A Dead End (A Saints & Strangers Cozy Mystery Book 1) (4 page)

“Rumor had it that he ran off because he owed a lot of money,” Jamison added. “Guess he didn’t get very far.”

Kit listened to the exchange with interest. The entire scene felt comfortably familiar — it was almost like being back on set. As far as she knew, Ernie owed money to the bank. It was unlikely that the bank would send thugs to remind Ernie of his debts. So that meant that Ernie owed money to other people besides the bank or that his death was unrelated to his debts. She thought of her neighbor, Peregrine Monroe, and wondered whether she was the type of woman who would kill a man over a messy yard. Kit decided there was only one way to find out.

Kit wandered the bucolic grounds of Westdale College, killing time before first-year orientation. She had fond memories of the campus. Despite the extensive grounds at Greyabbey, her father had often brought her here to play catch or attend the lecture of a notable visiting professor. He wanted her to expand her horizons and not get so comfortable in life that she became complacent. Well, he’d be happy with her progress on that score.

She settled on a bench in front of Warren Fountain, enjoying the tickle of a breeze on the nape of her neck. The day was warm and humid, typical for late August. She’d pulled her hair back into a slick ponytail in an effort to beat the heat but also blend in. During her brief time back in Westdale, she noticed that the classic ponytail was alive and thriving here.

The fountain was built in the style of an in-ground pool with a large, abstract sculpture shooting out of the middle. Kit thought it resembled an alien tree, silver and sparkling in the sunlight.

Kit watched two girls chatting and laughing as they walked toward Plymouth Hall. Their blond ponytails swatted each other as they bounced their way past the fountain. Kit thought the girl on the left was perilously close to the edge. She opened her mouth to call out, but then snapped it shut. The girl wasn’t blind; clearly she could see how close she was. It quickly became apparent that she couldn’t.

As one foot disappeared into the water, Kit shot off the bench before the girl had time to yell. Kit grabbed her arm and pulled her sideways to prevent her from falling in. Then she said a silent thank you to Hans for her rescue training.

“Omigod, you’re like a superhero,” the girl exclaimed, her cheeks bright pink with embarrassment.

“I told you not to walk so close to it,” the other girl scolded her. She glanced at Kit. “Charlotte is dyspraxic. That means her proprioception is compromised. Do you know what that is? Most people don’t. Basically, she always needs to be aware of her surroundings or she’s likely to fall into a ditch.”

Kit blinked. The girl’s rapid response managed to sound both intelligent and confusing.

“You look familiar,” Charlotte, the ditch-faller, said.

“You do,” the other girl agreed, her blond ponytail bobbing.

“I’m Kit Wilder,” she told them, awaiting the usual response.

“You’re Heloise Winthrop Wilder’s daughter,” the one-who-was-not-Charlotte said, her blue eyes brightening. “Oh, and you were on television. A prime time network show, not cable.”

“I was. ‘Was’ being the crucial word in that statement,” Kit said.

“I’m Francie Musgrove and this is Charlotte Tilton. We’re on our way to orientation.”

“So am I,” Kit said. “Part of my penance for disobeying my mother and running off to join the Hollywood circus is attending Westdale College.”

“It is the college of choice for useless spares,” Charlotte said, her nose scrunching. “You’re not a spare, are you?”

“No, I’m an only child,” Kit said. “But still useless.”

Charlotte nodded toward the fountain. “Not completely. I’d have been soaked and mortified if you hadn’t come along.”

“Wouldn’t have been the first time,” Francie muttered.

“Would you mind if I went in with you?” Kit asked. “I don’t know anyone. In case you hadn’t done the math, I’m a little older than the average first year.”

Francie beamed. “We wouldn’t mind escorting a bonafide star into the room. Our stock will skyrocket.”

“Not that we’d only do it because you’re part Winthrop,” Charlotte added quickly.

Kit wasn’t bothered either way. As far as she was concerned, she needed friends right now more than she needed to prove her independence. Together, the trio entered Plymouth Hall to kick off the first day of their college experience.

Kit rang the bell of the pretty Dutch Colonial house. No chipped paint, no weeds — everything was in perfect order. The door opened to reveal a slight woman in a coral twin set and neatly pressed slacks. Her brown hair was styled in a chin-length bob and she wore an elegant pearl necklace with matching earrings. It seemed that Peregrine Monroe herself was also in perfect order.

“Hi, you must be my new neighbor,” Kit said, turning on the charm. “I’m Kit Wilder.”

Peregrine gave her a haughty look. “Yes, of course. The Winthrop Wilder girl who ran off and joined the circus. I know all about you.”

“It wasn’t a circus,” Kit objected. Someone clearly worshipped the same society gods as Heloise Winthrop Wilder.

Peregrine narrowed her hazel eyes. “I beg to differ.” She stepped aside. “Do come in.”

“Thank you.” Kit stepped into the entry hall and was struck by the Spartan interior. Peregrine Monroe seemed like a person who had belongings. Her house suggested otherwise. It looked barely lived in.

“I’m downsizing,” Peregrine said, noting Kit’s surprise.

“Oh.” Kit hadn’t heard that the house was for sale. “Where are you planning to move?”

“Sedona, to be closer to my sister.”

“I guess we won’t be neighbors very long then.”

“Can I offer you a drink? An iced tea, perhaps?” Peregrine looked hopeful that Kit would decline. Naturally, she accepted.

“An iced tea would be divine,” she said with a big smile.

Peregrine’s own smile tightened as she made her way to the kitchen. Kit trailed behind her, checking out each room they passed. Not a battering ram in sight.

“Have you been planning this move for a long time?” Kit asked. Either Peregrine hadn’t owned much to begin with or she’d been slowly and steadily packing away her belongings in anticipation of the big day.

“No,” Peregrine replied, pouring homemade iced tea from a glass pitcher into a tall glass. “Not that I could’ve gone anywhere while that horrid Ernie Ludwig lived next door. He was single-handedly destroying my property value.”

Kit sipped her iced tea. “I heard he wasn’t winning any Neighbor of the Year awards.”

“I should think not,” Peregrine scoffed. “I was thrilled to hear that someone from a respectable family had bought the house. It was serendipity. Now I can list my house for sale with no worries.”

A minute ago she’d run off and joined the circus. Now she was respectable? It seemed the Winthrop Wilder name was still valuable currency in Westdale.

“You may want to put a hold on that listing,” Kit advised and told her about the grim discovery.

“I didn’t hear any sirens,” Peregrine replied, gazing out the rear window.

“I doubt sirens were necessary given that the corpse was a skeleton.”

Peregrine’s lips puckered. “Oh no,” she said. “A murder next door. This won’t do at all. I hope they intend to keep this quiet. If people find out, my house will never sell.”

Kit had just told her that her missing neighbor’s bones had been discovered in the house next door and her main concern was the sale of her house. And she’d thought Hollywood was heartless. What was the world coming to?

“I understand that you really disliked Ernie,” Kit said casually.

“Of course I disliked him. He was a menace to the neighborhood.”

Menacing enough to murder? “I heard you filed official complaints.”

“No more than Thora did,” Peregrine said.

Kit’s eyebrows shot up. Thora? The elderly woman hadn’t mentioned making any complaints. “What did Thora complain about?”

“His ghastly motor home, of course. The worst part was that he never used it. If you have a second home, it should be somewhere like Martha’s Vineyard, for heaven’s sake, not your driveway. It sat there most of the year and blocked the sunlight to Thora’s prizewinning rose bushes. She couldn’t grow anything decent once he’d bought that monstrosity.”

Kit’s mind was spinning. Why hadn’t Thora mentioned it? Why hadn’t Peregrine told the other neighbors she was planning to sell her house?

Kit finished her iced tea. “Well, the police are in my house now and I suspect it will get busier over there before the day is over. You may want to seek refuge at the country club or something.”

Peregrine gazed out the kitchen window and sighed. “If I had my druthers, I’d be seeking refuge in Sedona right now.”

After her fruitful visit with Peregrine, the number of people populating her front lawn dissuaded Kit from returning to her house. It was almost as bad as paparazzi.

She turned right instead of left and headed to Liberty Square on foot. She really needed her car. According to Beatrice’s latest report, it was somewhere in Ohio. Thankfully, the air was warm and pleasant and it would give Kit a chance to process what she’d learned from Peregrine.

The high-energy sound of
It’s Raining Men
jolted her and she pulled her phone from her handbag.

“Hallelujah,” she sang into the phone.

“I told you to stop using that for my ring tone,” Jordan complained. “It’s trite.”

“Fine, I’ll change it to
Ain’t No Mountain High Enough
.”

“You never called me back,” he said. “I thought you might have been buried beneath the floorboards, too.”

“Sorry, it got crazy once the police arrived. My house is officially a crime scene.”

“You must feel perfectly at home then,” Jordan said.

Kit laughed. “I do, actually. Is that weird that I find it comforting? The sound of sirens and crime scene tape are my white noise.”

“Glad your present came in handy.”

“I know, right. You should see these cops, though. The word ‘keystone’ doesn’t do them justice.”

Kit passed the library and considered stopping in to register for a library card. She’d need to show residency, though. Maybe another time when she had paperwork available.

“Is someone chasing you? What’s with the heavy breathing?” Jordan asked.

“I’m walking to Butter Beans.”

“You need to up your exercise regime if you’re panting from that. I was hoping it was because you’d seen a really hot guy.”

Kit smiled into the phone. “As it happens, I did meet a super scorching guy today. Guess what his name is?”

“Robert Downey, Jr.”

“Try again.”

“Tom Cruise.”

“I said super scorching, not super crazy.” She turned right onto Standish Street. “Romeo. The hot detective on the case is called Romeo.”

“He’s the detective?” Jordan queried. “Girl, it’s like Charlie Owen all over again.”

“It is nothing like Charlie Owen,” Kit bristled. She had nothing more to say on the subject. “I’m getting a well-deserved latte now. I’ll call you later.”

“But…” Jordan began. Kit turned off the phone and dropped it back into the deep chasm of her handbag. She needed a few minutes of peace and quiet.

She stepped inside Butter Beans and was relieved to see that the place was close to empty. Butter Beans had been a place she liked to hang out after school with friends. Looking around at the cozy interior, Kit decided that the space was as warm and welcoming as she remembered.

Stepping up to the counter to place her order, she was greeted by a dough-faced barista. His nametag read ‘Sam.’

“Hi Sam,” she said. “I’d like a skinny vanilla latte, please.”

“I got your latte right here,” Sam said, doing his best Ellie Gold impression.

Kit smiled politely.

“See what I did there?” Sam asked. “With latte?”

Kit nodded. “I did see. Clever.”

“I heard you found Ernie Ludwig,” Sam said, lowering his voice.

News traveled at lightning speed in Westdale. “How is it possible that you know that?” Kit replied, glancing around the coffee shop for signs of a Westdale police officer.

Sam shrugged. “We’re the official hub of Westdale information.”

“My mother might disagree with that,” Kit murmured.

“Since you’re here, would it be okay if I asked you to look at my script?” Sam asked, pulling a thick ream of paper from a nearby messenger bag.

“Your script?” Kit echoed.

“When I heard you were moving back to Westdale, I started bringing my script to work just in case I ran into you. I heard you used to hang out here.”

Great, even baristas in Westdale, Pennsylvania were aspiring screenwriters. “What’s it about?” Kit asked.

Sam’s pudgy face lit up. “This one’s totally different. It’ll blow your mind.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Three words. Cowboys. In. Space.”

“Like
Serenity
?” Kit asked.

Sam blinked. “What’s
Serenity
?”

“What’s
Serenity
?” Kit sucked in a breath. “Ever hear of a guy called Joss Whedon?”

“Sure.
The Avengers
guy, right?”

“Well, he didn’t start with
The Avengers
. Do yourself a favor and check out his backlist.”

Sam nodded eagerly. “Definitely. Anything you say.”

Kit sighed inwardly with relief when she saw the script drop back into his bag. He set to work on her latte and she gratefully accepted the steaming mug. She maneuvered her way around the tables and chairs until she reached a plush chair by the window. Peace and quiet at last.

“Is this seat taken?” a voice asked.

Kit glanced up into the dark, dreamy eyes of Detective Romeo Moretti. “Shouldn’t you be out there detecting?”

He shrugged and settled into the chair across from her. “I seem to have left my magnifying glass at home today.”

She sipped her latte and it burned the tip of her tongue. She’d need to remember that Sam made scalding hot lattes.

“So will I be able to actually live in my new house?” she asked hopefully.

“Not yet, I’m afraid. The bones have been removed, but there’s a lot more work to do. If you give me your cell number, I’ll call you when we’re finished.”