“I heard that,” I whisper. “There was even mention of a ghost.”
Her eyes widen with what looks to be delight. “I guess you really do learn something new every day.”
Faith comes back with a wall of a dress that meets all the high neck, puffy sleeve, hoop skirt criteria. And the pièce de résistance? A series of corrugated fans are sewn onto the bustle of the skirt to transform any woman’s hips into what essentially amounts to a landing strip.
“Oh, it’s perfect.”
Faith angles her ear our way. “So what’s the gossip? What did you ladies learn?”
I glance to Kiki before leaning in. “Heather thought she was being stalked by a ghost.”
Faith gags on a river of words. “So that’s what she meant.”
“That’s what she meant by what?” My heart thumps wildly as I step in close.
Faith gives a quick glance around. “The day she was killed she mentioned that she felt a dark presence, that she had a stash of sage at home—that she didn’t feel safe.”
“Wow.” I try to take it in. “It’s almost as if she knew the killer was closing in.”
Oh, she did. Faith curls her lips. I’ve never seen anyone jumping out of their skin the way she was. But then, I’m not saying a word. The last thing I want is to have the sheriff’s department sniffing around any more than they already are. Bizzy is dating—engaged—to the lead detective, after all. Everything we say can be misconstrued twelve ways till Sunday. I’d hate to give the impression that I had anything to do with this mess. She glances to the ceiling.
“Wait a minute,” she says. “I asked Heather about the sage. I thought it was a joke, and she said she had an entire altar of sorts in her bedroom to chase the evil spirits out. She said she saw a spiritus years ago to keep the wickedness away.”
Kiki shrugs. “I guess it didn’t work.”
“I guess it didn’t,” I say.
They ante up at the register, and I continue the hunt for the perfect gown to wow my groom, but my mind is elsewhere.
I can’t help but wonder what other oddities Heather Kent may have lurking in that bedroom of hers.
Heather Kent was rife with secrets.
I bet her rental house is a virtual jackpot of clues. Or not.
Either way, I’m determined to find out.
Chapter 14
Shopping for my wedding dress turned out to be a bust.
I’m not happy with the fact I’ll have to go again. I’d like nothing more than for the perfect dress to simply show up in my closet. Heck, I’d be happy if it magically appeared in Jasper’s closet right about now. It’s not that my heart isn’t in it. It’s just that there are far too many choices. It probably didn’t help that I only tried on three. In all fairness, none of them appealed to me, and come to find out, wedding dresses are practically impossible to get on and off.
As soon as Gwyneth and my mother left, I turned to Georgie, Macy, and Emmie.
“I have a sudden urge to drive out to Seaview,” I say. “Anyone care to join me?”
Macy narrows her baby blue peepers over mine. “I recognize that wily look in your eye. You’re up to no good.” She gets a wily look in her own eye. “I’m in.”
My shoulders bounce with a touch of pride. “Okay, so I’m up to no good. But I promise it’s not above the law. I just want to do a simple drive-by of Heather Kent’s place.”
Emmie sucks in a breath as her eyes round out. “Bizzy Claire Baker, you’re going to break in, aren’t you?”
“No.” It comes out thick and defensive. “Okay, so I might look through a window, but that’s totally legal and we all know it.”
A dark laugh strums from Georgie. “You can count me in, Toots. I haven’t met my quota of breaking into a dead person’s place this week.”
The three of us take a moment to stare at our kaftan-loving friend.
“What?” She tosses her hands in the air. “I can’t help it. Dead people have been known to leave a lot of good stuff behind.”
We speed back to the inn and pile into my car as we make a beeline for Seaview. I remember Camila telling me that’s where Heather was staying, and on our way there, Emmie puts on her sleuthing hat and finds Heather’s address in no time flat.
It turns out, Heather posted many a selfie in front of her rental house, and the address itself was visible in more than one photo. Not a bright move in my opinion, especially since she thought someone might be stalking her. Although in her defense, she thought it was a supernatural stalker. I’m not so convinced.
In no time at all we’re parked in front of a pale yellow house with a dogwood hedge in full bloom and an overstuffed mailbox that looks as if it’s about to vomit all its contents onto the street below.
Emmie makes a face as she inspects the place. “I sure hope she didn’t have any pets in there.”
“Huh,” I say, taking off my seatbelt and opening the door. “Now that you mention it, maybe I’d better do a pet wellness check.”
“Ooh!” Georgie grunts as she does her best to untangle herself from the back seat. “I’m coming, too. It’s going to be creepy and morbid to see everything the way she left it, not knowing that she’d never be home again. You know there are a lot of things I would hide if I thought I’d never see my cottage again.”
Macy looks over at her. “Like those funny vases Mom thinks you smoke funny things out of?”
“And they make your brain funny, too,” I add.
Georgie waves the idea off. “Heck no. I’m talking about the raw milk and butter in the fridge. I’m known down at the retirement villas as the resident vegan.”
“Georgie”—I glance at her from the rearview mirror—“you don’t live at the retirement villas.”
She lifts a finger. “Don’t tell them that either.”
The four of us start to get out and a thought hits me.
“Wait a minute,” I say. “One of us has to stay behind and be the lookout.”
“Not it.” Georgie bolts before we can stop her.
“Me either.” Macy shrugs at Emmie. “Sorry, Em. Have fun.”
Emmie groans, “I always miss out on the fun.” She gives me the side-eye. “You’d better save something borderline dangerous for me. I call shotgun on the next investigation.”
“Duly noted,” I say. “Stay out of trouble.”
“I assume you’re talking to yourself.”
I shut the door and head up the porch. It’s stifling hot out, which I think will work in my favor, considering no one in their right mind wants to be out in this heat. It feels as if a glass dome has been set over all of Seaview, effectively turning us into ants ready to combust from the heat.
Both Macy and Georgie are nowhere to be seen. I’m about to knock on the door in the off chance someone is inside just as Macy peers from around the side of the house.
“Hey, amateur. Over here.” She gives me a spastic wave in her direction, and I quickly traipse over. “I can’t believe you were about to knock on the door.”
“Pfft.” I hear Georgie but don’t see her. “Who was going to answer? A ghost?”
“Well, she did believe she was being stalked by a poltergeist.”
“Poltergeist?”
Georgie sticks her head out from inside the window near the back of the house, and I let out a yelp.
“What are you doing in there?” I hiss, trying to keep from notifying the neighbors of an apparent break-in in progress.
“Never mind,” she says, reaching her hand my way. “Get me out of here before the ghosts take me to the other side.”
I step on the garden hose outside the window to give me the boost in height I need before giving her a hand, and in less than a second, Georgie has me landing headfirst in the bedroom.
She belts out a wicked cackle. “You didn’t think I fell for that poltergeist malarkey, did you? I’d welcome a ghost or two right about now. I did a quick check for any pooches or kitties, but it’s pretty lonely in here.”
“You girls are insane,” I say, quickly surveying the interior of Heather Kent’s bedroom. “I wasn’t going to break in. All I wanted was a peek through the window.”
Georgie rolls her eyes. “Now that you’re here, have a look around.” She smacks Macy on the arm. “Let’s raid the fridge. I call the cheese and lunch meats.”
Macy ticks her head. “I call the chocolate and cookies.”
“You’re both disgusting,” I whisper as they take off.
The bedroom isn’t all that spacious, but it’s still three times the size of mine. There’s a king-size bed to my right with a pink frilly comforter dotted with unicorns. To each her own I suppose. Along the far wall, three oversized pictures of horses hang in gilded frames. There’s a dresser with jewelry scattered across the top, a few earrings and necklaces. But it’s the vanity in the corner that has my attention, and I quickly make my way over. The vanity itself is white with a large mirror set above it against the wall. But the contents on the surface of the vanity are what feel like pay dirt.
A trio of white candles sits on a flat mirrored base. They’re melted down severely and there’s a minty scent emanating from them. Scattered around the four edges of the vanity are tiny bundles of pale looking weeds held together with bright pink rubber bands. I’m guessing that’s the sage.
Two thick drawers sit under the vanity and I slip the first one open. Nothing but a few stray pens, lip-gloss, and some blank notepads inside. I open the next one and discover a plastic red folder. I pull it out and find it filled with clippings from newspapers. Most of the edges are yellowed and the paper itself feels fragile. I glance at the first headline and gasp.
Bridesmaid Drowns at Seaside Wedding.
I pull my phone out and take a picture of the article.
My God, why would she save these?
I quickly pull out a few other articles, and they’re all about Rachel Hatterman, the poor bridesmaid who passed out in the water and was found dead the next day.
That conversation Jasper and I had with Kendra, the bride, comes back to me. She practically accused Heather of orchestrating that drinking game.
Could Heather have done that in hopes Rachel would wander to the water? Maybe Heather led her to the water?
I’m not a big drinker, but I can imagine it would take a lot to black out. And if she was that wasted, could she really make it across all the beach? Walking in sand is a lot harder than walking on flat land.
I pull another article out and scan over it quickly, hoping against hope it’ll give me a clue. Woman’s Body Washes Up Against Rocks After a Night of Drunken Revelry.
The rocks.
Come to think of it, maybe Heather bashed her over the head with a rock? But why?
Kendra also mentioned that Heather denied knowing Rachel, even though Rachel insisted they were high school friends.
I think it’s clear Heather had something to hide. I wonder if Rachel knew about Heather’s secret? I wonder if it cost the poor girl her life?
I thumb through the rest of the articles and marvel at what lengths Heather went to procure all of these different newspapers. And for goodness’ sake, why?
An article tucked in the back catches my eye. It looks badly yellowed, dating back eleven years.
I do a quick scan of the other articles and they’re all from six years ago.
A loud bang emits from the kitchen, followed by an expletive-riddled tirade coming from Macy, but I’m too absorbed in what’s in my hands to care.
I carefully pull the article from the back.
High School Girl Found Dead at Smuggler’s Cove. Aileen Bradley from Woodley Heights.
“What’s this?” I whisper as I squint to read the faded lettering.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I fish it out to see a text from Emmie.
Leave NOW!
“Oh God.” I take a quick picture of the article and work my fastest to get the rest of the clippings back into the folder.
Macy and Georgie run by in a blur before trying to dive out of the window at the very same time.
That last article about the girl in Smuggler’s Cove is still hot in my hand, and I can’t seem to part with it. What if the picture doesn’t come out? What if it’s the missing link to the puzzle that is Heather Kent?”
I fold it up and start to put it into my pocket.
“I shouldn’t do this,” I pant.
A loud snap goes off on the wall to my right as all three pictures fall to the floor at once.
I gasp and bury the article into my pocket like a reflex.
All that talk about ghosts runs through my mind and I quickly shake it away.
“It was probably just Macy and Georgie,” I mutter as I give the vanity one last glance. And then in a moment, the wicks on the three candles begin to spark—as one by one an elongated flame appears.
“Oh my God!” I panic as I blow them out in haste then make a mad dash for the window, and as soon as I spot a handsome man with his arms folded across his chest, I let out a bona fide scream.
Jasper pulls out his badge and holds it up.
“Seaview County Sheriff’s Department.” His voice is deep and somber. “You’re under arrest.”
Chapter 15
“I can’t believe you arrested me.”
“I had to make it look good.” Jasper secures his grip over the steering wheel.
Jasper cuffed me and placed me in the passenger’s side of his truck, much to the delight of the applauding neighbors. But all was not as it had seemed. It wasn’t the neighbors that tipped off the sheriff’s department; it was Emmie herself.
“I can’t believe my own lookout snitched on me.”
She apologized profusely once Jasper dragged me from the bushes in handcuffs. Jasper asked Macy to drive my car home. He said he wanted to take the ringleader down to headquarters for a brief interrogation.
Jasper shrugs as he looks out the windshield. “Don’t be too hard on poor Emmie. She was talking to Leo on the phone. And when she got evasive about where she was, he tapped into her gray matter.”
“Wow,” I muse. “Talk about taking your talents to another level. I’ll have to try that the next time I’m on the phone with you.”
His lips flex a dry smile. “Bizzy, you broke into Heather Kent’s house. What were you thinking?”
“I don’t know—finding fresh ways to infuriate you?”
His brows rise and fall as if the thought amused him.
We pull into the back of the Seaview Sheriff’s Department and Jasper helps me out but pauses before freeing me from my cuffs.
“I’ll take these off, but only if you promise not to run.”
“You’re very funny. Are you always such a good time?”
“I’m a ball.” He gives a sly wink before taking off the cuffs and wrapping an arm around my waist. “Come on, I’ve got something in my office I think you might be interested in.”
“Why do I get the feeling that was a double entendre?”
“Have I ever told you I like how you think? With the exception of when you decide to break and enter. I’m not so crazy about that maneuver.”
Jasper leads us into the well air-conditioned building, quickly navigating me to the homicide division.
Camila sits at her desk, flicking her bright red nails that look freshly painted. The caustic scent of nail polish lingers in the air.
She grunts at the sight of me, “I guess now’s as good a time as any.” She hops up and blocks our path to Jasper’s office.
Her blouse is far too fitted and unbuttoned suspiciously low. Her pencil skirt is so tight I’m shocked she can breathe. And those sky-high heels look as if they were designed as instruments of torture during the Middle Ages. It’s clear Camila is working overtime to seduce my fiancé, and I don’t like it one bit.
Is it wrong that I’m hoping a round of budget
cuts obliterates her position?
Jasper takes a full, clearly irritated breath.
“What is it, Camila?” He doesn’t bother to gift her a smile.
Her hot pink lips curve my way. “As I was leaving the set this morning, I spoke with Peter. He said Heather told him she was in a wedding party that held the reception right there at the cove, and guess what?” She bats her lashes manically at us.
“One of the bridesmaids drank herself silly and drowned in the cove,” I say, cutting her off at the pass. I know I made it sound like some punch line to a macabre joke, but I couldn’t help it. Camila is working very hard to undermine my case.
She takes in a quick breath. “You knew?”
“I know everything.” I lift a shoulder her way.
Okay, so I don’t know everything, but that doesn’t mean Camila needs to come across as knowing everything either.
She tips her head back, and for some reason, her cutthroat beauty only seems to be magnified.
“Did you know that both Heather and the bridesmaid that drowned went to high school together?”
Now it’s me gasping. It sounds as if Camila is really getting a handle on this case, and I don’t like it one bit. Of course, I knew Heather and Rachel went to high school together, but the fact Camila is picking up clues at a quickened clip is the alarming part.
A wicked laugh trembles from her. “See that, Jasper? I’ve impressed the future missus.” She leans his way with a seductive swivel of her shoulders. “I have something that’s about to make your mouth water, too.” She steps back to her desk and retrieves something before thrusting the object our way.
“A yearbook?” I just about howl out the words as I try to snatch it from her, but she pulls it back just enough out of my reach.
“It’s not for you.” She smears a prideful smile my way. “And yes, this is Heather and Rachel’s senior yearbook. I’m gifting it to the man who has stolen my heart.” She gives a little wink his way. “And whose heart I am determined to winnow my way back into.”
She hands the book to Jasper.
Cat Scratch Cleaver Page 12
