“About that night—” I began.
Adele waved a hand. “The only person responsible for that night was Chuck. I still can’t believe … Do you think my father might have been in danger?”
I hoped not, but killing had seemed to get easier for Chuck the more he’d practiced. Good thing his third attempt had not been the charm. “Nah,” I said.
“I still don’t understand why he wanted to kill you,” she murmured.
“Like he said, he realized I’d figured it out. That woman from Ladies Aid—Betsy—told him I had a ‘hot clue,’ and when I started asking him pointed questions, he assumed I was looking in his direction. And after that, the more questions I asked, the more it looked like I knew something. He got paranoid, and everything I said seemed suspicious. Telling him that the cover-up had been the undoing of the grape press murders was sort of the last straw. The more he tried to cover up his crimes—moving Romeo’s body, attacking me, killing Jocelyn—the more evidence he left behind.”
“How much do you think Vampire Pryce knew?” Adele asked.
Pryce had left town after Chuck’s arrest. A wall of corporate lawyers had met the cops when they’d tried questioning him. But Pryce must have known how badly Chuck wanted to sell—Chuck had practically been acting as his liaison. “I doubt we’ll ever know,” I said. “But after this, I don’t think his company will be doing business in San Benedetto.”
Adele shuddered. “Definitely not. Even some of the vineyard owners who were interested have told me they’re glad now they didn’t sell.”
Enough. I couldn’t put it off any longer. “When you and Harper showed up at my door, I suspected that Chuck was on his way. Or that he might already have snuck into my house.”
She blinked. “I knew.”
“You knew?”
“Dieter warned me about what was up. Why do you think Harper and I refused to leave?”
“You …” Tears pricked the backs of my eyes. “You came over when you knew a killer was going to be there?”
“Both of us knew. That’s why we came. We couldn’t let you do it alone.”
“But … the pizza! How did you have time?”
“Oh, we were coming over with the pizza anyway. Dieter called and told us when we were on the way.”
“But how did Dieter know?” I was still trying to wrap my head around their new relationship. I wasn’t surprised Dieter was in love with my friend, but I’d had no idea she was interested in him too. They seemed such opposites. Maybe together they came to a sort of balance.
Adele looked around, making sure no one was listening. “Dieter was listening to his police radio,” she whispered. “He heard the cop chatter about your house and called me. He thought I might already be there.”
“He has a police radio?” I filed that nugget away for future use. “Aren’t those illegal?”
“He thought it would help him keep track of your investigation for his, er, side business.” The color rose in her cheeks.
I chewed it over. Knowing what they were walking into, Adele and Harper had come anyway, to protect and support me.
They were nuts.
I couldn’t imagine better friends.
Leo emerged through the bookcase door. Nodding to Mrs. Gale, he slumped onto a chair in a corner far from the Witches’ Tea. Leo and Mrs. Gale—now there was another unlikely pairing, though not a romantic one. She’d confessed to me that she missed having her children around, and Leo reminded her of her son.
“Hey, wait a minute.” I turned back to Adele. “You knew the cops were listening, yet you blathered on about my depressing love life? Thanks to you, the entire police department—”
“Knows you’re single? You’re welcome.”
The Witches’ Tea broke up, the ladies filtering out of the Fox and Fennel. Leo rose and stretched. Slinging Mrs. Gale’s purse over his shoulder, he followed her out the door.
Whipping off her witch’s hat, my mother strode to the counter. “Thank you, Adele. The tea was impeccable as usual. Do you have the bill for me?”
“Just a moment.” Adele hurried into the small hallway and vanished around the corner.
My mom flapped the hat, using it as a fan. “Another harvest season done. Let’s hope the next one’s not as eventful.”
“Mom, what happened to Mrs. Bigelow?”
She colored. “Eliza was a strong president, and we are all sorry to see her go.”
“Out with it.”
“If you must know, she was taking things too far. Ladies Aid was always efficient, but it was fun, too, until she took over.”
“And?”
“And I knew with a little push, Ladies Aid would rebel. There was already dissention in the ranks.”
“And my investigation was the push?”
“Of course not!” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Well, the danger to you was the final straw, but I hadn’t planned that. I had no idea you’d nearly get killed over her silly investigation.”
“Her investigation? But you dragged me into it!”
She blinked. “You know that, and I know that, but Eliza didn’t know that.” She raised her hands, let them drop. “I knew you were going to investigate no matter what I said. You were always like that, even as a child, picking off scabs to see what was beneath.”
“To get rid of them more quickly.”
“There was no way you were going to let it go, not with the grape press throwing suspicion on you, and the Death Bistro throwing suspicion on Adele. Since you were going to investigate anyway, I simply dropped a few hints to Eliza.”
“Hints?”
“I reminded her of your prior success solving a murder, and she took the bait. You have no idea how sorry I am. I accused Eliza of going too far, but I’m just as guilty.” She pinned her arms against her stomach. “I became obsessed with becoming president, and now that I’ve got the job—”
“You realize what a pain it is?”
“Are you joking? I love it! But I realized I was trying to fill the gap left by your father.”
“Oh, Mom.” My eyes grew damp. “I miss him too.”
“I know you do, dear.” She hugged me. “I hope you forgive me.”
“Mmph. I would have poked around anyway. I’ve got a process.”
“It’s so good to have you home.”
Adele bustled into the room and laid an invoice on the counter. “Here you go.”
My mother extracted reading glasses from the purse over her arm and examined the bill. “That seems in order.” Taking out a checkbook, she paid.
Detective Laurel Hammer strode through the door of the tea room. She’d dressed in an official-looking blue blazer, white blouse, and blue slacks. Working in a museum didn’t include the glamour of carrying a gun, but at least I could wear the clothes I wanted. Today was hot out, a reminder of summer. I felt bad for her.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Adele called. “We’re closed.”
Laurel’s face darkened. Her gaze landed on me and she crooked a finger. “You. Outside.”
Again? Laurel had been coming after me for weeks, asking questions and generally making me feel criminal. I’d learned just to nod and take it. Eventually she’d get bored and leave me alone.
“Sure, no problem,” I said. Meek, I followed the detective onto the sidewalk. My mother watched us, eyes narrowed.
A plum tree dropped leaves onto the hood of a blue Camaro parallel parked behind my mom’s Lincoln. “How can I help you?” I asked.
Laurel jabbed a finger at me. “You can keep your nose out of police investigations.”
“Okay.”
“If I had my way, you’d be charged with obstruction of justice, but Slate has some weird soft spot for you.
“But I didn’t obstruct. I went straight to the police when I figured Chuck was going to make his
move.” Besides, obstruction was only for people who lied or covered up during an investigation—I’d checked online. But I decided not to argue the point.
“And do you have any idea what it was like, having to listen to your friend vomit the story of your pathetic love life?”
I swallowed. “Oh. You heard that?” I really should have forced Adele and Harper from my apartment sooner.
“I was in the van, listening. It turned my stomach.”
“Mine too.” At last we were in agreement on something.
“You think this is funny?” She stepped closer.
I shook my head. “No.”
My mother popped out of the tea room. “Is everything all right out here?”
A pulse beat in Laurel’s jaw. “Fine,” she ground out. She strode around the muscle car, opening the driver’s door. Her phone rang. Unclipping it from her belt, she walked forward, leaving the door ajar. “Yes?”
“Madelyn,” my mother said in a low voice, “is everything all right?”
“Laurel’s just upset she couldn’t get a scone.”
“I’ll get her a scone. We’ve got several left over. Do you think she’d like pumpkin or lemon poppy seed?”
“Ah …”
“I’ll get one of each. Wait here.” She darted inside the Fox and Fennel and the door drifted slowly shut behind her. This left me stuck on the sidewalk, waiting for my mom, rather than running as far from Laurel as possible.
Edging away, I gazed into the windows of the Paranormal Museum. Tomorrow we’d have to take down the black Halloween streamers, but the pumpkins could stay in the window through Thanksgiving.
I smiled. This had been a good month for the museum, but I still had a lot of work to do. Leo had gotten started on the shopping cart for our website. Now I needed to write the copy and photograph our products. I wanted our online sales up and running by December 1st to take advantage of the holiday shopping.
I glanced back at Laurel.
She glided sideways.
I blinked. And then my brain caught up to reality. Laurel wasn’t moving, her car was.
“Laurel! Look—”
She howled, dropping the phone.
“Laurel!” I ran to her.
She jerked backward, staggering into the street.
A black cat streaked from the driver’s side door of the Challenger. The car tapped my mother’s bumper, halting.
I stared after the cat, which was bounding down the street. “GD?”
My mother emerged from the tea room brandishing a white paper bag. “Scones!”
Laurel hopped on one foot, her face crimson. “Your cat! Your cat drove the car over my foot!”
“I’ll take you to the emergency room,” I said.
“Don’t change the subject.” Laurel snarled, leaning against the hood and gripping her injured foot. “Your cat tried to kill me.”
“You probably didn’t set the parking brake,” I said.
She growled low in her throat. “Don’t tell me I didn’t set the brake. I always set the brake. And your cat—”
“That wasn’t my cat,” I said. After all, one black cat looks like another. And you don’t really own cats. They sort of just decide if they’re going to stick around.
I shifted my weight. The cat had looked like GD. And lately he had been kind of stalking Laurel. But it wasn’t as if he knew how to operate a car. And how could GD have even gotten outside?
I remembered Leo entering the tea room through the bookcase, the slowly closing secret door.
Nah.
“If I catch that mangy sack of fur,” Laurel said, “I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” my mother asked.
Laurel swallowed. Her jaw clenched. “Nothing.”
“You’re in pain,” my mother said, “and you’re not thinking clearly. I’ll drive you to the emergency room, since my car is closest.” She frowned. “Did you dent my bumper?”
We helped Laurel into the passenger side of my mother’s car. When we’d closed the door on her, my mother turned to me. “Really, Madelyn, must you taunt her?” she whispered.
“I had nothing to do with—”
“It is your cat.”
“We don’t know that.”
“I’ll meet you at the emergency room.” She got into the car and drove off.
Did I want to know? I looked skyward. A puffy cloud floated past. A scattering of burgundy leaves skipped down the street.
Hanging my head, I walked into the tea room. The clash of metal bins floated down the long hall—Adele taking out the trash.
The bookcase stood open. I walked through it into the museum.
GD perched atop the grape press, his tail coiled around his feet. He glanced at me and got busy cleaning one of his paws.
“I guess you’re off the hook. It must have been a different cat.”
But the alleyway door had been propped open while Adele dumped the garbage. And the bookcase had been open as well. GD would have had time to race to the alley and return to the museum …
I shook my head.
“Nah.”
the end
About the Author
Kirsten Weiss writes paranormal mysteries, blending her experiences and imagination to create a vivid world of magic and mayhem. She is also the author of the Riga Hayworth series. Follow her on her website at kirstenweiss.com.
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Pressed to Death Page 28
