I wanted to run, but I didn’t want to turn my back on them either. I stood rooted to the ground. It seemed like I was there for minutes, but my common sense said it was only seconds.
“Ms. Jackson,” Anthony’s familiar voice called out.
He had been one of the two men facing away from me. He had turned and was starting toward me. My knees felt weak as relief flooded through me.
Anthony approached. “I was about to head back to your inn. Let’s go together.”
I nodded, fearful that anything I said would come out as a croak.
The man in the white shirt still had his back to me as he talked to the slim man, now clutching the bag. The young man’s large brown eyes had taken on a wild look. I’d seen horses like that. Ready to bolt. Instead, he turned and disappeared into an opening in the brush.
Anthony and I started our circular walk around the tub, leaving the group behind.
After a few minutes, when they were out of sight and we’d put some distance between us, I stopped. “Anthony, what was that all about?”
“Well, Ms. Jackson—”
I interrupted him. “Please call me Kelly, and thank you for walking me out of there.”
“They wouldn’t have hurt you. I know they look scary, and it’s frightening coming upon them like that. They’re homeless, and they have a sleeping camp over by the old tub. There’s a group that meets there nightly. When I’m in the area, I bring them what I can in terms of warm clothes, blankets, and food.”
Before I could ask him any more questions, the man in the white T-shirt joined us.
Anthony nodded at him. “This is my friend Tank.”
“Pleased to meet you,” I said.
“Likewise,” he said and extended his hand.
It was clean, and the nails were cut short. It was clear he wasn’t part of the group we’d left behind. We began to walk again.
In spite of the cool afternoon, Tank wore short sleeves. At the bottom of the sleeve nearest me, the tip of a tattooed claw poked out. He didn’t need a T-shirt saying Ben’s Complete Gym on the front to let people know he worked out. Some men’s bodies shouted exercise. He could be a model for a men’s muscle magazine. The name Tank was a perfect fit.
We arrived at the intersection where we needed to turn left for the inn.
Tank stopped. “I’m off to visit some friends.” He looked at me from his six-foot-plus height. “Anthony told me about what took place today. You and your friends”—the side of his mouth lifted a bit—“the Silver Sentinels, have done a good thing.” He took off in the opposite direction.
Anthony and I walked a bit in silence.
A paper bag had exchanged hands. Had I stepped into a drug deal? Had I been escorted out for my safety or because they wanted me to get away from their illicit activity?
After a couple of blocks, Anthony said, “The homeless are here for many different reasons. Some by choice, others forced by circumstances, mental illness, or addiction. I do what I can to help.”
I thought about the bag. I didn’t think that had anything to do with what he said he brought them. I shot him a furtive look. He said he did what he could to help. Did that mean he supplied them drugs?
We arrived back at Redwood Cove Bed-and-Breakfast. Anthony said good-bye and went up to his room. I entered the work area. Helen was busy in the kitchen off to the right. Tommy and Allie had their heads together, looking at some notes on the worktable on the left side of the room. Fred had stretched himself out under their feet.
I joined Helen. She was putting the finishing touches on a cheese tray.
I tried to put what I’d seen behind me and focus on the tasks at hand. “I’ll sure be glad to call an end to this day. How are we doing with check-ins?”
Helen moved a cooling tray of muffins for tomorrow’s breakfast off to the side of the counter. Blueberries spotted the sides, and their sweet aroma filled the air.
“Everyone is here,” she said.
“I’ll mingle with the guests for a while. Then I’m going to get some work from the office and call it a night.”
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll put the refreshments away at six, like usual.”
A fire crackled away in the open fireplace, yellow flames dancing and embers glowing. Their warmth filled the room. Their flickering shapes beckoned, “Come sit and enjoy.” The fireplace had been the main source of heat for the inn when it was first built as a home for a wealthy family in the 1800s. Most of the furnishings originated from that period. What wasn’t an antique was a meticulous replica. Thick wool oriental rugs covered the hardwood floors.
The goal of Resorts International was to buy historic properties, restore them, if necessary, and then preserve them. Redwood Cove had a plethora of buildings from the 1800s. Gingerbread trim, scalloped wood siding, and widow walks existed in abundance. The company currently owned three buildings in town. In addition to Redwood Cove Bed-and-Breakfast and Daniel’s Ridley House, there was the imposing Redwood Heights.
I circulated among the guests, answering questions about restaurants I was familiar with and discussing the local sights. I could now add the world’s largest hot tub, though I wasn’t sure I wanted to mention it since the tub was a meeting place for the homeless. I was thrilled to see Ken and his family weren’t partaking of the refreshments or the warmth of the fire. Their negative attitudes would only have sucked the calm and peacefulness out of the room.
Helen had placed cheese and wine in the parlor. Her artistic handwriting and cards describing the cheeses added an elegant touch. A bottle of Flying Dog merlot with a slender winged greyhound in a flowing red scarf on the label sat on a green marble wine coaster. A bottle of chardonnay rested in a chilled container.
After visiting with everyone, I went to the inn’s office. I sat at the massive oak desk, admiring the wood grain and workmanship. I sorted through some folders and chose two to work on. I leaned back in the swivel chair, thought for a minute, then opened a notebook that was near at hand and began to list the information I’d learned this afternoon.
Edie wanted her dream shop. She believed John was holding back on it because of the partnership. There was a pleasant surprise in store for her, but she didn’t know that now. Auntie had been a potential obstacle.
I started a new page. John had concerns that the long-ago marriage could cause some business problems. I didn’t feel Diane had the slightest interest in Ken’s holdings. She wanted out of the situation as fast as possible. If there was a slowdown in John taking over, it was probably temporary. And there might not be any issues.
Anthony and his paper bag were next. He worked at a hospice. Did he have access to drugs there? Was he dealing? But he didn’t need money, or at least that was what I’d been led to believe. There was some question as to whether or not the “new” marriage would threaten their inheritance. Did he like being a free spirit so much that he had killed to stop the possibility of losing his income? Was he being overly helpful in supplying illegal drugs to the homeless in the belief that their needs had to be met?
Lots of questions. No answers. I’d have a lot to share with the Silver Sentinels tomorrow.
Chapter 15
I closed the notepad, put it with the folders, and headed for the kitchen with them.
Helen was wrapping the muffins for tomorrow.
“Helen, the cheese trays looked wonderful. The range of colors really set off the different types of cheeses.”
“Thank you. But all I do is cut, arrange, and write the notes. Andy figures out the rest. What you commented on is his handiwork. He plans to be here tomorrow.”
The cheese monger, Andy Brown, was always a delight to talk with. I learned something new every time I got together with him.
Daniel walked in the back door with an enormous pizza box. “Surprise! Friday night dinner has arrived.”
Tommy and Allie jumped up, as did Fred. The trio jostled against each other as they raced for the counter.
Helen pulled
plates down. “Tommy, you need to feed Fred first.”
“Right. C’mon, Fred.”
Fred didn’t need a “c’mon.” He was already at his food bowl. Tommy scooped out his dinner and put it in a ceramic dish decorated with a myriad of dogs. The basset hound’s face plunged in the bowl as the kids reached for gooey slices of pizza.
I loved this new family I was becoming part of.
“Kelly, do you want some pizza?” Daniel asked.
“No, I’m calling it a night.” I held up the folders and notepad. “I have work to do. A quiet evening and to bed.”
Muted tones of red and blue interlaced with ivory traced their way on the hallway’s oriental runner. Opening the door to my rooms, I headed for my refrigerator.
I had stocked up at the local market’s prepared foods counter this morning. The items available there weren’t the usual run-of-the-mill offerings. The owner made a point of buying local and organic whenever possible. This pushed creativity, on the cooking side, toward using what was available. I placed shrimp mixed with kernels of grilled corn and cherry tomatoes on a plate, along with a couple of spoonfuls of quinoa. There was a small salad of local seasonal greens.
I popped the plate in the microwave and poured a glass of cold Pellegrino. When dinner was ready, I placed it on a tray and went into the main sitting area. The food went on the coffee table, and I sank into the soft window seat with a sigh. I didn’t need to watch any soap operas on television to get a full dose of melodrama. Today had provided plenty. I started to think about Ken and his family, but then firmly closed my mental door on them. I had a feeling I’d be seeing way more of them than I wanted, so they didn’t need to be with me this evening.
With that, my thoughts wandered to Scott. Certainly a much more pleasant subject. I wondered why he had decided to take on the extended stay and the commitment to plan the community center. He had made it clear he loved being in places for a short time and moving on.
We enjoyed each other’s company. Was it becoming more than that? I plodded with slow, heavy steps like a mule after a day of plowing when it came to thinking about a possible relationship. I shook my head. The emotional pain of my divorce had left scars. No doubt about it. And Scott said his lifestyle wasn’t one to encourage a relationship. We were just good friends. He had his reasons for taking this assignment, and I doubted I was part of the equation.
I hadn’t seen the property where he was staying yet. Corrigan used it for his personal visits as well as company retreats. It was a thirty-five-acre property he’d bought a number of years ago with the idea of developing it into something to give to the people of Redwood Cove. The town’s isolation and small population made it difficult for certain amenities to be available to the community. It wouldn’t support businesses like gyms with pools, nutritionists, and exercise coaches—services often necessary for people to lead healthy lives as long as possible.
The elderly were particularly at risk because many of them had limited mobility, and being able to drive the roads, with their twists and turns, was a challenge for those who still had their licenses. There was a shuttle service, but it was a long trip with many stops along the way to the town twenty miles north that was large enough to have a variety of businesses.
Michael had gotten to know the Silver Sentinels through the situations they’d helped with both at my inn and at Redwood Heights. As he began to make his plans, he’d enlisted their feedback. The Professor and Gertie were part of the committee that had been formed.
My boss was a generous man and thoughtful of others, as well as wealthy and powerful. Those attributes didn’t always complement each other. I thanked my lucky stars once again for being given an opportunity to work for the company.
My cell phone rang. “Hello.”
“Ms. Jackson, this is Diane Purcelli. I asked you about getting together earlier today.”
“Yes.”
“Would tomorrow morning at nine-thirty work for you?”
It was perfect because the breakfast cleanup would be done. “Sure. Where would you like to meet?”
“Let’s meet at the Silver Cup. Do you know where that is?”
“I do. I’ve been wanting to try it.”
“Exceptional coffee.”
“See you then.”
“And . . . thank you for what you’re doing for . . . my son.”
Diane had been visibly distraught when Mark was discussed. Clearly, emotions ran high for her where he was involved. It would be interesting to hear what she had to say.
I finished dinner and cleared the dishes. The work orders I’d retrieved from the office didn’t take long. I picked up a book on the history of Redwood Cove I’d borrowed from the parlor. Before I could start it, my phone rang.
“Hello.”
“Kelly, it’s Mary. I think I know where Katrina Costov works. It’s a jewelry shop on Main Street called Treasures of the Ocean.”
“How did you find out?”
“Oh, you know, a call here and a call there.”
I knew. She’d started the infamous phone tree that flashed through the lines, leaving them smoking once activated. They’d melt someday. I was sure of it.
“Can you go there with me at eleven?”
“That’ll work. Where would you like to meet?”
“Let’s meet on the porch of the Redwood Cove Museum. The shop is only about half a block from there.”
“I know where that is. I’ll see you there at eleven.”
“Okay.”
I waited for a good-bye, but it didn’t come.
“Mary, is there something else?”
She cleared her throat. “I’ve been thinking about what happened to Auntie and Summer.” Another silence. “Summer and I didn’t have a set schedule when we helped with deliveries. We decided each week what days we would take. If I had made the deliveries on Wednesday, I would be the one who is dead, instead of Summer.”
Now I understood all the silence. It was a difficult thought to deal with. Maybe Mary was jumping to conclusions.
“Did you always have tea with Auntie?”
“Yes, she insisted. It was a ritual. After deliveries, we sat down and had a cup of tea with a lot of sugar in it and a little bit of lemon. It was to regain our strength, Auntie said.”
It sounded like Mary was right. It could’ve been she who died instead of Summer. Lady Luck had been her companion when the deliveries were planned. Then a prickle of excitement began. “When was the last time you saw Auntie?”
“Tuesday, the day before she died. I went with her that afternoon.”
“Did she always use the same tea?”
“Yes. She had an ornate container from Greece, a family piece inherited from her parents that she kept her special blend in.”
The prickle became a steady current of energy.
“If she always used the same tea, that means someone had to put the hemlock in it between the last time you saw her and when she and Summer had tea. Did she leave the house much?”
“No. Auntie was a homebody, except for when she did deliveries. She picked up what she needed when we did our rounds. These were in the early afternoon. Her hours were written on the door—closed one to three.”
“Did she ever vary her routine?”
“Not even for a minute. The sign said deliveries started at one, and we left on the dot. Never five minutes after or a few minutes before.”
Adrenaline coursed through my veins “That means anyone could know when she was gone, and it means the hemlock was put there Wednesday afternoon.”
“Oh, my gosh, you’re right, Kelly.”
“This is a huge piece of information, Mary. It gives us a time frame for when the poison was placed in the tea.”
“Should we tell Deputy Stanton?”
“No, not yet. We still don’t have anything to prove Auntie didn’t make a mistake. We’re the ones thinking it’s murder.”
And now we knew when the killer had planted the poison.
I e-mailed the other Sentinels with what we’d discovered about when the poison had been planted in Auntie’s tea. They were all working on aspects of the case, and this would help them with their research. I hoped our meeting tomorrow might reveal something new about what had happened to Auntie and Summer.
We still needed to figure out if Mary or Martha was the intended target of the attack by the Lunch Thief. I felt the assault and the murders were connected. Anything we learned about one helped us with the other.
I got in bed, pulled the covers over me, and was asleep in seconds.
* * *
I rose early, raced through my routine, and headed for the kitchen. Helen was finishing the breakfast baskets as I entered. A row of them lined the counter.
“Good morning. I see we’re ready to start the rounds.”
Helen covered the basket she’d been working on with a red-checked napkin. “Yes. This is the last one.”
“Where are Tommy and Fred?”
“It’s Saturday. They both sleep in.”
I laughed. “I remember how much I enjoyed that day. I had to get up very early to catch the school bus because we were so far from town. The extra sleep was a real treat. There wasn’t too much of it because the stock needed tending. I could do routine things while my parents took care of animals with special needs. They made a weekend list when they knew I could help out.”
“How big is the ranch?”
“It’s over five thousand acres. We raise cattle and horses all year round. During the summer, it’s also a dude ranch. We have quarters for paying guests and offer a variety of riding experiences.”
Helen smiled. “Sounds like fun.”
“Working with our customers during the summer season is what gave me my training to be able to do this job.”
We decided which rooms we’d deliver to first and each took two baskets and headed off. I took the Nelsens’ rooms. I wanted as few people as possible to have to come in contact with them. I deposited my first one outside Ken and Sue Ellen’s room and the other one at Edie and John’s. I hurried down the stairs to get to the other two, hoping I wouldn’t have to see them on my return.
Murder at the Fortune Teller's Table Page 9
