by Ritter Ames
“Me too,” she said, rising up to one elbow and looking into his ocean-blue eyes.
“At least you have the day at home to do whatever you want. I still need to go to the office. I can’t let an extra day go by before I start seriously working this case. It worries me—already there are so many flaws that will make it a heyday for a defense attorney, if we can nail down a suspect and make the case strong enough for the prosecutor to tackle it.”
“Flaws, like what?”
He got out of bed and pulled on his jeans. “Let me count the ways. The body was touched, someone draped a cloth over it, the stage area had been walked on, any number of vehicles could have driven through the alley before the barriers went up. I’m not saying you guys didn’t do all the right things. You did. There were just too many people around.”
“You’re right, but doesn’t that happen a lot?”
“More than we’d like,” he said, fastening the pearl snaps on his western shirt. “Few crime scenes are pristine enough that only the victim and his or her killer were there. Still, we do catch most of the bad guys.”
Sam sat up and leaned against the headboard.
“Stay in bed awhile,” he said. “I’m going to check on the horses and then I’m making breakfast for you. Waffles or French toast?”
“I love your French toast. I’ll come down in a minute and help,” she said, leaving the warmth of the comforter and heading for the shower.
When Beau came into the kitchen fifteen minutes later, he smelled of oats, fresh air and frost. At the table, conversation kept coming back to the previous night’s events.
“Do you think Darlene was the real target, Beau?” Sam asked, accepting the pitcher of warm syrup he handed over. “I had the worst feeling it could have been Zoë up on that stage. Supposing Rupert’s book was the real reason for the crime, I would have lost my best friend last night. I called their house while you were questioning people. I had to be sure she was okay.”
He sent her a reassuring smile. “I can’t imagine any way Zoë was the intended target. True, we’re lucky she wasn’t the one in the witch costume. Beyond that, we just don’t know yet.”
Sam knew he was right. She also knew he would say nearly anything to ease her worries.
“I can’t help but believe the killer was someone in the store, a costumed partygoer. Otherwise, how would he know the precise moment to come in through the back door and rush the stage?”
“Someone knew about the set of light switches near the back door, too. Knew they could turn off the lights and get to the stage in moments. I’ll tell you this, honey, if you promise not to hold it against my deputy. Rico initially suspected Rupert might have snatched the book and planned to hide it and file an insurance claim. Rupert was the closest to the victim.”
“Beau! That’s ridiculous. We don’t even know if the old book was worth anything. He got it at a flea market for a few dollars. And secondly, Rupert has more money than he knows what to do with.” She hesitated, not wanting to reveal the man’s secret identity as a bestselling author. “Just trust me, he wouldn’t need the money from an insurance claim on a crappy old book.”
“If you say so.”
“I’ll go by and talk to Rupe if you’d like. I can find out what he really knew about the book, whether it was worth anything at all. And tell Rico I’m not mad at him. Like his gorgeous boss, your deputy has a job to do and I understand how he has to suspect everyone at first. But tell him he’s got it all wrong about Rupert.”
Sam cleared the breakfast dishes while Beau changed into his uniform. He was still driving the spare squad car, which was another probable reason for his wanting to get to work right away. With luck, maybe his own department vehicle would be sanitized and ready to reclaim.
As she had no other plans for her day off, Sam dialed Rupert’s number. By the sound of his greeting, she caught him in mid-yawn.
“Rough night, wasn’t it?” she said. “How are you doing this morning?”
“I’ve been better. I’m sure one day I’ll view all this as material for a story, but right now I cannot shake the image of Darlene Trawl lying there in front of me on the floor.”
“You up for some company? I’ve got scones from my shop leftover from yesterday. They’ll make a nice breakfast.”
“Scones, a pot of tea and you as a morning visitor. I can’t think of anything nicer.”
Sam tied a bow around the purple bakery box she’d brought home. Rupert was the sort who appreciated the little touches. Someone had given her a gold foil-wrapped packet of Marks & Spencer English tea and she added it to the gift. Thirty minutes later she was pulling up in front of Rupert’s home.
“Is that Luxury Gold No. 2?” he exclaimed when he saw the tea. “Samantha, I love you. If Beau Cardwell hadn’t married you first, I would have!”
She laughed aloud. “No you wouldn’t. You knew me for years before I ever met Beau. Plus, all your handsome male admirers would die of jealousy.”
“Too true,” he said, leading the way to his gourmet kitchen. “We couldn’t have that. But as a wonderful girlfriend, Sam, you’re tops.”
The effusive praise made her feel badly about the quizzing she was about to dish out. She watched as Rupert spooned tea into a delicate china pot and poured boiling water from the electric kettle. Gratefully, she took the cup he poured.
“I have to say, I felt completely wrung out last night,” she said. “I’d never met Darlene Trawl but what happened was so unreal.”
“I’d only met her once, so briefly I didn’t actually remember her when she came up and offered to take Zoë’s role in the play last night.”
“She seemed very interested in the book you were using as a prop. I wonder why.”
“She had seen it—a few days before the party. I stopped by the bookshop to have Ivan take a look. I’m sure I could have found people with more expertise, but I was curious about the old thing, whether it had any value at all. At a glance, I knew there was some sort of interesting history to the volume.”
He took a scone from the box and spread lemon curd on a bite. Sam settled back in her chair and waited for the story to emerge.
“The copyright date inside the book was 1845 and the title was Spells and Incantations for the Proficient Witch.”
“Seriously?”
“That’s what it said. Intriguing, definitely. Do I believe in that stuff? Let’s say I lean toward the very skeptical.”
“Don’t tell me you planned to try out the spells and incantations.”
“The one I marked for the witch to read in the play seemed very harmless. It was supposed to summon a good luck charm.”
“Well, that didn’t work out so well, did it?” Sam tentatively sipped the tea, discovered it had settled to the right temperature, and took a longer sip.
“Sadly, no. Anyway, although I thought the book made an excellent prop for the play, mainly I hoped it could provide a few fun tidbits to insert into my stories.”
“Someone suggested it might be of value, which could be the reason it was taken.”
“Ah yes, well, as I said, I thought I would show it to Ivan to get some idea. One would think nearly any book of that age would have some rarity, you know.” He finished his first scone and reached for another. “The day I happened by there, the chocolate-loving book club had apparently just finished ripping some other poor author to shreds. They were standing around with their cupcakes—so smart of you to provide them with chocolate desserts for every meeting.”
She brushed aside the compliment. Ivan actually paid for the weekly chocolates to keep the group happy and buying their books from his store.
“Did any of them show a special interest in the book?” she asked.
“Several, in fact. Let’s see… Darlene and her husband were there, as well as that Pritchard woman and her husband, an older pair—Lila somebody and Harry whatshisname—and of course your dog groomer friend, Riki. Maybe some others. Any of them could have overheard
what Ivan told me about the book after he looked it up at some online site, that he felt it might be quite valuable if its condition were better. This unfortunate copy showed plenty of wear but a nicer copy could be worth well into the tens of thousands of dollars.”
“For a book?” Sam nearly choked on her tea.
“My dear, yes. Rare books can hold very high values, especially if they were signed by a famous author and are in new condition. This was neither, I’m afraid.”
Still… Sam thought about it later, as she said goodbye and got in her truck. People tended to hang onto the juiciest part of any conversation. If one of the Chocoholics walked away from that meeting believing Rupert owned a book worth several thousand dollars… Well, people had been killed for a whole lot less.
TEN
RUPERT’S REVELATION ABOUT the book stayed with Sam. She’d planned to go home and relax on her day off, but she knew her mind would never settle down. If she dropped this new information on Beau—the fact that the book might have been valuable and therefore a motive—he would deal with it. She could skim through a bit of housework and then settle in with the novel she’d tried to start a week ago.
The sheriff’s department offices were on her way, so she turned onto Civic Plaza Drive and looked for a parking spot at the curb. During weekdays they were a precious commodity but today she found one near the department’s small parking lot. She pulled her coat tighter against the November morning chill and walked toward the building. The first person she spotted was Beau. He and a man in mechanic’s coveralls were examining a cruiser in the parking lot, presumably Beau’s vehicle that had been taken by the naked guy during the Halloween hijinks last night.
He signed some piece of paper on a clipboard and sent the other man on his way. Sam told him about her visit with Rupert as she walked with him to the back door of the squad room.
“Interesting,” he said. “It would be good to have at least a ballpark idea what that book is really worth. Too bad it’s gone.”
“I could ask Ivan about it tomorrow. He’s the only person we know who’s experienced with books and actually handled it. He may have resources he can check and get an estimate for you.”
“Good idea.” He pressed a keypad beside the door and opened it, standing aside while she walked in.
“We’re interviewing the widowed man, Keith Trawl, this morning. Usually, when we see people in his situation they’re in shock, having a hard time concentrating on our questions and fuzzy about details because their focus goes entirely toward the realization their spouse will never be home again.”
“Usually? You mean he’s not like that?”
“Kind of yes, kind of no. He doesn’t seem to be all that broken up about Darlene’s death. I mean, he is in a way. But in other ways, I sense this was not a complete surprise.”
“You think he might be the killer.”
His eyes narrowed as he put his thoughts together. “Can’t really say that either. Something’s just off about his demeanor. We’ll figure it out. Rico’s with him now. Part of the problem is he seemed to be right there in the crowd the whole time. He was dressed as Sherlock Holmes—yes, there were three or four of them—but this one’s presence appears to be accounted for. I’ll need to re-interview some of the other partygoers and see if everyone is in agreement on that point.
“Meanwhile, I want to look closer at the victim’s background. You wouldn’t be up for some online research, would you?” He unlocked the door to his office. “You don’t have to—I know it’s your only day off.”
Sam felt torn. As much as she looked forward to a vacant spot on her calendar, she knew she wouldn’t concentrate on a novel with all this going on. If she could help Beau, he might get away earlier and it would give them some time together.
“Sure,” she said. “Point me toward what you need.”
He pulled out his desk chair and signed onto his computer with his department password. “Start with social media and a basic Google search. It’s amazing how much information people share online for the whole world to see. See if she had a Facebook page or Twitter account. If she talked or posted anything about hobbies, travel, other interests outside the ones we know about—those things could be useful. I want to compare what we can learn on our own with what the husband is saying.”
She took the chair, sat, and smiled up at him. Social media was not at all her thing, but she could figure it out. He told her he was heading back to the interrogation room and would check back. If she was up for lunch at their favorite taco place later, he’d buy.
The lunch offer brightened her mood. At least she and Beau would have part of their Sunday together. She started searching for Darlene Trawl’s name.
Google turned up way too many results, mostly for people far from Taos; the only relevant-seeming one showed Darlene had a Facebook page. Sam clicked over to it and discovered she would have to put in a Friend request and be approved by Darlene before she could view things posted. Well, that wasn’t going to happen.
It did indicate most of the Chocoholics were Darlene’s friends, along with others interested in books, gardening, and the Wicca Society. Hmm, now that might be a possible connection. It could at least explain why Darlene chose to come to the party as a witch rather than a specific literary mystery character.
Sam’s encounters with local Wiccans were limited, mainly when one of them wanted a cake. Her impression was they were more into nature, herbs and the spirits of woodland creatures than warty green faces and casting spells over cauldrons. Still, if Darlene had any interest whatsoever in the occult it could explain why she’d latched onto Rupert’s old book.
She performed another search, following the name of a local Wiccan society, but of course there was no membership list online. The website blog talked at length about extensive study before one could practice magic and advised that a witch should never try a spell without knowing exactly what she was doing. She took down the name of the woman who wrote the blog. If there was a phone listing, she might be able to get information with a call.
Sam supposed there might have been some sort of witchy intrigue underway that led a member of the coven to go after Darlene. Still, it seemed a little farfetched. Seriously—if a witch wanted to kill someone wouldn’t she do it with a spell in the forest rather than a knife in a public place? The book seemed a tentative lead for a motive. Otherwise, it was hard to fit those particular pieces into the puzzle.
Beau looked in on her. “Ready for a break? You’ve been at it two hours.”
Her eyes went to the clock on the computer. Wow. Her stomach growled, reminding her about his promise of lunch.
They got into his cruiser, which smelled heavily of disinfectant with undertones of something a little more visceral. He powered all the windows down and Sam refused to let herself contemplate details about the vehicle’s past twenty-four hours.
Paco Taco was jammed with people when they arrived. Although the sun shone in a bright blue sky, the thirty-some degree temperature wasn’t exactly conducive to sitting at the outdoor tables. Sam spotted a young couple with two kids making moves to leave so she claimed their spot by the front window. Beau went to the counter to order their usual: chicken tacos for her, beef for himself, and a couple of soft drinks.
“Anything of interest turn up during your online search?” he asked as they settled down with their food.
Sam told him of the Wiccan connection and her idea that it might have spurred Darlene’s interest in the old book. “If I can get hold of this woman who writes the local blog and if I can convince her to share names with me—which I’m not at all sure about—we might spot someone who was also at the party. It’s the only way I can think there’s a reason someone would want to kill Darlene and steal the book.”
Beau nodded thoughtfully but she could tell he didn’t quite agree with her conclusion. Before she could ask him to share his thoughts, a familiar voice called out.
“Hello again,” said Rupert. “Might I
join you two? Tables are at a premium right now.”
Beau gestured toward an empty chair, and Sam guessed he’d been wanting to talk to Rupert anyway.
“We were just talking about your missing book,” Beau said. He lowered his voice to avoid being overheard. “How it might have been the real motive for the person who attacked Darlene.”
Rupert unwrapped a very large burrito from its protective paper. “Of course, there was one other small thing—our witch actress deviated from the script somewhat. At the moment the lights went out, I should have been the one holding the book.”
“Really?” A pang of worry shot through Sam. First Zoë, now Rupert? She found herself speaking quietly, too. “Who would have known this? Was anyone else familiar with the script?”
“No, no one. I’ve thought about it quite a lot—whether I might have been the intended victim—but I simply don’t see how. There would have been much easier ways to get at me, or to get the book. Going after it at a party was…well, it had to have been spontaneous.”
“And yet someone came prepared with a weapon and was ready to act very quickly,” Sam said.
She glanced toward Beau who was chewing and thinking.
“Another thing came to me,” Rupert said. “We never did a thorough search of the bookshop. We are assuming the book was the motive, but what if it wasn’t? What if the killer had another reason entirely for going after this woman?”
“We can’t rule out anything,” Beau said. “Remember, we’re still very early in the fact-finding phase of the case.”
The way he said it, Sam knew there were other things on his mind, facts he couldn’t reveal to Rupert, perhaps things he couldn’t even tell her.
They quickly finished their lunch and said goodbye to Rupert. They’d no sooner reached the cruiser than Beau’s phone rang.
“Hey, Lisa. What’ve you got for me?” He listened a moment and said he was on the way.
Sam looked at him.
“Initial crime scene reports are coming in. The good news is they found the murder weapon. It was in the dumpster behind your bakery.”
