I stood there, unable to walk away. I don't believe in ghosts, but I felt her presence. She'd given me the creeps at the pub, but first impressions weren't everything. The woman had been alive and now she wasn't, because something terrible had happened. I felt like I needed to say something, even if it was more for my benefit than Voula's.
"I'm sorry this happened to you," I said to the closed door. "I don't know what you planned to do in Misty Falls, but I'm sure it wasn't this. On behalf of the town, I'm sorry. Wherever you are, I hope you're at peace. We're going to find who did this to you."
As I finished my speech, the air in the house changed. A cold breeze rushed along the hallway, putting a chill up my spine and raising the hairs on my arms, even under my sweater and jacket.
My breath caught in my throat. Was it a ghost? Voula's spirit passing by me?
Something thumped downstairs. I pressed my back against the wall of the hallway and froze, waiting for more sounds.
Chapter 8
The thumps sounded again. It was a familiar sound, almost homey: snowy boots being stamped on the porch.
Someone rapped on the door loudly.
"Police!" A man's voice came through the door.
"Tony?" I squeaked.
"I'm going to break down the door!" The house trembled at the threat.
"Coming!" I warbled as I ran down the stairs and toward the door. "Coming! Hold your horses!" I sounded ridiculous, like someone fresh from the shower running to get their parcel from UPS. "Almost there!"
"Stand back!"
I'd been reaching for the deadbolt, but jumped back instead of opening the door.
Two solid kicks later, the old wood door cracked away from its hinges and fell on the floor with a horrific clatter.
Tony Milano stood in the doorway, one hand ready to draw his gun. He didn't relax when he saw me, but kept scanning the entryway.
"Officer Milano," I said by way of greeting.
"It's actually captain now," he said. "Did you lock this door?"
"Yes, because you can't secure the whole outdoors." I could feel the big smile on my face, and I knew it wasn't appropriate to look happy at that moment, but I was just so relieved to see Captain Tony Milano and no longer be alone in the house with a gun and a body.
My happiness faded, along with my smile, when I saw there was a stranger standing at the door with him. I'd been hoping to talk to Tony, alone, and then quickly leave, but now there were two male police officers stamping the snow off their boots and stepping inside over the fallen door.
"Stand aside," Tony said as he walked past me, moving toward the kitchen, his dark winter uniform jacket rustling with his movements. He looked more rested than the last time I'd seen him, with smaller bags under his dark brown eyes. I guessed that he and his wife's newest addition—their third child—was now sleeping through the night.
The other police officer was younger than Tony, in his twenties—his early twenties—and he was cute. His hair was as fair as Tony's was dark, and he had bright aquamarine-blue eyes that darted around eagerly, avoiding me. I didn't know him by name, but he looked awfully familiar.
Tony seemed satisfied we weren't in immediate danger and was shaking out his arms, burning off the adrenaline from kicking down the door.
"Where's Peggy?" I asked.
Before Tony could answer, the fair-haired young officer answered, "You mean Wiggles?"
Tony flicked his attention to the younger man and gave him a stern look.
"Sorry," the other officer said. He gave me a big grin, revealing youthful dimples in his cheeks. "Officer Peggy Wiggles is attending other matters, ma'am."
I raised my eyebrows and said to Tony, "Did your partner just call me ma'am? When did I stop being a miss? I can understand over the phone, but this is getting ridiculous. Is it my short hair?"
Tony looked at my hair, considering without comment, then said, "Stormy Day, meet my newest rookie, Officer Kyle Dempsey. If he keeps calling you ma'am, you have my permission to call him Dimples. That's what everyone at the station calls him."
Officer Kyle Dempsey offered me his hand, so I shook it.
"Dempsey," I said, and the familiarity of his face clicked into place. "Are you related to Julian?"
"He's my older brother."
"I went to school with Julian. In fact, I remember when you were born. Julian didn't appreciate having a new baby in the family and went through… a phase. He burned down the groundskeeper's shed behind the school, didn't he?"
Kyle gave me a knowing look. "My brother went through a few troubled phases, and more than one groundskeeper sheds."
"The third one was definitely a copycat pyromaniac, though. I think Julian was out of town at the time, so it couldn't have been him."
Kyle nodded. "He did eventually figure out the alibi thing."
"What's Julian up to these days?"
"Blowing up buildings," Kyle answered flatly.
My hand went to my mouth. "I'm so sorry." Julian had been a troubled kid, but he had a sweet spirit, and wasn't cut out for prison.
"Don't be sorry." Kyle's dimples got deeper as his amusement grew. "He's making great money in Hollywood as a pyrotechnics expert."
I laughed. "You're so bad!" I resisted the urge to punch him playfully in the shoulder, because it's not a good idea to hit someone carrying a gun.
Kyle caught my eyes with his baby blues and held them. Despite the circumstances, I felt my insides getting gooey, the way I used to feel when a cute boy—like Kyle's big brother Julian Dempsey, for example—talked to me in school.
"You and I should catch up some time," Kyle said. "We don't have to talk about my brother." He'd stuck his chest out further while talking to me. Now he looked me up and down, and I didn't get the feeling he was looking for concealed weapons.
I was about to answer in the affirmative, but Tony caught our attention by clearing his throat.
"You two should definitely catch up," Tony said through a smirk. "I'm sure a lot has changed since Stormy last saw your little winkie, Kyle."
We both turned to Tony. Did he say what I thought he said? Little winkie?
Tony's brown eyes gleamed with amusement. "Stormy, don't you remember? You used to babysit Kyle. I think you would have been twelve back he was one or two. Between you and your sister, you must have babysat every kid in Kyle's generation." He rubbed his chin dramatically. "Your father and I enjoyed all your funny babysitting anecdotes."
"I babysat…" I pointed to him. "Kyle?"
"You sure did." Tony chuckled. "Of course, it was much funnier to hear stories about babies back before getting peed on during diaper changes was part of my daily routine." He said, as an aside to Kyle, "This isn't the first shirt I put on this morning."
"Sorry I didn't recognize you, Kyle. I used to sit for a lot of families, and it all runs together." As I looked at his face, though, memories rushed back. Had those chiseled cheeks of his once been chubby-wubby cheeks I playfully pinched? Had I held a small version of Kyle in my arms and told him stories about genies living in bottles, then rocked him to sleep?
Kyle took the news in stride. "A lot of things have grown since then," he said cheekily.
"Yes. You're such a big boy now."
"We should still get that drink sometime."
"You used to love apple juice," I replied, the memories coming back. "In juice boxes."
He grinned, hitting me with a full visual onslaught of dimples. So many dimples.
"Juice boxes," Tony scoffed.
"About this crime scene," Kyle said. "We're not exactly following procedures, and I don't want to get in trouble from the captain, here. Ma'am, I mean Stormy, you wait here while we secure the premises."
"How about I shadow you guys? I'll behave." I tucked my hands into my coat's pockets, the way a little kid does when promising they won't touch anything inside a store.
Kyle and Tony exchanged a look, then Tony said, "Fine, but stand back behind us, and if anything happens, you
drop to your knees or run for the exit."
"What about screaming?"
Kyle grinned my way. "Screaming is fine, but don't grab my shooting arm. I might need it." He unlatched the holster for his gun so it was ready to draw, and then followed Tony out of the entryway.
In the kitchen, Kyle said over his shoulder to me, "So, your father is Finnegan Day. He's quite the man. I'm surprised he didn't meet us here today."
"Sounds like you know my father. He asked me to take photos of this crime scene. I have a feeling you're going to get some help on this case, whether you want it or not."
At that, Tony, who was up ahead, groaned. "Tell me you didn't take any photos. I'll have to confiscate your phone."
I jerked my head up and eyed the ceiling. "Did you just hear a creak upstairs? Like the house was shifting, or someone was walking around? Maybe you should go up there, Tony Baloney. Let me and Dimples secure the main floor."
"I know you're changing the topic." Tony gave me a warning glance, then left to check the rest of the house. His boots clomped up the wooden staircase.
"This isn't my first murder," Kyle said once we were alone. "I did most of my training in the city, where I got a lot of experience."
"How old are you, twenty-three? I'm sure you have tons of experience, for twenty-three."
He glanced over his shoulder with a flirty look. "Trust me, I have enough experience to know what I'm doing when I'm doing it."
His comment left me temporarily speechless, which is saying a lot for Kyle and his dimples, because I usually have two or three things to say for every one thing that comes out.
We moved into the house's formal dining room, where he glanced around at the undecorated walls, face pinched in concentration.
"What is it?" I asked. "See something weird?"
"The resident wasn't much of a nester. This is the home of someone on the run. I'd guess she was hiding out here in Misty Falls, but you don't drive a hearse with your name painted on the side if you're keeping a low profile. She was up to something."
"Voodoo, I think."
"That never ends well."
"Really? Do you believe in magic?"
He quirked one light brown eyebrow at me. "Do you?"
"Of course not. I wasn't friends with the lady, and I wasn't a client, either. Not really. I met her last night at the Fox and Hound, very briefly. I helped her out in the bathroom with her makeup, and she gave me her card and insisted I come see her today so she could thank me." I started to shrug, but it turned into a shudder. "Discovering a dead body isn't much of a thank you. It reminds me of that saying, no good deed goes unpunished."
He wrinkled his nose. "I don't like that saying. It's counter to what we do." He walked to the corner of the room and lifted the lid off the top filing box. Inside was an assortment of objects associated with the mystical: feathers of various colors, crystals, silver jewelry, polished stones, incense, and bundles of herbs, tied with colored ribbons.
Kyle picked up one of the bundles. "Do you think this is for cooking?" He sniffed it. "Sage."
"Actually, I think it's for smudging. That's where you burn stuff to clear out bad spirits. I had a friend who'd burn those whenever she moved into a new apartment. There are two good reasons for a smudging ceremony."
I waited for him to ask for the two reasons, and he did.
"Number one, it clears out any pesky ghosts," I said, grinning. "Number two, you find out if the smoke detector's working."
He laughed. "I can see you're not a believer in the mystical, which is good." He dug around in the box. "This junk isn't dangerous, but the people who believe in it are." He got a solemn expression. "It might have been a dissatisfied customer who shot her."
"I think you're right. She was shot in the room where she did readings. I guess your top priority is looking for her appointment book, to see who she met with this morning before I showed up."
"That's a start," he said, nodding in agreement.
He pulled a crumpled newspaper from the box and examined the corner. "I'm guessing she came here from this small town in Florida. The date's from last summer."
"Good detective work," I said.
He grinned, all eagerness, like a puppy with dimples. "Do I get a juice box?"
"Only if you solve the case before nap time."
"Watch me." He nodded for me to follow him into the all-red sitting room. Kyle looked around with big eyes, taking it all in as he checked everywhere, including behind the grandfather clock and the drapes.
He went to the bottom of the stairs and called up, "Captain, we're all clear down here. Do you need a hand up there?"
As he waited to hear the answer from Tony, I studied Kyle's face in profile. The muscles in his cheek pulsed, like he was tapping his molars nervously. He was putting on a brave face for my benefit, and wasn't eager to see the dead body. Or maybe he was afraid he'd throw up in front of me. It's a normal human response to be ill after seeing death. I was surprised I'd held on to my own breakfast. Perhaps the stories from my father had made me more resilient than most people. Without a mother in the house to create a barrier between me and my sister and our father's work, we'd gotten a full induction in the ways of the world from a young age.
Kyle's parents, if I recalled correctly, didn't even have a television. And now their sons both had exciting, action-packed, dangerous careers. The irony wasn't lost on me.
Tony answered from an upstairs room, his voice clear even though he was unseen, "Anything noteworthy down there? Don't let Stormy distract you."
Kyle replied, "There's a clock down here that's going to start chiming on the hour. Don't shoot anything when it does."
Tony called down, "I won't if you won't."
Right on cue, the clock let out one GONG to signal that it was one o'clock. I'd been inside the house for a full hour—an hour that had felt like nothing, and also like an eternity.
Kyle grimaced at the post-GONG noise still echoing in the red room. "Now, did you see an appointment book around here?"
We looked, and talked through what we were thinking. Voula probably kept her appointment book on her phone or laptop, but we still hoped to catch a break and find something on paper that would tell us who her morning appointment had been with.
Kyle Dempsey's blue eyes didn't linger on anything for long, until he looked at me, and then it seemed like he couldn't look away.
"I'm distracting you," I said. "As soon as the tow truck gets here with my car, I'll go."
"No, you can keep helping me. Tony doesn't like to think out loud."
"He thinks he's the strong, silent type."
"And he's my captain." Kyle cleared his throat. "So, who do you think killed her? You saw the dustup with the waitress at the Fox and Hound last night."
"You saw me last night?" I could feel my cheeks blushing. "I mean, you were there, too? You saw that waitress woman—her name is Dharma Lake—throw a drink on Voula?"
"I saw. And I noticed that not one of those women at her table went with her to the washroom. Just you."
"I was only in there by coincidence. That was the first time I met Voula Varga, Psychic Extraordinaire, I swear. And right before I came here, I was at my house with Jessica. I'll give you her number."
He smirked and raised his light brown eyebrows. "Guilty conscience? Don't worry. You don't need an alibi. You're not a suspect."
I made a sniffing laugh sound, almost a snort. "I should be. I keep turning up dead bodies. If I'm not a suspect, I'm certainly a bad omen."
"No way. There's nothing pretty about a bad omen, and you are the prettiest girl in this whole town. I can see why Tony's so possessive of you."
"Tony?" I turned my head to give him a sidelong look. "We're just old friends. What do you mean, possessive?"
Kyle glanced toward the stairwell, then changed the topic, asking me what sort of music I liked. I named off a few bands and was surprised when Kyle was familiar with them. Hearing that we had similar taste in music almost
made me consider accepting a date with him.
Almost.
Unfortunately, there was still the ten-year age difference. Plus I couldn't stop thinking about how I'd once put baby powder on his little red butt.
"What are you thinking about?" he asked. "You keep frowning and shaking your head, like you're wrestling with something."
"Just this murder case," I lied. "I wish I could remember something about the vehicle that ran me off the road, but it was dark in that grove of trees, and all I saw was headlights and my life flashing before my eyes."
"Don't be hard on yourself. You're doing great."
Kyle led me over to the red room's sofa. It was a tufted couch with tight upholstery—the kind of couch you perch on rather than sink into. We both sat on the edge, turned toward each other. A foot of space remained between our knees.
Kyle had his notepad and pen out, and asked me to start at the beginning. I walked him through my drive to the house, and the accident that sent my car into the ditch. This time through my story, I remembered the dark-haired girl I spoke to before I entered the house.
"Very good," Kyle said. "There aren't that many Corgis in town. If we don't round up an ex-boyfriend or a disgruntled client and this case drags out, I could call the local vets and get the girl's name."
"I could make some calls, if you'd like."
Kyle smiled up from his notepad. "We could trade jobs for the day. What is it you do? Besides run around town looking pretty and stumbling over bodies?"
Ignoring his compliment again, I answered, "I run a gift shop downtown. Glorious Gifts."
"And is the store as glorious as… your smile?"
Just then, Tony came down the stairs noisily.
"What's going on?" he demanded gruffly. "You two look awfully comfortable on that love seat."
"I believe it's a fainting couch," Kyle said. "Not a love seat. Technically."
Kyle's correct identification of the furniture didn't take the dirty look off Tony's face—the dirty look that implied I'd invited a known axe murderer to be my prom date.
Death of a Crafty Knitter Page 6
