Pressed to Death

by Kirsten Weiss

  “He had a successful winery,” Elthia said. “I’m sure it was nothing. It’s not as if he had money troubles.”

  “Someone sabotaged Trivia Vineyards,” I said. “They dumped nearly half a million dollars’ worth of wine on the floor. That might have caused financial problems.”

  Harper’s expression shifted. “When did that happen?”

  “The night he died,” I said.

  “So they went ahead with it.” A Marilyn Monroe look-alike crumbled her scone, scattering bits of dried apricot and coconut on her plate. Her sleepy cat-eyes narrowed.

  “Went ahead with what?” Harper asked.

  “He told me he’d been getting threats,” the platinum blonde said.

  “What sort of threats?” I asked.

  The blonde shook her head. “He wouldn’t say. I think he was a little proud of it, and more angry than scared.”

  Elthia pinked. “That’s impossible. He didn’t say anything to me. You must be mistaken.”

  “I don’t think so,” the blonde said, cool. “I was there when he got the phone call. Romeo swore, told the person where he could shove his threats, and hung up. Afterward, he tried to laugh it off, said he was getting prank calls, but I could see he was furious.” She glanced at me. “And no, I couldn’t tell you if it was a man or a woman.”

  Detective Hammer’s jaw clenched.

  Whoops. Maybe I should have let her ask the questions. I slipped GD the last of the roast beef.

  “This doesn’t get us any closer to finding Romeo and Jocelyn’s killer.” Chuck knit his hands together on the table. “They were murdered. It’s obvious that someone had it out for them.”

  Voices rose, a confused babel.

  Gaze fixed on the detective, GD tried to slip from the counter. I grabbed him, pulling him onto my lap. Yowling with indignation, he dug his claws into my jeans.

  “Back off or no leftovers for you,” I hissed.

  He subsided, growling, ears twitching.

  Elthia rapped on her cup with her teaspoon, silencing the crowd. “I think we’re getting off topic.”

  Harper quirked a brow. “Our Death Bistro president and his wife were murdered. I can’t think of anything more on topic.”

  “We’re not crime solvers,” Elthia sputtered. “We dishonor Romeo’s memory—and Jocelyn’s—by focusing on the person who killed him, rather than on his life. Now, on to the next item of business. Elections.”

  The group voted Elthia in as president of the Death Bistro and made Harper VP. Judging by the look on Harper’s face, she wasn’t thrilled by the new position.

  At least I’d learned something: Romeo had been getting threats. So the murder probably wasn’t a spur of the moment thing. Resentment had been simmering—assuming the same person who made the threats killed him.

  The Bistro wound down, GD attempting the occasional bolt for freedom. I was kept busy ringing up sales of Paranormal Museum mugs and T-shirts, and Halloween art from the gallery, so I had to release the cat.

  Laurel mingled with the guests, handing her business card to the two who’d reported hearing the threats. GD cat slunk around people’s ankles, his narrowed gaze fixed on Laurel.

  Mouth taut, I rang up a Halloween-themed tarot deck. Laurel was a big girl and could handle GD by herself.

  Adele and her team whisked away the plates and tables. By the time I came up again for air, the Death Bistro folks had gone, leaving Adele, her cleanup team, and Harper.

  Harper smiled crookedly and slung her leather bag over her shoulder. “Well? What did you think?”

  “Sales were better than I expected,” I said. “You were right about the group.”

  “I meant about Romeo’s murder. Interesting that Laurel was here.”

  “Yeah. I may be a hot suspect, but at least she’s looking at other angles.” Unless the only reason she’d come to the Death Bistro was because she knew I’d be there.

  “I’d no idea Romeo had been threatened,” Harper said.

  “Do you know the names of the two who mentioned those threatening phone calls?”

  “Sure. Got a piece of paper?”

  I slid a yellow pad across the counter, and Harper wrote down two names in her neat script. “I can get you their contact info if you want it.” She looked up at me and grinned. “Now that I’m VP of this club, I have access to our membership roster.”

  “Is that why you agreed to do the job?”

  “I agreed because no one else would. But being VP isn’t hard. I just run the meeting when the president can’t.”

  “And should something happen to the president, you step into the position.”

  “A good reason to do everything in my power to keep Elthia healthy,” she said.

  Adele strode through the open bookcase and stopped in the center of the empty room, hands on her well-clad hips. The tables had been removed and the museum returned to order, or as much order as a paranormal museum could manage. “I think my work here is done,” she said. “Harper, can you give me a lift back to my place?”

  “What happened to your car?” I asked.

  “It’s back in the shop, and I’ve told Mel in no uncertain terms that I’m not paying twice for the same repairs.”

  Harper rummaged in her bag and drew out a set of keys. “Sure. I’m parked out front. Are you ready to go?”

  “Desperately ready,” Adele said. “I’ll do the washing up tomorrow. Get me out of this madhouse. No offense, Maddie.”

  “None taken.” I was tired too, but at least I’d been well fed. And I’d managed to fulfill my promise to GD, snagging him a leftover roast beef sandwich. I dropped the meat in his food bowl behind the counter.

  “Don’t stay too late,” Adele said.

  I locked up after them and cleaned the crumbs from my counter. After a quick sweep of the checkerboard floors, I reviewed the gallery. The Death Bistro members had bought some of my more expensive pieces. I’d need to restock the barren pedestals and empty spaces on the walls.

  I checked my watch. It was just after nine o’clock, and I’d rather get the work out of the way now than deal with it in the morning. And it beat going home to face my silent phone.

  Walking through the open bookcase, I strode into Adele’s office and selected replacement stock. A new Ouija board. A grinning jack-o’-lantern man riding a raven. Primitive paintings of pumpkin patches and spooky houses.

  I returned through the darkened tea room to the museum, arranged the new items, and recorded them in my ledger.

  GD growled. His bowl was empty. He looked toward the open bookcase door, his tail twitching.

  “Sorry, there’s no more roast beef.” I slid from my chair. There would be hell to pay if GD went questing for food scraps in Adele’s tea room.

  When I was halfway to the bookcase, something clicked, metallic. The lights went out, plunging the museum into blackness. Hair rose on the back of my neck.

  A streetlamp glowed through the window blinds. Using its faint light as a guide, I fumbled my way to the light switch, flicked it up and down.

  Nothing.

  I swallowed. If the streetlamp was on, it wasn’t a general power outage. It was only here, at my haunted museum.

  But if ghosts were on the loose, GD would let me know. “Probably just a blown fuse,” I told the cat.

  Feeling in my purse, my hand fastened on my key ring with its mini flashlight. Head down, I edged through the bookcase door, pausing in the opening to feel my key ring for the light. My fingers brushed something rough and cylindrical. The pepper spray.

  The bookcase slammed, bisecting me, squeezing the breath from my lungs. I grunted, too winded to cry out. The door pinned me, the pressure crushing. I struggled to push it open, free myself, but a dark figure held me fast, pinned like a butterfly.

  Stars danced before my eyes.r />
  The figure shifted. I raised my arm in a warding gesture, remembered the pepper spray, and squeezed.

  My attacker yelped.

  The pressure released.

  Gasping, I sagged to the floor, my lungs burning. A metallic crash, and the rear door clanged shut.

  Coughing, I curled on the cool bamboo floor and gulped air.

  GD mewed and sat beside me.

  I rose to one elbow and coughed, tears springing to my eyes. My thoughts tangled, hot and angry.

  Think. I had to think. Someone had been inside the tea room. The rear door should have automatically locked behind him, but I crawled to my feet and crept down the dark hall to check.

  Heart thudding, I gripped my flashlight with one hand, the other clenching the pepper spray. My foot kicked an overturned bucket and I jumped backward. No one leapt at me from the shadows.

  I checked the rear door with my flashlight.

  Locked.

  Retreating into the museum, I shut the bookcase. For good measure, I moved the rocking chair in front of it. It wouldn’t stop someone from opening the door, but it would give me advance warning if anyone tried.

  Hands trembling, I dumped the contents of my messenger bag on the counter and found my phone. I called Mason.

  Voicemail.

  I hung up and stared at the phone. And then I cried.

  nineteen

  A squad car and a blue sedan rolled to a halt on the dark street in front of the museum. The pavement glittered, its sheen of mist reflected by the street lamps.

  I stood on the brick sidewalk, coughing into the sleeve of my Paranormal Museum hoodie. Shivering, I rubbed my arms for warmth.

  Slate, rumpled in a navy blue V-neck sweater and jeans, stepped from his sedan. He strode toward me.

  I winced. “You were off duty?”

  “Given the circumstances,” he said, “I’m glad you called. Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Two uniformed officers emerged from the squad car.

  “Tell me again what happened,” he said.

  I ran him through the attack.

  “Did you touch the fuse box?” he asked.

  “Not tonight.”

  He nodded. “Good.”

  Cowardice rather than quick thinking had motivated me. I hadn’t wanted to return to the dark tea room. “What about the rear door?” he asked.

  “I checked to make sure it was locked. I didn’t touch it, but my prints will be all over it anyway. I use that alley door almost every day.”

  “Okay. Wait here.”

  He spoke to the uniformed officers, and all three men walked into the museum. Slate stepped outside a few moments later. “How do you open that bookcase?”

  “There’s a book that says Open on the spine. I’ll show you.” The book could be hard to find if you didn’t know what you were looking for.

  He held the door for me, and I passed inside. The two uniformed cops skimmed their flashlight beams over the bookcase.

  Edging the rocking chair aside, I pressed the book and the case swiveled open. The two uniformed officers darted through.

  “This is where he pinned you?” Slate asked.

  “Or she.”

  “A she?”

  The lights flooded on, and I winced.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “The person seemed big, but it happened fast and was dark. I didn’t get a good look at whoever it was.” My throat thickened with shame. But it might have been the pepper spray I’d inhaled.

  “So he would have had his hand on the bookcase?” Slate said.

  I nodded.

  “All right. We’ll take prints there as well. Tell me more about this Death Bistro.”

  “In spite of the name, it’s a strangely normal group of people who talk about issues around death and dying. Romeo used to be president of the group, and I suspect his interest in death ran deep. Did you know Trivia was the Roman goddess of death?”

  “Otherwise known as Hecate, goddess of the underworld and magic.” Slate smiled. “I do my research.”

  My face warmed. Of course he did. “Laur—Detective Hammer was here tonight, taking notes.”

  As if she’d been summoned by a dark force, the museum door burst open and Laurel strode inside. “What happened?”

  “Someone assaulted Miss Kosloski after the Death Bistro ended.” Slate explained about the attack.

  Laurel swore. “What is it with this place?”

  “It’s not the museum’s fault,” I said. And technically, the attack had occurred between the museum and the tea shop.

  My stomach quivered. I’d found a body in that exact same place last winter. Was there something about the museum? I shook myself.

  “Is there anyone who might have it in for you?” Slate asked.

  “The mystery is who wouldn’t want to kill you,” Laurel muttered.

  “Now you’re just being mean,” I said.

  Slate shot us repressive looks.

  “Sir?” a male voice called, from the other side of the bookcase.

  Slate and Laurel walked into the tea room. Since they hadn’t told me to stay put, I followed.

  A cop squatted beside a square table. He lifted the white tablecloth and pointed to a stainless steel folding knife. “It doesn’t look like the other kitchen cutlery.”

  “That’s a pruning knife,” I said.

  They looked at me.

  “Sorry,” I said. They hadn’t asked my opinion, but that was a farmer’s knife. It didn’t belong in a tea room.

  “She’s right,” Laurel said. “Bag it.” She pointed at me. “And you. Out.”

  I backed through the open bookcase. Romeo had been stabbed. So had Jocelyn. Was that knife the murder weapon? My legs went wobbly. Had I been the intended next victim?

  Laurel shrieked.

  GD streaked from the tea room, roast beef and a limp watercress leaf dangling from his mouth.

  “Were you in her kitchen?!” I glared at the cat. If Adele found out, she’d call out a hazmat team and stick me with the bill.

  The cat dropped the meat into his bowl and sat, smirking.

  Laurel stuck her head through the secret door. “And keep that overgrown rat away from me!” She slammed the bookcase shut.

  GD and I looked at each other.

  “I agree. The rat comment was uncalled for.”

  Making an O with my mouth, I sucked in my breath. There were cops in Adele’s tea room, dusting for prints, and I hadn’t bothered to give her a heads-up.

  The trend for the evening was not improving.

  Morning sun slanted through the miniblinds, warming my shoulders through my Paranormal Museum T-shirt. I sold a ticket to a retired couple and eased back onto my high chair behind the counter. A spectacular bruise purpled my torso, and I was moving carefully.

  New York chic in a black turtleneck and slim skirt, Adele sipped a mug of tea. She leaned one hip against the glass counter, rumpling her Fox and Fennel apron. “I told you no good would come out of a Bistro of Death. We shouldn’t have let them anywhere near us.” She tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear, brushing a finger against her pearl earring.

  “I went into the storage room to get new stock,” I said. “What I can’t figure out is why whoever it was didn’t attack me at that point. They must have been lurking since after the Death Bistro ended.”

  “Maybe he wasn’t sure if everyone had gone yet.” Adele’s knuckles whitened on her mug. “Or maybe he was a she.”

  I coughed. It felt like a fragment of pepper was wedged inside my throat. “At least Leo is off the hook. He wasn’t at the Death Bistro.”

  “Unless he used an accomplice to attack you and give him an alibi.”

  “A conspiracy in San Benedetto?” I sta
rted to laugh but thought of Ladies Aid. Maybe it wasn’t so far-fetched. “I don’t know. Two killers seems like an awful lot for a small town.”

  Adele put her mug down with a clatter. “For a small town, we’ve certainly been racking up the bodies.”

  Meowing, GD pawed at her pink heels.

  She scowled at him. “And you, sir, are not in my good graces! You know perfectly well my tea room is off limits.”

  His green eyes widened, mournful.

  “He’s only sucking up to you because you’ve got that kitchen,” I said. GD never looked penitent for me, though he had plenty of offenses to regret.

  “Speaking of which,” Adele said, “I’d better get back to work before the morning tea crowd arrives.” Picking up her mug, she walked to the open bookcase and slipped through, closing it behind her.

  I gazed down at GD. “Well? After your performance last night, you’d better find some ghosts for the paying customers.”

  Whiskers twitching, the cat joined the retirees into the Fortune Telling Room.

  I slumped on my seat. Mason’s shop was closed again today, and he hadn’t returned my messages. What was going on? My stomach rolled.

  The wall phone rang. I jerked, startled, then lifted the receiver. “Paranormal Museum, this is Maddie speaking.”

  “Maddie, this is Harriet Jones from the Historical Association.”

  “Hi, Harriet. Have you found something about that old murder-suicide?”

  “I have, and I think you’ll find it intriguing. We have a journal belonging to Alcina’s father, Gian. It’s mostly financial, but may I bring it to you at the museum today?”

  I canted my head, surprised by the special delivery. “Yeah, that would be great. Are you sure it’s okay to remove the journal from the Association library?”

  She laughed. “For you, of course! I was at the haunted house last night. Your Haunted San Benedetto room was delightful. It provided a real flavor of the town’s darker history. And so spooky! Besides, it’s been ages since I’ve been inside the Paranormal Museum. I keep walking past and seeing your Halloween exhibit through the window. It’s time I paid a visit.”

  “Then the entrance ticket’s on me. I’ll be here all day.”