02-A Spirited Tail

by Leighann Dobbs

  I rolled my eyes. "No, I found them at Van Dorn's. They're from him to some unknown lover."

  "Really? How romantic." Pepper gently picked up one of the letters and opened it. Her perfectly arched brows climbed her forehead as her eyes scanned the page. "Wow."

  "Yes, apparently this affair was hush-hush."

  "Right. Which means he wasn't supposed to be having it." Pepper chewed her bottom lip. "Do you think the person was married and the jealous husband killed Van Dorn?"

  "Maybe. I'm definitely going to have to ask him about these, but I don't see how they could have had anything to do with Lily, because one of the letters says, 'Lily must not find out'. I pulled the third letter out of the pile and Pepper unfolded it to read.

  "We need a list of the women who hung around Van Dorn back in the day," Pepper said, her eyes still glued to the letter.

  "I know. Too bad that was so long ago. I don't know who to ask."

  "Maybe Bing knows. He must have known Van Dorn if they were in the same type of business."

  "He did say he knew him. He even asked if I would look for some journals with instructions for magic tricks." I made a mental note to ask Bing about the people who hung around Charles Van Dorn.

  Pepper leaned back in the chair and picked up another letter. "So, did you find out anything more about Bruce Norton's murder?"

  "Not really. I did see Striker looking over the crime scene last night when I was at Van Dorn’s."

  "Oh?" Peppers brows ticked up.

  I nodded. "He didn't really give me any clues, though. Only that Ruth heard cars going up and down the road all night."

  "On that road? No one drives down there."

  "I know. But the killer must have, so she must have heard at least one car, and of course she said it was around six and Bruce died around two so that doesn’t make much sense."

  "Ruth has been complaining about cars going by all day and night since they put that stream gaging station in up the road from her thirty years ago. Plus, she hasn’t made much sense in years."

  "True. Striker also said that Bruce was hit hard with something. I guess it must have been in the back of his head because I didn't see anything bashed in when I found him face up."

  "He was face-up?"

  "Yep, that’s how I saw the weird triangle mark."

  Pepper puckered her lips and squinted her eyes. "Well, if he was hit in the back of the head, wouldn’t he have fallen face down?"

  I hadn't thought about that. "I guess so. The killer must have turned him to make the mark on his forehead."

  "Yeah, I guess. I'm sure Striker and Augusta have thought of that."

  "They wouldn’t tell me if they had. You know how tight-lipped those two are."

  "Yeah, we need someone in that police department that will feed us information," Pepper said.

  I looked at her curiously. She was getting more interested in these cases than I was. "I didn't realize you had a hankering for solving murders."

  Her face brightened. "Oh, I love to watch murder mysteries on TV. Of course, I don't have the experience you do with your background, but I still think it's fun. We do need an 'in' at the police station, though. What about that new recruit Gus has?"

  "Jimmy?"

  "Yes! He doesn’t seem to have a lot of confidence. I bet we could persuade him to fill us in." Pepper got a dreamy look on her face and I was afraid of what was coming next. "In fact, I bet I could help him out with that lack of confidence"

  "Oh, no, don't mess with that poor guy. He's just a kid." I remembered the disastrous consequences the last time one of Peppers herbal teas had backfired and I could only imagine what would happen if she made Jimmy even less confident."

  "What?" Pepper blinked at me innocently. "You have to admit, I did help Ophelia."

  I nodded my agreement. "But Jimmy will get confidence over time as he gets more experience. Besides, I don't really need information on Bruce's murder. I'm leaving that to the police."

  "But, don't you think the two are related?"

  "Related? No. What makes you say that?"

  Pepper shrugged. "Well, it just seems pretty odd that all of a sudden the house is being sold off and Bruce ends up dead in the back yard with that symbol on his forehead."

  "Maybe, but I think it’s more likely that someone put that symbol there to capitalize on the curse."

  "What do you mean?"

  "You know how people collect weird stuff, right? Well, it turns out the Van Dorn curse is very collectible. Especially since Bruce was found with that symbol on his forehead. It seems to have rekindled interest in the old curse."

  "You think someone killed Bruce to make the curse more popular?"

  "According to Hattie and Cordelia, the nephew who inherited the house is making a bundle off the contents on eBay. It wouldn’t be the first time someone killed to make more money."

  "But why Bruce?"

  I shrugged. "Maybe he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

  "I didn't realize that kind of stuff was so popular."

  "I guess so. There's even a guy in town that is writing a book on Van Dorn. Come to think of it, he had a run-in with Bruce the night before Bruce was killed."

  "A run-in?" Pepper’s eyes lit up. "Maybe he's the killer?"

  "I thought about that. I even talked to him down at The Mystic Cafe, but judging by the way he reacted when I told him about Bruce's body being found, he probably isn’t the killer."

  "Maybe he's just a good actor. I mean, the killer would hardly want to let on that they knew about it already. And it sounds like a book on the curse would surely be profitable."

  I thought back to Les's reaction. "I don't think he was that good of an actor. His father covered a lot of the stories about Charles Van Dorn fifty years ago. He'd even started, but never finished, a book on him. His father recently passed away and I guess he wants to finish the book to honor his dad. I don't think he'd be strong enough to club Bruce–he was just a little guy."

  "You might want to team up with him, then, because he might know a lot about what went on fifty years ago. He could be a good resource to help you figure out what happened to Charles."

  I pressed my lips together. She did have a point, and I didn't have too many ideas on other places to find information. I made a mental note to become friends with Les Price.

  Pepper fluffed the letters gently into a pile and stood. "I have to get back to The Tea Shoppe. You'll let me know if you get any more clues, right?"

  "Sure." I picked up the letters to hide them back in my notebook. "But, like I said, I'm not investigating Bruce's death, just Van Dorn's."

  "Right. That’s what I meant." She pulled the door open, then turned back to face me. "And Willa …"

  "Yeah?"

  "I think you'd be smart to stay away from that nephew. If your suspicions are correct, he could be the killer and if he's killed once, he might not think twice about killing again."

  Chapter Ten

  I spent the rest of the afternoon half-heartedly waiting on customers. Pepper's parting words echoed in my mind. I had planned to go back to Van Dorn's after work and try to complete my inventory of his library, but if my suspicions were correct and Steve really was the killer, that might not be very smart.

  I had been so busy with customers and so deep in my own thoughts, I didn't notice the storm rolling in. Suddenly, the street outside the shop was dark. Pandora and Ranger shifted their positions restlessly. The leaves twisted furiously on the trees. I angled my head to look out the window at the angry, deep purplish-gray sky and then saw something else that made me pull back sharply from the window.

  Felicity Bates and the silver-haired woman were on the sidewalk looking in at me!

  The door blew open with a loud bang, filling the shop with the scent of ozone, and the two women sashayed in as if they were out for a Sunday afternoon stroll on a sunny day.

  Pandora jolted out of her cat bed, took one look at Felicity, arched her back and hissed
loudly. Then she scrambled off the window seat and ran into the back.

  I remembered Felicity didn't like cats. Apparently, the feeling was mutual.

  "Can I help you?" I reached down to massage the dull throb in my leg.

  "Hello, Wilhelmina," Felicity looked at me as fondly as she would look at a cockroach in her salad. "This is our family friend Claire Smith-Baker."

  I turned to the silver-haired woman, who nodded a greeting. At least she wasn't looking at me with distaste. Instead, she was looking at me with a keen interest, like I was science experiment.

  "Nice to make your acquaintance." She nodded her head at me.

  "Same here." I think.

  I raised my brows expectantly, hoping they'd get to the reason for their visit. I knew it couldn’t be social, given the history between Felicity and me. And I figured it had to be important for that same reason—there was no way Felicity would come into my shop unless she absolutely had to.

  "We heard you were selling off the books from the Van Dorn estate." Claire glanced at the rows of bookshelves and I followed her gaze, my heart jumping when Robert Frost's ghost peeked out from the end of one of the rows. Claire did a double-take, squinting in that direction.

  Had she see him?

  I felt a momentary panic, but then she turned back to me with a smile on her lips.

  "I'm not actually selling them off," I said. "I'm just inventorying them for the estate. I suggested they sell them at auction. There are so many books in the collection."

  Claire leaned over the counter, her light gray eyes, sharp and clear, drilled into mine. "I'm interested mainly in some handwritten journals that I believe Charles Van Dorn kept."

  An invisible hand squeezed my heart.

  Bing had asked me about handwritten journals, too. Why was everyone suddenly so interested in them?

  I studied Claire. She seemed harmless enough. Her silvery hair was swept up in a barrette in the back from which a thick, lustrous fountain of hair fell halfway down her back. The pale green dress hung on her thin frame. My eyes fell to her neck where she wore an unusual silver necklace—double serpents intertwined with light green chalcedony stones.

  She stared at me intently, but her gaze didn't feel menacing. If it weren’t for the fact that she was hanging around with Felicity, I probably would have just thought she was a nice old lady who dressed oddly.

  But she was hanging with Felicity, which made her request all the more suspicious.

  "I haven't come across any journals," I said sweetly.

  Felicity pressed her lips together. "I told you she wouldn’t help."

  Claire shot her an angry look out of the corner of her eye.

  "Now, now. If she hasn’t seen them, she hasn’t seen them." She turned back to me, her face transforming from angry to sweetly smiling. "But if you come across them, I do hope you will let me know."

  She produced a business card from her pocket and slid it across the counter, the scent of patchouli drifting across along with it. My eyes widened as I read it—'Claire Smith-Baker - Spiritual Medium'.

  "You're a medium?"

  She nodded. "Yes, dear. I talk to dead people."

  I glanced nervously at the area where Robert Frost had been, relaxing when I noticed he wasn't there. I didn't want Claire to know I had ghosts in my store or that I talked to them.

  I slid the card into my pocket. "I’ll let you know if I find anything."

  "Excellent." She turned to leave, pulling Felicity along with her. "I'm staying at the Bates Mansion and my cell phone number is on the back of the card."

  The Bates Mansion was a monstrosity on the outskirts of town, high up on the mountain. It loomed over the valley with its spiked roof lines and black metal wrought iron fence. The side of it had been blown off in an unfortunate incident that I'd injured my hand in earlier in the summer, but I imagined they had probably fixed that by now. I had made it a point not to drive by and check. But if Claire was staying there, it meant she must be a good friend of the family. My lips quirked up in a smile as I wondered if ornery old Idris Bates, the family patriarch, had gotten himself a girlfriend.

  The two women exited the shop, Felicity spearing me with a hate-filled glance before she slammed the door shut.

  I stared at the door, listening to the rain drum on the window. What was so special about this hand written journal? It seemed like quite a few people were after it and I had to wonder if the journal had anything to do with Van Dorn's murder fifty years ago. Where had it been all these years and why all the sudden interest?

  I blew out my cheeks, slipping Claire's card out of my pocket for another look. I shouldn’t be surprised that she claimed to be a medium. Felicity claimed to be some sort of witch and Idris had an evil disposition, so it stood to reason they'd have a friend that could talk to the dead.

  Maybe Pepper was right and Bruce's murder was related to Van Dorn's. Maybe they both had something to do with these journals everyone wanted, and if I followed the clues to Bruce's murder I would figure out what happened to Van Dorn. It sure would be easier to follow fresh clues than ones that were fifty years old. Then again, my main suspect for Bruce's murder was Steve Van Dorn and he was too young to have killed Charles.

  As I stared out the window, the drumming rain tapered off. Pandora came out from the back of the store and reclaimed her spot at the window. Ranger sighed and rolled on his side. The sun came out and a colorful rainbow appeared in the sky.

  The sidewalk filled with tourists who had taken refuge from the rain inside the various shops and I noticed a familiar figure struggling down the sidewalk with a large bag.

  The shop door opened and Jimmy Ford lumbered in, dropping the huge, twenty-five pound bag on the floor with a thud.

  Ranger lifted his head and sniffed.

  "I brought some of Ranger's food from Bruce Norton's house." Jimmy bent down to pat Ranger, who had walked over to sniff the bag. "I figured he should have what he was used to eating."

  "Thanks. Were you there looking for clues?" I must be slipping because I hadn't thought that there could be a clue to Bruce's murder at his house. Then again, I reminded myself that I wasn't really investigating Bruce's murder.

  "Yep."

  "How is the case coming?"

  Jimmy looked startled, then glanced at the floor. "I'm not sure if I'm supposed to say …"

  "Oh, I wouldn’t tell." I leaned toward him. "Maybe I can even help."

  Jimmy looked at me hopefully. "Well, I really could use some help. I don't feel like I've contributed much and—"

  The door burst open and Pepper came rushing in carrying a large tray loaded with cookies, porcelain teacups and saucers, a steaming teapot and handmade tea bags.

  She zoned in on Jimmy. "Hi, Jimmy. Would you like some tea and oatmeal cookies? They're fresh out of the oven."

  I frowned at her. Had she been hovering in her store window, waiting for him to walk by so she could fix him with one of her herbal teas? It surely seemed that way.

  Jimmy's face lit up. "Oatmeal cookies are my favorite."

  Pepper ignored my frown and invited Jimmy over to the sofa. Ranger flopped down beside it, one eye on the bag of food. Pepper started her pouring ritual. First putting the tea bags in the cups, then pouring the steaming water over them.

  "Lemon?" she asked Jimmy, who shook his head.

  She put a cookie on a napkin and handed it to Jimmy while the tea steeped.

  "Milk?" She pointed to a tiny silver creamer on the tray. Jimmy nodded and she poured a dash into a blue and white porcelain cup, then handed it to Jimmy.

  "Jimmy just came from Bruce Norton's with some dog food for Ranger." I skirted around the counter and stooped to snag a cookie from the tray.

  "Oh, really?" Pepper turned inquisitive eyes on Jimmy. "Did you find anything at his place that could lead to arresting his killer?"

  Jimmy's eyes shifted nervously from Pepper to me and back again.

  "It’s okay. You can tell us," I encouraged hi
m. "I know how Gus can make it hard on new recruits and I still remember a few investigative techniques from my former job, so maybe I can help you out."

  "Would you?" Jimmy brightened. "Augusta said you used to be a crime journalist. She raves about your investigative techniques. I could learn a lot from you."

  I paused, momentarily taken aback. Gus raved about me? I had no idea my sister was proud of my former career. She usually acted like my investigating habits were a nuisance.

  "Sure, I could help you," I said. "Tell me what you've learned."

  Jimmy slurped the last of the tea from his cup and I noticed Pepper had a satisfied smirk on her face. He grabbed a cookie and bit in.

  "Well, we didn't find anything at Bruce Norton's house."

  Ranger let out a pathetic whine at the mention of his former master's name and Jimmy leaned over, gingerly giving him a few pats on the head. I mentally considered adding Jimmy to my list of potential adopters for Ranger, but then dismissed the thought. He seemed a bit afraid of the dog and I had my doubts as to whether he could handle him properly.

  "Really? What did you see? Was there anything amiss?"

  "Not really. No signs of a struggle or anything to indicate he had an ongoing disagreement with anyone." Jimmy chewed his cookie thoughtfully. "There was one thing that seemed odd, but I'm not sure it meant anything."

  My gut started to tingle. "That’s good. As an investigator, you need to go with your instincts. What was it?"

  "He had a folder full of pictures, documents and newspaper clippings open on the dining room table, like he was studying or something. But they were old and yellowed, from a long time ago."

  "Really?" I mumbled, trying to choke down the cookie that had turned to a lump of paste in my mouth. I had a sneaking suspicion those pictures had something to do with the murders of Charles and Lily. Maybe there was a connection between the two murders. Bruce had been friendly with the Van Dorn crowd back then so maybe he knew something about the murders. Or maybe Bruce was the killer, but if he was, then who killed him and why? I needed to get to Bruce's place and take a look for myself.

  "Do you think that’s relevant? I wasn't sure if I should mention it to Augusta."