Morgan nodded. She was trying hard to stay positive and put good vibes out into the universe about getting her gifts back, as Rose had suggested, and hot cocoa certainly couldn’t hurt.
Morgan took her mug and settled into an empty chair.
“I finished my work for the PI case early and was able to narrow down some of the Toyota owners,” Jolene said. “To close that out too. None of them were paranormals.”
Morgan sipped her cocoa. Good, things were finally going in her favor. Maybe all that positive thinking was working.
“I still say it’s too early to rule out that aspect though,” Fiona said, remaining dogged as always. Under other circumstances, Morgan appreciated that quality in her sister. It was what had saved her from being falsely charged with murder the last time, after all. But now it only stirred up her anxiety even more. She wished her sisters would just drop that aspect. Fiona continued arguing her case though. “We all know how devious Dr. Bly is, and he could just be lulling us into a false sense of security. Don’t forget about the marks on Clementine’s wrist. We need to be proactive here. Remember what happened on Rune Island.”
“Hmm,” Celeste said. “But based on what the pirate’s ghost told me, and what Morgan’s been saying all along, I’m leaning toward nonparanormal on this one. You know how we always say we have to trust Morgan’s intuition.”
Morgan choked down a sip of cocoa.
“But if not them, who?” Fiona asked.
“What about Benedict Donovan?” Morgan asked. “He was acting squirrelly earlier at the shop, and honestly, what do we really know about him? After what we found out at the yoga studio, we know that he and Alma were having problems too.”
The fact she knew more about the case and couldn’t share it with her sisters only made her feel guiltier, but she stuck to facts that they’d all have equal access to. Plus, from what Rose had told her, there was definitely going to be a breakup in Alma’s future, but there was no way to share that information that wouldn’t result in her sisters wanting to know how she’d found out about it.
But if Clementine had been the “other woman” that Harriett had been talking about, then why would Benedict want to kill her? Maybe he hadn’t been responsible for her death though. Maybe he only knew something about it and couldn’t tell because it would reveal his interest in her to Alma. And with Clementine dead, he might want to keep stringing Alma along now. That could explain why he’d been acting so strangely at their shop.
“I don’t know, Morgan,” Fiona said, frowning. “Benedict doesn’t strike me as the violent type. I mean, I don’t know the guy well, but he’s always been very polite and quiet when he’s interacted with me.”
“It’s always the quiet ones,” Jolene said.
“True,” said Celeste.
Thankfully, before Morgan could say anything more, a knock sounded on the front door. She tossed aside her blanket and padded down the hall, the hardwood floors cold beneath her feet even through her heavy wool socks. Old mansions were beautiful but not exactly great when it came to heating. She put on her best polite smile, which promptly fell when she opened the door and found Sheriff White standing on the front porch.
Apparently she wasn’t off the hook with the law just yet.
“Ms. Blackmoore.” The sheriff pushed in past Morgan without waiting for an invitation. “I need a pair of your shoes.”
“Excuse me?” Morgan asked, blinking. “Why do you need my shoes?”
“Your boots, to be exact,” Sheriff White said, her scowl darkening. “I need to compare them to tracks found outside Clementine Vega’s house the day of the murder.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Morgan crossed her arms as her sisters wandered out to join them. “With all the officers tromping around that place, there’s no way you can tell any of the footprints found there belonged to the killer.”
“Not true,” Sheriff White said, giving Morgan a superior look that screamed she wasn’t as smart as she thought she was. “A perimeter was established immediately around the premises before any law enforcement entered the area. We photographed and documented all of the snowy areas around the home before we entered the crime scene.” Sheriff White’s slow smile was chilling. “There was one set we found extremely interesting. A trail of footprints leading to Clementine’s back door. Too small to be male. We have reason to believe the killer came in through the kitchen. Adding that to the witness statement putting your car there around the time of death means you are still at the top of my suspect list, Ms. Blackmoore. If you have nothing to hide and want your name cleared, then I suggest you produce a pair of your boots so I can verify whether or not your shoe size is a match.”
Morgan reluctantly grabbed the pair she’d been wearing earlier at the beach, which were sitting in the corner by the front door. She handed one to Sheriff White then crossed her arms against the racing of her heart. It felt like it would fly right out of her chest at this point. She’d been put in the local jail for holding once before. She didn’t want to go through that again. “What happens if it’s a match?”
“Then I take you to the station for further questioning,” Sheriff White said, not looking at her. “You should know the drill by now, Ms. Blackmoore.”
The sisters huddled together in a show of solidarity as the sheriff pulled a tape measure out of her pocket and measured the sole of Morgan’s boot then pulled out a notepad with a bunch of numbers scribbled in it. The sheriff straightened, scowling. “Your feet are really small. What size shoe do you wear?”
“Six,” Morgan said.
“What difference does it make?” Johanna asked, stepping in between the sheriff and her daughter. “My daughter didn’t do anything wrong.”
Morgan couldn’t help but smile even with the unnerving circumstances. Her mother used to be so frail after what Dr. Bly had done to her, but now she was healthy and fierce and formidable. The fact she was protecting them now warmed Morgan’s heart. Seemed the tables had turned.
Sheriff White sighed and shoved her notepad back into her pocket. “Maybe. Maybe not. The footprints weren’t the only evidence we found though.”
Morgan’s throat constricted. Oh boy. Had they found her fingerprints or maybe hair or clothing fibers from her visit to Clementine’s? Maybe she could say she’d been there weeks before on some other errand so her sisters wouldn’t know she’d been lying to them. Before her panic overtook her, however, her mother stepped in again, bless her heart.
“Did the boots match the prints you found?” Johanna asked, brow raised.
Expression reluctant, Sheriff White shook her head. “No. Too small.”
“Then it can’t be my daughter,” Johanna pointed out.
“She could’ve disguised her shoe size by wearing someone else’s,” the sheriff said, her narrow-eyed gaze sweeping across everyone’s feet, judging the size of their shoes no doubt. Clearly she was not ready to let this go. “It has been done before. Plus, we have a very reliable witness stating they saw her car there that day. No getting around that. And she was seen earlier tonight disposing of evidence.”
“What?” all the sisters and their mother said in unison, even Morgan, because she hadn’t been getting rid of evidence anywhere.
Sheriff White snorted, placing her hands on her hips. “You all thought you were being sneaky, didn’t you? But I’ve got your ticket. You were down by the beach, and there’s only one reason a person would go down there in this kind of weather. To get rid of anything that makes them look guilty. If you helped your sister destroy evidence, that makes all of you accomplices too.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Johanna said. “My children would never do such a thing!”
“You have no idea what we were doing down there,” Celeste added. “It’s still a free country, isn’t it? Maybe we like the ocean at wintertime.”
“No one likes the ocean at wintertime.” Sheriff White snorted. “Keep talking, ladies. You’re just digging the hole deeper.”
Morgan wanted to tell the sheriff exactly which hole she could stick her theories into but refrained, given the circumstances. Tensions were running high enough as it was, and Sheriff White had no idea about the paranormals in her community. They couldn’t mention the real reason they’d been at the beach, so they needed to bluff their way out of it. More lies. Ugh.
“What evidence?” Fiona stepped forward, matching the sheriff’s aggressive stance. “If you’re planning on pressing charges against my sister, we have a right to know.”
“And we weren’t getting rid of anything,” Jolene shouted from the back of the group, her tone belligerent. “Like Celeste said, we were just taking a walk. It’s nice down there this time of year. Quiet. Last time I checked, communing with nature wasn’t against the law, crappy weather or not.”
“Not buying it, ladies,” Sheriff White said as a cacophony of arguing filled the hallway. “I’m guessing the only thing you were communing with down there was your guilty conscience. Besides, Mary Claybourne saw you all from her house, on the other side of the river. She said you were digging for something.”
“Again, not true,” Morgan said. “We don’t even own a shovel.”
She wasn’t sure on that point, but it was too late to take it back now.
“Fine. You want to play hardball? I’m game. If you’re so set on proving your innocence, then let me inspect the rest of the footwear in your closet for bigger shoes. That will settle this once and for all.”
“No.” Johanna stayed in front of her daughters, holding firm. “Not without a search warrant. You have one?”
A small muscle ticced in Sheriff White’s cheek as she glared at their mother. Silence descended, and the air was thick with tension. Finally, the sheriff ground out, “No.”
“Then I’d suggest you come back when you do,” Johanna said, opening the door again. “Until then, leave.”
Morgan didn’t breathe as the sheriff stared at them all for several silent moments.
“I’ll be back,” Sheriff White said, stomping out into the bitter cold once more. “This isn’t over yet.”
“Have a wonderful evening,” Johanna said, slamming the door, her tone suggesting the exact opposite. “Good riddance.”
“This is so insane,” Jolene said, putting her arm around Morgan and walking her back toward the warm fire again. “They can’t treat you like that. We won’t be intimidated.”
“No, we won’t.” Fiona stood on Morgan’s other side, an arm around her waist to help support her. “We were on that beach to find out more about the paranormal diggers, not dispose of evidence. No way can Sheriff White prove otherwise.”
Celeste and Johanna moved in behind Morgan, effectively surrounding her with love and support. Her chest ached with gratefulness even as her knees wobbled.
They shared a group hug before retreating to their separate blankets and cocoa.
Snuggled in once more, Morgan couldn’t resist bringing up the one thing that Sheriff White had mentioned that stuck in her mind. “Evidence must be missing though. Otherwise, why would she have accused us of getting rid of it?”
“Good point,” Fiona said. “And I’m guessing whoever killed Clementine had big feet. Or at least bigger than yours, right?”
“Benedict Donovan?” Celeste asked, bless her heart. Morgan hid her smile behind her mug of hot cocoa. “Then again, lots of women wear larger than a size six. It’s pretty small.”
Morgan’s smile faded.
“Do you think Benedict could be in league with Bly’s men?” Fiona added. Apparently she was not going to give up on the paranormal theory easily.
Morgan hid her eye roll, barely, and snickers soon broke out amongst the Blackmoore sisters. “He doesn’t really seem the type. A bit too human, I’d say.”
“True.” Jolene chuckled. “But maybe we shouldn’t let our guard down about Bly so fast either. He’s dangerous, no two ways about it, even if he is half a world away at the moment. Maybe just to be sure, we should go to the seedy side of town to question some paranormals. We can at least find out which ones were out there digging on the beach and make sure the two things really aren’t related.”
Morgan’s heart sank again, and she scrambled to redirect the conversation. She gave a huge yawn and made a show of being tired, which truthfully, she kind of was, especially after Sheriff White’s impromptu visit. “How about we sleep on all this and talk again in the morning? It’s late, and I, for one, am exhausted.”
“Agreed,” they all said in unison.
They trundled up to bed after banking the fire and folding the blankets. Belladonna stuck close to Morgan’s heels the whole time. Either the cat was trying to give her comfort because she sensed her inner turmoil, or she was just looking for more opportunities to glare at her. Probably the latter.
Morgan knew she needed to do something fast. And she needed her intuition back to do it. Especially if, by some long shot, her sisters were right, and they were headed for a paranormal battle. She’d need all of her skills.
But first, she still needed to do a little more checking on Benedict Donovan.
As she climbed into bed, she concentrated on the positive and took heart from the fact that her tea seemed to have worked better today with Jolene. After all, she’d run to the bathroom after their conversation with Harriett earlier outside the yoga studio, even if nothing had happened with the rest of them. A little bit of progress was still moving forward, right?
Ugh. It was all so confusing.
The universe attracts what you think to you. Don’t be negative.
Morgan remained awake, blinking up at the ceiling in the dark with Belladonna curled around her feet atop the duvet. She didn’t have time to waste. She had to do something tomorrow before her sisters started poking around on the wrong side of town and got them mixed up in a paranormal war they had no business being in.
Someone could get hurt. And it would all be Morgan’s fault.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Early the next morning, Morgan dressed all in indigo again—this time a turtleneck and jeans—and put on her lapis pendant and moonstone bracelet before pulling her long black hair into a ponytail. Dressed and ready, she assumed the lotus position in the middle of her bedroom floor and meditated, focusing her mind on the positive. Her tea had worked on Jolene the day before. It was small, but it was a step in the right direction.
Belladonna purred from beside her, and a sudden image of the cat in the kitchen popped into her head. Hard to tell, though, if it was her intuition reawakening or just a need for caffeine.
Half an hour later and meditation completed, Morgan headed downstairs to make coffee. The cat trotted along beside her into the kitchen, stopping near her food bowl. Mystery solved. What she’d seen in her bedroom must have been Belladonna’s thoughts. The cat wanted food. Then again, the cat always wanted food.
Belladonna stuck close to her ankles as she poured her cat food into a dish and then placed it on the floor. Her sisters wandered in, one by one, each helping themselves to the fresh pot of coffee before gathering around the table. Except for Celeste. She was sticking with her wheatgrass concoction, for clarity, she’d said.
Fiona had a bunch of pebbles in front of her, readying them for battle, if needed. She ran her hands over the pebbles, and they glowed bright red like embers.
“I’ve been practicing a bit and have been able to infuse emotional energy into the stones.” She placed a pink stone on the counter, and it sparked brightly before quickly fizzling out. Fiona frowned. “Okay, I guess that’s still a work in progress.”
Morgan smiled, but her thoughts were on her own failing gifts. Apparently Fiona practiced things too. Was she the only one who had taken her talents for granted?
Jolene spread out a map of the Noquitt River. “I printed this out at the office. I figure if the paranormals are coming to the river side of the beach by boat, it’s got to be close by. Probably not from the ocean side either. It’s too cold.”
�
��It’s December,” Morgan said after she’d fixed her own mug of liquid energy and taken a seat at the bar across from Jolene. “Most of the hotels are closed, so I think any strangers putting a boat in the water from one of their lots would be way too conspicuous. It must be one of the cottages farther down.”
“That’s what I was thinking too.” Jolene traced the length of the river with her finger. It was dotted with small cottages along a mile stretch before the river got too thin to be of interest. “Some of these cottages are rented out for the winter. I want to do a drive-by later and see if there are any old red Toyota trucks like yours.”
Morgan’s stomach swooped. Darn! Jolene was still trying to find that truck. Well, she wouldn’t find it at any of the cottages. At least Morgan doubted she would. Maybe that was a good thing. If she didn’t spot the truck, then maybe that would slow down the altercation with the paranormals that it seemed her sister was not going to give up on. Maybe it would buy her some time to find the killer and avoid the conflict all together.
“I’ll go with you,” Celeste said. “The sooner we confront these guys, the sooner Sheriff White can back off.”
“Yeah, I don’t like the way she came for your shoes, Morgan,” Fiona said. “She must still have you on the suspect list.”
Morgan couldn’t shake the storm cloud of anxiety building inside her. She needed to hurry up and figure out if Benedict Donovan was Clementine’s killer before her sisters plunged them into a deadly paranormal confrontation or Sheriff White arrested her.
Across the room, Belladonna finished her breakfast then hopped up on the sill of one of the large windows. Morgan glanced outside to see a crimson cardinal perched in the big oak tree, bright and colorful against the snow that had fallen overnight.
The color reminded her of Alma’s red ranch house down the way from Clementine’s, which then led her to think of Alma, which led her to—
Wait a minute…
Perhaps she’d been approaching this all wrong. If Benedict was the killer, he sure as heck wouldn’t come out and tell them. But there was one person who might know something. The person who was closest to him. Alma.
Hidden Secrets: Blackmoore Sisters Cozy Mystery Series Book 9 Page 9
