.”

  “Well, thanks for the update.”

  “Thanks for the ticket stub.” He patted his pocket. “Maybe after this is all over, you and I can go out for a drink. I know all the best watering holes in town.”

  “Your brother’s the one who suggested Jama to me. He said you like it there.”

  He brightened. “I do. Dane wouldn’t be able to recommend anywhere. It would require him to unchain himself from his desk.”

  “He’s a workaholic, huh?”

  “He was the same way in school. He’d study in the library until they kicked him out.”

  “I love the library,” I said, which reminded me I needed to apply for a local library card.

  “I guess you two have that in common.” He paused. “He wanted to a
sk you out, you know. Chickened out.” Detective Fairfax broke into a broad grin. “His loss.”

  I stared at him for a long moment, a realization stirring. “Is that why you broached the topic of asking me out? To beat him to the punch?” Claim his territory?

  He winked and sauntered toward the doorway. “A little sibling rivalry is good for the soul.”

  No wonder he’d been willing to overlook my current state. I mean, face it. I was a complete mess. Banana or no banana, no man in his right mind would look at me now and think, yes. I want to canoodle with that one. Still, the detective was punching above my usual weight. So was Dane for that matter. Why was I attractive to men in Newberry who wouldn’t have looked at me twice in the city? Did I inadvertently bathe in some sort of country catnip for men? My mind lingered on Dane Fairfax a little longer than necessary. I wish he had asked me out, but it sounded like he was married to his career. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d been drawn to a man who was more interested in his job than he was in me.

  My gaze fell upon my injured hand and I sighed. The Fairfax brothers were not my priority. The possibly diseased cat, on the other hand, was. I hurried upstairs to shower and change before I texted Stella for the name of the vet. Hopefully I could get an appointment today. The more information we gathered, the sooner the police could get answers—and the sooner I could sleep through the night.

  Chapter Ten

  Getting Ophelia to the vet took more strategy and gymnastics than I’d anticipated. I felt like I was preparing for battle. My limited experience with animals was catching up with me. Apparently cats didn’t just come when you called them and they certainly didn’t voluntarily walk into a crate in order to go to the vet.

  Suddenly I remembered the catnip from Scarlet. I wasn’t really sure how catnip worked, only that it was supposed to make Ophelia like me more—the way my bitchy college roommate Ava liked me more whenever she was drunk. That being said, the only diseases I’d worried about contracting from Ava had been STIs from sharing a bathroom, no matter how impossible it was according to the campus nurse.

  I dangled a sachet in front of the open crate door. “Here, kitty. Come get your drugs.”