A Spirited Tail #2 Mystic Notch Series

by Leighann Dobbs

  Too bad no one knew where I was.

  I leaned against the door as I contemplated my next move. I didn't relish the idea of crawling around in the pitch-dark crawl space. There was probably no way out anyway, but maybe I could find something that I could use to batter down the door.

  And then I smelled it.

  Smoke.

  My heart froze in my chest—Les had lit the place on fire.

  I rushed back down the steps, hitting my head and seeing stars again. I crawled forward, my hand out in front of me, my stomach tight with fear. I didn't know what I was more afraid of, the fire or my hand coming into contact with something creepy and crawly.

  It was too dark to actually see more than a few inches in front of me and I had no idea where I was going. I closed my eyes, trying to picture Bruce's house from the outside. The basement wasn't tall enough for a door, but were there any windows? I seemed to recall it was set on concrete blocks and I figured they must have been cemented together pretty well since there were no cracks of light.

  I swiveled my head around, looking for even the tiniest slice of light, but each direction was as black as the other. I had no idea which direction to go in.

  The smell of smoke was getting stronger. How long before it engulfed the basement, or worse, the flaming structure collapsed on top of me? Tears pricked my eyes as I crouched frozen with indecision.

  "Meow!"

  A cat? Down here? No, not in the basement, the meow was too muffled. The cat was outside.

  "Meow!"

  Scratch, scratch, scratch.

  The cat was digging. Maybe I could dig my way out? I crawled in the direction of the scratching, hope budding in my chest.

  As I got closer, an oily smell permeated my senses. Oil! Bruce must have kept his oil tank down here. Then my heart seized—oil and fire didn't mix. If the fire got down here …

  I bumped into something metal. The tank, I assumed, but it was light. I remembered seeing a large propane canister tank out in the yard. Bruce had probably switched to propane and left the old oil tank in here, empty.

  I pushed it aside and saw a miraculous thin circle outline of light, the opening where they put the nozzle to fill the tank.

  "Meow!" A piece of cement dropped out, making a dot of light in the circle—the rain must have been seeping in through this hole for years and probably weakened the cement.

  Maybe I could scrape out enough cement to wiggle a couple of the concrete blocks loose and climb out.

  With renewed vigor, I started digging at the cement, watching small points of light appear as chunks of the cement fell into the basement. The cat dug along with me on the other side and I wondered if it was Pandora. No, it couldn’t be. I'd locked the cat door in the shop after her escapade at Van Dorn's and there was no way for her to get out.

  "Meow." A pink nose poked its way through a small hole and I reached up and stroked the fur above the nose.

  "I'm hurrying, Kitty."

  It didn't take long before my fingers were raw and bleeding, but I ignored the pain and kept working. It was my only way out. Luckily, the cement crumbled easily and when I'd scratched out a good amount around an entire concrete block, I pried my fingers into one of the crevices I'd created and tugged.

  The concrete block moved slightly.

  I tugged again.

  More movement.

  I braced my feet against the wall and wedged my fingers in the crack. I tugged with all my might and the concrete block slid halfway out, revealing the sweet sight of daylight and the smell of fresh air.

  "Willa! Are you in there?" Jimmy's voice rang from somewhere outside.

  "Over here!"

  I heard footsteps outside the wall. The cat stopped scratching and Jimmy yelled, "Get away from the wall and I’ll see if I can kick the concrete block in."

  I had to admit, I was a little peeved that he'd shown up when he did. A few minutes more and I'd have been able to get out on my own but, since there was a fire burning upstairs, I guess time was of the essence so I scurried out of the way.

  "Okay, go!"

  Jimmy kicked, and the cement block popped into the basement along with the one below it. I crawled back over and pushed my top half out of the hole. Jimmy grabbed my arms and pulled me the rest of the way out.

  "Thanks!" I said after I was standing upright.

  "Meow!"

  I looked down to see the little black and white tuxedo cat from the cattery. "And thank you, too, but how did you get out here?"

  Jimmy grabbed my arm "There's no time for small talk. This house could blow at any minute."

  My heart jerked as I looked up to see flames shooting out of the top of the other side of the cabin. They hadn't yet reached the side we were on but I could see it wasn't a good idea to hang around.

  "Run!" I shouted as we headed for the woods. I wouldn't have thought I could do it, but an adrenalin spike caused by the fear of the fire must have blotted out the pain in my leg and I ran at full speed.

  We were halfway to the woods when Jimmy suddenly turned and doubled back.

  I skidded to a stop, turning toward him.

  "What are you doing?" I yelled.

  He gestured toward the woods. "Keep going!"

  I did as he ordered. When I got to the safety of the woods, I turned just in time to see him scoop up the black and white cat that had remained beside the house, then turn and start back in my direction. He was about halfway to the woods when—

  Kaboom!

  ***

  Jimmy somersaulted into the woods and landed five feet away from me.

  "Are you okay?" I asked as I watched burning pieces of wood fall to the ground some twenty feet away.

  He nodded, then uncurled himself to reveal the little cat in his arms, unharmed.

  "Mew." The cat looked up at Jimmy and placed its paw on his cheek.

  "Aww. I guess you have a new friend," I said. "And thanks for helping me get out of there. How did you know I was there?"

  "The fingerprint on the murder weapon didn't match Gladys's prints. We could tell the print was on top of the hair, and that seemed to indicate that Gladys was being framed. Then I realized Gladys had said Les was at her house before me and I figured he could have pulled the same trick with the hair and he might be the one framing her. I tried to call and warn you. When you didn't answer I got worried, so I drove up to Van Dorn's to see if you were there. I saw the smoke from the road and came here to check it out. When I saw your car in the driveway, I ran around looking for you and that’s when I saw Scooter digging." Jimmy frowned at me. "But why are you here?"

  I told him how I had figured out Sal Price had killed Charles and Lily and I'd come to check a few of the clues Bruce had collected.

  "Les was following me and knew I'd figure it out, so he decided to kill two birds with one stone and get rid of me and the clues in the fire." I looked at the house, my mouth set in a grim line. "He also confessed to killing Bruce. Too bad all the evidence for Charles and Lily is now going up in flames and Les is getting away."

  Jimmy rose to his feet. "He's not getting away. When I called in the fire, I told them my suspicions about Les. Hopefully, Augusta or Striker will be hot on his tail."

  He extended his hand to help me up and I stood shakily, testing my leg. Some of the pain had returned, but it wasn't as bad as before. I waved off his offer of help and limped along beside him as we made our way to the front, the tuxedo cat still cradled in the nook of Jimmy's arm. The sirens got louder as we came around the side of the house and we'd just made it to the edge of the driveway when Striker pulled in.

  "Chance! Are you okay?" Striker was out of the car before it even stopped. He scooped me into his arms, garnering a strange look from Jimmy who, I noticed, was still holding Scooter. The cat lounged contentedly against Jimmy's chest despite all the chaos, as if he trusted Jimmy wouldn’t let any harm come to him. Emma was right; Scooter did have a good chance at getting adopted and I had a good idea by who.

&nb
sp; "I'm fine." I wriggled to escape Striker’s vise-like embrace. He held me at arm’s length, checking me over.

  "You look hurt. I'm calling an ambulance." He pulled a cell phone out of his top pocket.

  I looked down at myself. I was covered in dirt, my shirt was ripped and I was sure my hair was sticking out like I'd been electrocuted. Not to mention my carefully applied mascara was probably running down my face, making me look like a demented mime. So much for the spiffing up I'd done earlier in the day for my date with Striker. He'd probably never want to go out with me again after seeing me like this.

  I pushed Striker away. "We don't have time for that. The murderer is getting away!

  "You mean Les Price?"

  "Yes!"

  Striker put his hand on my shoulder, presumably to stop me from jumping up and down and scrunching my face up in pain.

  "We've got that covered. After Jimmy called in the fire and told us his theory on how Les framed Gladys, Gus went out to the Moonlight Motel and brought Les in. If what Jimmy said is true, he'll soon be booked on murder charges. See, the police really do know what they are doing … especially our rookie Jimmy here." Striker removed his hand from my shoulder and clapped Jimmy on the back. "Nice work!

  Jimmy smiled proudly and my heart swelled for him.

  "Well, I couldn’t have done it without Willa's help."

  "Oh, really?" Striker raised his left brow at me. "I thought Willa wasn't getting involved."

  "Oh, I didn't … not really. I just gave Jimmy a few pointers. He did all the sleuthing on his own," I said, winking at Jimmy.

  Striker slid his arm around my shoulder. "That’s good because I don't think you need to get involved in any investigations. And judging by the way you look, I hope you've learned the lesson that it's much safer to leave the sleuthing to the cops."

  I leaned into Striker. The weight of his arm on my shoulder felt warm and comfortable. He was right. It was much safer. Too bad I doubted that was going to stop me from investigating in the future.

  The ambulance pulled in and Striker dragged me over.

  "I'm fine, really," I insisted.

  "Ohh, no ... I'm not going to listen to any of that. Your hands are all bloody and you look like you were buried alive." He picked up my hand and gently kissed the raw fingertips. "Besides, I don't want you using this as an excuse to stand me up for dinner tonight."

  He still wanted to have dinner with me?

  My heart warmed and I gave in, letting him lead me to the ambulance.

  Gus called Striker while I submitted to the ministrations of the EMT. She'd brought Les in and the thumbprint had matched. She said he was confessing his heart out about Bruce's murder and about his father killing Lily and Charles Van Dorn.

  Striker relayed the information, then his brows cut into a 'V'. "Les had some choice words about you, Willa. He said if it weren't for you poking your nose in, those murders would never have been uncovered."

  I didn't know what to say, so I just shrugged.

  "He said that’s why you were here at Bruce's," Striker persisted.

  I nodded. "Bruce had some evidence about the murders fifty years ago. I guess that’s why Les had to kill him."

  "Right. I get all that. But what I don't get is how you knew about those old murders and why you would poke your nose into them. Near as I can tell, you've been in the middle of this case the whole time and I can't help but wonder why, since it seems to have nothing to do with you."

  I wasn't about to tell him it was because I was trying to make sure a ghost could move to the great beyond, so I plastered an innocent look on my face, shrugged my shoulders and said. "I don't know. I guess you could just say that I'm the inquisitive type."

  Epilogue

  The Van Dorn mansion had been spit-shined and polished. The boards had been removed from the windows, the sheets pulled off the furniture. The wood glowed, the chandeliers sparkled, and there wasn't a speck of dust to be seen.

  I stood just inside the entry to the living room, the lemony smell of furniture polish tickling my nose as I stared into one of the many display cases that had been set up around the house. This one had a tasteful display of Charles Van Dorn's props that he used to work with, including the crystal orb, which looked amazingly similar to the paperweight that sat on my living room table. Steve had found it hidden in the fireplace in one of the guest bedrooms—the room Sal Price had stayed in the night before Charles died.

  "So, what do you think?" Steve Van Dorn, decked out in a new suit and tie with Ranger smiling at his side, spread his arms to indicate the room that had been turned into a museum.

  "It cleaned up nice, and so did you." I bent to pet Ranger, stifling a smile at the pink blush that crept up Steve's neck. It turned out that Steve wasn't such a bad guy after all—just a little rough around the edges.

  "Well, it certainly would fetch a lot of money on today's market," Ophelia said from the doorway, looking like she just came from a high-level meeting in her black pantsuit with beige piping. "But I am happy that if I can't make a big commission, at least the house is helping to preserve history."

  I glanced around the room at the display cases, feeling a sense of pride. Sometime during this whole thing, Steve had stopped seeing his uncle and this house in the bad light his father had drilled into his head and started remembering the good times he'd had here. Instead of thinking of the items as a way to make money, he started to see the unique and interesting history of Charles Van Dorn's career.

  He'd found that he couldn’t bring himself to sell off the items, so he'd utilized the mystery of the Van Dorn curse in another way—he'd turned the house into a museum and tonight was the grand opening.

  And the best part was, he was going to be able to preserve his uncle’s memory and treasures and make money for his cattery. He'd sold off enough items to cover the immediate need of his cattery and to do some of the much-needed repairs on the exterior of the house. Going forward, the proceeds from the museum would more than cover running both the museum and Steve's cattery back home.

  I don't know if Charles knew that the home he'd loved and wanted to stay in was being preserved for history, but I felt like he would have been glad. I hadn't seen him since that last time at my shop, so I guessed he knew we'd found his killer and had gone off to wherever it is that ghosts go.

  "I made you some tea to calm your opening night jitters." Pepper breezed into the room, a steaming mug in her hand. She glanced over at me, noticed my scowl and winked. I guessed since her herbal tea experiment with Jimmy seemed to have worked out, she was now going to try her teas out on Steve.

  "This place looks great." Jimmy's voice boomed from the doorway and my brows shot up to see him dressed in a perfectly tailored dark gray suit. He stood tall, shoulders back, exuding an air of confidence.

  When did that happen? His complexion seemed to have cleared up overnight, and I noticed for the first time that he had a rather attractive square jawline and boyish good looks.

  He noticed us staring and spread his hands. "What? Am I overdressed?"

  "No, you look amazing." Pepper beamed at him like a teacher watching her star pupil win the spelling bee.

  He pulled at his tie. "Oh, good. I didn't have much time. I was getting ready for my new housemate."

  "Housemate?" I asked.

  "Do you mean Ranger?" Pepper looked from me to Jimmy. She knew I'd been considering Jimmy for Ranger's new master.

  "No. Scooter, the tuxedo cat that helped save Willa." Jimmy's smile gave away his fondness for the little cat and I felt a tug at my heart—the little feral cat had saved my life and I was happy he was going to a forever home and couldn’t think of anyone kinder than Jimmy to care for him. "I'm picking him up from Emma tomorrow."

  "Ranger's staying with me," Steve said. Ranger looked up at him adoringly, and when Steve responded with the same look, I knew I'd made the right choice and Ranger had found the perfect master.

  It was great that all these animals were g
etting good homes, but I didn't have time to bask in the warm and fuzzies about it because just then Gus appeared in the doorway, causing the room to fall silent. Her long blonde hair fell almost to her waist and she wore a slinky black dress that enhanced her hourglass figure. I couldn’t remember the last time I'd seen her out of her sheriff’s uniform, and apparently, no one else in the room could, either.

  Gus ignored us as if she was used to being stared at in the slinky black dress, which made me wonder what, exactly, my sister did after hours. As far as I knew, she spent all her time crawling around crime scenes, but maybe I was wrong.

  "Hi, everyone." Gus looked around the room. "Place looks good."

  "Thanks." Steve shuffled his feet uncomfortably.

  Gus simply glared at him for a second as if she still didn't trust him and then she turned to me.

  "Willa, I wanted to thank you for helping us catch Bruce's killer." Gus scowled at me. "Jimmy tells me it was your tips that helped him break the case."

  "Oh … well … I really didn't do anything," I stammered as Gus swooped me into an awkward hug.

  "Just don't go poking around crime scenes anymore," she said. "You could have been killed and you're the only family I have."

  My throat got tight and my eyes started to burn. I hoped I wasn't going to get all emotional.

  Gus turned away, adopting an 'all business' attitude.

  "Les Price caved in pretty quickly once we matched his fingerprints to those on the murder weapon. He made the mistake of pressing Gladys Primble's hair on top of the dried blood so it would stick, but the mere fact that the print was on the dried blood revealed that it was done long after the murder as a frame-up." Gus slid her amber eyes sideways at me. "He said Willa gave him the idea to frame Gladys … apparently she had a motive for the murder of Charles Van Dorn and might have killed Bruce to cover it up?"

  "Yeah, well … I did talk to him about that. You see, I was cataloguing the books here and got kind of involved in this whole Van Dorn curse." I shrugged.