by January Bain
I remained still for a few seconds, listening to the ambience and breathing in an odor that was less than pleasing. The floor and walls must still hold evidence of the killing. To my right was the hallway that likely led to the bedrooms and bathroom. I gave a courtesy check of the room that had been used as Howard’s office, not expecting to find anything in the communal section. Seeing the blood pooled on the linoleum turned my stomach, and I kept my gaze averted, gingerly stepping around the splatter. Howard must have been hit pretty hard to bleed out like that. Satisfied that there was no more to be learned, I crept down the hallway and slid the first door on its track. To save room, all the doors were of the sliding variety. They vanished into the walls when opened.
Stepping inside the tight confines of the bathroom, I surveyed the space, using my hands to check for crannies and to knock against the walls. Nothing. I moved on to the next room, a bedroom, and gave it a thorough going over. I hurried into the final room—another bedroom. This had better be it or my theory didn’t hold water.
A built-in clothes cupboard held promise. I slid the shirts and pants on plastic hangers to one side, trying but failing to ignore the fact that a man had been alive and wearing these very items just yesterday. The scent of floral fabric softener stirred up by my snooping made the experience a bit easier. Hmm, my nose must have been unplugging from the stench of Guido’s cologne if I could detect lilacs and pine.
I checked at the base of the closet and found a wooden section under a pile of clothes. I bundled the clothes aside and gave the area a quick knock. Hollow. Yes. Was this it?
Was someone at the door? Crap. Using my nonexistent fingernails and cringing at the sudden pain in my fingertips, I pried up the wide planks that were locked together, creating a two foot by three foot opening that led down under the trailer. A well-hidden trap door without a convenient hook to hold it open. Setting the piece of lumber upright against the back of the closet—fortunately it was hinged at the base—I climbed inside, then jumped down to the ground under the mobile home. Pleased with my awesome discovery, I stayed crouched, peering at the earth underneath, checking for shoe marks or other evidence. Nothing. It appeared swept clean.
I glanced back up through the open section one last time. And right into the stern face of Constable Collins.
Oh, fudge.
“Hey, Ace, look what I found!” I said brightly, then rolled away and out of sight. I jumped to my feet once I was free of the trailer’s edge. Time to go. I’d done my duty, pointed out how the murderer had gotten away. Easy-peasy.
I took the last corner at an even faster pace, my target in sight. Thor. Just a few more steps and I’d be on my way. Halleluiah.
“Miss McCall! Halt! Stop right where you are!”
Could I pretend I hadn’t heard him? Probably not. I’d lost my momentum anyway. I leaned against Thor, arms crossed over my chest, waiting for the Mountie to catch up.
“What is it, Sheriff?” I asked. “I’m in a bit of a rush—”
Ace pressed his lips together. Uh-oh. My pulse lurched at how dark and angry his eyes had turned. Time to lighten this mood. And I had just the thing.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the shield. “In case you’re wondering, I do have clearance to be here.”
Brows knitted together, he looked down at my outstretched hand. I held Alex’s recent handiwork out to him on my palm, waiting for him to inspect it. My special offering.
“What the—”
“And if you look carefully, you’ll see I’m a pay grade above you.” He reached out and nabbed it before I could thrust it back in my pocket for safekeeping. After all, it was costing me more than a few death-by-chocolate slices.
“Miss McCall, are you aware that impersonating an RCMP officer is a federal offense?”
“Duh, if you look closely, it says ‘honorary’. You know, they do that with university degrees all the time. In fact, you gave me the idea, so if you’re going to blame anyone, blame yourself. And if I remember correctly, you said these very words to me yesterday—if I ever catch you interfering with an official investigation ever again without your name stamped on a police shield… So, I fixed it. Got my own official police identification gear. Of course, I had to make a trade for it. But fair’s fair. So, you can rest assured that my hiney is covered, Sheriff.”
He shook his head, chewing on his bottom lip as he studied the shield, then looked at me. How was this going to play out? Best guess, he’d argue that I had misunderstood his intention. But then the sweetest thing happened. He broke out laughing. A marvelous sound, a warm chuckle. It bubbled up from deep inside his broad chest, spilling out into the air filled with waves of pure merriment. Heartwarming. And suddenly all was right with the world. His brown eyes turned to chocolate cream as he laughed, enticing and exciting all at the same time. Charisma. He had it in spades. Oh my…
I think I fell a bit in love with him, right then and there.
Chapter Ten
“Okay, Miss McCall, you win. I will forgive this indiscretion, just this once. But you are aware you were disturbing a crime scene?”
“I was careful. I didn’t step in the blood or anything. I just needed to know how the real murderer escaped, you know? To defend and protect my sister?” I was reeling from my recent thoughts on how I felt about this gorgeous man. How had that happened? What could I be thinking using the L word so soon, even if just to myself? I’d only known Ace a few weeks. But I admired him so much when he wasn’t busting my chops over something that I had no choice but to do that it must have crept up on me. Or maybe it was just relief at having escaped another lecture. Better to think that. I set the whole Big L idea aside and gave him my full attention.
“So, I’m free to leave?”
“Of course, but I will be keeping this for the time being.” He put my shiny new RCMP badge in the shirt pocket of his uniform and gave me a direct look, clearly stating, I’ll be keeping an eye on you, darlin’.
Fine. Do that. I’m countin’ on it, big man.
I opened Thor’s driver’s-side door and slid onto the seat that was warm from the morning sun pouring in his windshield. I was about to insert the key in the ignition when a sudden knock on the glass startled me. Ace. I rolled down the window.
“Yes?” His fragrance of leather and soap drifted in. I took a deep breath. Lovely.
“Before you go, I’d like your reading on someone. If you have the time?”
Do I! “Sure. I can always find the time for you.” Oops, better rein the enthusiasm in or I’d have some explaining to do.
“Great. I’d appreciate it, darlin’.” He smiled, then moved back, politely opening the driver’s door so I could disembark. My heart grew about three sizes at that precise moment. Enjoy. Because you know nothing ever stays the same, sweeting. My granny’s exact words.
“They’re out at the springs,” he said, directing me to come with.
I pretty much bounced on the balls of my feet all the way down the widened path toward Spirit Springs, content to be at his side and not fighting him for a change. The air seemed sweeter, the clouds fluffier, the grass greener. Maybe there’s something to this working together, eh, Constable? Because he looked happy too. The only thing that would have added to the experience was if we held hands and were on our way to a picnic…
The road ended at a clearing.
We stopped in tandem, staying just inside the tree line to observe the action. The entire area was lit by an enormous lamp pouring its light onto the actors’ faces. Dan Carter, the movie’s silver-maned director I’d met yesterday, stood like a Siamese twin with the camera operator to catch all the action, his posture tense.
“Okay, everyone, clear the sight line, please,” the tall man shouted over the fray. All human-made sound died, allowing the rustling of some small creatures in the bush to be heard.
“Scene Four—Take One.” A loud slap of a hinged stick onto a diagonal striped slate by the clapper boy followed.
�
�Action!”
I stood fascinated, and a bit nervous. Even though it was the twenty-first century, the scene unfolding before me was right out of Dante’s Inferno.
In the center of the clearing a beautiful woman was tied to a stake, her long red hair flowing down to her hips and rushes piled around her feet. A crowd, their faces alight with a rabid, almost inhuman lust, circled, taunting and shouting at the woman.
“Burn the witch! Burn her and send her straight to hellfire!”
“Ye shall not suffer a witch to live!”
Missiles of rotten foodstuff flew, punctuating their damning words, drenching the woman’s bodice with disgusting decay. She was a marvel, only straightening her spine and staring out at the unwashed ignorant—aka quaintly dressed period extras—as though they were dirt beneath her dainty feet.
A mountain of a handsome-hero type came striding forward with obvious purpose through the crowd. The two main actors stared at each other across the open meadow while the dark-hooded executioner with his burning stick knelt before the priest, asking formal forgiveness for his actions. Then he hurried to light the faggots of dry timber surrounding the stake. Wind machines were turned on and the fire danced like a hungry beast, well away from the heroine though on film it would appear much nearer. Several firemen huddled nearby, awaiting instruction, in the event that anything went wrong with the stunt.
“Goddess forgive them, for they know not what they do,” the witch spoke out with true conviction, but it only made the crowd redouble its efforts, throwing more foodstuffs and screaming profanities.
The hero moved more quickly now, pushing aside the cowards and hurrying to untie her bound hands. He bore her up in his strong arms and raced back into the woods with her, vanishing behind a cloak of green. A bit cliché, but not bad either. It stirred my imagination, a white knight rising up and bearing me away to his private lair. I shivered, my mind and body unsettled by the vision.
“Print,” Tom Dawson shouted over the roar of the wind machines, ending the magic. The fireman hurried forward to extinguish the few flames of fire remaining after the fuel was switched off. “Thank you all for getting it on the first take.” His face wreathed in smiles told the tale best. “Let’s take ten—you’ve all earned it. Besides, I’m calling an Abby Singer if Bryce doesn’t object?” He gave a nod toward the man standing to the side of the set with a clipboard.
The crowd swiftly changed from a screaming beast to a friendly community in a blink of an eye, back slapping, smiles, handshakes all around. I knew an ‘Abby Singer’ meant there was only one shot left in the day. Must mean it’s a doozey to set up, for being so early—there was lots of daylight left.
“Good call,” Bryce said. Dan gave a look of gratitude to Bryce, his assistant, usually the one to say the happy line on most movie sets. The impeccably dressed man in his pressed pants, white shirt and purple brocade vest responded with the A-Okay, a circle of forefinger to thumb. Nice. They must be a tight team.
“Okay, let’s check in with the director,” Ace said. He ignored the curious glances of cast and crew, intent on his quarry, moving quickly to narrow the gap.
“That was some scene. Doesn’t fit the time period. Maybe it’s a dream sequence?” I muttered while matching his footsteps at a half-run. I had found it difficult, watching a witch being attacked by an angry mob. It had cut too close to the bone. Our ancestor, my eighth-removed great-grandmother, Mary Sarah Toogood, had escaped persecution in Salem, Massachusetts, by heading due north to Canada in the seventh century. She was the healer I owed my gifts to, with her being the first-born of our bloodline. But there was a catch. My granny had lost her healing gift because she hadn’t waited until she was twenty-one to be with her true mate, her one and only. The question remained for me, who was my one? And would I ever find him and be one hundred percent certain he was the man for me?
“Dan Carter!” Ace called out to the lanky director while making a detour past the smoldering pile of wood ash. The man stopped in his tracks, watching us approach with quiet intent.
“Constable Collins, and the young lady from yesterday. Star’s sister.”
“Charm,” I said, filling him in. Of course, Star made more of an impression, duh, but didn’t mean I didn’t wish for a little more physical presence. I pursed my lips as Jennifer’s image and her agenda came to the forefront of my mind, wishing again I had been free for dinner on Saturday night.
“How’s the investigation going, Constable?” he asked, his brow furrowed with worry. Bryce hovered by his side, clearly ready to run interference if called upon. I so wanted a reading on that guy. I inched my way closer, preparing to pounce if the opportunity presented itself.
“It’s early days, but we’re beginning to get a clearer picture of how the crime happened.”
Yes, thanks to yours truly. But probably best not to crow and draw attention to my recent exploits. Another B and E, if one is being fussy. But, it was for the good of the community, so it should be excused, right?
Bryce’s expression shifted. Aha, maybe he had a guilty conscience? Then I realized it was because someone else was joining us. Someone he didn’t like.
“Mimi,” Bryce said, his tone fawning. Ha. Fake, fake, fake. I itched to get my hands on him. I scratched at my palm absently, waiting for an introduction, hoping Mimi wasn’t a germaphobe as well.
“I’m needing a quick word, Dan,” she said with firmness, ignoring the director’s assistant as if he had cooties, or worse. She was dressed in a period costume, a long midnight-blue gown, and wore heavy makeup designed to enhance her striking coloring. Thick dark hair in an intricate style flattered her face, and skillful artistry hid the years.
“Mimi, I was just talking to the constable who you’ve already met, and Star’s sister. Mimi Blake, I’d like you to meet Charm McCall.”
Please, please hold out your hand. I held out my own with a friendly greeting and smile attached.
Yes. She reached out after a moment and took my fingers, albeit briefly. But long enough for me to catch a glimpse that she had no use for us McCalls, especially one called Star.
I narrowed my eyes at her. Of all the nerve. Jealous. That would be a motive for trying to set my sister up. I’ll be keeping a close watch on you, Miss Mimi.
“Miss Mimi?” a voice called out. Another woman, much younger and bearing a resemblance to the actress, hustled up, her expression worried. The diva turned and gave the younger woman an impatient look.
“Yes, what is it, Felicity?” she snapped, not bothering to hide her irritation.
“I-I wanted to know if you need-needed anything? Water? Juice? Some-something to eat? I p-picked up a ton of your favorite foods from ca-catering and stored them in the refrig-refrigera— Fridge.”
Oh, really. So, this was Mimi’s daughter. One of the culprits, though my sympathy went out to her for having to live with a stutter. If my food could help ease her pain in any way, then I was the one blessed. I had a sudden urge to try to heal her. Was it even possible? She must have been seen to by experts. Not like her mother couldn’t afford to get her all the medical assistance she required.
“No. I’m fine. Really, Felicity, you mustn’t hover. I’m perfectly capable of getting what I need.”
The young girl nodded, chastised, her expression heartbreaking. She idolized her mother. And the woman was not worthy of it, in my humble opinion. Felicity was a pretty girl and would be strikingly beautiful if she took a tenth of the time her mother devoted to her appearance and applied it to herself. The same thick dark hair but, instead of its style being flattering, it was pulled up into a severe bun. Not even one tendril escaped to add some softness. And her face bore not one scrap of makeup. But she was far prettier than her mother, no doubt about it.
“You must be Felicity Higgins, the poison expert for the movie? I’m Charm McCall, the caterer from the Tea & Tarot café. Nice to meet you.” I offered my hand, adding a reassuring smile.
She hesitated, the moment becomin
g awkward.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, shake the woman’s hand already.” Mimi’s expression was half-annoyed, half-exasperated. Everyone else studiously avoided saying anything, though I did note Ace’s expression turning to one of anger. Yeah, I get it.
Felicity gulped, her fair skin showing pinpoints of high color on her cheekbones. She reached out, her body posture awkward from her shoulders collapsing in around her chest, like an animal expecting to be beaten. My heart squeezed, pain radiating outward in my chest. Her hand slipped into mine, cold fingers curving around my palm.
Shock. It entered my body as a dark cloud of emotion arose in my mind, transferred from the woman whose hand I held. She was far more complicated than she looked. Still waters run deep came to me, another saying my granny was fond of. The fog lifted, the image coalescing into something recognizable. What is this?
Chapter Eleven
Felicity was happy that Howard was dead because he had been stealing her mother’s money. It looked like a lot of people had a stake in the movie, just adding to the suspects.
She tugged her hand away. Ace shot me a look, and I returned it, hoping my shock wasn’t too obvious. Did he know? Was she the one he wanted a reading on?
“Well, if you’ll excuse me, I have a movie to direct,” Dan said, ruffling his hair back with one hand.
“One more thing, Dan. Are all the trailers set up with escape hatches?” Ace asked. Hmm, good question. Right to the point.
Dan gave the Mountie a quizzical glance. “No, not that I know of. What do you mean by that, Constable?”
“Just an oddity we found in Howard’s RV.”
Bryce narrowed his eyes in thought. I leaned down and pretended my running shoe had become unlaced. I lurched against Bryce when I stumbled, trying to retie it, grabbing onto the director’s assistant to steady myself, closing my eyes to get the essential reading.
Uh-huh, oh yeah. I straightened up, letting go of his arm. No love lost there either for the deceased. I was actually beginning to feel sorry for one Howard Smith. Bryce figured Howard was Guido’s minion, having too-close ties to the mob with his marriage to Guido’s cousin. And Bryce knew about the embezzling. So why had it been allowed to go on for so long? This puzzle just kept getting more pieces added, though it was early days yet. And oh, how my mind loved a good puzzle. At least I had proved that my sister was not responsible—anyone could have done the deed with the accountant, then escaped. A good day’s work and it wasn’t even supper time.
