Hershey made a note then nodded. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Moorecliff. I’ll be in touch.”
As the detective drove off along the lane leading up to Moorecliff Manor, a delivery van arrived. “Another arrangement of flowers for Daisy, I presume?” Araminta asked Stephanie, who had answered the doorbell since Harold hadn’t heard it.
Stephanie nodded. “Roses today.”
Araminta watched the delivery van drive out of sight. “So I suppose it’ll be the wildflowers again tomorrow.”
Chapter Four
Arun pushed his paw gently against the acorn. He looked up, measuring the distance to the gap in the hedges, then pulled his paw back and shot forward. The acorn skittered across the pavers and slid through the gap. “Score!”
Sasha frowned, the dark hair on her forehead wrinkling above her sky-blue eyes. “Fine. You beat me. But I was the one who found the glove.”
She flopped down on the warm patch of sun that filtered through the tall oak tree and started grooming, losing interest in the game they’d been playing, as she usually did when losing. She wasn’t very competitive, except when it came to investigating mysteries.
“You found it, but I led the humans.” Arun was proud of his ability to bring the humans to the clues. “And we’re lucky I did. Who knows how long it would have taken them on their own?”
“Araminta would have found it quickly, I’m sure. That Ivan Hershey, I’m not so sure he would have.”
“He doesn’t appear to be as astute as his grandfather,” Arun agreed. “Jacob would have noticed it right away.”
“Maybe they should call us in as consultants.”
Arun snorted. “We’d break the cases in record time.”
“No doubt.” Sasha licked a paw and pushed it behind her ear as the two cats retreated into their own thoughts about the various cases they’d helped solve.
“There are still plenty of clues to uncover in this one.” Arun stood, his gaze drifting over to the solarium, where the police were still searching and conducting interviews. “Perhaps we should get to work.”
Sasha sighed. “I suppose.”
“I want to listen in and perhaps search the guest rooms for clues.”
Sasha perked up. She loved searching the rooms. “Yes, and don’t forget we have to alert Araminta to our latest find.”
“Of course, I can’t wait for her to see what is going on in the gardening shed,” Arun said.
Sasha looked over her shoulder at him as she trotted ahead. “And don’t forget what I found when we were playing hide-and-seek behind the draperies in Shirley’s room. That will certainly be of interest in this case.”
With the police busy interviewing the guests and searching the grounds for whatever murder weapon the killer had used to dispense with Shirley, Araminta decided it was time to take a look in the gardening shed.
The cats must have sensed her direction, because they trotted along in front of her, glancing back in the way that cats do when they pretend to be leading while they are actually following. At least she thought they were following, though she had to admit it did appear as if they thought she was following them.
Due to the bloodstained gardening glove near the body, it made sense the cops would suspect Yancy, the Moorecliffs’ gardener. But Araminta knew things were rarely so cut-and-dried. She wasn’t sure if the police had searched the shed yet, but it couldn’t hurt to have a look herself in case there was something they had missed. Maybe there was something to be found in the little building out back that would shed some light on the subject.
The building dated to her grandfather’s time and sat in the back of the property, where the grounds were still covered with trees, shrubs, and a lot of underbrush. There was a clear path through it all to the quaint little building, which, of course, she and the cats made sure to follow. Since Araminta didn’t know who’d killed Shirley or why they had done so, she would take care. Somewhere out there, a killer was running loose, and she had no wish whatsoever to become the next victim.
From the outside, the building looked quite like a small weathered cabin in the woods, though the inside was home to Yancy’s equipment, his fertilizers and plant foods, a handful or two of specialized gardening books, and of course, his tools—spades, snips, trimmers, and whatnot. Araminta only hoped she didn’t also find the murder weapon.
The cats, of course, made it to the shack ahead of her, and they did not look happy about whatever they’d found, prancing and yowling in front of the door to the shed as they were. Araminta knew they were trying to get her attention. As soon as she got close, she knew why. The door was cracked open slightly. Was the killer inside? Was that the reason the cats were kicking up such a fuss?
She glanced back over her shoulder, indecisive. Should she call down to the solarium for the police to come back around?
Before she could make her decision, Arun gave a loud meow and bolted inside. Araminta knew she would have to go in to collect him. Sasha, at least, waited for her. Araminta reached down to give her a pat in thanks for her patience before they walked into the building together. “Good girl. Good girl,” she told the cat, her voice low, in case someone was lurking beyond the door.
Inside, the building wasn’t quite a shambles, but the contents of the shed were in clear disarray, as if everything had been pushed to one side to make a bit of room for—something. With gossip being that Yancy and Shirley had rekindled their old love affair, Araminta didn’t want to even think of what might have gone on here. Instead, she poked around fallen tools and stacks of bags, not sure for what, exactly, she was looking.
After a moment, Arun sent up a yowl. He’d found something. Araminta hurried to see what and discovered a few articles of clothing in the corner. Kneeling, she picked up each piece and examined it thoroughly. Were these Yancy’s? She wasn’t sure, but it was obvious none of the clothes were Shirley’s—thank goodness! There were smears of grass and dirt on all of the items, but at least none of it was bloodied like the glove the cats had found.
Araminta placed the soiled items of clothing in a pile. She would send Harold or Trinity to fetch it for laundering later. For now, she knew she should get back to the house. Daisy would need her help dealing with the many Moorecliffs in residence, especially after what had happened.
Outside again, Araminta squinted at the door. When she and the cats arrived, that door was already open—but why? Yancy had been given the day off, so there was no reason he should have been in here this morning. If he truly was responsible for Shirley’s murder, he must have done it last night.
But the door had been open…
Had he come to take the murder weapon away and then left in such a rush he’d forgotten to properly close it behind him?
Pulling the door shut, Araminta made sure it clicked into place, then she walked away from the shed, a heavy sigh spilling from her lips. She dearly hoped Yancy was not found to be the killer. Like Harold, Trinity, and Mary the cook, the gardener was practically one of the family. Not to mention, he didn’t seem the murdering type.
Yancy was a man of dedication, she decided. Just look what he had managed to accomplish in a short amount of time. Daisy had given him a scant few weeks to transform that corner of the garden near the solarium, and though he’d had a bit of help, he had completed the project in record time.
From the talk she’d heard among the other staff members, he was even given to a bit of philanthropy. He gave his time two days a week as a volunteer down at the homeless shelter. Was it possible for a man like that to be capable of such a brutal murder?
Araminta didn’t want to believe it of him, but she had seen the glove the cats had found in the grass outside the solarium. It belonged to the gardener, and Yancy did have sharp tools with which to commit the crime, so he certainly had a method. Given his supposed rekindled affair with the victim, he also had ample opportunity. One thing puzzled Araminta and made her more than a little doubtful Shirley’s murderer was the Moorecliffs’ g
ardener: if he loved Shirley, then why would he kill her?
Chapter Five
Sure the police would have found something by now, Araminta made her way back along the wooded path to the memorial garden, the cats following along beside her. She was halfway there when she saw Olive Moorecliff headed in her direction.
Olive and Shirley were sisters, but each had a different mother. Walter Moorecliff’s first wife had passed on after Olive’s birth. She had died of complications. Then Walter had remarried shortly after, and Shirley had come along about a year later. There had been talk at the time about a lack of proper mourning, but Walter hadn’t cared about wagging tongues. He’d loved his first wife, and he’d loved his second. He’d just wanted to get on with his life.
Early on, Shirley and Olive had been nearly inseparable, but as teens, they’d had their share of squabbles. Still, they must have remained close. Olive was a mess, practically beside herself with anguish. “Olive? Olive, darling, are you all right?”
Tears were streaming down her face, and though she nodded, Araminta decided perhaps it was best if they walked back to the house together so the two of them could talk about it. Sometimes it helped if one had a shoulder to lean on—and maybe Olive would know for sure if there was truly anything going on between her sister and Yancy.
“What do I do, Minty? What do I do?” she asked, wringing her hands all the while.
“About what?” Araminta asked.
“Shirley!” she bawled. “We had a falling out a long time ago, you know? We got by after, but we grew so far apart. We never truly reconciled!”
So that was what had her so torn up, was it? Araminta put her arm across Olive’s shoulder and patted her arm in an effort to console her. “There, there, dry your eyes, Olive. I am sure your sister knows you wanted to. The two of you were like twins.”
“Maybe,” Olive murmured. “But we could have reconciled. Up until this morning, we could have.”
She closed her eyes, and the tears started again. “Now we will never have the chance.”
After a moment of silence, Olive took a deep breath and dried her eyes. “But Shirley isn’t the reason I came up here after you. I—I could use some advice.”
“Advice?” Apparently, the cats didn’t want to wait around for Olive to pull herself together. The pair of them strutted down the path, tails in the air.
Arun glanced back as if to say, “Are you coming?” She could practically see the frown on his velvety brown mask. If the cats were that interested in something up ahead, she sure wanted to see what it was. It could be a clue. But then Olive turned her attention back to the conversation with her next words.
“Yes, you see, I—I think I saw something.”
Araminta’s senses went immediately on alert. “Something relevant to Shirley’s murder, you mean?”
Olive shrugged. “I’m not sure. But the police are asking questions of everyone, and I was wondering if you think I should tell the police what I saw outside my room last night?”
Araminta considered it. “Perhaps you should tell me first. Then together, we can decide if you should go to the police. Did you see Shirley with someone last night?”
“No, no.” Olive batted away the possibility with the hand in which she held the handkerchief. “It’s Owen. You know our rooms are next door to one another, right?”
Araminta nodded. “Yes, but I don’t see how the location of his room could be relevant…”
Olive leaned near as if to share a deep confidence. “I saw Angie sneaking in there last night!”
Araminta’s eyes widened at the news, but she was not truly shocked. Everyone in the family knew Angie had only married David for his money. But Owen? Really? He was David’s brother, for crying out loud, and as poor as a church mouse, to boot. She shook her head. “Only Angie would stoop to an affair with her brother-in-law.”
“It’s horrid, I tell you! But should I tell the police what I know? I mean, it is suspicious behavior, after all—right?”
Araminta started to say yes, it was suspiciously despicable behavior, but Olive cut her off.
“I’m sure Shirley must have known about it too. Do you think she was planning to use Angie’s affair with Owen for her own advantage? I mean, I don’t want to get Angie into any sort of trouble, but—”
“I think we will keep this to ourselves for the time being, Olive. An affair is more of a family scandal kind of thing in this instance.”
“But it could have been motive for murder, right? If Shirley knew about Owen and Angie, either one of them might have wanted to keep her quiet to make sure David never found out.”
Araminta had to admit she did have a point. But if Angie and Owen’s affair was outed and neither of them was guilty of murder, why, that news would ruin quite a few innocent lives. “You could be right, Olive. You could certainly be right. But what if you’re not? We have to consider what this would do to David and Angie’s children before we just blurt it all out into the open.”
“I can barely allow myself to imagine one of them could be Shirley’s killer, but you’re right.”
Araminta nodded, thankful Olive seemed in agreement to keep her secrets to herself for the moment.
“I will leave it to you, Araminta. I know you are good at these sorts of things.” Olive’s eyes misted over again. “I need to make sure Shirley’s death is avenged. It’s the last thing I can do for her.”
“I promise that will happen.” Araminta would do her best to find the killer, but accusing someone in the family was a delicate matter. If Angie or Owen was Shirley’s murderer, she needed proof beyond a shadow of a doubt.
Chapter Six
Back at the manor, Araminta saw the police had finally removed the body and sealed off the solarium. Some of the uniformed officers were searching the manor, and there was still a handful of guests to question, but soon, they’d be on their way.
Daisy had already given them a list of all the guests, along with their contact information in case they needed to speak with someone again. Shirley had clearly been stabbed, but until they got the results from the autopsy with more details about what kind of knife or tool they were really looking for, there wasn’t much else they could do here.
Araminta, on the other hand, didn’t have time for the badges to finish their work and leave. Someone had killed another Moorecliff family member, and she meant to find out who.
Following the cats upstairs, she looked first one way and then the other at the long, double row of doors. Family was staying in many of those typically unused chambers, but someone among them had killed Shirley. Searching all the rooms would be a task, but it was possible the police had missed something when they were up here. The question was, where to start?
Arun solved that dilemma for her. He raced straight to Shirley’s room. He meowed until Sasha joined him, and they both sat, waiting for Araminta to open the door. Inside, Araminta shook her head. The cops had practically turned this room inside out, and she could only assume there would be more of the same kind of disarray in all the others.
Meow.
Arun was standing by the window, looking up at Araminta. She hurried over. From here, she could see the guests still milling about in the garden. She could see the solarium too. Had Shirley stood here, looking down into the gardens, keeping an eye on her lover?
Meow!
Distracted from her thoughts, Araminta looked down. “What is it, Arun?”
The cat dipped his head into the folds of the drapery then nudged at the material with his paw. Araminta finally saw what he was obviously trying to show her. There was a small slip of paper in the hem of the drapery. She could see only the corner of it, peeking out from the opening where a few stitches had come undone. The old draperies really did need to be replaced.
“You’ve found something already?” Curious, she bent to retrieve it, but Arun stopped her before she could touch the paper. “Right. Don’t need to get my prints on there.”
Using the he
m of her blouse, she lifted the paper from where it must have fallen and become hidden in the heavy folds of fabric after Shirley read it. It was easy to see how the police had missed it, tucked into the hem and facing the wall. Who would think to look there? Arun and Sasha, on the other hand, loved hiding behind drapes and sometimes even climbing them.
There was a single line of text on the sheet. Midnight in the solarium, it said. Someone had given Shirley a note to lure her into the solarium! Was it from Yancy, after all? Had he sent Shirley this note to have her meet him for a midnight fling? Or was it intended to lure his one-time lover to her death? How long had the note been there? No one had occupied the room for over a year, but the note could be from then or before. Maybe it had nothing to do with Shirley… but Araminta didn’t think so.
Studying the note carefully, Araminta paid attention to every detail, committing it all to memory, because she would need to surrender what she had found to the cops.
The writing was old-school, as Jacob Hershey would say. Cursive, with lovely, flowing letters. Open loops. Nothing closed up tightly. If the handwriting analysis course of study she’d taken online had a bit of substance to it, she could surmise that whoever had written this note had felt they had nothing to hide. Or maybe they’d believed no one would find it, so there was no chance of them getting caught?
The paper was plain white with no ruled lines on it. It looked very common. No clues there.
The cats seemed satisfied there was nothing more to be found in this room, so Araminta slipped the note into her pocket and headed back downstairs to take it to the authorities still searching for whatever the killer had used to murder Shirley.
Stabbed In The Solarium Page 2
