Magic, Mayhem and Murder Page 6

  She stepped forward again. “Sure. Anything to help out.”

  “Thanks. I won’t be long.” I sashayed right out of there.

  Thor and I made Mrs. Hurst’s former residence in record time. No sign of activity. Perfect. I half-ran to the door and twisted the knob. Locked. I scrambled for the key and came up empty. Darn it. Maybe a window? I hurried around the back and tried one not visible from the street. Shoving hard at the half-frozen latch corrupted by coats of thick paint, I slowly eased the window upward, grunting and groaning with the effort. Darn thing was about as cooperative as a four-hundred-pound Sumo wrestler. Wiping the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand, the day growing hotter by the second, I looked round for something to stand on.

  Spying a shallow wooden rain barrel under a water trough, I dashed across the yard to the garage, quickly dumping the container’s contents on the grass along with a load of dead mosquitoes. Once I’d rolled it over to the window, I turned it bottom-side up and stepped onto it, praying it could take my weight and had not rotted out. From there I fish-tailed myself into the open window.

  It took me a moment to get my bearings in the dim light. It was a back storage room, by the looks of the shelving and supplies. I crept to the closed door and listened. All quiet.

  I opened the door then stepped into the hallway. My best bet was an office or the space where she’d kept her records. The first room turned out to be the laundry room, the second a pantry. I kept moving, listening to the tick tock in my head, and tried a third room. Bingo. Her office, complete with a computer situated on the lone desk and a gunmetal gray file cabinet snugged up beside it.

  I rushed to the desk and rifled through the bills and correspondence with hands that trembled slightly, to my dismay. I tried not to focus on the violation of a dead woman’s things. An invisible force was pushing me to do this, and a sense of disaster loomed if I didn’t get answers, now.

  Nothing stood out. The file cabinet was next. Everything was neatly labeled in vanilla legal-sized folders. Nice system. When I had more time, I’d consider adopting it. I read each label, trying to think what might reveal something of note. Ah, her banking records. Those should prove helpful. I pulled that one out and set it aside on the desk. I skimmed the rest of the folders but found nothing of interest. Hmm. What else?

  A sound of nails scratching and scrambling on hardwood came. I whirled around, glimpsing a streak of something huge out of the corner of my peripheral vision. The monster landed on the desk beside me with a loud ominous thump. I stumbled backward, certain I was about to be attacked.

  “Meow.”

  Larry, her cat. A swoosh of breath left my body of its own accord. I reached out and ruffled his furry head.

  “Hey, Larry, you trying to give me a heart attack or what?”

  He responded with his usual motor-like purr, his massive head bumping against my hand for more scratches.

  “No one looking after you, big guy?”

  The huge fluffy Maine Coon responded with a plaintive yelp, his golden eyes full of indignation. Guess not.

  “Okay, I’ll get you something to eat in a sec,” I promised.

  “MEOW. MEOW. MEOW…”

  “Okay. Okay. I’m coming right now. Stop your kyoodle.” I grabbed the folder and tucked it under my shirt and into my pants to keep it secure.

  Larry jumped down, tail up, expecting me to follow him right into the kitchen. Of course, I did. I stopped dead in the doorway though between the kitchen entrance and the back hall, the rubber soles of my running shoes squealing on the tiled floor.

  A woman had died in this room yesterday. I looked over to the spot, still seeing her lying there in my mind’s eye. I blinked. When my vision cleared, the image was gone. Oh boy. Taking a deep breath, I hurried on wobbly legs to the cupboard where Mrs. Hurst stored her cat food. I’d fed Larry before when his ‘owner’ was away, and in anticipation of some Fancy Feast, he danced around my legs to speed up the whole darn process.

  Working rapidly, I popped the small tin open, dumped it onto a saucer then placed it on the floor in the tray provided. I dumped the contents of his water dish and refilled it from the tap.

  “That’s better, eh. Who’s going to take care of you now, I wonder? I don’t see you and Ling Ling getting along.” I sighed. Poor little man.

  Too busy to respond, Larry kept his head buried in his food dish.

  “Too bad Mrs. Hurst didn’t keep a diary or something. That would help me enormously.”

  No response except sounds of serious noshing down.

  “Okay. I got to go, big fellow. I’m sure Mrs. Smith is ready to lop off my head by now. Or maybe use one of her daddy’s pistols on me.” Her father had been a big-time collector of weapons, from the Civil War onward. “I’ll look in on you later. Okay?”

  Wincing, I noted that the jar of jam had gone from the table. It pained me to think of someone looking for bad things in jam I prided myself on. I let out a shuddering breath. Okay. I flicked a glance farther down the counter, seeing the two stacked cases were still in place. What a shame if all that effort goes to waste as well. Swallowing my anger, I gave a last perusal of the kitchen and turned to head out of the door. Larry had a cat door and would be fine until I found out what the deal would be. Worst-case scenario, Ling Ling and Larry would have to make friends. Or at least call a truce.

  I crashed right into a brick wall.

  “What on earth?” I stumbled backward. A pair of strong arms kept me from tumbling to the floor.

  “Are you all right?” The low growly voice, full of resonance that enticed me on a whole new level, turned my head on the spot.

  “No.” I breathed in his woodsy fragrance just as our eyes locked. In horror, I stared at our new Mountie, his body heat stored from the morning sunshine emanating through his shirt and into me. Suspicion filled his chocolate-brown eyes.

  “What are you doing here, Charm?”

  Good question. I prayed the folder I’d hidden in my clothes didn’t show. “Nothing. Well, except feeding Larry.” Thank you, Larry. Our home is now your home, buddy.

  “Larry? Oh, the cat.” Larry was still heavily involved with his feast, declining to acknowledge an interloper during mealtime. But I did note his ears flicking backward to keep tabs on us.

  “You can let me go now,” I suggested, tugging at the arms that pinned me to his rather broad and awesome chest. Maybe he was a weightlifter too?

  “Oh—yeah.”

  Strange. His tone was breathless, as though he’d run all the way here.

  He belatedly let me go.

  “So, I’d better get back. Mrs. Smith, the banker’s wife, is watching the booth for me.”

  “Nice of her.”

  “Yes, she’s a real sweetheart.”

  His eyes darted to mine and I smiled as though I had a mouthful of stolen whipping cream.

  “Why are you here?” I asked pointedly. Mrs. Smith could wait another minute.

  He flushed, not meeting my eyes, but I caught the surreptitious glance toward the counter.

  “No! You are not doing that!”

  “Just doing my job. I have to take in the rest of it. We have to be certain.”

  “You have no call to do that. If the first jar turns out fine, all this will be wasted.” I crossed my arms over my chest, giving him a full-on glare. “You’ll destroy our business.”

  “I promise you confidentiality. Nobody will know except the authorities.”

  “Yeah, right. Do you know where you’re living? In Snowy Lake rumors travel faster than the speed of light. Everyone will know by suppertime. Guaranteed.”

  “Well, they won’t know from me.”

  “And that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

  “I don’t want to fight about this—”

  “We’re not fighting. It’s the truth.”

  He pressed his lips together, looking about as comfortable as an animal caught in a trap. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

&
nbsp; “Do what you have to. Just don’t expect me to agree.” And with that, I hightailed it out of there. New item on the agenda—teach the lawman a lesson.

  I ran down the sidewalk, my runners slapping. I scurried into my jeep and gunned the motor. Tick tock. The noise in my head was ratcheting up and meant my solving what had happened to Mrs. Hurst had become of paramount importance.

  At the fairgrounds, I parked in one of the exhibitors’ parking spaces to jump the queue of out-of-town vehicles lining up to pay for public parking, and pulled the folder out from under my shirt. Hmm. How to disguise it?

  After tugging the sheets of printed paper from the marked folder, I turned the cardboard cover inside out, then shoved the papers back inside. Untitled, it could be anything. I could then study the pages during downtime at the booth—that is, if we got some. The fairgrounds were fast filling up, meaning a busy day lay ahead. At least we’d make money until rumors began flying. Sighing, I guessed there was nothing to be done about it. I exited and locked Thor then hurried across the parking lot to our stall.

  “Finally! I thought you’d gotten lost.” Mrs. Smith’s expression was sour enough to turn sweet butter rank.

  “I’m so sorry. Please, take a dozen. My small way to make up for your inconvenience.”

  “Harrumph.”

  But she got down to the business of helping herself and was soon on her merry way, minus the sour look. And us minus a few loonies in profit.

  The sound of the band starting up their first set drew my full attention. Star was decked out in a red leather minidress and white cowboy boots today. She looked hot enough to set the world on fire, which I prayed she did. She deserved it for all her hard work. Just why couldn’t she be a success from Snowy Lake instead of warmer climes?

  Oh— Oh.

  Snowy Lake’s Johnny strolled by with his new fancy girlfriend holding his hand, headed for the grandstand. And Star. Oh fudge. It was intervention time. I dashed from the booth, running full-tilt for the stage. Maybe I could catch her eye, keep her from making the biggest mistake of her life.

  But her higher vantage point gave her all the fuel she needed. The band fired up and the first song started, sung by a scorned angel.

  “A sweet, wild man came a’ callin’—Told me he’d keep me from fallin’. He said my heart was safe in his hands. He’d be my man and my biggest fan.”

  I tried windmilling my arms in an effort to abort the song. Please let her see me!

  “Then Sara Jean turned his eyes sweet blue. And though he’d sworn to love me true. He turned his back and left me dry. For a new woman who made me cry.”

  When she was about to sing the chorus, an energetic presence nudged at my elbow and I looked up to see who it was. Ace Collins, our snoopy new Mountie. Oh, double fudge.

  “Snowy Lake Johnny’s a sweet, wild man. He turned my head and warmed my bed. All before we found him dead.”

  “Nice song,” he deadpanned, shooting an inscrutable glance my way. It was not just pouring raindrops, but broken glass.

  I cleared my throat. Busted. “Yeah, she wrote that not long ago about a man who broke her heart. All make-believe, of course. You know—metaphors and that kind of thing. Songwriters write figurative. Not meant to be taken seriously,” I said, not meeting his eyes.

  “Hmmm.”

  Snowy Lake Johnny had vanished, along with his new girlfriend. But I spotted someone else I desperately wanted to grill—ah—chat with.

  “Excuse me.” I made my excuses to the sheriff and darted a zigzag line through the burgeoning crowd for Suzanna.

  “Hey, Suzanna!” I gave a yell. Fate seemed to be having her move away, not toward me.

  She turned around, her face quizzical, and waited for me to catch up. Dressed in jeans and an embroidered peasant-style blouse, she looked pretty that morning, her curly dark hair caught up in a clip with tendrils framing her elfin face.

  “Hey, Charm. What’s up?” she asked.

  “I need to ask you a couple of things?”

  “Oh, yeah. I heard about Tulip finding Mrs. Hurst.” She shook her head, making her curls dance. “Terrible thing. Guess I’ll need to find another job. Not much call for maids in this town. Hopefully I can get on at the Snowball Inn.”

  Hmm, she didn’t seem too cut up by Mrs. Hurst’s passing. But again, not many would be.

  “Did Mrs. Hurst have any visitors yesterday, do you know? Were you working?”

  “Yeah, I pulled a full shift. And to think just a short while later…” She grimaced.

  “Who did you see?”

  “Well, she had a number of visitors. You know how she is. Calls people up and expects them to drop everything and attend to her needs.” She covered her mouth with her hand, realizing, I imagined, that she’d just spoken ill of the dead.

  “And?” I pressed, noticing out of the corner of my eye our Mountie friend, closely trailed by Ivana, getting closer. Oh-oh, I have to get a move on here.

  “Yes, okay. There was the banker guy, Fred Smith. Boyd Thompson from Boyd’s Wheels—something about a new car. And Helen Davis came by with a loaf of her homemade bread. And—oh yeah, her niece Emma came for coffee in the afternoon.”

  “That all?” Four names. Not bad. Emma would be the easiest one to talk to, her having been my best friend since kindergarten. And, duh, of course the fact that she had nothing to do with it.

  Her eyebrows knitted together. “No, I forgot. Just before I left, Sean Blackmore dropped by. Mrs. Hurst seemed surprised to see him, though. Guess she hadn’t ordered him to.”

  Okay, five. And Sean Blackmore was the most interesting of all. Why would a guy with no obvious connection to Mrs. Hurst visit her? Sean was married to Christine, a former Davis, a member of the other rich family in Snowy Lake. The two families had been voted on occasion to be the most likely to replace the Hatfields and McCoys. And Christine was a woman of legend in her own right, as jealous as Megaera, a spiteful entity from mythology who loved to punish infidelities of the marital kind most of all. Nothing like the wrath of a goddess to wreck a good day. And Sean was no angel, with his reputed fondness for women—not that I’d taken him up on any of his come-ons in the past. Even the one in high school where he’d used an airplane with a trailing banner to ask me to go to graduation with him. There was no accounting for why some men took such risks, though, now that he was married. The guy was lucky he hadn’t ended up like Lorena Bobbitt’s husband.

  “I speak to you, Charm!” Ivana had outpaced the lawman. Amazing, when she had shorter legs and smaller feet.

  I turned to face her. Never hurts to be nice. ‘Treat others like you want to be treated, sweeting, you’ll be better for it.’ Granny’s tutelage came in handy more often than not. “Ivana. Thank goodness you’re here! I’m so sorry I forgot to call you and invite you to our little festival.” I added a curtsey and nod for maximum effect.

  It took the wind right out of her sails. Perfect.

  “Okay. I buy cookies now?”

  “Sure, sure. I’ll be right there.” Shoot, with all the shenanigans the booth was being neglected. Where was Tulip? I needed help if I was going to keep all the balls in the air.

  “Miss McCall. A word.”

  “Could we head back first? No one’s looking after our stall. We could be being robbed left and right.” Hardly the case, when others would be watching out for us, of course. It was a small town thing. But it sounded good.

  He nodded and fell in alongside me. No matter how fast I quick-stepped it, he strolled as if we were taking a walk in the park. Show-off.

  The booth had a crowd lined up in front of it, obscuring my view. Where had all the customers come from? I breathed a sigh of relief when I finally jostled myself to the front of the line, excusing myself multiple times for cutting in. Tulip was in charge, packing up cookies and tucking money into her fancy Tea & Tarot apron. Thank you, goddess.

  “What was it you wanted?” Of course, the Mountie was right behind me. Easy enough to tell, with
his ridiculously large shadow dogging my every step.

  “I think we should speak in private.”

  I rocked where I stood and pointed to the back of the booth, tugging open the curtain that obscured the interior from our customers. “In here.” The space was awful tight, squeezed in as we were between boxes of cookies and cans of drinks. I chewed on my lower lip. His presence was using up all the darn oxygen. The guy really was bigger than life.

  “Someone broke into Mrs. Hurst’s by going in a back window. In the last couple of hours, at most.”

  My stomach dropped farther, if that was possible. Did I fess up or not?

  “And?”

  “Would you know anything about it?”

  I swallowed. Hard. “Yeah, Larry was hungry. Poor little guy.” Twenty pounds of fat and fur, but who’s quibbling?

  “And so you just broke in—an illegal act by the way—and didn’t think to call the police?”

  His expression was all lawman now. Oh, boy.

  “I love animals. They’re often nicer than humans. So arrest me.” I gave him my best defiant look, holding out my wrists.

  His expression shifted. I wasn’t certain why. But his right cheek seemed to be developing a twitch, right above his deep dimple. Aw, nice, a matching dimple on the other side.

  “I’m not here to arrest you, Charm, but to warn you. Don’t try anything like that again. Ever. Understand?”

  “Yes, Officer.” I nodded politely, crossing my fingers.

  He caught the action, his eyes widening. He grabbed my hand, rubbing the palm and making it tickle while he separated my entangled fingers. He held on even while electricity shot past my wrist and up my arm. I stared at him in dismay. Hairs prickled on the back of my neck while the fire continued on its merry path zinging all the parts of my anatomy.

  “I’m not fooling, darlin’. If you interfere with my investigation in any way, I will throw your sweet butt in jail. No matter how beautiful or intelligent the woman attached to it is. Understood? Now say ‘Yes, Officer’ and mean it this time.”

  “Yes, Officer.”

  He let go. Free, I rubbed at my tingling hand, even more worried about other tingling parts that a lady simply cannot rub in public.