Whispers Beyond the Veil (15 page)

W
hat do you think?” Frank Nichols asked as they bent over the body. “Pickpocket turned violent?”

“Perhaps. The fact that his watch is still with the body makes me wonder.” Yancey pointed at the fancy and obvious chain stretched over the dead man's waistcoat. He began searching the victim's pockets. Even after hours spent wicking salty moisture up from the sand, the fabric of the victim's suit felt like money under Yancey's fingers. He pulled out a billfold and flipped it open. Several five-dollar bills and a few ones still nestled inside. Finding nothing else besides a book of matches from the Sea Spray Hotel, he turned his attention to the wound. “Nasty gash in the skull.”

“It's enough to put me off my feed,” Frank said. Frank's appetite was legendary. It wasn't surprising, though. His wife, Sadie, was Mrs. Doyle's daughter and every bit the cook her mother was. Yancey found himself envying Frank more often than he liked, especially when they pulled out their lunch buckets.

“Have you located the weapon yet?”

“No, but I just arrived. From the depth of the wound it had to have been something pretty heavy.”

“Agreed. Have one of the other officers start scouring the area for it in case we are lucky and the murderer discarded the weapon here.”

“Will do.” Frank shouted to a skinny young man with a scanty mustache and sent him off with the order to search the beach for something bloody. Yancey looked down at the body stretched before him. He shook away thoughts of other times he had been in the presence of violent death and brought his attention back to the matter in front of him. The mist would make it more difficult to accurately record the position of the body, and the tide was still rising.

“Get one of the boys to fetch the photographer from up by the livery. Roust him from bed if you have to and get him down here to document this. Hurley'll have all our hides if this isn't cleared up before the pier opens.”

“You can't want that guy Lydale,” Frank asked.

“He's just trying to make a living like everyone else,” Yancey said, then straightened and brushed the damp sand from his knees.

“Yeah, but he does it on the backs of the dead.”

“Sometimes, so do we.” Yancey gestured at the body in front of them. “I want any help I can get. Speaking of which, who found the body?”

“They did.” Frank pointed to two figures whose details were obscured by the fog. Yancey patted his pocket for a notebook and a pencil as he started up the beach. The pair that discovered the body was sitting on the edge of the boardwalk. Before he reached them the chief loomed into view and intercepted his path.

“Yancey, have you gotten to the bottom of this mess yet?” Chief Hurley's mustache drooped in the humidity. He pulled off
his spectacles and wiped the mist from the lenses on a fine white handkerchief.

“I've only just arrived, sir. I'm about to question the people who discovered the body.” Yancey pointed to the pair of witnesses.

“Let's get to it, then.” The chief set off before Yancey could object to his participation.

Chief Hurley reached out to shake the hand of a gaunt man unfamiliar to Yancey. Unfortunately, the young woman was not.

“Miss Proulx, it seems your real supernatural gift is an ability to attract a criminal element.”

“Old Orchard does seem to be rife with violence.”

“Not before you arrived, it wasn't.”

“Yancey, that's no way to speak to a young lady. Are you all right, my dear?” Chief Hurley asked.

“I'll be fine once I'm allowed to return home,” Miss Proulx said.

“Of course. We'll hurry things along.” Chief Hurley scowled at Yancey, then smiled at Miss Proulx. “Who might you be, my dear?”

“Miss Ruby Proulx. Perhaps you know my aunt Honoria Belden?”

“Of course I'm acquainted with Miss Belden. She's a pillar of the community. Yancey, I cannot see subjecting her niece to questioning.”

“I need to question her, sir. She found the body along with this fellow.” Yancey tipped his head toward the gaunt man. “And you are?”

“Everett MacPherson. I'm one of the practitioners at the
Hotel Belden, and Miss Proulx and I were out using my dowsing rods when I was drawn to the body.”

“Drawn to the body? How so?”

“It was the watch, you see. I had attuned my mind to seek out gold and my rods guided me straight to the watch on Mr. Stickney's waistcoat.”

“So you knew the victim?” Yancey printed the victim's name in his notebook in block letters for clarity. Most of his notes were scribbles and swirls but victim's names called for more respect than that.

“He was a guest at the hotel.”

“Did you see anyone else in the area?” Yancey asked.

“The only one I saw out and about was the Indian woman who reads palms on the beach. She walked quite near me not long before I came upon Mr. Stickney.”

“Any idea why someone would want to kill him?” Chief Hurley said.

“I can't possibly say. I hardly knew the man.” Mr. MacPherson stepped closer to Miss Proulx.

“Nor did I,” said Miss Proulx.

“You don't happen to have a message about the crime from the deceased?” Yancey felt his neck grow warm under his collar as his boss arched an eyebrow at him. “Miss Proulx offers her services as a medium at the hotel.”

“If only it were that simple. The world of spirit is not ours to command. If there is nothing further, I am feeling light-headed. Would it be possible for me to return to the hotel?” She batted her eyelashes at Chief Hurley and bit her lip.

“Allow me to escort you home.” Chief Hurley crooked his
elbow and extended it to her. “Mr. MacPherson can surely give you any additional information you might need, Yancey.”

“That'll be fine so long as I know where to find her if I need to question her further,” Yancey said, tipping his hat. “You aren't thinking of leaving town unexpectedly, are you, Miss Proulx?”

“Despite Old Orchard's disturbing crime rate I do believe there are plenty of reasons for me to stay,” Miss Proulx said. She and the chief slipped off through the fog, leaving Yancey unable to shake the notion he had been bested and hadn't even known he was playing a game.

“Quite a lovely lassie, that one,” Mr. MacPherson said.

“She may be to some men's taste but I'd say trouble follows her like mud season follows snow melt.” Before his companion could comment, Frank hailed him from across the beach. “I expect you have no plans to leave Old Orchard anytime soon, either, do you?” Yancey asked, pocketing his notebook.

“The season is already too short for my liking. I shan't make it even more so on purpose.”

“You're free to head home, too. I'll call in at the hotel as soon as my business here is concluded.” Yancey hurried to Frank's side.

“Lewis found this tucked into a pile of other metal bars.” Frank held out a steel rod about three feet in length. Bits of sand clung to a patch of brownish-red discoloration near one end. Yancey took it and carried it to the body. He squatted next to the corpse and held the bar next to the wound.

“It's hard to tell by eyeballing it but I'd say this has a good chance of being the weapon.” Yancey stood and handed the rod back to Frank. “We'll have to wait for an opinion from Dr. West, but it looks promising. Good work, Lewis.” The young officer blushed and bobbed his head.

“If someone wanted to do away with this duffer they were taking a chance that there'd be something just lying around here to cosh him with.”

“I don't know about that. The bar is construction material, and thousands of people have been through here ogling the pier project. Anyone could have known the pile of steel would be on site,” Yancey said.

“I think we should keep an open mind about this one. It seems to me it could go either way.”

“I am keeping an open mind. As a matter of fact it is so open I hate to tell you what has just occurred to me.”

“What's that?”

“The bar was light enough and dense enough that I see no reason it couldn't have been swung by a woman.”

“A woman? You can't mean that.”

“You said to keep an open mind.” Up ahead a man burdened with a load of camera equipment struggled down the boardwalk in their direction. “I'll leave you to sort out things here. I'm heading to the hotel.”

R
uby, I've been looking for you. You haven't by any chance seen Mr. Stickney this morning, have you?” Honoria asked. “His wife is quite insistent that his bed has not been slept in.”

“I think we should speak privately,” I said, lowering my voice and glancing at Ben.

“Is there anything wrong?” Honoria reached out and grasped my hands in hers. “Are you hurt?”

“No. I'm fine, but I need to speak with you before the police arrive.” Honoria nodded and led the way to the back stairs and hurried up them more quickly than I would have expected from even a woman as energetic as she. After locking the door behind us she gave me her full attention.

“I have seen Mr. Stickney. Mr. MacPherson and I came across him near the pier.”

“Why the secrecy?”

“He's dead.”

“Dead?”

“Quite dead. Mr. MacPherson and I are the ones who found his body and called the police.”

“Did his death appear to be natural?”

“Not unless a large dent in the back of the skull can be considered natural.” As much as I pride myself on a certain amount of pluck and a steel-lined stomach I really did feel light-headed as I pictured the bloody mess and clumps of sand surrounding Mr. Stickney's head.

“Oh my dear, how terrible.” Honoria twisted a handkerchief around in her hands. “Orazelia told me Yancey was worried the pickpocketing in town was getting out of hand. He feared something like this might happen. That old fool Charles Hurley just pooh-poohed the notion of serious crime here in Old Orchard.”

“It may not have been a pickpocket. From what Mr. MacPherson and I saw he had not been relieved of his valuables.”

“Are you suggesting someone murdered him?”

“I'm afraid it is a possibility we must be prepared to consider.”

“How terrible for his wife. And for his nephew.”

“I'm not so sure his nephew will be sorry to hear the news. I accidentally overheard them having a very heated argument in the garden yesterday. I think we may need to tell that to Officer Yancey when he arrives.”

“Ruby, we cannot discuss our guests' private affairs and conversations with anyone. It is simply not the way a hotel remains in business.”

“I am not eager to discuss such a thing with the police myself, but have you considered how it may look to Officer Yancey when he discovers who Mr. Stickney was and the reason for his visit?”

“You mean Mr. Stickney's investigation into the practitioners at the hotel will cause suspicion to fall upon us?”

“That's exactly what I mean.”

“That's easy enough to take care of.” Honoria relaxed back
against the settee. “You shall simply have to hold a séance and ask Mr. Stickney who it is that did harm him.”

“I don't think a séance will hold much sway with the police department.”

“Nonsense. Yancey has known me since he was a small boy. He wouldn't think to disbelieve you.”

“Honoria, he already warned me away from his family. He told me I was stirring up trouble and bad memories of the past and that if I didn't leave his mother and sister alone he would launch an investigation of me himself.”

“Foolish boy.” Blotches of color appeared on Honoria's throat. “This has got to be dealt with swiftly. If the hotel is embroiled in a scandal all the guests might decide to leave. Then where would we be?”

“Then we had better do a bit of poking around on our own before anyone decides to do just that.”

•   •   •

Y
ancey stood for a moment on the porch of the hotel and gathered his strength. Honoria was a force of nature even when not worked up about something. The death of a guest at her hotel was bound to have riled her. It would be an Incident. Unless he was luckier than he had ever been before, she was going to try to use her “gifts” to help solve the crime. God help them all. Not that he believed in Him, either. Saying it was a reflex, like knocking on wood.

He peered through the glass in the front door. Ben was nowhere to be seen, but a very pale woman dressed entirely in black stood behind the reception desk, running her finger over a page in a large, leather-bound ledger. Her gaze shot up when the door
creaked open. He heard a sharp intake of breath as she recognized his uniform.

“From your look, I take it I was not who you were expecting to see?” he asked.

“I meant no malice. It's just that I had an appointment scheduled with a guest for a sitting more than half an hour ago and he still hasn't arrived.”

“You aren't waiting for Mr. Leander Stickney, by any chance?”

“I am, actually.”

“I'm afraid he won't be keeping his appointment with you today.” Yancey pulled out his notebook and pencil. “May I have your name please?”

“Cecelia MacPherson. What is this about?”

“Are you related to Everett MacPherson?”

“He's my husband.”

“I might as well tell you since I'm sure Mr. MacPherson will tell you about it soon anyway.” Yancey leaned in a little closer and lowered his voice. “Your husband found Mr. Stickney's body on the beach below the pier this morning.”

“Body? Are you saying Mr. Stickney's dead?” she asked. Yancey watched as one of her slim hands began to tremble on the ledger. He was certain he had caught the barest flicker of relief just before she rearranged her face to show concern.

“Yes.”

“Was it his heart?”

“I'm afraid I can't say at this time.” Yancey lowered his voice as a young man with spectacles and an unruly flop of fair hair dragging over one eye approached the desk. “Could you tell me where I might find Mrs. Stickney?”

“She's a guest here at the hotel. As is her nephew, Mr. Dobbins.”
Mrs. MacPherson turned and waved at the wilted-looking young man who hurried toward them. Yancey disliked him instantly. “Mr. Dobbins, this policeman wishes to speak with your aunt. Do you know where she may be found?”

“I hope more easily than my uncle. She's been asking for him all morning.”

“Where is she, sir?” Yancey asked.

“I left her in the ladies' writing room just a moment ago. She sent me to ask if anyone has located my uncle yet.”

“Will you go on ahead and tell Mrs. Stickney I would like a word with her. I'd appreciate it if you would remain with her during our interview.” Mr. Dobbins swallowed hard, bobbing the large, knobby Adam's apple in his pale throat, and skittered off down the hall with a single worried backward glance.

Yancey turned to the desk again. “I think it is a safe bet that Mr. Stickney's is not the only appointment you should cancel for today. I'll be needing to speak with everyone in the hotel.”