Deja Moo

by Kirsten Weiss

  “You should head home,” Jason said to me. He glanced at Craig, who was crammed between us. “Craig approached me to confess, thinking I was still involved in the case.”

  Craig nodded, his lips pressed together.

  I checked the dash clock. I had time to make it to the museum before the speaker series began, but I didn’t want to leave Craig. It had just been a stupid college prank. Now two people were dead, including his mother.

  “It’s easier if we don’t have to explain your presence,” Jason said.

  “All right,” I said.

  The men scooted from the truck.

  I leaned across the seat. “Craig, it’s going to be all right. Do you want me to call your father?”

  “No.” He hurried up the short flight of concrete steps to the police station. I wasn’t sure which he was disagreeing with me over—whether it would be all right or if I should call his father.

  “I’ll make sure his father knows,” Jason said.

  Unhappy, I nodded and watched the two vanish into the police station.

  Sun streamed through the tea room’s gauzy white curtains. They fluttered, dreamlike. Diners spoke in low voices, a cheerful holiday buzz.

  In the corner booth, I huddled over a cup of tea and a roast beef sandwich. It was two in the afternoon, but my eyes burned from a sleepless night. I propped my elbows inelegantly on the white tablecloth.

  Across from me, Adele smoothed her knot of black hair. “And then what happened?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t heard from Detective Slate since they went into the police station.” I yawned and raised the tea cup to cover my gaping mouth.

  Adele frowned. “At least we know who was responsible for the cow.”

  “Did you find out how much money Belle made off her bet?”

  Adele leaned forward. “Fifty,” she whispered.

  “Only fifty dollars?” That wasn’t worth committing arson over.

  “Fifty thousand.”

  I set my cup down too hard, rattling the plate. “Are you kidding me?”

  “The Christmas Cow is serious business,” Adele said. “People from all over the world place bets. And installing the webcam has only piqued the interest.”

  “What’s Dieter’s cut?”

  Her gaze narrowed. “Why does that matter? Dieter had nothing to do with lighting the Christmas Cow on fire. You know who did it. The kids confessed.”

  I shifted in the booth. Santa’s identity remained a mystery, but at least it couldn’t have been Dieter. He’d have been smart enough to back off when he saw the gingerbread men attacking the cow. And I couldn’t imagine him killing Bill Eldrich. “Only curious. That’s big money, and I’m assuming there’s some legal risk involved, since we’re in California and not Vegas.”

  “Dieter and I don’t talk about money.” Adele’s foot bounced. It baffled me how she managed her high heels, but when it came to fashion, pain would never slow her down. “Though I guess we should talk about it,” she continued. “Did you know that money is the number one cause of divorce?”

  I drew a quick breath. “Are you thinking of getting married?” Was I going to be a bridesmaid? I could imagine Adele’s wedding in the vineyard—she’d only been talking about it since the fifth grade.

  “No, of course not.” She tucked in her upper lip. “But it’s important for couples to be on the same page. At least I know that Dieter is a saver. He’s actually quite frugal with his money.”

  “Mmm.” I drew back against the booth. Fifty thousand dollars was motive enough for Belle. It was motive enough for a lot of people, especially for a woman who was broke and dependent on a man she hadn’t seen in years.

  And she hadn’t told Mason she’d won the money. Why was she holding back? Was she waiting for the right time to surprise him, or was there something more sinister afoot? My hand tightened on the warm cup. Stop jumping to conclusions, Maddie. There was still no reason for her to shoot Bill.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Thanks for finding out about the bet.”

  “It wasn’t easy.”

  I grinned. Dieter couldn’t deny Adele anything for long. He doted on her.

  I grabbed the plate with the remainder of my sandwich. “I’ve got to get back to the museum. Can someone bring the bill over?”

  “Your wish is my command.” She slid from the booth.

  I went to the bookcase and pressed the spine that said Museum. The bookcase slid open and I strode inside. Behind the glass counter, Leo simultaneously sold a ticket, talked on the wall phone, and taped a package shut.

  Hurrying behind the old-fashioned cash register, I set down the plate. I completed the ticket sale and took the package from Leo’s grasp.

  “The rumor isn’t true,” Leo was saying to the caller. “Three paranormal specialists have confirmed that the cowbells have been effectively bound.”

  I frowned, worried. Three specialists? Did he know about Harper’s secret life too? I finished taping the package and weighed it.

  “No,” Leo said. “No … Yes … I’m certain … Okay, have a good one.” He hung up and blew out his breath.

  “Another?” I asked, printing out the postage.

  “This isn’t going away.” His dark brows slashed downward. “But your sandwich is.”

  “What?” I spun. The strip of packing tape pulled from its roller and wrapped around my fingers.

  GD sprang from the counter, roast beef trailing from his teeth.

  “GD!”

  He scuttled beneath Gryla’s skirts in the ogress cave.

  Mournful, I stared at the two pieces of bread, watercress, and tomato he’d left. “I hope he gets heartburn.”

  “GD would need a heart first.”

  “So who’s the third paranormal specialist?” I asked.

  “What?”

  Making a face, I peeled tape off my fingers. “You said three specialists had confirmed the cowbells were safe. Who are they?”

  “Herb, that Xavier dude, and you.”

  Was I a paranormal specialist now? At least it was a more exciting job title than “project manager,” my last one. Even though I’d been forced out of my old company, I was glad now that it had happened. I loved my wacky new career.

  Was my mom right that I had a passion for crime solving too? I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, because there was nothing entertaining about the crimes. A man was dead, my mom had nearly been killed, and Craig had lost his mother.

  I slapped the tape on the next box. A part of me wished I’d never heard Tabitha might have been a corrupt council member. The other part was furious that someone had killed her. Corruption or no, she was a mother and a wife, and her family didn’t deserve this pain.

  The front door jingled open, and Cora and her two minions fluttered inside. They clustered around the counter in a flurry of violet perfume and scarves and rustling paper bags.

  “We have something,” Cora whispered.

  I handed Leo the wrapped package.

  Cora’s voice dropped. “But it might be best not to talk about it here.” She fingered one of the filmy scarves around her neck and glanced hopefully at the bookcase. “Perhaps the tea room?”

  “Seriously? You found something?” Could they have actually cracked the curse?

  “You will be amazed,” Cora said.

  Leo sighed. “Go ahead. I’ve got everything under control.”

  GD edged from beneath Gryla’s skirts and meowed as if placing an order.

  “I won’t be long.” I walked to the bookcase and opened it, nearly bumping into an apron-clad waitress.

  “Whoops!” She held up the bill. “Adele asked me to bring you this.”

  “Can you get us a table instead?”

  She glanced at Adele. The tea room was packed, but Adel
e always held a table in reserve for emergencies.

  Adele nodded.

  “I think I can find something,” the waitress said. “This way, please.”

  She led us to the table I’d recently deserted, then passed out menus and took the ladies’ coats.

  Cora sat and pulled a thick manila file from her purse. She slid it across the white tablecloth to me. “Those dossiers you wanted.”

  I thumbed through the files, and my head lowered in disappointment. The dossiers were helpful, and I’d have to read through them more carefully, but Cora’s “amazement” comment had unrealistically raised my expectations. “This is great. Thanks. Look, order whatever you want. It’s on me. I’ve got to get back to the museum to help Leo.” I began to rise.

  “Wait.” Cora touched my wrist.

  I sank onto my seat, hope blossoming in my chest.

  “We found more,” Dolores intoned.

  “Much more,” Rosalind said.

  “What did you learn?” I asked, crossing and uncrossing my legs.

  The waitress reappeared at my elbow. “Are you ready to order?”

  “Oh!” Rosalind’s blue eyes widened. “We haven’t had a chance to look at the menu, I’m afraid.”

  “I know what I want to order,” Dolores said, her chins trembling. “Your Christmas high tea.”

  “For me as well,” Cora said, brisk.

  “Christmas high tea?” Rosalind asked. “What’s that?”

  Expensive, I thought, mentally tallying my upcoming bill.

  The waitress tapped her pen on her notepad. “A red velvet Christmas cupcake, two mini-scones with raspberry jam, a poached turkey-breast sandwich with cranberry and whole-grain mustard, and a cucumber sandwich with lemon-herb cream cheese, Scottish shortbread, truffles, and your choice of tea.”

  “Oh, I’ll have that too,” Rosalind said.

  “And for your tea?”

  “The sugarplum fairy,” Cora said. “Dolores? Rosalind?

  “Me too.”

  “Me three!”

  The waitress glanced at me.

  I shook my head, and the waitress zoomed away.

  “So.” I cleared my throat. “Did you come across anything related to the origin of the curse? I want to be able to debunk it.”

  Cora shook her head. “Not about its origin in the ’80s.”

  “Then what?”

  “We know what started it up this month!” A triumphant expression lit up Cora’s face.

  My brow furrowed. “You mean the curse—as they call it—wasn’t activated by me promoting the cowbells at the museum?”

  “That might have been the trigger.” Cora adjusted a filmy green scarf. “But it’s not the cause of the panic.”

  “Then what is?” I asked.

  “Jennifer Falls has been shooting off her mouth all over town that the curse has returned.” Dolores shook her head, her gray ringlets trembling.

  “A lot of people have been talking about the return of the curse,” I said. “We’re getting calls every day.”

  Cora leaned forward. “You don’t understand. Jennifer Falls is the source. She’s the one who started the rumor.”

  “How can you be sure?” I laid the file on the table.

  “Because,” Cora said, “we asked people where they first heard about the curse returning. Too many reports could be traced to her.”

  “You can’t really blame her,” Dolores said.

  “Not with what happened,” Rosalind agreed.

  “You mean, her husband’s death?” I asked. “I guess I could see where she’d be more sensitive, but that was a long time ago.”

  Cora tapped the file. “Obviously, you know her first husband, Sigfried Tassi, was one of the victims of the curse in the ’80s. He was on the committee, the youngest member of the town council.”

  “Yeah, the one electrocuted in the bathtub,” I said.

  “Those ridiculous boom boxes.” Dolores tsked.

  “She’s remarried,” Cora said. “But I’m afraid she’s gotten a little silly about it all. She’s terrified she’ll lose another husband to the curse.”

  “Why would she?” I asked. “He’s not on the Christmas Cow committee, is he?”

  “No,” Cora said, “but he is a member of the Dairy Association, and he’s been somewhat accident-prone lately.”

  “Well, thanks,” I said. “Good work.” I wasn’t sure how this information helped—the proverbial cat was out of the bag. Even if Jennifer did recant her statements, how much good would it do? But maybe I could at least set her mind at ease. “I’ll follow up with her.”

  “If you need any introductions,” Cora said, “we can help. Jennifer is the only spouse from the original committee still alive today. All the others have passed.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I may take you up on that.”

  Rosalind tittered. “Please do. This was ever so much fun.”

  Dolores nodded. “Much more interesting than working the poker table at our last fundraiser.”

  “You worked …” I shook my head. Not important. “You said there aren’t any other survivors I can talk to?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Cora said. “With the exception of Sigfried and Jennifer, the original committee were already quite elderly back in the ’80s. They’ve all passed on.”

  “Quite elderly?” Dolores asked, indignant. “They were only in their seventies.”

  “Seventy was older back then,” Cora said hastily. She shot me a look, her lips quivering.

  “I’ll talk to Jennifer,” I said, rising and taking the folder. “Thanks.”

  “Be careful,” Cora said.

  I halted. “Why? You don’t think the curse has sent her over the edge?”

  “I think there are a lot of arrows flying around,” Cora said. “And they seem to be headed in your direction.”

  twenty

  I parked beside the police cruiser and strolled up my mother’s brick walk. The straw reindeer raised and lowered their heads as if grazing, their bodies strung with tiny white lights. A Christmas tree twinkled in my mother’s front window. I won’t say no one does Christmas better than my mom, but she’s pretty good at it. Memories of Christmases past crowded me, and I hummed a carol.

  I knocked beneath the Christmas wreath and tested the knob. Predictably, the door was unlocked, and I walked inside. My mother rarely locked her door, and with the police in her front yard I guess she didn’t feel the need to start now.

  In her cozy living room, my mom slumped on the pale green couch, her feet on the coffee table, a Santa Claus blanket over her shoulders. The room was a Christmas monsoon of twig reindeer, pine cones, and tinsel. Swags of holly hung from the distressed-wood rafters. A red-rimmed plate of Christmas cookies sat on the table.

  My mother clutched a steaming mug in her hands. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and her makeup had worn off in patches. Worried, I checked my watch. It was only six o’clock, and she looked exhausted.

  “Hi, Mom.” I sat in the cream-colored wing chair opposite. “Rough day?”

  She sipped from her mug and didn’t meet my gaze. “Ladies Aid held an emergency meeting.”

  “About what?”

  She lowered her chin. “The murders, what else? I understand you diverted the committee into researching the cursed bells?”

  “Um. Yes.”

  She sighed. “I suppose it’s just as well. There seems to be a strange nexus between the bells and the murders. They’re heightening the panic. It’s even reached Ladies Aid. I had to be very stern with Mary Hunter tonight.”

  “I see you still have police protection.”

  “It seems pointless. But they’re concerned that other members of the committee may be targeted. Since I was on the scene when Bill was murdered, they think I’m a potential victim. I
suppose you’ve got an escort as well?”

  “Yes, but she’s keeping out of sight.” And my respect for Laurel’s lurking abilities was growing. Though she hadn’t interfered at the swimming hole. Why? Because she’d spotted Slate?

  “Will you get in any trouble with her for investigating?” my mom asked.

  “I haven’t so far. I think she’s waiting to see what I turn up so she can swoop in and take the credit.”

  “Madelyn—”

  “I know.” I raised my hands in a defensive gesture. “I shouldn’t have set her hair on fire, and I didn’t set her hair on fire. But this is a good thing. If Laurel’s around, I can poke as many hornets’ nests as I like and she’ll be there to back me up if someone pokes back.” But my stomach quivered with unease. What if Laurel wasn’t around? No, she had to be. Dieter had said she was personally watching. And since when did I take Dieter’s word as gold?

  My mom sat up and the blanket slipped from her shoulders, pooling on the couch. “So where are we? Have you eaten?”

  “Not yet.” My mouth watered. My mother was a fantastic cook.

  “I’ll order Chinese.” She grabbed her cell phone off the coffee table and placed the order.

  I smothered my disappointment. But she was probably too knackered from all her Christmas baking to cook, and the point of this visit was spending time together, not food. Still, Chinese again?

  She hung up. “What?”

  “Nothing,” I said.

  “You were telling me about the case?”

  There was a knock at the door, and three uniformed officers walked inside. “We’re changing shifts,” one said. “This is Officer Parnel and Officer Rogers. They’ll be taking over tonight.”

  “How lovely,” my mom said. “Can I get you coffee? Hot cocoa?”

  “Coffee would be great,” one of the new officers said.

  My mom bustled to the kitchen, and the cops and I eyed each other. I tapped my foot.

  “Cream? Sugar?” my mom called out.

  “Black please,” the men said.

  My mom returned with two full mugs. “Please feel free to freshen the coffee whenever you like. The pot’s on in the kitchen. And the bathroom is down the hall, second door on the right.”