Occult and Battery

by Lena Gregory

  She nodded slowly, afraid of setting off another wave of pain. So far so good. Though her head was tender, the more intense pain had faded to a dull headache. The rest of her body was a different story. Pretty much everything ached. Tomorrow would probably not be pleasant.

  Cass glanced around the dining room. All of the tables and chairs that had been brought in for the weekend guests were still in place. Some of the chairs had been pulled to other tables to accommodate larger groups, while some sat with their backs facing the tables. Coffee mugs and plates still remained on some of the cloth-covered tables. The scene was surreal, giving the impression everyone had disappeared at the same time, leaving everything as it was.

  Her mind raced. Were the police any closer to finding the killer? Last she’d heard, there were no real suspects, but she hadn’t talked to Stephanie since this afternoon.

  “Here you go. Hold this to your head.” Jim returned and handed her a clean cloth filled with ice, then lifted her hair off her forehead. His fingers grazed her head, sending a jolt of electricity shooting through her. Jeez. She really had to get a life. Maybe she was finally ready to let go of Donald and her past and move on to a healthy relationship. An image of Luke flashed before her, his cocky grin sending a flare of heat rushing through her. Yeah. Maybe. Too bad she’d probably never trust another man.

  She pressed the cold compress to her head and shivered.

  “Are you cold?” Jim stood and turned to look at the pile of wood stacked beside the fireplace. “I could light a fire if you want.”

  “No. That’s okay. Thank you.” She shivered again as icy fingers of fear crept up her spine. “And thank you for stopping to help. If you hadn’t . . .” No sense torturing herself with what could have happened if no one had come by and noticed her car.

  “It’s a good thing I was on my way back up here when I was.” He crouched in front of her, reached out, and tucked the hair that had fallen back onto her face behind her ear. He was too close. This time his touch brought no jolt, other than a small spark of fear. But why? He hadn’t done anything wrong. Why should she be frightened of Jim?

  Hel-loooo. Maybe because someone killed Conrad in the middle of the night, someone who was staying at the mansion, and that someone is free right now. And what did she really know about Jim? She shifted to lean her back against the chair, allowing herself a little more space.

  Jim apparently took the hint. He stood and propped his hands on his hips. “If you’re okay for a few minutes, I’d like to run up to my room and get a few things I forgot.”

  “Sure. Would you mind if I used your phone? I left mine in the car.”

  Jim spread his arms. “Sorry. The police confiscated it, and as far as I know, the landline is still out from the storm. I can check when I run upstairs.”

  “Thank you.” She would definitely feel a little better if someone knew where she was. She pulled the ice away from her head and looked at the small red stain on the white cloth. Barely anything. Gripping the table, she stood. Actually, other than the throbbing headache and the aches and pains everywhere else, she felt okay. No dizziness, no nausea, no piercing pain in her head. Good. She took her time crossing the room, brushing one hand along table edges and chair backs to steady herself, but she really didn’t need it.

  She dropped the ice pack in a garbage pail on her way out the door. While she was here, she had to have a look at the fireplace. There had to have been some sort of special effect used. When she entered the ballroom, a cold blast of air hit her square in the chest. Weird. Nothing was open that she could see. Had it come from the fireplace that now stood empty?

  As she walked past the long table, she kept her gaze firmly glued to the area just above the mantel, where someone’s ghost—Buford’s maybe—had appeared. Or the spot where the whole group’s mass hysteria had conjured the figment of their collective imaginations. Cass held onto hope that the latter was true.

  “What are you doing?”

  Cass screamed and whirled to face the door, then grabbed the back of a chair for support. She froze. Was she dizzy? Nope. Nothing. She was fine. “Jeez. You scared me half to death.”

  Jim’s laughter chased the lingering fear. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. You probably shouldn’t be walking around though.”

  Hmmm . . . If he didn’t want her walking around, how was she going to convince him to let her go upstairs to check out Conrad’s room? Which she was definitely going to do. No way could she let this opportunity go to waste. How would he feel about her digging through his dead brother’s things? He didn’t seem too upset, but you never knew.

  Jim frowned, his brows drawing together. “Are you all right?”

  How long had she been standing there lost in thought? Long enough for him to grow concerned, obviously. “I . . . um . . .” How could she get rid of him long enough to search? “Do the phones work?”

  “Nope. Still dead.”

  “How long are you planning to stay?”

  Jim shifted a backpack she hadn’t noticed to the opposite shoulder. “Not sure. I was hoping to get things cleaned up a bit. The police brought two buses to escort everyone to the Bay Side Hotel, and everyone up and left. I want to go through and make sure there’s no food lying around or anything.”

  “I hate to ask you this, but is there any way you could run back to my car and see if you can find my phone?” She caught her lower lip between her teeth and tried for her best vulnerable expression. She couldn’t dispel the image of Bee rolling his eyes. “Bee was expecting me to meet him, and I don’t want him to get worried and come looking for me in such bad weather.” Okay. Total lie, and Cass was a terrible liar. Would he know?

  He held her gaze a moment longer than necessary. “Sure. No problem. But promise me you’ll sit still somewhere and wait for me to come back? I don’t want you falling or anything while I’m gone.”

  Cass pulled out a chair and sat, then slid her crossed fingers behind her back. “I promise. I’m a bit tired anyway.” She propped her elbow on the table and lowered her head into her hand, his footsteps retreating. Wind whipped through the fireplace, howling fiercely in the empty room. She waited, unable to hear any sound from Jim. How long should she wait? Even if he found the phone right away, he should be gone at least fifteen or twenty minutes. If she remembered correctly, everything had tumbled out of her purse when she crashed.

  The sound of the front door slamming propelled her into action. She jumped up and headed for the stairs.

  12

  The image of the hole Cass had kept seeing during Joan’s reading was haunting her. She had to search Conrad’s room for any hidden compartments and get a quick glimpse into the secret space in the floor of the cupola. Thankfully, the attic-style stairway was still in place. At least she wouldn’t have to waste time pulling it down. Lanterns glowed along the hallway walls but with all of the doors closed, no light was visible from outside. She turned the knob and eased the door to Conrad’s room open, her heart thundering as she slid beneath the yellow crime scene tape. Since the room was at the back of the house, looking out over the bay, she chanced turning the light on, then gasped.

  The room lay in shambles. Certainly the police wouldn’t have done that. Clothes were strewn across the floor and suitcases were upended, their linings torn out and thrown aside. The mattress from the queen-size bed was propped against the wall, and the box spring lay crooked on its frame. Could Donald have trashed the room after she’d left him there? She struggled to remember how long it had been from the time she left him until she next saw him in the dining room. No use.

  How could she possibly search this mess?

  She peeked in the bathroom and flicked on the light. Makeup had been spilled into the sink, and the bag lay empty on the counter. The cabinet was open and empty. With the shower curtain pulled closed, the tub at the back of the bathroom was the only space she couldn’t see. For the
sake of being thorough, she pulled it aside. Spots of water still clung to the walls. Several puddles littered the floor, a faint tinge of rust coloring the one around the drain. Two shampoo bottles sat on a shelf beside a bar of soap.

  Ugh . . . Cass gagged. Several pieces of short dark hair clung to the soap. That was one thing she didn’t miss from her marriage. Every morning when she got in the shower, she had to wash Donald’s hair off the soap. Even if she got her own bar, he still somehow managed to get hair on it. She started to pull the curtain closed, then froze, her gaze shooting back to the soap. If Tank was right, and Conrad was that much of a neat freak, he never would have left hair on the soap. Besides, this hair was dark. Conrad’s hair was dirty blond. And Joan’s hair was a mousy brown . . . and long. Who had dark hair?

  Oh . . . oh no. No way.

  She’d walked in on Donald wiping down the room. Emmett had heard Joan arguing with a man before he went to bed. It could have been Donald. Donald had made a comment about Cass contacting Conrad when he’d met her in the dining room. Joan had come to her seeking out answers from Conrad. Was it possible?

  Cass turned and fled the room, thoughts of Donald and Joan chasing her out into the hallway. She reached back in and turned off the room light, but there was no way she was going back into the bathroom. That light would just have to stay on. Her mind whirled. Could Donald really be the killer? Was he having an affair with Joan Wellington? It would have taken two people to get Conrad up onto the rafter. Were Donald and Joan in cahoots? Someone had trashed the room. Why would Joan wreck her own room? What could they have been searching for?

  Cass pressed her hands to her temples as questions ricocheted through her mind. A swirling mass of confusion enveloped her. Her head pounded. Okay. She had to calm down, had to think more clearly. She thrust her hands into her hair and squeezed. Suspicion pummeled her. She shoved it ruthlessly aside and slammed a block in place to keep thoughts from intruding.

  With one quick glance down the empty stairway, she climbed up the stairs to the cupola. When she reached the top, she crouched low, careful to keep below the window ledges so Jim wouldn’t see her if he returned. Jim. Oh crap. How long had she been in Conrad’s room? It couldn’t have been that long, could it? She’d totally lost track of time. She dropped onto her hands and knees and scrambled across the floor to the opening in the floor by the window. Nothing. The space still stood empty. The piece of wood flooring that had covered the hole was nowhere to be seen. Had the police taken it?

  A band of light passed overhead. Headlights coming up the hill? Panic seized her. She had to get out of there. Intent on making it back downstairs before Jim returned, Cass spun toward the stairway. Her gaze fell on Joan’s body crumpled in the far corner, her eyes open, sheer terror frozen in the expression on her face.

  A scream tore from Cass’s throat, and she slapped a hand over her mouth. She ran to Joan and pressed trembling fingers to her neck. Nothing. A coiled rope was thrown on top of her. Cass stumbled across the room and almost nose-dived down the steep stairs. She caught herself at the last minute by grabbing hold of the springs on either side of the opening.

  Thud.

  A car door? The front door? She ran down the stairs, launching herself down the last two.

  “Cass?”

  Jim. Oh no. What if he hadn’t been on his way to the mansion? What if he’d been up here and killed Joan? Maybe he’d seen her slide off the road from the cupola. Fear threatened to choke her as she ran down the hallway, passing the room she’d stayed in while she was there.

  “Cass? You up here?” He was already on the stairs.

  Cass tried to run faster, tripped over her own feet, and face-planted on the rug a few feet from the stairs.

  “Hey. Are you all right?” Jim grabbed her arm and helped her to her feet. He glanced at the open stairway to the cupola. “What are you doing up here?”

  Cass sobbed. She couldn’t help it. “I . . . uh . . .” She reached a hand into her coat pocket and felt around. A crumpled tissue, a dog treat, her cell phone . . . oh crap . . . when had she shoved it into her pocket? She prayed fervently that it wouldn’t ring.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “No . . . I . . . uh . . .” There had to be something. Her fingers fell on a small cylinder. Yes. She pulled out the tube of lipstick. “I forgot this in the nightstand when I left.” She sucked in a deep shuddering breath. “It’s my favorite color.”

  “You shouldn’t have come up here.”

  “I know. I got dizzy when I was almost to the stairs and fell. Did you find my phone?”

  He studied her a moment longer, the intensity of his gaze penetrating the haze of fear. “No. I did find your purse, though. It’s on the table in the ballroom.”

  “Thanks.” She forced a smile—which probably looked more like a grimace—and pressed a hand to her head. “You know what? I think maybe I do need to go to the hospital after all. I’m really not feeling very well. I think I’m going to be sick.”

  With a firm grip on her arm, and a last suspicious glance around the empty hallway, Jim frowned as he led her toward the stairs and guided her down.

  • • •

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to come in with you?” Jim’s SUV sat idling in front of the emergency room entrance.

  “No. Thank you.” Cass studied his expression. Was that suspicion darkening his eyes? She swallowed hard. “I’m fine. They’ll probably just check me out and send me home. My friend Bee is up all night working anyway. He won’t mind coming to get me. I’ve already put you out enough. Thank you, again, for everything.” Shut up and get out of the car, Cass. “Well, see you.”

  “Sure.” He squeezed her hand and, for one fleeting moment, she was afraid he wouldn’t let go. “I hear there’s going to be a group reading tomorrow night. Maybe I’ll see you there.”

  Oh crap. She’d forgotten about the readings. She hadn’t even called Henry. It was probably too late now. She’d have to call him in the morning. She glanced at the dashboard clock. Twelve thirty? She couldn’t possibly have been at the mansion that long. How long had she been unconscious in the car before Jim found her?

  Jim’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure you’re all right?” He opened his door and got out. Shoot, she should have moved faster. He kept his gaze on her as he rounded the front of the SUV and opened her door. “Watch the ice on the sidewalk.”

  Most of the sidewalk was covered with salt, but a few icy patches still remained.

  “Thank you. I’m okay now.” The emergency room doors slid open, and Cass had one moment of panic before Jim said good night and returned to his truck. She crossed the waiting room and stood beside the reception desk, positioning herself so she could keep an eye on Jim’s truck in her peripheral vision.

  “Can I help you, miss?” The receptionist glanced at Cass and winced.

  Cass smoothed her hair. She hadn’t given any thought to her appearance. What on earth did she look like? She checked her reflection in the glass cabinet door on the wall behind the desk. Yikes! Jim’s truck was still there. Dang.

  “Are you okay, miss?” The woman’s brows drew together as she pushed her chair back from the desk. She gathered some paperwork and clipped it to a board then handed it to Cass and gestured to a cup of pens at the side of the counter.

  Cass took the clipboard and moved to the edge of the counter. She grabbed a pen and waved to Jim, who was still idling at the curb.

  “May I see your insurance card and ID, please?” The woman held out her hand. “It’ll be faster if I make the copies while you fill out the paperwork. We’re pretty slow right now, so you shouldn’t have to wait long.”

  Apparently satisfied she was in good hands, Jim finally pulled away.

  Cass blew out a pent-up breath, tossed the paperwork on the counter, and pulled out her phone. “Excuse me.” She left the startled receptionist s
taring after her and fled the waiting room. No way was she going out into the parking lot. She couldn’t take a chance Jim was waiting around out there somewhere. Instead, she locked herself in a bathroom stall. If he did come back, she could always say she was sick.

  Her hands were shaking so violently, it took three tries to dial Bee’s number.

  Bee picked up on the fifth ring. “Hey, sweetie. You’re lucky you caught me. I just turned the phone back on. In the zone, you know?” Only Bee would answer the phone in the middle of the night as if it were a perfectly normal time to chat. She guessed, for Bee, it was. “I was just getting ready to head home from the shop. Can I call you back in a little bit?” Bee often worked on his dress designs late into the night. Any distractions broke his ability to concentrate, so he’d set up a room in the back of Dreamweaver where he could turn off his phone, crank up his music, and escape from the world long enough to create what he needed. The results were breathtaking. “Cass? Hon? You there?”

  Cass sighed, relief finally seeping some of the tension from her tight, aching muscles. “I need you to come get me.”

  Bee must have sensed the urgency in her voice, because he immediately sobered. “Where?”

  “The hospital.” No need to specify which hospital, since Bay Island only had one.

  “Oh, dear. What happened? Are you all right?”

  “Nothing. I’m fine. Well . . . not exactly fine . . . I crashed my car.”

  Bee gasped.

  “Oh, and I found a body.” Dead silence followed for a moment. Had he hung up? “Are you still there?”

  “Jeez, sweetie. I can’t leave you alone for one minute, can I?”

  With a small chuckle, Cass swiped at the tears streaming down her face.

  “I’m on my way. Where are you, the emergency room?”

  “Uh . . .” What if Jim was still out there waiting to see if she came back? That was stupid. Why would he wait? And why would he care? Did he know Joan’s body was in the cupola? Did he suspect Cass knew?