Murder at the Fortune Teller's Table

by Janet Finsilver

  “No, but both of us recognized a number of names our parents had mentioned.”

  “Did you know the book is missing?”

  Phil stopped what he was doing and put his glass on the table. “What do you mean?”

  I told him what Mary and I had discovered.

  “Adrasteia and Fotini are caring women, but I sure wouldn’t want to be in the shoes of the person who stole that book. If you believe in spirits, telling the future, perhaps curses and magic, the sisters are very powerful. That book is centuries old. Many believe it has a life of its own, a special energy.”

  “They mentioned that Despina’s spirit might help locate it.”

  “Wouldn’t doubt it,” he said. “They’ll get the book back.”

  Andy had left with his cooler and now returned with a tray. He placed the wine and cheese on it.

  “The Huntsman has your name on it,” he said.

  They left to do their sampling, and I went to the workroom to touch base with Helen.

  She was in the process of taking off her apron. A bowl of flour on the counter sat next to an open container of sugar and several baskets of blueberries. I noticed two clean towels on the divider.

  “What are those for?” I asked.

  “The Nelsens asked for a couple more.”

  “I’m on my way out. I can take them.”

  “Thanks, Kelly. I was about to start baking for tomorrow’s breakfast.”

  I picked up the towels and headed for the Maritime Suite. Anthony, on the landing above, walked from his room and entered the open door of the family area. I jogged up the steps, anxious to make my delivery and leave.

  I walked to the open door and stopped.

  Ken’s clenched fist waved in front of Anthony’s face. “I don’t ever want you to bring any of your druggie friends around our family again. That big guy Daisy was with, I’ve seen him on our property. Not ever again, do you understand?”

  Anthony’s smooth face reflected no emotion. He didn’t move, just continued to stare at his father.

  Sue Ellen caught my eye on the other side of the two and shrugged her shoulders and spread her hands apologetically.

  Ken rounded on Daisy, who was a few feet away from him.

  “And you, I don’t want you seeing that man again. I’m forbidding it.”

  I taught school for a while and had seen the look that Daisy gave her father. It shouted she’d be seeing Tank again, and I guessed she’d do it as soon as possible.

  Chapter 22

  Sue Ellen skirted around behind Ken and took the towels from me. She mouthed, “Sorry.”

  I nodded and hurried down the stairs and over to my Jeep, ready for a change of scene. Looking at my watch, I saw I’d be a couple of minutes late meeting Scott.

  I hadn’t been to Corrigan’s place before, but the directions were straightforward. The area I drove through had redwood trees growing in abundance, interspersed with inviting green meadows occasionally dotted with a pond. The temperature rose with every mile inland. In less than ten minutes, I saw the turnoff.

  Pink and white oleanders, the hardy go-to plant of Californians, lined the paved drive. The bushes grew abundantly on the sides of freeways and provided privacy barriers for many homes. A single-story, wide, rambling structure with a covered porch the length of the front of the building appeared. It reminded me of Wyoming ranch houses. Side rooms gave it a U-shape and the feeling of welcoming, open arms.

  Scott was leaning on a porch post, waiting for me.

  I parked the Jeep and got out. “Hi! Sorry I’m late. I needed to deliver towels to one of the guests, and there was a bit of a delay.”

  “No problem,” he said. “Guests always come first, as we know. Come on in.”

  He opened the screen door, held it for me, and gestured for me to enter. An exceptionally large living room full of comfortable-looking couches and overstuffed chairs greeted me. Soft throw blankets of different shades adorned the backs of the furniture. A stone fireplace dominated one end. Tables full of magazines and books were within easy reach of anyone wanting to read. The room made me want to curl up and dig into a good book.

  “We can stop right here as far as I’m concerned,” I said.

  “I know what you mean. Michael wants people to relax and take on a different mind-set when they come here as a retreat, getting away from the craziness that business sometimes produces. He succeeded really well, I’d say.”

  “I totally agree.”

  “Let’s go to the kitchen. There’s a nice area to sit in, and I made some sun tea.”

  He led the way into a commercial-size kitchen that housed an abundance of stainless-steel appliances. The spacious room could accommodate a number of people working at the same time. Scott pointed to a table with a couple of chairs next to a turquoise window seat at the end of the room. A vase filled with long sprigs of yellow gladiolus sat in the center of it.

  I chose the window seat. The view showed a grassy meadow with . . . llamas? Was I seeing things?

  “Tell me I’m not hallucinating and there are Peruvian beasts of burden out there.”

  Scott laughed. “They provide wool for weaving. They arrived yesterday and are part of Michael’s plans for the center.”

  I looked out again. A small brown-and-white animal had raised its head and seemed to be staring at me. Large brown eyes, a long nose, and triangular ears topped a long, graceful, furry neck.

  “City boy to llama wrangler. You made a big leap,” I told Scott.

  Scott walked to the refrigerator, opened it, and took out a pitcher. “Hold on. Big city to little village was enough of a change. The man who tends the produce garden is in charge of the llamas. A word of warning. They spit if they get mad at you.”

  “I know. I hope you haven’t found out the hard way.”

  “No. I was warned. I smile at them, wave, and keep my distance. I don’t know what makes a llama upset, and I’m not taking any chances.”

  “My parents don’t have any on the ranch, but we’ve talked about adding them. They’re good pack animals, which we could use for our overnight camping trips. They supply wool, as you said, and make fun pets. We thought our summer guests might enjoy them.”

  Scott put a tall glass filled with ice and an orange slice in front of me. “I haven’t had time to get together what I need for my cooking, but brewing herbal sun tea seemed like an easy start to my stay here.” He poured me some.

  “My mom does that, too. She says it has a smoother taste.”

  “I agree with her. There’s no harshness, and it doesn’t cloud up, which sometimes happens.”

  I took a sip. It wasn’t overly strong, and the orange gave it a hint of citrus. I found the chilled beverage refreshing in the warmer inland area. “Tasty. What kind is it?”

  “I use green tea, which is healthy for you, but I sometimes find it a bit bitter, so I combine it with mint tea to mask that flavor. The orange slice adds a bit of sweetness and a wonderful scent.”

  I had learned about Scott’s cooking interest on his last visit. I’d never been around a man who enjoyed stepping into a kitchen. What a delightful new experience!

  He poured a glass for himself and put the pitcher in the refrigerator. His face lost its brightness as he sat on the window seat. “You said you’d tell me what happened at the gardens today. I’d like to hear it.”

  The deaths of Auntie and Summer had caused the attack on me. I needed to share it all.

  “There’s a lot to it, so it’s best you get comfortable.”

  He settled into the corner, leaning on a throw pillow. “Begin. I’m ready.”

  It took a while, as I had forewarned him.

  When I was done, he shook his head. “How is it such a nice-looking group of elderly people manages to get you into one scrape after another?”

  I looked at him. “They don’t make me get involved. I want to help find the truth, and that’s their goal as well.”

  “I decided to take this job to
find out what living in an area like this would be like. I know you love it, and I’ve never experienced it. I’d hoped we’d have some time to see what . . . a normal life would be like here in Redwood Cove.”

  Oh my gosh, had he come here because of me? Conflicting emotions raced through me. It felt like excitement was winning over fear.

  “Normal doesn’t seem to be part of the equation with the Silver Sentinels,” Scott said, “because that word doesn’t pair with murder.”

  “They’re only trying to do what’s right.”

  “I know. There’s a phrase that says if you can’t beat them, join them. It’s not quite a fit here, but there are some similarities.” He leaned back into the cushions. “I’ve only met them in passing and would like to know them better. I don’t have anything special I can whip together for food right now, but how about seeing if they can make it for bacon and eggs tomorrow morning around nine?”

  Scott and the Sentinels. I knew they’d love it. But was I ready for Scott to enter this part of my life?

  I hesitated, then decided it couldn’t hurt to give it a try. “Well . . . okay.”

  The Professor was at the top of the Sentinel’s phone list, so I selected his number. I told him about Scott’s invitation, and he said he’d contact the others and get back to me.

  “The Professor will call me back.”

  “Great. If there’s any way I can help bring this situation to an end, I’d like to do it. Incidentally, I talked to one of the suspects on your list.”

  “Which one?”

  “Anthony. But it was after the attack on you, so it doesn’t give him an alibi. However, the man who runs the homeless shelter was in charge of organizing the parking area today. He’s supposed to call me this afternoon. I’ll see what I can find out from him.”

  I nodded and took a sip of tea. “I know Michael’s overall goals for this place. I think it’s wonderful that he wants to help the community. I thought about it today. The things that make Redwood Cove unique also bring problems and challenges.”

  “It’s an interesting project. Let’s go for a walk, and I’ll show you some of what we have planned and introduce you to Jim Patterson, who works here.”

  We went out a back door and down a sidewalk, headed toward the llamas. There was a walkway to the left, and Scott followed it. We rounded a corner, and a large garden area, much of it in raised boxes, came into view. A man with a wide-brimmed straw hat was bent over, weeding.

  “Jim,” Scott said, “I’d like you to meet Kelly Jackson, manager at Redwood Cove Bed-and-Breakfast.”

  The man rose, slowly unbending his tall frame, and walked over to us. “Glad to meet you.”

  The hand he extended was wide and flat, the nails short, with only a small crust of dirt showing. The earthy scent of freshly tilled soil filled the air. Jim’s face had a serene look like the one my mom had when she tended her plants. She’d told me it made her feel connected to the natural world around her.

  “Jim manages the garden and is caring for the llamas as well. He’ll be leading classes on how to grow your own vegetables at home and will supervise the area where people can have a plot to plant what they want. One of our goals is to create healthier, happier lives for people, and fresh food contributes to that.”

  “Nice to meet you, Jim. I was raised on a Wyoming ranch, and we grew as much of our own food as possible.”

  “Maybe we can compare notes sometime,” Jim said.

  “Sure. I’d like that. Mom and Dad are always open to new ideas.”

  Scott tilted his head toward the path. We said good-bye and continued on.

  “Another thing Michael wants to do is provide a haven for military personnel returning from combat who are having trouble adjusting.”

  As he shared this, we entered a grove of exceptionally tall, majestic redwood trees. Sunbeams slanting through their branches and needlelike leaves created nature’s stained glass and made for an almost cathedral type of feeling. The golden shafts cut through the darkness. Small cottages dotted the path ahead.

  “This area will be for veterans. There’s a family section, as well as accommodations for singles.”

  A man with a large dog by his side was coming down the path toward us.

  “Here’s someone else I’d like you to meet, Peter Wilson.”

  The dog looked like a Bernese mountain dog, with black curly hair and tricolored facial markings of white, brown, and black.

  “Peter, this is Kelly Jackson. She works for Resorts International and manages the Redwood Cove B and B.”

  “Nice to meet you.” He extended his hand.

  We shook. “Beautiful dog,” I said. “Can I pet it?”

  “Absolutely. Jake loves attention.”

  I knelt in front of the canine, and he leaned into me. His warmth seeped into my body. He pushed his head against mine. My shoulders relaxed and dropped a few notches. I hadn’t realized how much tension I was carrying. The release almost brought tears to my eyes.

  Scott stroked the dog’s head. “Peter trains dogs for veterans suffering from PTSD.”

  Scott’s phone beeped, and he excused himself and walked a few feet away.

  Peter nodded. “Were you by any chance feeling tense just now?”

  “I was, though I didn’t realize how much until I felt it release.”

  “What he just did was provide deep pressure for a calming effect. When someone is having a panic attack, he’ll push against their chest or abdomen, depending on where they are and what position they’re in.”

  “What other techniques are the dogs taught?” I asked.

  “There’s a long list. We match our training to the needs of the future owner. For example, crowd control is another area where Jake knows what to do. He’ll repeatedly circle his owner to keep people at a distance. It’s important for some veterans that they don’t get startled by having someone bump into them.”

  “Jake went for his final exam today,” Scott said as he joined us and looked at the trainer. “How did he do?”

  “Passed with flying colors. He’s ready to go to his new home.”

  “Michael wants to start a training program here,” Scott said to me. “The dogs all come from shelters. It’s a win-win situation for all parties.”

  Peter said good-bye and left with Jake. What a gift my incredible boss, Michael Corrigan, was providing. I hoped others would follow his role model.

  My cell phone rang, and I answered it.

  “Hello, my dear. Tomorrow’s a go,” the Professor said. “I’ll bring freshly squeezed orange juice.”

  “I’m sure Scott doesn’t expect people to bring anything.”

  “My dear, it’s part of who we are. Mary will bring a fruit crisp, Gertie wheat bread, and Rudy and Ivan will have smoked salmon, cream cheese, and bagels.”

  “Okay. That sounds great. I know better than to argue. I’ll let him know.”

  “The Sentinels can make it tomorrow,” I said to Scott and shared with him what they’d be bringing.

  He laughed. “It doesn’t sound like I’ll be providing much of the breakfast, but I’m glad it will work out.”

  The breakfast party was on. Scott was ready to get to know the Silver Sentinels. And it seemed I was ready to let that happen.

  “The phone call was from the manager of the homeless shelter. I didn’t have to question him about Anthony. When I asked him how the day went, he said fine after he shooed away the blonde in tight pants hanging around Tank and Anthony. His guys weren’t getting any work done while she was there. That was during the time you were attacked.”

  Daisy, Tank, and Anthony had an alibi for the assault on me. That didn’t clear them of the murders, but every piece of the jigsaw puzzle we could put in place was a step closer to an answer.

  Chapter 23

  The path curved its way through the trees, finding natural openings for it to continue on its way. The only sound was the occasional twitter or call of a bird. Up close I could see the cottages
were small log cabins.

  Scott went up to one of the cottages. “Let me show you inside,” he said as he opened the door.

  Multicolored braided oval rugs covered the hardwood floor. The walls on the inside were made from pale yellow, smooth-textured logs. Neatly stacked firewood sat next to a wood-burning stove.

  The living room area had a couch and a chair similar to the ones in the main house—the type that invited you to settle in with one of the soft throws covering the backs of the furniture. Off to the right was a small kitchen area and a dining table next to a window.

  “Over here is the bedroom.” He opened a door revealing a queen-size bed covered with a golden-hued down comforter.

  An open door in the room showed part of a white-tiled counter and sink.

  Large windows dominated the rooms, allowing filtered sunlight through the redwood trees to enter and frame the lush glen outside. Dappled sunlight decorated the room with nature’s touch.

  A small, black flat box with a large white button on it sat in one corner of the living room floor.

  “What is that?”

  “That’s another skill Jake’s been taught. That’s a K-nine Rescue Alarm phone.”

  I went over and knelt down next to it. “How does it work?”

  “The dog is taught to press the button with its paw in certain situations. The phone is programmed with the number of the person who should be called if there’s a crisis. Depending on the person’s history and what he or she needs, it could be nine-one-one or a relative, for example. That’s why much of the training is geared to an individual.”

  “What dogs contribute to our lives never ceases to amaze me,” I said.

  “I agree. Let’s head back.”

  As Scott closed the door, I surveyed the bucolic setting. It was easy to imagine it being a healing place for people.

  As we walked, Scott said, “We’ve contacted a number of local businesses to line up jobs and potential opportunities for the veterans to learn new skills. There are restaurants, inns, and a woodworking school that are interested in helping so far.”

  “It’s nice to hear the community is pitching in.”

  He nodded and pointed to an area off to our right. “Jim wants to plant a meditation garden near here, creating a place to promote a sense of peace, calmness, and serenity. He’s been doing a lot of research. It’ll have a water element, arrangements of stones, something fragrant, like maybe lavender, and, of course, lots of plants.”