Pressed to Death

by Kirsten Weiss

  I leaned against the counter, nonplussed. “She was engaged to someone else?”

  “Indeed.” Harriet’s eyes twinkled.

  “Why would someone who went to Harvard want to return to San Benedetto to work on a glorified farm?”

  She peered at me over her glasses, and my cheeks warmed. I’d come back to San Benedetto to work in a paranormal museum. But I didn’t have an Ivy League degree.

  “Would you like me to do some research on Mr. Wesson?” she asked.

  I was going to have a whopping credit card bill this month, but I’d been doing well on those Ouija boards. “Here’s the thing,” I said. “The police found decades-old bloodstains from a man and a woman on the grape press.” I pointed to the photo of the workers surrounding the press. “We know that it did indeed belong to the Constantinos, because here it is in the picture.” I slid the photo across the counter to her. “But there’s no grape press in the crime scene photos. There couldn’t be, because the press wasn’t damaged in the fire. It’s sitting, unburnt, at the haunted house right now. So if that’s Alcina and Luigi’s blood on the press, their bodies were moved—away from the grape press, into the cottage. Someone else set that fire.”

  “There are bloodstains on the grape press?”

  “Not that you’d notice, but the police found some.”

  “And are you certain the blood belonged to Luigi and Alcina?”

  “No,” I said. “Detective Slate said it was too old to learn much from. I think I’m lucky I got as much information as I did.”

  Harriet cocked her head, tapping her powdered cheek. “Still, there’s a haunted legend attached to that grape press for a reason.”

  “I think so too,” I said. “At some point, someone connected the grape press to the deaths of Luigi and Alcina. It never made any sense to me—why would a ghost attach itself to a grape press? It was just some equipment Luigi had used while working.”

  “But if they were murdered beside it—”

  “Exactly!”

  “Little wonder Luigi can’t rest in peace if he was unjustly accused of killing the woman he loved. We need to find the truth.”

  “Yes!”

  She stared at me.

  One beat. Two.

  I exhaled. “Put it on my card.”

  Leo, a dark cloud, wandered into the museum and slumped over the counter.

  “It’s your day off,” I said, edging the tip jar aside.

  “I’m bored.”

  “I’m hungry.” It was well past lunch. I could have ordered in, but I’d been too engrossed in my Internet research and ticket sales. “If you’re looking for something to do, want to take over for an hour?”

  “Deal.”

  I let him have my seat and slipped through the bookcase into the tea room.

  Harper was leaning over the sleek, almond-colored counter, chatting with Adele.

  I tapped her shoulder. “Hey, guys.”

  Harper turned and flicked a speck of dust off the lapel of her pinstriped suit. “I was just going to go bug you. Want to grab a bite?”

  “Here?” I asked.

  Adele thrust her hands onto her aproned hips. “What’s wrong with the Fox and Fennel?”

  “Nothing,” I said, except I’d been eating her food a lot lately. “I love your roast turkey sandwich with pesto and arugula.”

  “I’ll get you a table.”

  We followed Adele to a corner table, warmed on two sides by sunny windows.

  Harper dropped one of the shades, obscuring our view of the building next door. “Adele told me what happened last night. Are you okay?”

  “Bruised but not beaten.”

  Adele pulled up a chair and sat beside us. “The killer must think you’re close.”

  “Then the killer is sadly mistaken,” I said in a low voice. “I’m going around in circles. Romeo was having an affair with Elthia, and she was at the Death Bistro last night. She could have stayed behind to crush me in the door. Maybe things went wrong between Elthia and Romeo and she killed him, a crime of passion?”

  “And then she killed Jocelyn?” Harper braced her elbows on the white tablecloth. “Why?”

  “Because Jocelyn knew they were having an affair and suspected Elthia of Romeo’s murder?” I shrugged. “And then there’s Chuck.”

  “What about Chuck?” Harper asked.

  “Well,” I said, “he might have been having an affair with Jocelyn. He was hanging around her enough in the days before she died.”

  “So another crime of passion?” Adele fiddled with a butter knife. “He killed Romeo to have Jocelyn, and then Jocelyn found out, rejected him, and he killed her too?”

  “It’s a theory,” I said. But I wasn’t happy with it. “Chuck was at the Death Bistro. And I saw him around the haunted house before that empty wine barrel nearly fell on me.”

  “Wasn’t Leo helping you with the display setup when the barrel fell?” Adele asked.

  “He’d left by then.” But had he gone far? I shook myself. I just didn’t believe Leo was guilty. “Leo wasn’t at the Death Bistro.” But my stomach knotted.

  “Maybe not,” Adele said, “but I saw him through the window when we were cleaning up. He was standing on the sidewalk talking to Cora. I remember because he was wearing one of those black Paranormal Museum hoodies. You said you couldn’t see your attacker. Was he wearing black?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, staring at my hands. “It was dark.”

  A waiter paused beside our table and took our orders.

  When he’d bustled off, and Harper turned in her seat toward me. “Which one was Cora?” she asked.

  “You remember Mrs. Gale,” I said. “She used to be president of Ladies Aid, but she left and started her own group. Wait—you mean she’s not a regular member of the Death Bistro?”

  Harper shook her head. “The older woman? No, tonight was the first time I’d seen her. How do Leo and Cora know each other?”

  “She came by the museum to see me and stayed to help him decorate pumpkins.”

  “That’s an odd pairing,” Harper said.

  “She’s an empty nester,” I said. “Leo’s lost his parents. Maybe they’ll be good for each other.”

  Harper chewed on her lower lip. “I shouldn’t tell you this.”

  “If you know something,” Adele said, “yes, you should. Maddie was nearly killed last night.”

  Harper looked around and leaned over the table. “Look, this is confidential.”

  “I can keep my mouth shut,” I said.

  “I know you can.” Harper’s smile wavered, her brows drawing in. She hesitated.

  “Harper, it’s Maddie!” Adele gestured, impatient.

  “All right.” Harper’s voice lowered to a whisper. “Romeo was dropping his life insurance policy. Leo was the beneficiary.”

  I sat back in my chair, my heart slithering south. Now Leo had an even stronger financial motive.

  “So that’s why you and Romeo were parting ways,” I said. “You won’t work with someone unless they’ve got life insurance to cover their kids. Leo isn’t twenty-one yet, the cut-off age.” I should have guessed.

  Harper nodded.

  “Do you think Leo knew?” Adele asked.

  She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “But why drop the policy?” I asked.

  “Romeo was looking for ways to cut costs. He saw the policy as a drain.”

  “So there were financial issues at the winery,” I said.

  “I wouldn’t know about that,” Harper said. “I only dealt with his personal finances. And that’s all I can say.”

  “Will the police have this information?”

  Harper nodded. “His request to drop the policy is in our files, though we hadn’t gotten started on the paperwo
rk. Romeo had already paid up for the year and had three months to go before the next premium was due. Maddie, I know you see yourself in Leo—”

  “I do not.”

  “—but you need to be careful around that kid.”

  I shook my head. There was no way my assistant was a killer, and no reason for anyone to believe his innocence.

  twenty-one

  I flipped the sign on the door to Closed.

  GD curled on the haunted rocking chair, eyes shut, exhausted from a long day of doing … Well, as far as I could see, his day consisted of eating, napping, and ignoring me. When I die, I want to come back as a museum cat.

  Sighing, I did a quick cleanup. A spider had snuck its web into a corner, attaching to the shiny, black crown molding. I knocked the web down with a broom, turned off the lights, and slipped through the bookcase.

  From the tea room closet, I borrowed the dolly and wheeled it to my pickup. I was getting kind of tired of hauling the grape press around.

  The sun hadn’t quite set, and the alley lay deep in shadow. I craned my neck.

  Mason’s apartment lights were on.

  Enough was enough. Taking a deep breath, I left the dolly by my tailgate and trudged up the narrow concrete staircase. I stopped in front of the metal security door. My stomach flipped, tight and empty.

  I smoothed my hair and the front of my Paranormal Museum T-shirt, and I knocked—shave and a haircut. The door clanged beneath my knuckles. He’d know it was me because I always stopped before the two bits part.

  A bolt slid back, a chain rattled. The door opened, and there stood my worst nightmare—the young woman I’d seen in the motorcycle shop, taller than me, thinner than me, prettier than me. Long auburn hair fell in gentle waves past her shoulders. There were faint lines on her forehead and at the corners of her eyes, and I sensed they weren’t from a lifetime of laughter.

  “Hello,” she said, smiling. “Can I help you?”

  “Hi, I’m Maddie Kosloski. Is Mason here?”

  “He’s in the shower, but he should be out any minute.”

  The shower. A cold dagger plunged into my heart. Stay calm. Stay calm. “Do you mind if I wait?”

  She edged aside, and I stepped past her.

  A blond-haired boy slumped on Mason’s black leather couch. He stared between his shoes, propped on the glass coffee table, at a video game on Mason’s big screen TV.

  Takeout boxes piled high on the counter dividing the kitchen from the living room.

  I glanced toward the glass bricks that formed a barricade between the bedroom and living area. Something shifted behind them, a door opening. Mason emerged, neck bent, head buried in a towel. He wore a fresh pair of black jeans and a T-shirt.

  Mason had done more than just get in touch with his ex. It looked like she’d moved in.

  “Did I hear someone at the door?” He straightened, whipping off the towel. Slowly, his arm lowered. “Maddie.”

  “Hi, Mason. Your shop’s been closed for the last two days. I was getting worried.” Tell me there’s an innocent explanation.

  “Yeah, sorry. I should have called you.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “This is Anabelle. I mentioned her to you.”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry, where are my manners? I should have introduced myself. Mason’s told me so much about you, Maddie.”

  “And you must be his old girlfriend.” That sounded catty. “I don’t mean old. You’re not old. Just, um, Mason, could you help me get a dolly into the back of my truck?”

  He smiled. “Sure.”

  In silence, the two of us walked down the stairs and into the alley. I unlatched the tailgate, and Mason easily lifted the dolly inside.

  “She seems nice—”

  “I’m sorry, I should have called,” he said at the same time.

  I sat against the open tailgate and studied him. His glacier-blue eyes were downcast, his expression uncertain.

  My throat squeezed. Oh, God. We were breaking up. He’d fallen in love with her again.

  He looked away. “He’s my son.”

  I gripped the edges of the tailgate. “What?”

  “I didn’t know. I didn’t know she was pregnant when I returned to the military. Neither did she. And then when I didn’t come back to her, she found someone else, got married, and never told me about Jordan.”

  “Your son?” The words came, broken monosyllables I struggled to push past my lips.

  “I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you. I didn’t know how to tell you, because I’m still wrapping my brain around the situation.” He clawed his hands through his mane of golden hair.

  I shook my head, rallying. Mason hadn’t known. Of course it was a shock. “Why did she decide to tell you now?”

  “Her husband passed away last year and things fell apart. She lost their house.” His voice dropped, and he glanced up at the lit apartment windows. “They’ve been living out of a van for the last three months.”

  So she’d told him about his son when she’d needed him. My jaw clenched. The thought was unfair. He deserved the truth from her, no matter the motivation. “How awful for them both.”

  We stared at each other, silent.

  “A son,” I finally said. “That’s a lot for anyone to process. How are you handling this?”

  He laughed, bitter. “I pushed you aside and stopped working. That’s how I handled it. Badly.”

  “Mason—”

  “He’s my son. I can’t let them live in a van.”

  The door to the Fox and Fennel clanged open. Adele, in her black turtleneck and apron, staggered outside carrying a garbage bag. She glanced at us and tossed the bag into the dumpster, then returned to the tea room. The door banged shut.

  “What are you going to do?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. Right now, they’re living with me until she can get a job, get back on her feet.”

  Living in his studio apartment? A chasm opened in my chest. My mouth opened, but no words formed.

  He watched me.

  I couldn’t read his face. Hope? Expectancy?

  Mason would do the right thing. He’d always do the right thing, and that was why I loved him. Of course he’d take care of his son. I swallowed. “You can’t let them live in a van. In your shoes, I’d do the same.”

  “It’s only temporary.” He grasped my shoulders. “I meant what I said, Maddie. I love you. This doesn’t change my feelings.”

  I nodded, wooden. He loved me, and he was living with the mother of his child. Temporarily. But what else was he supposed to do?

  I wanted to ask if he was sure Jordan was his, if he could trust her. But I didn’t. Those were all questions Mason had no doubt asked himself and didn’t need me to echo.

  A roar of sound flooded from the upstairs windows—the video game. There was a shout, and someone turned down the volume.

  A smile flit across his face, not reaching his eyes. “I should get back up there. You’d be amazed at the destructive capacity of a ten-year-old boy.”

  I nodded and he released me, stepping back. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Sure. Tomorrow.” Watching him jog up the steps to his apartment, I slid off the tailgate.

  I couldn’t blame him for something that happened ten years ago, something he hadn’t even known about. And I couldn’t blame him for doing whatever it took to keep Jordan and his mother off the streets. So why were my lungs tight, my stomach twisting with nausea?

  Turning, I slammed the tailgate shut. Tears pricked the backs of my eyes, and I blinked them back. I was better than this. I hadn’t lost Mason. This was the twenty-first century and lots of families were blended. What was I worried about?

  And why did I have to find out about this the hard way?

  He’d had to take some time. Mason needed to sort his feelings
before talking to me. That was all. It wasn’t unreasonable. By taking Anabelle and Jordan in, he was choosing the right, the responsible path. That was what I loved about him.

  I needed to go. The haunted house was opening soon.

  But my legs, leaden, didn’t want to move.

  My keys pressed into the flesh of my palm. I unlocked the alley door and returned to my sanctuary, the museum.

  GD looked up from his spot on the rocking chair, his emerald eyes unblinking.

  “No ghosts tonight?” I tried to sound cheerful, but my voice cracked. I tried to keep my hands steady as I flipped on the computer, but they trembled. I tried to tell myself I was overreacting, that I wasn’t losing Mason, but I didn’t believe it. My imagination was a curse.

  Or was it? I’d sensed something was off early into Mason’s self-imposed disappearance. My imagination had been right; our relationship had been wrong.

  The bookcase eased open and Adele walked in. “Maddie? Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.”

  She approached the counter. “I saw you and Mason talking. You didn’t look all right then, and you don’t look all right now. If you don’t want to talk about it, I won’t bother you. But are you sure you don’t want to talk?”

  I opened my mouth, shut it. But Adele was sensible where it counted. She’d put my imagination in its place. I unburdened myself, telling her everything.

  She listened, her expression grave. “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  “Do?” She expected me to do something? “It’s not Mason’s fault this happened.”

  “No, it isn’t his fault, but it has happened.”

  “And I don’t know what else he can do. He can’t let Anabelle and his son live on the street.”

  “I’m assuming he doesn’t have the money to put them up in an apartment of their own?”

  “I don’t know. We haven’t talked about money.” And it didn’t feel like it was my business to question his decision. “Mason’s still in shock. I’m in shock. And I feel like I’m overreacting. He didn’t cheat on me. This happened years before we met. And the only thing it says about the man he is today is that he’s responsible and trying to set things right.”