I clutched the strap of my purse against my chest in mock horror. “In a small town like this? Can you imagine?”
“Aunt Gladys was the nicest lady in the world. I don’t know why anyone would want to hurt her.”
“Any idea what she was doing alone in her friend’s garden?” I asked.
“I think she was on her way to feed the cat. The friend passed away a couple months ago and they’ve been waiting to hear from a distant relative. Aunt Gladys was broken up about it. She and Hazel spent a lot of time together.”
I pulled The Notebook off the shelf and handed it to him. “Read this one.”
“You think?”
“I do think.”
“I wish I could stop thinking,” he mused. “Now that Aunt Gladys is gone, I need to decide whether to break the lease on my apartment. All these big decisions I wasn’t expecting to make.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because Aunt Gladys left me her house.” He paused for a breath. “She left me everything.”
What was it with elderly aunts leaving their houses to nieces and nephews?
“She didn’t have any kids of her own?” I asked, feigning ignorance.
“She has a son, but my cousin does well for himself. Always has. She didn’t worry about him.”
I gave him a sidelong look. “But she worried about you?”
“All the time. Too much, probably.” He shook his head. “She doesn’t have to worry now. Between her life insurance policy and the house, I’ll be in good shape for the rest of my life. It doesn’t make up for her loss, but I have to admit, the stress relief is a welcome change.”
Kurt Wiggins inherited Gladys’s house and the proceeds of her life insurance policy?
“Talk about motive,” I blurted. Oops. Didn’t mean to say that out loud.
Kurt rubbed the back of his neck, smiling awkwardly. “Yeah, Carlton said the same thing.”
“Carlton?”
“My cousin, Carlton Spencer. We’re as close as brothers. We spent all our time together as kids.”
“Must’ve been a lot of fun.” I would’ve liked a constant companion instead of inventing imaginary friends.
Kurt’s expression grew dreamy. “Our childhood was pretty idyllic. Aunt Gladys made sure of that. I owe her a great deal.”
“It’s probably a good thing you can offer an alibi for the time of death.” It was a terrible segue, but I wanted to raise the topic before he wandered away.
Kurt’s expression clouded over. “Um, yeah. Unfortunately, I can’t give them one.” Tears slid down his cheek and I fumbled through my purse for a clean tissue.
“Here you go.”
He wiped away the tears. “Sorry about that. I’m such a mess. The whole business has me rattled pretty good.”
“I can imagine. I’m so sorry.” I glanced over my shoulder to see Scarlet peering at us from behind a stack of books. “I should get going. It was nice to meet you. Good luck with everything.”
“Hey, what did you say your aunt’s name was?”
“Jemima,” I said, and instantly regretted the choice.
His brow lifted. “Wow. That’s not a name you hear every day.”
“She was from England.”
“Oh.” He held up The Notebook. “I’m going to check this out at the end of my shift. Thanks for the suggestion.”
“Don’t mention it,” I said, turning away. Seriously don’t mention it. I couldn’t stand Nicholas Sparks’ books.
I collected my library card and checked out a Janet Evanovich book. My mind lingered on Kurt’s response about the alibi. Something about the phrasing bothered me. He didn’t say I don’t have one. Instead, he’d said I can’t give them one. It reminded me of clients who wanted to purchase a premium ad but only had the money for a half page. They would never come right out and admit the cost was out of their budget. They had to hide any potential financial issues, so they came up with statements like we can’t fit it into the ad schedule this quarter.
“Well?” Scarlet prompted as we exited the library.
“Carlton was right,” I said. “No way did that guy kill his aunt.”
Scarlet dropped me off at the end of the driveway. As I approached Red Clover, I spotted an unfamiliar car ahead of me. My gaze shifted to the figure on my doorstep. I immediately yanked out my phone in case I needed to call for help. There was no sign of the police or their crime scene tape. They seemed to have packed up and left.
“Hello?” I called from a safe distance.
The figure turned to face me. The woman was five and a half feet tall with red hair and the fashion sense of Krystle Carrington from Dynasty. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that she wore a sequined bathrobe with a fur collar around the house.
“I’m Mimi Van Haren,” the woman said. “Are you Hazel’s replacement?”
Replacement? That was a funny word for relative.
I inched closer to the doorstep. “I’m Mia Thorne.”
Her shoulders relaxed. “A Thorne. I thought as much. I was a regular of Hazel’s.”
I wore a blank expression. “A regular what?”
“Client.”
I didn’t realize she had a job outside taking care of her own gardens. “What did Aunt Hazel do for you?” I asked, genuinely curious.
Mimi smiled at me. “Whatever I needed. Tarot card readings, palm readings, love potions.”
“Oh, wow. I had no idea.” I clearly needed to take a closer look at the contents of the house.
“She was officially retired, but she still made time for a select few.” Mimi flashed a smile. “And I was one of them.”
“You knew her well?”
“About thirty years,” Mimi said. “I moved here from Ohio with my first husband and, when we divorced, he moved away and I stayed. Newberry became the home I’d been searching for.”
“That’s nice,” I said. I’d never really known that feeling. I was comfortable in the city, of course, but I wouldn’t say anyplace I’d lived had truly felt like home.
“What’s your specialty?” Mimi asked.
“Bourbon sour is a new favorite,” I said.
Mimi laughed. “Not specialty cocktail. Your specialty.” She gave me a meaningful look.
“Um, I’m not sure.”
“Do you read tarot cards? Offer a voodoo doll service?”
“There’s a service?”
“I’m in the market for a new man,” Mimi said. “I broke things off with my latest and not-so-greatest and I’d like a replacement.”
Now it was my turn to laugh. “You’re talking about a man, not a battery.”
“Lots of similarities there,” Mimi said.
“Well, I’m afraid I don’t know how to read cards. I barely play cards.” I learned to play rummy and Go Fish when I was a kid, but that was the extent of my card knowledge.
“That’s a shame.” Mimi scrutinized me. “You should learn. There’s money to be made here for someone with your skill.”
“My skill currently involves dodging a murder rap, so I don’t know that I’d have energy left over for mining untapped potential.”
Mimi splayed a hand against her chest. “Oh, I heard about poor Gladys Spencer. Such a tragedy.” She hesitated. “I wonder if I can get her German potato salad recipe now. She always said I could have it over her dead body.”
“I understand Gladys and my aunt were good friends,” I said.
“Oh, yes. They were thick as thieves, those two. I didn’t tend to see Hazel socially, mostly for professional reasons.”
“Well, I’m sorry I can’t help you out. Maybe try a dating app. I hear they’re pretty good.”
She wrinkled her nose. “No thank you. I put my faith in magic, not technology.” She reached into her purse and produced a business card. “If you change your mind, give me a call.”
“Thanks. I will.” I resisted the urge to laugh at the thought of me conducting readings. I pictured me in Patrick’s turban and snort
ed.
Mimi returned to her car, checking her teeth in the reflection of the window before opening the door. “You should really do something about the jungle in the yard,” she called. “Hazel might come back from the dead if she finds out what a state it’s in.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell her that if Gladys didn’t come back to identify her murderer, I seriously doubted Hazel would return to complain about a bunch of dead plants.
As I entered the cottage, my phone rang and I recognized the vet’s number.
“Hello?”
“Hi, this is Dr. Warren’s office. We just want to let you know that your cat tested positive for Pasteurella multocida.”
Instinctively, I scanned the interior for Ophelia, but she was nowhere to be seen. The assistant explained next steps and I tried to take in everything she said, but my head was spinning. Although I knew Ophelia wasn’t responsible for Gladys’s death, I hated the idea that the cat had attacked her in her final moments. After all, Gladys was only here to feed the cat.
I began searching the house for the cat to deliver the news. If she recognized the name Hazel, maybe the cat would also recognize Pasteurella multocida. It was worth a shot.
There was no sign of her inside, so I exited the kitchen door and across the deck, passing through the so-called witch’s garden.
“Ophelia, where are you?”
My gaze swept the area and I noticed a familiar figure in a kayak on the river. I sauntered to the water’s edge.
“Hey, Chief Tuck,” I said, waving.
The older man wore a blue visor and gripped a fishing rod. When he didn’t respond, I wondered if I hadn’t been loud enough. I inched closer to the water and yelled his name again, waving my arms more dramatically.
He leveled me with a look. “Pipe down, woman. Are you trying to scare away all the fish?”
I scanned the surface of the water. “Could I really do that?”
“Fishing is meant to be relaxing. How relaxing do you think it is when someone’s yelling and waving their arms like they’re about to drown?”
I put my hands on my hips. “I guess you’re not in the mood for company then.”
“The only company I’m interested in has scales and gills.”
“Must be nice to have a hobby,” I said. “I’ll bet you need a distraction from all the murder solving.” I snapped my fingers. “Oh, wait. You haven’t solved the murder yet.”
Chief Tuck glared at me. “If you must know, we’ll be making an arrest shortly. In fact, Detective Fairfax is probably making it as we speak.”
What a relief. “Who?”
“The victim’s nephew, Kurt Wiggins.”
Energy pulsed through my body.
“No, that isn’t right. Kurt didn’t kill his aunt,” I said.
Chief Tuck continued fishing, as though we were discussing the weather. “And how do you know that?”
“Because.”
“That’s very persuasive Ms. Thorne, but not as persuasive as no alibi, opportunity, and motive.”
“What’s your evidence?”
“How about the murder weapon? Does that suit you?”
Yikes. “What was it?”
“We found Kurt’s baseball bat discarded in that jungle of yours. Has his fingerprints all over it, as well as his aunt’s DNA.”
The back of my neck tingled. “He didn’t do it,” I yelled before I could stop myself.
“Unless you know something we don’t, seems like an open-and-shut case.”
Ugh. Why did I still believe Kurt was innocent? It would be so much easier to let it go. I was out of the running now. Let the police handle it. Kurt will hire a good lawyer and have a solid defense.
No, he wouldn’t. Kurt wouldn’t be able to afford a good lawyer without his aunt’s money and he wouldn’t be able to collect the money if he was charged with her murder.
“You might as well know that the cat tested positive for that bacteria,” I said.
Something tugged on his fishing line. “Figured she would. Thanks for letting me know.”
“I guess it doesn’t make any difference to the case.”
“Don’t see why it should.”
I turned back toward the house, feeling despondent. I couldn’t explain why I thought Kurt was innocent. I certainly had no evidence. Maybe I was right the first time—maybe the thing Kurt was hiding was his guilt. It seemed absurd to think he was hiding something that could exonerate him. What could be so important that he couldn’t tell the police?
I stomped into the house with one goal in mind—to find the real killer of Gladys Spencer. I may not have had a job in ad sales anymore, but I still had the skills that made me semi-successful. Persistence was the key, Lynette always said, and so persistent I intended to be.
Chapter Thirteen
Patrick’s house was only two doors down from mine, also positioned on the riverbank. With its large windows and green siding with dark red trim, the Victorian house was chock full of what HGTV would call ‘old world charm.’ A plaque on the fence identified the house’s origin as 1885.
As I knocked on the door, I noticed the doormat under my feet read Go Away in block letters. Despite the message, my phone lit up with a text from Patrick—come in. I opened the door and stepped into the spacious foyer, inhaling the intermingled scents of cinnamon and citrus.
Upstairs, he texted. First room on left.
I headed to the staircase, noting a piano on full display in the living room. The sight of the instrument didn’t surprise me. There was no way Patrick managed to play the way he did without practice.
In the designated room, Patrick sat at a vanity table, applying thick black liner to each eye.
“Are you baking?” I asked. “Something smells delicious.”
“Oh, no. It’s a candle.”
I let my gaze wander around Patrick’s black and white bedroom. It was an interesting mix of design elements, including black and white framed photographs on the wall and a dramatic black chandelier hanging over the bed.
“Thanks for inviting me tonight,” I said. “It’ll be nice to take my mind off Gladys for a few hours.”
“Yes, nobody deserves to be haunted by the image of a murdered old woman.” He paused. “Well, I guess there are a few people I can think of who deserve it, but not you.” He turned to offer a faint smile.
“That’s some serious eye makeup,” I said.
Patrick admired his reflection in the mirror. “I always like to dress professionally for the full moon. Show some respect.”
I peered at him curiously. “Because that’s when you…turn?”
He applied a coat of gloss to his lips. “Yes, one night a month I turn heterosexual.”
“It’s when he performs his cleansing ritual,” Scarlet said, appearing in the bedroom doorway.
Patrick fluffed his hair. “It demands my best.”
“And that includes the best eye makeup?” I asked.
He shot me a puzzled look. “Naturally.”
“If you’re going to wash away negative energy, you might as well look good doing it,” Scarlet added.
“Negative energy?” I queried. “What happened? Your mother called?”
A brief smile touched his pouty lips. “I like my mom.”
“Then what?”
Patrick offered a cavalier shrug. “Haunted objects. Paranormal activity. I strip away the unwanted energy and restore items to their former glory.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond. “Like a Ghostbuster?”
“Not quite,” he said.
“And people pay you in legal currency for this?” I asked.
“Occasionally I’m willing to barter,” Patrick said. “Sofia Milano owns a store with amazing vintage finds and her access to inventory is worth far more than a personal check.”
“What is it that you cleanse?” I pictured him stripping naked and wading into the moonlit river with a bar of soap and a washcloth.
Patrick’s lips curved
into a smile. “I’ll show you.”
Scarlet and I followed him down the hallway until we reached a smaller room at the far end of the house. He flung open the door with gusto.
“This is the room of treasures,” he announced. “Some of these I chose not to cleanse.”
I surveyed the room and noted several paintings, a random assortment of rocking chairs, and a creepy doll with shining eyes that seemed to stare into my very soul. I shivered involuntarily.
“And they’re haunted?” I asked.
Patrick arched his perfect eyebrow. “Does that scare you?”
I examined one of the wooden rocking chairs. It looked pleasant enough, like a lovely old woman had wiled away the hours in that chair, knitting and chatting about her children and grandchildren.
“Not necessarily. How does it work? Is this room filled with ghosts all competing for attention?”
“Not exactly,” Patrick said. “These spirits are attached to their respective items.”
“Then why keep them? Why not cleanse them?”
“Because these spoke to me,” he said.
“I thought they all they spoke to you. Isn’t that part of being a ghost whisperer?”
“I don’t mean literally speak to me,” he huffed. “I mean I feel a sense of peace, like I have a bond with the spirits that occupy them. If I cleanse them, I’ll lose that connection.”
I frowned at the creepy doll. “How does that thing give you a sense of peace? It looks like it wants to stab me in my sleep.”
“First of all, that thing has a name.”
“Malachi?” I ventured and Scarlet bit down on her lip to keep from laughing.
“Her name is Susie.” Patrick plucked the doll from the chair and hugged it to his chest. “It’s not the doll itself. It’s the vibe I get from it.”
“The vibe to murder without mercy?” I folded my arms. “Where was Susie on the day of the murder?”
Patrick kissed the doll’s forehead and returned her to the chair. “Susie doesn’t walk on her own.”
“Says you.”
“If Susie was prone to murder, she would’ve started with someone like Jack Delancey.”
“Who’s Jack Delancey?”
“The know-it-all who hangs out in the coffee shop dispensing unwelcome wisdom. She hates guys like that.”
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