“Hello! Bernadette? It’s Kelly Quinn.” She stepped inside. The small entry hall consisted of a closet on one side and a staircase on the other side. The once-polished wood floor was now scuffed and dull. The entry hall was open to the second floor, and a petite crystal chandelier hung above, catching the early afternoon light from an upper window. She stepped farther into the house and called out again. Still no response.
She passed through the simple eat-in kitchen to arrive at the entry of the living room. Plush, upholstered furniture was arranged in front of the fireplace. A perfect spot to settle in on a cold, late autumn night. Kelly almost forgot how much she loved those nights when the Atlantic was riled up and darkness blanketed the town. Her gaze traveled from the impressively carved mantel, which was flanked by two ornate curio cabinets filled with leather-bound books and knickknacks, to the side porch door.
She stepped into the room but stopped when she noticed the round table set in front of the porch doors didn’t look quite right. Its paisley tablecloth was messy and partially off of the table’s surface, with what looked like tarot cards scattered. And a chair was missing.
Where was Bernadette? If she was really psychic, wouldn’t she know Kelly was waiting in the living room? Kelly didn’t have time to hang around for the ghost whisperer.
Just before she turned to leave, something caught her eye and the hair on the back of her neck prickled.
Something was wrong. She craned her neck to look past the deep red velvet armchair draped with a throw blanket and saw a peek of a chair spindle.
A shiver shot through her body. The chair couldn’t have fallen over by itself.
She took another step forward and was able to see why it was on the floor. Bernadette was sprawled out on the beige carpet. She was lying on her side, and her hair covered her face. Kelly dashed across the threadbare carpet and pushed aside the toppled chair to get a closer look at Bernadette. Up close she didn’t look like she’d fainted. There was blood seeping out of the back of her head.
No, it was far worse than a fainting spell.
She had to call for help. She fumbled to search her cavernous tote bag to find her cell phone. Why isn’t it in the cell phone pocket?
The 911 operator would ask if Bernadette was alive, if she was breathing. God, Kelly hoped so, but she needed to be sure. Since the psychic’s chest wasn’t visible, Kelly didn’t know if she was breathing. Even without the hands-on experience from a first aid class, she knew she had to check for a pulse.
Squatting next to the body, she hesitantly stretched out her fingers and reached forward. She shuddered. Her fingers curled up into a tight ball. She couldn’t. She didn’t want to touch her.
Time was running out if she was alive. Kelly inhaled a deep breath and stretched her fingers and made contact with Bernadette’s skin on the side of her neck. No pulse. Her stomach flip-flopped as a wave of nausea hit.
Bernadette was dead.
A scream shattered the stillness, making Kelly jump, her backside landing on the floor. Why on earth did she challenge the powers-that-be with asking what else could go wrong?
She looked over her shoulder, and her eyes bulged.
Bernadette?
Confused, Kelly looked back at the body on the floor. Who was dead then? She looked back to Bernadette.
“Oh my God! Maxine!” Bernadette paled as she bolted from the doorway, giving Kelly barely enough time to scramble to her feet and grab her before she reached Maxine’s body.
“Max!”
“She’s dead.” Kelly held on tightly to Bernadette, preventing her from getting too close to her cousin. By the look of the back of Maxine’s head, it didn’t appear she died from an accident. It clearly was murder, and the police would want the crime scene to remain as undisturbed as possible. From binge-watching crime shows, she knew they’d already contaminated the scene. “There’s nothing you can do for her now. We have to call the police.”
Bernadette dissolved into despair and sobs, her head landing on Kelly’s shoulder and her body going limp. Kelly had to call 911 and get Bernadette somewhere safe.
Safe.
She glanced back to Maxine. Her skin was still warm when Kelly checked her pulse. Maxine couldn’t have been dead long. Coldness lodged in her gut. Was the murderer still nearby? In the house somewhere?
Bernadette heaved a mournful sob, drawing Kelly’s attention back to her.
Or, was the murderer in Kelly’s arms?
Chapter 4
“What the hell happened?”
Startled again, Kelly looked to the direction of the voice. A man stood in the doorway. Her heart raced with fear, and adrenaline pumped through her body. Was he the murderer?
“Who are you?” she demanded of the stranger.
“Evan Fletcher.” The balding man’s eyes lingered on Maxine’s body. He then looked at Kelly and took a step forward. “I have an appointment.”
“Stop! Call 9-1-1. There’s been a murder.” Kelly struggled to keep Bernadette upright. Her limp body was becoming too heavy to hold. She shuffled Bernadette over to the tufted sofa and set her down. She glanced back at Evan Fletcher. He hadn’t moved or pulled out a cell phone. “If you don’t have a phone, I have one. It’s just my hands are full, as you can see.”
“No, no, I have a phone.” He hastily pulled out a cell phone from his blazer’s breast pocket. “Who’s been murdered?”
Bernadette wailed as her head dropped to her knees.
“Maxine Lemoyne.” With Evan Fletcher calling for help, Kelly shifted her attention back to Bernadette. “Where were you? I called out, but you didn’t answer.” The only reply she received was a deep, sorrowful sob. Kelly patted Bernadette’s head. She doubted Bernadette would be answering questions anytime soon.
“The police are on their way,” Evan Fletcher said. “Is there anything I can do?”
“I don’t think so.” Kelly stood, keeping her eyes focused on Evan, rather than looking at poor Maxine.
He was a pudgy man in a cheap suit. Kelly’s expertise was in women’s fashion, but she had worked alongside several male fashion buyers at Bishop’s and gotten firsthand experience on well-dressed men. Evan Fletcher wasn’t one of them. His suit was off the discount-store rack, his shirt was rumpled, and his oxfords were scoffed. Was he spending all his money on psychic readings?
“Who are you?” Evan asked.
“Kelly Quinn.”
“You’re a client?”
“No. Friend.” Her answer surprised Kelly because she wasn’t Bernadette’s friend. They were barely acquaintances. Looking back to the psychic, Kelly saw the reason why she had said they were friends. Still sobbing hard, Bernadette needed someone. For the moment, Kelly was happy to be there for the grieving woman. Seeing the pain Bernadette was in gave Kelly pause to consider her as the murderer. She didn’t believe anyone could be such a good actor. The raw emotion that seeped out of Bernadette had to be real.
“This is crazy. I’ve never been at a murder scene before. Have you?” Evan asked.
“No.” Kelly wasn’t up for polite chitchat. What was keeping the police? Would Gabe be the responding officer? She hoped so. Seeing a friendly face would be a relief. “Did you see anyone outside when you arrived?”
Evan shook his head. “No.”
“How long have you been here?” Kelly hadn’t seen another car outside when she arrived. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t have parked somewhere else and walked to the house.
“What are you? A cop?”
“No. I own a consignment boutique.”
“You think I did this?” His voice was heavy with offense.
“I don’t know. Did you?” Kelly swallowed hard because there was a chance she was in the company of a killer, who she appeared to be annoying with her questions.
Before he could answer, Kelly felt a tug on her
arm. She turned to face Bernadette, who’d lifted her head, her face wet from crying and streaks of mascara trailed down her cheeks. “Is Maxine really dead?” Her voice was quiet and shaky.
“Yes. I’m sorry.”
“I need to go to her. To make sure she crossed over.”
“We should wait for the police to arrive before we move.” Kelly didn’t have a clue what the appropriate etiquette at a murder scene was, but she believed letting a distraught cousin approach the deceased was a bad idea.
“You think you can talk to her now?” Evan asked.
Bernadette nodded in the affirmative.
Evan let out a low whistle. “Impressive.”
Kelly wasn’t sure if Evan was being complimentary or sarcastic. If he didn’t believe, why did he have an appointment for a reading? Maybe to murder Maxine?
She heard approaching sirens. Finally. “The police are here. We’ll ask them if you can go to Maxine. Okay?”
Bernadette nodded again. Her hold on Kelly tightened. “Please don’t leave me.” Her sadness was deep, and the tears flowed again.
Kelly gave a reassuring pat to Bernadette’s hand.
“Lucky Cove Police!” Gabe’s voice drifted into the living room, and he appeared by Evan’s side. “What happened?”
“I found her.” Kelly pointed to Maxine, still trying to avoid looking at her. “She’s dead.” Why she chose to state the obvious was beyond her.
She, along with Bernadette and Evan, was removed from the room immediately. Gabe attempted to separate Bernadette from Kelly, but she had a meltdown and the lead detective allowed the two of them to stay together. While they waited to be questioned, Gabe cautioned Kelly against talking to Bernadette about the murder. Given the fact Bernadette had curled up on the sofa in the study, stared out the stained glass window, and didn’t utter a word, not discussing the murder didn’t seem to be a problem.
“Thank you, Miss Quinn.” Detective Nora Wolman closed her notepad and turned to the ornately carved writing desk. On the blotter was the detective’s forensics kit. She’d taken fingerprints and a DNA sample from both Kelly and Bernadette. Kelly assumed she did the same with Evan. “If I have any further questions, I’ll be in contact.”
“Can I go?” Kelly had been consoling Bernadette since discovering Maxine’s body, so the full impact hadn’t hit her completely until her fingerprints were taken.
Her body began to shake, and flashes of Maxine’s body slammed her one after another. Bernadette’s scream reverberated in her head, and an echo of Evan’s demand of who she was repeated; each time his voice got deeper and deeper. She prayed the detective would release her. She just wanted to go home.
“Yes.” Detective Wolman turned to Bernadette. “You’re going to the hospital to be checked out, and we’ll contact your family.”
Bernadette didn’t respond. She just continued staring out the window. Her answers to the detective’s questions earlier were vague, and Kelly noticed the detective seemed frustrated by the lack of information. Though, Kelly supposed Bernadette was in shock from seeing her cousin’s lifeless body in the living room.
“It seemed odd Evan Fletcher appeared right after Maxine was murdered.” Why wasn’t Kelly heading for the door so she could leave like the detective said she could? Why was she asking questions?
“How do you know she was just killed?” The detective turned to face Kelly. She shoved her hands into her pants pockets.
As a detective, she’d traded one uniform for another. Kelly had seen it often when she lived in the city. Professional women, especially those in male-dominated fields, were still leery of dressing more femininely. Dark colors, knee-length skirts and sad, sensible shoes. The detective was one of those women. She left her patrol uniform for drab pantsuits. Kelly would love to have styled her.
“Is there something you haven’t told me?” The detective arched an eyebrow, waiting for an answer.
Kelly snapped out of her styling daydream. “Well, rigor hadn’t set in, her skin was still warm, and the blood was still seeping out of the wound on her head.” The skittering chills came back, and Kelly hugged herself to warm up. “I watched a lot of crime shows.”
“Watched?”
“These days I barely have time to sleep.”
A glimmer of recognition touched the detective’s hazel eyes. “You’re Martha Quinn’s granddaughter. I’m sorry about your grandma. She was a sweet lady. My mom consigned at the shop.”
Kelly gave a weak smile. She wasn’t comfortable receiving condolences and wondered how long she’d be receiving them. “Thank you. What do you think of my theory?”
“I appreciate you sharing it. I can’t comment on the investigation. You’re free to go.” Detective Wolman gestured toward the door before turning to the desk to gather up her things.
“He was very defensive when I asked if he saw anyone else around the house and how long he’d been here.”
The detective looked over her shoulder. Her expression was unreadable because it was neutral. If she didn’t play poker, she should because she’d clean up. “What exactly did he say?”
Kelly didn’t have to work hard to recall their conversation; after all, they’d been waiting with a corpse for the police to arrive. “He said he hadn’t seen anyone else when he got here. When I asked him how long he’d been here, he didn’t answer the question. Instead, he asked if I thought he killed Maxine.” Evan Fletcher’s nonanswers reminded Kelly of an ex-boyfriend who evaded questions by answering them with questions. She soon tired of the game and left him and his questions.
“Anything else?”
Kelly shook her head. “He seems shady. Suspicious. You know?”
“Thank you for the information. As I said, you’re free to go.”
“Gotcha. I’ll be going.” Kelly stood from the armchair she’d settled onto after she was fingerprinted and walked to the door. She passed a wall of tall, narrow sparsely filled bookcases and each was topped with a pointed arch. The design mimicked lancet windows, which were commonly found in Gothic architecture. She recognized the design, thanks to an interior decorating elective she took in fashion school.
“Your tote bag,” Detective Wolman said.
“Right.” Kelly turned and dashed back to the chair and picked up her tote bag. As she slung the bag over her shoulder, she began walking to the door again. “Evan Fletcher said he had an appointment. Who was it with? Bernadette or her cousin?”
“What difference does it make?”
Kelly shrugged. “I guess none.” Distracted by a niggling in her brain and Bernadette’s new round of sobs, she wasn’t paying attention to where she was stepping and tripped over a power cord beside the desk. Luckily there wasn’t anything attached to it. “Oops.”
“Officer Donovan will escort you out of the house.”
Before Kelly pulled open the door, she looked back at Bernadette. Her body was folded over, and she looked so small and helpless. She hated leaving Bernadette.
“I’ll make sure her family comes to take care of her,” the detective said as if reading Kelly’s thoughts.
Great. Another psychic. Kelly nodded and left the house.
* * * *
Staring at the ceiling wasn’t making Kelly any drowsier. Rather, she was more awake than she had been when she crawled into bed an hour ago. How was that possible? She’d been on her feet all day, rearranging merchandise, ringing up sales, and finding a dead body. A simple visit that was all it was supposed to be.
Finding the body had freaked her out more than anything else had. Even when she discovered an ex-boyfriend trying on her clothes. Yeah, talk about a night she’d never forget. He looked like a deer caught in the headlights and somehow was surprised when she told him to leave and take the dress with him. He’d stretched out the maxi dress, and she couldn’t possibly wear it again, ever. She didn’t care wh
at Kevin wore to make himself feel good, but it was a Max Mara dress she didn’t get on sale. That was too much to forgive.
Drumming her fingers on her abdomen, she guessed she and Irene Singer had something in common. They each had had a dress they never, ever wanted to see again.
Traveling down memory lane wasn’t helping Kelly fall asleep, and she was exhausted. So why wouldn’t her mind shut off? Because her day had been horrendous. Business had started off well then declined once word spread Bernadette had had a vision of murder when she tried on a dress. Next up was getting tossed out of Irene Singer’s house and, to round out the day, she walked into a real-life murder scene.
Fear pricked her skin when she thought of a near miss with the killer. If she had arrived just a few moments earlier, she could have come face-to-face with the killer.
A pouncing on her bed startled Kelly. She screamed and bolted upright. Her heart skipped many, many beats before her vision caught up with her panic.
Howard. Granny’s rescue cat.
Kelly’s hand rested over her heart, and she fell back into her tower of pillows while Howard settled by her feet and proceeded to wash his face. It took a couple of minutes for her heart rate to return to normal. Boy, her heart was getting a heck of a workout.
Howard stopped washing his face and stared at her. They were still in the getting-to-know-each-other phase of their relationship. The first few days she stayed in the apartment he made himself scarce. To coax him out, she began leaving cat treats for him. She’d never had a pet before and had no idea if she was offending him with her bribery.
He made a move forward. Progress, she hoped.
“Are you going to sleep here tonight?”
He didn’t reply. Typical male.
“How was your day?”
Given what she knew about cats, which was little, she guessed he’d slept most of the day. Her cell phone rang, interrupting her one-sided conversation with her new roommate. She snatched the phone from the nightstand and glanced at the caller ID.
Murder Wears a Little Black Dress Page 4