She pointed the dustpan at me, her eyes shining. “I bet I know who’s been sneaking around outside. That Scarlet York’s been skulking around there for years trying to get her hands on Hazel’s garden. She and that friend of hers—the one who dresses like he’s taking Celine Dion’s place in Vegas—they’re probably in cahoots.”
“So the two of them weren’t actually friends with Aunt Hazel?” Had they explicitly claimed to be her friends, though? I didn’t think so.
Casey considered the question. “They were on friendly terms. I don’t mean to suggest otherwise, but Hazel didn’t invite them ‘round for meals or anything.”
Her statement gave me pause. I’d only been at Red Clover for all of two seconds when they appeared to welcome me to Newberry. What if Gladys had spotted them trespassing and words were exchanged? What if their interest in me was more sinister than I realized?
I chewed my lip, thinking. Ophelia seemed to like them, especially Patrick. Surely the cat wouldn’t act that way if she’d seen them murder Aunt Hazel’s dear friend. I felt the tension begin to claw at my stomach. I didn’t want to be suspicious of every single person I met in Newberry, particularly the two people who seemed most keen on befriending me.
Unless they were only making an effort in order to cover up their own dastardly deed.
No. It wasn’t possible. Scarlet and Patrick weren’t capable of such a heinous act. Although they were different from the sort of people I usually hung out with, I trusted them.
Then again, I’d trusted Andrew and look how that turned out. Some gift of intuition I supposedly had.
I shook off the weight of suspicion. I’d spent enough time with Scarlet and Patrick to feel confident they weren’t involved. Besides, what motive could they possibly have?
“How often were you at Red Clover?” I asked.
“Once a week most weeks except major holidays,” she said with a note of pride.
“Is there anyone you can think of who might have a reason to harm Gladys? Any name you heard mentioned in connection with her?”
Casey blew a wayward strand of hair out of her eye. “You should talk to J.D.”
“Who’s that?”
“Her gentleman friend,” Casey said. “From what I heard at Hazel’s, he came around to see Gladys a couple times a week for lunch. Sometimes they went out to dinner.”
“Ooh, that kind of gentleman friend.”
“Hazel thought things were more serious between them than Gladys let on.”
“Why would Gladys downplay it?”
“She was a respectable lady, and I think she worried the relationship might upset people. Her husband had been a well-liked man, you see.”
“How long ago did her husband die?” I asked.
Casey waved the dustpan and brush. “Must be going on ten years now. Certainly long enough to be moving on to another relationship. And J.D. was sweet on her.” She pursed her lips. “Maybe he got tired of waiting, you know? Men can be like that.”
Yes, men certainly could.
“Thanks, Casey. I appreciate your candor.”
“No problem. If you want me to add you to the waiting list, just let me know.”
“Fair warning. You’ll have your work cut out for you.”
Casey smiled. “Haven’t met a house yet that I can’t handle.”
According to public records—and by that I mean the internet—‘J.D.’ stood for Jonathan DuBois Goodman and he worked part-time in a local antique shop called The Golden Key.
He was a tall man with thick white hair and a matching beard. His cheeks were slightly pink, as though he was either excessively cheerful or had recently enjoyed a drink.
“Welcome,” he greeted me. “In the market for anything in particular?”
“I just moved into a new house, so I’m getting ideas.”
“I’m envious. I love a blank slate.”
I faced him directly. “I’m Mia Thorne, the new owner of Red Clover.”
A mixture of emotions rippled across his features. Understanding. Confusion. Sadness.
“Gladys,” he said softly.
“Did you know her?” I asked.
His eyes moistened with tears. “Yes, very well. In fact, we were supposed to get together the night she died. She recorded episodes of The Great British Baking Show and then waited until we could watch them together.”
“But you didn’t see her?”
“I called to make sure we were still on, but she didn’t call me back.”
“Why not show up anyway if you had plans?”
His face reddened. “I thought she might be upset with me, so I didn’t want to push it.”
Aha. “Or maybe you were upset with her? Went over and killed her in a fit of rage?”
He shot me a quizzical look. “I understand the police have arrested Kurt.”
“Not everyone thinks Kurt is guilty.”
“But they found the murder weapon with his prints,” he objected. His eyes narrowed. “Is that why you’re really here? To interrogate me? Are you really a relative of Hazel’s?”
“I am, and Gladys was a good friend of hers, and was killed on my property, so I can’t help but feel invested.”
“What’s your theory? I killed Gladys, dressed her in her coat, and drove her over to Red Clover where I left her in the garden?” J.D. shook his head. “Not likely.”
“But not impossible if you wanted to delay the discovery of the body. The coat was because you’re still a dyed-in-the-wool gentleman, albeit a murderous one. Maybe you wanted more and Gladys wasn’t inclined. Bruised your ego. Men have killed for less.”
J.D.’s eyes glazed over and sadness seemed to overtake him. “I think you’ll find it was the other way around.”
My head snapped to attention. “Gladys wanted the relationship to progress?”
He sighed gently. “She wasn’t content with the way things were. She wanted to move in with me.”
“She told you this?”
He nodded. “We had a long conversation about it a couple weeks before she died. She’d overcome whatever concerns she had about remarrying. She hoped to marry me. We’d move into my house and she’d leave her house to Kurt.”
“Did it surprise you that she was leaving everything to Kurt?”
He shook his head. “She loved Carlton dearly, but she never felt like he needed her, not the way Kurt does.” He paused. “Or did. Kurt was the baby duckling that constantly needed coddling and Gladys loved to coddle.”
“But you didn’t want that?”
J.D.’s expression was sorrowful. “I enjoyed our companionship, but I never viewed us as a married couple. I know some older folks marry for lesser reasons than love, but I’ve never been interested in that. I only want to make it official with someone if I’m head over heels.”
“And you told her that?” Ouch. Poor Gladys.
“I think it was Hazel’s death that inspired the idea, to be honest. She started picturing a life alone and it didn’t appeal to her.”
“How did she take your answer?”
“It wasn’t an easy thing to tell her. I cared for Gladys very much, but I wasn’t about to marry her simply because she was sad and scared.”
“How did you end things?” I asked, genuinely curious. Had J.D. done the honorable thing of breaking off the relationship or did he take up with someone new behind Gladys’s back like Andrew?
“We agreed to continue the friendship,” J.D. said. “I could tell her feelings were hurt, but we enjoyed our time together too much to put an end to it completely.”
I eyed him closely. “Have you started dating?”
“No, I’m not keen on dating. If I happen to meet someone I like, then fine, but I’m not going out of my way.”
“I suppose Gladys knew your attitude about dating.” That was likely the reason she agreed to continue as is. She knew it was unlikely J.D. would meet anyone he liked better.
His eyes danced with amusement. “Oh, yes. We knew each
other very well. In a way, it was a shame I couldn’t generate the necessary feelings for her. We made quite a pair.”
“Any idea who might have wanted to hurt her? It doesn’t sound like she was unpopular.”
“On the contrary, Gladys was a breath of fresh air.”
I mulled over our conversation. “What do you think of Kurt, other than the fact that he needs coddling?”
“He’s a sweet enough fellow. A little too soft, in my opinion.”
“When you say she coddled him, what else did she do? Give him money?”
“Sometimes.”
“Is it something you fought about?”
He chuckled. “No. Gladys and I rarely argued. Kurt’s her family and how she handled her money was her business. I gave her my opinion, of course, and she accepted it graciously. It’s one of the reasons we got along so well. Neither of us got our noses out of joint over a difference of opinion.”
I smiled. “Sounds like you really had a rock-solid friendship.”
Tears brimmed in his eyes. “I can’t tell you how much I’m going to miss her.”
“Any regrets about shooting down her proposal?”
He blinked away a stray tear. “A little. I would’ve liked to know that she died happy. She deserved that much.”
“I guess you have an alibi for the time of death.”
“I’ll tell you what I told Chief Tuck—I was home alone, trying to install a new mailbox. Some kids had beaten the old one with a baseball bat as part of some neighborhood hijinks and I was tired of looking at it.”
“You must’ve needed tools for that.”
“Of course. I had to put in a new post. That’s the hardest part.”
“You didn’t have help?”
He squared his shoulders. “I know I’m advancing in years, but I’m still capable of the odd job around the house.”
“What do you use to install a mailbox?” I asked, just in case I found myself in a similar position.
“You needn’t ask. The police already checked my tools for evidence before they found the baseball bat with her DNA. I was relieved, I’ll say that much. I had a brief worry that someone might’ve tried to frame me if they’d known about our recent disagreement.”
“Do you think the killer is someone she knew?”
He lowered his gaze. “I wish I knew. It’s hard to imagine someone who knew her bludgeoning her like that. They’d have to be cold and heartless and I can’t say I know anyone who fits that description.”
I shook his hand. “Thanks for talking to me, J.D. It was a pleasure to meet you.”
“Let me know if you see anything you like. Everything on the left side of the room is twenty percent off.”
I wasn’t about to buy an antique without Patrick’s approval. No way did I want to bring anything back to Red Clover with a spirit attached to it, although I still wasn’t sure I believed any of it. I mean, I believed Patrick’s actions were sincere, but I doubted the spirits existed. They were simply all part of his dramatic flair.
I left The Golden Key and headed for home. I’d ruled out Casey and J.D., which meant that Kurt was about to spend another night in prison.
Chapter Fifteen
I spent the evening rooting around the cottage, searching for tarot cards and other items that someone who offered Hazel’s ’services’ might store. I discovered a bulletin board in one of the spare rooms and decided to use it as a murder board, adding names of suspects, their motives, and opportunities. Maybe having the information in one place would spark an idea.
The phone pinged and I groaned when I saw ‘Nurse Ratched’ on the screen.
“Hi Mom.”
“You haven’t called me. I guess that means you’re busy settling in.”
“You can say that.”
“Meet any nice people yet?”
“Patrick and Scarlet have been really helpful.” I had no intention of telling her about my date with Dane or the murder investigation or I’d never be able to end the call.
“And what do they do?” she asked.
As usual, my mother was more concerned with knowing what someone does for a living than knowing what kind of person they are.
“Scarlet owns a landscaping company.”
“That’s good. And Patrick? Is he single?”
“Patrick is younger than me, hotter than me, and gayer than me.”
My mother’s disappointment seeped its way through the phone. “He might not be completely useless. Maybe he can offer you a job.”
I stifled a laugh. “Not unless you want to tell your friends I’ve become a ghost whisperer.”
“What?”
Crap. I shouldn’t have said that.
I cleared my throat. “Patrick communes with the spirit world.”
Her distaste was audible. “I guess it makes sense that Hazel would surround herself with people like that. She probably seemed normal there.”
“Newberry is an interesting mix of people,” I said. “There are lawyers and accountants and…ghost whisperers.”
“Then for heaven’s sake, seek out the lawyers and accountants. This is a golden opportunity for you to make a fresh start, Mia. If you make the wrong kind of connections right off the bat, you’ll never fit in.”
“I’m not fourteen, Mom. I don’t need to fit in.”
A buried memory shot to the surface of fourteen-year-old me warning my neighbor, Helen, not to drive her car after a strong feeling of dread came over me. Helen had driven anyway and ended up in a fender bender a few miles away. She’d told my mother about the incident, who’d dismissed it as a coincidence. I’d felt foolish afterward and worried what people think if they heard about it. My mother’s influence, I realized now.
Our conversation put me in a sour mood and I climbed into bed still grumbling to myself. I was forty-two. Why did I let my mother get under my skin? She was the only family I had—why did our relationship have to be so complicated?
When sleep finally came, it was fitful, littered with nightmares about zombies taking over the town and trees morphing into giants hungry for the taste of human flesh.
I woke up with a start, drenched in sweat. Although the room was still dark, I felt a presence next to me. I waited a moment for my eyes to adjust. I saw a smudge on the neighboring pillow.
“Ophelia?”
The blurriness dissipated, revealing my companion.
I screamed and scrambled out of bed, keeping one eye trained on the figure. My heart thundered in my ears. The horrible doll from Patrick’s haunted collection was in my bed.
I tried to regulate my breathing. “Susie, what are you doing here?”
The doll stared at me, its yellow eyes unblinking.
“So, um, how did you get here?” I kept my voice even, although my insides were screaming. This doll had somehow transported itself from Patrick’s house to mine. Granted, it was only two houses away, but last time I checked, dolls didn’t move of their own accord.
Susie remained silent. And motionless.
With a trembling hand, I reached for the phone on my bedside table and texted Patrick.
It’s 3am. Do you know where your doll is?
Who is this?
Mia! And your doll is in my bed.
Why are you sleeping with my doll? I thought she freaked you out.
I tapped the screen and called him. My outrage demanded a voice. “I did not put the doll in the bed, nor did I bring that thing into my house.”
“Huh. That’s odd.”
My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. “You think?”
“Susie has never left the collection room. I wonder why she would come to your house.”
“Patrick, we are talking about a doll. Dolls can’t walk.”
“Did you forget the part where she’s imbued with the spirit of a former owner?”
“I don’t care if she’s imbued with tequila and amphetamines. She’s a doll and you told me yourself she couldn’t walk.”
“Take it
as a compliment. Susie has never left the chair for anyone before. She must’ve taken a shine to you.”
I stared at the doll’s glassy eyes. “Is this one of those alien host situations? Maybe Susie sees an opportunity to be reborn in my body?”
Patrick laughed. “If Susie was looking for a second wind, I doubt she’d choose someone who gets winded after one flight of stairs.”
“Hey! I told you I’d been exercising before that.”
“And I told you that riding an electric scooter doesn’t count as exercise.”
I hung up on Patrick and continued to watch the doll, uncertain what to do next. I was afraid to look away and look back again, only to find that Susie had moved closer to me. The doll was solidly made. I had no doubt she could put up one helluva fight.
The soft patter of footsteps drew my attention to the doorway. Ophelia entered the bedroom and jumped onto the bed with surprising grace. It was like watching a hippo perform The Nutcracker.
I waited to see the cat’s response to my unexpected guest. Ophelia ignored the doll and meowed at me.
“Yes, I know,” I said.
The phone bleeped and I saw Patrick’s name on the screen. “Did the guilt get too much? Have you called to confess?”
“No, but I think I know who to blame.”
“I don’t think Scarlet is capable of a prank like this.”
“Check your cat’s paws.”
I frowned. “For what?”
“Mud. It rained earlier and there are paw prints in my house.”
I gazed skeptically at the cat. “Paw prints that lead into the collection room?”
“Just check.”
I didn’t have to. One glance at the bedspread told me what I needed to know. “Are you telling me that Ophelia went over to your house with the express purpose of dragging that monstrosity back to my bedroom as a torture device?”
“Well, I can’t pretend to know her reasons, but she seems to be the culprit.”
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