Melanie worked from home as some sort of medical writer, so odds were she'd be there. And I was mad enough not to care about calling ahead.
My footsteps faltered. I don’t make smart choices when I’m angry. Was tackling a suspected murderess in her own home the best idea?
Doc Toeller emerged from Melanie's house, and I relaxed. It was a sign from the universe, as green a light as I could hope for.
Head bent, the doctor thumbed through a stack of papers. She pushed open the wooden garden gate with her hip. A robin's egg blue leather briefcase/purse hung over her shoulder.
“Hi, Doctor,” I said.
She blinked, the open gate resting against her hip. “Jayce, what are you doing here?”
“I stopped by to see Melanie.” And now that the doctor knew that, Melanie couldn't murder me. She was my witness and knew I’d been alive and well before entering the widow’s house. I opened the gate wider.
The doctor glanced toward the cottage. “Melanie’s pretty busy, but she's home.”
“Is she doing some work for you?”
“For the hospital,” the doctor said. “She's translating our research into language doctors and the public can understand.”
“Interesting,” I said, and meant it. Brayden and I both kept up on the local medical journals. You couldn’t be an herbalist – or at least not a good one – if you ignored the studies. And though Brayden dealt with emergency medicine, he always liked to go a bit beyond what was required too. “Have you heard anything about Karin?”
“She's going to be fine. I'm surprised you're not at the hospital.”
It felt like a reprimand. “Lenore and I are going there in an hour,” I said, defensive.
The doctor nodded. “Then I'll see you there.” She crossed the street to her red sports car, a Spider, and drove off.
I passed through the wooden gate and up the steps to Melanie's porch, knocked.
The door opened quickly. “Did you forget...” Melanie trailed off. Her red hair was tamed into a bun. She adjusted her purple reading glasses. “Oh,” she said in a flat voice. “You.”
“I didn't sleep with your husband. I'm sorry for your loss, and I wanted you to know that. I don’t know where you heard that, but it isn't true, and the rumor hurts us both. Worse, it may have hurt my sister. Someone shot her last night outside Ground. I think they were aiming at me.”
She stared at me for a long moment. “You think someone shot your sister out of revenge on my behalf?” She gave a caustic bark of laughter. “I don’t think so.” To my amazement, she stepped away from the door and held it wider, in invitation.
I hesitated. “I ran into Doctor Toeller on her way out.” So someone knows I'm here, lady.
“The doctor’s one of my clients.” She nodded. “Come in.”
I walked inside. The house was less cluttered today. Boxes were still piled in the green living room, but they’d been shoved into neat stacks in the corners. The hallway was freezing, the living room windows open.
Pulling my jacket closer, I followed her into the kitchen. The tile counter and sink were clean, and the windows were open here too. At least the house had lost that stagnant, unwashed odor. The dishwasher hummed. I stood beside it, enjoying the heat from the steam escaping its door.
“I should apologize,” Melanie said. “For earlier. I wasn't myself. And I'm sorry to hear about your sister. Which one was shot?”
“Karin,” I said stiffly.
“The lawyer.” She nodded. “I didn't shoot her, if that’s what you’re worried about. I also didn't kill my husband. And I didn't try to kill you.”
“Well.” I shuffled my feet. “That's good.”
“I don't suppose you have any reason to believe me after the way I acted the other day. It was a stupid accusation. I should have known better.” She walked to the coffee maker, raised the pot. “Coffee?”
I shook my head, and she poured a mug for herself.
“Why did you think your husband and I were having an affair?” I asked.
“He slept with a lot of women. And then you came here after he died, as if looking for absolution.”
“Not absolution, but I was looking for answers.”
“I wouldn't mind some of those either.”
I gripped the counter behind me. “The boxes in the living room, were those Matt’s? I heard he’d filed for divorce.”
“How did you—?” A muscle jumped in her jaw. “Yes. It's a matter of public record now.”
So it was true. And I could have asked Karin to do a record's search rather than coming here. My heart twisted. Karin would be all right. The doctors had said so. Lenore had said so. It was safe for me to believe. “And is that why you thought he was having an affair?”
“No.” Steam rose from the mug in her hands. “There were other reasons.”
“Such as?”
“He’d been acting differently lately.”
“Differently?”
She looked past me, out the open kitchen window, and I followed her glance. The floral curtains fluttered.
“Who would have wanted to kill him?” I asked.
“Ask Eric,” she said, her tone bitter. “He knew more about my husband's life than I did.”
Eric? The house flipper? “What do you mean?”
“Those two were up to something. They were always thick as thieves.”
“Why do you think they were up to something?” I asked.
“Because when I asked about their latest project, Matt got cagey. I could always tell when he was lying, hiding things. My husband wasn't half as subtle as he thought.”
“Did Matt have a lot of secrets?”
She laughed, a harsh caw. “Honey, everybody has secrets.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Karin lay, unnaturally pale, against the white hospital sheets. But she was awake, a faint smile playing across her lips.
Nick sat in the lounge chair beside the bed. He leaned forward, cradling her hand in two of his. Her fiancé wore the same clothing as last night. I wondered if he'd ever left the hospital.
“No organs damaged,” she said. “I was charmed.”
He frowned. “You were shot. You lost a lot of blood. You could have been killed.”
I swallowed, dizzy with relief. She was alive and well and awake. And none of that was any thanks to me.
On the table by her bed, I set a thermos of tea I'd prepared. It contained the usual herbs, plus an infusion of magical, healing energy.
“What's this?” Lenore, beside me, picked up the thermos.
“A healing tea,” I said. “And you’d better drink it, or Lenore will have to journey to spirit world and find any lost pieces of your soul.”
Karin smiled at her fiancé. “My soul's right where it's supposed to be.”
It almost hadn't been. I looked away, tears stinging my eyes.
“This wasn't your fault, Jayce,” Karin said, and I jerked, startled. I'd gotten used to Lenore picking up on my stray thoughts, but Karin had never done that before.
She smiled crookedly. “Under the circumstances, it isn't hard to guess what you’re thinking.”
“I'm so sorry,” I said.
“And I told you not to be. You're not responsible for what happened. I'll be okay, and I'll drink that tea.”
Someone rapped on the doorframe, and I glanced over my shoulder. Officers Owen and Hernandez stood inside the open door. “Ms. Bonheim,” Owen said. “May we speak with you about what happened?”
Karin tried to push herself higher up the mountain of pillows and winced. “I didn't see anything, but sure.”
Hernandez caught me with his dark gaze, and I looked away. “Alone,” he said, “if you don’t mind.”
“Of course,” Karin said.
It didn’t matter if we minded or not. Hernandez was just being polite.
Silently, Lenore and I filed out of the hospital room and into the hallway, painted in soothing sand and wood colors. A minute later, Nick joine
d us.
“The police aren't going to get much from her,” he said. “She really didn't see anything — no one lurking in the alley before the shot, no cars that shouldn't have been there, nothing.”
“Neither did I.” And I should have seen something. I was a witch, dammit. I was supposed to pay more attention. “I talked to Melanie Zana this morning.”
He frowned. “Melanie? Why?”
“She once accused me of sleeping with her husband. I thought maybe she'd been the one to go after me and shot Karin by accident.”
“You shouldn't have confronted her.” But his heart wasn't in telling me off. He watched the door to Karin's room.
“It wasn’t a confrontation. I think she understands now I wasn't involved with her husband. There is one thing though – Matt was divorcing her. Melanie knew it.”
“And she told you?” Lenore's brows shot skyward.
“If the papers were filed,” Nick said absently, “it's a matter of public record.” He stared at the closed door. Soft murmurs drifted from Karin’s hospital room.
“About that,” I said, “can anyone see the divorce records?”
“They’re on the Internet,” he said, “but the online records aren’t very detailed.”
The deputies left, brushing past us and muttering apologies. The three of us returned to Karin's room.
Karin lowered her chin and gazed at Nick. “You need to go home and get some sleep.”
“I'm fine,” he said.
“And take Jayce back to Ground. She needs to get to work.”
“No,” I said, “I don't. I can stay.” I fought a smile. Karin was returning to fighting form faster than I’d expected. But not even her bossiness could annoy me now.
Lenore smiled, smug. “I have the day off.”
“Good, because you’re wearing the same thing you did last night,” Karin said. “Go home and change. I'm fine. Oh, and Officer Hernandez said you can collect your truck, Jayce.”
I nodded. The sheriff had told me the same thing.
“Nick, will you take her to the police impound lot?”
“For you, anything.” He bent and kissed her forehead. “I'll be back this evening.”
Her eyes crinkled. “It's a date.”
“I’ll stay here a little longer, if it’s okay,” Lenore said. “We can catch up.”
Karin looked as if she’d object, but she nodded. “That would be great. I’m already bored with this place.”
Nick and I walked to his SUV in the hospital parking lot.
“Ever feel like you're getting the bum rush?” I asked.
He yawned. “I think she wanted to talk something over with Lenore.”
A tiny, green-eyed monster coiled in my chest. I told myself I was being stupid. They were probably plotting their next magical foray against the unseelie.
Nick drove me to the impound lot, while I picked his brain on searching Internet records. I collected my truck and parked it in the alley behind Ground.
The lunch rush came and went. I set up my computer tablet behind the register. Between customers, I surfed the county records website.
I typed in Matt's name. My screen filled, a virtual spreadsheet of court filings. I scanned down it, clicking on the links, and whistled. Matt had been suing his wife for palimony. I didn't know how much a medical writer made, but if she really believed he’d been cheating on her, she must have been pissed.
I squinted. Hold the phone. Most of these records weren't about their divorce. Wynter Swanstrom vs. Matt Zana. I clicked on the hyperlink.
“Double mochachino with soy,” a customer chirped.
“Right. Sure.” I took his money, made change, made the drink, returned to my tablet.
Wynter had been suing Matt. Now that was information worth having, and I kept reading. Correction – the city manager had sued Matt and lost. Unfortunately, Nick had been right about the level of detail available online. I couldn't tell from the scanty records what Wynter’s suit had been about. But still, a lawsuit.
How many other suspects were listed in the local court’s database?
A plate clattered, and my head jerked up.
Darla grimaced sheepishly. She set a fresh apricot scone on a plate and passed it across the counter to a customer, then picked the fallen scone and plate off the floor.
I sighed. That was one scone wasted, but at least the plate hadn’t broken.
I typed in Eric Gertner's name. Hot damn, he was in here too. I whistled. Eric was being sued by the Historical Society and Doctor Toeller. That explained Eric’s tension in the yarn shop, even if Toeller had remained unflappable. The dates on those court filings were recent, so it looked like the suit was ongoing. I squinted, frowning at the screen. Again, there was no transcript. As far as I could make out, the Historical Society was suing him over some land development, claiming it was a historic landmark.
Returning to the search page, I scanned down to an article about the death of Eric’s first wife. Their car accident had happened fifteen years ago, so I doubted it was relevant. But I was in a new, diligent, no-stone-unturned mode. I clicked the link to a newspaper article about the crash.
WOMAN KILLED, HUSBAND INJURED IN DRUNK DRIVING CRASH
(Angels Camp, CA) Sandra Gertner was killed and her husband Eric injured Friday night after their Porsche struck a tree. Investigators say Sandra was driving drunk when she lost control of the vehicle. Sandra Frances Gertner, 28, of Doyle died when the couple's sports car veered off the highway, the Doyle Sheriff's Department said.
According to investigators, both husband and wife had been drinking at the Bell and Thistle. The car rolled down an embankment, and struck a redwood, killing Mrs. Gertner instantly. Mr. Gertner was able to crawl from the car and signal for help on the road. A passing motorist, Matt Zana, called emergency services.
The metal countertop had grown cold beneath my forearms, and I straightened off it. Strange that Matt had been on the scene of the crash. Had he been drinking with the couple, or was it a weird coincidence? Or maybe it wasn’t so weird. This was a small town. We were all in each other’s pockets.
I tapped my finger on the counter and thought of my father’s accident. Had he been killed by a drunk driver as well? There'd been no evidence of another car — he'd just swerved off the road while racing to the hospital for our births. But there was more to his death than a simple accident – the fairy’s curse extended to the Bonheim husbands, but there was always a human element to the deaths.
I called Lenore. It rang twice, and she picked up.
“Are you still with Karin?” For privacy, I walked through the open curtains that formed a barrier between the kitchen and the coffee shop. From here I could still see if anyone approached the counter.
“No, but—”
“Get this! Matt was suing his wife for palimony. She totally had a motive. And Wynter was suing Matt for some reason—”
“Wynter Swanstrom? The city manager?”
“Yeah,” I said. “He told me he can’t stand Matt. Or he couldn't, but he didn’t mention a suit. And did you know the Historical Association and Doc Toeller are suing Eric Gertner?” Our small town was lawsuit happy.
“What does Eric have to do with any of this?” Lenore asked.
“He was best friends with Matt. They flipped houses together. Melanie told me those two were up to something. Everyone's connected.”
“This is a small town,” Lenore said dryly.
“Yeah, but I saw Doc Toeller coming out of Melanie Zana's house today.”
“So?”
“She said Melanie was doing medical writing for the hospital.”
“And?” Doubt threaded her voice.
“And isn't it weird?” I asked. “Toeller's suing Matt's best bud and working with Matt's wife?”
“See previous comment regarding small towns.”
“No, there's more going on here.” And at last I sensed I was closer to the answers.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Though it was only five o'clock, it was dark outside, and I felt my senses withdrawing, wanting to hibernate.
But I had my pickup back, and Karin was no doubt bored out of her mind in the hospital, so duty called. I drove to the grocery store on the main highway and bought some magazines, then continued on to the hospital. With all the suspicions and questions jumping through my mind, I could use a dose of Karin's logic.
I brushed aside the curtains to her room. It was lit only by flameless candles. A white cloth covered her bedside table, and on top of that was a vase of red roses, their scent heady. Nick leaned close to my sister, holding her hand.
They looked up, and I hovered in the doorway. “Bad timing?” I asked, and I swear I could feel the heat from her blush.
Nick turned on a bedside lamp. “Hi, Jayce.”
Every spare surface was filled with roses. No wonder their scent was overpowering. I nodded, approving. It was about time the family romance writer found someone who understood romantic gestures. I squashed a pang of envy.
I looked for a place to set the magazines, couldn't find one beneath all the roses, and handed them to Nick. “I won't stay long.” I turned to Karin. “How are you feeling? Have the doctors said anything?”
“Everything hurts,” she said, “but I'll be fine.”
I brushed a kiss across her cheek, smiled at Nick, and left. Three was definitely a crowd.
As I stepped from the elevator downstairs, my cell phone rang in my purse. I dug it out and frowned, not recognizing the number. “Hello?”
“Jayce, this is Phoebe England, the realtor?” Her voice seemed high, strained.
I smothered my irritation. Karin had just been shot, and Phoebe wanted to talk real estate? “We still haven't made a decision on the house.” I strode through the hospital’s automatic doors and into the frigid darkness. A few pinpricks of stars shone through the cloud cover, and then they vanished, the clouds closing in.
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