Petal to the Metal

by Annabel Chase

  His face reddened. “She was an old woman. She’d lived her life. I thought I was her sole beneficiary. I figured I’d use the money to invest in a new business venture. Tell everyone I chose to leave accounting.”

  “You said you knew that she was leaving everything to Kurt.”

  “I lied. Of course I didn’t know. I’m her son!” Carlton’s mouth twisted into an angry grimace. “I knew she felt sorry for him, but I never expected her to cut me out of her will for his sake.”

  “You played it real cool, I’ll give you that much. I believed you.” I shook my head ruefully. “You seemed so nice. Why do I always get fooled by the narcissistic butt wipes?”

  It was a rhetorical question. I already knew why thanks to the hundreds of articles I’d read online—because my mother was a narcissistic butt wipe and we’re drawn to what feels familiar.

  “Sounds like a good topic for your therapist.” He paused. “Which I’m sure you have in ample supply.”

  I folded my arms defiantly. “As a matter of fact, I do not have a therapist.” But only because I excelled at self-diagnosis.

  He sneered. “I thought all you city types liked to pay someone to listen to you whine about your fractured childhoods.”

  “What’s your excuse? From what I hear, your childhood was idyllic.”

  Carlton blew a raspberry. “Do you have any idea the kind of pressure I was under to keep up the pretense? I always had to do everything right. Meanwhile, Kurt got to act like a pathetic moron and everybody still loved him.”

  “I’m sure your mother would’ve loved you, too, even if she’d known the truth.”

  His fingers curled tightly around the edge of a box. “I’d finally worked up the nerve to go to her house and ask for money, but she wasn’t there, so I called to see where she was. She told me she was walking to Red Clover to feed that stupid cat.”

  I folded my arms. “Ophelia is many things, mostly in pound form, but she is not stupid.”

  He pressed on with his story. “She was upset. Crying over that friend of hers she wanted to marry.”

  “J.D.?”

  “Yeah, Mr. British Bake Off. I realized that if she got her way and married him, her money and the house would go to him when she died.”

  Not necessarily, but I didn’t bother to correct him. “And it was then you decided to take action.”

  “I started to panic and then I saw the baseball bat in the yard.”

  My breathing hitched at his admission. “Kurt’s baseball bat.” Carlton Spencer was the definition of a cold-blooded killer. “How fortuitous for you.”

  “More like typical. Kurt never cleaned up his messes. Good thing it was cold outside or I wouldn’t have been wearing my gloves. Pretty ingenious, huh? The bat only had Kurt’s fingerprints and my mom’s DNA.”

  “Except you didn’t know about his alibi.”

  His jaw hardened. “No, that was unfortunate. He’s such a loser. I assumed he would’ve been alone. I blame you for this, you know.”

  “Because I found his alibi?”

  “No, because I think it was your great-aunt’s death that sparked the idea,” Carlton said. “My mom mentioned that Hazel had left everything to you. How cool it was that her death could change a life for the better.”

  My hands cemented to my hips. “Maybe my life was just fine and the inheritance only complicated matters.”

  “Not from where I’m standing,” he sneered.

  “Right back at you. You let your friends continue to think you’re leading a charmed life when you’ve been headed steadily downhill for years. If only you hadn’t been so arrogant, you might’ve admitted it and gotten help before it became insurmountable, but you had to keep playing the part of the golden boy. I bet your mother intended to leave her estate to Kurt all along simply because she liked him better.”

  I hit a nerve. Carlton grabbed the box from the desk and heaved it at me. I managed to jump out of the way in time and the box landed on the floor with a thud.

  I screamed and hoped the woman was still in the next room. There was no sound of running feet or a door slamming. I was alone with a killer.

  My mind reeled. The upside of being prone to anxiety was that I had a plan for such an attack, but I’d assumed it would take place in the basement of an apartment building when I was wearing my earbuds and waiting for my laundry to finish.

  Carlton approached me with a menacing glint in his eye. “You should’ve stayed in the city.”

  Frantically, I dug through my purse, my heart beating rapidly, until my fingers found the best weapon in my arsenal.

  He smirked as he edged closer. “I doubt you’ve got a gun in there. What’s your plan? A tube of sexy red lipstick? Don’t bother. It only ages you.”

  I gasped in protest. The moment he was close enough, I ripped a sample perfume bottle from my purse and sprayed the floral scent straight into his eyes.

  He threw up his hands to shield his face. “What the hell?” he raged.

  I bolted from the back room. Carlton came after me, half blind. The woman was gone but she’d left the broom leaning against the wall. It struck me as the ideal weapon for a so-called witch like me. I ran like the ice cream van was about to pull away and gripped the broom by the bristled end. I swung it around in a half circle just as Carlton reached me and whacked him hard in the side of the head. He staggered diagonally and collapsed against the wall, sliding to the floor in a heap. Blood seeped from the wound and an image of Gladys sprang to mind. Like mother, like son.

  There was no time to freak out about what I’d done. I hunted through my purse to find my phone. Thankfully, the police station wasn’t far. I felt confident that one of them would arrive before the killer regained consciousness.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Looking good, Wilson,” I told the aloe plant. I wasn’t sure how I’d managed it, but the little green guy was still standing. One week down; a lifetime to go.

  The doorbell rang and I set the watering can on the kitchen counter. Ophelia meowed and followed me to the front door.

  “Chief Tuck,” I said. “What a nice surprise.”

  He held out a pink flower. “Spring’s around the corner, it seems.”

  I accepted the offering, bringing it straight to my nose for a sniff. “Pretty. What is it?”

  “No idea. Saw it in your garden and thought it would look nice in a vase. Brighten up the place.”

  “Are you saying this house is gloomy?”

  “Well, it’s seen its share of darkness recently.”

  I didn’t disagree. “Thank you.”

  The chief hiked up his trousers. “Just wanted to come by and see how you’re settling in.” He angled his head in the direction of the garden. “Looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you.”

  “It’s definitely going to take time, but I have plenty of it.”

  “I also wanted to say thank you for your help with the Gladys Spencer case.”

  “No problem,” I started to say, but he cut me off.

  “But let’s not do this again, Ms. Thorne. You’re a civilian and we can’t have civilians running around playing Sherlock Holmes. You could’ve been killed.”

  I flashed a smile. “I don’t plan to find another dead body in my garden, so I think we’re good.”

  “If you ever want to go fishing, give me a holler,” he said. “I know all the best places on the river.”

  I jabbed a finger at him. “If I ever decide to be bored to tears, you will be the first person I call.”

  “There’s something else you should know about that cat of yours.” He glanced down to where the giant ink blot was spread across the foyer floor.

  “What is it?”

  “She didn’t attack Gladys, only Carlton. According to the autopsy results, there were no bites or scratches on Gladys.”

  “Then how did she end up with the bacteria in her system?”

  “Looks like the cat licked Gladys’s wound, probably in an attempt to h
eal her or maybe comfort her.”

  “And the bacteria was in the saliva.” I let the information sink in. “Ophelia didn’t attack them both?”

  He hooked his thumbs through his empty belt loops. “Nope. Just the one she considered to be trespassing. She likely came to the woman’s aid. Bit him in the calf trying to defend Gladys.”

  I turned to gaze at the fluffy penguin. “You tried to save her,” I said softly. Either that or she desperately wanted her bowls refilled. “Thank you for letting me know, Chief. I appreciate it.”

  He continued to hover and I could tell he had more to say.

  “I can tell you have words of wisdom to dispense. Lay it on me, Chief. I can handle it.”

  “Be mindful of Fairfax,” he said finally. “Derek, I mean.”

  “Is there a problem with him?”

  “No, he’s a decent guy. A good cop. But he has the unfortunate habit of going after what his brother wants.” He gave me a meaningful look.

  “I see.”

  “Derek’s competitive, which is part of what makes him a good cop, but also what makes him a crappy brother. Before you make any decisions, you might want to be sure who’s interested in you for the right reasons.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. “Chief Tuck, I’m an unemployed forty-two-year-old with a permanent pouch and an empty bank account. What exactly are the right reasons for being interested in me?”

  He tipped an imaginary hat. “You have a nice day, Ms. Thorne.”

  I closed the door behind him, my mind churning. I’d already gotten the impression that Derek’s interest in me was inauthentic, although I couldn’t deny I felt a genuine spark between us. I felt bad for Dane, though. If his brother had a habit of going after what Dane wanted…The whole dynamic seemed like a recipe for disaster.

  I’d no sooner placed the pink flower in a champagne flute filled with water when my phone buzzed and Dane’s name flashed on the screen.

  “Your ears must’ve been burning,” I said.

  “Oh? Talking about me to that cat of yours?”

  “Chief Tuck was here.” I bit my lip. “He was saying what good guys you and Derek are.” I decided to keep the rest to myself.

  “That’s high praise.”

  The doorbell rang and I turned back toward the door.

  “Give me one second,” I told Dane.

  I opened the door. Dane stood on the front step with the phone to his ear. “I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner tomorrow night. My treat.”

  My heart thumped in my chest. “You’re here.”

  “I couldn’t decide whether it made more sense to call or invite you in person, so I did both.”

  A small laugh escaped me. It was the kind of thing I would do when faced with indecision.

  “I’m glad you’re okay. Derek told me about what happened with Carlton.”

  “Thanks, I’m glad, too.”

  His mouth quirked. “Did you really beat him with a broom?”

  “I really did.”

  “I didn’t peg you as woman with a violent streak.” He heaved a dramatic sigh. “You can take the girl out of the city…”

  “I don’t make a habit of attacking people.”

  “Let’s hope not, although I heard he smelled wonderful when he got to the station. Everybody wanted to know the scent he was wearing.”

  I laughed. “You can thank Madeline Albrecht for that. She always said I needed more perfume in my life. I guess she was right for once.” Not that I’d ever admit it to her.

  “So we’re on for dinner?”

  I couldn’t believe my luck. Forget the nonsense with the garden and the books. This had to be magic. There was no earthly way this incredibly hot, incredibly intelligent man wanted to go out with me. Again.

  “Yes,” I said.

  He lingered on the step. “Before I go, there was something I meant to do the other night, but the moment got away from me.” His sea-colored eyes gazed at me with a quiet intensity. “Would it be okay if I kissed you good night now?”

  I broke into a huge smile. “It’s the middle of the day.”

  He shrugged. “I’m behind schedule.”

  I pretended to mull it over. “This could be the cure for the nightmares I’ve had.”

  “Ah, so that’s your reason for agreeing.”

  I offered a shy smile. “I can think of at least one more.”

  I stood on my tiptoes to close the distance between us. Dane’s head dipped down and his lips met mine. They were soft and gentle and exactly the way I imagined they’d feel.

  As we broke apart, an image flashed in my mind of this precise moment and I realized this was the kiss from my vision. I hadn’t glimpsed the end of our first date. I’d glimpsed this.

  “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at seven,” Dane said.

  “I’ll be ready.”

  I was still beaming when I closed the door and turned toward the living room. A flash of white drew my attention to the floor.

  “What do you have there, Ophelia?” I asked. I bent down and plucked the sheet of paper from under her paw. How did she manage to drag a piece of paper into the foyer? What was I saying? If she dragged Susie two houses down, she could manage a flimsy letter.

  My heart skipped a beat when I recognized the handwriting. It was the missing page of the letter from Aunt Hazel, the one Dane had given me when I arrived.

  I carried it to the sofa like it was a bomb I needed to disarm. The first page had left off on a cliffhanger and I was eager to hear the rest of what she had to say. What was the most important thing she wanted me to know? My eyes scanned the remainder of the letter. There wasn’t much, but it was more than enough.

  You are special, Amelia Thorne, and you come from a long line of special women. Be true to yourself, learn to honor that authentic part of you, and you will always—always—be okay.

  Much love,

  Hazel

  Emotions wedged in my throat. Aunt Hazel would’ve been an invaluable asset in my youth. Someone to offset my mother’s dismissals and criticisms. I was so sorry to have missed out on a relationship with her.

  You are special.

  I clutched the missing page to my chest and smiled. “So were you, Aunt Hazel. So were you.”

  Don’t miss Life’s A Birch, Book 2 in The Bloomin’ Psychic series! To keep updated on new releases, be sure to join my newsletter via my website at www.annabelchase.com.