Trouble in the Tarot (17 page)

“You’re sure?” She eyed me skeptically. “You’re just a bitty thing.”

“Absolutely.” Ophelia was practically my grandmother’s age, and a hippie flower child to boot. How bad could it be? And when I was done, I’d pay a little visit to Darla. Maids knew secrets people could only imagine. Hopefully, I’d learn more from her.

“Okay, then.” Betsy cracked her knuckles. “Lie down on your stomach, and we’ll get started.”

I did as she suggested and was surprised at how comfortable the massage table was. She dimmed the lights and put on soft soothing classical music in the background and even lit some aromatherapy candles. This wasn’t so bad. It was actually kind of nice. I could see why people became hooked.

Betsy poured some warm scented oil on my back and began to rub me down. I moaned in pleasure…but it didn’t take long before my moans turned to groans of agony.

I tried to lift my head to protest, but Betsy shoved me down and worked my muscles harder. “No talking,” she snapped. “It messes with my mojo.”

After an hour of agony, when I was positive I couldn’t
take any more, she rolled me over. I nearly cried out in relief, and I started to sit up.

“Oh, no, honey, this works better if you lie down.”

“What works better?”

“The rest of your package.”

“You mean there’s more?” I squeaked.

She lifted a pot of steaming hot wax in response, and I nearly fainted with a whimper. I closed my eyes in dread. Lord only knew what I had gotten myself into.

*    *    *

“That was the best idea ever, Sunny,” Jo said later that night as she sat next to Zoe at the bar in the Song Bird, waiting for our dance lessons to begin. We all wore pretty sundresses and sandals that showed off the pedicures we’d gotten.

The Song Bird was a Japanese karaoke bar on the edge of town. It was filled with eclectic out-of-town people with bizarre tastes in music, strange clothes, and
different
food. The stools were barely big enough to fit beneath our bottoms, but Cole loved it there. And Jo didn’t want any of the locals seeing us learn to dance.

“Yeah. Great idea.” I hobbled over, bow-legged, and gingerly took the stool on the other side of her. “You weren’t the one who had to endure a deep-tissue massage. I’ll be sore for a week. And who knew Ophelia was into Brazilian waxes. How am I supposed to dance when I walk like I’ve been riding a horse all day?”

“Why on earth would you say
I’ll have what she had
when you had no idea what that was?” Jo snickered.

“Look at the bright side,” Zoe said. “At least it’s bathing suit season. You won’t have to shave all summer.” She and Jo couldn’t stop giggling.

“Very funny.
Not!
Call me old-fashioned, but I’m thinking if we were meant to look like this, we would have been born this way. All I can say is
never
again. And to top it all off, I endured that torture for nothing.” I groaned as I shifted uncomfortably.

“I ran into Darla the maid,” I continued. “Turns out Ophelia has an alibi after all. Poor Darla was on the floor, cleaning up after the Nanas all night long the night Bernadette died. She said Ophelia only came out of her room long enough to get more snacks and drinks from the vending machines.”

“What does that mean in regards to the case?” Jo asked after ordering us all beers in wavy multicolored draft glasses.

Normally, I wouldn’t discuss a case with others not involved with the investigation. But since I wasn’t officially on the case, and Mitch sure wasn’t talking, I needed someone to run my thoughts by. Besides, I trusted these two completely.

“It means we have one less suspect.” I took a sip and then sighed, in Heaven. Until my niggling doubts crept back in. “I hate to admit it, I’m starting to get worried.”

“What does Mitch think?” Jo asked.

“I wouldn’t know,” I grumbled. “He won’t share
anything with me.” I waved my hands in the air. “He says he doesn’t want me to influence his objectivity.”

“He does have a point,” Zoe stated gently. “It
is
your grandmother who is being accused of murder, after all.”

“I know, but come on. As much as I want to clear her name, I’m not going to accuse some innocent person just to set her free.”

“What can we do to help?” Zoe asked.

“Exactly what you’re doing right now. Listening.”

“Do you have anyone else you’re looking into?” Jo asked.

“The murder happened somewhere between seven and eight P.M. Most everyone had left Trixie’s by seven, so a lot of people had opportunity. I’ve been trying to think of who might have had motive. Ophelia hated Fiona and wanted to be president of the Knitting Nanas, so at first I thought maybe she set her up.”

“How so?” Jo asked.

“She was the one sabotaging the carnival, and then her prints were on Fiona’s lemon meringue pie plate that was in Granny’s car at the time of the accident. And she’s a diabetic so she used one of her syringes to inject laxatives into the pie right before the Nanas left for Trixie’s, hoping to ruin Fiona’s chances of winning the bakeoff, but that’s all. Now that the maid can confirm Ophelia never left the hotel, then that means she was telling the truth, and she’s no longer a suspect.”

“Do you have any other leads?” Zoe asked and then sipped her beer.

“Well, there is Hazel.”

“The Sewing Sister who was in charge of the auction?” Jo asked, looking surprised.

“One and the same,” I responded. “She wasn’t happy when Granny got mad over her letting Fiona enter the Nanas’ quilt. It’s also so obvious that she’s sweet on Captain Walker, but he never seems to notice she’s alive. Maybe she killed Bernadette and framed Granny and Fiona so she could win the bakeoff with her cake, and then Captain Walker would be forced to notice her.”

“I don’t know,” Jo speculated. “If she’s so sweet on Captain Walker, then why is she constantly with that new guy, Harry, all the time these days?”

“Good point. But then if that’s the case, I don’t have much else to go on.”

“What about Quincy Turner?” Jo asked. “He sure wasn’t happy when Granny got the carnival committee to switch charities to the Animal Angels Organization instead of his Parks and Rec Program.”

“I thought about that, but then Bernadette started that petition to switch charities to his instead. Why would he kill her when she was on his side? That made me think of Ozzie Zuckerman. He would have even more reason to kill Bernadette, to stop her from getting the petition passed. Something’s not right about him.”

“Agreed,” Jo stated. “Even Dr. Parker said he didn’t give her the warm fuzzies. And his whole charity seems off, with not adopting to people in town.”

“Then there is the matter of the three notes. The first one Bernadette wrote about Granny and Fiona, and the
captain found it in the bottom of her turnover box after she died,” I went on.

“The second one was a note that Mitch had that was handwritten and warned Bernadette to stay away from the captain or else. I had it analyzed. The handwriting is left-handed. Fiona is right handed, but Granny is left. Just one more strike against her. Although, Granny can’t spell to save her life, and her handwriting is nearly illegible. I found the third note in the Dumpster outside of BB’s Baked Goods that was made up of cutout letters glued to paper, almost serial killer style.”

“Oh my goodness,” Zoe said. “That’s creepy.”

“That’s what I thought. This note said,
I know what you’re doing. You’re a fraud. Do what I say, or I’ll tell everybody and you will be ruined.
”

“Do you think that last one was from the same person who sent the handwritten one to Bernadette?” Jo asked.

“I’m not sure. I mean, they were two totally different styles of notes. One was a warning and the other was obviously blackmail. Who could have wanted Bernadette to stay away from the captain, and what exactly did Bernadette do that was blackmail-worthy?”

“I had no idea Bernadette was so mysterious,” Jo said, chugging the rest of her beer and flagging the bartender for another round.

I knew what she was up to. She wanted a little liquid courage before she stepped foot on that dance floor, but it would take a lot more than liquid courage to cure
what ailed me. I shifted again, still nowhere near comfortable.

“You never can tell what goes on behind closed doors in this town,” Zoe speculated.

“Oh, and one other thing,” I added. “Turns out Bernadette fired her entire staff the morning of her death.”

Jo squinted in concentration. “But she’d just won the auction, and everything was going so well for her. That doesn’t make sense at all.”

“Exactly,” I replied. “Not the actions of someone whose business was supposedly booming.”

“You actually still have a lot of leads, Sunny.” Jo patted my arm.

“I know. It’s just frustrating trying to figure out how to follow up on them all. At least I’m not working alone,” I said, watching Zoe closely. “Sean has been such a help.”

“Get out.” Her face looked puzzled. “I would think he wouldn’t help unless there was something in it for him. There has to be a catch, right?”

She had him pegged already. “Nope,” I lied. “He’s just that kind of guy.” Sean was a great guy, that much was true. I hoped to plant the first seed that there might be more to him than she thought, even if she was right about him wanting something. She just had no clue that something was her.

“Speak of the devil. Our dance partners just walked in.” Jo waved at Cole, Mitch, and Sean until they headed our way.

“But I thought Sean was running Smokey Jo’s?” Zoe looked momentarily panicked, and I was beginning to
think she liked him more than she let on. I just think he scared her.

“I told him to close early.” Jo winked. “It’s my wedding, and I want us all to look good on the dance floor.” She hopped off her stool, downed the rest of her beer, and led the way to the dance floor.

Zoe reluctantly followed, stating, “I get Detective Stone. Sean is the best man and Sunny is the maid of honor. It only makes sense that they dance together.”

“Great,” I muttered as I got to my feet with a wince and took one wobbly, bow-legged step, then hobbled over to join them.

Mitch eyed me carefully and then raised one thick black brow in question.

“Don’t ask,” was all I said, not about to venture into
that
conversation.

*    *    *

The Fourth of July dawned sunny and warm on Thursday morning. It was going to be an early scorcher. I donned a flowy red, white, and blue sundress, ran a brush through my hair, fluffing the spiky strands, and then went outside in search of Morty.

I hadn’t seen him last night or at all that morning. Dr. Parker was right. Granny and Fiona were getting to him as much as they were me. I searched around out back but only found a bunny rabbit munching on clover. Insects buzzed around flowers in full bloom, and birds flapped their wings, hopping from branch to branch in the trees that swayed in the warm summer breeze.

I made a note to mow my lawn as I headed out front, checking both sides of the house along the way. There was no sign of him. Wandering down the road a ways, I paused when I heard the sound of distant sirens. Turning around, I nearly jumped out of my sundress.

Morty stood before me, not making a sound, just staring up at me intensely like he was frustrated I couldn’t read his mind. His striped bow tie was askew and, good Lord in Heaven, Fiona had strapped a pair of knitted booties over his paws.

“There you are, boy,” I said, bending down and picking him up, stroking his head and back. “I know you’re having a hard time lately. I am, too. Hang in there with me. I promise we’ll figure this whole thing out.”

He purred and snuggled into me for a moment, but then seemed to realize what he was doing. He pulled back, shook off a bootie on a scowl, and then leapt out of my arms just as a fire truck went screeching by me. Where on earth was that truck going? There was nothing at the end of Shadow Lane except…

Vicky!

I broke into a run—more like a jog, given the amount of soreness I still felt from yesterday’s lovely little adventure—and hurried back home as quickly as I could. When I arrived, the firefighters were already inside, and Morty stood by the back of the truck. A flyer for the carnival with the Animal Angels charity listed on it was still taped to the red paint.

Hurrying inside, I stopped short at the sight of Granny and Fiona covered in black gooey soot.

“Is everything okay?” I asked with chest heaving as I was out of breath. Note to self: get back to the gym.

“It was all her fault,” Granny said, jabbing a long, gnarly finger at Fiona, then wiping her hands on her red-and-blue-checkered apron.

“Not everything is my fault,” Fiona countered, attempting to brush the soot from her blue-pleated skirt. “It was your idea to see if we could read her cards.”

I gaped at them. “You went into my sanctuary? Are you crazy?” This went beyond putting them in a time-out. I was ready to lock them both in their rooms and throw away the key. “I thought I told you both my things were off limits.”

“That’s what I told her, but the crazy fool wouldn’t listen,” Granny said.

“I didn’t
enter
your sanctuary,” Fiona said with a twinkle in her eye. “I used an old fishing pole I found in the garage.” She grinned like she was the most clever person alive. “Worked like a charm to snag your bag of cards off the table in there.”

“Seriously?” I rubbed my temples, heaving a breath. “Why is the fire department here?”

“On account of the fire, silly,” Fiona said, looking at Granny like I was the one with a screw loose.

Her words registered. “What fire?” I looked around, panicked. Vicky was so old and full of knickknacks, it wouldn’t take much to turn her into a pile of ash.

“Calm down, dear. There was a teensy fire in the kitchen, but we put it out right away,” Granny clarified, glaring at Fiona. “Mostly, we just set off the smoke
alarms. Good thing you listened to me. Since they’re hooked up to the emergency system, the fire department came immediately.”

Knowing them, they set off the alarm on purpose, hoping Captain Walker would show up again. “How did this
teensy
fire happen?”