She could go see Alma this morning on her way to the shop. She’d use picking up coffee as an excuse.
Benedict had said he was at the bake sale at the time of the murder, but Harriett Fletcher had also said he stormed off after he and Alma had argued. She’d assumed he’d been in the building, but what if he hadn’t? What if he’d left to kill Clementine? Perhaps Alma would be able to shed more light on the situation and help prove Benedict’s guilt… or innocence.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
J ust before eight a.m., Morgan hurried through the snow on Cross Street again, past the big oak tree they’d seen that night in the crystal ball at Rose’s. In the vision, the tree had been on Benedict’s left though, meaning he hadn’t been going to Alma’s. He must’ve been heading for Clementine’s. Bingo! She was on the right track.
She’d parked down the street because she knew Alma was the one who had told Sheriff White about her car. She didn’t want Alma to recognize it. That might complicate things. But she also didn’t have long. She’d told Fiona she was stopping for gas and then picking up coffee and was expected at the shop. She couldn’t delay.
Morgan could see a light on and someone moving around inside Alma’s house. Good, the woman was up. Morgan headed up to Alma’s door and knocked. The curtain on the side panel fluttered, then Morgan heard the deadbolt click, the chain slide, and finally the door opened, and Alma gave her a dark, suspicious look.
“Can I help you?” the older woman asked. Today she was dressed in gray slacks and a white sweater, her short white hair a bit mussed as if she’d just gotten up not too long ago. As she recognized Morgan, her brown eyes narrowed even further. “Aren’t you one of the Blackmoore girls who was snooping around Clementine’s the other day?”
“I’m sorry to come by unannounced,” Morgan said, hoping to get into Alma’s good graces. “I was hoping to talk to you a bit more about Clementine.”
“Clementine? Well, I don’t know much about her, like I already told you.” Alma’s eyes widened. “Oh dear! Has someone else been killed? I told you it’s not safe out.”
“No one’s been killed,” Morgan assured her and forced a polite smile. “I just have a few questions.”
After a moment, Alma stepped aside. “Well, hurry up then. You’re letting all the heat out.” She waved Morgan inside then shut the door behind her and slid the deadbolt and chain into place.
The interior of the house was quaint and charming, a sort of hodgepodge of antiques and knickknacks collected over the years. A cheery fire blazed in the fireplace, and the air smelled of cinnamon and baking bread.
“I was just getting ready for breakfast. Can I get you some tea?” Alma asked, walking into the kitchen and leaving Morgan standing alone in the living room. The older woman kept wringing her hands, as if she were flustered. Or nervous. “I do hope the killer isn’t still in the neighborhood. You know an old woman like myself isn’t safe alone.”
“He won’t be back. But it might help to catch him if you answer a few questions.” Morgan pulled off her knit hat and tucked it into her pocket, then took a seat on a Victorian-style settee, the static in her hair crackling around her head. She unbuttoned her coat but didn’t take it off. The temperatures last night had dropped to subzero again. It would take a while for her to thaw.
“What kinds of questions?” Alma asked from in the kitchen.
“Oh, the usual stuff. Who you saw. If you saw anything unusual over at Clementine’s that week.”
Alma’s reply was tinged with mistrust. “And why would you be doing that? You’re not with the police.”
“I’m just trying to piece together a timeline on the day Clementine died. If there was something unusual going on, it might lead to the killer.”
“Unusual?” Alma leaned out of the kitchen to frown at Morgan. “I told the police about the red truck and those ruffians with their pom-pom hats.”
“Ruffians with hats?”
“Yes, there was a gang of them who came to visit her the other day. All bundled in ski gear and striped knit hats. Didn’t I tell you that before?”
“No.” The image of the striped hat they’d seen in Rose’s crystal ball came to mind. Could that really have meant something? But if the ruffians were the killers, then what about Benedict? What if those ruffians were the paranormal treasure hunters Jolene had sensed digging at the beach? That was the last thing Morgan wanted. No, it was too far-fetched. The killer had to be nonparanormal. It had to be Benedict.
“Are you daft? I seem to recall mentioning that beat-up truck to you and your sisters. Anyway, I told the police. Those boys were angry when they left. They weren’t in the truck that day, but if you ask me, it’s them who did it. Probably came back to finish her off later on.” Alma emerged with a tray filled with a teapot, two cups, and a plate of buttery, toasted cinnamon-swirl bread. She set it all on the table then poured tea for each of them before taking a seat in a Queen Anne–style chair across from Morgan, fiddling with the amethyst bracelet on her wrist.
The amethyst bracelet Fiona had made for Benedict?
Morgan tilted her head for a better look. The bracelet hung large on Alma’s wrist, and she tucked it over her sleeve for a better fit. There was no mistaking the craftsmanship. It was the bracelet Fiona had made. So Benedict had given it to Alma after all. Did that mean they’d made up? Maybe now that Clementine was out of the way, Benedict was making an extra effort to appease Alma.
“Did you see them the day she died?” Morgan asked. This wasn’t really going in the direction Morgan had hoped. Who were these “ruffians”? Was it another lead she should follow?
“How should I know? They were here. Now she’s dead.” Alma nibbled a piece of toast and fiddled with the bracelet again.
Darn. Morgan would have to look into who these people were and why they’d left angry. How could she figure that out? She still needed to find out more about Benedict and if he really was at the bake sale all day. That image of him in Rose’s crystal ball had to mean something, and it was a much more solid lead than some “ruffians” who she’d probably never be able to track down.
Alma’s bracelet jangled again. Perfect, she could use the bracelet as an excuse to bring up Benedict. Morgan nodded at the bracelet. “That’s a lovely bracelet. My sister Fiona made it.”
Alma tucked the bracelet protectively under her sleeve. “It was a gift from Bennie.”
“Benedict Donovan, right? Such a thoughtful man.”
Alma straightened in her chair. It seemed like she was uneasy. Was that because she and Benedict were having some trouble? Or maybe she suspected this relationship with Clementine all along. “He is very thoughtful.”
“Um, I wondered if things were okay between you and Benedict.”
“I don’t really see that it’s any of your business. You young folks need to learn how to be more polite.”
Morgan blushed. She supposed she was being rude. Her mother would be disappointed in her, but she was desperate to know whether or not Benedict really had an alibi. “Sorry. It’s just that he seemed so excited when he ordered that bracelet, but then Harriett Fletcher mentioned something about a big argument between the two of you at the bake sale.”
“Well, that busybody. I don’t see that it’s any of her beeswax.” Alma leaned forward. “What did she say?”
Morgan glanced out the window, wondering if she should tell Alma about the rumor of Benedict and another woman. Should she mention they thought it might be Clementine? The only suspicion of that was the image in Rose’s crystal ball, and she doubted Alma would put stock in that. Though Alma had gone to see Rose herself. Probably best to be vague.
Morgan felt bad spreading rumors, but if Benedict really was the killer, she would be doing Alma a favor. If she planted a seed of doubt, at least she could get Alma thinking about some of the discrepancies in Benedict’s story. Alma might be able to provide her with the proof she needed, and Morgan could possibly even be saving Alma from becoming his next vic
tim.
Morgan took a deep breath. “She said something about a fight between you and Benedict over another woman.”
“Poppycock!” Alma straightened in her chair. “Bennie loves me.”
But her voice had an undertone of doubt. Something was up between the two of them, but Alma just didn’t want to admit it to herself. Morgan had to make her see the light. “Harriett said that Benedict stormed off and you both were gone for a while. Did you have a fight and make up?”
Alma looked down and fiddled with her teacup. Morgan remained silent. She could tell Alma was wrestling with her own emotions, as if she suspected something but didn’t want to believe her own thoughts. Wait. Was she getting her intuition back, or was she so desperate for Benedict to be the killer that she was seeing things that weren’t there?
“We did have a fight.” Alma fidgeted with the bracelet. “And Benedict did storm off. Unusual for him, he’s usually such an even-tempered man. Anyway, it was very disturbing to me, and I had to take some time to pull myself together.”
“That’s understandable. And did you make up with him?”
“Not until later that night.” Alma glanced out the window. “I was in the ladies’ room for a long time and never saw him until it was time to leave.”
Bingo! Benedict wasn’t with Alma that afternoon when Clementine was killed. Which meant he likely had no alibi. Now if she could only figure out how to prove he’d come back here and killed Clementine.
“Did you say you left together?” Morgan asked.
Alma nodded. “We drove to the sale together and only had one car, so naturally we had to leave together. Luckily we made up before that.”
“Did you go anywhere in the car in between? Or did Benedict?”
Alma looked confused. “I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, no reason,” Morgan said. “And you didn’t see anyone suspicious over at Clementine’s that night when you got home.”
“No. The windows were dark, and I just assumed she’d gone out.” Alma shuddered. “I had no idea she was laying in there already dead.”
“It’s scary, isn’t it? But if you can think of something—anything that you saw—it might help capture the killer.” Morgan got up to leave. She’d planted the seed, and she’d have to hope that it would grow and Alma would come up with something she could use against Benedict. It must have been working, because as she walked her to the door, Alma grabbed a pen and paper from a little table.
“Let me get your number, and I’ll call or text you if I think of anything else.”
Morgan gave her cell phone number and left with a smile. Alma knew something about Benedict. Morgan was sure of it. Alma only needed some time to convince herself to tell someone else. Hopefully that someone else would be Morgan. And hopefully that would happen before her sisters got them into a paranormal fight they might not win.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
M organ was lucky she didn’t get a speeding ticket on her way from Alma’s to the coffee shop and then to Sticks and Stones.
She hurried into the old cottage, a swirl of snow following her inside the door before she pushed it shut with her hip, seeing as she had a steaming white Styrofoam cup in each mittened hand.
“Long line at the coffee shop this morning,” Morgan said by way of explanation for her lateness.
“Uh huh.” Apparently Fiona had been immersed in her task of making a citrine pendant and seemed oblivious to the fact that it had taken Morgan an extra-long time to gas up and get their coffees. She never even looked up as she used one of her tools to form a metal frame for the stone.
Belladonna was another story. She didn’t move from her position curled up in the chair but managed to slit open one eye to give Morgan a judgmental look, as if she knew where Morgan had really been.
Fiona set the pendant aside and lifted an amethyst earring, which had been sitting on her worktable, up to the light. It glowed purple where the sun filtered through the partially translucent gemstone.
“Not bad, huh?” Fiona asked as Morgan handed her the coffee.
“Those go with the bracelet Benedict had made for Alma?” Morgan flipped up the plastic tab of her Styrofoam cup and sipped her yerba mate tea. Unlike Fiona, who was drinking a latte and needed gallons of caffeine to keep fueled, Morgan preferred hers at a slower pace.
Fiona nodded. “He’s getting a bit tedious though. Gave me a stern warning not to tell Alma again when I called to tell him the earrings were ready.”
Morgan frowned. That was odd. “When did you call him? Yesterday?” Maybe Benedict had given her the bracelet this morning.
Fiona placed the earring and its mate gently in a velvet-lined case and shrugged. “Nope, just before you came in. He is kind of an odd one.”
That made more sense. Fiona had called about the earrings, so Benedict probably meant not to tell Alma he had matching earrings for the bracelet. Probably saving them for a gift of some sort. Either that or maybe Benedict was up to something else, but what? Was this something about hiding the fact that he was Clementine’s killer?
Fiona glanced up at Morgan. “Do you really think Benedict could be the killer?”
“Well, he is acting strange. And Harriett said he wasn’t at the bake sale the whole time, and—” Morgan bit off the words. She couldn’t tell Fiona that Alma had said she didn’t see him after the fight.
“Well, what does your intuition tell you?” Fiona persisted.
Morgan turned away on the pretext of going back behind her counter. But the real truth was she was afraid Fiona read the truth on her face. The truth that her intuition was telling her bubkes.
“My intuition says he’s guilty of something,” Morgan said.
“Meow!”
Belladonna stirred in the chair, stretching her paws far out in front of her and humping her back, all the while staring at Morgan with those judgmental ice-blue eyes.
Morgan spun around and got busy mixing up some herbal remedies. Thankfully most of her requests this time of year included herbs like eucalyptus and chamomile for coughs and colds. Those would always work, no matter how dull her magic had become.
As she worked, she glanced at her phone sitting on the counter. Maybe Alma would call or text. She was certain Alma had asked for her number because she was on the brink of something. If Alma didn’t contact her soon, Morgan would have to figure out a way to trap Benedict into admitting he was the killer or get some concrete evidence against him.
The bells over the door tinkled as Jolene and Celeste swept in, stomping snow from their boots onto the mat in front of the door before tossing their coats onto one of several hooks hanging on the wall.
Belladonna trotted over to wind around Celeste’s ankles, and Celeste bent down to pet her.
“Well, that was a bust.” Jolene picked a mint out of the glass apothecary jar on the counter near the old-fashioned nickel-plated cash register, tore off the end of the wrapper, and slid it into her mouth.
“No red Toyota?” Fiona asked.
For a moment, Morgan was confused, and then she remembered that Jolene and Celeste had gone on a recon mission to see if there were any red Toyotas parked at any of the cottages on the river. She’d forgotten about it because she knew the red Toyota Alma had seen was actually hers. Hopefully Alma hadn’t seen her driving away in it today, though she thought she’d seen the curtain flutter in the window as if Alma’d been watching. Morgan hoped she’d parked far enough away that Alma wouldn’t realize it was her pulling away in the truck. She supposed it didn’t really matter what Alma thought. Sheriff White already thought it was Morgan’s truck that had been there.
“I suppose they could be out driving somewhere in the truck,” Fiona said.
“Or our treasure-digging paranormals are not staying in those cottages,” Celeste said.
“Or they’re not the killer,” Morgan added.
Ding!
Too bad it wasn’t Morgan’s phone. It was Jolene’s, and she dug it out o
f her pocket and looked at the display, then her face split into a smile. “Things are looking up. It’s a message from Jake. He managed to get a picture of the crime scene from the police.”
They all gathered around. Pictured on her phone was Clementine’s kitchen. Clementine’s body lay on the floor, the chair tipped over just like Morgan had seen it except the body hadn’t been there when Morgan investigated.
“Looks pretty similar to what we saw,” Fiona said.
“Still seems like she knew her killer. It looks like maybe they were even sitting at the table,” Celeste added. “Whoever she was drinking with might have made an excuse to get up for something and then clobbered her from behind.”
“I don’t think they were necessarily sitting at the table. If they were paranormals, they could’ve lulled her into a false sense of his security or messed around with her energy. Maybe she went into the kitchen to get the tea and had to sit down in the chair because they drained her energy, then they came in and hit her in the head.” Fiona tilted her head to get a better look at the photo on Jolene’s phone. “Or maybe she wasn’t even sitting in the chair. She could have been standing, preparing the tea, when they snuck in and clonked her on the back of the head or zapped her with paranormal energy. Maybe when she fell, she grabbed onto the chair and took it down with her.”
“Yeah, could be. Let’s see if we can get a better look at the mark on her wrist.” Jolene used her thumb and forefinger to zoom in on Clementine’s wrist. “Well, it’s a little grainy, but that doesn’t look much like a burn to me. More like a rug burn.”
Celeste took the phone for a closer look. “And it’s sharp like a cut. Not like paranormal energy.”
Fiona stood back and crossed her arms over her chest. “You know, maybe this doesn’t have to do with paranormals.” She glanced at Morgan. “You’ve been thinking all along it’s Benedict. When are we ever going to learn to trust your intuition?”
Hidden Secrets: Blackmoore Sisters Cozy Mystery Series Book 9 Page 10
