Whisker of a Doubt (Mystic Notch Cozy Mystery Series Book 6)

by Leighann Dobbs

  I stared up into Albert’s ghostly face, shocked. The fact he was here, now, meant that he’d been murdered. Robert and Franklin had been right the previous day. Poor Albert did look confused, his shyness apparent in the way he kept disappearing and reappearing at regular intervals.

  I was finally seeing Albert. Hopefully, no customers would come in. Not that I didn’t want customers, just not right now.

  “Hello, Albert,” I said, plastering on what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “I’m so glad you finally decided to visit me. What is it you want my help with?”

  Several seconds passed in silence until finally Albert said, “The letter. I need to make sure it gets delivered.”

  “Okay,” I said, my heart rate speeding. So there had been a letter, and most likely, it was the reason Albert had been killed. “Can you tell me about what happened at the post office, Albert? Who was there with you? Who took the letter from you?”

  Albert’s form wavered on the ceiling, and he opened his mouth as if to answer. Then the bells on the front door jangled, and he disappeared in a POOF!

  Disappointment zinged through me as I looked over to see Striker walk in. Twice now, he’d interrupted my time with Albert, and I was starting to take it personally, no matter how cute Striker was. I got up and walked over to set my mug on the counter then grab the stack of books that needed to be reshelved. I shot Striker a small smile as I passed him. “Good morning. To what do I owe this honor?”

  “I just finished talking to Gus and thought I’d stop by.” He leaned a hip against the counter, all masculine grace and confidence. “Figured you might want to know, since you were so curious last night.”

  His new information on the murder helped ease my irritation with him considerably. I kept working while he talked, not wanting to seem too eager. “Sure. What did you discover?”

  “Well, turns out Albert Schumer was murdered. That’s why Gus called me in. It was obvious by the way the body was positioned. He’d been pushed then hit on the back of the head. Whoever killed him tried to make it look like Albert had slipped and fallen, bashing his head on the steps, but Gus found the rock they used in the shrubs nearby.”

  “That’s awful.” I peeked around the end of a bookcase to see him. “Any fingerprints?”

  “Nope.” His gray gaze narrowed, and his frowned deepened. “Mind telling me why you were so curious last night, Willa? If you know something about what happened to Albert, it would be best for you to tell me now.”

  “No.” I scowled, glancing up at the ceiling again before I could stop myself, but thankfully, there was no sign of his ghost. “How would I know anything about what happened to that poor man?”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking,” Striker said, following me between the shelves. “You seem to have a knack for trouble where these cases are concerned, Chance.”

  “Well, I don’t know anything,” I said dismissively, hoping to put some space between us and this awkward conversation. It wasn’t like I could tell him the truth about me seeing ghosts. That would get me a nice long trip to the state mental hospital. And I didn’t want to lie to Striker, not when we were just starting to explore this connection and attraction between us. That seemed wrong on way too many levels. So I kept my head down and my hands busy with work. “I was just making small talk.”

  Meow!

  Pandora ran between us, dodging left and then leaping right. What was with her? I didn’t remember leaving any catnip out, but she sure was acting crazed.

  “Small talk, huh?” Striker snorted, trailing behind me down the narrow space between the shelves.

  “Yep.” I placed a pristine hard copy of one of my favorite Nancy Drew mysteries, The Secret of the Old Clock, face out on the shelf in the mystery aisle and headed over toward the reference section.

  Meroop!

  Pandora raced in front of Striker. He sidestepped quickly to avoid her then tripped over the bookshelf and smacked his knee hard on the edge of the solid metal bookshelf on the opposite side of the aisle. With a muttered curse, he straightened and rubbed what had to be a sore spot. “Talking about dead people is small talk to you?”

  Yes. “No.” I turned to face him at last. “Look, I’m sorry I brought up Albert Schumer, okay? It was an innocent mistake. I swear. Won’t happen again. You want some ice for your knee? I can grab some from the freezer in the break room.”

  “No, I’m fine.” He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “I need to get back to work.” He stepped toward me, narrowly missing Pandora, who darted behind him on the way to her plush cat bed in the front window, her kinked tail high in the air. “I think Pandora has been cooped up too long. She’s acting crazy.”

  “Hopefully, she’ll sleep it off.”

  Striker dropped a kiss on top of my head. “Stay safe, and please don’t poke around in the mess with Albert. We don’t even know what we’re dealing with here yet. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I said, knowing it wasn’t true. Albert Schumer had sought me out, asked for my help. It was my duty to assist him with this last task so that he could rest in peace for eternity. If I didn’t, who knew what else could happen?

  7

  Are you sure this is a good idea?” Pepper asked me later as we drove to Albert Schumer’s house.

  Well, actually, no. I wasn’t sure it was such a great idea, but I couldn’t think of anything else to do. I’d concentrated, tried to distract myself with work, even meditated during my lunch hour—not to mention I chugged enough dandelion tea that day to float a cruise ship—but Albert’s ghost had never reappeared. After what Striker had told me, I had to find out more about that missing letter. Since Grace Schumer had mentioned the letter to Elspeth, it was possible she might have more information.

  Pepper, of course, was like the town’s grief counselor, personally visiting each deceased person’s family and bringing them her healing herbal tea. She’d been doing it for years, even before I’d left for college, so it kind of gave us the perfect excuse to go to the Schumer house today, even if my best friend was uncomfortable with my ulterior motives.

  “I wonder if Gemma will be there,” Pepper said as we turned onto the side street where Albert had lived.

  “Who’s Gemma?”

  “Albert’s daughter. She’s married to Desmond Lacroix.”

  At her disapproving tone, I glanced over to see her pursed lips. “I take it you don’t care for this person?”

  “No, I don’t.” Which was rare where Pepper was concerned. She liked everybody. “Desmond is one of those people who is always trying to get out of their responsibilities. He’s always trying to weasel out of an honest day’s work.”

  “Hmm.” I pulled up to the curb in front of the Schumer household and cut the engine. “Sounds like a real prize.”

  “Yes, I’m not sure what Gemma sees in him.” Pepper exited the passenger side of my vehicle. I got out and locked up then followed her up to the front door. Grace Schumer answered after one knock, looking understandably sad and tearful. Pepper immediately pulled her into a soothing hug while I stood awkwardly behind them, holding Pepper’s tea cozy for her.

  Grace pulled away at last and welcomed us into her home, sniffling as she closed the door. “The police were just here. They informed us that Albert’s death was a murder. Who would do such a thing?”

  I handed the tea cozy back to Pepper as Gemma rushed forward to comfort her mother, who was sobbing again. Leaning against the wall of the small living room was who I assumed to be Desmond, looking bored with everything. His expression hovered somewhere between anger and guilt, and his hand was bandaged. My mind, of course, went into overdrive.

  Based on what Pepper had told me about him on the way over, it was entirely possible he’d had something to do with Albert’s death. Perhaps he’d thought he’d inherit money or something, though that really didn’t make any sense now that I thought about it. With both Grace and Gemma alive, any inheritance would go to them first. But if Gemma got money,
Desmond would benefit, plus I didn’t like Desmond’s attitude. I made a beeline over to him to size him up for myself.

  “I’m Willa Chance. I own the local bookstore.” I held out my hand for him to shake, knowing full well he’d have a hard time doing it with his injury.

  He held up his bandaged hand and shrugged. “Desmond Lacroix. Son-in-law.”

  “How’d you hurt your hand?” I asked, not feeling the least bit bad about my nosiness.

  “Carpal tunnel. Just had another surgery to try and fix it.” He shifted his attention to Pepper, who’d just joined us. “Oh, you brought your healing tea,” Desmond said sarcastically, ignoring Pepper’s glare of distaste. “That should do the trick and fix me right up.”

  To head off what I sensed would be a stern dressing down from my best friend of the man beside me, I herded Pepper toward the coffee table and helped her set up her tea service. When she was done, she took a seat beside Grace, handing her a cup of tea.

  “This tea should help soothe you.” Pepper patted Grace’s hand. “I do hope you’ll let me know if you need more.”

  “Thank you, dear.” Grace sipped her tea. “This is all so disturbing.”

  “I can imagine,” I said. “I mean it’s one thing to be left without a husband and with the financial burden of a funeral and burial and all, but then to discover it was murder…” I shook my head sympathetically and avoided Pepper’s narrow-eyed glare. I knew my mention of finances hadn’t been very subtle, and Pepper wouldn’t like me interrogating the widow. But money was one of the primary motives for murder, and I needed to know if anyone would benefit from Albert’s death financially.

  Grace dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “Thankfully, I won’t have to worry about finances. Albert had great life insurance from the post office and a nice pension too.”

  “Well, at least that’s something.” I grabbed a scone off the china dish and bit in. It was almond flavored with thin slices of almonds.

  “I still can’t imagine who would want my Albert dead,” Grace said. “He was such a sweet, helpful, kind man. It must have been a random killing.”

  Desmond gave a derisive snort. “Or he made someone angry.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  Desmond’s eyes narrowed, and he shifted position. “Albert was always fighting with Barney Delaney. I saw them myself just the other day, yelling at each other right there on Main Street in front of everyone. If you ask me, Barney’s the one the police should be looking at. If I had to guess, I’d say Barney got sick of arguing with my father-in-law and decided to put a stop to it for good.”

  8

  After leaving the Schumer home and dropping Pepper off at her tea shop, I headed back to Last Chance Books. I parked my truck in its usual spot in the narrow alleyway beside the building then went inside to check that things were running smoothly.

  Hanna, the assistant I’d hired, was busy helping customers at the counter, and everything else looked to be in order. I checked the mail and dropped off my purse in the office then headed back out to follow up on what Desmond had told me about the feud between his father-in-law and Barney Delaney. It was a thin lead at best. No one murdered someone just because they argued a lot, did they?

  Hmm… hadn’t Cordelia said that Barney always lost to Albert in checkers? Was that what they argued about? Who would murder someone just to win in checkers? As far as I knew, the contest didn’t have any prize other than boasting rights, and they’d been playing against each other for years. Why kill him now?

  Delaney’s Antique Emporium was down two blocks and around the corner from my bookstore. The afternoon air was crisp and cool, and weak sunshine filtered through the puffy, gray clouds above. Barney Delaney was in his late seventies and had owned the antique store for more than twenty years, ever since he’d retired from being the town’s postmaster and way before I returned to town.

  Inside the shop, it was like entering a different world. Soothing instrumental music played from the overhead speakers. The air smelled of exotic spices and old memories. In the main part of the store, antique furniture was set up to mimic different rooms, as it would be in a house. Stained-glass lamps sat on oak side tables next to blue brocade sofas with carved mahogany backs.

  Beyond that, the store was divided into sections for various items—furniture, rugs, artwork, ceramics, kitchenware, books, and periodicals. There was even an extensive grouping of old post office memorabilia and another for rare stamps and coins.

  I spotted Barney behind the counter near the register and made my way over to him, passing a lovely old checkers set made from expensive ebony, ivory, and marble. Barney watched me with a wary gaze, and I did my best to put him at ease.

  “Your shop looks as beautiful as always,” I said, hoping to win some points with him.

  “Thanks,” he said, turning away, a frown etching his weathered face. So much for making a good impression. He wasn’t exactly known as the most talkative guy around town, or the friendliest. Barney Delaney kept mostly to himself, except for the yearly checkers tournament. And fighting with Albert Schumer, apparently. “What can I help you with today, Miss Chance?”

  “Oh, please. Call me Willa.” My smile faltered slightly when he just stared at me. “Um, I wondered if I might ask you a few questions.”

  “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On what they’re about,” he said, his bushy white eyebrows knitting together. “I’ve got a shop to run here. Best make it fast.”

  “Right.” I glanced around the empty store then back to him, forcing my smile wider. “I just left the Schumer household. Terrible thing that happened to poor Albert, huh?” I glanced up to see his reaction, but Barney was busy sorting through receipts on the counter, his expression unreadable. “Anyway, Albert’s son-in-law, Desmond, mentioned you’d had a fight with Albert shortly before he died. I wondered if you might tell me what that argument was about.”

  Barney gave me a long flat look over the tops of his wire-rim glasses, his gaze narrowed. “There was no argument.”

  “But Desmond said he clearly saw you and Albert—”

  “We were having a lively discussion,” Barney continued, talking over me. “Albert was my friend. That’s just how we communicated.”

  “Hmm.” I glanced over at the expensive checkers set again, searching for common ground. “You must be looking forward to this year’s tournament. Rumor has it you’re a shoo-in to win, with Albert gone.”

  Barney froze, his fists clenching on the wooden countertop, the sound of crinkling paper filling the air as he crushed the receipts in his hands. “What exactly are you implying, Miss Chance?”

  Heat prickled my cheeks as I realized I’d put my foot in it this time. “Oh, uh, nothing. I was just talking to Cordelia Deering this morning—she and her sister, Hattie, are regulars at my shop each day, you know—and she mentioned your skill with the game and—”

  “I had nothing to do with Albert Schumer’s death,” Barney said, coming around the end of the counter to stand before me. Even for an elderly guy, he was still a good foot taller than I, and in relatively good shape, lean and sinewy. If the hard glint in his icy-blue eyes was any indication, he was furious. Perhaps the argument Desmond claimed he saw had merit after all. Tension pulsed off Barney in waves, and I could well imagine him fighting with poor Albert then whacking him on the head hard enough to kill him. I could also imagine him doing the same to me. “Like I said, Albert was my friend. And why would I murder someone to win that checkers tournament? There isn’t even a cash prize.”

  “I never meant to imply anything, Mr. Delaney,” I said, inching away from him slowly and moving nearer to the door. “Honestly. Like I said, Desmond had these concerns, and I promised I’d ask about them the next time I saw you.” I gave a nervous laugh. “My past as a crime reporter’s to blame. I’m too curious and nosy. At least that’s what Striker always tells me.” I figured it didn’t hurt to name-drop my law enforcement boyfr
iend to give Barney second thoughts about clonking me on the head and pushing me out onto the steps.

  He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, his shoulders slumping slightly and his head lowering. The corners of his mouth turned down, and I caught a glimpse of a man who’d just lost an old, and possibly only, friend. Sympathy bubbled up inside me before I tamped it down.

  “Look, I’m sorry I jumped all over you there, Miss Chance. I guess this whole thing with Albert’s just thrown me for a loop.” He moved back behind the register again, his anger apparently mollified and his tone contrite. “But I’ll tell you something. If you’re looking for suspects in Albert’s death, I’d look no further than his own family. That no-good son-in-law of his was leeching off Albert. Last I heard, Desmond had gotten into some shady deal with Nathan Anderson involving Albert’s old stamp collection.” Barney shook his head. “In fact, Desmond came in here earlier this morning with a bunch of stamps he found in Albert’s old things from the post office. The man’s not even in his grave yet, and that schmuck’s trying to profit off him.”

  My mind spun with the new information. Desmond must have been in town just before Pepper and I showed up at the Schumer house then. I wondered if Gemma had any idea what her husband was up to. Then I wondered if any of those stamps had come from the missing letter from the murder scene. “Can I see what he brought in?”

  “No, you can’t.” Barney scowled. “I didn’t buy them. Flat-out refused. I told him I wanted nothing to do with his schemes and blood money. Desmond was as mad as a hatter about it, but I didn’t care.”

  9

  I left Barney’s shop shortly thereafter, my thoughts racing. Because of the nice weather, I decided to walk the long way back to the store. I’d be sitting most of the afternoon and cataloguing new books into my software system once Hanna went home, so the exercise would do me good.