Anna Denning Mystery Series Box Set: Books 1–3

by Karin Kaufman

  “I’ve never asked. I don’t think Russell did either. To be honest, when you’re offered that kind of money, you don’t ask questions about other money.”

  “And how did Alex buy twenty acres right outside the town limits?”

  “Until you told me, I didn’t know he did.”

  “I don’t know how to ask this . . .”

  “You want to know how much they’ve pledged.”

  Clovis had been asked the question many times before, Anna could tell. She was ready for it. “If you can tell me, yes.”

  “Our books have to be open. The Gilmartins have pledged $725,000, and Alex, $350,000.”

  Liz sucked in her breath.

  “That’s only half the cost of restoration, mind you,” Clovis said.

  It sounded generous, Anna thought. Between them they’d pledged over a million dollars. But something wasn’t right. All that money, yet they’d balked at covering the cost of a new roof—something that would protect the house, and their investment, from damage. There was more: Zoey had called Alex stingy, and Clovis had complained about all the repairs that weren’t being carried out. “They’ve pledged the money, you say.”

  “And they’re distributing it very slowly,” Clovis answered.

  “But they managed to get the beehives up and running,” Anna said.

  “Hoping everyone would want to buy Sadler honey again and we’d have even more money for the restoration,” Clovis said. Her eyes narrowed. “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking restoration isn’t what Alex and the Gilmartins are here for.”

  10

  “Remind me to never go near that house again,” Anna said. “I can’t get the blood on that hive out of my mind.” She lifted a canister of herbal tea from the cabinet above her coffee maker. “Such a small spot, but I keep seeing it.”

  Liz draped her jacket, purse strap, and camera strap across a chair, dropped into her seat, and opened her laptop. “What about the old books? You said there were two half-full crates of them in the library. That’s right up your alley.”

  “From what I could tell, they were published books, no documents or journals of any kind. Tea?” She raised the canister. “White tea. It’s too late for a lot of caffeine.”

  “Sounds good. Hey there, boy.” Liz gave Jackson a two-handed scratch under his chin. “Are you missing Riley?”

  “Every moment of every day,” Anna said, setting the kettle on the stove top. She headed back to the table, giving Jackson a quick pat before opening her laptop and pulling Russell Thurman’s papers in front of her.

  “Riley won’t be coming over?”

  “Not tonight,” Anna said, her eyes on the papers. “Gene has paperwork at Buckhorn’s.”

  “Aw, poor Jackson.”

  Anna looked up from the table. It was Liz’s ploy—hook Anna into talking about Gene by first talking about Riley and Jackson. At last Anna had made a decision. If Gene asked her to marry him, she was ready. But he hadn’t asked her, yet, and she wouldn’t talk with Liz about what might or might not be. In any case, Gene, not Liz, would be the first to know she had changed her mind. If he didn’t already.

  “Dan didn’t mind you coming over for the evening?” she asked.

  “He’s out with his men’s Bible group, won’t be home until ten or ten thirty, so we have plenty of time.”

  “Good.” Anna laid a hand on the papers. “I want to come away tonight with at least one answer to one of my questions. All this”—she laid her other hand on her laptop’s keyboard—“is connected somehow. At the very least, I need to do the research Clovis paid me for.”

  “I think we can do better than the very least.” Liz opened her purse and pulled out something soft and rectangular wound in plastic wrap. “Zucchini bread,” she announced, depositing it in the middle of the table. She removed the memory card from her camera, inserted it into her laptop’s media slot, and once more dove into her purse, this time retrieving her notebook. “Where do we start?”

  “With Paul Gilmartin, a.k.a. Raymond Toller. Russell’s focus was Paul and Zoey.”

  “You’re satisfied Zoey’s telling you the truth about who she is?”

  “No.” Hearing the kettle’s whistle, Anna headed for the stove. “And I don’t like what she did to Esther by voting for the involuntary historical designation. I don’t care what her excuse is.” She spooned loose tea into her Brown Betty teapot, poured hot water over it, and set the pot on the kitchen island, waiting for the tea to steep.

  “I want to know what sort of revenge Zoey has planned for the Gilmartins,” Liz said.

  “Is her revenge more important to her than frightening an elderly woman? Making her think she’s going to lose her home?”

  “Maybe Zoey lost perspective on what’s important after watching her father fight a losing battle.”

  Anna leaned forward, crossing her arms on the kitchen island. “Zoey doesn’t know that Paul is Raymond Toller.”

  “We haven’t established that he is Raymond Toller,” Liz said. She stood and took a few steps from the table to the kitchen. “Chips?”

  “Down there,” Anna said, indicating a narrow cabinet next to the stove. “She has no idea. She’s not looking past that wind farm.”

  At the table, Liz tugged at the bag until it opened and pulled out a handful of chips. “I didn’t have much of a dinner,” she said before popping several chips in her mouth at once.

  Anna poured the tea into cups and brought them to the table, setting them down well away from the laptops and papers.

  Liz suddenly began to chew furiously, downing the remainder of her chips with a sip of tea. “Of course!” she said. “Why didn’t I think of that earlier?” She checked her watch. “She works late, but it might be too late, even for her.” She pulled her cell from her purse, navigated to her contact list, and listened as the phone rang.

  “A contact?” Anna asked. “Who is—”

  Liz threw up a finger. A moment later she chuckled. “You’re still there,” she said. “I love that you’re a workaholic. I have an important favor to ask you.”

  Chances were, Liz explained after hanging up, that Paul Gilmartin had to petition the state of Colorado for a name change. His parents had been married in Colorado, he’d lived in the Elk Park area when he was a child, and he owned land near the Wyoming border. Unless he’d moved to another state, changed his name there, then moved back—all unlikely, she needlessly pointed out—there was proof in Colorado of his name change. All they had to do was wait for her contact in the Municipal Building to ferret through a couple databases.

  “You’re brilliant,” Anna said, pulling her laptop in front of her. “But is that legal?”

  Liz’s expression was both apologetic and eager. “That depends.”

  “In the meantime . . .” Anna fixed her attention on her laptop, choosing to overlook the questionable legality of their search for Raymond Toller. She trusted her instincts, and her instincts told her that the evil responsible for Russell’s and Ruby’s deaths was growing, moving inexorably forward, where it would meet its objective. And whatever that objective was, the murderer, or murderers, intended to do what was necessary to meet it. This was no time to be faint of heart.

  She called up a genealogical website and typed in the name Peter Dayton Toller, adding an approximate birth date. In seconds, it came up. “Peter D. Toller,” she said.

  “You told me you already found him.”

  “Only his marriage to Jennifer and Raymond’s birth date. I didn’t check whether Peter married again or find out where he is now.” Anna scrolled down the page, clicked on links, and scrolled again, searching.

  Thunder sounded, at first distantly, then closer. Rain wasn’t in the forecast, but mountain storms often came up unexpectedly.

  “Nothing,” Anna said after several minutes. “No record at all, not even a Social Security death record.”

  Liz had just managed to stuff a particularly large chip into her mouth
when her phone rang. Wiping her hand on her jeans, she mumbled a greeting and seized her pen and notebook. She scribbled, grinned at Anna, then hung up the phone. “At the age of eighteen, Raymond Dayton Toller changed his name to Paul Edward Gilmartin.”

  “Jackpot,” Anna said, slapping the tabletop with her hand. Jackson, who had fallen asleep at her feet, stirred, his ears twitching. “Sorry, boy,” she said, reaching down to reassure him.

  “Normally you have to publicize your name change in a newspaper, but a judge can decide that’s not necessary, and in Paul’s case, a judge did.”

  “That’s understandable.”

  “Do you realize what this means?” Liz crowed, buoyed by the knowledge that her contact had supplied a big piece of the puzzle.

  “No one else can know about this,” Anna said. “Not even Clovis.”

  “But Clovis is paying you to research Paul.”

  Anna was firm in her determination to keep Paul’s secret, at least for the present. “All we know now is that Paul changed his name after his mother was killed. The crime was big news in Elk Park, and his mother’s parents thought his father committed the murder. Who wouldn’t change his name?”

  “Especially if you have ambitions and lead a very public life.”

  A thunder crack jolted Anna and brought Jackson to his feet.

  “I’m glad we’re not plugged in,” Liz said with a laugh. “That one could have taken out our hard drives.”

  “I’m going to get some candles in case the electricity goes,” Anna said, pushing out of her chair.

  “Good idea.” Liz reached for the zucchini bread and began unwrapping it.

  In her office, Anna searched a closet shelf for the box that contained her emergency candles, matches, and batteries. One of these days she was going to organize things. She’d never find that box in the dark. The lights flickered and went out for several seconds before coming back on.

  Anna acted swiftly, removing two candles and several long wooden matches before putting the box back on the shelf. “It’s OK, boy,” she said, sensing Jackson at her heels. She turned, but he wasn’t in the room. She shot a look at the doorway, hoping to see the back of him as he scurried for Liz and the kitchen table, but he wasn’t there. “Jackson? Where are you?”

  Anna felt frozen in place, unable to leave the room. The skin at the back of her neck crawled as her eyes rose and she scanned the ceiling. She knew what this was. All her experience told her exactly what this was. She took a deep, ragged breath. Father, protect us.

  “Anna?” Liz called out. “Come here.”

  Anna forced her feet to move, to carry her from the bedroom into the hallway.

  Liz’s voice rose again. “Anna, I’m serious.”

  She moved quickly now, hurrying down the hall, sprinting for the kitchen.

  Her eyes wild, Liz was standing next to the table, paralyzed with fear. “Someone’s here,” she whispered hoarsely.

  His hackles raised, Jackson growled and circled the table, alternately sniffing at the floor and eyeing the ceiling. “It’s all right, boy,” Anna said, calling him to her side with a click of her tongue. A moment later he relaxed and sat quietly at her feet.

  “Are you all right, Liz?” Anna asked.

  Her hands gripping the back of her chair, Liz took a calming breath before answering. “I’m not sure,” she said. “It sounds crazy, but . . .”

  Anna strode to the kitchen and grabbed the wall phone.

  “Who are you calling?”

  “Gene. I need him home.”

  “I felt someone in the house, Anna.”

  “I did too.”

  Liz went back to her chair, sinking into it and latching on to Jackson on the way down. “What’s happening? I’ve never felt so afraid.”

  “Call Dan,” Anna said. Was she responsible for this? Had her dabbling—that’s the inadequate word she used—left her and now Liz open to this kind of thing? When Gene answered the phone at Buckhorn’s, she tried but failed to keep the panic out of her voice. She couldn’t explain what had happened, but she needed him. Fifteen minutes, he said. He was on his way.

  “Remember when I said Russell’s murder was pure evil?” Liz said when Anna took her seat at the table.

  “I remember.” Anna drew her arms inward and hunched her shoulders, warding off the sudden chill. Though the presence she’d felt in her office had gone, she couldn’t shake the prickling sensation at the back of her neck. It lingered, like fingers gently brushing at her skin.

  “What I felt just now was real evil, Anna. I can’t explain it, but I felt it.”

  “I felt it too. In my office.”

  “So I’m not crazy.”

  “Did you call Dan?”

  “He’s with his group. They only meet once a month and he hasn’t been for two, so I’d hate to call him. If you and Gene could just . . . you know . . .”

  “We’ll get you home. I’ll go with you in your car, and Gene can follow us in his.”

  They quietly drank their tea, Anna periodically checking her watch and counting the minutes before Gene’s SUV pulled into her driveway. The time had come for her to explain how foolish she had been in her late teens, but first, Gene had to be here. She wasn’t going to say it twice.

  When a light swept across the curtain at the front window, Anna sprang to her feet, reaching the door just as Gene rang the bell and called out to her. She flung the door wide, and before he could take a step inside, she wrapped her arms around his neck. As she clung to him, he kicked the door shut and shepherded her toward the kitchen.

  “Hey,” he said, “it’s all right. Whatever happened, it’s all right.”

  “Gene, I feel like hugging you too,” Liz said.

  “Tell me what happened.” He took Anna’s hand and led her to a chair, getting her to sit by pressing both hands to her shoulders, then he took the seat next to hers.

  “I don’t know where to start,” Anna said. She looked helplessly at Liz.

  “I do,” Liz said. “We both felt a presence. That’s a B-movie word, but that’s what it was. I was out here—Anna was getting candles—and I felt someone in the house.” She shook her head, countering an argument no one was making. “The lights went out for a second, so I looked behind me. I was sure someone had broken in.”

  “Anna?” Gene said.

  “I felt it too, at the same time. I was in my office. I thought it was Jackson at first.” She saw concern in his eyes. How would he react when she told him? After all, this was a man who almost alone among Elk Park store owners refused to decorate his store for Halloween.

  “I think I know what it was,” Anna said. She steeled herself. “Astral projection.”

  Liz laughed once then clamped a hand over her mouth.

  Gene wasn’t laughing. “Why do you say that?” he asked.

  It was almost as if he knew, Anna thought, and he was goading her into saying it aloud. “Because I know about astral projection.”

  “I know a little about it,” Liz said brightly.

  “How?” Gene asked.

  “I told you I got involved in wicca when I was eighteen,” Anna said. She wanted to close her eyes, but instead she turned her face away from him and toward Liz. “I tried astral projection.”

  Liz gasped.

  “Once,” she added. “It terrified me.”

  She could see Gene nodding from the corner of her eye. She clenched and unclenched her toes, balling them like fists inside her shoes as she fought to keep control of her emotions. Please say something.

  Gene nodded once more. “Well, that’s not surprising,” he said at last.

  “It’s not?” Anna asked. She almost laughed, so strongly had she braced herself for his reaction. She’d imagined what he would do—glower at her, even tell her it was over between them, that he couldn’t share his life with someone who would test God’s patience with the occult.

  “Wicca, neopaganism, astral projection,” he said, lifting a shoulder. “It doesn’t s
urprise me you would have experimented.”

  Did she know this man at all? Was it possible he was even wiser, kinder than she thought?

  “That’s true,” Liz said. “It all fits together.”

  “But you were shocked, Liz,” Anna said. “I saw your face.”

  “It’s just that I can’t picture you doing it. Flying around.”

  Anna winced. “I didn’t.”

  “I don’t understand,” Liz said.

  “It was just my shoulder,” Anna said. “I pulled my shoulder out.” She slipped her fingers under her glasses and rubbed her eyes. Saying she had tried it sounded crazy enough, but explaining the process? She wanted to forget it, not dredge it up and explore it. It embarrassed her.

  “Then I don’t understand astral projection like I thought I did. How is it supposed to work?”

  “It has to do with attaining a certain vibration, doesn’t it?” Gene said.

  Anna was dumbfounded. “How do you know?”

  “I can read,” he said with a smile. He watched her for a moment, mindful, it seemed to Anna, of how painful the conversation was for her. He relaxed in his seat, a shift in his body language that signaled a shift in the conversation.

  “But how do you do that?” Liz asked, pressing the matter.

  “Before we go down that road,” Gene said, “let’s consider other possibilities for what happened tonight. First, both of you have been thinking about astral projection, right?”

  “Did I tell you about that?” Anna said. “I don’t remember.”

  “I heard you ask Jazmin about Alex Root and she mentioned his classes,” he explained. “Second, there have been two murders.”

  “Three,” Liz said.

  “The Jennifer Toller murder in 1983,” Anna said in answer to Gene’s frown. “I’ll fill you in tonight.”

  “Third, Liz said the lights went out.”

  “For two or three seconds,” Liz said.

  “You’re saying we were primed to feel something,” Anna said. She noticed now that the thunder had moved on, probably eastward into the foothills.

  “Jazmin talked about Root and the Gilmartin couple after you left. They’re all deeply into the occult, and being around them, investigating them, is bound to have an effect on you.”