Leighann Dobbs - Mystic Notch 02 - A Spirited Tail (18 page)

Jimmy looked up at the ceiling, chewing his pizza thoughtfully.  “And you think she also killed Bruce?”

“Maybe.”

“But she’d be seventy years old!”

“Trust me. She’s more than capable of doing the deed.” 

“But
why
would she kill Bruce?”

“I think she might have gone to the house to get something and Bruce just happened to be there, so she had no choice. Also, Bruce might have suspected her, too. You said he had those photos at his house. Maybe he had an investigation of his own and came to the same conclusion I did and confronted her.”

“Hmm … maybe.”

“When I told Gladys the house was being sold, she seemed really surprised. Maybe she was just acting, or maybe she really didn’t know the house was being sold. 

If there was something in that house she wanted—maybe something that incriminated her in the murders—and she went there and ran into Bruce and had to kill him, she might not want to go back too soon afterward. Especially if she really didn’t know it was being sold, because she’d figured she could go back any time. But once I told her Steve was selling everything off, she realized she
had
to get in there to get what she needed.” 

Jimmy looked at me doubtfully. “That seems kind of farfetched and I don’t think Gus was convinced there really was a break-in.”

“I know she wasn’t, but that piece of fur …”

“What about it?” Jimmy slurped his tea and I wondered about those herbs Pepper had put in. Hopefully it wouldn’t backfire and make him less confident like some of her teas had done in the past. Then he’d never want to help me!

“It was from a rare cat, one that Gladys just happens to own.”

“But
why
would she need to break in to Van Dorn’s?”

“That’s a good question.” I didn’t feel like it was my place to tell him about the love letters—that was Charles’ secret to share. “I think there may have been some sort of evidence of their affair she wanted to keep buried. She probably had a key to the house and that’s why there was no evidence of a break-in.”

“But, why after all these years? I mean who would care now if she had an affair with Van Dorn fifty years ago?”

“Gladys has a son that is the right age to be Charles’ son. In fact, she was pregnant when Charles died. Maybe she was trying to protect him somehow.  Maybe she didn’t want him to find out Charles was really the father.”

 “So, why wouldn’t she have gotten what she wanted back then after he died?”

“I don’t know. The house was secured by the police after he died so she probably couldn’t get in. Then after that, it was locked up. Maybe she felt that since the house was locked up, whatever she wanted was safe.  It was after I told her about Steve selling stuff off that she got agitated.”

“It does sound like there could be a lot of reasons Gladys could be the killer, but I can’t picture anyone going to all that trouble.” Jimmy sipped his tea. “Although it is almost perfect. Kill Lily, frame Charles, then kill Charles and have him confess to killing Lily in a suicide note. And then collect your inheritance. Case closed. The police wouldn’t even investigate Charles’ death and would likely stop the investigation on Lily’s.”

“Exactly,” I said, letting Jimmy continue with his own conclusions.

“And no one would even question why Charles left Gladys money.” Jimmy sighed. “Maybe Gladys really is that devious, but we can’t just go on a hunch.”

“Right! We need proof.”

“How do we get that?”

“I need to look at all the files from Charles’ and Lily’s cases and get into Bruce’s house to see what he had.” I gave Jimmy my most earnest look. “Will you help me do that?”

Under the table, Ranger, who had been flicking his eyes back and forth between us as we ate the pizza, whined at the mention of getting access to Bruce’s.

Jimmy pursed his lips, and reached down to pet Ranger on the head. “Okay, but we have to be careful. We were wrong before and I don’t want Augusta to get madder at me.”

As if to emphasize Jimmy’s words and taunt us for our error in having Steve brought in, Pandora leaped on the table with a blue pen in her mouth, then proceeded to drop it right in the middle of the last slice of pizza.

Chapter Eighteen

During my crime journalist days, I had developed a gut instinct about crimes, and it was usually right on target. Right now, my gut instinct was telling me that Bruce Norton’s murder was directly related to the murders of Charles and Lily fifty years ago. 

The only people—and ghosts—who were still around from back then, didn’t seem to want to give me straight answers, but I knew one person who might have them. Les Price.

Even though Les hadn’t been around, his father had, and since he was continuing his father’s book, I figured he’d have plenty of information about the goings on back then. 

So, the next day, I headed over to the Moonlight Motel before work to bring some fresh baked muffins to Mr. Price. In my experience, baked goods usually worked pretty good to get people talking and I was hoping Les Price was no exception.

The Moonlight Motel sat just off Route 302, in the White Mountain National Forest.  The motel, a small, one-story building with about twenty rooms and an office, was nestled in a forest of dense pine trees. I breathed in the fresh, pine-scented air as my tires crunched over the white stone driveway.

Having grown up in town, I knew Mabel and Burt, the owners, so I used two of the blueberry muffins to bribe them into pointing me toward Les’ room. I knocked on the door, holding the bag of muffins up in front of me as if it was a ticket for entry.

The door opened slowly and Les peered out, blinking and squinting as if he hadn’t seen sunlight in days. I glanced inside the room. Les’s laptop sat open on the round table, papers were strewn about on the bed, and piles of clothes on the floor.

“Oh. Hi. What are you doing here?” he asked.

I held up the muffin bag. “I just thought I’d stop by and bring you some of the best muffins in New Hampshire.”

Les looked from the bag to me skeptically, then over his shoulder into the room. “Well, I’m kind of busy writing …”

“That’s what I want to talk to you about. The Van Dorn stuff,” I said quickly.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I have a theory and I’m wondering if your dad’s notes might help.”  

He hesitated, looking from the messy room to me.

“It could be beneficial to both of us. Plus, these muffins are still warm.” I dangled the muffin bag in front of his face.

“Okay.” Les stepped aside and I squeezed in, wrinkling my nose at the smell of burnt coffee and ketchup.

Les gestured to the messy room. “Sorry, I’ve been on a writing tear … well, you know how it is.”

I nodded. I did know how it was, or used know, back when I made my living by writing. Les pushed a pile of clothes off the chair and we sat at the small round table under the window, the bag of muffins between us. 

“Coffee?” He pointed to the coffee maker sitting on the table. I wasn’t sure how long the coffee had been in there, but it looked like mud.

“No, thanks.” I angled the bag at him, giving him first choice. He reached his hand in and came out with a muffin, then I took one for myself and placed it on the table in front of me. 

“So, it looks like you’ve been hard at work.” I nodded at the pile of papers on the bed. “Have you been out to the Van Dorn’s?” 

“No. After what you told me about the body, there was no way I was going up there to be the next victim of the curse. Anyway, I heard that Van Dorn guy got arrested for killing that old man, so I guess the house must be locked up again.” Les slid the glass carafe out of the coffeemaker and poured himself a mug of thick sludge.

“He did … but then he was released. I guess it wasn’t him.” I peeled part of the paper cup off the bottom of my muffin carefully.

“What?” He looked up at me, the movement causing him to dribble thick dots of coffee on the table. 

“Yeah, I guess he had an alibi. He was on an airplane. The weird thing is, he confessed to being the one that wrote on Bruce’s forehead, but I guess he wasn’t the one who killed him.” 

Les stopped dabbing at the spilled coffee and squinted up at me. “Why would he do that?”

“To make more money. He figured the items in the house would be more valuable if there was a renewed interest in the curse.”

“Oh.” He sat back in his chair with a sour look on his face, flicking his pencil on the notepad in front of him. “Are there any leads to the killer? What about the murder weapon?”

I shrugged, brushing crumbs off my finger neatly into the paper muffin cup. “The cops don’t share with me. I did find out the murder weapon was some kind of club or blunt object, but they haven’t found it yet. But, I have an idea about the murder and I think it’s related to what happened fifty years ago.”

Les stopped tapping and stared at me. “Really?”

I nodded and told him how Charles left Gladys money, how she was strong enough to clobber Bruce, and how she seemed quite agitated when I visited her and told her the house was being sold. 

“I think she might have been after something in the house. It’s possible she went there the morning of Bruce’s murder to get it. Bruce just happened to be there and she had to kill him. I was wondering if there was anything in your father’s notes that might support my theory,” I said hopefully.

Les pressed his lips together. “The housekeeper … yes.  He did talk about her. She was always around. So, you think she had something to do with the murders back then?” 

“Yep. Maybe she was jealous of Lily or something …” I let my voice trail off and shrugged. I didn’t want to tell him about the love letters.

“Huh, that could be. I remember my father saying something about her acting suspicious. It’s in his notes somewhere, I think.” Les jumped up and sprinted to the bed, then started rummaging around in the stacks of papers. 

“Did your father write anything about Lily’s death … or Charles’ suicide?” 

“Well, he always thought Charles killed Lily.  I mean, because of the mark on her head and such. Plus, he did say they had something going on.” He stopped rummaging, pushed his glasses up on his nose and looked at me. “Yes, that’s right. There
was
something. Maybe there was something between Charles and Gladys at the same time, and then Lily got angry and they had it out? It could have happened that way.”

“Maybe. If you have notes from your father, that might help us prove it.” I wondered if what Les was saying could be true. According to the letters, the affair had to be hidden
from
Lily, but what if that was because Charles was also having one
with
Lily. If Les’ father thought something was going on between them, maybe Charles had lied to me. But why?

He looked down at the mess of papers. “I can’t find the exact note, but I believe he said something about seeing Gladys come out of that stream gaging station—you know, that little building in the woods just up the street from the Van Dorn’s? She denied it when he confronted her.  He always thought she hid some evidence there.”

A feeling of excitement sprouted in my stomach. This could be the lead I was looking for. “You mean evidence on Lily’s death?”  

“I think so.”

“If she is the same killer, she might have left the murder weapon that killed Bruce there, too.”

 “Exactly what I was thinking.” He started pacing the room, which I found to be a little unnerving. I twisted in my chair, to face him.

“What about Charles’ death? Did your father have notes about that?”

“What?” He looked at me distractedly. “Oh, no. My father had already left on the train earlier that day, so he didn’t know a thing about Charles’ death. He never went back after that.” 

He started pulling some clothes out of a drawer and I wondered what the heck he was doing. “Do your father’s notes mention anything about a hand-written journal?”

He looked up from his task, his brows knit together. “Journals? No, why?”

“Oh, a few people have mentioned them and I was wondering what they were. I haven’t found them in the library.”

“Well, I don’t know anything about that.” He looked pointedly at the digital clock on the bedside table. “I just remembered I have an appointment, so if you’ll excuse me …”

“Oh, right.” I shoved the rest of the muffin in my mouth and brushed the crumbs into the bag. “Well, thanks for the info. Let me know if you remember anything else.”

“Right. You do the same. This could be a great addition to the book.”

I left the muffin bag on the table and took my exit, feeling a little more hopeful and making a mental note to check the gaging station … if Gladys had hidden something there once and it was never found, she might think it was the perfect place to hide a murder weapon.

Chapter Nineteen

I went home to collect Pandora and Ranger after my visit with Les. I wasn’t back at the bookstore for more than an hour when the door opened and Jimmy Ford hurried in, clutching a plastic bag as if he was hiding a stolen treasure. 

He looked around furtively. “Do you have a back room?”

“Sure. Why?”

He leaned across the counter toward me. I noticed he seemed taller somehow, his shoulders broader and his face less blotchy. Or maybe it was just the uniform.

He cut his eyes toward the bag and whispered, “I have the files from the old Van Dorn cases.”

“Great! Let’s look at them right here.” I gestured to the sofa.

He frowned. “I’m not sure I want Striker or Augusta to know I’m looking into this. These are old cold case files. They were pretty easy for me to check out of storage, but after the whole thing with Steve …”

“Right.” I rushed to the door. “I’ll close the store while we look at them.” 

I flipped the sign and locked the door while Jimmy settled on the couch. He opened the folders and spread the contents on the coffee table. 

Charles’ ghost hovered near Jimmy’s elbow, looking down at the pictures and scowling.