Farrah circled the room with a curious air, then bent down to run her fingers over the bearskin rug. “Shagadelic,” she joked.
Crenshaw was more serious, as he eyed me with concern. Whether he was worried about the strange noise or concerned for my mental health, I wasn’t sure. “Perhaps you heard Celia walking around upstairs,” he said. “In old houses—”
“Stop,” I said, holding up a palm. “I know what you’re going to say, and you’re right. It could have been anything: creaking walls, old plumbing, somebody dropping something upstairs.”
He visibly relaxed. “Very well. No harm done.”
“Right. Just a little paranoia, that’s all.”
And who could blame me?
Chapter Twenty-Five
I was afraid I would have trouble sleeping, but somehow I managed. Maybe I was just exhausted from being on edge for so long. Either way, sleep came as a relief. I awoke with the sun on Friday morning, feeling remarkably refreshed. I slipped out of bed without waking Farrah and hurried to get dressed so I could go outside.
The world was quiet and peaceful under the clear autumn sky. I strolled around the grounds, enjoying the fresh air. I hoped the weather would remain this pleasant for the gala. Crenshaw had mentioned the festivities might spill outside, which made perfect sense with gardens this lovely.
I wandered over to the western edge of the property where fat pine cones littered the ground. Out of habit, I started collecting them until my arms were so full, I wound up dropping them all. I laughed at myself. Was this a sign that I was trying to take on too much at once? Just like the squirrel from my astral visit with Elaine in the parlor.
Picking up the spilled pine cones, I arranged them like an offering at the base of a tall pine tree. Then I pocketed a small, cute one and headed over to the side of the mansion where the walnut trees grew outside the parlor window. Elaine had pointed to the window twice in my vision. Was there something out here I was meant to see?
The recently mown lawn sloped gently away from the house. There was nothing much to see on the ground besides a few sticks and walnuts and the first of the fallen leaves. I picked up a green walnut and rubbed the bumpy hull with my thumb and fingers. There were no clues out here—except for nature’s subtle reminders to pay attention to the beauty all around. A song sparrow whistled overhead, and I smiled.
Not yet ready to go inside, I headed toward the gardens, then veered off track toward Ray’s cottage. The last I saw him in the mansion, he’d said something about helping Celia with the dusting this morning. I wondered if that was where he was now. His windows were dark, and Ray didn’t strike me as the type of person who slept late. I walked up to the front door and knocked. There was no answer, either human or canine. After a moment, I went to the side door, which led to Ray’s studio. Thinking he might be taking advantage of the early-morning light, I tapped on the door. Again, there was no answer.
I could hear Farrah’s voice inside my head. We need to snoop! We need to search the occupied rooms!
What would I find in Ray’s place? Did he know more than he was telling us about Elaine’s will? And was he or wasn’t he walking his dog when she drank her final gulp of cinnamon milk?
“Keli?”
I whirled, placing my hand on my heart—the same hand that had been about to reach for Ray’s doorknob.
“Detective Rhinehardt! What are you doing here?”
“I was looking for you. Crenshaw said you might be out here.”
“He was right. Here I am.” I laughed sheepishly and walked away from the door.
“How’s your search going?” he asked.
“Not great,” I said bluntly.
“Any other incidents here you need to tell me about?”
“Not really.” Unless you count things that go bump in the night. Or bump in the daytime, as the case may be. “However, we’ve identified holes in everyone’s alibi for the time Elaine was likely killed.”
“Crenshaw told me about that. But I still don’t have evidence a crime was committed.” He held up his hand to keep me from speaking. “I need something concrete. Conjecture isn’t enough.”
I kicked at a patch of fallen leaves.
“Let’s walk,” said Rhinehardt, heading back to the path. We moved farther away from the mansion, following a trail I hadn’t yet explored. Before long, we came to a thatched roof cabana next to the covered swimming pool. We were on the back side of the cabana, so I couldn’t see inside. From what I could tell, it had probably been charming in its day. It was now a bit shabby and forlorn from lack of use. We continued on down the hill toward the grove of trees.
“Did Crenshaw tell you I’d like a copy of an old police report?” I asked. “I’m still trying to figure out why Lana ran away when she was seventeen.”
“Yeah, he told me. And I looked into it. But the report won’t tell you much.”
I glanced over at him. “You’ve seen it?”
He nodded. “It basically says that two officers responded to an emergency call at Turnbull Manor at four P.M. on November thirtieth. A family friend made the call.”
“Perry Warren?”
“Yes. The shooting was ruled an accident and the report was closed out.”
“That’s it? Wasn’t there an investigation?”
For a moment Rhinehardt didn’t answer. I wondered if he felt conflicted about sharing so much with a layperson. But since the accident occurred so long ago, I didn’t think it should matter.
He squinted against the morning sunlight. “Fact is, I thought the report was unusually brief myself. So, I paid a visit to the reporting officer. He’s retired now, but I knew his name from some of the old-timers.”
“What did he say? Did he remember the call?”
“Yes, he remembered. Seems he never thought the shooting was accidental.”
“What?” I stopped in my tracks, forcing the detective to halt, too. By this time, we were quite a distance from the house. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed an overgrown concrete structure and heard the trickle of water. I figured it must be the old springhouse Crenshaw had mentioned, but I wasn’t interested in that now. “If he didn’t think it was an accident, then why didn’t he open an investigation?”
Rhinehardt sighed, clearly not happy about the situation. “The officers thought they were doing what was best. They wanted to spare the family any more heartache.”
“You mean—?”
“They believed Jim had committed suicide.”
“Oh. Well, the family had a right to know that.”
“I agree. But there was no note, no definitive proof. The retired officer said it could have been an accident. Faced with a grieving widow, a grieving mother—also widowed—and a grieving daughter, they decided to go with the gentler explanation.”
The air was cooler among the trees, but that’s not why I shivered. My imagination had jumped to the past. Had Lana witnessed her father taking his own life? If so, it was no wonder she didn’t want to come back to Turnbull Manor. And if she had heard her parents fight that very morning, maybe she blamed her mother for what had happened.
“It’s so sad,” I said softly.
“Yeah,” Rhinehardt agreed. “There’s no question about that.”
* * *
Rhinehardt declined my offer of coffee and said he’d check in with me later. After breakfast, Farrah and I each went to our own homes for a little while to catch up on some work and pick out our dresses for the gala. I scrounged up some lunch while I was at my house. Before leaving, I decided to seek some spiritual guidance. I went up to my altar room, took out my favorite deck of tarot cards, and made myself comfortable in the center of the spare bed. As I shuffled the cards, I thought about all the questions roiling in my mind like smoke in a cauldron.
Did someone really murder Elaine Turnbull? If so, then why? For her money? Who stood to benefit from her death? Under the only will in evidence, Lana was the only one to benefit. Yet she had left her home, her f
amily, and her privileged life fifteen years ago and never returned. Again, why?
Then there was the question of the mystery in my own life. Who in the world was messing with me—and what was the point? More importantly, what would the creep do next?
Suddenly, I felt a wave of vulnerability as I became aware of my solitude in the quiet house. I didn’t even have Josie to keep me company. She had been content to prowl around the Turnbull mansion, so I let her stay behind.
Sunlight slanted through the window, illuminating dust mites in the air. I stared at the specks for a few breaths and consciously willed myself to calm down. When I returned to my shuffling, I asked myself what I most wanted to know.
Am I on the right track?
I drew the top card and turned it over. The Lovers. I stared at the card, perplexed. What did The Lovers have to do with anything? This was a card about relationships and connections. It also represented choice.
Did I have a choice to make?
* * *
When I returned to the mansion, there were unfamiliar people scurrying about, moving furniture, dusting, polishing, and mopping. Crenshaw had informed me he had hired extra help to ensure tonight would run smoothly. I found him setting up a velvet rope on gold stands in front of the paintings in the great room.
“How’s it going?” I asked.
He turned and dusted off his hands. “Ah, Keli. I’d like you to meet—where did he go?”
A wiry, weathered-looking man came bounding around the corner. He wore a navy-blue security guard uniform and a broad grin.
Crenshaw beckoned the man to come forward. “Gus, this is my partner, Keli Milanni.”
Still grinning, Gus shook my hand and bounced on his feet. He made me think of a tightly-wound spring.
“Keli,” said Crenshaw, “Gus is on loan to us from the Edindale Art Museum—as are these ropes.”
I smiled in return, slightly touched that Crenshaw had referred to me as his partner. I knew he hadn’t been pleased when I left the law firm. I was also amused at Gus’s apparent glee.
“I work part-time at the museum,” Gus said. “I started my career as a roadie, traveling with bands around the country. Then I moved into security. I work security at concerts and festivals every summer.”
“Cool.”
“Yeah, it’s a trip. No pun intended.” He laughed, making me think his pun was totally intended. “This is my first gig at a private home. And, man, is this place palatial! Have you seen the guest bathroom? There’s more marble in there than in my mother’s kitchen.”
“Yeah,” I said agreeably. “I’ve been staying here all week.”
“Lucky you!”
“I’ve been showing Gus around,” said Crenshaw, looking slightly uneasy. “We’ll try to confine the party to the first floor, with the exception of the gallery at the top of the stairs. Guests will enter through the front door, mingle in the great room and parlor, and points in between. We’ll have a bar set up in the conservatory with the doors open to the patio. That’s where the band will play and the scholarship will be announced.”
“Should I check bags at the front door?” asked Gus.
“Check them for what?”
“You know. Drugs, alcohol, weapons.”
Crenshaw touched his forehead as if it pained him. “This isn’t a rock festival. Think of this as a museum. Your job is to keep people from touching the artwork.”
“Gotcha,” said Gus. “No problem.”
“I’m going to take my dress upstairs,” I said. “Is there anything I can do to help after that?”
“As a matter of fact, there is one thing. There are some chairs in the tool shed that need to be brought to the patio. Ernesto was going to do it, but he had to leave to pick up an outdoor canopy tent. And I need to finish placing these ropes and showing Gus around.”
“No problem. I’ll do it.”
After a quick trip upstairs, I headed out back. The shed was a modern, metal structure near the garage. As I passed the steps leading up to Ernesto’s apartment, I glanced up. Would I ever have a chance to talk to the guy? Maybe Farrah and I could corner him tonight.
I was nearly to the shed when I heard voices. It sounded like two men arguing. I slowed my steps and perked up my ears. As I drew closer, I dropped behind a hydrangea bush and listened. I recognized Perry’s voice. He spoke rapidly and sounded nervous.
“Calm down, Ray! There’s no need to get all worked up.”
“Don’t tell me to calm down!” Ray sounded angry and, from the shrill edge to his voice, “worked up.”
“Really, listen to yourself,” pleaded Perry.
“You listen to me. You—you—”
“Ray! Come on, now. All this stress isn’t healthy. I’m worried about you. Elaine was worried about you.”
“Don’t you dare—” Ray tried to cut in, but Perry kept talking.
“Do you hear how paranoid you sound? All this nonsense about a missing will. You’ve got those poor lawyers tearing apart the house looking for a figment of your imagination. You need to face reality!”
“I know what you’re doing,” said Ray, his voice suddenly an octave lower. “I’m on to you.”
“Okay, Ray. Whatever you say.” It sounded like Perry was walking away. Would Ray go after him?
“You won’t get away with this!” Ray hollered. A second later, he stormed past my hiding place. I peeked out from behind the bush and saw he was carrying two patio chairs.
“Looks like things are under control here,” I muttered to myself. Avoiding the patio, I made my way around to the front of the house. I had no desire to run into Ray when he was in such a foul mood. From what I’d witnessed, his anger seemed positively . . . murderous.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I found Farrah in our room getting ready for the gala. She turned off the hair dryer and shook it at me.
“It’s about time, girlfriend! I was starting to think you got lost.”
“I got sidetracked.” I told her about the exchange I’d overheard between Ray and Perry. “I don’t know what started it, but Perry must have said something to ignite Ray’s fury.”
“Ray’s a touchy one, isn’t he?” Farrah remarked.
“Touchy as a time bomb.” I looked at myself in the mirror and picked a small leaf out of my hair. “They were talking about Elaine’s will—a subject that always seems to upset Ray. It sounded like Perry doesn’t think Elaine ever made a second will.”
“I tend to agree,” said Farrah.
“You do?”
“Yeah. Ray is the only one who supposedly knows anything about it, and we haven’t found any evidence to support his claim.”
“You might be right.” I thought again about seeing Elaine in the parlor during my astral projection. Although she didn’t say or do much, I’d felt sure she was communicating with me. I was going to have to figure out another way to contact her. Only she knew the truth.
Farrah moved aside so I could have more space at the mirror. “By the way,” she said, “I passed Suzanne in the hallway a little while ago. She said she’s sorry, but she doesn’t have time to do our makeup after all.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, right. She just doesn’t want to answer any more of my questions.” It was just as well. I wasn’t comfortable with Suzanne’s heavy-handed approach to makeup anyway. After doing my own face and hair, I slipped on a long, jersey-knit gown in burgundy, with a front slit for easier walking. Farrah put on a royal blue cocktail dress, which accentuated the vivid blue of her eyes.
I sat down on the edge of the bed to pull on my strappy heels. Remembering something, I glanced over at Farrah, who was putting on a pair of earrings. “Hey, I meant to ask you—did you invite Randall to the gala?”
“Uh, no. He and I are splitsville.”
“What? When did this happen?”
“A couple of days ago. I realized I didn’t want to be exclusive with him and told him as much. It didn’t go over very well.”
“I c
an imagine.” I stood up and moved to the mirror, making sure my updo was still up.
“At least I was honest. I’m always honest with guys.”
“You are honest,” I said. “It’s one of your best qualities. You’re true to yourself and unapologetic about it.”
“Why should I apologize?”
“You shouldn’t.” I turned to face her. “That’s my point. You’re actually very inspiring to me.”
“Aw. Thanks, Kel.” She stood before me and brought her finger to her chin. “If I’m being absolutely honest then, I must say . . . you look absolutely stunning.”
I grinned. “So do you, sister.”
“Now let’s go solve a mystery.”
* * *
Guests were slowly beginning to trickle in. It was early yet, so I decided to step outside for a few minutes of alone time near the trees. Farrah and I had decided to divide and conquer, working the crowd separately for a while. Our mission was to gather as much information as possible about all the suspects and their relationships with Elaine. Without any physical evidence, we would have to rely heavily on psychology and intuition—and see how far that would take us.
Because of my heels, I stayed on the stone path and didn’t venture too far from the house. Twilight rippled across the sky, and a soft breeze rustled the leaves, sending forth an intoxicating, musky-earth scent. I breathed deeply and felt empowered. As I made my way back toward the mansion, I heard strains of music as the band tuned their instruments.
As lovely as the atmosphere was, I still couldn’t help feeling a little twitchy. It might have been anticipation—I was eager to see Wes after being apart for five days. But that wasn’t all. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going to happen tonight. Something big. I touched my wrist tattoo and straightened my back. Goddess, give me strength.
I reentered the mansion through the kitchen door and caught a whiff of delicious-smelling hot hors d’oeuvres: puffed pastry, garlic, olive oil, and herbs. Even the spicy meatballs smelled mouthwateringly savory. Staff from Ruby Plate Catering buzzed from the kitchen to the dining room, where serving trays were laid out on the table for waiters to pick up and carry around.
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