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

by Leighann Dobbs

  I’d figured right. Emma was in the office, sorting through a box of candles. She glanced up as I appeared in the doorway.

  “Willa! What a nice surprise. What can I help you with today?”

  “Hi,” I said, smoothing a hand down my jeans. “I wondered if I could talk to you a few minutes.”

  “Oh, well, I suppose so,” Emma said, waving me into her office. “I could stand a little break.”

  “Great, thanks.” I stepped inside the tiny room and took a seat in the chair in front of her desk. She was a petite, older lady with gray hair and horn-rimmed glasses. I refused the tea she offered and waited until she settled into her seat once more before asking, “I wondered if you remembered seeing anyone lurking around these parts the morning Albert Schumer was killed.”

  “Hmm.” Emma gave me a thoughtful look. “Funny you should ask. Your sister was in here earlier, wanting to know the same thing. I’ll tell you what I told her. The only person I saw in the vicinity that day was Nathan Anderson. He drove away from the post office about six in the morning. I know the time exactly because our bells chime exactly on the hour. I come in before six just to hear them. Plus, I can walk into the narthex and see the sun rising through the stained glass. It’s really beautiful. I saw his car through the glass in the front doors.”

  “Sounds like it,” I said, smiling. “Are you sure it was Nathan Anderson?”

  “Absolutely. He drives a silver Prius with a little ding on the passenger-side door. No mistaking it.” Emma leaned closer and whispered, “Plus, I know I’m not supposed to say this, but Nathan is a friend of the feral cats, like you. So, I feel like I can talk about it since we’re alone.”

  “Huh.” After seeing Nathan arguing with Felicity Bates, I’d had him pegged as a villain. But hearing that the guy helped take care of the feral cat population of Mystic Notch made me reconsider.

  Mystic Notch had a large population of wild cats. We’d tried to rehome them, but some of them just could not be caught. We did our best to keep them fed and cared for. We sort of acted like a secret society, anonymous and all, bringing food and other supplies to secret shelter locations all around town.

  There were a lot of vocal people in the area who’d love nothing more than to do away with all the lost and abandoned cats, so we moved locations frequently to avoid discovery. I hoped that Emma was right and that Nathan was a true and kind friend to the local feral population and hadn’t infiltrated our group to do harm. But if he was a kind friend, then why was he running from Albert Schumer’s dead body?

  “And you didn’t see anyone else that morning?”

  “No, dear.” Emma sat back and straightened her already-pristine desktop. “Only a few of us early risers are up and about that time of the morning. Usually just me, Pastor Foley, the postmaster, and the good Lord above.”

  “Okay, then.” I pushed to my feet and headed for the door. “Well, thank you for talking to me, Emma. Have a nice afternoon.”

  “Thank you, Willa. You do the same.” Emma slid her glasses up her nose and picked up a stack of papers, her attention firmly focused on her work once more. There was no sign of Pastor Foley around the church, so I decided to leave for my late lunch with Striker a bit sooner than expected. I could take a leisurely walk through town beforehand and stew over the new information I’d just learned.

  I stepped back out into the bright sunshine and stood for a minute, enjoying the late-autumn day and the sounds of leaves rustling around my feet. I should be happy Emma had seen the person that Ruthie had heard fleeing that morning. According to what I’d heard, Nathan was into something with Desmond. It was possible he’d learned about the letter from Desmond when Desmond wanted to sell it for the stamp. The letter was old, so the stamp must have had some value, and if Albert didn’t think so and if the letter was never mailed, it wouldn’t have been postmarked either, thus making it worth more.

  But now that I knew Nathan helped take care of the cats, I wasn’t so sure he was the killer. Then again, Nathan was friendly with Felicity. Or was he? I’d seen them arguing in front of my shop, and that would seem to indicate they were not on friendly terms.

  Emma’s sighting didn’t conclusively prove that Nathan Anderson had killed Albert Schumer. But despite his supposed charity toward stray cats, why else would the man be driving away from the back of the post office where a dead body was sprawled on the steps if it wasn’t because he was fleeing with the letter Albert had been carrying?

  17

  Staring around the church parking lot, I moved to where Emma had said she was standing at the time she spotted Nathan’s car, and tried to figure out where the vehicle might have come from if not the post office. My conscience still required me to give him the benefit of the doubt until proven guilty. However, it was clear the post office was the only reasonable conclusion since the only other business on the street was the diner, but it wasn’t nearby, and for Nathan, driving past the church lot would’ve been well out of his way.

  I walked back to the bookstore and entered to find Pandora sleeping in the same spot in her cat bed as when I’d left earlier. My suspicions rose. Usually, the cat got angry when I went somewhere without her. And when Pandora was angry, she liked to express it by messing with things.

  I made a quick inspection of the shop, searching for hairballs or shredded toilet paper strewn about like streamers. Nothing. Frowning, I made my way back to the front of the store and chatted with Hanna while I stowed my purse under the counter. She hadn’t noticed Pandora doing anything nasty, and as far as she knew, the cat had snoozed in her fluffy bed the whole time I’d been gone other than one trip to the litter box in the storage closet.

  Maybe Pandora was tired. After all, she’d been up to a lot the night before, getting Striker and me to drink that dandelion tea then confess our secret abilities to one another. And I still couldn’t shake the fact I’d heard her thoughts inside my head. Not like the usual, “Oh, I bet this is what my cat’s thinking” sort of thing either. No. The more I’d thought about it, the more I was convinced that Pandora was trying to communicate with me, telepathically.

  A glance at the clock showed it was a quarter after three. My picnic date with Striker in the park was at four thirty, so I had a little bit of time to get some paperwork sorted here at the shop and help out with reshelving and other things. Hanna had already left for the day, but since there were no customers in sight, I didn’t mind closing a little early.

  I’d just gathered a stack of returned books in my arms to carry them across the room when the bells jangled above the door. I peered around the end of the aisle to see Barney Delaney standing at the counter.

  Setting the books aside, I forced a polite smile. “Hello, Barney. What can I help you with today?”

  “I’m looking for a reference book on Canadian coins,” he said, his voice as gruff as his expression. “Figured you might have it. I had a customer bring a collection in, and I need to look up some things.”

  “Ah.” I led him over to the section he needed, noticing a silver Prius driving slowly past on the street outside the shop. From where I was standing, it appeared the shadowy driver was trying to peer inside the bookstore. I squinted and saw a ding on the passenger-side door, and my feet fumbled.

  Was that Nathan Anderson? Worse, was he here with Barney? I braced a hand against a nearby bookshelf for balance and tried to calm my racing heart as I pointed to the reference books I currently had in stock. “This is all I’ve got right now, I’m afraid. Usually when you need something, you call me first so I can see if I’ve got what you need or can order it, Barney.”

  “There wasn’t time. Client just dropped them off, and I need to evaluate them in a hurry. My books don’t have these Canadian coins listed. Let’s see. I brought one over…” He pulled out a large tome and scowled as he flipped through it then took a small packet, which I assumed contained the coin, out of his pocket. He was already wearing the white cotton gloves one used to avoid getting oils on val
uable coins, and he took it out of the pouch to compare. “You heard anything new about the murder?”

  There were any number of reasons why he might be asking. He and Albert had been friends, after all. The fact that a silver Prius just like Nathan Anderson’s had driven by moments earlier could be pure coincidence.

  “Uh, nope. Just what everyone else around here has heard. Why?”

  “I want this thing resolved.” Barney scanned the pages of the book, searching intently for something. “My gut tells me that Desmond Lacroix was taking advantage of Albert and that Nathan Anderson was involved somehow. That Anderson might’ve come from an old family with old money, but most of it’s gone now. I’d wager that’s why he’s been sniffing around the Bates family these days, trying to get them to invest in stamps and commodities.”

  His unexpected answer got my attention. I crossed my arms and stood a bit firmer. “Stamps and commodities? Can you be a bit more specific?”

  Barney looked up then, as if just realizing what he’d let slip. His gaze darted away then, and he reached into his back pocket for his wallet. “Sorry. No, I can’t. Really don’t want to cast aspersions on anyone.” He switched the book to his other hand and tried his other back pocket. Then he cursed softly under his breath. “Seems I forgot my wallet.”

  “Oh. Just take it.” I stepped back slowly from him, glancing over at Pandora, who still appeared to be sleeping soundly in her bed. Normally inquisitive, she was usually the first one to greet customers when they came in, but not this afternoon. Was she ill? I looked back at Barney, who was watching me with an unreadable expression. “Seriously. You can pay me for it later. It’s not like I don’t know where to find you.”

  My joke fell flat.

  Barney shuffled toward the exit, mumbling his thanks as he passed.

  Barney sure was an odd duck. And Nathan driving by made me nervous. Things were getting weird, but I didn’t have time to mull that over. It was time to meet Striker, and I was starving.

  18

  The small park near the center of town was usually very private. Mystic Notch wasn’t exactly a hotbed of activity. Sure, we got a good amount of tourist traffic in the summer, but now that it was past peak foliage season, things were slow. Fine by me. It meant a more private late lunch with Striker. We’d be able to talk about Albert without anyone overhearing.

  Today had been strange all around. Poor Pandora still wasn’t acting right either. She hadn’t even meowed when I’d left to meet Striker. She’d barely lifter her head at all. Usually, she’d be trying to sneak out the door behind me. If things didn’t improve by tonight, I’d call the vet and make an appointment for her. I glanced back at the front of the bookstore and was relieved to see her open at least one greenish-gold orb to watch me from her spot in the window. Maybe once she saw me walk away, she’d start clawing at the door in her usual fashion.

  I crossed the street and walked down a block to the park. The trees were almost bare now, and it was easy to spot Striker at a picnic table near a small copse of pines at the far corner of the space. As I got closer, I saw that he’d laid out a whole spread of food. Forget the sandwiches he’d mentioned earlier. There was fried chicken and coleslaw, rolls and butter, mashed potatoes, and even corn.

  “Hey,” he said, his gray eyes warm as I approached. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted from the diner, so I got a bit of everything on special.” The corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled, and tiny flutters of attraction took flight inside me. I slid onto the bench across from him and set my purse beside me before filling my plate with goodies.

  “How’s your day going?” Striker asked, tearing into a chicken leg.

  “Weird,” I answered truthfully. I filled him in on Barney Delaney’s recent visit to my shop as I buttered a roll. “He thinks Desmond’s got something to do with Albert’s death.”

  “Can’t.” Striker polished off his chicken leg then grabbed another from the box. “Guy’s got an airtight alibi. He was at the emergency clinic the morning Albert Schumer died. Doctor and nurse both verify that he was there, having his stitches looked at. Seems they were getting infected.”

  “Could he have faked it?” I nibbled on a chunk of chicken breast. The deep-fried breading was salty and spicy and melted in my mouth, while the chicken was tender and succulent. Score another winner for the local diner. “Or maybe he rushed over there after killing Albert.”

  “Nah.” Striker wiped his hands then pulled out his trusty notebook from his pocket and flipped through it. “No way. The clinic told me they log everything into their computer, and the medical records show Lacroix was with Dr. Green at five forty-five, the time of Albert’s death.”

  “Hmm.” I took a bite of creamy mashed potatoes, frowning. “You think his injury is real?”

  “Would have to be, unless Dr. Green is lying too.” Striker shrugged and took a sip from his water bottle. “Since you and I have a special ‘in’ with Albert, perhaps we can ask him if Desmond really had carpal tunnel the next time we see him.” He winked at me. “My knee’s still aching from that fall the other night, so more of Pepper’s tea would be in order.”

  I smiled, genuinely this time, enjoying the warm tingles of companionship I felt around him now. We’d gotten off to a rocky start, what with Striker thinking I was a criminal and all the first time we’d met, but the truth was I’d always been attracted to him. And I think the feeling was mutual. We’d been dating ever since. And now, apparently, we were trying to solve murders together. I made a mental note to try to conjure up Albert’s ghost so I could ask him about Desmond. While I was at it, I’d ask about the argument with Barney too. What if this whole thing had nothing to do with Hester Warren’s letter and he’d argued with Barney that morning again and it had turned deadly?

  But no matter what his answer, my money was on Nathan and Felicity. After all, Emma had seen Nathan’s car leaving the scene of the crime.

  Now—with our shared “talents”—I felt closer to Striker than ever. “Yeah, maybe.” I took a bite of corn, savoring its sweet, buttery flavor. “I walked over and talked to Emma Potts this morning too. She said she saw Nathan Anderson driving away from the post office around the time Albert was murdered. Since Ruthie scared whoever did the deed away, maybe Nathan is guilty.”

  “Nathan Anderson, huh?” Striker narrowed his gaze. “That’s odd. He called in right before I left to come here. Reported a break-in at his shed.”

  “Oh really? He drove by my shop really slowly when Barney was in there. I recognized the car from Emma’s description.”

  Striker made a face. “There could be more than one person with the same car.”

  “Don’t think so. His had a dent on the passenger-side door.”

  “Hmm… well, I’ll see if I can sway Gus into digging deeper into him. I did tell her you heard him arguing with Felicity about a letter. Killing someone to steal something of value out of their hand is motive.”

  “And I wouldn’t put it past Felicity to get Nathan to do her dirty work then screw him over when it came time for the payoff. That’s probably what the argument was about.” I finished my roll, contemplating whether I should mention the pleasantry charm or not, then decided why not? After all, Striker could see ghosts just like me. Odds were good he wouldn’t find the possibility of magic being real that weird, right? I finished the last of my food then pushed my plate away to rest my clasped hands on the tabletop. “Pepper mentioned that the letter Albert had could’ve been a list of ingredients.”

  “Ingredients for what?” Striker asked as he packed up our trash and tossed it in a nearby bin.

  I took a deep breath before answering. “A spell.”

  “A spell, huh?” Striker took his seat again, toying with his water bottle and not meeting my gaze. If he thought there was anything strange about what I’d said, he didn’t show it. “What kind of spell?”

  “A pleasantry charm, from what I’ve been told. Meant to keep the peace around town. Pepper said that i
f someone was able to assemble all of the ingredients on the list, they could break the charm and cause havoc in Mystic Notch.” I squeezed my hands tighter together. “What if Nathan’s been digging for the ingredients and called in a break-in to cover up ahead of time?”

  “Cover up?”

  “Yeah, you know, if his shovel is found at the scene of the digging or something.”

  “Hmm… that doesn’t make much sense. We wouldn’t be investigating digging during the course of investigating Albert’s death. The police wouldn’t know about this charm or the ingredients, and his digging wouldn’t be linked to the murder.”

  Dang, he was right. “I guess. Does he have an alibi for the time of Albert’s murder?”

  “Not according to Gus.” Striker sighed, his frown deepening.

  “Gus checked his alibi?” I was surprised. If that was true, my sister had taken the information I’d passed along through Striker about Nathan Anderson seriously and had looked into him. Maybe she did value my opinions more than she let on.

  “So how does Felicity fit in if Nathan is doing the digging?”

  “He could be her minion. We know she thinks she’s a witch and would be after the ingredients.” I shrugged. “Maybe she put a spell on him or is paying him. I really don’t know much about witches and magic, to tell you the truth.”

  “If this spell thing Pepper told you about is real, then we need to find not only the killer, but also this letter and make sure whoever would want to dig up the ingredients is not able to do that. That’s gonna make it harder, especially if Felicity is getting Nathan to do her dirty work. We might not find physical evidence to tie her to the crime.”

  I checked my watch then stood. “I need to get back to the bookstore. But I will say that the best way to get my sister to go along with your ideas is to make her think it was her idea to begin with.” Striker laughed, and I smiled then added, “Believe me. I’ve had tons of experience.”