Max wasn’t sure whether the comment was just an observation or an accusation, but she would assume the former. She was also surprised to be recognized without her snake headdress. “Yes, I was. We wanted to tell you how horrified we are at what happened.” She held out her hand and, to her surprise, the woman took it.
“Mary Carmody. We are all in shock, as you can imagine. Barbara was such a friendly person.”
“Did you know her well? I hope they were able to notify her family.” Max said.
A short stocky woman in an Ohio State sweatshirt, said, “She had a sister. Bonnie, I think was her name. Barbara was from Cincinnati. But I never heard her talk about any other family. I’m sure Marge has emergency contact information.”
“Marge?” Lil asked.
“The tour director.”
Mary looked at the other two, and then said, “I’m sure she wasn’t married. She talked about contacting a man here in Burnsville that she’d met on a cruise.”
Max nodded. “Yes, she asked me about him, but I’m not local either. We’re just visiting. I couldn’t tell her anything.”
Mary shook her head, perplexed. “It seems like there’s a lot of strange connections with that old house. Someone was talking at breakfast this morning about that nun’s habit they found—said it was connected to bank robbery years ago?”
“The police think it might be.” Max tried to redirect the conversation. “Was Barbara with your group at all today?”
Mary nodded. “She went on the brewery tour this morning, but at lunch said she wasn’t feeling well. So she skipped the museum this afternoon. We assumed she was staying here to rest.”
The third woman, wearing a name tag that said ‘Sheri,’ said in a low voice, “She seemed to be fine this morning, and then she got a call at lunch right before she decided not to go to the museum. I wondered if she was meeting that guy she mentioned.”
“How would she go somewhere? You travel on a bus, right?” Lil asked.
“Yes, but the inn owner gave us information on a local taxi service—kind of an Uber affair.”
“I see,” said Max. “Well, you have our sympathies. How long have you been on this trip?”
“Just since Friday,” Ohio sweatshirt said. “We started from Dayton. So, three days. We’re supposed to leave here Wednesday for Lancaster County.”
“Tomorrow, we’re supposed to visit some of the shops here,” Mary said. “I read that there’s a great quilt shop.”
“I asked about that and it’s out in the country in an old barn. The bus isn’t going out there. We’ll have to get a taxi,” said Ohio sweatshirt.
“Oh, I’ll have to check that out. My son must be keeping it a secret from me.” Lil patted Mary on the arm. “I hope they find out soon what happened to Barbara, and that the rest of the trip goes much smoother.”
“Thank you.”
A couple stood to one side of the fireplace, scanning the room and occasionally whispering to each other. Each held a half-full glass of red wine, and the man regarded the others in the room with a sneer. Lil led Max toward them and held out her hand.
“Hello. I’m Lillian Garrett. My son works for the bank that sponsored the haunted house. We just wanted to tell you how sorry we are about your experience.”
They both ignored her hand. The man said, “I hope your son’s employer is ready for a few liability lawsuits.”
“Lawsuits?” Lil’s mouth dropped open and her eyes widened. “But they had nothing to do with Barbara’s death.”
“Really?” said the woman. “Well, the lack of security there was their responsibility. Now our trip is ruined.”
Max studied the woman a moment and said, “So was Barbara’s. Let’s go, Lil.”
They walked across the room to another group, and worked their way around the room to the door, making small talk and uttering what words of comfort they could. There were a variety of reactions but none as cold as the couple by the fireplace.
Terry came back in the room and spotted them. They headed toward him.
“Ready to go?” he asked.
Lil nodded. “Yes, I think it’s time.”
“Why is that?” He held the front door for them, and waved good-bye to Wendell.
Max described the behavior of the couple by the fireplace. “Otherwise, everyone’s been very nice.”
Terry looked shocked, and then said, “I suppose it’s to be expected. I’ll need to call Camille when we get home.”
But Camille was sitting in his kitchen with a cup of coffee and a plate of cookies in front of her, talking to Melody. Her hair was messy, and she appeared to be wearing no make up. Terry had never seen her like that. Rosie was curled up under the table.
Camille jumped up when she saw him. “Terry! What an awful thing! Mel said you went to talk to the tour people?”
“I just felt I had to do something. Mansell was there talking to the tour director and I found out a little more about the victim.” He paused. “But, Camille, they’ve found no sign of breaking and entering. Whoever did it must have had a key. And we have quite a few people with keys.”
“Oh, dear. Do you really think—?”
“I don’t know what to think. This woman apparently had a ‘friend’ here whom she met on a cruise. Someone named Al Carson. But no one knows him. The whole thing is so brutal. The killing and then placing her somewhere that kids may find her…I just don’t know.”
“Did you ever find Art?” Max scratched Rosie’s head, who had finally noticed that her mistress had returned.
Camille gave a little laugh that sounded forced. “Oh, yes. He had called on a couple of clients about a hundred miles away and was so tired he fell asleep in his motel Sunday and didn’t wake up to call us. He’s on his way back now.”
“Does he know about the murder?”
“No, I talked to him before Terry called. Why?”
“Just wondering,” Max said. She remembered Art with the redhead on Saturday. What she really wondered was what kind of ‘calls’ he made.
Terry pulled out a chair and sat at the table, absently grabbing handful of cashews from a bowl. “I need to contact everyone who has a key to the house and see if they still have theirs.” He turned to Camille. “Would you want to check with Art? You may also want to contact the bank’s lawyers. Aunt Max said one couple was making noises about lawsuits. Give them a heads up.”
Camille pulled out her phone. “Sure. I’ll check with Patsy Johnson too.”
“Thanks.” They both moved out of the kitchen to make their calls.
While Lil, Max, and Melody waited, lightening flashed outside while the rain drummed against the windows. It provided an eerie soundtrack to their dark thoughts.
Terry and Camille came back to the kitchen. “All keys are accounted for,” he said.
“You’re right, Terry, about the brutality, “ Max said, “and I keep coming back to why? What’s the point? Is there a message? Because otherwise, why not just murder the poor woman and leave her in the woods. Or along the road. Or in her car—wherever she was killed. I just don’t get it.”
“It must be a message—what other reason could there be to go to all of that work?” Camille said.
“But if it’s a message—to who? Or whom. Whichever. Someone opposed to Halloween or haunted houses? Someone who hates the bank? Someone who just wants to scare the crap out of everybody?” Terry’s reverie was interrupted by a pounding on the front door—and then, as if an afterthought, the doorbell.
He hurried to the entry followed by Rosie. He yelled up the stairs before he opened the door. “Back in bed guys!”
He came back to the kitchen followed by the police chief.
“Can I take your raincoat?”
Melody said to Terry, “The kids are still up?”
Terry hung the raincoat on a hook by the back door and turned back to the group. “Yeah, they were peeking through the railing trying to see who was at the door.” He rubbed his hands together. “Now
, Josh, would you like some coffee?”
“No, I just have a couple of questions. Did you find out about the keys?”
“Yes,” Terry said. “Everyone has theirs.”
“And none of them were at the house today?”
“No,” Camille said.
“But the door was unlocked when we got there this afternoon,” Terry said. “I thought maybe I forgot to lock it last night.”
“Did you lock it?” Mansell asked.
“I thought I did, but I couldn’t swear to it. We were pretty pumped about how well the tour went when we left last night, so I don’t really know.”
“The house looks like it was pretty grand in its time,” Lil said.
“It was, but it’s in terrible shape now. The roof leaks and most of the plumbing doesn’t work. It would cost a fortune to restore and then the utilities would be astronomical. We just did some cosmetic stuff for this project.” Camille shook her head. “Buyers just aren’t interested in a house like that—not in a town this size. The plan now is to turn it over to the fire department for a practice fire after the haunted house is done and then sell the lot.” She paused a moment. “Wouldn’t that be something if the bank robber had been using it as a hideout?”
Chief Mansell said, “Meanwhile, we haven’t found anything so far that would explain the murder or why the woman was there.”
Terry nodded. “We were just talking about that—why the murderer went to so much work to display the victim. You don’t think she was killed there, do you?”
“No, there’s no sign of that. Or, so far, of the manikin that was originally in the chair. We can’t find that either. Well, I’d better get back. I need to check on some things, and then I’m ready to get out of this weather and into my bed.” He got his raincoat and put it back on, still dripping a little on the floor.
Terry walked him back to the entry and let him out. Back in the kitchen, Camille stood. “I need to get home too. Terry, we’ll meet first thing in the morning and figure out some options for the haunted house project.”
Shortly, Lil and Max had donned their pajamas and were propped in the twin beds, reading, not yet ready to fall asleep. However, Max couldn’t concentrate on her book. She finally closed it and turned off her small bedside lamp.
As she lay staring up at the ceiling, she had a thought. “Lil, that woman—Barbara—was looking for someone named Al Carson?”
Lil stuck her finger in her book to hold her place and looked at her sister over the top of her reading glasses. “Yes. Why?”
“Al Carson sounds a lot like Art Carnel. Do you suppose he’s the missing Cassanova, and he gave her an alias on the cruise? Lots of people use names with the same initials. Maybe he has monogrammed luggage or handkerchiefs or something.”
“Well, of course we hardly know him, but would he risk what he has going with Camille to have a fling with someone else? I mean, Camille is rich and attractive and fun…”
Max interrupted and raised herself up on one elbow. “That’s just it. I know that he would. Saturday at the apple festival, when you and Camille were in the quilt shop, I saw him watching the juggler. He had a clingy redhead hanging on his arm, giving him a nuzzle every once in a while. I don’t think she was a sister or a cousin.”
“You never mentioned it.”
“I didn’t want to in front of Camille, and later I forgot about it.”
Lil sat up straight in the bed. Her book slid off her lap and onto the floor. “You mean, you think he’s the murderer? That’s why he hasn’t been around?”
Max shrugged, lay back, and continued looking at the ceiling, as if the answer was there somewhere. “It’s possible. Maybe he didn’t want Barbara to mess up his thing with Camille.” She sighed. “He doesn’t even seem like that great of a catch.”
Lil picked her book up and put it on the nightstand. She turned off her own light. “He was personable when we had lunch with him but, I agree—it’s hard to imagine women fighting over him. It shouldn’t be too hard to find out if he’s been on a cruise lately. Or any kind of vacation. Do we know when Barbara was?”
“That Mary Carmody who we spoke to tonight knew about the cruise. Maybe Barbara mentioned to her when it was. We need to talk to those people again tomorrow.”
“We could call and offer them a ride to the quilt shop! But, we have to be very subtle about this so we don’t get Terry in trouble. Maybe he can find out if Art has done a cruise, though.”
“You know me,” Max smiled in the dark. “The model of discretion.”
Lil snorted. “Good night.”
Chapter Eight
Max
The next morning, the mood on the Garrett porch was a little lighter, partly because the storm seemed to have worn itself out, leaving only dripping trees and mud puddles. Ren couldn’t resist jumping in a few when she and Max took Rosie for her morning walk. Rosie thought it was a wonderful idea, and managed to soak both herself and Ren.
When they returned to the house, Melody turned from the sink and covered her mouth at the sight. Terry looked to see what her alarm was about. Ren stood there with muddy drips running down her face, some of her red curls dangling limp with more brown tones than usual, and a smear across the arm of her yellow windbreaker.
Ren saw her mother’s face. “It was Rosie’s fault. She’s such a mess, she had to stay in the garage!”
Melody held back a smile with effort and put her hands on her hips. “Rosie doesn’t have to go to school in twenty minutes. Another shower for you.” She pointed to the stairs.
“Aw, Mommy,” Ren began, but then caught sight of her father coming around the island. “Nooo!” she screeched and raced up the stairs giggling, with Terry right behind her.
Mel shook her head and leaned on the island. “I don’t like gender stereotyping, but I don’t think little boys scream so shrilly and enjoy it so much.”
Rival looked up from his bowl of cereal. “That’s for sure.”
“Oh hush, Mr. Big Ears,” his mother said.
Lil nodded. “You’re right. Little girls have weaponized screaming. Terry’s sister could almost break glass. But I’m sure Max and I were never like that.” She grinned.
Shortly after, Terry returned downstairs with a scrubbed Ren in tow. Melody loaded the kids in her car for the ride to school, while Terry refreshed his coffee and sat down at the counter.
“I’m not looking forward to meeting with Camille this morning. We need to make a decision about whether to open the haunted house again. If we don’t, it’s going to put a big hole in the auditorium budget. If we do, some people will think it’s disrespectful to the dead, and we might not take in much money anyway.”
Max nodded. “It’s a shame on so many levels. Your mom and I were talking last night about the elusive Art Carnel.”
“Camille said she finally heard from him.”
“Yes. We know. But Art Carnel sounds a lot like Al Carson—the man Barbara was looking for. She said she met him on a cruise and he lived in Burnsville. Yet none of you have ever heard of him. Is Art the type of guy who might give a woman a fake name on a cruise? And do you know if he’s been on a cruise recently?”
“Oh, come on.” Terry added a packet of sweetener to his coffee and stirred it. “Art’s a nice guy. A little pushy about his investment business, perhaps, but he worships Camille. He wouldn’t do anything to upset her.”
Max raised her eyebrows at Lil, who nodded. “I’m not sure that’s true.” She told him about seeing Art and the redhead in Harvest.
Terry wiped his hand across his face. “Wow. I never would have thought that. Harvest isn’t that far away. You would think he would be more careful.”
“Terrance Garrett!” Lil said. “Are you saying his sneaking around on Camille is okay if he doesn’t get caught?”
Terry held his hands up. “No, no, Mom. You raised me better than that.” He laughed and tweaked her cheek. “I just meant that if he bothered to give a fake name out in the middle of
the ocean, you would think he’d be more cautious around here. But I still can’t believe it. Are you saying you think he’s the murderer?”
“I don’t know,” Max shrugged. “It’s just odd, that’s all. Do you know, or can you find out, if he’s been on a cruise and when?”
“Probably. Do you know when Barbara’s cruise was?”
“No.” Lil winked at Max. “But we know a couple of ladies on the tour who need a ride out to a quilt shop that’s in an old barn. If you tell us where it is.”
“Quilt shop? Actually, I don’t hang out in those much. When Mel comes back, she can probably give you directions.”
“Do you have a local phone book, Terry? I’ll call the Inn and make arrangements with Mary Carmody and her friend,” Max said.
Terry obliged and when Melody returned, Lil wrote down directions to the quilt shop.
“I would love to go with you, but today is my day to help with Meals on Wheels,” Melody said. “I want to learn to quilt.”
Max laughed. “You’ll have to talk to your mother-in-law about that. My sewing expertise is limited to replacing buttons.”
“And that’s iffy,” Lil said. “I will be glad to teach you quilting, but we have an ulterior motive here. The women we are taking knew Barbara, the victim, and we want to pick their brains.”
Melody grinned. “Here I thought you were just being nice. Have a good day anyway.”
By the time they stopped at the Hilltop Inn, all signs of the previous day’s storms had disappeared and ‘October’s bright blue weather’ had burst forth in all of its glory. Mary Carmody waited on the porch with the Ohio sweatshirt woman, who Mary introduced as Cathy Messer. Today Cathy wore a sweatshirt that said ‘Ask me about my grandchildren.’
Max opened the door to the Studebaker and said, “I will warn you that my Irish Setter, Rosie, usually rides in the back, and her main talent is shedding. I tried to clean it up this morning, but I might have missed some.”
Mary waved her hand in dismissal. “I have cats at home. I’m used to it. This car is so cool!”
Foliage and Fatality Page 6
