The Chakra Outline

by Angie Cabot

  “That’s fine,” Emma said.

  “No problem,” Jenn said.

  Balthazar came back to the drawing room, holding one hand over the other. “Hey, Diana, can you get your stupid cat away from the body?”

  “What?”

  “Nico is disturbing the evidence.”

  “She doesn’t listen to me,” Diana said.

  “Well, pick her up and carry her away.”

  “She’ll scratch me.”

  “She already clawed me,” Balthazar said, moving his hand to show us his injury.

  “So you want her to scratch me, too?”

  “I’ll get her,” I said. “Come on, Emma, Jenn.”

  I got up and led Jenn and Emma to the kitchen.

  Nico was stretched out on Aunt Liz’s legs, stomach bared to the world. Carl stood a few paces back, holding his fingers.

  “Watch out,” Carl said. “She looks like she just wants a belly rub, but she’ll get you with all four feet.”

  I scanned the kitchen counter, then shook my head. “I’ll handle this.”

  I walked over to the counter where a stack of canned cat food stood. I grabbed a can, and used the electric can opener to remove the top. As soon as the can opener rumbled, Nico rolled off Aunt Liz, and raced over. She leaped onto the counter and meowed.

  “Don’t let the cat on the counter,” he said. “That’s nasty. She walks in a litterbox.”

  “Don’t eat off the counter, and you’ll be fine,” I said.

  I set the can down before Nico. She sniffed it, then looked at me with disgust. To make her thoughts on the flavor I chose abundantly clear, she reached over the food and dragged her paw to the can again and again as if burying it in a litterbox.

  “Fine,” I said. “What flavor do you want? Chicken and tuna? Beef with gravy?”

  Nico meowed.

  “I figured you’d like beef.” I opened the can, and set it before her. She pushed the first can toward the edge of the counter, but I caught it before it went over.

  She meowed at me.

  “Just eat your food,” I said. I looked at the label. “And I promise I won’t give you any more turkey with giblets.”

  When I turned around, Carl was smiling. He pointed at me. “You’re really smart.”

  “Just take the pictures.”

  He snapped one of me.

  “Don’t,” I said. “I haven’t even had a shower. My hair’s a mess. I don’t have any makeup on.”

  “Then I have blackmail material,” he said.

  “Be nice, or I’ll sic the cat on you.”

  “That cat won’t do anything.”

  Nico looked away from her meal and growled at him.

  “I rest my case,” I said, and left him to his task.

  Chapter Eight

  As the two people who didn’t have bone-handled athames at their disposal, I figured Emma and Jenn would be the easiest suspects to clear. Sure, one of them could have crept upstairs into one of our bedrooms and stolen a knife to use, but it seemed so unlikely that I pretty much cleared them before we reached the servants’ quarters.

  They were holed up in the basement, each with a small room to sleep in. Most of the basement was wide open space with support columns spaced evenly. Three washers, and three dryers lined the far wall. There were boxes stacked along another wall, and some old furniture shoved in a corner. Nothing interesting.

  The concrete floor was cold on my bare feet, but I suffered in silence.

  One room was set up for storage with plenty of soap, laundry detergent, toilet paper, cleaning supplies, and such.

  “We stay in these rooms when we have to spend the night,” Emma said, pointing to the bedrooms. There were four bedrooms.

  “This is your room?” I asked Emma as we reached the door to the first room.

  She nodded.

  “Mine is two doors down,” Jenn said. “Emma snores.”

  “For the record,” Emma said, “so do you.”

  Emma showed me the room. Nothing special. Just a twin bed, unmade, with a gym bag on the floor holding a change of clothes and some toiletries. An iPad sat on the nightstand beside the bed.

  There weren’t any cases that could have held an athame. And how would she have known to bring one, anyway?

  “I’m sorry about your aunt,” Emma said. “She wasn’t very nice, but she didn’t deserve to die.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “I need to figure out who killed her.”

  “Shouldn’t the police do that?”

  “Under normal circumstances.”

  “If you start poking around, aren’t you worried the killer will come after you?”

  “He or she would be doing me a favor,” I said. “Jenn, shall we check out your room?”

  “Sure,” Jenn said. “You don’t want to live?”

  “I’m half-joking,” I said.

  “So only half of you wants to live?”

  “That’s correct. My left side wants to keep going, but my right is ready to call it a life.”

  Emma and Jenn stared at me, concerned.

  “That’s a joke,” I said.

  “It didn’t sound like a joke,” Jenn said.

  “My humor program is off kilter thanks to my aunt getting murdered,” I said.

  “Okay,” Jenn said. She led me toward her room, but I stopped to check the bedroom between. Simple room with a twin bed and a table. Nothing else.

  Jenn opened her door, and I stepped into her room. It was as Spartan as Emma’s, though she had her change of clothes in a plastic Walmart bag.

  Nothing to see. I checked the fourth bedroom, too, because I wanted to leave no room unchecked. No extra people hiding down here waiting to kill anyone.

  Then I creeped myself out thinking that maybe someone lived inside the walls like in some horror movie. They could be watching right now. If so, maybe they could tell me who killed my aunt.

  “All right, Emma, I’ll start with you. Did you see or hear anything last night?”

  “I heard Annie Jacobsen talking to Joe Rogan about secret government projects, but I don’t think that’s what you mean.”

  “When did you last see my aunt?”

  “Jenn and I came in through the back door around eleven. Elizabeth was in the dining room.”

  “She was writing in a notebook,” Jenn said.

  I didn’t remember seeing a notebook on the table in the dining room.

  “What kind of notebook?”

  “One of those leather journals, I think.”

  “How big?”

  Jenn shrugged. “I didn’t get a good look at it.”

  “Big like one of those eight and a half by eleven spiral notebooks, or small like one of those memo pads?”

  “In between, I guess.”

  “Okay, and you both talked to her for a few minutes?”

  Emma nodded. “She told us to stay the night since the roads were bad. We thanked her, and came down here.”

  “And then you started your podcast?”

  “No,” Emma said. “Jenn and I talked for half an hour or so about Brian, this guy we both like. Then Jenn left, and I got out my iPad to start listening to the podcast. That was eleven thirty or eleven forty-five. Something like that.”

  Jenn nodded. “Sounds about right. I went back upstairs to use the restroom and brush my teeth, then came down. The podcast was going. I didn’t want to interrupt, so I went to my room and tried to sleep. The conversation on the podcast was just loud enough to hear, but just quiet enough that I couldn’t make out all the words, so I drifted off to sleep pretty quick.”

  “Define pretty quick,” I said.

  “Before midnight.”

  “And you didn’t hear anything else? Footsteps or anything like that?”

  Jenn considered that, but shook her head.

  “All I heard was Joe and Annie,” Emma said. “I just love his podcast. I’m not as fond of his comedy, but he was great on Fear Factor, and—”

  “It’s
all right,” I said.

  “Sorry,” Emma said. “I know that doesn’t have anything to do with what you asked. No, I didn’t hear anything else.”

  “At least we narrowed down the time of death to after eleven forty-five,” I said. “And I don’t think either of you are murderers, so there you go.”

  “Who do you think did it?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “All I know right now is that my feet are cold, and I want to take a nice hot shower before I do anything else.”

  Chapter Nine

  After a quick shower, I felt worlds better. There’s a lot to be said for hot showers and clean clothes.

  On a whim, I popped into Aunt Liz’s room.

  Her suitcase lay open on top of the queen-sized bed. If she’d napped, she’d made the bed. I went over and looked through her suitcase. Clothes, toiletries, a Kindle, and a few scented candles. No more ritual athames, though.

  And no leather journal.

  I stared at the clothes in the suitcase. The remnants of Aunt Liz’s life folded up and ready to be packed away to a thrift store. Regret tugged at my stomach. I shouldn’t have been so distant. Guilt threatened to overwhelm me, so I did what I always did in my marriage—I took a deep breath and pushed down the emotions.

  Nico wandered into the room, meowed, and jumped onto the bed.

  “Hello to you, too,” I said, thankful to focus on something else.

  Nico climbed into the suitcase, turned around twice, then settled down, staring at me with her bold blue eyes, daring me to make her move.

  I scratched behind her ears. “Are you comfortable?”

  Nico purred.

  “All right. Be good.”

  Nico meowed in a response I took to mean, “Mind your own business, human.” I smiled at her as she gave herself one last adjustment before laying her head down on one of Aunt Liz’s blouses. It felt wrong to smile so soon after Aunt Liz died. Especially in her room.

  I went downstairs.

  Balthazar sat at the dining room table eating a bowl of cereal. The box stood in front of him. I grabbed the box and turned it so I could read the label. Toasty flakes.

  “Tastes like cardboard wafers,” Balthazar said. “But if you put enough sugar on it, you can choke it down.”

  “Pass,” I said. My eyes swept over the table and around the room. No leather journal. There was a bowl of sugar, and a carton of milk, though.

  I went into the kitchen.

  A rainbow chalk outline of my aunt’s body marred the floor. I took a deep breath to calm myself.

  Carl stepped into the kitchen with me.

  “Hey,” he said. He noticed me staring at the outline. “The body’s out back, so you might not want to go out there.”

  “Did she have anything on her?” I asked, trying not to think of her outside in the cold.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Any personal effects?” I asked, opening the refrigerator, but being careful not to step on the chalk outline. A short time ago, her body was right by where I stood.

  “What, like earrings?”

  The refrigerator had four cartons of milk, a tub of margarine, the deli trays, and an expired bottle of salad dressing. I frowned. “I was thinking more like a billfold or anything in her pockets. You know. Why didn’t they stock the refrigerator?”

  “Because your aunt hates us,” Carl said. “Hated. Sorry. She probably asked them to clear it out. As for a wallet or anything, I didn’t notice, so I’d say no.”

  “She probably kept that kind of stuff in her purse,” I said.

  “I suspect you’re right.”

  He stood patiently while I studied the contents of the refrigerator for a lot longer than I should have. It had to be shock. I snapped out of it.

  “Did you want something?” I asked.

  “Carrots from the veggie tray,” he said.

  I pulled the vegetable tray out and handed it to him.

  “Thanks,” he said, and moved around me to start going through cabinets.

  I closed the refrigerator, and checked the cabinets, too. Dishes and glasses filled one. Another held spices, flour, and rice.

  A pantry held some condiments, and boxes of generic cereal. Toasty Oats. Raisin Bran. God, I hated raisins. Frosted Flakes. Fruity Rings. I opened the box of Fruity Rings and it smelled like bland cardboard with just a hint of some unidentifiable fruit. I plucked one of the rings out and popped it in my mouth.

  It tasted like stale cardboard, and if there was any fruit flavor there, it didn’t make it into the ring.

  “I think we’re going to starve,” I said.

  “That might have been your aunt’s plan. Starve us out.” He got a glass of water, and started toward the dining room.

  “Hold up,” I said.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Any ideas about what happened last night?”

  He shrugged. “Someone stabbed your aunt.”

  “Not something I’m going to forget, thanks. Did you see or hear anything?”

  “Are you interrogating me? Should I call a lawyer?”

  “Do you need a lawyer?”

  He chuckled. “Just messing with you. No, I didn’t see or hear anything. Except that someone tried to creep past my door last night. The floorboards creaked under the carpet. I just figured someone had to go to the restroom.”

  “So that would have been Zen since Balthazar and Diana had their own bathroom.”

  “I guess.”

  “What time was that?”

  Another shrug. “I didn’t check the time.”

  “Guess.”

  “I’d rather eat.”

  “Come on, Carl.”

  “I’d guess it was around midnight, but don’t hold me to that. Can I go eat some celery and carrots now? You can have the broccoli. That stuff is disgusting.”

  Balthazar entered the kitchen carrying his cereal bowl. “I can’t eat any more of this junk.” He started to put the bowl and spoon in the sink.

  I pointed to the dishwasher. “No one should have to clean up after you,” I said.

  “Emma and Jenn are here to do dishes and such.”

  Carl made his escape.

  “I don’t care,” I said. “You’re a grown man. The least you can do is rinse the bowl and put it in the dishwasher.”

  He sighed, but did as I said.

  “Slave driver,” he said.

  I stared at the chalk outline on the floor. He looked at it, too.

  “She was a cranky old bat,” Balthazar said, “but she didn’t deserve what she got.”

  “What did she deserve?”

  “To have to eat that nasty cereal. If I’d known she was going to supply that kind of stuff, I’d have brought some real food.”

  “There might be some turkey and giblets in the trash,” I said.

  He narrowed his gaze, then nodded. “Cat food. Good thing I’m not as finicky as that ornery little cuss. Maybe I’ll try some of that beef in gravy myself before the weekend is over.”

  “I don’t think Nico would like that.”

  “If I had my way, I’d leave the cat here.”

  “But she’s a sweetheart.”

  “She’s almost as vindictive as your aunt.”

  “What did my aunt do that was so bad?”

  “You mean other than the cheap food and the insults?”

  I nodded.

  He leaned against the counter. “She wasn’t that bad when we first started. She was strict, but focused mostly on business, and appreciated that Diana and I were good with the customers. That changed when Zen started, and when Morgan arrived a month later, things went downhill fast. Diana and I covered for Morgan one afternoon when Morgan pulled a no-call, no-show. You’d think that would earn us a few brownie points, but Elizabeth flew off the handle about it.”

  “Why?”

  “Who knows? She went on and on about how Morgan was supposed to be there, and that we weren’t. Diana thought it was because she had to pay us overt
ime, but the store was doing great online business, so I don’t get it. She was never the same toward us after that.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” I said.

  “Tell me about it. She wanted to fire us, but Clara talked her out of it. Clara has always had our back.”

  Carl wandered back into the kitchen with the deli tray. “Ran out of carrots,” he said.

  He stuck the tray back into the refrigerator.

  “Hey, Carl,” Balthazar said. “Ready to help me with the Jeep?”

  “No, but I’ll do it anyway.”

  They left the kitchen, and I leaned against the stove, staring at the chalk outline. The chalk was multi-colored just like Morgan said.

  My vision blurred, and I blinked trying to clear it. Tears ran down my cheeks.

  I wiped them away, and took a deep breath. Then I realized that I was going to have to tell Aunt Clara, and the tears welled up again. They’d been together bickering like a married couple, for as long as I could remember.

  Aunt Clara was a bit crazy, but she’d always been nice to me. I didn’t want to break her heart with the news.

  And it seemed wrong somehow for her to have to wait a few days to learn about her sister’s death. She would be at the store right now, going about her business as if all was right with the world.

  But it wasn’t right.

  She just didn’t know it yet.

  Chapter Ten

  It had been many years since I’d spent a weekend at Bostwick Manor, and so far, I’d avoided the north wing of the downstairs. That was where most of my memories of the place were formed. The library, and the game room.

  I strolled into the library. It seemed smaller than I remembered, but the shelves still held thousands of books. The bookshelves lined the walls, but some shelves also jutted outward perpendicular to the walls to form alcoves. Three leather chairs were positioned in strategic places with lamps behind them for reading. A stately thirty-two inch Diplomat world globe sat in its wooden maple-finished cradle. I resisted the temptation to give it a spin.

  Instead, I walked along the shelves, scanning book titles. Most of the books were non-fiction. Lots of history, biographies, and business. A section of classic novels filled with everything from Dumas to Dickens caught my attention. I stared at a three-volume set of Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. Curiosity got the better of me, and I pulled out volume one, which fought me as the books were packed in tightly. It was in beautiful condition, published in London for T. Edgerton in 1813. I carefully slid it back on the shelf because it had to be worth a fortune.