Autumn Alibi

by Jennifer David Hesse

  As we said good-bye in the hallway, Annie stepped out of her office. Her attitude was somewhere near the opposite of friendly.

  “Keli,” she said shortly.

  “Hi, Annie. How’s it going?”

  She waited until Tia had left the building before answering. “It’s been quiet today. Unlike yesterday.”

  “Oh, no!” I didn’t have to ask what she meant. “You were here yesterday? I didn’t think you were in.”

  “I couldn’t get in. I couldn’t even get in the front door. I had to cancel all my appointments.”

  “I’m so sorry! There was a . . . mistake. Or something. It will never happen again.” I hope.

  Her expression was doubtful. “I have another package for you.” She grabbed something from inside her office and thrust it at me. “This came on Tuesday.”

  “Thank you, Annie.” I poured sincerity into my words and inwardly vowed to bring her flowers. “I’ll be hiring an assistant soon, so—”

  She grunted and turned away before I could finish. Her door snapped shut like a bite.

  Time to call Arlen.

  After sleeping on it the night before, I was now certain. I would never find anyone as qualified, good-natured, or interesting as Arlen Prince. As a bonus, I could be myself around him, witchy ways and all.

  When I called to offer him the job, he asked me how soon he could start.

  “The sooner the better, as far as I’m concerned,” I said. “But let’s go with Monday.” I hoped I’d be able to get away from Turnbull Manor for at least a little while on Monday. Maybe I’d even find some answers by then and be able to wrap up my involvement in the whole thing.

  Somehow I doubted it.

  I told myself I should get back to the mansion, but first I drafted the letter I promised Tia. Once that was done, I sent it by email, responded to a few other messages, and then finally shut down my computer. I was heading for the door when I noticed the package Annie had given me. I’d forgotten all about it.

  It was a small cardboard box, about six inches square, with computer-printed postal labels. The return address was a P.O. Box here in Edindale. There was no name. As I examined the package, shaking it gently and even sniffing it, I felt a growing sense of unease. Nothing was obviously amiss, but something still felt off.

  I took the box to my desk, used scissors to slit the tape, and opened one end. Whatever was inside was wrapped in tissue paper. Touching my Triple Goddess wrist tattoo, I said a quick protection spell—and pulled out the contents. When I unwrapped the paper, I was slightly confused at first. But not for long. Inside the package was a toy car. Its rear tires had both been cut to shreds.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  There was no doubt in my mind now that the tire slasher was the same person who had tormented me last spring. The Giftster. Once I got over my initial shock, I immediately checked the toy car for any bugs or hidden cameras. But I resisted the urge to destroy it. I’d learned my lesson the last time around. After discovering a concealed spy cam in a fairy figurine, I’d smashed them both to bits—along with any clues. This time I would preserve the thing as evidence. I tossed the toy back in its box and stuck it in a filing cabinet in the closet.

  For a moment I paced my office. The message of the toy car was clear. The stalker wanted me to know that all the recent tire slashings were for my benefit. He—or she—wanted me to know how much they knew about me. And my friends. They targeted my cousin at her home and Mila at her shop. Farrah’s car was vandalized in a public parking lot, after she thought someone had followed her from her apartment building. Crenshaw’s car was hit at the university when he and I were at the museum. I shuddered as the realization set in. This person knew a lot, was practically omniscient, and seemed to relish scaring me.

  Then I thought about the phony job posting. That had to be the work of the same person. After finding the spy cam last spring, I’d realized it was being used to sabotage my law practice. Was that what this was all about? The fake job posting had certainly caused a disruption to my work and life.

  It was all really juvenile, when I thought about it. Now I was more irritated than scared.

  By the time I sat behind the wheel of my own car, on the street by my office, my fear had somewhat dissipated. I was especially relieved to see that all four of my tires were completely fine. The vandal could have cut them like the others and hadn’t. Why?

  Probably to keep me on edge.

  Before driving off, I picked up my cell phone and called Detective Rhinehardt. He wasn’t available, so I left a message. Next, I started to call Wes, then reconsidered. He would only worry, and there was nothing he could do in Chicago. In fact, there was nothing much I could do here in Edindale. I decided to go back to the mansion.

  On the way, I kept looking in my rearview mirror. This latest incident wasn’t going to help my peace of mind. At least the happenings at Turnbull Manor weren’t about me. Puzzling through whatever was going on there was actually a good distraction from my own worries.

  I let myself in the front door and heard voices in the grand hall. Farrah and Crenshaw were at the base of the staircase, on their way up. They came over when they saw me come in.

  “Hey, Kel!” chirped Farrah. “You just missed lunch, but there’s still soup simmering on the stove. How was work?”

  “Fine.” I would fill her in later. I didn’t feel like giving the prankster-terrorist any more of my energy right now. “What’s going on here?”

  “We finished our inventory of the wine cellar,” said Crenshaw. “Now we’re going to tackle the east wing second-floor sitting room. It’s stuffed with antiques, including a cabinet of memorabilia from Harold’s mining company.”

  “Have you seen Suzanne?” I asked. “I really need to talk to her.”

  “She was late to lunch,” said Crenshaw. “She might still be in the dining room.”

  I told Farrah and Crenshaw I would catch up to them later. As it happened, Suzanne was just getting up from the table when I entered the dining room. I intercepted her before she could leave. “Hi there. Can I chat with you for a minute?”

  She looked at her wrist, as if her tennis bracelet were a watch. “Sorry, hon. I have someplace I need to be.”

  “Please? It’s important and won’t take long.”

  She looked at me expectantly, her eyes telling me I should just get to the point.

  “We have another promising lead on where Lana might be,” I said. “She might be staying with an old friend. Can you remember any of her friends from school? Was there anyone she was especially close with?”

  Suzanne slumped her shoulders. “Don’t you think the police asked me the same thing when she ran away? I’ve already been down that road. She had playmates when she was a child. By the time she started high school, she had stopped talking to me. She never brought anyone home, and she never talked about anyone special. At least not to me.”

  “Oh. Well, did she happen to leave behind any scrapbooks or diaries? Anything like that?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing of any use. Like I said, I’ve already been down this road.”

  A scrape at the door drew our attention. Suzanne narrowed her eyes. Without warning, she yanked the door open—causing Celia to stumble into the room.

  “Aha!” said Suzanne. “I knew it! You’re always spying on people, aren’t you? Trying to spice up your dull little life? Is that it?” She brushed past the maid and stalked out of the room. I stared after her in dismay. Was that really called for?

  “Wow,” I said to Celia. “She’s over the top, isn’t she? I think she’s under a lot of stress right now. I’m sure she didn’t mean what she said.”

  I didn’t know why I was making excuses for Suzanne. Anyway, Celia didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed. She looked after Suzanne with a mean glint in her eye. “The only thing that gives her stress,” she spat, “is the thought of cleaning her own toilets.”

  Yikes. Evidently there was no love lost between Suza
nne and Celia.

  She started to leave, but I stopped her. “Maybe you can help me,” I said. “I don’t think Suzanne was very close with her daughter. You might know more about Lana than she does.”

  “I don’t know anything.”

  I didn’t believe her. She had her ear to the ground—and the door. I was sure she knew things.

  She moved for the exit again, but I was quicker. I blocked her way, like a goalie on a soccer field. “Celia, I know something you might be interested in.”

  That got her attention. “What do you know?”

  “I know you lied about your whereabouts the night Elaine died.”

  She hadn’t seen that coming. Fear flashed across her face, and for a moment I was afraid she might faint. I continued more gently. “If you tell me what I want to know, I . . . I won’t tell the cops you didn’t really leave the house that night.”

  If I lie to a liar, is it still wrong? Yeah. But I was pretty sure Crenshaw had been keeping Rhinehardt updated on all we’d learned, so I wouldn’t have to break any promises to Celia. Technically speaking.

  “What do you want to know?” she asked warily.

  “I want to know about Lana as a teenager. What was she like? What did she do for fun? And who did she hang out with?”

  The old woman squinted, as if trying to remember. “She was a quiet girl. She liked to draw and swim. She worked on puzzles with Elaine sometimes. She played golf with her father sometimes.”

  “She was close to Jim?”

  “Oh, yes. He doted on her. I wouldn’t say she was spoiled exactly, even though she was an only child. But he would do anything for her—even if Suzanne didn’t approve.” There was that look of distaste again. Celia really didn’t think much of Suzanne.

  “Lana wasn’t a popular girl. She was the shy type.” Celia wrinkled her forehead as she thought. “But she was on the school swim team for a year or two. She had a friend on the team who came over to swim a few times.”

  “Oh?” Now we were getting somewhere. “What was the girl’s name?”

  “Let’s see . . . Jenny something. She was a skinny little thing. Jenny . . . Burg. That’s it.”

  “Jenny Burg. Great. Anyone else?”

  “I don’t think so. Lana would go off and spend time by herself a lot. She’d go sit down by the pond and draw. Especially when her parents were fighting.”

  “Suzanne and Jim fought?”

  “Something fierce. Suzanne even moved out of the mansion, which goes to show how angry she was. Of course, she still came back a lot to get things. And eat the food, drink the wine, and leave her dirty clothes.” Celia sneered.

  “How long had Jim and Suzanne been separated before he had his accident?”

  “A few months. They fought that very morning, you know.”

  “On the day he died? What did they fight about?”

  Celia shrugged. “I didn’t hear them myself. Elaine did. I remember she came downstairs with a headache, complaining about the noise. She asked me to fix her tea and call Ray to come see her.”

  “So, Ray was here on the day Jim died, too?”

  “He was here a lot.” She shifted on her feet. “Can I go now?”

  “I have just one more question. Why did you tell Detective Rhinehardt you left with the caterer the other night?”

  For a second, I could have sworn she gave me a calculating look. Then she seemed to shrink in on herself, looking like nothing more than a tired, elderly woman. “I get mixed up sometimes. I meant to go with them. I’ve gone before. I guess I went to lie down instead.”

  I let her go after that. It wasn’t until later that I remembered the caterer had corroborated her story. Why would she do that unless Celia had asked her friend to cover for her? Celia was definitely still hiding something.

  * * *

  The rest of the day passed uneventfully. In the evening, Celia said she wasn’t feeling well, so everyone would have to fend for themselves for dinner. I felt slightly guilty. I hoped I hadn’t badgered her to the point of sickness. More likely, though, she probably just wanted to avoid further questions.

  Suzanne announced she was going out to dinner with a friend, and Perry mentioned he was leaving for an Arts Council meeting. Ray and Ernesto each grabbed some food to take to their own places—Ernesto moving so fast, he was in and out before I could even form a complete sentence.

  Farrah, Crenshaw, and I ended up ordering pizza. Crenshaw was skeptical about trying pizza without cheese, but it was so loaded with veggies and spices that he forgot to complain. We sat at the kitchen table, drinking flavored seltzer water and discussing our next steps.

  “The asset inventory is almost complete,” said Crenshaw. “All that remains to search is the attic storeroom. I also need to review Perry’s inventory of the Turnbull art collection.”

  “What about all the guesthouses?” asked Farrah. “And the occupied bedrooms in the mansion?”

  “I covered that on my first day here,” he said. “I walked through each resident’s quarters with the respective resident, and we made a list together. That way they could point out what belonged to the manor and what was their own personal property.”

  “How do you know everyone told you the truth?” I asked. I didn’t fully trust anyone who lived here.

  “It was fairly obvious. No one claimed to own any of the antique furniture.”

  “So much for our excuse to search their rooms,” said Farrah, obviously disappointed.

  Crenshaw shook his head. “I’m not convinced you would have found anything anyhow. Perhaps it’s true that Elaine indicated to Ray that she was making another will, but she could have easily changed her mind. Regardless, I intend to proceed under the existing will on Monday.” He gave me a questioning look. “Do you think Lana is going to come forward?”

  “I think we’re close to locating her. Whether or not she comes forward is an open question.”

  For the next few minutes, we ate in silence. The one thing we hadn’t discussed was the mystery of Elaine’s death. It seemed like an impossible quandary. Any evidence there might have been had most likely been destroyed. Short of receiving a confession, I didn’t see how we could ever prove she had been murdered. The thought was depressing.

  Farrah wiped her mouth and regarded Crenshaw thoughtfully. He and I waited for her to say what was on her mind. I hoped she had come up with another avenue for us to pursue.

  She scrunched up her pretty forehead and pointed her finger at my colleague. “Crenshaw . . . William Davenport. Is that it?”

  He pursed his lips into an amused smirk. “No.”

  “Alistair? No, wait—I already guessed that one, didn’t I? Is your middle name . . . Mortimer?”

  “No.”

  I took my plate to the sink and washed it off. “I’m gonna go call Wes,” I said, taking out my cell phone.

  “Tell him ‘hi’ for me!” said Farrah.

  Instead of going upstairs, I ambled up and down the halls as I made the call. He picked up right away.

  “Hey, babe. One more day! By this time tomorrow, we’ll be together again.”

  “I can’t wait! Will you make it in time for the gala?”

  “It’ll be close, especially if the train runs late, but I’ll do my best. I’ll have to go home and change, of course.”

  “You should come, even if you’re late. And bring an overnight bag. I’ll tell Farrah she’ll have to get another room tomorrow night.”

  “Aren’t you ready to come home yet?”

  In my meandering, I had ended up near the library. I slipped inside and turned on the overhead light. “Not yet,” I said. “There are too many unanswered questions here—not only about Lana and Elaine, but also about the people who live here.” I told him about all the false and questionable alibis, as well as the strange behavior of some of the residents. While we talked, I strolled along the bookshelves, casually running my free hand over some of the spines.

  “Wait a minute,” said Wes. “A
re you saying everyone is guilty? Like some sort of conspiracy?”

  I paused, considering the possibility. “Wouldn’t that be a fine plot twist? Only, this isn’t an Agatha Christie novel. And besides, some of the people here don’t even seem to like each other.”

  “I’m not sure that matters.”

  “True. Anyway, on another note, have you reached out to any of your former classmates yet?”

  “I’ve made a couple calls. I’ll do more tomorrow and this weekend.”

  “I have a name for you to try. Do you remember a girl named Jenny Burg?”

  “Jenny? Yeah, sure. She was a nice kid. Smart, as I recall. Why? What about her?”

  I told him what Celia had shared, about Jenny and Lana being on the swim team together. “She might be the friend Lana is staying with.”

  “Huh. I’m surprised you told me this,” said Wes. “You could have looked her up yourself and won our bet.” He sounded slightly suspicious, as if it might be a trick.

  “Honestly, I don’t care about that anymore. I hope you do find Lana, Wes. I feel like time is running—”

  Thump.

  I froze, my eyes shooting to the closed door of the gun room. The sound had come from within.

  “What is it?” Wes asked. “What’s the matter?”

  I tried the doorknob. It was locked. I put my ear to the door. I thought I heard another sound, a light scuffling, so faint it might have been my imagination. But I hadn’t imagined the first noise.

  “Keli?” said Wes.

  “It’s nothing,” I whispered. “But I gotta go. I’ll call you later.”

  I hung up and ran down the hall, all the way back to the kitchen. Farrah was wiping down the table and Crenshaw was tying off a trash bag. They looked startled to see me. I told them what I’d heard and urged Crenshaw to come and unlock the gun room.

  A minute later, we all three entered the small, den-like room and looked around. Nothing appeared to be out of place. There were no antlers on the floor or guns on the bottoms of any cabinets. There was nothing to explain the thud I’d heard.