“Money?” Win provided, setting Strike on the floor. “That’s always a mitigating factor. Maybe he was worried Wade would divorce Kirkland and take some of the family fortune?”
“Well, I can tell you from our chats, Wade signed a prenup that gives him nothing—and because Kirkland decided not to take the position as CEO of his father’s grocery stores, he gets nothing from Endicott’s. In fact, Kirkland gets nothing other than a trust that was already set aside for him as a child. Maybe it’s a significant amount of trust fund money Kirkland was advised to protect, but either way, Wade doesn’t get anything.”
“How like Harris to hold a grudge and punish Kirkland for making him hand everything over to a simpering woman.”
I winked at Win. “Exactly my thought. According to Kirkland, Harris wasn’t happy when he decided to bow out of the business, and he especially wasn’t thrilled about giving the position to Loretta for that very reason. But he did. So there’s that.”
“And Rosemary?” Win asked, swirling his wine in its glass. “She’s certainly the least likely suspect due to the very nature of her docile temperament. One would have to have a modicum of submission, married to a troglodyte like Harris.”
My head bounced in agreement and my nose wrinkled. Troglodyte was the quintessential word to describe Harris. “Though, the least likely suspect is sometimes the most likely killer. So we can’t discount her, but we need to know a time of death before we jump to any conclusions. We need alibis, which I’m hoping Kirkland will talk his family into providing.”
“And then there’s cause of death,” Win reminded me. “We don’t know what killed him.”
I sighed, rubbing my temples with a pinch of my fingers. “And neither of us took pictures of the crime scene because we were tending to Kirkland and answering redundant questions from Dana. So we’ll have to go from memory.”
Win reached across the island and gripped my hand with a sympathetic smile. “Did you see anything unusual on Wade’s body, Dove? Or around it? I know this has been awful for you, but can you remember much?”
I closed my eyes and blew out a breath, the vision of Wade’s glassy gaze staring up at me flashing through my mind’s eye, leaving me fighting off another case of the willies.
“I didn’t see much more than everyone else. First, I had a bunch of dirt in my eyes, and then I was freaked out, and then…well, I didn’t want to gawk at him in front of Kirkland. What did you see?”
“Only what he was wearing. Also, I noted he had something around his neck, but the brief glance I gave it didn’t reveal if it was a choker necklace or something used to strangle him.”
I jabbed a finger in the air. “Yes. I wondered that myself. His hair was also matted against his skull, which could suggest he was clobbered over the head and the matting was a result of dried blood.”
“I’m sure the police have cordoned off the crime scene. There’s likely no way we’ll be able to view it. So when will you feel comfortable going to talk to Kirkland, Dove? I’d like to prepare a question or two myself.”
Win was coming with me? I bristled—and then I blinked in surprise and mentally rolled my eyes. Of course he was coming with me. We did this together. We’d always done this together. I’d never investigated a thing—unless it was for snacks in my pantry—before I’d investigated a murder with Win. What was I thinking?
And then it hit me.
I’d had total control. Win could yap all he wanted in my ear, but he couldn’t physically become involved. Sure, he’d offered tons of input and we’d scoured clues together for a few years now, but I did all the talking, and I ignored him if I didn’t feel his questions were pertinent. Sometimes I even ignored his advice.
Oh, dear. Now I understood part of the problem. The control freak in me felt as though Win were encroaching on my territory.
How ridiculous.
But true…
I straightened my spine and decided I’d give myself a good talking to later in my bathroom mirror, because Win was anything but intrusive. He was my partner, as were Arkady and Belfry.
This was simply going to take some adjusting.
Suddenly, Win sat up straight, his eyes scanning our kitchen. “Stephania?”
I looked around guiltily, feeling as though Win had heard my innermost thoughts. Gripping the edge of the island’s counter, I stopped all motion. “Uh-huh?”
“Do you see anything?”
Instantly, my eyes went wide and I looked around the kitchen. “No…nothing. Are you hearing something?”
Win jumped up from his chair, his reflexes that of a graceful cat as he began to follow the sound, motioning for me to join him.
I latched onto his arm as we made our way into our formal dining room and whispered, “What do you hear?”
“Gagging. As though someone is…” He trailed off when I went still, my eyes glued to the corner by our tall span of windows just behind the dining room table.
“As though someone’s choking,” I murmured, and took a deep breath.
Someone was choking.
That someone was Wade.
Chapter 6
I fought a gasp as tears stung my eyes. Wade was in the corner of our dining room, hazy and fuzzy, blipping in and out of focus, but it was him.
His beautiful green eyes bulged as he frantically tugged at his neck, his expression one of sheer terror. I tried to keep my eyes on him even though it pained me.
I’m never sure if apparitions can see me…or maybe I should say it’s not always clear. Sometimes they can, sometimes not. Still, if maybe Wade could at least see someone he knew was there, he might be able to find some comfort. Thus, I tried to keep my face as calm and welcoming as possible.
“Where is he, Stephania?” Win’s terse question, hissed from between clenched teeth, made me stiffen.
I knew I had to gather my senses for Wade’s sake, but watching him struggle was killing me.
“Corner, by the dining room windows. He’s tugging at his neck, Win. Tell him to stop fighting this. He’s stuck in a loop, trying to prevent whoever killed him from doing it again. Tell him to stop!”
“Wade! Wade, listen to me. You must listen. Stevie says to stop fighting. Stop trying to prevent the incident. Stop.”
Almost immediately, Wade’s eyes zoomed around the room and he looked directly at me. He dropped his hands from his neck, his breathing slowing, his eyes still glazed with fear but no longer bulging.
“Okay, he stopped. Now explain to him he’s caught in a loop. I don’t want him to be frightened, but he also needs to know he’s dead, Win, and it’s okay for him to move on if that’s what he wants to do.”
Win grimaced, and I knew the struggle to connect with Wade was happening. Win relied on his body language, his facial expressions, his incredible charisma to read people, and he couldn’t do that with Wade if he couldn’t see him.
He leaned into me, his words hushed. “But shouldn’t we ask him who killed him? If he remembers who did this?”
I shook my head so hard, I felt my eyeballs rattle. “No! Absolutely not. That’s the last thing we should do. He doesn’t know he’s dead, Win. We have to tell him that before we do anything else.”
“Very well then, please position me in front of him, Stephania. So I might at least make eye contact when I tell him something so delicate.”
I moved Win toward the window and, with the condensation gathered on the glass, I drew an outline of Wade and an approximation of the location of his face for a point of reference.
“Tell him it’s okay, Win. Tell him we’re going to try to help him, and it’s all going to be all right, but he must listen to what you say so he can cross over.”
Win twisted his neck side to side and took a deep breath. “Wade, I’m Win, Stevie’s boyfriend. I don’t know if you remember me, but you must listen to me. I implore you to listen. Nod if you can hear me, would you?”
He nodded, and I confirmed that for Win even though his eyes were still wild
and confused.
“Tell him to look at you, Win. Tell him to look at you so I know he’s seeing you, even if you can’t see him.”
“Can you see me, Wade?”
Wade nodded, but his eyes kept darting back and forth, and that made me think Win needed to move this along.
As the rain began to pound against the roof and the windows, an ominous foreboding crept over me. “He’s nodding, Win, but I feel like we need to hurry this along before he gets spooked again.”
Clearing his throat, Win stared at the picture I’d drawn on the window, his eyes going soft. “Do you know what happened to you, Wade?”
My hands clenched into fists. Shoot. He didn’t understand where he was or how he’d gotten there—that typically meant he didn’t know he was dead at all, only that he couldn’t breathe and he didn’t know why.
“He’s shaking his head no. Tell him you’ll explain, but only if he can try and remain calm.”
Win clucked his tongue before he said, “Wade, we’re here to help you and we’ll explain, but you must remain calm. Can you—”
When my Spy Guy stopped quite suddenly, and Wade’s face crumpled, I grabbed his shirt. “What’s happening?”
But Win cocked his ear to listen, pressing a finger to his mouth, and then he nodded. “Everything he’s saying is a jumble, Stephania. A jumble of letters and words I can’t quite catch, he’s moving so quickly.”
Indeed, Wade’s mouth was moving rapidly, so I ran to the kitchen and grabbed the paper and pen I’d been using to write questions to ask Kirkland, and yelled to Win, “Just repeat everything he’s saying—all of it. I’ll write it down!”
Win leaned in, his ear cocked toward Wade. “B, never, why, club, lies, so many, Kirkland, Kirkland, Kirkland. Help. Please. M. Stop. Loved him. Hurts. Stop. Hurts. Stop—”
As quickly as Win shot off the words was as quickly as Wade began to shimmer and fade. “Wait! Tell him to wait, Win! He’s fading. He’s stuck in a loop and we have to talk him down!”
Win’s words became more urgent as he pleaded, “Wade! Look at me, mate. You must try and stay here. Resist the urge to leave. We can help you, Wade, but you must listen!”
The room began to feel cloistered, hot, and as though it had arms capable of squeezing the life out of me. A pounding began in my ears, a steady beat of pulsing that vibrated through my limbs.
And then he was gone—his image fizzled out like static leaving the screen of a television.
Gripping Win’s arm, I squeezed it as the pressure of the room equalized. “He’s gone, Win.”
“Argh!” he shouted, clenching his teeth and his fists. “I couldn’t get him to listen, Stephania. He was on such a tear, there was no interrupting him. How utterly maddening!”
Win didn’t like to lose, and to him, this was surely a loss. He wouldn’t see this as something that might occur in phases and take time. He would only see he’d failed to keep Wade here, and I hated that for him.
Grabbing Win’s hand, I led him back to the kitchen, where I poured him another glass of wine with a sympathetic nod of my head. “I know. Believe me when I tell you, I understand, but he’s stuck in a loop. All the things he was thinking when he was in the throes of death are flying around in his head like snowflakes in a blizzard. He can’t control it at this stage of the game, Win, and neither can you. As you know, the afterlife is unpredictable. You can only do your best to reach those who contact you, and you really did do your best.”
But Win shook his head, his eyes full of his concern. “Was it my best? Was is enough, Dove?”
“It was a start. I felt his panic, but once you spoke to him, he stopped pulling at his neck. That’s something. I know it’s not enough to satisfy you, but it’s a beginning.”
Win took a long swallow of his wine and blew out a breath. “I have to tell you, dealing with the afterlife is far more difficult than any terrorist I’ve ever dealt with.”
I chuckled. “Oh, really? Then I would have been an ace spy, I suppose. I mean, I dealt with you and Arkady for a long time, and look how you two turned out.”
Leaning over, he dropped a light kiss on my lips. “Indeed, you would have been an exceptional spy, Dove.” Then he paused and looked into his wine glass. “Wade was frightened, Stevie. I hate that I was unable to prevent him from leaving before I’d reassured him…brought him a modicum of comfort.”
Resting my head on his shoulder, inhaling the scent of his cologne, I stroked his arm in an effort to soothe him. Win had seen the comical side of hearing dead people.
He’d even seen some of the more difficult, but this was the first time he’d encountered an apparition in true distress. One he’d tried to offer guidance to and had been unsuccessful.
It was a difficult, emotionally taxing job. Most especially when you couldn’t make them listen. I’d forgotten how rough it could be to hear their agonies, feel their fears, but seeing Win now, it all came back to me.
“I know how hard this can be on the heart, Win, but you did a terrific job. All you can do is listen and guide. It’s up to the spirit to take your advice or not.”
Resting his chin on the top of my head, he sighed. “I don’t know how you did it all those years.”
“Well, to be fair, it wasn’t always like this, 007. The afterlife didn’t come to me back then the way it does now. I’d never encountered much more than missing pets and regrets to pass along. There was no murder involved.”
“Ah, but I’m betting you were as compassionate over a missing pet as you are about everything else.” Sitting up, he looked at me, tiny lines of weariness gathering around his eyes. “Anyway, where do we go from here, Dove? Can we hope he’ll come back?”
Grabbing the paper where I’d written down all the things Wade had said, I held it up. “We can. We will. In the meantime, we could look at this and try to decipher what some of it might mean.”
“We could. Why don’t we do that while I make us our evening meal?”
Idle hands were the devil’s playthings, right? Win needed to do something to occupy his mind and cooking was one of his favorite things. I was happy to let him do it because, while I didn’t mind watching him and occasionally helping, it didn’t interest me in the least.
Plus, he was pretty adorable in an apron.
“Dinner sounds great, but promise me one thing?”
“What’s that?” he asked as he headed to the pantry to grab his trusty apron.
“No lima beans. I don’t care what you call them in French to try and trick me into eating those slimy little things that resemble green bugs minus the squiggly legs, but I’m here to tell you, I’m not having it. Comprende?”
Win’s laughter rang out from the pantry, and for the moment, I was able to put aside my worry about Kirkland and set the table.
I poured some coffee for Win and we grabbed our steaming mugs, opting to sit by the kitchen windows and watch the water roll by as we set out to try and piece something together with the crazy batch of words and alphabet soup Wade had called out like letters in a game of bingo.
“That is some serious cuckoopants there, Boss. None of it makes any sense,” Belfry commented. He’d arisen from his nap, starving and curious about our day.
When we’d shared what happened to Wade, he put on his Sherlock Holmes hat and prepared to dig in right alongside us.
I stroked his head and nodded. “It sure is. I’m almost afraid to tell Kirkland about it because it sounds so convoluted.”
Bel nodded, his eyes fixated on the message Wade had spewed, then he clucked his tongue. “I really liked Wade and Kirkland. Nice guys. I’m sorry about what happened, but Kirkland believes in the afterlife. I’m hoping he believes you when you show him this. Wait, are you going to show him this?”
“I haven’t decided yet.” Glancing at the paper, I popped open my laptop and went in search of Wade’s Facebook page.
I know some think social media is the devil’s playground, but sometimes, it’s invaluable to some
one like me who’s trying to investigate under the radar. There are all sorts of clues to even the most minimal of information posted. You just have to look hard.
“So first thing’s first. I think it’s clear Wade was strangled. You said he was pulling at his neck, correct, my Dove?”
I clicked on Wade’s name in my friend’s list and caught a glimpse of his smiling, glowing face. The header of his page had a picture of him and Kirkland on their wedding day, both so handsome in their slim-fitting black suits.
It had been such a glorious day. Sunny and crisp with gorgeous flowers everywhere, pumpkin centerpieces full of mums and sunflowers, mason jar lighting, long rustic-wood tables with family-style seating…and love.
There had been so much love that day. I just couldn’t believe Wade was gone.
Win caressed my cheek with his fingertip. “Dove? You in there?”
“Yes. He was definitely pulling at his neck. I just can’t believe he’s gone, Win. They were so happy,” I said mournfully.
“Were they? Do we know that for a fact?”
My reluctance to admit Win was right to ask the question made me hesitate. Then I shrugged my shoulders. “I guess we don’t. But on that day, they were happy. Didn’t you feel it, or am I just being a silly romantic?”
“They did appear quite besotted with one another, but I’ve been thinking about the other people in attendance. Like Harris, for instance. He was not happy. As I recall, he was mumbling to his VFW buddies that he was glad he hadn’t donated a dime to their little gathering of…”
He trailed off, but I knew exactly what Harris had said that day, because everyone had talked about how crude he’d been. “I remember exactly what he said. So Harris is still a suspect, even if he has no real motive at this point. None that we know of, anyway. Just because I can’t stand him and he makes me feel stabby. That out of my system, can you remember anyone else saying anything off-color?” Then I looked up at the ceiling—a habit I was still unable to break when I addressed Arkady. “Arkady? What about you?”
Witch Perfect (Witchless in Seattle Mysteries Book 11) Page 6
