“Oh come on, Mele. You know I’m right.”
“Maybe.”
“We can’t let ourselves get bogged down in red herrings just to satisfy our….”
I waited, tensed, for what she was going to say next. Egos? Self esteem? Self-delusional nature?
“Semi-justifiable wishes.”
I relaxed. She looked at me questioningly and I smiled and nodded. “Okay. I get your point. I’ll keep my speculations to myself for now.”
“Good.” She looked relieved. “We might not even need your speculations. Because I think I know who did it.”
“Who?”
“Astrid.”
I thought she was nuts, but what the heck. She was allowed to have crazy theories too.
“Okay. Let’s have it.”
“Here’s how I see it. Astrid and Jerry have been having an affair for weeks. Celinda is beginning to get suspicious. She plans her trip to Cambria to give them a chance to be together, only she also plans to arrive in the middle of the night and catch them at it. The only trouble is, by the time she arrives, Jerry is already dead.”
“Yowza.”
“Yes. You see, he has come back from Santa Barbara and met with Astrid, but instead of feathering a love nest, he’s planning to let Astrid know that it’s all over. He wants her gone, off the property, out of his life. And he tells her she doesn’t have any real talent anyway. That she will never be the artist Celinda is. Infuriated, Astrid picks up a heavy object and hits him in the head, then races off. In the morning, she waits until someone is there—us!--to witness her actions, then pretends to find him for the first time.”
She looked satisfied with that. “What do you think?”
I frowned. “I think, old buddy, old pal, that you forgot about Celinda coming home at 2 am. What about that? Why doesn’t she just call the cops at that point?”
She bit her lip. “Maybe Tom Hatchett made that up,” she said hopefully. “He seems the type to do things like that.” She frowned. “Anyway, why would Celinda go through all the trouble of taking all her art work with her up to Cambria and then just come back in the middle of the night? With no sleep, she’d be a zombie the next day. She wouldn’t be able to do anything.”
I had to hide my grin. If there was one thing Jill refused to risk, it was her beauty sleep. Being sure to get her full eight hours a night was always number one with her. “But that’s exactly what she did.”
“If we believe Tom Hatchett.”
“True.”
“Hey.” She kicked me under the table. “Look who just came in.”
I knew it had to be Roy before I turned to check.
She slid out and gave me a wink. “I see there’s a line beginning to form at the drink window. I’d better go help out. See you later.”
Chapter Eight
Jill waved at Roy, and then he was coming my way with a drink in his hand. I watched as he came closer, studying him, trying to analyze what made him seem so much hunkier than the other men in this place. Because he did. Oh yes he did.
It was the look in his eyes, I decided. There was confidence there, and humor, and a certain love for life that beamed out from him. When he smiled at me I couldn’t stop myself. I had to smile back.
“Hey pretty girl,” he said as he slid in across from me. “What kind of mischief are you two cooking up?”
“Who? Us?” I tried the wide-eyed innocent look but it just made him laugh.
“Yeah, you. Come on. Out with it. You’re speculating about the Jerry Moore murder, aren’t you?”
I did a coy pose. “Maybe.”
He took a long sip of his mocha, leaned back and said, “So who did it?”
“We…I don’t know.”
“Oh come on. It wouldn’t be in character for you to stay mute on this. You’ve got your murderer pegged. Who is it?”
I sighed. There was no point in pretending. Besides, we had a right to our ideas. No point in pretending otherwise.
“I say Vlad, Jill says Astrid.”
He blinked. “Vlad? Who’s Vlad?”
“My boss.”
He frowned. “I thought his name was Vance.”
“I call him Vlad, the Impaler.”
His eyes narrowed. “Interesting. Do I dare ask why?”
“It’s simple, really. He knows I call him that. It’s his own fault. He’s the one with the wicked impaling device on his desk.”
He looked puzzled. “You mean, like a sword or something?”
“No. I mean he has one of those metal spindle-type thingamajigs on his desk that we’re supposed to use to leave him notes and memos on. It’s like a large nail sticking up in the air. It’s dangerous. Somebody who’s not paying enough attention is going to stab themselves in the palm of their hand as they slap down a message for him. That thing is lethal.”
I knew I was beginning to sound hopelessly defensive about my name-calling ways. I guess I should admit that it’s embarrassing. I know it’s childish. And yet…
Roy was looking askance. “So you call him Vlad because he impales memos.”
“Right.”
He seemed to be studying the depth of my gaze. “I guess there are all sorts of nuances to your personality I haven’t uncovered yet, aren’t there? What other little quirks are you hiding behind those pretty green eyes?”
I flushed, not really pleased, but I quickly realized it was my own fault. If I didn’t want to be patronized, maybe I ought to start acting a little more adult. So I ignored his question and went right on into my reasons for suspecting Vlad…er… Vance. And Jill’s reasons for suspecting Astrid.
“My number one suspect is actually a couple—Vlad and Celinda. And as I said, Jill is rooting for Astrid.”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute. Celinda was in Cambria.”
I stared at him. “You haven’t talked to Tom Hatchett yet, have you?”
He frowned. “The neighbor across the street? I tried, but he went into his house to get a sweater and never came back. When I went in after him, he’d disappeared. You going to tell me he’s worth pinning down?”
“Oh yeah. There’s not much that happens on that street that he doesn’t see.”
He nodded and maybe I was imagining it, but I thought he had a new light of respect in his eyes when he looked at me. I’d actually told him something he didn’t know!
“So what did he tell you that he hasn’t told us?” he asked me.
I’d been planning to keep all that to myself, but somehow it all came out: the way Tom had waylaid me at the station, Jerry’s arrival at midnight and Celinda showing up at 2 am.
“We knew about Jerry,” he said. “He had a receipt in his car from the In-n-Out on Marine Avenue for 11:49. But Celinda…coming back like that? I don’t think anyone even asked her about that. I’m sure she left the impression in her statement that she had proof of where she was all night. Some motel on Moonstone. We thought her arrival this morning was the only return. What did he say about her?”
“Nothing but that. I don’t think he meant to tell me about anything except Jerry, but he got excited.”
“She’s at the station right now, talking to the captain. Hopefully, she’s giving him the straight scoop. Otherwise…” He raised one eyebrow and left the rest to my imagination. Poor Celinda.
I leaned forward on my elbows, my chin in my hands. “Did you find out what Astrid was doing last night? Did she hear anything at all?”
“No. Astrid was not a factor.”
“Oh really? Jill won’t like that.”
“Too bad.”
I waited, but he didn’t elaborate. I sighed and went on. “So what do the professionals think? Who done it in your book?”
He got his usual “I-can’t-tell-you, you’re not a cop” look on his face and I groaned. “Can you at least tell me if you’ve got the time of death yet?”
He looked at me for a moment, then said softly, “Forensics is saying between midnight and two am.”
I gave him my most dazzli
ng smile. “Thank you.”
He seemed to like that. He smiled back, thought for a minute, then added, “And since you like that so much, here’s another little tidbit. It’s about Astrid.”
“Oh?”
“You can tell Jill she’s off the beam. Astrid was gone last night. Not at the Moore’s house at all.”
“Huh. Was she in Santa Barbara?” I quickly assumed she was chasing after Jerry somewhere. How funny if she’d gone to Santa Barbara at the same time he’d come back here.
“Nope. She was otherwise occupied.”
“In what way?” I said evenly, wondering if I was going to have to drag the facts out of him one by one—and with tongs.
He shook his head as though exasperated with me, but I could see a hint of reluctant affection shining in his eyes. “She stayed overnight with Bacco, the surfer dude who hangs around at Silver Beach.”
My own eyes practically bugged out. “Are you kidding?”
He shrugged. “He vouches for her. Says she was there from early evening to early morning. So she has an alibi for the time Jerry Moore was killed.”
“Oh, wow.” I was sitting up taller now. There was nothing I liked better than good, solid facts—especially if they were accompanied by nice juicy gossip. Roy was giving me that lopsided grin that never seemed sure if it was laughing at me or with me.
“See, I’m looking out for you, Mele. I know you want information.” He crinkled at me. “Hey, who loves you, baby?”
Something about his casual way of referencing it rubbed me the wrong way. For once, I didn’t smile back. “I don’t know, Roy. I’ve been wondering that myself.”
He winced. “Ouch,” he said, holding my gaze for a long, sizzling moment. Then he glanced down at his watch. “Okay, I’ve got to go. I’ve got a meeting in ten minutes.”
As usual. “Wait! Have you found the murder weapon yet?”
“All in good time, babe. All in good time.”
He rose, gave me a grin, and headed out, leaving me to wonder if my tart retort had driven him away.
Before I had a chance to get morose about it, Jill was back.
“Anything new?” she whispered conspiratorially.
I looked up at her and shook my head. “Only that your suspicions of Astrid are groundless.”
“What? How come?”
“Roy says that Astrid spent the night last night with Bacco the surfer.”
She reacted in surprise. “The tall blond guy who surfs out at Silver Beach? Oooh. He’s a babe magnet, that guy.”
“How do you know? Since when have you been hanging at the beach, ogling surfers?”
Her hands went to her hips and her chin rose. “I’ll have you know that I do a lot of things you know nothing about. You’d be surprised.”
“No doubt.”
“Never mind. I also hear things, you know.” Her face darkened. “But if Astrid has a real alibi, there goes my number one candidate for murderer. Although who knows? I mean, what if he’s her cousin or something and he’s just giving her the alibi as a favor?”
I was amazed at her. “You are a skeptical one, aren’t you?”
She frowned, looking very serious. “You’ve gotta be ready for anything in this cold, cruel world.”
I managed to swallow my grin. “True.”
“So is Celinda suspect number one now?”
I shrugged. “That would be my guess. Though…you know? I hope it wasn’t her.”
“You’re the one who’s been touting the Vlad-Celinda theory.”
“I know, but I really thought he would have been the one to actually do the deed. You know? I’m still hoping Celinda didn’t do it.”
I told her about the time of death report and then I gathered my things for the trip home. It was getting late and I was beginning to wonder how Bebe was doing. Suddenly, I was in a hurry. I should have kept what Captain Stone had told me at the top of my priorities. Bebe was turning down dates with the captain in order to babysit? That didn’t sound like her. And anyway, it wasn’t realistic—or possible. You can’t babysit for a ghost when you can’t even see her. It’s hard enough when you can.
Bebe was in the kitchen when I walked in, grating an orange for the zest to use in the sauce for Orange Chicken.
“My favorite!” I said, giving her a hug. “How are you doing?”
“I’m fine.” She gave me a bright smile. “How’s your murder investigation?”
I hesitated. “Well…it’s not really my murder investigation and I’m not supposed to be speculating, but…I think things are stuck in a rut and that the police need to find a way to get a break in this case.” I grinned at her. “Every time Jill and I decide someone is definitely guilty, facts come in that totally dispute that. We’re feeling a bit superfluous at the moment.”
She laughed. “Poor babies. No one wants to listen to your solutions, huh?”
“Nope. And who could blame them?”
That made her laugh and I was glad. She had such an air of bearing a secret sorrow. I would have loved to erase all worries from her mind if I could. I helped fix dinner, cutting up the chicken and dredging the pieces in a light flour mixture before sautéing. Over the next twenty minutes I gave her the rundown on all we’d learned about the murder possibilities. Some of that made her laugh too.
Then she told me what she’d been doing all day, besides babysitting our resident ghost.
“I went to the library,” she said, “and talked to the archivist. I knew she was developing a history for the area that she wanted to publish eventually. So I thought she might have some information on the Pennington Mansion.”
“Hey, good thinking. I should have thought of that myself.”
“I actually wanted to find out whatever I could about Mandy—whether she was part of the family or what. How she died. What her family relationships were like.”
“And?”
She shrugged. “Nothing. Jean Kelly, the archivist, showed me where the file should have been. It was empty. She thinks maybe someone from the town council took it when Alexander Pennington died and the whole law suit began.”
“Oh sure. Sounds likely.”
“But you haven’t seen it?”
I shook my head.
“Jean says there should be a place holder giving information about who it’s loaned out to, but it wasn’t there. She does think she remembers something about a small child, though. So I’m dying to get my hands on it.”
I nodded. “I’ll go in first thing in the morning and see if I can find out who has it,” I said. “I’ll bet it’s right there in the office. Isn’t that crazy? It’s probably been there all this time. If I’d known what I was looking for, I’ll bet I’d have read it by now.”
I went to the spare bedroom to check on our guest ghost. It seemed she’d tired of the TV at last and was browsing through the books Bebe had in the little book case at the head of the bed. A ghost reading books. That was something I’d never seen before. I wasn’t even sure it was possible—or likely, but there she was, her little dog curled at her feet.
“Look Sparky,” she was saying, holding the book up for the dog to see. “Here’s a picture of a St. Bernard. Wouldn’t you like to meet him in a dark alley?”
Sparky barked with a worried look on his little face, and she laughed. “Oh never mind. He probably wouldn’t see you anyway,” she said, then looked up and noticed me.
“Hi,” she said brightly. “I love your Aunt Bebe. Can you tell her? I try but it doesn’t seem to get through to her.”
I marveled at the child. Could she be for real? She was so sweet, so unlike any ghost I’d ever known. But I promised her, and we talked about what she’d been doing all day. I had a feeling she was beginning to be ready to branch out and start to move around the area. And what then? Mischief? Or would she stay as sweet as she seemed?
I needed to talk to her about going back to the Pennington House, but I knew that would be a difficult conversation, so I held off and went back to
the kitchen.
“Mandy wants me to tell you she loves you,” I told Bebe. “Just in case you were wondering.”
Bebe beamed, then looked surprised. “There it is again,” she said. “I keep thinking I hear a dog bark. Did you hear that?”
I stared at her. “The question is, did you really hear that? It was Sparky. Mandy’s little dog.”
“Oh.”
Before she had a chance to say anything else, there was a scramble of claws on tile and a furious howl as both cats, Sami, Bebe’s black cat and Silver, our adopted grey, came sailing into the kitchen as though the devil was after them.
Only it wasn’t the devil. It was Sparky, happily yipping at their heels and loving it.
“What on earth?”
We both dashed out of the way. I yanked open the kitchen door and the two cats were gone. I closed it again quickly and Sparky hit the brakes, jumping up a few times to try to see out the window at where the cats were going. Then he looked up at us and wagged his tail, looking very pleased with himself.
“Okay, what just happened here?” Bebe asked.
I looked at her and grinned. “Our big, brave cats just got skunked by a ghost dog. A very small ghost dog.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “But…but that can’t happen. Can it?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know about that. All I know is what I saw.” I searched her face. “You can’t see him?”
She glanced down and shook her head. “No. But I’m pretty sure I heard him.” Her eyes were full of hope as she met my gaze and it broke my heart. She might be hearing him, or she might be trying so hard that she thought she heard things she actually couldn’t. Maybe she felt him, the way she’d thought she felt Mandy earlier. Whatever.
We set the table and ate the orange chicken. Delicious! Bebe is such a good cook. We chatted and I thought of bringing up Captain Stone and his laments, but the right moment didn’t come up. We did the dishes, still chatting away like old friends. There were times when Bebe did seem like my oldest, “bestest” friend ever.
My phone rang. I picked it up. The call was from Jill and there was something in her voice that sent the hair up on the back of my neck right from the beginning.
Little Ghost Lost (Destiny Bay Cozy Mysteries Book 5) Page 8
