by Molly Fitz
I hurried out into the hallway, doing my best to calm and reassure on my way to the stairs, followed by the swarm of now wide-awake women who’d joined us for the retreat. The thunder had woken everyone, it appeared, enough illumination from following lightning strikes helping me find my way down the steps to the main floor.
Someone had a flashlight, Helen’s face appearing behind it, already on her way to the front door. “I’ll start the generator,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”
I almost went with her as wind whipped the entry from her hands, but stayed put instead, hating the thought of going out in the now frenzied gusts and rumbling thunder that prowled over the island and much of the coast, if the now black skies devoid of stars or a moon meant what I thought they did.
“There’s an underwater cable,” Lou Ellen said, appearing suddenly at my side, wrapped in the sweater she’d borrowed from me earlier. “I checked before I booked.”
“Lights out on the mainland,” I said, keeping my voice down. “Helen said something about a generator.”
“Ladies,” Lou Ellen turned to address the gathered women who, despite the startling events, seemed cheerful enough. “I’m so sorry about the interruption of your beauty sleep. Not that any of you need it.” That generated laughter if not electricity. “Our host is restoring power now, but I’m sure if you want to go back to bed everything will be right as rain by morning.”
Helen returned that exact moment, shivering, her flashlight casting eerie shadows down the main hall, and giving her eyes a sunken expression. “I’m so sorry,” she said, sounding near to tears. “The generator is… it’s not working.” I hugged her around the shoulders, the poor dear. She’d been through a lot since we’d arrived, dealing with everything on her own. Helen smiled weakly up at me, though I could see the gratitude in her eyes. “We’ll have to wait until power is restored on the mainland.”
“Who’s up for a late-night hangout?” I was surprised to hear that from Daphne, the pregnant woman grinning. “I haven’t stayed up all night since I was a teenager. Might be fun. We could get candles?” She spoke that last as a question to Helen who nodded. “Roast marshmallows.” That was greeted with more laughter and nods of agreement. “Snacks?”
“I’ll put some things together,” Helen said.
“I’m telling the first ghost story.” Daphne led the ladies into the large sitting room, Lou Ellen going with them, while I let Helen go with a reassuring smile.
“It’ll be fine,” I said. “There was nothing you could do.”
Helen hesitated then tossed her hands, brilliance flickering as her flashlight protested. “There’s candles in the pantry,” she said.
I’d seen them earlier, nodded immediately, faint golden glows appearing in the sitting room as some of the decorative ones in that space were lit. “I’ll get them,” I said. “And snacks.” Nodded to Shauna who appeared at the door, eyebrows raised.
“Need help?” She joined me, the broad-shouldered woman smiling at Helen. “My dad’s a mechanic. Want me to look at the genny?”
“Perfect,” I said, even as Helen seemed to want to protest. “I’ll take care of this. You two go see about power.” And left them, heading for the kitchen in the dark because I’d lost my mind.
Lightning offered enough guidance, hitting with regular frequency, my arrival in the kitchen much faster and without stubbed toes I’d been half-expecting. The pantry I had to wait for, hurrying when a flash landed over the water, making it to the door with a breathless little laugh. This was actually kind of fun, an adventure. No wonder Daphne responded the way she did. She was going to make a great mom.
Which had me thinking about my daughter and the fact I should have brought Calliope, though my worry wart child who was too much her father for her own good likely would have been too anxious to enjoy herself.
All thoughts of my kid and her disappointing lean toward Trent’s way of being died (if you’ll forgive the terminology) when the next hit of lightning showed me the interior of the pantry. And more than I bargained for.
This time, instead of a perished mouse, or a live one, even, I had the misfortune to, in the creepy flash of bright, white light through the kitchen window reminiscent of a horror movie, come face-to-face with the staring and lifeless face of Natasha Lange.
Mouth open. Filled with what looked like icing.
She’d eaten her last cupcake.
Chapter Seven
My first instinct was to call Trent in a desperate panic. Second? To internally smack myself for even considering I needed my ex-husband to ride in and rescue me. The whole point of divorce was learning to stand on my own two feet, right? While I realized that didn’t always apply in all cases, it did give me pause long enough to keep me from freaking out at the sight of Natasha’s dead body.
I’d seen a few before, of course I had. Losing my dad hadn’t been the happiest memory, and although this was a far cry from beeping machines in palliative care while he slowly slipped away thanks to cancer, at least I had some experience with the empty nothingness of death. And, a healthy dose of curiosity that, after the initial fright only compounded by the circumstances of finding her this way while in the midst of a power outage caused by a massive freak thunderstorm (cue the creepy Hollywood music that meant the heroine really needed to turn around because the killer was right behind her), I was able to rein in my fright. With my wits firmly around me, I retrieved the box of candles I’d come for, along with a lighter next to them in the following flicker of light before retreating and firmly closing the door behind me.
Not that out of sight meant out of mind in this case, but I’d take it for now.
First things first, of course. I headed back to the main hall and to the entry, Helen and Shauna returning when I flagged down Lou Ellen with my cargo.
“Something’s been at the wiring,” Shauna said, shrugging. “Unfortunate, but it’s beyond my ability to fix.”
Helen’s face had that pinched and unhappy look that told me she knew exactly why the generator wasn’t functioning and so did I. The plethora of mice I’d encountered (and who knew how many the others had as well) had to suggest some kind of infestation the inn’s owner clearly didn’t want exposed. If that had been the worst of our problems, I might have brought it up. Instead, there were more pressing matters—one in particular—so I let the rodent problem fall to the wayside in favor of the dead woman in the pantry.
“I take it you have an emergency radio?” Helen nodded immediately, that tightly controlled anxiety releasing somewhat when she realized I wasn’t going to push the subject. Just wait until she found out why. Oiy. “Will it work without electricity?”
“It has a self-winding mechanism,” Helen said. “Creates its own power. It should be enough to reach the mainland if we need it to.”
I glanced at Lou Ellen, hesitating, only because Shauna was there and I didn’t want to share what I had to say with a participant. Chose a different line of questioning instead.
“Do we know if anyone is a doctor?” I winced inwardly, because even that query implied things that had the trio all staring a moment. Wait, hadn’t Shauna introduced herself as Dr. Shauna Raine?
Confirmed it by speaking up. “I’m a vet.” Shauna shrugged again, her broad shoulders lifting and falling under her light jacket. “Will I do? Is someone sick?”
“Not exactly.” Okay, out with it, Persephone Pringle. “Follow me, all of you, and keep your voices down.”
Helen’s flashlight didn’t improve the view all that much, though at least none of the three lost their crap on me. The inn’s owner did pale out quite a bit, mouth hanging open, while Lou Ellen hugged my sweater around herself, tears rising in her eyes, shining in the reflected illumination.
Shauna, for her part, gulped and then stepped forward after a brief glance at me. I nodded, encouraged her to investigate, holding still and waiting for her to do a cursory examination. A box of decorating gloves caught my attention, perched next to
me on a shelf, so I retrieved a pair, handing them to Shauna who took them without a word, crouching next to where Natasha had fallen against the far wall, the partially empty plastic container of tonight’s remaining cupcakes in her lap. Daphne’s little speech about just this circumstance had me wondering, even as Shauna turned to look up at us, grim, head shaking.
“I can’t tell if it was natural causes or not,” she said. “It could be a heart attack.”
Without some kind of analysis it would be difficult to find the truth. Except, as Shauna gently opened Natasha’s mouth, I noted the cupcake frosting seemed to be dyed red instead of the blue Helen used and realized it wasn’t buttercream but a trace of blood.
“That can’t be normal,” I said.
Shauna sat back on her haunches, hands dangling between her knees. “There’s some evidence of internal hemorrhaging,” she said, pointing out spots in the woman’s milking over eyes and a rim of red in her nostrils. “Was she on any kind of heart meds? Blood thinners?”
“We can check her room,” I said.
“If it was a heart attack,” Helen blurted, “why does it matter?”
I exchanged a look with the vet who was the one who spoke up.
“Because it might have been murder,” Shauna said in a heavy voice. “This kind of bleeding suggests she took a high dose of bromadiolone or some other anticoagulant.” She glanced at Helen then back at me. “Like the kind they use in rat poison.”
And now we were all staring at the innkeeper because, yeah.
“Helen,” I said as carefully and gently as possible while she backed away, shaking her head, free hand over her mouth, eyes bulging, “I’ve noticed you have a mouse problem.”
She sobbed once, still denying it with her short, dark hair threaded in silver catching light as she shook it and shook it over and over again. A soft moan escaped her, Lou Ellen reaching out to hug her while I freed Helen of the flashlight and changed the subject.
“How about ways off the island?” I had to wait for the innkeeper to inhale, to catch her breath, staring at me as though she didn’t hear a word I’d said, lost in the fear she displayed so clearly I had to repeat myself. “Helen, are we stuck here until the ferry comes or is there an emergency access to the mainland?”
She swallowed thickly, cleared her throat, leaning into Lou Ellen as her gaze returned in a horrified stare to Natasha’s dead body. “A rowboat,” she managed at last while my mind clicked, memory reminding me I’d seen the very thing at the bottom of the cliff, the small dock at the base of the treacherous stairs down to the beach. “But the waves, the storm.” Helen returned her attention to me, still in shock. “It’s too dangerous.”
Okay then. “That means if this was murder,” I said, “whoever killed Natasha Lange can’t get away.”
Not one of us spoke for a long moment. Because I was sure they were thinking the same thing I was. While the killer couldn’t leave, that meant we couldn’t either. And if this wasn’t a targeted murder but some crazy serial poisoner?
I needed to call the mainland immediately. I handed off the flashlight to Shauna. “We need to keep this quiet,” I said, just as Fern Baker joined us, her entry unnoticed until the moment she started to scream.
Then turned tail and ran from the kitchen.
So much for quiet.
Chapter Eight
The resulting pandemonium wasn’t unexpected, however, I was surprised at how quickly the group settled down once Lou Ellen interrupted Fern’s panicked reveal.
“I’m asking all of you to stay calm,” my friend said in her kind and confident voice, “while we do our best to deal with this tragedy.”
“Tragedy my butt,” Daphne snorted, looking around at the others, some of whom didn’t seem all that broken up by Natasha’s death, either, though there were enough guiltily horrified looks the rest might not have lost any sleep over the woman’s passing but weren’t about to express it so blatantly. “How did she die? Death by cupcake?” Her little laugh finally perished itself as Lou Ellen’s face fell. “No, really?” That garnered a bark of hysterical giggles from the pregnant woman. “I was just kidding, but did she choke on one or something?”
“We’re about to contact the mainland,” I said, stepping in while whispered speculation raced around the room. “I’d like to ask everyone to remain here, together, while we figure out the power issue and talk to the sheriff.” At least, I hoped I could get through to Cherise King. My friend and Wallace’s lead in law enforcement would know what to do, her years as a homicide detective before immigrating to our town to take over as sheriff exactly the kind of experience I needed access to right now. Had me wishing the statuesque woman with her deep voice and gorgeously glowing dark skin and eyes, corkscrew curls in a tight crop of no-nonsense, had attended this weekend. Thing was, I knew she was likely dealing with her own troubles back in Wallace if the power was out to the whole town. But talking to her would reassure me we’d be seeing help arrive sooner rather than later.
“At least we know who did it.” Had Fern meant to blurt that out loud? All eyes shifted to the small, older woman who huddled on the corner of a sofa, the regular furniture returned to create a more cozy space, putting the bulk of the women in a face-to-face where they sat in a circle around the room. The tiny woman trembled on the little bit of cushion she occupied, staring at Daphne in horror and open fear.
The pregnant woman didn’t realize who Fern was accusing for a long moment, looking around until she finally caught on as many of the participants refused to meet her eyes. Daphne’s next laugh crackled with derision, dying off when she took in the reactions of the others.
“You can’t be serious,” she spluttered.
“I heard you two fighting,” Fern said. “You said she was the reason you got divorced.”
Well now, that was rather interesting. Except Daphne waved off that particular tidbit with an eye roll and a grimace, hands then falling to her swollen belly.
“My idiot ex-husband might have decided to have an affair,” she said, “but it’s good riddance, I say. She can have him. I won the lottery this time around, ladies.” She flashed the large diamond ring set on her left hand, the impressive jewelry tight on her thickened fingers but, I had to admit, substantial. “She did me a favor. Besides, do you think I’d risk my daughter or a life with her when all I’ve wanted is to get pregnant over someone like Natasha?”
Okay, I believed her, if only because I was a mom and there was honestly nothing I wouldn’t do to protect Calliope. But kill someone out of revenge and put my kid at risk? That made no sense.
Fern seemed to be second-guessing as well while I held up both hands for attention.
“If we could refrain from accusing each other of murder,” I said at my most sarcastic, a few giggles following, “since we’re not even sure it wasn’t natural causes,” except I was pretty sure, but they didn’t need to know that, “how about we let the police decide while the rest of us do our best to weather this and support one another.” I hadn’t meant the pun, but it seemed to help, another round of nervous laughter following it while I grimaced. “Thank you. We’ll keep you up to date but, for now, let’s make the most of this terrible situation.”
“If anyone would like to talk or need grief counselling, we’re here for you,” Lou Ellen added, reminding me I’d kind of just walked all over her position as event leader, but she’d forgive me.
Why wasn’t I surprised no one made a move to take her up on that offer? Whatever kind of impression Natasha Lange left behind, it clearly didn’t generate any sort of compassion from this group.
At least we didn’t have a weeping mess to deal with along with everything else.
I headed back to the kitchen, Shauna following, knowing I had to do something about the body and, with her help and a pair of decorating gloves on my own hands, grunted and manhandled the corpse into the walk-in fridge so it wouldn’t start decomposing. Who knew how long we’d have to wait for help to arrive? Helen a
nxiously shifted the food we were meant to eat (I’d be avoiding meals that didn’t come out of a prepackaged box for the duration) while we spread the white tablecloth she provided over Natasha’s corpse, tucking in the edges to keep her contained, the box of cupcakes closed and slipped into a garbage bag.
“Shauna,” I said, “have you noticed dead mice on the property?” As a vet, she must have jumped to the same conclusion I had.
There was that grim expression again. “You think someone’s been poisoning them.”
I nodded, both of our gazes turning to Helen as the frazzled innkeeper sat at the center island after our terrible task was done.
“You think she killed Natasha?” Shauna leaned in a little, her voice low.
“I have no idea,” I said. “But you mentioned rat poison as a possible cause of death and if the dearly departed rodents I’ve been stumbling on have died from unnatural causes, someone could have found and used that same substance on the cupcakes.”
Shauna swallowed hard. “I had one earlier,” she said. Shook her head immediately. “We’d all be showing symptoms by now.”
“Which means if someone did poison the cupcakes, they did so after we all had ours.” I thought about it a moment. “How long would it take to kill her?”
“Depends on how much she ingested,” Shauna said. “Looked like there were four or five wrappers, yes?” I agreed with that guess. “Not long. Especially if she had a preexisting heart condition.”
“Wouldn’t she notice the taste?” I swallowed myself, stomach tight.
Shauna shook her head. “It’s made to taste good,” she said. “That’s the problem, why so many children and small pets end up accidentally dosed. But it’s not as effective in mice, so I’m surprised Helen’s using it. They typically have to eat it more than once, unlike rats.”
“And the inn’s cat?” Poor thing. Now I worried about her.
