“Oh, you know. Dope. Like, heroin, I guess.”
“Yikes.”
“Yeah. Bad stuff.”
A few minutes later, Crenshaw pulled up and left his car idling as he walked up to the house. He wore a blue dress shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, with black pants and tennis shoes. His beard was slightly longer than usual and his hair bordered on shaggy. It was the most casual I’d ever seen him.
I stood and thanked Pete for his help. “Good luck with your new baby sister!”
“Thanks.” He grinned mischievously. “Good luck staying away from drug dealers.”
“Amen to that.”
* * *
Crenshaw lived in a modern, luxury duplex not far from the university. As we neared his place, I started to have second thoughts about the imposition.
“You know, you can just drop me off at the office. You’ll have to unlock the building for me, but I can spend the night there.”
He raised an eyebrow in a look that told me he thought I was daft. It was a look I knew well. “Don’t be silly. I have a perfectly serviceable guest room.”
When we arrived, he unlocked his house and removed his shoes at the door. I followed suit, then stood in his foyer and took in the striking minimalism of his decor. Everything was all sleek lines and shiny surfaces.
“Wow,” I said. “Your place is so . . . clean.”
“I have a maid service. Who has time to clean?” He walked to a slim white and chrome bar cabinet and pulled out a bottle of single-malt scotch whiskey and two tumblers. He poured a finger of the amber liquid into each one and handed me a glass. “You look like you’ve been to hell and back.”
“Thanks,” I said drily. We sat in matching leather club chairs and sipped our whiskey. I was beginning to wonder if this whole night was one long Dalí-inspired dream sequence.
“Did you and what’s-his-name have a fight?”
“Who, Wes? No. He’s out of town.”
“Ah. So, you decided to go to a pajama party, and the other girls kicked you out? Left you out in the cold to fend for yourself?”
“Funny.” I gave Crenshaw the short version of what had happened.
“I have to hand it to you. You do go above and beyond for your clients.”
“Well, the whole thing was so baffling. I wanted to know what was going on. I like to have answers.” We were silent for a moment. Then, I said, “Is being partner what you expected?”
He raised his brows at the question. “For the most part. Is the position failing to meet your expectations?”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s more responsibility, of course. Perhaps you’re feeling uncertain because you haven’t yet found your niche.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know. Randall handles financial matters for the firm. Kris oversees human resources and management of client relationships. Beverly is grooming me to take over business development. I believe she’s hoping you’ll take on the role of pro bono coordinator and public relations.”
“She is?” This was news to me. But maybe it shouldn’t have been. I recalled all the recent public speaking engagements. There was almost always another partner present. They were probably reporting on my performance to Beverly.
I yawned. I was too tired to think about it anymore.
* * *
First thing I did after I woke up was call Mrs. Hammerlin at the B&B. Then I had to lean on Crenshaw once more to get me to her house. On the way, I asked him to stop at the vegan bakery for scones and pastries. I waited in the car. Even in his borrowed trench coat, I was too embarrassed to be seen in public. We parted somewhat awkwardly on the street in front of Mrs. Hammerlin’s house.
“Thanks for everything. I’ll return your jacket at the party tonight.”
“Keep it. That is, keep it until you come back to the office. No need to bring it along tonight.”
“Okay.”
“And, Keli? Be careful, will you? You have a habit of poking your pretty little nose into some dangerous business. I know you’re loath to heed such warnings, especially from me, but I feel it needs to be said. Leave police work to the police.”
I nodded without a word. All I could think was: Pretty little nose?
He took off, and I hurried up the steps of the painted Victorian, looking all bright and innocent in the morning light. Mrs. Hammerlin made coffee, while I used her guest bathroom to shower and get dressed. Then we sat together at her kitchen table. I told her all about my night—minus the part about my spell-casting and impromptu chanting. As it turned out, she didn’t mind the broken mirror or the salt on the floor, or even the “drug house” mausoleum behind her backyard. She was just thrilled to learn there wasn’t a banshee haunting the neighborhood.
Besides leaving out the part of my story where I might have inadvertently summoned a ghost, I also didn’t tell Mrs. Hammerlin about the curtain moving in the window. I never told her about the face in the mirror the other night either. What is it with mirrors in that room? For all I knew, those occurrences might have been more about me than the house. Maybe they were manifestations of my own anxieties over Josephine’s death. It was my own guilty conscience for failing to catch her killer.
Detective Rhinehardt arrived just as I was pouring myself a second cup of coffee. He let me finish drinking it, as I repeated the tale of my overnight adventure in the graveyard. His normally impassive face betrayed a flash of anger. And something else—resolve.
“This heroin epidemic is getting out of hand. It’s everywhere, and it’s destroying lives. These dealers in the cemetery, I’m sure they’re on the bottom of the heap. They probably don’t know who’s bringing the supply into Edindale. But we’ll watch them and see where it leads.”
The detective and I took a walk outside, and I showed him the mausoleum. We found cigarette butts and other litter, but that was all. Rhinehardt thanked me again for the tip and said the cops would take it from here. But instead of heading back to the house, we strolled through the cemetery toward the main entrance. I took the opportunity to raise the issue at the forefront of my mind.
“Any progress on Aunt Josephine’s case?”
The detective stopped beneath a willow tree and looked me in the eye. “Ms. Milanni—”
“Please,” I interrupted. “Call me Keli.”
“Keli. From what we’ve been able to gather, it appears your aunt was a drifter.”
“A drifter?”
“A transient. Basically, a person who wanders from place to place, jobless and homeless.”
“She wasn’t jobless,” I countered. “She had a business, Sister Seeds. Didn’t you talk to Fredeline Paul?”
“There’s no record of any legal business in your aunt’s name. And that microloan organization that funneled the original donation to Ms. Paul in Haiti? It’s since been dissolved. For all intents and purposes, its records are gone.”
I didn’t like the defeatist tone in his voice. “What about the hunters’ cabin and the stolen gun? Have you figured out why Josephine’s fingerprints were in that house when there was no evidence of a break-in?”
“Someone left the door unlocked. That’s the most likely explanation. The owners told us they sometimes let friends and acquaintances borrow the cabin in the off-season. They also have a cleaning service go through every couple of months. Someone must have forgotten to lock the door when they left, and Josephine took advantage of it. Free accommodations.”
“That doesn’t explain how she ended up shot in the woods,” I retorted.
“My guess is she hooked up with another vagrant and realized that person was dangerous. It’s not uncommon for these drifters to be drug addicts or mentally unstable. She took the gun for protection. This other person took it from her, used it, then hopped on a freight train and left town. Unfortunately, we may never catch him.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “So, you’re giving up?”
“I didn’t say that. The case is still
open. I’m only trying to manage your expectations.”
I thought about the postcards I’d seen and the proximity of HAPCO to the place where Josephine’s body was found. That was no accident. She wasn’t just “drifting” through that forest. She was there for a reason.
“What about Gil Johnson?” I asked. “Did you search his house? Doesn’t it seem suspicious that he’s disappeared so soon after Josephine’s death?”
As my voice rose, the detective’s grew softer. “Now, Keli, you know we can’t search his house without a warrant. There’s no probable cause here. Besides, his neighbor reported that Johnson lives in Edindale primarily in the summertime. Recently, he asked the neighbor to collect his mail and keep an eye on his place, just like he does every fall. That’s not exactly suspicious behavior.”
I shook my head, too frustrated to keep arguing. I couldn’t accept the fact that Josephine’s murder might go unsolved. And I was beyond disappointed that Rhinehardt appeared to be done questioning people.
Well, not me. I would keep digging. I’d keep asking questions. There had to be someone out there who knew the truth about what had happened.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
On my way home from Mrs. Hammerlin’s house, I stopped at Mila’s for my costume. I wanted to talk with her about my experiences the previous night, but she was too busy with customers to take a break. She wished me a blessed Samhain and asked me to call her later.
At home, I saw Wes briefly when he returned from Memphis. He had to turn around and leave again for his appointment with Tadd Hemsley for the newspaper profile. Before he left, I asked if he’d like to go with me to the costume party that evening. He made a face.
“As fun as that sounds, I think I’ll take a pass. Jimi said he could use a hand at the bar tonight, if I want to make some extra cash. I think I’ll take him up on that.”
“Too bad,” I said. “I’m going as a woodland fairy. I thought you could be my elfin king.”
He snorted and took me in his arms. “We don’t need a party for that. I can be your elfin king right here.”
I laughed and told him I’d miss him. But, inside, I figured it was just as well. I was on a mission tonight—and it wasn’t to have a good time.
I spent the rest of the day napping and getting ready for the party. When evening came, I drove myself to Honeycutt Manor, a sprawling private estate often rented for weddings and parties. As I walked up to the stately front door, I felt a bit like Cinderella arriving at the ball—all alone without an escort, dressed like a princess, and harboring a secret unknown to all the other guests.
As I soon discovered, everyone else had a secret too—the secret of their identity. Since this was a masquerade party, masks were required. I already had one, an emerald green eye mask adorned with jewel accents and feathers to match my shimmery, layered dress, so I was allowed to enter. Partygoers who arrived with bare faces were stopped at the door. They couldn’t proceed until they’d made a selection from a large basket of assorted half-masks. “All in good fun,” said a gatekeeper dressed like a medieval knight.
I followed the sound of music and laughter down a long hall to the grand ballroom at the rear of the mansion. A few steps in, I paused, impressed by the variety of costumes on every person in sight. Some of the partiers went the formal route, with tuxedos and ball gowns paired with ornate Venetian masks. Others chose more playful outfits. There were lots of superheroes, along with a handful of comic book villains. With a nod to the purpose for the event, there were also several guests with farm-related costumes, from famous country music singers and masked cowboys to scarecrows and farm animals. I was completely dazzled.
As I stood on the fringe, a few people began to notice me. A pirate in a gold half-mask waved at me. The Phantom of the Opera tipped his felt cap. And an uncomfortable-looking werewolf stared at me from across the room.
A dapper Zorro approached with a wineglass in hand. “You look lost, Milanni,” he said.
“How did you know it was me?”
Instead of answering, he handed me the glass. “I take it you recognized me, as well.”
“Your beard gives you away. Why didn’t you dress as a vampire again?”
“Dracula doesn’t wear a mask.”
“Ah.”
Crenshaw offered me his arm and led me to a motley group of people standing around a tall cocktail table. It took me just a second to figure out that Marie Antoinette was Beverly, the lovely Catwoman was Kris, and Prince Charming was Randall. Randall’s choice of costume wasn’t as cutesy as Farrah would have picked, but I was sure she would approve. I made a mental note to send her a photo or two.
“Love your wings,” said Kris.
“Thanks. I have to keep reminding myself they’re back there. I’m afraid I’m going to bump into somebody and knock them crooked. The wings, I mean.”
Crenshaw peered into the crowd. “I do believe I see another befuddled damsel from the firm. I’ll go fetch her.”
Beverly and Randall appeared not to hear him, but Kris and I exchanged a look. “Just when I think there’s hope for him,” I said.
Kris laughed and rolled her eyes.
When Crenshaw returned, he was accompanied by Little Bo-Peep. She wore a hoop skirt, blonde ringlets, and a red half-mask. She handed Crenshaw her crook and grabbed a glass of wine from a passing waiter. I wasn’t entirely sure it was Pammy until she spoke.
“Nobody told me masks were required! I might have chosen a different costume. Whoever heard of Little Bo-Peep in a mask?”
“Don’t answer that,” said Randall in a jokey way, though I wasn’t sure who he was talking to.
I gazed around the room at the kaleidoscope of colorful costumes. My mission seemed hopeless. How was I going to bring up Aunt Josephine in casual conversation—especially if I had no idea who I was even talking to?
Beverly touched my arm. “There’s Neal Jameson. Come with me and I’ll introduce you.”
I followed her across the room where a short, slim man in a tux and a Mardi Gras mask held court with a merry bunch of revelers. He shook my hand warmly.
“I think it’s wonderful you’re doing this,” I said. “I’d love to see more local, organic food in the area.”
“Keli is a vegan,” Beverly informed him. “Vegetables are very important to her.”
“Is that so?” said Neal. His eyes seemed to twinkle behind his sequined mask.
“No wonder she’s got such a great figure,” said a voice at my elbow. It was the gold-masked pirate, doing a passable impersonation of Captain Jack Sparrow, drunken slur and all. Ignoring him, I turned to speak to Beverly and discovered she was gone. She had moved on without me.
“Only kidding,” said the pirate, in a more staid voice. “Vegetables are important to me, too. You could say my business relies on them.”
I squinted at him. Who was this joker?
He laughed and held out his hand. “Tadd Hemsley, at your service.”
“Oh! I didn’t recognize you, Mr. Hemsley.” I shook his hand. “This whole masquerade thing is a little disconcerting.”
“That’s what makes it so much fun.”
“I guess.” The awkward werewolf appeared behind Tadd and seemed to be staring at me again. I moved an inch closer to Tadd. “So, did many of your employees come to the party?”
“Yeah, sure. We got a good showing. My workers all support the cause.”
“How many people actually work at HAPCO?”
“Hang on a minute, babe,” he said, touching my shoulder. “I see a guy I gotta talk to.” He walked away, leaving me both irritated at the brush-off and glad he was gone. Only Wes is allowed to call me “babe.”
The weird werewolf took a step in my direction, so I turned quickly to move away—and almost bumped into the Phantom of the Opera. With his theatrical black cape, white gloves, and satin vest, he cut a dashing but mysterious figure. His white mask covered the top half of his face, instead of one side as with the iconic phantom mask.
“Hi, there,” he said. “Want to dance?”
I was so startled, I nodded in agreement. There was something familiar about the man. I took his hand and we proceeded to the dance floor. Instead of the classical music one might expect at a masquerade ball, tonight’s event featured fast-paced Halloween party music. The DJ played “Don’t Fear the Reaper,” a 1970s melancholy rock number about death’s inevitability and undying love. It had a spooky feel in spite of the cowbell. Somehow it seemed appropriate.
The stranger and I faced each other and danced to the music. When the song ended, I did a little curtsy and took off to find my colleagues. This whole scene was turning out to be weirder than I’d expected.
As I waded through the throngs without seeing anyone I knew, I ended up at the French doors leading to a sparkling, decorated terrace. Evidently, the party had begun to spill outdoors. I spotted Tadd smoking a cigarette in a grassy area beyond the veranda, but no one from the firm. I moved along, wondering where everyone had gone.
“Ooh, love your costume!” said a female voice. I turned to see a woman dressed like Neytiri from the movie Avatar, with a blue, animal-striped jumpsuit, pointy ears, and braided wig with beads. Her face paint was so professionally done, it distorted her own features—and apparently got her past the front door without a mask.
“Thanks,” I said. “Your costume is awesome.”
She grinned and twirled her tail. “Any chance to be a Na’vi.”
We were joined by a couple of guys in skeleton masks. “Hey, Ricki,” said one. “Who’s your pixie friend?”
“No idea,” said Neytiri with a laugh. I studied her face behind the paint. Was this Ricki Day, the environmental inspector? She looked so different.
“You both are so cute,” said the other skeleton. “But not very Halloweeny. Where are all the witches and zombies? I thought Halloween costumes were supposed to be scary.”
The next song from the DJ’s booth was “Monster Mash.” The skeleton man raised his hand in the air as if the song proved his point. “See!”
“Spooky stuff doesn’t impress me,” said Ricki. “I spent my childhood living next to a cemetery. Got my fill of the morbid.”
Samhain Secrets Page 17
