Crème Brûlée To Slay

by CeeCee James

  My phone buzzed with a text. Frank maybe?

  I eagerly pulled it out to read a text from Cecelia. —Can you stop at the Miquel house and pick up my crock? They’ll be expecting you.

  That’s right. I left my clothes there too. I started to respond when my text was interrupted by another.

  From Frank, but not what I expected.

  —Just found out Robert hired one of the biggest attorneys in NYC. Real curious where he got that kind of money.

  —Seriously? Do you think it was from the sale of the sword?

  Frank didn’t answer. Did Robert Evans just get away with stealing the sword? I brought up a search engine and typed in his name and scrolled through the info. His last known address was at the outskirts of Gainesville. The next link was to Gainesville police records, which said he’d been arrested five months earlier for drug trafficking charge. An undercover officer had infiltrated a smuggling ring at Bickford Bottling company. Before that he’d been a suspect in a chop-shop take-down.

  Wow. Who had the Miquel’s hired? Did they have any idea? Like maybe it was a good idea not to hire a criminal who likes to steal things to drive their guests cars. What were they thinking?

  Chapter 13

  I set out for the Miquel’s manor right after lunchtime. The sky was overcast, making it feel much earlier in the day than it really was. Winters were long around there. Oh, how I missed the sunshine.

  The entrance to the manor was even more impressive in the daylight, so I parked the van around to the side. I didn’t want its ugliness to mar the picturesque beauty made by the sweeping green lawn that contrasted against the white columns of the building. Tugging the collar of my jacket up, I headed around back to the service entrance.

  The manor was enormous and felt empty and lifeless as I walked around its perimeter. I half expected to see gardeners tending to the huge property, but none were working. I passed the kitchen’s herb garden—which looked a little brown and run-down—and gently knocked on the lattice-covered window of the back door.

  The housekeeper opened it with a smile. “Hello. How can I help you?”

  “Hi, there. My Aunt Cecelia called about a crock that she left here.”

  “Of course. I remember you. Come in.”

  I followed after her, admiring how her shoes made no sound on the ceramic tile floor.

  Mine, however immediately set up an annoying squeak since they were damp from my walk from the van.

  “Georgie, was it?” she asked as we rounded the corner into the kitchen.

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “We did find a few things that were left. I’ve had them boxed for you,” the housekeeper continued. She slipped a phone from her pocket and pressed a button. When somebody answered, she said simply, “She’s here.”

  Somehow, those words made the hair on my neck raise. She was probably just letting the kitchen staff know to bring out the box, I reasoned.

  We walked into the kitchen, where a cardboard box was indeed waiting on a giant butcher-block of a counter. I moved to grab it, when her slight cough gave me pause.

  “If you could just wait here a moment,” she said, with a dip of her head.

  Okay…

  “Mr. Miquel asked to speak with you. May I get you a cup of tea while you’re waiting?”

  I was about to answer when a hearty, “Ms. Tanner!” came from behind me. Mr. Miquel had been quick to come find me, it seemed. I turned to see the tanned man dressed in crisp linen pants and a white shirt partially unbuttoned.

  “Hello, Mr. Miquel,” I said, walking over to receive his outstretched hand. He took mine and shook it vigorously. Then, instead of releasing me, he covered it with his second hand and gave mine a warm squeeze. I stood there awkwardly, waiting to be freed.

  “How are you?” he asked, his brown eyes staring deep into my own. His tone indicated we were long lost friends.

  “I-I’m fine, Mr. Miquel. Just here to pick up some items left from the other night.”

  “Ah yes, such a shame.” With one last squeeze, he let go of my hand. His eyes took on a sorrowful expression. “That poor woman.”

  “Were you long-time friends with her?” I asked.

  “Friends.” An expression passed over his face that I couldn’t read. “Can you come with me a moment?” Like a magnet, he drew me out into the hall. I followed, nearly against my will.

  He studied my eyes, and he sadly frowned. “The poor woman. We weren’t friends. No, I was acquainted with her husband before he passed. She was invited out of respect for that relationship. Regrettably, she and my wife never got along well with one another.” His eye twitched at the corner.

  I nodded. He was lying to me. I could tell.

  “At any rate, I wanted to speak with you. My butler informed me that Detective Kirby came by yesterday. He was asking for some information about our cookies? Apparently, the detective said that you witnessed the poor woman eating one of them?”

  “The poor woman, by that do you mean Veronica Vanderton?”

  “Yes, yes of course.” He smiled again. It felt very fake. What was he hiding?

  “No, actually it was another one of your guests. I merely mentioned it because there was some confusion as to how Veronica ingested the allergen. I’d been working with Adele, so I knew it wasn’t in the food that she’d prepared.”

  “Oh, I see. So the police were concerned it came from the cookies. Thinking it might have been a nut allergy, perhaps?” His brow wrinkled, and he thoughtfully tapped his chin. “I believe they were raisin. My wife is very partial to them. She has a sweet tooth and loves her cup of tea and a good cookie every night while reading before bedtime.”

  “Yes, that’s what the detective told me as well. Apparently, it’s still a curiosity as to how she ingested the toxin.” I hedged my story line, not wanting to reveal they’d discovered it came from a skin wound.

  “I see,” he said, again. He slipped his wedding ring off, and then slipped it back on. It was like a tic. I noticed something peculiar about it. “Well, if you can think of anything else that might be curious, please let my housekeeper know. I’d rather find out directly from you than the detective next time, if you don’t mind. It upset my wife so. She’s been in quite a state since she found out about Mrs. Vanderton. It’s terribly distressing to have something like this happen in your own home, yet have absolutely no explanation.”

  “I can imagine so,” I agreed. “And I will.” I was alarmed at his need to warn me off from talking to the police.

  “Well,” he glanced at his watch, an expensive one encrusted with diamonds that glinted under the lights. “I need to get going. I have a golf tourney to attend.”

  “It was nice talking with you. Have a good game!” I said.

  “It was nice to chat with you too. Take care.” He turned on the heels of his white loafers and briskly walked away. I watched him pull his car keys from his pocket with a jingle, then toss them in the air and catch them. The doorman bobbed his head and opened the door. Whistling, Mr. Miquel left.

  Watching him go, I realized what had been peculiar about his ring finger. When he removed the ring, the skin under it was as tan as the rest of his hand. I normally wouldn’t have noticed except his skin spoke of either time spent in a tanning booth, or lots of time outside. Given that he was headed to the golf course, I guessed the later. Very curious. I brushed my hair back behind my ear and returned to the kitchen. I began to gather the box in my arms.

  “Do you need help with that?” the housekeeper asked.

  “No, I think I’ve got it.”

  “Why don’t you go out the front door? It’s quicker to your car that way.”

  I thanked her, and followed the direction Mr. Miquel had taken.

  The doorman was still waiting by the front door. He gave me a nod as I approached.

  “Have a good day, ma’am,” he said and opened the door.

  “Thank you.” I paused, as a thought occurred to me. “Did you happen to
leave the doorway the night of the dinner?

  “No. I was by the door all night, ma’am,” said the doorman.

  “So you would have seen everyone either leaving or coming through.”

  “Yes, ma’am” he said, with a bob of his head.

  So if they didn’t leave by the front door, they must have snuck out through the back. I bit my lip, and then flashed him a smile. “I’m sorry. I just realized I forgot another one of Cecelia’s pans.”

  He grinned and shut the door, and I hurried back the way I’d come. But instead of entering the kitchen, I exited through the rear entrance.

  Standing by the herb garden, I studied the landscaped back yard. If the doorman had truly stood by the door all night, it was hard to believe someone could have left with a sword and not been noticed, no matter how distracted we all were. But he or she might have left this way.

  The manicured lawn before me was painstakingly attended, dotted with bushes and trees just coming into the budding season. But, behind it all, the forest stood in the back like an impenetrable green wall.

  What was on the other side of the trees? Thoughtfully, I pulled out my phone and searched for my location on a map. I zoomed out, and the picture showed the street being bordered by what looked like a large chunk of state forest. I zoomed out even more and saw a road on the other side. I stuck in a pin and then mapped directions to the road.

  Chapter 14

  With Old Bella rumbling forward, I carefully followed the map and turned on to the dirt road behind the forest. It was what appeared to be an old logging road and clearly not often used. A cloud of dust followed behind me as I drove to where I’d dropped the pin.

  Finally, the phone app announced that I had arrived. The forest was so thick, there was no way to know that there were any houses in the area. Just trees as far as the eye could see. And lush undergrowth too—ferns, moss, dead branches, and rotting leaves. I parked the van and got out.

  The forest was quiet, with just a breeze moving the tree tops. The van door sounded extra loud as I slammed it.

  I walked to the edge of the road, the dirt crunching under my boots. Just by glancing up the shoulder, I could see that I wasn’t the first one who’d been there recently. Tire tracks in the dust showed that someone else had parked there.

  I didn’t see any footprints indicating someone got in or out, but the dirt was scuffled from when the car had taken off. It was possible there’d been prints, but had been destroyed.

  Very interesting. I pulled out my phone and snapped a few pictures of them before turning to stare into the woods. On the other side of the ditch, I thought I could make out a path where some ferns had been crushed down, a narrow one winding through the undergrowth. Was it from animals? I knew they often used the same trails.

  Carefully, I climbed down into the ditch and up the bank to the other side. The forest looked formidable. I shivered as the wind blew my hair across my face. I tucked it behind my ears and zipped up my jacket. Okay, this was it.

  With my shoulders back, eyes wide open for clues, I headed into the woods. The spot where I had parked was still pinned, so I wasn’t too worried about getting lost. I figured I could map my way back.

  I stepped carefully on the trail, looking for underbrush that had been trampled down. And it had been trampled. Not like someone leisurely hiking through the woods, but like someone had been running pell-mell out of the woods with a bear hot on their tail.

  Or maybe by a bear itself.

  Don’twanttomeetabear. The fear ran the thought together and repeated itself a few times before I shook my head. Knock it off. Less imagination and more research. I tried to orientate myself. Okay, so the map specified that this was state forest. If I remember right, there are four manors somewhere ahead. And toward the left through the woods was the back part of town that horseshoed around.

  The clouds were breaking up, and the sun sifted through the overhead branches and brightly speckled the ground. I breathed in the scent of the wet, mulchy undergrowth, pine needles, and new sap. Even in the middle of the woods, I could smell that spring was on its way.

  The path seemed like it was heading to the left, toward the estates. I followed it, carefully pushing branches out of my way. It led me deeper and deeper into the dense forest. The overhead branches wove together and smothered the sunlight.

  What was that? I spun around at the snap of a branch. Holding my breath, I strained to listen. What had I done? Suddenly, the van felt very far away.

  I swallowed and stared behind me. My foot slid on a branch and I reached for the tree next to me to steady myself.

  Everything was so quiet.

  I released my breath silently.

  A gun shot rang out, and bark exploded in front of my face. I froze for a second and dropped to the ground.

  I rolled to my side and wildly stared around, trying to figure out where the shot came from. My gaze caught sight of the tree I’d just been using for support. Its trunk was branded white with a fresh chew mark from where the bullet had torn the bark away.

  I crawled backwards a few feet, ignoring the tree roots that my knees landed on. My heart pounded so hard I couldn’t hear if anyone was coming. I felt like I was suffocating. In a panic, I stood and ran blindly.

  Branches slapped my face, but I didn’t feel them. My feet slipped on the muddy forest floor. I ran toward the road as fast as I could.

  I cried in relief when I saw the van through the trees. I half fell, half rolled down the bank and into the ditch. My jacket pulled up, trapping my arms. I struggled to turn over, the inhibitions to my arm movement fueling my panic. Finally, I was on my feet and running for the van. I wrenched the door open with shaking hands. Once inside, I fumbled to lock it. I tried to fish my keys out of my purse and dropped them to the floor. They disappeared under the seat.

  “No!” I screamed in frustration. I looked wildly about to see if anyone was coming out of the woods. Was that movement? Was that just the wind?

  Leaning down, I felt around and was just able to hook the key ring on my finger. I pulled them out. Adrenaline had me shaking so hard I couldn’t get the key into the ignition. I tried again. Old Bella gave her normal whirrs as she attempted to start.

  “Come on, come on,” I coaxed, nearly sobbing. She turned over with a cough and let out a loud backfire. As fast as I could, I turned the van around and was speeding back down the road.

  I brushed my face and winced at the burn. Glancing in the rearview mirror, I saw my cheek speckled with flecks of bark and blood. My hands trembled as I pulled out my phone. I dialed Frank.

  No answer.

  “Frank,” I left a message, trying to keep my voice light. “Hey, it’s me. So, can you give me a call when you get a chance? Like as soon as possible.”

  I spun the wheel and turned onto the main road. My tires spat dirt, and the cardboard box holding the dishes tipped over with a clatter. I didn’t care. I just wanted to get out of there and home as fast as I could.

  Calm down. Breathe. Who just shot at me? How did anyone know I was there? Had someone followed me into the woods? But how could they have known where I was going? That’s impossible.

  The more I thought about it, the more outrageous it seemed that this had been done deliberately. How could anyone have guessed that I’d be in the woods today? And who out there would want to wish me harm?

  By the time I pulled onto Baker Street and rattled down the gravel road to the bed-and-breakfast, my body was calming down. Another thought occurred to me, making me feel ridiculous.

  You idiot, you went tromping out into the woods during hunting season, I bet. You didn’t even check.

  I parked the car in the driveway and did a quick search on my phone.

  February hunting season.

  I scrolled until I hit the Pennsylvania guide lines. I couldn’t help a small frown. It didn’t bring up what I was expecting. No deer or bear. So far, the seasons that came up with were for raccoons, coyotes, fox, and bobcats. I pu
t the phone away feeling puzzled. People did hunt those. I guess it was possible.

  My phone rang. Frank.

  “Yeah?” he said, always effervescent with charm.

  “Frank. I just got shot at. With a gun.”

  There was silence. I looked at the phone to make sure we hadn’t been disconnected.

  “Are you okay?” His voice sounded like he was being strangled.

  “Yes. I’m fine. I’m sitting outside your grandma’s right now.”

  I wish I could say he handled it calmly. But what came out next was a torrent of exclamations that I couldn’t make head nor tail out of.

  “Frank. Calm down. I can’t even understand you.”

  I heard him do some deep breathing. And then, “Georgie, how did this happen? I’ve been with the force for several years, and I’ve only been shot at a few times! Where were you?”

  I explained the dirt road where I’d been and then rather reluctantly admitted that the forest may have been zoned for hunting.

  He grunted. “I don’t know about that. The only kind of hunting allowed in that area would be with a shot gun,” he said. “Was it a shot gun blast?”

  “I don’t know. It was loud.”

  “Tell me exactly where it was,” he said. “We might still be able to track down the shooter.”

  I glanced at the pin on the map. “I’m not sure I can. It’s kind of in the middle of nowhere, but I can lead you there. I have it on my map. I’ll meet you at the entrance to the forest service road.”

  I held my breath, not sure how he was going to receive that. It sounded like a growl, but he said okay.

  I felt a million times better knowing he was involved. He’d track down the answers, I was sure of it. Fingers crossed.

  Chapter 15

  Frank met me at the entrance and followed me down the logging road. I saw another cop car coming toward us from the other way. It spun around and followed us as well.