Leighann Dobbs - Mystic Notch 01 - Ghostly Paws (13 page)

And come to think of it, the abrasive, annoying Sheriff Striker wasn’t even all that cute.
 

I faux smiled at Pepper. “Funny.”
 

My stomach felt a little queasy as I turned and started toward the door, pushing thoughts of Eddie Striker out of my mind and replacing them with ideas on how to find Lavinia’s killer.
 

By the time I got outside, I’d forgotten all about Striker. My mind so focused on how to investigate the few clues I had, that I didn’t even realize I’d sucked down the entire cup of tea.

***

The air had grown heavy with moisture and I wished I’d been smart enough to bring a raincoat. I realized ruefully that the time I’d spent that morning taming my hair had been in vain—the rain would make it go wild and it would re-arrange itself however it wanted.

I wrapped my arms around myself as I walked down the side street that led to the church. Lavinia’s family had decided on a short graveside ceremony, so I skirted the perimeter of the church to get to the graveyard behind it.

The cemetery was on a hill with the older graves at the bottom and newer ones at the top. I could already see people starting to gather about three quarters of the way up and I picked up the pace, passing the old-fashioned gravestones with their strange etchings on the way.

A mist had formed on the hill and it hung low to the ground, creating a ghostly effect that I thought was quite appropriate for Lavinia’s funeral. My leg started to ache halfway up the hill and I was limping by the time I reach the site where several mourners were already gathered.
 

Lavinia didn’t have any children or husband left living, just two sisters, their frail bodies huddled around the hole in the ground that would eventually become the final resting place of Lavinia’s earthly remains. Her sisters seemed genuinely upset and I had already decided they were too frail to be considered as suspects. Was there someone else here who could be the killer?

I scanned the crowd, recognizing most of the people. It had started to drizzle and I noticed most everyone wore a raincoat or trench coat. I automatically started checking to see if any of them were navy blue.
 

The hearse pulled up and the dark-suited pallbearers from Stilton’s Funeral parlor slid out the casket and carried it to the grave. I half expected to see Lavinia’s ghost sitting on top of it, but apparently she had better things to do than attend her own funeral.

Pastor Foley appeared at the head of the grave and started talking about Lavinia. I stood off to the side, trying to gauge people’s reactions. If the killer were here, would they do something that gave them away?

Most everyone had his or her head bent in prayer. I caught the eye of Bing, standing off to the side next to Cordelia, Hattie and Josiah. Apparently, Bing had recovered enough to attend the service. He nodded and bent his head, staring at his hands that were clasped in front of him. I took note of the large trench coat he wore—in tan, not navy blue.

Movement further up the hill caught my attention. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled as I saw something scurry between gravestones.
 

A small, furry animal ran out from the woods, making a beeline for one of the large monuments.
 

I watched in fascination as more furry figures came out of the woods, darting behind gravestones and making their way closer. About fifty feet away they stopped, and I saw the head of a cat peek over the top of one of the stones. I recognized it as the large feral cat Pandora had the run-in with behind the library. Beside it, a tiny face peered around the edge of the stone—the small kitten with the torn-up ear.

The cats were playing in the graveyard, watching us warily, almost as if they were attendees at the funeral.

Pastor Foley rambled on and I noticed Augusta and Striker had pulled up in Augusta’s black pickup. They got out quietly and stood on the other side of the street.
 

Striker’s eyes scanned the crowd, much like I had been doing and probably for the same reason. My heart jerked when his eyes met mine and then narrowed in suspicion before he nodded slightly and continued scanning.

I tried to keep my attention on the crowd, looking for anything suspicious, but my eyes kept sliding over to Striker, who I almost didn’t recognize in his dark suit. He towered over Augusta, who looked like a midget standing beside him in her black pantsuit. I guess they didn’t want to scare off the crowd by wearing police garb.

Foley finished his eulogy and the crowd started to disperse. Bing turned and made a beeline for his truck. The cats scampered into the woods. I raced over to tell Augusta about Ophelia’s cape and find out why both sheriffs were here before they drove off.

On my way over, I noticed that Ophelia had been conspicuously absent from the service.
 

“Hey, Gus, what brings you here dressed like that?” I nodded at Augusta’s outfit, sliding a sideways glance at Striker.

“Oh, just, paying our respects, same as you,” Striker cut in. His suit looked like it was tailor-made. Of course, it would have to be in order to fit his broad shoulders. The dark blue color highlighted his gray eyes, making them look like slate. He looked good … almost as good as the chocolate donut hole Augusta had slipped out of her pocket and popped into her mouth.

“So, did you guys notice anything out of place?” I asked.

Striker was right about one thing. They were here for the same reason I was, but it had more to do with detecting than paying our respects.

Striker smirked at me and my stomach started to feel queasy. “Well, you know they say the killer usually shows up at the funeral.”

“So you think someone who was here did it?” I asked.

“There is one person here who keeps suspiciously popping up in the investigation,” he answered.
 

“Really? Who?”

“You.”

I tilted my head and fisted my hands on my hips. “Surely you don’t think—”

Striker raised a brow at me and smiled that damned dimpled smile. “You sure do seem to know a lot about it.”

I felt fury race through my veins, took a deep breath and was about to ream him out when Augusta interrupted.
 

“Willa, he’s joking.” She looked up at Striker and popped a jelly donut hole in her mouth. “Aren’t you?”

“Yeah. Mostly. But she does keep showing up everywhere … almost getting in the way. I warned her we might have to arrest her for her own safety.” He looked down at Augusta. “Isn’t that right?”

Augusta pursed her lips at me. “Yes, that
is
right. I’ve warned you before, Willa. Investigating on your own can be dangerous.”

I shifted my weight to my right leg to ease the throbbing in my left and looked around at the dispersing crowd. Time to change the subject.

“Did you hurt your leg?” Striker asked, surprising me with the gentle tone of concern in his voice.
 

“Just remnants of an old accident,” I said vaguely, hoping he got the hint that I didn’t want to talk about it. Something flashed in his eyes—was that sympathy? I certainly didn’t need his sympathy and I felt my stomach turn queasy again. I sure hoped I wasn’t catching some kind of stomach bug.

“Anyway, we have to get back to work.” Augusta opened the driver’s door of the truck and Striker started around the back to the passenger side.

“Before you go, I have a lead I wanted to share.” They both stopped and looked at me.

“What is it?” Augusta asked.

I bit my bottom lip. This might really get me in trouble with them, but I
had
to get them to investigate Ophelia’s closet. “I couldn’t help but notice the embosser we found in back of the library had a blue thread on it.”

Augusta crossed her arms over her chest. “And?”

“Well, I happen to know that Ophelia Withington has a blue cape that looks like a color match … and Myrna at the coffee shop said she saw Ophelia there that morning.”

Augusta and Striker exchanged a look and I felt a spark of hope. Did they know something about Ophelia already?

“Also, I noticed Ophelia wasn’t at the service today,” I added triumphantly. Surely, her absence was a sign of guilt?

“Willa, that doesn’t really mean anything,” Augusta said.

“Yeah, but shouldn’t you get a search warrant or something and match the fibers of the cape to that on the embosser?”

“We could, but even if they matched it wouldn’t prove anything. That fiber could have been on the embosser before Lavinia was killed,” Augusta said.

“And besides,” Striker added, “we’ve already investigated Ophelia, and she has an alibi.”

“She does?” My brows mashed together and I looked from Augusta to Striker.

“Yep,” Augusta nodded. “An air-tight alibi. She was at the bank making a deposit and their security cameras have her time-stamped picture to prove it. According to the M.E., she was there at the exact time Lavinia died—Ophelia couldn’t have killed her.”

I stared at her incredulously, disappointment weighing my stomach down. I’d wasted a lot of time and energy chasing down the clues that pointed to Ophelia.
 

So, if Ophelia wasn’t the killer … then who was?

Chapter Nineteen

“I can’t believe Ophelia has an alibi,” I muttered to myself as I rolled my damp dress into a ball and threw it down on the floor in the tiny bathroom of my shop.
 

“Mew.” Pandora pushed a paw under the door in agreement.

“I still think she’s up to something.” I slid on my jeans, then slipped the pink sweater over my head. A quick look in the mirror confirmed that the combination of humidity from the weather and static electricity from the sweater had made my hair frizz. I rummaged through the medicine cabinet and found an elastic band that I used to corral my shoulder-length curls into a ponytail.

Leaning closer to the mirror, I plucked out a white hair—darn things had been making an appearance in one spot at my temple and I was doing my best to avoid having a thick white stripe in my red hair.

I made my way out into the shop, turned the sign to ‘Open’ and brought the box of books I’d gotten from Barry to the counter so I could enter them in my computer program before I put them in their new temporary home on one of the bookshelves in the store.

Pandora slunk over and got busy sniffing and rubbing the side of her face on the box, stopping to stare up at me with round eyes every few seconds.

My mind wandered as I worked on the tedious data-entry.
 

“I wonder if Barry’s strange fainting spell has anything to do with Lavinia’s murder?” I asked out loud, squinting out into the store, hoping to see the swirly mist of Lavinia’s ghost. I had questions for her.

“Meow.” Pandora rubbed her cheek vigorously on the now empty box.

“You’re right, that’s too farfetched. There’s no way they could possibly be related.”

Pandora let out a low “mew” swatting in the air at something only visible to her.
 

“Right, I thought so. But what about Bing? Why was he driving down the road so fast?”
 

Pandora made a sneezing noise and shook her head.

I pictured Bing in his truck, so intent on driving that he didn’t even notice me coming the other way.
 

“He was driving away from Barry’s … or was he driving
to
some place?” I’d seen him driving on the road that went past the turnoff to Barry’s, but that didn’t mean he’d been at Barry’s. He could have been coming from further up the mountain. And where had he been driving
to
?

I finished cataloguing the books and hit the button to print the price tags for each book. The printer hummed to life, startling Pandora and causing her to jump sideways and hiss at it. I couldn’t help but laugh … that printer got her every time.

I grabbed the stickers and shoved them in my back pocket, then lifted a stack of half the books and headed out toward the row of bookcases where I kept the children’s books, Pandora trotting obediently at my heels.

“There’s still that strange secret at the church that Lavinia and Ophelia both seemed to share. Even though Ophelia has an alibi, I think that’s worth checking into.”
 

I hoped Lavinia would show up and clue me in herself, but ghosts hardly ever appeared when you wanted them to. They liked to show up when they were least expected and scare the bejesus out of you, instead.

I slapped the price tags on the children’s books and slid them into their slots, then headed to the section where I kept the classics.

“So, the only real clues I have are the black car Ophelia saw and the bronzes,” I said, still talking to Pandora, who I’d like to think was hanging onto my every word.

“Meow,” she said as if to encourage me.

“I have no idea how to start investigating the big black car.” I put the prices on the three books I had left in my arms and found a place for each of them on the bookshelf. “As for the bronzes, I know exactly where to start.”

***

I closed up the shop promptly at five, locking Pandora inside despite her belligerent howls. Guilt ate away at me as I headed out of town and up the mountain, but it was for her own good. She never stayed put in the car and I just couldn’t bring her with me this time. I was going to start my inquiries about the bronzes at the source and I didn’t need to be chasing my cat around the Bates estate if she decided to take off and run wild.

The humid fog had turned to drizzle. Dark clouds rolled in along the valley as I drove the winding mountain road to the Bates mansion. I passed the cutoff to Barry’s and wondered if I should check in on him in case he had had another fainting spell, but thought better of it. He was a grown man and didn’t need me looking after him.

The Bates mansion cut into the side of the mountain—an immense old estate. The granite house boasted four stories, complete with million-dollar views from every window. An imposing black iron gate surrounded the main buildings. Thankfully, it was open and I drove my Jeep up the crushed gravel driveway, which circled around a giant fountain in front of the house.