“Maybe you need to lie down and take a rest for a bit, darlin’,” Rick said. “When you wake up, you might feel different.”
I plucked a bottle of lavender essential oil from my bag and handed it to her. “You can put a few drops of this on a cloth and place it on your forehead. It will calm you.”
Carly shook her head and pulled out a tissue. “A nap is not going to make me feel better. It’s going to take a lot longer than that!” She opened the door of the BMW, got in, and slammed it shut, took a hard left, and drove off, dirt kicking up under the wheels of the car.
Rick shook his head. “She’ll be back. She’s a pro.” He turned to MJ. “Now, was there something special you needed from Willow? She’ll be setting up shop here tomorrow at noon.”
Before she could answer, Amanda pulled up in a golf cart, parked it, and came over to us. Her eyes were red rimmed, as if she, too, had been crying.
“You don’t look too good, sweetheart,” Rick said, sounding concerned. He glanced at his wife. “Is everyone on this show falling apart at the seams?”
“I tried to tell you,” MJ said.
“I’m fine,” Amanda said, her voice sounding shaky.
Rick sighed and immediately began dispensing more comfort. “I know this is hard on you. You were Roger’s right-hand gal. But we still need you, Amanda. Would you consider staying and becoming our assistant?”
“That’s a wonderful idea,” MJ said. “We’d love to have you work for us.”
Amanda thought it over and finally said, “I think Rick would want me to stay and help you, so I will. But I’m scared.” She shivered. “I mean, who is going to protect us from the murderer? He could be anywhere. Plus weird things have been happening in that house.”
“Like what?” MJ asked.
“Like these weird whispering sounds in the library and books flying off the shelf. I almost got hit in the head this morning! It’s creepy.”
“That’s why we are here, darlin’, to investigate paranormal phenomena,” Rick told her. “As for everyone’s safety, don’t you worry. I’ve taken care of that.” Rick pointed to the black Ford truck making its way up the driveway. “I’ve just hired former police officer Jackson Spade.”
We all watched as Jackson got out of his truck and walked over to us. He hadn’t shaved and wore his favorite jeans, a gray, short-sleeved T-shirt, and boots. He looked so ruggedly handsome. He came over to me, gave me a kiss, and shook Rick’s hand. “Thanks for thinking of me. Hope I can help.”
“Thanks for coming. Appreciate it.” Rick turned back to us. “Jackson is my new head of security. Given that we’ve still got some nut job on the loose, I wanted someone I could trust to keep an eye on things. Jackson is a former cop, so he’s the perfect fit.” Rick patted Jackson on the back. “It’ll be a family affair. Willow will be here, too. I’ve hired her to provide all that yoga-type stuff for MJ, the crew, and the staff.”
“You’ve got the right person for that,” Jackson said. “She helped me with my back. I’m a walking testimonial.”
“That’s good to hear,” Rick said. “I just got the okay from the police, so we can start shooting in the morning. Spade, I’ll need you here at eight a.m. That work?”
“Sure.”
“I’ve hired a guard for the gatehouse so we don’t have to worry about intruders. That way you can focus on the grounds and the house.”
“Sounds good,” Jackson said.
We were interrupted by Tom, Roger’s brother and the second director, as he rounded the house and came over to us. He was dressed in jeans, a blue Izod shirt, slip-on purple sneakers, and shades and was smoking a big cigar. He had definitely taken to the L.A. lifestyle. I wondered if he had plans to replace Roger as a producer. Had he eliminated his brother so he could take his job? Walking up to Rick, Tom pushed his Ray-Bans on top of his head. “Pierre wants you to come to the production trailer so we can plan tomorrow’s shoot.”
“Pierre is our director. He’s top-notch,” Rick said to us. “Just came off of Ghost Hunters International. We were lucky to get him.” Rick pointed to Tom. “Call Carly. We need her back here so we can go over everything.”
“Where did she go?”
“Just call her,” Rick said, sounding annoyed.
Tom pulled out his phone.
“Can I talk to you?” Jackson said to me. He took me by the hand and led me away from the group. “I got your message. Is this what you wanted to tell me about? What’s going on with Simon?”
“I decided to help him.” I told Jackson about my visit to the jail and the meeting in my office.
Jackson shook his head. “Willow, I thought we were going to discuss helping Simon before you made a decision.”
“I know, but things happened pretty fast.”
“So fast that you couldn’t call me?” He pulled out his cell phone and showed it to me. “See, cell phone.”
“I did call you.”
“But not to tell me this, McQuade.” He shoved the phone back into his pocket. “You just told me you wanted to tell me something.”
“I have to do this, Jackson. I can’t stop thinking about it. If I don’t figure it out, and I think I can—with your help, of course—it will drive me crazy. Don’t you want to know who really killed Roger?”
“Not really. I want to keep you safe.”
“You can keep me safe. I’ll be here with you.”
Jackson thought about this. “That’s a good point, but I still don’t like it.”
“I know, but will you help me like last time?”
“Well, I’m certainly not going to let you do this alone.”
“So?” I kissed him. “What do you say, big guy?”
“Stop trying to butter me up. I’m in.”
Jackson said his good-byes, and I walked him over to his truck. “I have to go see my orthopedist for a check-in,” he said. “I’ll meet you at the store tonight for the seminar.”
“Don’t forget the lavender.” I kissed him good-bye.
“Don’t hang around the estate without me.” He started the truck.
“I’m going back to the store. Don’t worry.” I called to Qigong and we walked to my car. Jackson beeped his horn and waved as he headed down the drive. I opened the door. “C’mon, boy. Let’s go home.”
But Qigong had other ideas. He dashed up the steps dragging his leash and inside the open door of the mansion. I ran after him, following the sound of his toenails clicking on the parquet floor. He led me into the downstairs dining room, which was like something out of the wedding banquet in Great Expectations. The long dining table was set, as if awaiting guests who never showed up—dishes with the Bixby crest, a gold lion on a field of blue; long-stemmed crystal wineglasses; sterling-silver flatware; and fake mums in porcelain vases. And all of it covered in dust.
Inside the house, that negative vibe was so palpable, I almost felt as if I could close my hand around it. I forced myself to stand still for a moment. Was it a ghost? Evil spirits? I wasn’t sure, but it felt as if something angry were in the room with me, and that it had been there for a long time and had no intention of leaving. Suddenly, I knew I had to get out of there as quickly as possible. I reached for Qigong’s leash, but he took off again, racing out of the room, across the hall and into the library.
This room was filled with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves with a moving ladder that could be used to reach every volume. Above the shelves were large portraits of the Bixby ancestors. None of them looked happy. The only furniture was a beat-up green couch, a La-Z-Boy armchair that had seen better days, and a dinged-up coffee table with a large ashtray on top. The fireplace looked as if it hadn’t been used in a long, long time. Not exactly Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. Qigong put his paws on the windowsill behind the couch, looked out, and started barking.
I scurried over, looked out, and saw Tom standing outside the production trailer, talking to Carly, his sister-in-law. Both of them were smoking cigarettes and both of them loo
ked upset. After a moment, they stubbed the cigarettes out, hugged each other, and went back inside. Maybe Tom was just comforting Carly, as any good brother-in-law would, but the detective in me wondered if he had designs on her as well as on Roger’s job.
As I picked up Qigong, I noticed crisp, clean editions of such books as A Farewell to Arms, Atlas Shrugged, and The Moving Finger on a small table near the window. Curious, I put Qigong down, told him, “Stay,” and picked up The Moving Finger by Agatha Christie. The cover featured a hand with a finger pointing to a portrait of one of the characters in the book. I opened it and found crisp, light brown pages that were frayed at the edges.
I checked the front of the book and realized that it was a first edition. Although in 1942 the book had cost just two dollars, it certainly was worth considerably more now. The other books were first editions, as well. Obviously Max Bixby had been an avid collector. With his death, Roger would have inherited all these books, which had to be worth a nice chunk of change.
Suddenly, I heard strange whispers. I thought about what Amanda had said. The whispers continued, getting louder. I spun around and tried to find the source. What I found was Mrs. Florrick. The whispers stopped. “Did you hear that?”
“I heard nothing.” Her tone was brisk, brittle, and no-nonsense.
I wasn’t sure I believed in ghosts, but something weird was going on here.
“Now, what are you doing in my house?” Her house? Maybe she had been here so long, she considered the house her own.
“I’m here because Rick asked me to provide natural remedy treatments for MJ and the crew.”
“It is my understanding that they will not begin shooting the show until eight a.m. tomorrow morning. What are you doing here now?”
“My dog, Qigong, ran inside and I came in to get him.” I picked him up again. The one thing I didn’t want him to do was “go” on the rug. Granted, it was a worn area rug, but I didn’t want to engender any more hostility from the woman. I would be working on the estate for the next week and didn’t want any trouble from her.
As I headed to the door, I noticed a crystal ball on a shelf. “Was that Mr. Bixby’s?”
Mrs. Florrick nodded. “Yes, Mr. Bixby was very interested in spiritualism. He regularly held séances with his guests when he was alive.” This confirmed what MJ had said.
Suddenly, the antique chandelier above us flickered on and off, on and off, then stopped. A large book fell off the shelf above the fireplace and landed on the floor. I sucked in a breath. It seemed that I was experiencing the same phenomena that Amanda had. “Do you know what caused that?” I asked the housekeeper.
I gazed down at the book that had fallen, A Complete History of Rum Running on Long Island’s East End.
“Too many books squeezed into the shelves is all,” she said matter-of-factly. “Max could never pass up a book on rum-running.” She bent over and picked up the book.
As she did, I noticed that she had ugly, bulging blue veins on the backs of her knees and calves. Perhaps if I offered a bit of advice, she might help me with my investigation. “Do your varicose veins bother you?”
She straightened up and glared at me. “What business is it of yours?”
“Sorry,” I said quickly. “I don’t mean to pry. It’s just that I’m a naturopathic doctor, and I have some remedies that might help.”
She walked over to the bookshelf and, with some effort, shoved the book back in its place. “I’ve never found anything for it. I’m on my feet all day, and I’m not getting any younger. I wear support hose, but it doesn’t seem to help much.”
“Have you tried horse-chestnut cream? It helps to relieve inflammation and itching. I could bring you some from my health food store if you like. I’m Willow McQuade, by the way.”
She gave me a long look, then finally nodded. “Thank you, Willow. I think I would like to try that. It’s been a very bad time.”
“I know. You must be very upset about Roger’s death.”
“He was a wonderful boy, curious about everything.”
“And what was he like as a man?” I asked.
“We didn’t see him much, once he went to L.A. Roger turned out to be a lot like his father, had a strong character. He wanted what he wanted, and he didn’t let much stand in his way. Tom thinks he’s like them, but he’s not. He doesn’t have that kind of determination.” She pursed her lips, and somehow I imagined that she had disapproved of Tom since he was a boy. “You know, I saw you talking to MJ, Rick, and Carly earlier. That Carly was no good for Roger. She’s the reason he was going to sell Bixby manor.”
This was a surprise. “Roger planned to sell the house?”
“He didn’t want to. But she was always pressuring him. She didn’t like it here.”
“But they were getting divorced. Couldn’t he do what he wanted?”
“No. Carly gets half of everything, and that means this house as well. Now, she gets it all. I think it suits her that he’s dead now.”
I had to ask. “Do you actually think she could have murdered Roger?”
She shook her head and walked down the hall to the door. “I don’t know. But Roger had no shortage of enemies. When you are successful, people get jealous and can do awful things.” She opened the door and saw us out.
At first I headed toward my car, but then I decided it would be a good idea to take a closer look at the crime scene, if it wasn’t roped off. Maybe the police had missed something. It was unlikely but worth a try. I started toward the beach, but Qigong was impatient and pulled away, his leash trailing behind him. He scurried to the steps and ran down to the beach. I went after him, only to be stopped at the bottom of the stairs by a cop. “Can’t be down here, miss. This is a crime scene.”
“I know, but that’s my dog! Qigong,” I yelled, “come back here!”
Qigong, who was thrilled to be back on the beach, scampered across the sand, heading straight for a boulder that had been roped off with yellow police tape.
“You’ve got to get your dog out of here, miss.”
“I agree.” Before the cop could object, I raced after Qigong.
Qigong took one look at me and decided we were playing a game. He turned from the boulder and ran toward the water, splashing joyously in the surf. “Qigong!” I yelled. “Come here!” I knew it was hopeless. He was having too much fun, and as soon as I got within ten yards of him, he dashed off again.
I felt as if I were starring in an embarrassing video: “Incompetent Dog Owner Chases Dog.” I was also sweaty and getting tired. I ran down the beach and around the bend, where I found Qigong sniffing a pile of seaweed on the shore. “Gotcha!” I said as I picked him up. But a wet dog is a slippery dog. He wriggled out of my arms and took off again. He dashed past two policemen on the beach and out onto the dock.
“Boy, he sure listens to you, doesn’t he?” said one of the cops.
“Yeah, that obedience training really paid off,” said the other, and they both started laughing. I really did not need this.
I followed Qigong out onto the dock, but he U-turned, zoomed past me back to the beach, and hugged the shoreline back to the bend. Obviously, chasing him wasn’t working. I decided to try a different tactic. I stopped running and casually strolled in his direction, thinking this might make him more cooperative. As I rounded the corner, I found him again sniffing around that pile of seaweed. “Good boy,” I said as I got closer to him. He looked up at me. He had a red-and-yellow box with ragged edges and a barely legible label in his mouth. I looked at it more closely. It was a disposable camera. I inched closer to him and plucked it out of his mouth just as one of the cops came around the bend. Instinct took over and I plunged it into my pocket, picked up Qigong, looped my hand through his leash, and walked toward the cop. “Got him,” I said, trying to sound cheerful.
“Good. Now you need to clear out of here.”
I put Qigong down and we quickly walked up the stairs to the lawn and then to the car. Inside, I pulled the ca
mera out of my pocket and examined it. Despite several teeth marks, it looked okay. I should have given it to the cops, but something told me it was important that I keep it. I wondered what was recorded on the camera. There was one way to find out.
chapter eight
Dr. Willow McQuade’s Healthy Living Tips
The pungent smell of eucalyptus (Eucalyptus globulus) is an excellent aromatic treatment if you have respiratory problems such as bronchitis, asthma, coughing, cold, flu, and sinusitis because it breaks up phlegm and bronchial congestion. You can use fresh eucalyptus leaves in teas and gargles to soothe a sore throat and treat bronchitis and sinusitis. Try using an ointment that contains eucalyptus and apply it to your nose and chest to relieve congestion. Putting eucalyptus oil in a diffuser will open your chest and sinuses and make you feel much better.
Yours Naturally,
Dr. McQuade
We have a one-hour photo shop in Greenport, and I decided to drop off the camera before I went back to Nature’s Way. On the way home, Simon called asking if I’d made any progress. I told him he’d have to try to be a little more patient. I called Allie and Hector and left messages and talked to Nick, who agreed to teach at the estate. I pulled up in front of Kate’s Photo and dropped off the camera. I didn’t expect to find a picture of the murderer, but perhaps there would be something useful. Minutes later, I was back in the car and my cell phone rang. It was Allie. “Hey there, I guess you got my message.”
“I did and I talked to Merrily and she told me everything. We’re available, but I’m kind of freaked-out about working up there since they haven’t figured out who killed Roger. How is Simon?”
“Scared. He’s definitely a person of interest. His lawyers got him out of jail, but I don’t know for how long. Of course he didn’t do it.”
“Of course not.” Allie paused for a moment. “Willow, are you going to play detective again?”
“I told him I would try. I know it sounds crazy. But I can’t stop thinking about it and maybe I can do some good. I can’t let Simon go to jail for the rest of his life.”
Scent to Kill: A Natural Remedies Mystery (Natural Remedies Mysteries) Page 7
