by Vella Day
“They’ll be closed at this hour.”
“I know. I meant tomorrow.”
Aunt Fern’s eyes sparkled. Like Dolly, she enjoyed uncovering answers. In this case, she probably just wanted to know more than her nemesis. “I will do that first thing tomorrow morning.”
A cat meowed, and I leaned over the glass case. “Aimee. Nice to see you again. Have you moved in or something?”
“I’ve been meaning to tell you,” my aunt said, looking a little guilty. “I have asked Aimee to stay with me for as long as she wants.”
I really liked that idea. While Uncle Harold kept her company, my aunt couldn’t hug him like she could a cat. “I think that’s great.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. If Aimee is ever bored, she can visit with Iggy.” I leaned over the counter again. “He did apologize for the way he treated you, right?”
“He did. We’re all good.”
“That’s nice to hear. Speaking of Iggy, I’m going to check on him.”
After I said goodbye to my aunt, I headed upstairs. As expected, Iggy was on his wicker seat facing the ocean. He didn’t even bother turning around when I came in. “What are you mad about this time?” I asked.
“You’ve been ignoring me.”
That was a tired refrain. “I’m not ignoring you. I was trying to find out who will inherit the Paxton farm now that Floyd and Morgan are dead and why Joe Delaney wants Floyd’s property so bad.”
He swiveled around. “Did you figure it out?”
“Let me get settled, and I’ll tell you everything. And yes, I’ve learned a lot.” I stepped into the bedroom to change my top. When I returned to the living room, Iggy was on the sofa, obviously excited to learn more.
I plopped down. “Where did I leave off?”
“Dolly was going to talk to Joe Delaney.”
“I’m impressed,” I said.
“Why is that?”
“You can keep all of this mess straight even though you hear things second hand.”
“That is all the more reason why you should take me with you next time,” Iggy said.
I’m not sure I understood his logic. He was doing quite well by staying home. “I did speak with Dolly, but before that, I’d visited with Floyd’s lawyer who implied that Emma Paxton is next in line to inherit the farm.” Okay, she never came out and said it, but I’d inferred from her question about Emma, that Floyd’s wife was somehow important.
He stretched out on the sofa. “Do you think she killed him?”
“I have no reason to believe so.” Unless she was so poor that she felt she had to.
“What else? Did Dolly find out anything interesting?” he asked. It was curious that he dismissed Emma’s possible guilt so quickly.
I basically ran through my entire day. “Once Aunt Fern contacts Luann in the property records department, I’ll figure out my next step.”
“Why don’t you ask Gertrude Poole for some help?”
“Why her?” Did Iggy know something that I didn’t?
“She’s old. As in she’s ancient. She might have been around when Mr. Delaney’s great, great grandfather bought the farm.”
I laughed. “She’s only about ninety,” I said.
“How old do you think his great, great grandfather would be if he were alive?”
That was an excellent question. “Assuming an average of twenty-five years per generation, the man would have been born in the mid to late eighteen-hundreds.”
“Oh. Maybe there was a scandal when she was young that she might remember.”
“Like what? Do you think Delaney’s father or grandfather murdered ten people and buried them on his property? If so, he wouldn’t have sold half the land. Or did he figure they’d never be disturbed?” I asked.
“I don’t know, but I don’t think there were large back hoes back then or ground penetrating radar to find the bodies. I think the old man would be safe in thinking he could sell his half, and no one would be the wiser,” Iggy said.
I chuckled. I had one smart iguana. “Where did you learn about stuff like that?” Ground penetrating radar, indeed.
“On the Internet. You work a lot. A guy has to stay sharp for the ladies.”
“You are a trip, Iggy Goodall.”
“Anything else you care to share?”
I’m not sure what more he thought I knew. “When I learn the owner’s name, I’ll do a deep dive in the library annals. I bet Delilah Smithson could find out what happened back then.”
Iggy jumped up and down. “We’re really going to do this, aren’t we?”
I laughed. “You mean solve the crime?”
“Yes.”
“You are right.” The two of us were a team. Sounding boards like Iggy played a big role in figuring things out.
It wasn’t until after two o’clock the next day that Aunt Fern motioned me over, once I had finished taking an order and giving it to the kitchen. I leaned across the counter. Sure enough, Aimee was there. Poor Uncle Harold. I hope he didn’t feel as if he’d been replaced. “Did you speak with Luann?” I asked.
“I did.” My aunt pulled out a piece of paper. “Joe Delaney’s great, great grandfather was Alan Delaney. He originally purchased all two hundred acres. Then in 1932, Joe’s grandfather, Fred Delaney, sold the land to Dexter Paxton.”
“That’s good info. After work I’ll do a little research.”
She smiled. “I have to say, you never look so excited as when you are solving a case.”
I chuckled. “I think the math side of my brain likes to be exercised every once in a while.”
“Well, if you ever want to start your own sleuthing company, you have my blessing.”
My own company? I don’t think so. I imagine my parents, as well as Drake, would have a fit. They’d say it was too dangerous, even if all I did was follow spouses around to see what they were up to. “I don’t think I want the responsibility. I enjoy waiting on tables.”
My aunt dipped her chin. “You are brilliant, Glinda. You need something more fulfilling.”
I was convinced that my family would never stop bugging me about finding a better job, but I don’t think they would want me running an investigative firm—my aunt being the exception. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Not wanting to get into a discussion about my failed life choices again, I spun around and checked on all of my tables. Thankfully, several people came in about then, which kept me quite busy until my shift was over. As much as I wanted to clock out at three on the dot, I waited for my last table to finish before I did. When I’d completed all of my chores, I went upstairs to change out of my outfit. Sparkles and crowns weren’t exactly suitable attire for a library—especially one that was always very cold.
Because I had serious work to do, I threw on a pair of light pink pedal pushers, a dark pink, long sleeved T-shirt, along with my low-cut pink canvas shoes. I was all set.
“Where are you going?” Iggy asked.
“Aunt Fern told me the name of Joe Delaney’s relative who purchased the property so long ago, and I want to see if there was any scandal around that time.”
Iggy hopped off of his stool. “Take me with you.
“To the library? We can’t really talk there.”
“That’s okay. I just want to get out of the apartment.” He looked up at me. “You do realize that if you leave me here, we can’t talk either?”
I laughed. “You are right. Okay, you can come, but no crawling around and scaring people, okay?”
“Moi?”
I laughed. I had no idea where he’d learned that French word. I grabbed my larger purse from the bedroom. “Hop in.”
Once Iggy was snuggled inside, we took off. While the library was only half a mile away, it was hot out, so I drove. Halfway there, Iggy climbed out of my purse and hung onto the side of the window to look out. He always loved car rides.
When we arrived, I made him get back in my purse. “Remember, you promised to b
ehave.”
“I will. Cross my heart.”
“Okay then.” Inside, the library was cool and quiet—just the way I liked it.
I found Delilah Smithson, the librarian. We’d gone to high school together, and even though I was focused on the sciences, and Delilah devoured English and History, we became friends. I ended up tutoring her in math while she helped me with my history projects. It was a mutually beneficial relationship.
“Glinda, so nice to see you again.”
“You too. I have a little project I need to research.”
My friend’s eyes sparkled. “I love a challenge. How can I help?”
I explained about wanting to learn more about Alan and Fred Delaney. “Anything before 1932 would be good since that was when Delaney sold the land to Mr. Paxton. I know this sounds crazy, but I’m wondering if there is a reason why Joe is so anxious to have Floyd’s farm.”
“Why the interest?” Delilah asked.
“I had met Floyd’s nephew, the one he left his farm to, but he was murdered about a week ago.”
“Oh, wow. I’m sorry. Do you think learning why someone bought land almost a hundred years ago will help solve a murder?”
That was an excellent question, but I wasn’t about to tell her the dead man’s ghost asked me to help. “I have a gut feeling that the property changing hands might still be a bone of contention between the nephew’s uncle and the Delaneys.”
“Maybe the Delaneys want the land to expand their ranch into farming,” she said.
“It’s possible, though I will have to see whether Joe actually needs to expand like he is claiming. One hundred acres isn’t enough for his cows?”
“I know very little about farming or ranching, but we won’t learn anything by guessing. Come with me. The only things that old are on microfiche.”
I had been hoping for books, but maybe newspaper articles would be the best. Once Delilah set me up at the station, I wasn’t even sure where to begin. It wasn’t as if there was a search function for this stuff. I spent the first hour looking through the events around the time of the Great Depression, but I didn’t find much. I was becoming rather frustrated when Delilah showed up with a book.
“Hey. You said you wanted some scandal back when Delaney sold half of his property. I might have found something. Here is a collection of cases on famous bank robbers in our area back in the 1900s. Some thieves were caught. Others were not, but quite a lot of the stolen money was never found. I have no idea if any of this is true, but it’s interesting.”
“That has potential. Maybe Alan Delaney robbed a bank and buried the money on the land—land that eventually was sold to the Paxtons. Did these bank robbers have names?”
“None that I’ve found, but the most interesting story happened right here in Witch’s Cove.”
“Oh, that sounds good,” I said. “Tell me about it.”
“The robbers were like a Bonnie and Clyde couple, but they were never caught—at least not that I’ve read about.”
“Maybe they didn’t get caught because they stashed the loot where no one would look,” I said.
Delilah chuckled. “Like on their own property?”
“Hey, two hundred acres is a lot to check out.”
“Maybe. I’ll keep digging. There have to be other articles on bank robberies. It happened a lot back then. I’ll see if towns near here were hit too.”
“I appreciate it,” I said. If someone did bury stolen money on the Delaney land, Fred Delaney wouldn’t have sold the property without digging it up first—assuming he knew about it—and assuming it happened. I slumped in my seat. There were too many loopholes to my theory, but I wouldn’t give up.
For the next two hours, I read article after article on local bank robberies, going back to the beginning of the twentieth century. If I’d lived back then, I wouldn’t have kept my money in a bank—nor would I have worked at one. Too many people were injured or killed in those heists. As exciting as this prospect was to investigate, I had to be open to the idea that a bank robbery had nothing to do with Morgan’s death.
When my stomach grumbled, I knew it was time to head back home. When I picked up my purse, I realized that Iggy had been rather quiet—too quiet for him. I opened it up and froze. He was gone.
This wouldn’t be the first time he’d snuck off, so I tried not to panic. Most likely he was bored and decided to look around. “Iggy?” I whispered. “Where are you?”
No answer.
“Is everything okay?” Delilah asked, sneaking up behind me.
I don’t remember the last time Delilah ate at the Tiki Hut Grill, but she might never have met Iggy. She certainly wouldn’t have known he could talk since she wasn’t a witch. “I brought my pet iguana with me, and he’s escaped.”
I hoped Iggy didn’t hear me call him a pet. He hated that designation.
“Oh, no. Does he bite?”
“No.”
For the next few minutes, we searched under the tables and between all of the shelves. Just as I was about to give up, the electric front doors opened, and a young boy walked in. To my surprise, Iggy was right behind him. With his head held high, he pranced in.
“Oh, there he is. Thanks again, Delilah, for all your help.”
“He went outside?”
I chuckled, trying to make light of the situation. “He’ll follow anyone.”
I was so going to kill him.
“I enjoyed the search. We need to catch up some time,” Delilah said.
“For sure.” I then rushed toward the exit working hard not to let my anger get the best of me. “Iggy, where have you been?” I growled.
“I was talking to Gertrude Poole, and I have a lot to tell you.”
Since Delilah wasn’t far behind me, I pretended not to hear him. I picked him up and placed him in my purse. As quickly as I could, I left. I had so much to say to Iggy, but when I was in this mood, it was better to calm down first.
I placed my purse on the floor of the car and then took off. “Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving? I was worried about you.”
“Sorry. I didn’t want to disturb you,” Iggy said. “Besides, it was freezing in the library. You know I don’t work well in the cold.”
“You’re right. I should have packed a small blanket for you.”
“I swear, when I left, I planned to bask in the sun for only a few minutes and come right back.”
Iggy always had an excuse for everything, though this one was probably true. “Out of the blue, you remembered that the Psychics Corner was just two blocks down the street, and you couldn’t help but see if Gertrude Poole was available. Does that about sum it up?”
He lowered his head. “Yes.”
What was done was done. In silence, I drove home, parked, and carried him inside to our apartment. Iggy climbed out and sat on the sofa.
“I’m going to fix myself something to eat,” I said. “I’m hungry.”
“Fix me some arugula if you don’t mind.”
How could he be so calm? He could have been hurt running around, but he’d never understand that.
I shoved yesterday’s leftovers in the microwave and poured a sweet tea. While it was cooking, I placed some lettuce leaves and arugula on a plate and carried it out to Iggy.
“Thank you,” Iggy said as polite as could be.
After my meal was finished heating, I grabbed the plate and my tea, and returned to the living room. “Spill,” I said.
Chapter Twelve
“I will admit that walking the two blocks from the library to the Psychics Corner was quite a journey, especially since some kid on a bike almost ran me over,” Iggy explained.
I worked hard not to say anything about how dangerous it was for someone so small to be out and about. Thank goodness for his rather shiny, pink diamond-studded collar. It acted as a kind of reflector. “Go on.”
“With a little sweet talking, I was able to get in to see Gertrude. She is wonderful, by the way, even if she
is more ancient than sin.”
“Be nice. In her day, Gertrude Poole was our most powerful witch in town,” I said.
“She’s not now? What happened?”
“According to rumor, after doing so many spells, she decided to retire and just do psychic readings.”
“I’ll keep that in mind the next time I see her,” Iggy said.
I didn’t tell him there wouldn’t be a next time. “What did you ask her?”
“I said you and I were investigating the death of Morgan Oliver as well as the break-in at his uncle’s house.”
That wasn’t a question. And we weren’t exactly looking into the break-in. Just the murder. “Did she even know that Floyd Paxton was dead?”
“She did. After a lengthy back and forth, she revealed she had performed a spell on two garnet necklaces for Floyd not long ago.”
I liked the sound of that. “What kind of spell?”
“Considering Floyd was dead, she was willing to reveal that the spell was to prevent him from harming others.”
I wondered if it was some kind of anger management inhibitor. “Interesting. Did she say why he needed two necklaces.” And why a necklace? I couldn’t imagine him wearing it.
“No.” Iggy dipped his head and munched on the lettuce. From the speed with which he was eating, he was as hungry as I was.
I polished off my meal in no time, my mind going in a hundred different directions. “I’m going to talk with Drake and Jaxson about your findings. They might have a different spin on it.”
Tomorrow, I might drop in on Gertrude and probe a bit deeper. She wouldn’t have come out of retirement unless it was for a very good reason. Floyd Paxton was a dour old farmer, but I’d never heard that he was violent—other than from Miriam who thought Floyd killed his wife. We now know, that wasn’t true.
The best person to ask about that would be Emma. Unfortunately, she was eluding everyone’s notice.
Iggy looked up. “I did good, right?”
I did not correct his grammar even though I wanted to. “You did. What role these magical necklaces played, if any, in Morgan’s death, I don’t know, but Floyd must have wanted them a lot if he was willing to meet with a psychic.” Not everyone in Witch’s Cove believed in them. “Before I speak with the Harrison brothers though, I want to see if the sheriff found those necklaces at Floyd’s house.”