02-A Spirited Tail

by Leighann Dobbs

  I remembered Gladys' son. He would be in his early fifties—just about the right age to be Charles' son. Maybe she got pregnant, Charles spurned her, and she killed him in a fit of rage.

  But that didn't fit because Charles' murder was premeditated and set up to look like a suicide on purpose. Maybe they weren't even having an affair and she killed him simply because she knew he was going to leave her money when he died.

  But why would he leave her money in the first place?

  "If you weren't having an affair, then why did you leave her money?"

  "Harumph." Van Dorn's bushy eyebrows pinched and wiggled together, like two caterpillars fighting. "That’s none of your concern. Gladys was a valued employee and she did me a great service while I was alive and some of that extended after I died."

  "What? What do you mean she did you a service after you died?"

  "Never mind, it has nothing to do with my death. Aren't you going to follow the trail I was already on?"

  "Okay, I’ll bite. What evidence did you find?"

  "Lily was found murdered with one of my favorite cufflinks in her hand. That was a setup. My cufflinks had gone missing earlier that weekend. Of course, the police didn't believe me, but you can ask anyone who was at the house. Anyway, there was one other thing that the police never thought was important, and I think that’s the clue to the real killer."

  "And what was that?"

  Van Dorn leaned toward me. "There was talcum powder in her hair."

  "Talcum powder?"

  "Yes. And quite a bit of it, too. Lily didn't use it. She didn't have any in her room. It was as if the killer sprinkled it there on purpose, or it fell from them onto her."

  My brows knit together and I pictured the deep crease that was going to become permanent in between them if I kept frowning like this. This was his big clue? I didn't want to insult him, but I couldn’t see how talcum powder would help us solve the murder.

  "Why would the killer do that?" I asked.

  "That’s for you to figure out," Charles said. "And I'm going to stick to you like glue until you do."

  Great. I could hardly wait to have an annoying ghost tagging along everywhere I went. I tilted my head and looked at him. He was looking back with his most sincere face, but I had to wonder if he was hiding something or lying to me. I didn't think so—my investigator’s intuition told me he was telling me what he knew.

  But why wouldn’t he tell me who those love letters were to? I was just about to ask when the bells over the door jingled, pulling my attention away long enough to see Pepper rush in, waving her hands, her face flushed.

  I turned back to Charles, but he was gone.

  "Did you hear the news?" Pepper asked.

  I swung my attention back in her direction. "What?"

  "Steve Van Dorn has been released." Pepper's green eyes looked huge in contrast to her peaches and cream complexion. "He didn't kill Bruce."

  "What? That can't be right. He had the pen and a motive."

  "Mew!" Pandora batted a pen out from under the chair as if to accentuate my words.

  I picked up the pen and held it up. "See, even Pandora agrees."

  Pepper frowned at the pen, then at Pandora. "Okay, well, I'm telling you he was released. It turns out he has an air-tight alibi."

  I let that sink in for a few seconds. Steve wasn't Bruce's killer? That changed things.

  But, if Steve didn't kill Bruce, then who did? I thought the motive was the extra money Steve would be making with the renewed interest in the Van Dorn curse because of the marking on Bruce's forehead.

  Who else would have motive? Bruce had argued with the writer, Les Price, but surely a little argument in a diner wouldn’t have amounted to murder. Even if it did, you'd think the murder would have happened in the heat of the argument at the diner.

  Maybe there was something from Bruce's past that had gotten him killed?

  The image of Gladys Primble chopping wood flashed into my mind. She had the strength to do it even at her age, and she'd acted strangely when I told her about Van Dorn’s house being for sale. Who better to have talcum powder than the housekeeper?

  "I think I might have another suspect." I told Pepper about my visit to Gladys and Van Dorn's strange clue. "She was around during the time of Charles' murder and so was Bruce. Maybe Bruce knew something that she didn't want him talking about."

  "But, why would she wait all those years to silence Bruce? I don't think that’s it, but …" Pepper chewed her bottom lip, her eyes narrowed in thought.

  "What?"

  "Maybe Charles fathered Gladys’ son."

  "Maybe. I could see why she wouldn’t want that discovered, and it could be the reason that Charles left her the money." I looked over to where Charles ghost had been. "But, Charles swore he wasn't having an affair with her and I don't think he was lying."

  "I just hope this hasn’t shaken Jimmy's confidence. He was pretty pumped up when he brought Steve in."

  As if on cue, the door opened and Jimmy shuffled in. His shoulders were slumped, his face long.

  "I guess you guys heard."

  "Yeah, sorry." Pepper's face was etched with concern. "What happened?"

  "It turns out Steve wasn't even in town at the time of death."

  "Really?" I scrunched up my face. "But I saw him that morning at the house."

  "Yep." Jimmy sat down on the couch. "He got in around six thirty a.m., but Bruce was killed around two a.m., so Steve couldn’t have done it. He was on an airplane, and that’s been confirmed."

  "But he had the pen!"

  Jimmy rolled his eyes. "You won’t believe his story. He says he got off the plane and went right to the house. Bruce was already dead. He claims he tried to revive him. He didn't want to call it in, being the new guy in town and he's had a checkered past. Claims to be all rehabilitated and all that, but didn't want to risk it. The weird thing is he says he did write on the forehead."

  "What?" Pepper blanched. "Yech."

  "He seemed pretty embarrassed about it," Jimmy continued. "He said he only wanted to increase the value of his possessions and then had the audacity to claim he wasn't being greedy!"

  "Sheesh."

  Jimmy looked at the floor, his face splotched with outbreaks of acne that hadn't been there yesterday. "Needless to say, Augusta and Striker are a little put out with me."

  And probably with me, too, I thought.

  "But I overheard Steve say he needed money bad." I tapped the pen against my lips. "Maybe he had an accomplice and they set it up this way so as to confuse the police?"

  "Do you think he would be that clever? And who would be his accomplice? He doesn’t seem to know anyone here," Jimmy said.

  "Oh, yes he does."

  "Who?" Jimmy and Pepper asked in unison.

  "Emma."

  "The church lady?" Jimmy looked at me like I was crazy. "She wouldn’t kill Bruce."

  "I know, but when she was here this morning and heard Steve was arrested, she got all flustered and ran out."

  "Well, that’s weird," Pepper said. "Why do you think that would be?"

  "I have no idea," I answered aloud, which was true, but I knew one way to find out that I didn't want to mention out loud.

  It was time to pay a visit to the cattery.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The cattery for the feral cats was located on a tract of land that the church owned. It was hidden off the beaten path. There were many opposers in town and we didn't want to advertise where the cattery was, which was also the reason I couldn’t talk about it in front of Jimmy—I didn't know if he was friend or foe.

  I made it a point to pick up some extra cat food when I went shopping to donate to the feral cats. So, even though the church was within walking distance, I got my jeep from the town parking lot and drove to the church, parking near the edge of the lot near the cattery. I figured the less people who saw me lugging stuff from my car into the woods, the better.

  I got out and popped the back of my
jeep, grabbed the two cloth grocery bags, snuck a furtive look around the parking lot and headed down the trail.

  The canopy of trees in the woods lowered the temperature by a couple of degrees, which was most welcome on the hot summer day. Sunlight filtered through the dense foliage, sparkling dots on the trail in front of me. Birds chirped and flew from branch to branch.

  As I reached the cattery, the peaceful sounds of the forest were broken by voices inside. Two voices—a man and a woman. My heart clutched as I recognized them. Steve Van Dorn and Emma.

  I stood outside the building, my muscles tense.

  Was Emma in trouble?

  Listening to the conversation, I could tell by the low tones there was no conflict going on. It appeared they were just having a friendly chat, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying. I relaxed and pushed the door, listening to it creak open.

  The conversation stopped and Steve and Emma both turned to look at me. I felt a tingle of nervousness as I wondered if Steve knew I had given Jimmy the tip on the marker.

  "Oh, Willa, did you bring more food? Thank you so much." Emma rushed over to take the bags from me. "You two know each other, right?"

  "Yep. Hi, Steve."

  I looked quizzically at Emma, wondering just what Steve was doing there.

  "Steve is a friend of our cause. He's helping me capture some of these cats so we can get them spayed and neutered," Emma explained.

  I noticed several cat carriers on the floor with their doors open. Insuring the feral cat population didn't run unchecked was important, so getting them spayed and neutered was a critical part of our program.

  The cats, though, weren't as excited about it as we were and it could be impossible to coax them into the crates. Every month, we tried to take at least a few to Doc Evans, who donated his time and medical supplies for the job.

  Steve squatted down next to a crate and extended his hand toward a black and white tuxedo cat that he was trying to coax inside the crate with a treat. I marveled at the way the cat responded to him. Apparently, Steve had a way with animals. Most of the feral cats weren't fit for adoption. They distrusted humans too much. But some could become house cats and find their forever home… maybe this tuxedo cat was one of the lucky ones. But, even though the cat seemed to like and trust Steve, I still didn't.

  He looked up at me sheepishly. "I suppose you heard what happened."

  He didn't seem mad at me, so I figured he didn't know I was the one who tipped off the police, which was good. Even if he wasn't a killer, I still didn't want to be on his bad side.

  I nodded.

  Steve looked down at the floor and shifted his position. "I feel embarrassed about it now. I mean, it was a dirty thing to do. I guess I just wanted what was best for the cats."

  "Cats?"

  "Steve has his own feral cat rescue back home," Emma cut in.

  "You do?" My first impression of Steve was that he was trouble. I couldn’t picture him catering to cats, but with the way he was gently coaxing the little tuxedo cat, I had to admit my first impression might have been wrong.

  Steve nodded. "Yes, but it's in trouble. We need to raise money fast or the building is going to be condemned and the cats will be taken to shelters. Some of them will likely be euthanized because they aren't fit for adoption."

  My stomach twisted at his words. I hate the thought of cats being euthanized, especially if it could be prevented.

  "That’s why I wrote on that man’s forehead. I had just flown in and came up to see the house first thing. I didn't even get inside and I heard the dog crying and saw that man lying there. I rushed over, thinking he needed help, but he was already dead. And then I got the idea to write the symbol. I'd been reading up a lot about the curse and planning on using my uncle's past and the curse to spur interest in the items and… " Steve shrugged. "I guess it was bad judgment."

  "Wait. You heard Ranger? He was there?"

  "The Golden? Yeah. Nice dog."

  "He let you touch Bruce?"

  "Yep. He seemed nervous. I got the impression he wanted me to help, but I couldn’t and then he sniffed me and we made friends."

  "So, then what did you do?"

  Steve's face turned red. "I went home and waited for someone else to discover the body. I couldn’t call it in with my past, and there was no helping the guy anyway. I'm not proud of it."

  "Now Steve, that’s nothing to be ashamed of. You had good intentions," Emma clucked.

  I wasn't sure what to say. He did have good intentions but it was still creepy. I had to admit I did feel a little sorry for him … if what he said was true. But why would he be at the cattery if it wasn't?

  "You didn't see anyone or pass anyone on the road? Or see any evidence?" I asked.

  "Nope. The police asked all that." Steve narrowed his eyes at me. "Are you with them?"

  "Oh, no. She just has a habit of butting in," Emma cut in.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw several of the cats converging on the corner of the barn, leaping and batting at something invisible … no, not exactly invisible. The swirling mists of Charles Van Dorn solidified for a second and he looked at me pointedly—a reminder about researching his murder.

  "Do you know a lot about your uncle’s past?"

  Steve shook his head. "Just that he was some kind of psychic and there was a big to-do about his death and he killed some girl he had staying there."

  "He was a nice man, your uncle," Emma said. "I don't think he killed anyone."

  "You knew him?" I said incredulously. I couldn’t picture little mousy Emma hanging around with the Mystic Notch celebrities.

  Her mouth straightened into a prim line. "Well, I went to a few parties up there."

  I slipped the picture of the guy staring at Lily that I'd taken from the Van Dorn photo album out of my pocket. "Do you know who this is?"

  "Oh, sure, he's that writer guy, Les’s father."

  "Sal Price?"

  "Yes, that was his name." Emma shivered. "I never much liked him, but Charles said the press coverage helped him make a big name for himself so he invited him to everything."

  Could Sal Price have been involved? Maybe his son, Les, would know something. I made a mental note to visit him out at the Moonlight Motel.

  "What do you know about Lily Johanson and Charles?" I asked Emma.

  "Not much. I think Lily was sweet on him." Her face turned pink. "I can’t say I blame her. He was a handsome man. It's such a shame he decided to take his own life."

  Over in the corner, Charles' ghost puffed up and swirled at the compliment.

  "He didn't return her affections?" I persisted.

  "No. He was entirely focused on his career."

  "What about his housekeeper?"

  Emma's brows mashed together. "Gladys?"

  I nodded.

  "Oh, I've known her for years. They were very close and she was broken up badly when he died."

  "You don't think Charles and Gladys could have been … you know." I wiggled my eyebrows and Emma looked at me funny, then her eyes went wide.

  "Certainly not. She was married to a very nice man. Charles was too much of a gentleman to fool around with a married woman. They were very close, though. I remember she wanted to go back into the house and collect some memorabilia after Charles died, but the police had it shut up tight." She tilted her head and looked up at the ceiling. "I don't think anyone was ever allowed in after that until Steve inherited it. She still lives right here in town."

  Emma looked at Steve. "I guess you didn't realize that house had such an interesting history."

  Steve's brown eyes were alive with interest. "I didn't. You know, I never actually thought much about it, but I guess Uncle Charles did live an interesting life."

  "Do you know why Charles left Gladys money?" I asked Emma.

  "He left her money?" Emma looked from me to Steve and we both nodded. "I didn't hear that. But I do know one thing … I'm not sure Gladys would have still worked for him much longe
r anyway."

  "Why?"

  "She was about six months pregnant when he died."

  Chapter Sixteen

  Now that Steve was in the clear, my job of cataloguing the library was back on, so I headed to Van Dorn's after work. Ranger had eaten a full supper and Pandora had made a lot of discontented mewling sounds as I left home.

  I was looking forward to finishing up with the books and hopefully finding those journals.

  Steve pulled in the same time I did and we greeted each other in the driveway. I still thought what he did to Bruce was creepy, but I kind of had a soft spot for him now that I knew he was a cat lover.

  "I hope you won’t tell anyone my little secret," Steve said.

  "That you're a cat lover?"

  "Yep." He smiled and, for the first time, I noticed he had a nice smile that transformed his face.

  "Nah, don't worry, your secret is safe with me," I said. "I was wondering, though, how do you know Emma?"

  "The feral cat network on Facebook."

  "There's a network?" I asked as we walked up onto the porch together and Steve unlocked the door.

  "Yeah, it’s like a closed group. We help each other out." Steve unlocked the door and gestured for me to precede him inside.

  "Huh."

  "So, why do you think this Norton guy was killed?" he asked. "At first, I thought maybe he just had a heart attack, but I guess not, considering all the interest from the police."

  "It wasn't a heart attack. It's a mystery as to why he was killed."

  Steve scratched his head. "Is that why you've been asking all those questions? You think it has something to do with my uncle, don't you?"

  "I … well … " I stammered. I was never very good at lying.

  He pressed his lips together, scanning the house. "You know, this whole history is really interesting. Maybe I shouldn’t be selling this stuff off in such a hurry. And the interest in those journals, what do you make of that?"

  "Good question. I don't know, but more than one person really wants them."

  "Yeah, we better be careful with those. Do you think this Bruce guy was after the journals?"

  "That’s a good question." I hadn’t considered that angle. Bruce knew Charles and hung around here back in the day. Maybe he had come here that night for the journals … but why wait all this time?