Текст книги "A Fright to the Death"

Автор книги: Dawn Eastman

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

“We were hoping to talk to you and your mom again,” I said.

“Oh, I see.” Jessica straightened the pens on the desktop. “She’s really not doing very well today. Clarissa’s death has hit her much harder than I would have expected.”

“Why do you say that?” Mac asked.

“It’s just . . . they never got along that well and they had been arguing over how best to run the hotel.” Jessica turned away from us and looked out the window. “Honestly, I thought on some level she might be relieved, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. If anything, she’s spending a lot of time talking about how wonderful Clarissa was.” She turned back toward us. “I finally had to walk away.”

Jessica sat in the desk chair and gestured for us to take seats.

“Can you tell us any more about your cousin? Did you grow up together?” I asked.

Jessica snorted. “We never got along, even when we were kids. She was one of those spoiled little kids that was used to having every whim indulged, and she didn’t mind stepping on people to get what she wanted.”

“How had you been doing since she moved back here and started working at the hotel?”

“Mostly I ran interference between her and the staff. I felt like I was back in high school again, where I had to convince people that, even though we were related, I was nothing like her. The staff started acting scared of all three of us. I suppose because they assumed we were complicit in Clarissa’s management style. Basically, I ran around cleaning up her messes.”

“What changes was she trying to make here?” Mac asked.

“She had this idea that the hotel could become a destination spa. She wanted to divert money from the restaurant—René had been working on expanding our offerings and trying to get the restaurant Michelin rated—and put it toward the spa,” she said. “René was initially outraged and then . . . I don’t know . . . he just backed off.” She stopped and stared into space for a moment.

“Anyway, I’m sure you don’t want to hear about our boring business plans.” She stood and gestured toward the door. “Let’s go up and see how she’s doing.”

I opened my mouth to ask more about the business plans, but Mac gave a quick shake of his head. He rested his hand on my lower back and I knew he had his reasons for allowing Jessica to deflect further questions.

Jessica didn’t notice as she was already shooing us out of the office and quizzing Mac on what he had discovered when he drove out to the road.

She didn’t seem surprised that the road was blocked and accepted it without comment.

We followed her through the back hallways and up the stairs. Jessica knocked on the door and signaled to us to wait a moment while she checked on her mom. I heard whispering inside and then Jessica returned to the door and ushered us inside.

Linda did look like she’d seen better days. The efficient, art-collecting proprietor had been replaced by an old woman with red-rimmed eyes and frizzy hair.

“Please excuse my appearance—I just . . .” Her eyes welled up and I stepped forward to touch her arm.

“It’s fine, Mrs. Garrett. Detective McKenzie and I just have a couple more questions for you and Jessica. Until the Kalamazoo Police can get here, we’re trying to find out who could have . . . harmed . . . your niece.”

She nodded and sat on the couch. Jessica sat next to her and gestured for us to sit as well.

Mac cleared his throat. I knew he hated talking to people when they were crying. Unfortunately for him, it was part of his job description. Working in homicide meant he had to give bad news frequently and then make things worse by questioning the grieving family.

“Clyde and I examined Clarissa’s room today. We hoped to find some clues in the light of day. What we found was a secret staircase that led to the kitchen.” Mac gazed from one to the other. I knew he was looking for any signs of surprise or concern. “I assume you knew of the existence of the staircase?”

Both women nodded.

“Is it in regular use?” I asked.

Linda dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “No, it had been boarded up for a long time. When Clarissa moved into the turret room, she had Gus open it up again and sweep it out. I’m not sure that she even used it, but she had always been fascinated by it. I thought she just liked the idea of a secret passage.” She looked at Jessica. “When the girls were little, they were so disappointed that I wouldn’t let them play in there, but it hadn’t been opened in years and it’s so steep.”

Jessica nodded. “Clarissa and I went through the passageway just after she had it cleaned out. She was so intrigued by the story that Alastair had built the staircase for a wife who was essentially bedbound.”

“How many people know that it’s there?” Mac asked.

They looked at each other and then Jessica said, “Probably most of the staff. It wasn’t a secret. In fact, it never occurred to me to mention it to you since everyone who works here knows it exists.”

Mac nodded. “Well, it does change our questioning a bit. If there were two entrances to the room, it opens up more opportunities for the killer to get to her unseen.”

Linda’s mouth dropped open. “Of course. I didn’t think of that. I’m sorry we didn’t tell you. I haven’t been thinking straight since I found her . . . body.” She dabbed at her eyes again and sniffled.

I looked at Mac and he gave a slight nod.

“Jessica, Linda, we’ve heard during our interviews that you two had a meeting with Clarissa on Wednesday afternoon that became heated. Can you tell us what that meeting was about?”

Jessica glanced quickly at her mother. Linda narrowed her eyes and looked much less distraught at Clarissa’s passing.

Jessica took her mother’s hand and I sensed that she was sending her a signal to keep control of herself.

“We had our monthly meeting on Wednesday,” Jessica said. “It’s always the first Wednesday of the month. It was just the usual thing—staffing, repairs, and plans for the month. Clarissa wanted to talk about the spa. It’s all she could think about. She was so convinced that putting a spa here would somehow catapult Carlisle Castle into a destination-hotel category.”

Linda sniffled. “The truth is, the hotel has been struggling for a few years now. The winters are always lean. We haven’t been able to cover the slow times as well as we did in the past. We aren’t near a big city, there’s not a lot of shopping in Kalamazoo the way there is in Chicago, and with the economy the way it is, people just aren’t taking vacations like they used to.”

“Did you two and Clarissa ever argue about how to run the hotel?” I asked.

Jessica snorted. “When did we not argue about it?”

“Well, it wasn’t that bad . . . ,” Linda said. She cut her eyes to Jessica and then smiled weakly at us. Linda’s knuckles had turned white where she clasped Jessica’s hand.

And Jessica’s mutinous face had me thinking it was that bad and maybe worse.

“Thank you for talking to us again,” Mac said. “If you think of anything else, even if it seems small or obvious to you, please let us know. We don’t have the same sense of the history of the castle or the hotel that you do, so it will help us to get a better picture of what might have happened if you can give us as much background as possible.”

Both women nodded agreement.

Mac and I stood to leave and Jessica followed us out into the hallway.

Jessica leaned into the room. “I’ll be back in a little while with some tea, Mom.” Jessica quietly closed the door and turned to us.

She put her hands out, palms up. “I’m sorry we didn’t mention the meeting or the stairway. I guess we took for granted that those things would be unimportant. We want nothing more than to find out how this could have happened.”

“Jessica,” I said, “when was the last time you saw Clarissa?”

Jessica looked at the ceiling as if trying to find answers there. “I saw her just before dinner—after we left the lounge we talked in the hallway for a few minutes.”

I remembered them talking in urgent, angry whispers in the hall.

“Then during dinner, we passed in the hallway. She was leaving, I was going in.”

Mac leaned forward. “That was the last you saw of her?”

Jessica looked at us with a wide, innocent stare. She nodded.

Mac looked at the floor and gave a disappointed sigh. “You were seen coming out of the stairway door—much later.”

Jessica took a step back. She shook her head. “I didn’t see her. I was still angry with her about our earlier conversation and I was going to go talk to her about it.” Jessica stopped and took a breath. “I got partway up the staircase and thought better of it. I decided to talk to her in the morning after we had both cooled off.”

I crossed my arms.

Jessica looked from me to Mac. “I didn’t kill her—I get squeamish if we have to set traps for mice.” She shook her head. “I couldn’t kill someone and I can’t believe that anyone here in the castle would have killed her.” Jessica lowered her voice. “As I’ve said, plenty of the staff might have wished her dead in a passing sort of way, but I work with these people every day and none of them seems like the type who would actually kill another human being.” She hugged herself and shivered. “The truth is, it’s freaking me out to think I’ve been working with a murderer all this time.”

20

That evening, Seth and Dad returned from the cottage for dinner. Mom and Vi had spent most of the afternoon in the workshop and everyone was tired. The news that the police would not arrive was met with dismay, but spirits seemed a bit better this evening with electric lights and heat to accompany dinner.

Our family took the largest table in the room and the dinner conversation centered on the murder and who might have done it. I wish I could say this was unusual for us, but it wasn’t. Only Mac and Lucille seemed surprised at how easily we discussed motives and methods of murder over our beef bourguignon.

“I don’t like the idea that I might be knitting next to a murderer.” Lucille shuddered. “I don’t think any of them could have done it. They’re all so nice.”

“That’s how they trick you, Lucille,” Vi said. “They lure you in with charm while they’re out attacking innocent people.”

“It doesn’t sound like Clarissa was very innocent,” Mom said. “You heard what Isabel and Mavis said about her.”

“Mavis,” Vi said, her voice a low growl. She glanced around the table and lowered her voice. “She probably did it. I hate to accuse another knitter, but I don’t trust her.”

I covered a smile with my water glass, knowing that Vi’s accusation came from a competitive place. The afternoon with the knitters had not been conflict free.

“Why would Mrs. Poulson want to kill Ms. Carlisle?” Seth asked while slathering butter on a slice of bread.

Mom glanced at the other tables and leaned toward Seth.

“Apparently, Clarissa bullied Mavis’s daughter in high school. The girl got very depressed and eventually committed suicide. Mavis and Isabel have always blamed Clarissa for Teresa’s death.”

“Oh. That’s rough.” Seth shook his head. “Girls can be really brutal.”

“Shhh!” Mac said to the table. “We cannot discuss this. It’s an active investigation.” He lowered his voice. “The suspects are all in the vicinity, this isn’t a game of Clue.”

The table fell silent for a few moments, then Seth asked for the bread basket again and people gratefully began discussing the meal.

Dad leaned toward Mac and said in a low voice, “If incompetence is an indicator of guilt, then you should consider Kirk as your number-one suspect. I don’t think he’s ever worked as any type of maintenance person before, unless it was just on the landscaping side of things. He certainly knows how to work a snowblower. He has no idea how to fix anything.”

“We haven’t taken anyone off the list,” Mac said quietly. “If they weren’t in the dining room for the whole time that night, then I consider them a suspect.”

“I suppose anyone is capable if given the right circumstances,” Dad said.

“I still think there’s something sketchy about the chef,” Seth said.

“What?” Mac said.

“I told Clyde earlier today,” Seth said. “The chef claims he’s French, but I think he must be Canadian.”

“What does it matter?” Vi said.

“That’s what Clyde said. But why would he lie about it?” Seth said.

“Jessica did seem impressed that he was from France,” Mom said. “It’s part of all their literature about the restaurant—that they have a ‘real’ French chef who trained at Cordon Bleu.”

“It can’t be hard to check,” Mac said.

“It is when the cell service is down and there’s no Wi-Fi,” Seth said. “I tried to connect this afternoon—it’s like the dark ages out here.”

“At this point, I’ll look into anything—once the phones are back on I’ll call Pete Harris and see if he can run a check on René Sartin,” Mac said.

Vi leaned forward. “The chef did it,” she whispered. “I don’t trust the French. I don’t care if he’s Paris French or Canadian French, he’s sketchy.”

I wondered if Vi had given up on Kirk as a suspect because Dad thought he was guilty.

Seth’s eyebrows came together. “What’s wrong with the French?”

“They’re snooty and they eat weird food,” Vi said as she took another bite of her beef bourguignon.

Mom glanced nervously around the table and decided to step in. “I’m sure you don’t mean that, Vi.” She clamped her hand onto Vi’s wrist. She looked at the rest of us, particularly Mac and Lucille. “She’s joking.”

Vi harrumphed and kept eating, but didn’t pursue her character assassination of the entire French culture.

There was an uncomfortable silence as we applied ourselves to our dinners and waited for someone to change the subject.

I decided to throw myself under the bus. “I think that new style of knitting that Isabel taught me is easier.”

Mom gasped. Vi narrowed her eyes.

“You didn’t tell me you learned to knit today,” Mac said. He turned in his seat and his eyes sparkled with amusement. Sort of the way I smiled at him wearing the snowman sweater. I would never hear the end of this.

“Didn’t you hear we’re living in the dark ages?” I gestured toward Seth. “I had no choice but to knit.” I sipped my water.

“But I thought you hated knitting,” Mac said.

“You do?” Lucille asked.

“‘Hate’ is a strong word.” I glared at Mac. “I figured I’d give it a try again. Isabel showed me the ‘continental’ method.”

“That sounds fancy,” Dad said.

I ignored the stony faces of my mother and aunt. “It is fancy,” I said. “And way easier.” I glanced at Vi. “It’s probably the way they knit in France.”

Violet dropped her fork. “I can’t listen to this anymore.”

Dad snickered. Mom looked at me sadly and shook her head.

“So, will you be joining us for more of the workshops?” Lucille asked. “If you find a way that works for you, it can make all the difference.” She seemed oblivious to the tension rolling off of Vi and Mom.

I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I probably should practice some more on my own.”

“We’ll work on it tonight, Clyde,” Vi said. “I’ll show you how much easier it is to purl using my technique. That continental bunch avoids purling like the plague.”

Mac grinned at me as he realized I had successfully distracted the gang from murder by throwing them a more interesting bone.

“Seth, you can come to the classes if you want,” Mom said. “We have good snacks all the time. They send in brownies and cakes and cookies.”

Seth looked up from his plate at the sound of his name and “snacks” in the same sentence, but he had clearly not been listening to all the knitting talk.

“Huh?”

“I need Seth to help me with some things,” Dad said and slung his arm over Seth’s shoulder and whispered something in his ear.

“Yeah, sorry. I’ll have to get the snacks some other time,” Seth said.

Vi pressed her lips together and glared at Dad.

Everyone scattered after dinner to either his or her own rooms or the workshop room. Dad and Seth ventured back out into another light snowfall to feed and walk the dogs.

Mac and I went in search of Tina.

After we checked the workshop room and the lounge, we found her in the reception area talking to Wally. He stood a couple of feet away from the counter while Tina leaned toward him, talking urgently. They both startled when we approached.

Tina leaned back, cast a threatening look in Wally’s direction, and tried to brush past us.

Mac put his hand out. “We need to speak with you if you don’t mind.”

Tina narrowed her eyes at Mac. “Actually I do mind,” she said.

Mac’s eyebrows twitched up. No one had refused to talk to us so far.

“We’re just trying to establish a timeline of the night Clarissa died,” I said.

“I know what you’re trying to do,” she said. “I also know I don’t have to talk to you. I’m not under arrest and I don’t have anything to say.” She crossed her arms.

Mac glanced at Wally and lowered his voice. “We are talking to everyone who was not in the dining room the whole time that evening—a witness has come forward who saw you in the hallway outside the turret room that night.”

Wally pretended to be working on his computer, but his hands rested quietly on the keyboard and I could tell he was listening to every word.

“You’ll have to solve your mystery without me,” Tina said. “I’m not talking about it.” She pushed past us and stalked down the hall toward the stairs.

I moved to follow her but Mac put a hand on my arm.

“We can’t force her to talk to us,” he said. “She’s right. She’s not under arrest. But she’s just moved way up on my list.”

*   *   *

I returned to my room after an hour or so of talking with Mac about the suspects and motives we had already uncovered. Mom and Vi rushed toward me as I shut the door behind me.

“Finally!” Vi said. “Where have you been?”

“Mac and I were downstairs talking.” I noticed the room was lit by candles and all the electric lights had been turned off. I got a queasy feeling.

“We need to get busy here,” Mom said. She swung her arm in the direction of the sitting area.

I looked at the coffee table and saw what they were so excited about. Mom’s tarot cards were poised to share the secrets of the universe and Vi’s pendulum glinted in the candlelight.

“Mom, how come you didn’t go back to the cottage with Dad?” I worried there would be a night of psychic interrogation.

“He and Seth can deal with the dogs,” Mom said. “This is more important. I know you and Mac are working on things in your own way, but I think we can help.” She gestured at her cards.

In the past I would have pushed back against the tarot and pendulum, but now that I was working on my own talents, I understood their need to contribute in any way they could. “What do the cards have to say?” I asked.

“I haven’t looked yet,” Mom said. “We were waiting for you. We think that the cards, the pendulum, and maybe an eyewitness will be useful.”

“Eyewitness?” I said.

“I’ve been trying to find that cat all day, but she’s disappeared,” Vi said. “She might know something.”

“Oh. The cat. Of course.”

I yawned. Even though I was tired, I wasn’t looking forward to another night alternately listening to the wind and Vi’s snoring. Day two in Mexico would have found Mac and me at some romantic restaurant followed by a stroll along the moonlit beach. Tarot cards and pendulums would not have featured in our plans.

“Let’s get this over with,” I said, and sat near the coffee table.

Vi clapped her hands and sat next to me.

“What are we asking tonight?” I asked.

“It seems like Mavis and Isabel had a good reason to want Clarissa dead, if you think that revenge is a reasonable motive,” Vi began. “Tina was seen in the hallway, but I have no idea why she would want to hurt Clarissa. None of the staff liked her very much, but that doesn’t mean any of them would kill her. Lots of terrible bosses live through their employee’s anger.”

I nodded. Vi had summed up in four sentences what Mac and I had discussed for an hour.

“I agree, Vi,” I said.

She smiled. “I’ve been thinking . . .”

She paused and looked at Mom, who tilted her head and gave a subtle nod.

“I want to open my own detective agency,” Vi said in a rush.

I stood up quickly to put some distance between Vi’s crazy idea and myself. “You don’t know anything about detective work.”

“I’ve been reading up on it,” Vi said. “It doesn’t seem that hard and I have some natural talent—I took a test online.”

“I can’t talk about this right now,” I said. “I really need to get some sleep and you two obviously have plans to search out a psychic answer to this mystery.” I gestured at the cards and pendulum.

“Okay, you’re right,” Vi said. “Let’s focus on the problem at hand. It will give me some practice for when I have my own cases.”

Mom was already flipping cards onto the table. I noticed she was using the queen of swords again. That was the card she used to indicate me in her queries. I had had this argument with her enough times to let it slide. She would say that she needed to determine how I would affect the situation. Mom and I don’t usually agree on things psychic, but after spending time with Neila Whittle, I was softening toward Mom’s view. I had been leaning toward the “if you can’t fight it you might as well use it” camp.

“Okay, the cards indicate that you will have a lover’s quarrel—oh, my. I didn’t ask the cards about you and Mac. . . .”

“Maybe they’ll fight about who the killer is,” Vi said. “Or Clyde will get tired of seeing him in that snowman sweater.”

I grinned at Vi. “That’s already happened. Don’t worry about Mac and me. We’re fine. What else do the cards have to say?”

Mom shook her head. “It looks like this will be a tough case. There are many secrets surrounding the situation and some of them are still hidden.”

In the past I would have said something like “super helpful as usual” but my new leaf dictated a more tolerant view. “Thanks, Mom. We can ask again when we know more.”

“Let me have a try,” Vi said. She grabbed the pendulum and set up her piece of paper with the big plus sign indicating the yes and no directions. The pendulum is only able to answer if given two choices.

“What are you going to ask it?”

“I’ll ask whether the killer will be caught before the weekend is over.”

Vi stabilized the pendulum and let it go. It hung from its chain, unmoving. Slowly it began to move in the yes direction.

“Well, that’s good news,” Mom said.

“Was the killer a knitter?” Vi asked the pendulum.

The pendulum swung rapidly in the yes direction. Vi looked up, her eyes intense.

Unfortunately, the pendulum seemed to sense Vi’s eagerness and refused to identify any of the knitters as the killer. By the time she had run through the list it was almost midnight and I could barely keep my eyes open. Mom and I both begged her to give it a rest.

I walked Mom back to the cottage and hurried through the snow back to the hotel.

By the time I got back to the room, the cold had seeped into my core. I wore a pair of Vi’s wool socks, three T-shirts, and my jeans to bed and still shivered. I was sort of wishing I had Mac’s snowman sweater as I struggled to get warm enough to fall asleep.