A Witchy Valentine (Harper Grant Mystery Series Book 4)

by D. S. Butler

  My hopes were dashed as soon as she’d parked and gotten out of her vehicle.

  “Who are you? And what are you doing sneaking around my house?”

  Good question.

  I was surprised to see John’s wife was older than him by at least fifteen years. Her hair was carefully tinted, and her lips and cheeks were plump from collagen injections or fillers, but she still looked older than John. Not that her age was any of my business.

  I licked my lips nervously and launched into apology mode. “I’m sorry. I rang the doorbell, but John didn’t hear me. I was trying to get his attention.”

  She huffed under her breath and said, “That doesn’t surprise me in the least. He always has the volume on that television set much too loud.”

  I bit my lip and wondered whether I’d been forgiven.

  “Well, why are you just standing there? Help me with my bags.”

  “Of course.” I quickly scooted over to the trunk, and she loaded me up with bags from Chanel, Hermes and other brand names I didn’t even recognize but I was sure were very expensive.

  I soon realized that when John’s wife said, “help her with her bags,” she really meant carry them all while she tottered up to the front door carrying only her purse. I was holding so many bags, I could hardly see over the top of them as I followed John’s wife to the front door.

  Monty eyed me warily, and I muttered a prayer that I wouldn’t drop everything on the floor.

  John’s wife opened the front door and then screeched out to her husband. “Where are you, John?”

  I stepped inside the foyer and what I saw took my breath away. The floor was shiny, pale marble with a luxurious patterned rug in the center. A beautifully polished oak table stood as a centerpiece and was topped with a huge flower arrangement, including lilies and roses.

  To one side, an imposing winding staircase with an elegantly carved banister snaked its way upstairs.

  The television suddenly turned off, and John’s laughter stopped abruptly.

  Before John could join us, his wife looked sharply at me and asked, “Why do you need to talk to John?”

  “It was about this morning,” I said opening my mouth to continue, but she cut me off abruptly.

  “What happened this morning?” She crossed her arms over her chest.

  I guessed John hadn’t talked to his wife about Monty’s murder yet.

  “We were at the battle re-enactment, and one of the participants, Monty Brown, died. He was murdered.”

  John’s wife’s eyes widened.

  John rushed into the foyer. “Oh, hello, my love, how lovely to see you. I didn’t realize you were getting back so early.”

  When John’s eyes fixed on me, he paled. “Oh… Harper, isn’t it?”

  I nodded. “Yes, that’s right. I hoped you would have time to chat about what happened this morning.”

  John’s face crumpled, and he put a hand to his forehead theatrically. “Oh, I haven’t been able to take my mind off it. What an awful tragedy.”

  “I’d appreciate it if one of you would tell me what is going on,” John’s wife said sharply.

  “Oh, sorry, of course, dear. This is Harper. I met her this morning at the battle re-enactment. Harper, this is my wife, Lucille.”

  I gave Lucille a quick smile and said I was pleased to meet her. She didn’t reply.

  “I’m afraid the battle re-enactment went badly wrong this morning, and poor old Monty died,” John said.

  “Did someone stab him?”

  John shook his head quickly. “Oh, no, nothing like that. I actually gave him a bit of a clunk on the head with my sword, but it turns out that wasn’t what killed him. He was poisoned.”

  Lucille was shocked into silence.

  “Well, we haven’t got the toxicology results back yet,” I reminded John. “But the doctor thought he was poisoned.”

  “Yes, that’s right,” John agreed.

  Lucille turned on me with a cold stare. “You said we haven’t got the results back yet… Are you working for the sheriff’s department?”

  I shook my head and looked suitably chastised. “Um, no, it was a slip of the tongue. I should have said the police haven’t gotten the toxicology results back yet.”

  “And why do you want to talk to John about it?”

  I hesitated before replying and then said, “Because John was there, and I need to talk to somebody who understands what it was like.”

  Lucille made a huffing noise under her breath. “Fine, you can talk to John in his television room. I’m going to make coffee and then I’m going to have a lie down. I’ve got a terrible headache.”

  And with that, Lucille stalked off. I was rather put out that she hadn’t offered me a cup of coffee. Spending the last few hours questioning people had left me quite thirsty. I imagined in a fancy house like this they would have a matching fancy coffee machine, too.

  I pouted, but John wasn’t feeling particularly hospitable either. He bustled me into the television room and quickly shut the door behind us.

  “What do you want?” he asked, but he wasn’t looking at me. He kept his eyes on the door as though he were expecting his wife to burst in.

  I thought John was probably a little browbeaten.

  “Well, I was trying to find out if anyone at the re-enactment saw anything unusual.”

  John looked at me, incredulous. “Why don’t you leave that to the police?”

  I was prepared for this question. “Because I don’t feel safe. I keep thinking there could be some raving lunatic running around.”

  John shook his head impatiently. “I don’t have the first idea. I didn’t see anything unusual, and I don’t know who would want to murder Monty. He was a very nice guy.”

  “And he didn’t have any enemies?”

  John shook his head, and Monty piped up, “I told you I don’t have any enemies. Why don’t you believe me?”

  I would have liked to explain to Monty that sometimes ghosts are the last to realize how others felt about them.

  “Have you noticed anyone strange hanging around Cherrytown recently? Or anyone asking questions about Monty?”

  John shook his head. “Only you! Look, I’m sorry, but I know nothing about it. Now, if you don’t mind, Harper, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. My wife doesn’t like me having young women hanging around.”

  I blinked at him in surprise. Surely, she didn’t think…?

  I couldn’t understand why anyone would marry somebody they didn’t trust. John opened the door and stopped just short of shoving me outside. He caught sight of the bags I’d brought in for Lucille and sighed.

  “She’s been shopping again,” he said. He didn’t look too happy about it.

  “It must be nice to shop like that and not have to worry about money,” I commented.

  “Yes, it must be lovely not to have to justify your spending to anyone,” John said bitterly.

  He led me to the front door and said, “I know you think I’m being rude. It’s just my wife isn’t often home, and I feel like I should be spending time with her, not talking to you.”

  I nodded. “I understand.”

  John had almost shut the door on me when I turned back and said, “Oh, one last thing, do you know what’s going on between Nigel and Laura? They’ve been acting very mysteriously.”

  John turned deathly pale and then snapped, “No idea,” and slammed the door.

  I walked back to the car, trying not to feel disappointed. Monty trailed along beside me and said, “Well, Lucille certainly rules the roost in that house.”

  I couldn’t have said it better myself.

  Chapter 17

  Monty and I got back in the car feeling disheartened. It was already getting dark, and birds swooped past the car preparing to return to their roosts for the night.

  I looked back at the grand house. Despite their wealth, John and Lucille Gastineau were not a happy couple.

  I sighed and fastened my seat belt. Be
fore we set off, I received a text message from Grandma Grant, asking me to come by.

  As soon as I pulled away from the house and we were hidden by a line of trees, I said to Monty, “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to call in to Grandma Grant’s on the way home.”

  Monty looked glum. “No problem. I suppose that’s the end of our investigations for today, isn’t it?”

  I smiled apologetically and nodded. “I think so. But we will start fresh tomorrow and do some brainstorming. I’m sure that will help.”

  Monty didn’t look very confident, and I couldn’t say I blamed him.

  It was completely dark by the time we reached Grandma Grant’s house ten minutes later.

  Monty followed me inside. A fire was roaring in the hearth, and I quickly kicked off my dirty boots, which were still caked in mud from the flower bed, and took off my coat.

  I saw a flash from the corner of my eye and realized it was Athena making a run for it. She really didn’t want to be around me at the moment. Who could blame her?

  I called out hello to Grandma Grant, and she emerged from the kitchen, holding an envelope in her hand and waving it at me.

  “Here you go,” she said handing it to me and then clasped her hands together and watched me expectantly.

  I looked down at the envelope. The thick, expensive paper looked official. I gulped.

  “What’s this?”

  “It’s your results from the 101 test.”

  My stomach plummeted. “No way. It’s too early. I only just took the test. They said it would take a couple of days at least to get the results.”

  “Well, luckily for you, I called in a favor.”

  My shoulders slumped. Lucky? Finding out my test score was the last thing I wanted to do now. I was already depressed enough because we weren’t getting anywhere with Monty’s case.

  But I knew Grandma Grant wouldn’t let me put it off, so I ripped open the envelope and pulled out a sheet of paper.

  I stared at the result for ages until Grandma Grant prompted me, “Well, how did you do?”

  I handed her the sheet of paper, and her face fell. “Oh,”

  I shrugged. “I told you I failed.”

  “Yes, but Harper you got ten out of a hundred. Wasn’t it multiple-choice? Even if you’d ticked the boxes randomly, you should have got 25%, right?”

  I scowled. “Thank you for rubbing it in.”

  “Don’t be like that. There’s no point in sulking. You’ll just have to try harder next time.”

  I groaned.

  Grandma Grant narrowed her eyes as she shifted closer to the fire, holding out her hands to warm them. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “You mean despite the fact I’ve just failed an exam?”

  Grandma Grant ignored my sarcasm. “Yes, apart from that.”

  I flopped down into an armchair and stared into the fire.

  “I’m not getting anywhere. I have no leads on Monty’s killer, and I still have no idea who would have wanted him out of the way.”

  Grandma Grant sat in the armchair beside me, leaned back and said, “All right, tell me all about it.”

  And so, I did. I told her all about the strange behavior of Nigel and Laura and that I was convinced they were hiding something. I also told her about John and his wealthy wife, Lucille, and then finally I finished up with Barbara.

  Barbara seemed pretty straightforward, and right now, if I had to guess, I would say she was the least likely to have killed Monty.

  “Are those four people your only suspects?”

  “Well, I did think about going to speak to the people who acted the part of the French soldiers, but Monty said he’d never seen them before. Apparently, Pete contacted them through an Internet forum on battle re-enactments, and they came along to boost numbers.”

  Grandma Grant looked incredulous. “There are Internet forums for that sort of thing, really?”

  I nodded. “I suppose I could talk to other people who knew Monty, but I thought it had to be somebody who was at the scene because it happened so quickly.”

  Grandma Grant pondered that for a moment and then said, “Did you check out Monty’s house?”

  I frowned and shook my head. “No, why?”

  “It’s still only a renovation project at the moment,” Monty said. “And I don’t see why you would find anything important there.”

  Of course, Grandma Grant couldn’t hear Monty, so I relayed the information.

  “Monty’s house is a renovation project. He doesn’t think we’ll learn anything useful from it. What do you think I’ll find there to help us?”

  “Clues,” Grandma Grant said excitedly. “Look, no offence to Monty,” she said, looking about the room as though he might pop up at any moment. I pointed beside my chair to indicate the spot where Monty was hovering.

  Grandma Grant looked in his general direction. “Monty doesn’t think he had any enemies, and he can’t tell us why anyone would want to kill him. So, he’s either lying, or he is missing something significant.”

  “I’m not lying!” Monty said indignantly.

  “I don’t think Monty would lie,” I said. “I think he truly doesn’t know or he doesn’t remember.”

  “Exactly. If Monty can’t remember everything, maybe there is something at his house that would give us a clue or help him remember.”

  I thought that over for a minute. Grandma Grant was starting to make sense, and that scared me.

  Grandma Grant nodded and said, “It’s unlikely this was a random murder, so either Monty got on someone’s bad side, or he found out a secret that someone was prepared to kill for.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been reading those Agatha Christie mysteries again, haven’t you?”

  “Agatha is the Queen of crime,” Grandma Grant said sniffily and then added, “If Monty doesn’t know why he was killed, it’s up to us to find that out. The best way to do that is to go to his house.”

  I thought that over for a moment. Grandma Grant had a point, and it wasn’t as though I had a ton of other ideas.

  I nodded. “Okay, but how will we get in? The police will probably have locked it up.”

  Grandma Grant waved away my concerns. “We’ll go tonight under cover of darkness. The police will have left by now so we can sneak in. I bet Monty has a spare key hidden somewhere.”

  Monty nodded. “As a matter of fact, I do. It’s underneath the big flowerpot beside the back door.”

  “Well?” Grandma Grant prompted impatiently.

  I blinked at Monty instead of answering her. “Are you sure you don’t mind us going to your house and trawling through your possessions?”

  Monty shook his head. “I haven’t got anything to hide, and if it leads to you unveiling my killer, it’ll be worth it.”

  I turned to Grandma Grant. “Monty says there’s a key beside the back door under a flowerpot.”

  Grandma Grant gave a broad grin. “Excellent. Why are we still waiting around? No time like the present. Let’s go.”

  Chapter 18

  As Grandma Grant rushed upstairs to get a few things ready for our evening adventure, I turned to Monty and asked, “Are you sure about this?”

  Monty nodded. “If it will help, I’m prepared to do almost anything. I don’t want the person who killed me to get away with it, and it’s driving me crazy to think that I know who did it but can’t remember.”

  I understood. “Well, it’s still early days in the investigation,” I said, hoping to sound encouraging. “It’s highly likely that Chief Wickham and Deputy McGrady are working on some strong leads.”

  Monty nodded. “I hope so. They do seem more competent than Officer Tardy. I don’t want to be mean, but he doesn’t appear to be the brightest officer I’ve ever met.”

  I smirked. I knew exactly what Monty meant.

  We both turned when we heard Grandma Grant’s footsteps on the staircase, and I stared when she emerged into the living area dressed entirely in black, carryi
ng more black clothes and a garish hat.

  I blinked a couple of times and then said sarcastically, “No ski-mask?”

  Grandma Grant missed the sarcasm. “No.” She frowned. “I was sure I had one somewhere, but I can’t find it. I’ll have to make do with this,” she held up the black straw boater, covered with small, artificial pink roses.

  “I’m not really sure the roses are a suitable look for tonight,” I said. “Don’t you think they might stand out a bit and get you noticed?”

  But Grandma Grant wasn’t about to let artificial flowers stand in her way of an all-black outfit. With one hand, she ripped the flowers from the straw hat.

  She shrugged. “Well, I was never going to wear it again. It made me look like I had a big head.”

  “And now that you’ve removed the flowers, it makes your head look smaller?” I asked, trying not to laugh.

  “Of course.” She tugged the hat on, adjusting her bun for a snug fit. “How do I look now?”

  She was wearing a black turtleneck sweater, which fitted her just fine, but she was tugging at the waistband of her black A-line skirt.

  “I haven’t seen you in that skirt before,” I said looking at it closely.

  “The last time I wore it was at your grandfather’s funeral. It’s definitely shrunk.” She yanked at the skirt again.

  I raised an eyebrow. “It shrank while sitting in your closet?”

  Grandma Grant narrowed her eyes. “Don’t be cheeky, Harper.”

  Then she threw the bundle of black clothes she’d been holding at me. “You can wear these.”

  I should have known she’d rope me into dressing up too. I rummaged through the clothes.

  Picking out a soft, black sweater, I shrugged. The sweater wasn’t too bad. It smelled of mothballs, but other than that, it was quite cute.

  The second item of clothing I unraveled was not so pleasing to the eye. I wasn’t a fashion victim, but I definitely drew the line at wearing a pair of black, bell-bottom flares.

  I held them up. “Where on earth did you get these? I am not wearing them. No way.”

  Monty burst out laughing. “It looks like your grandmother likes to hold onto her clothes.”