“Oh?”
“You can work in one of the booths if you like. I’ve got Wi-Fi. And people like puppies. Shakti can help me sell pots.”
“All right.” It would be good to get out of his tiny apartment. Jess was spending a lot of time there with Shakti, wishing she were home or at the library, thoughts that made her feel a bit resentful of her whole situation. “I have to run an errand first, then we’ll come by.”
Jess took Shakti back to the apartment and left her there so she could walk up Main Street. The road was crowded with people happy to be out stretching their legs, exploring the small river towns, and searching for treasures in the shops. She passed a family of four on her way up the hill. The girl noticed Jess’s face and nudged her brother. The scoop of ice cream perched atop the cone in her hand wobbled dangerously. Jess felt her cheeks coloring as the boy joined his sister in staring at the welt under her eye. As she passed the adults, she overheard the mother saying, “I can’t believe it’s closed. I was hoping to eat at the Water Wheel,” and Jess felt a new twinge of guilt.
Jess had only been inside the antique store once before—to deliver the party invitation—and hadn’t gone past the front counter. Lora was charming a customer who turned a piece of vintage jewelry over in her hands. Jess decided to look around.
Lora had done a nice job converting the old house to a store, arranging the flow of merchandise in a pleasing way. The dining room contained shelves of china, compote dishes, teapots, salt cellars, and all the things one would expect to find around food. The buffet’s cabinets were locked with more expensive pieces behind the glass doors, while its drawers were left open to display neatly folded table linens. Jess imagined Lora endlessly tidying up after her customers. A tight staircase led to second floor.
In two small bedrooms, Lora had all sorts of miscellany. The closets were hung with a vintage wardrobe, each piece with a price tag carefully pinned to a cuff. One of the rooms had a wall of bookshelves. Jess was drawn inside to examine the spines of old books. It was a dangerous pastime, collecting anything. Jess thought of the old man with the shed crammed to bursting. She had tried to write about him again when she had had enough of ghost hunting. It proved easier away from her house, and the old man was taking shape on the page. She opened the lid on a wooden box and found it full of moveable type. It appeared a mix of various alphabets. She shifted them around, enjoying the clatter of the metal and wood cubes against each other. Jess let herself browse for quite a while, sometimes sharing the room with other shoppers and sometimes having it to herself. Finally, she decided to select a book for purchase, a well-deserved treat.
Jess ran a finger along the spines of several books, skimming the shelf until a red, cloth-bound spine caught her eye. The title, embossed in gold letters, read Satan Sanderson. Jess smiled. How could I not? She plucked it off the shelf and gasped when she saw the front cover. Satan Sanderson by Hallie Erminie Rives was illustrated with a picture of a red-haired woman in a nightgown. The woman’s hair was longer, the nightgown of a different era, but it made Jess’s heart leap all the same. Once she regained her senses, Jess opened to the title page—1907. It was a coincidence. Just an eerie coincidence. She opened the box of type again and selected a J and V. It was a silly impulse, but the thought of something other than the cowboy sitting atop her desk soothed her after seeing the red-haired woman on the cover of an old book.
As she was leaving the room, Jess heard the quiet giggle of a young girl. She paused in the hallway to glance into the other bedroom. A girl of around seven hid in the closet. The clothing concealed her except for her hands and face where she parted the wardrobe and peered out. Her eyes were a lovely shade of green and she smiled and giggled again. Jess waved to her, a private wave of her fingers, and went back to the staircase.
The shop had quieted considerably. Jess set the book and type on the counter next to Lora’s antique cash register. “Does that work?”
Lora turned from the displays behind her sales counter and saw Jess standing there. Her mouth fell open in a look of surprise, then puckered in a way that was not altogether friendly. She wore a flirty dress with butterfly sleeves that evoked the 1940s. She also wore glasses Jess hadn’t seen before. Lora pulled them off of her face to blink at her. “Everybody’s been talking about you. The whole village can’t get over what happened.”
“I can imagine.” Jess touched the swell on her cheek. It had turned a blackish color with yellow-brown edges where it was finally beginning to fade. “You have a great selection. I could spend hours in here.”
“Thanks. I try to keep it orderly and attractive.”
“It shows.” The front door opened and Lora greeted her new customers. Jess realized if she didn’t get this conversation headed somewhere soon, she’d miss her opportunity as Lora focused on her real customers. “I’d like to buy these.”
Lora dropped her mascara-coated lashes to glance at the counter. “Have you read any of Rives’ novels?” It was a pleasantry. Jess could tell Lora didn’t care and wasn’t sure why. She hadn’t been particularly friendly at the party, but she hadn’t been cold either. Lora punched a key on her cash register and a small white placard popped up. “Yes, it works.” She smiled a rehearsed smile for tedious patrons. “Ten-eighty-five.”
“Do you only take cash?”
Lora reached below the counter and pulled up an iPad with a card reader attached. “Email receipt okay?”
“Great.” Jess pulled the card out of her pocket. “Say,” she said, as though it was a casual afterthought. “Do you have any contact information for Cathy Fenton?”
Lora swiped Jess’s card and handed her the iPad. “We lost touch after she moved, but I’d think she’s easy to find. She’s a painter. She probably has a website or online store.”
“Why didn’t I think of that?” Jess watched Lora slip her purchases into a paper sack and thanked her for the exchange.
Once outside, Jess grumbled to herself. Of course she had thought of looking for Cathy Fenton online, but figured an introduction from an old friend might be more effective. For whatever reason, Lora wasn’t going to help Jess.
Chapter Thirteen
Jess needed to see the Water Wheel again—not that it would make sense of anything. She turned into the garden and stopped to catch her breath. So many flowers were in bloom, irises, lilies, liars, black-eyed Susans… The garden buzzed with bees lighting on one bloom after another. Jess gazed at the sparrows and nuthatch who shared the shallow dish of a birdbath, splashing vigorously. A blue jay screeched from the branches of a crab apple tree, its sharp call loud and insistent. The businesses along the far side of the garden looked to have a steady stream of customers, several of whom leaned on the porch rails overlooking the garden, ice cream cones in hand. Jess turned her gaze toward the spring. When she listened for it, the water wheel’s creaking became audible through the din of a busy weekend. A man crossed the bridge over the spring and approached the café’s door. He wore a baseball cap and a backpack. Jess watched, expecting him to see the café was closed and turn away.
The man dug into his front pocket and pulled out a set of keys. He propped open the screen door and ducked behind it to unlock the main door, then disappeared inside. Jess ran after him and burst through the café door. “Who are you?” she demanded.
The man faced her, one strap of his backpack off his shoulder. “I’m Robin. Who are you?”
Jess couldn’t help looking past Robin at the dining room. It had been abandoned right after the party. The linen-covered tables still lined the back wall. The guests had taken their food dishes home, but Jess’s pan of spanakopita and bowl of pita bread remained, their contents sporting great green and orange colonies of mold. “I’m Jess. “ She looked at the man now and tried to catch his eyes under the bill of his cap. “I’m a friend of the owner of this place.”
“Then we have that in common.” Robin set his keys on a table with his backpack and stepped forward to extend his hand.
Robin had a firm grip, the kind taught in business schools. He also had a smile to match, the kind of smile reserved for tedious patrons. “Cut the crap, Robin. Where’s Tyler and why do you have keys to the Water Wheel?”
Robin withdrew his hand from Jess’s grip and wiped it on the front of his cargo shorts. “Whoa.” He studied Jess with piqued interest, his gaze resting on her bruise. “And why should I answer to you?”
“Because I care about Tyler. Those are my dishes over there.” She pointed at the remains on the party tables. “And Tyler gave me this bruise right before he cut town, so I think I deserve an answer or two.”
Robin pulled out a chair and sat, then gestured for Jess to join him. She set down her paper sack and folded her arms over her chest before joining Robin in a more friendly arrangement. “Well,” he said, “I don’t know anything about your dishes or your bruise. Tyler and I were in school together. A couple days ago, I got a message he had this café and needed someone to step in and run it.”
“And here you are?”
Robin leaned back in his chair. “Yep.”
“But that doesn’t make sense.”
“He said he has a family emergency to take care of. I assume a parent is dying or something. He didn’t go into it and I didn’t ask.”
Jess nodded as she fit the pieces together. Tyler might be back and he might not. Either way, he wasn’t going to let the Water Wheel sit vacant until a banker came by to change the locks.
“Look, we’re in the middle of a holiday weekend and this place is leaking money as we speak. I have a to-do list long as my arm.”
“Sure.” Jess stood to leave, and Robin stood to see her out. Jess noticed he was wearing a Hazards of Love t-shirt. “That’s funny,” she said. “When I first met Tyler he was wearing a Decemberists t-shirt, too.”
Robin smiled naturally this time, his guard at last down, revealing dimples that framed a cleft chin. He stood head and shoulders taller than Jess and wore running shoes that looked like they’d pounded down a thousand miles of road. “Chefs like The Decemberists, I guess.” He removed his ball cap to wipe a trickle of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. His black hair was shorn close to the scalp. As Jess followed the movement of his hand across his brow, she noticed lines in his dark skin and wondered if he was older than she had thought.
“I think Tyler keeps some fans in the closet by the back door.” Jess picked up her paper sack and turned to leave. She paused and looked back at Tyler’s replacement. “What’s your specialty?”
“Pastry.”
“Good luck,” she said.
Lora was right. Cathy Fenton had an online store for her paintings, though according to ProfessionalNet, she was working as an administrative associate at Biomed Technologies. Ouch. Jess glimpsed her future if she didn’t get Bonnie out of her house and write a book. The sooner she published, the less likely she was to run out of savings and end up in a crisis. With each week that passed by, Jess worried more about her finances and what kind of paid work she could do telecommuting from Skoghall. Jess rubbed Shakti’s head while she tracked Cathy Fenton’s internet footprint, clicking through her paintings for sale and admiring many of them. Shakti stretched out on the smooth vinyl bench and dug her feet into Jess’s hip. Beckett had been busy all day, working the weekend traffic, making one sale after another.
Jess squinted at the thumbnail of one of Cathy’s paintings. Was it possible? She clicked to enlarge the image and there was her house. It stood alone, before the garage had been built, with the barn in the left-hand foreground, surrounded by forest. The house showed some wear and the porch sagged. Jess decided this was the before picture, and the caption confirmed it had been painted in 2010. An autumn picture, the forest hues of orange, yellow, and crimson made a brilliant backdrop for the house. Jess guessed Cathy was planning to paint an after picture as well, showing how far she’d gone to improve the property, and she better understood Cathy’s bitterness. Jess clicked buy and pulled her debit card out of her back pocket. It was an act of faith, further laying claim on her house even if she wasn’t sleeping there for the time being.
After buying the painting, Jess found the contact form and emailed the artist. “Cathy, I now own the old farmhouse on Haug Drive. Is there a time we can talk? It is urgent.” Jess signed the message, including her phone number, then set her phone on the table and checked that the ringer was turned up.
“Hey you.” Beckett stood beside the booth, his hands on the back of the bench. Shakti stood up and shook herself, then plopped off the bench to greet him. He picked her up and patted her head while she tried to lick his face.
“I think she loves you.” Jess was about to say that Shakti had never greeted Tyler that way, but stopped herself in time. Instead, she told Beckett about Tyler’s friend, Robin, and how he was taking over the café. She barely had the news out when the front door opened and customers came in.
Beckett winked at Jess and walked over to greet them with Shakti in his arms. The women started cooing and reached out to pet the adorable fluff ball. Jess watched this, amused that her dog, the sweet little dingo, was now a sales gimmick. When the women actually bought pots, Jess saw the flaw in Beckett’s plan and had to go rescue him so he could take their money and wrap their purchases.
Jess and Shakti retreated just as her phone rang. She hurried to the booth and answered. “Hello?”
“This is Cathy Fenton.”
“Cathy, thank you for calling me back so quickly.”
“You’re welcome. I see you bought the painting of the house. I thought that thing would never sell. I just hadn’t bothered to remove it from the store.”
“That worked out for me.” Jess sounded overly cheerful to her own ears, hoping Cathy would be more helpful than Lora.
“I was going to burn the damn painting, but I hadn’t gotten around to that either.”
“Oh…” Jess’s hope diminished. Shakti squirmed off the booth and ran across the studio, her leash trailing wildly behind her. “Shit. Beckett!” Beckett turned away from a new round of customers and intercepted the puppy. Jess pointed at the phone and mouthed, “Cathy Fenton.” She returned to Cathy. “I’m so sorry. My dog just got loose.”
“Beckett Hanley?”
“Yes. He’s letting me hang out at the studio since the house is…you know.”
“So Beckett and Lora broke up?”
“Excuse me?” Jess glanced at the paper sack on the table as she remembered Lora’s mouth puckering with what…disdain?
“Obviously they broke up. She wouldn’t stand for Beckett having female friends, not a close one anyway.”
“Cathy, can you tell me about the house? Did you discover anything about the red-haired woman while you lived there?”
“The red-haired woman? You mean the ghost?” She clipped each syllable, placing excessive emphasis on the first. “The dis-turbance? The app-arition?”
Jess wondered why Cathy had bothered to call if she wasn’t going to be helpful. “Yes. The ghost. Do you know anything about how she died?”
“No. Why would I?”
“Well…to…I don’t know. To help her move on or something. Didn’t you try to get her out of the house?”
“Have you seen the bloody footprints yet?”
“Yes.”
“Then it’s pissed off and things are only going to get worse. Trust me.”
“What do you mean it’s pissed off?” Beckett came to stand beside Jess and listen in, Shakti securely in his arms. Jess grabbed a pen and scrawled on her notebook, “Cathy is one bitter woman!”
“The first two years I lived there were good. There was some weird stuff from time to time, but I could ignore it or pretend I’d had a memory slip, stuff like that. I don’t know what happened to make it so…” Cathy paused and Jess heard her draw in a long breath. “…active, but it went nuts. It was breaking stuff, ripping pictures off the walls…. And it was crying. Choking. Sobbing. Like it was trying to cry
, but couldn’t get enough air to actually do it.” Jess heard Cathy take a drink and swallow in a brief pause. “I had to get out of there.”
“Did you ever see her?”
“No, thank God.”
“When did all this start?”
Cathy considered. “2013. Maybe February. I lasted until August. Then I had to get the hell out of there, but I couldn’t afford rent on top of a mortgage, so when the house didn’t sell within a couple of months, the bank foreclosed.” There was another pause. “But you know that, since you bought the house from the bank.”
Jess stabbed at the word bitter on her notebook. “I’m sorry, Cathy. I know this is horrible, because I’m in the middle of it myself.” Jess sighed. “Her name is Bonnie Sykes.”
“What?”
“The ghost. Her name is Bonnie. I’ve found that much out. She lived there from 19…”
“I don’t care,” Cathy spit out the words and Jess jerked her phone away from her ear. “I’m trying to forget that place and what that thing did to me.” Cathy was shouting into the phone now, her voice rising to a hysterical pitch. “That place ruined my life. I’ve been foreclosed on. Do you know what that does to your credit? I can’t even buy a car now…”
“Cathy? Cathy, I’m sorry. I know. I’m sorry. Look, can you send me the painting?” Jess looked up at Beckett and whispered, “Help me.” He held his hand out for the phone, but just as Jess was laying it on his palm, the front door opened. Beckett shrugged. Instead of taking the phone, he set Shakti on the bench next to Jess and went to greet his customers. She put the phone back to her ear and tried to disengage as quickly and politely as possible. When at last she hung up, Jess dropped her phone on the table like it was contaminated. She pushed her hair away from her face and grabbed a ponytail holder from her wrist. She twisted up her hair and secured it, then lifted Shakti so they were nose to nose. “I wonder if the painting will come slashed to ribbons,” she said as she cuddled the puppy against her good cheek.
The Murder in Skoghall (Illustrated) (The Skoghall Mystery Series Book 1) Page 15
