Creeps, Cache, & Corpses, page 19
A knife whacked the butcher block cutting board and sent me into a tizzy. I jerked back from a vision of the recent murders, and Lauren tilted her head in a question. She proceeded to cleave a bundle of fresh herbs into tiny slivers and added them to the boiling pot on the stove. Trying to normalize my actions, I pulled the silver handle on the fridge and the glacial air collided with the aromatic vapors wafting from the steaming stew. My eyes closed and as I inhaled the savory fragrance, I forgot why I’d opened the door until I saw the bright peels, and decided four lemons ought to be enough to tackle my bogus endeavor.
“It’s a lot of work for only one glass. If you wait a bit, I’ll get out the juicer and help you make a pitcher of my best lemonade.” Lauren brushed the small bits of greenery clinging to her fingers into the pot, set her utensils aside, rinsed the heavy blade, and dried her hands. She hauled the cumbersome juicer from the pantry and thumped it onto the counter next to the full bag of lemons and a plastic tub of what looked like sugar.
I tried not to shudder when she picked up the knife again. She looked me over, and rather than teach me the fine art of turning on the juicing machine, she handed me the knife, handle first. “Halves, please.”
“Where’s Davy now?” I asked with a nonchalance I didn’t feel.
“He’s with his uncle. Since Davy’s hospitalization, my brother doubts anyone else can take care of him better than we can. Davy and I are very lucky.”
“Do you have other family around?” Lauren froze and stared at me. “I’m sorry. That’s none of my business.”
We squeezed the lemons and added sugar and water.
Trying to redeem myself, I said, “That must be very difficult. You’re lucky your brother is able to take care of Davy. Does he live with you?”
“He’s staying for the time being. His mother isn’t happy with his life choices either. She makes me crazy. But his job lets him work from anywhere.”
My head filled with questions, but I needed to tread lightly if I wanted her to continue talking to me. “What does he do?”
“Research.”
And with a particular tone of voice and that declaration, she closed off my questions.
Lauren gritted her teeth as she poured the finished concoction into two clear glasses filled with ice, a curl of lemon peel, and a mint leaf garnish. She took a big breath. “Try it,” she said with a knowing smile.
“Cheers.” We clinked glasses, and I looked deep into the light-yellow liquid, spotting tiny bits of pulp and conjuring antidotes in case of poison. Lauren waited for me to take a sip before she shook her head and raised her own glass. I needn’t have feared her foodstuffs. “Ambrosial.” I smacked my semi-puckering lips. “Do I have to share?”
Lauren chortled and took a long look at me. “You don’t fake well. You had no idea how to make lemonade. What is it you’re really after, Katie?”
I set the tumbler on the center island and decided I rather liked Lauren. I was tempted to trust her, just not too far. “I don’t think Nicki killed Edith and Willy. Do you?”
She sighed. “No, I don’t. But someone killed them. I had the utmost regard for Mrs. Farthington. Although I know she wouldn’t have made Davy sick on purpose, and she did everything she could to help him get well, she was a difficult person to work for, especially for Nicki. I think Nicki felt she owed Edith for taking her in, but she was so sad sometimes. I never understood why she stayed after she started making her own money.”
I perked up. “What did Nicki do for money?” Did I want to know the answer?
“She sold her carvings, especially the boxes, to the gift store downtown, and they always asked her to make more. She had top-notch skills and had been commissioned to create a few special pieces. It’s funny. Edith must’ve been very proud. She bought a lot of Danica’s puzzle boxes.” She took a long drink from her glass.
“What about Willy Zasko?”
“I couldn’t have cared less about Willy. He’d show up as another mouth to feed, another guest to clean up after. Our interactions consisted of refilling his plate or drink, or providing an extra towel, and then he’d complain about the temperature of the food or not enough of one ingredient or another in his glass.” Lauren shuddered. “I never thought about it, but it seems Nicki tried to be absent when Willy was present.”
Maybe Willy had made the unwanted advances Nicki had written about.
“Willy stayed here?”
“Never here. We haven’t been open long enough, but he often stayed at one of the other properties. Before White Star Inn opened, I’d say he’d mooch off Mrs. Farthington once or twice a month, staying late after their business meeting to discuss her holdings. He acted like she was his only client.”
“How many properties did Edith own?”
“She worked hard and did well. She owned a few empty lots, another bed and breakfast, a few rental units, an apartment complex, and partnered up in other ventures. A management company took care of the ones we didn’t, but I think she sold off the apartment building and the B and B before she and Reggie opened the inn.” Her brow furrowed.
“What are you thinking?”
“Willy Zasko owned the management company.”
“Who will take care of the properties now?”
“I guess since Reggie is her nephew and they were together on this project, it makes sense that he might understand the way her business works.” She swiped the countertop.
“How long have you worked for Edith?”
“I started working for her when I was a senior in high school.” She looked down. “She even kept me on after having Davy.”
Her brow furrowed and she chewed her bottom lip. “Irinia Holocek began working for Mrs. Farthington at the same time. She worked until she joined Willy’s firm, and, as an associate, she knew everything that went on in that office. She might know what happens to the properties now. I know Mrs. Farthington had a will.” Lauren blew out a quick puff of air. “She made a new one every couple of months and I was the witness for many of the …” She looked down and it seemed like she was reading the covers of the cookbooks lined up on the lower shelf looking for the elusive word.
“Repetitions?” Math crept into my head. “Iterations? Revisions?”
One corner of Lauren’s mouth crinkled, and she nodded. “Revisions. It seemed like she added and deleted or changed something almost every other month. I never knew what was in them, I just witnessed and signed the papers.” She sighed and opened the oven door. “I’m going to miss the old broad. I sure hope Reggie has the wherewithal to keep up her high standards. I like this job.”
“Do you think Reggie is in line to inherit everything?”
“I can’t imagine who else would.”
I remembered the words Galen and I had overheard her saying to Reggie. She knew things. Even with all Lauren’s help and insight, I couldn’t rule her out as a suspect.
Lauren turned back to the stove, and I lifted the pitcher of nectar, but we both jumped when the door banged open.
THIRTY-SEVEN
“Jeepers, Jane. I thought something bad happened.”
“I was wondering what took you so long.” Jane pouted as she dabbed at the sticky beverage sloshed over my hands and shirt. “Sorry.”
“No harm done. Thankfully, there is still enough lemonade, which I helped make with my own two hands—” Lauren snorted, and I smiled. “For everyone to get a taste.”
Jane grabbed the goblets Lauren offered and held the door for me. CJ sat at one end of the table with Renegade’s head in his lap. A sullen Paul and a proud Kahula sat at the opposite end.
“The kids escaped. Wish I could,” said Paul, glaring at CJ.
Jane poured the lemonade and duly impressed me by topping off the beverages with Lauren’s decorative garnishes. I delivered the beverages and we sipped and sat in silence until Carlee rushed in, her friends close on her heels.
“Dad, how do you do this?” She handed him another decorative puzzle box. He turned it over to read the clues on the bottom. I heard a gasp, and the box was snatched from his hands.
“Where did you get this?” Paul demanded.
Paul could not have been prepared for the depth of Carlee’s spunk. She seized it back and said, “Ask nicely, and I might tell you.”
“Carlee,” CJ said softly. “This is your grandfather.”
“I have no time for niceties. If he can’t show some civility, I ask that he leave me alone.”
Paul’s mouth formed a big oh, and Kahula began to chortle. “She is the spitting image of her mother, is she not, grandfather.”
Paul slowly raised his chin and said, “I made these when Dan … my daughter was young. May I see it?” He held out a hand. “Please?”
Carlee sought confirmation from CJ who nodded solemnly, but only once. Paul examined the bottom face and deftly pushed and pulled and slid the exquisitely carved pieces in the correct order for the box to safely open.
“It is her. She’s here,” Paul whispered, astonishment surging from every pore. “When I made these, she perfected the art of sanding the glides.” He pressed his palms to his eyes to staunch the flow of tears.
Carlee put her hand on her grandfather’s shoulder. “Let’s see what’s inside.” Carlee retrieved the box and set it on the table, carefully emptying the contents.
“Where did you find that?” Lauren had entered the dining area and studied the objects organized on the table.
Galen shifted uncomfortably, turning a bit pink. “One was left in the girls’ room on a shelf in the closet.” He handed over another box.
“You’re not in any trouble,” I said.
“The blue one was in our room, so Galen searched the suite and found the red one,” said Kindra. “We thought it important to pick up that one too.”
“I’m glad you did. There has to be a reason we have them.”
Paul expertly opened the second box. Patricia selected pieces of similarly colored torn and stained paper amid the contents. Jane and Kindra fitted the sections together like a jigsaw, and we gaped at the pages.
A century of names grew in branches of a convoluted family tree. It began in the late eighteen hundreds and stopped about forty years ago. Jane ran her finger through the paternal line. I followed the maternal path and jolted to a stop, tapping my finger on the surname. Chesterfield was too much of a coincidence.
Jane wrinkled her nose. “I think these pieces came from a trash can.” She pointed. “This looks like a coffee stain and over here …” She moved to the far left side. “It smells like sauerkraut.”
“Do you think the boxes are from Nicki, I mean my mom?” asked Carlee.
Kindra said, “Who else?”
“Why would she divide the scraps between the containers?”
“More likely she did it so at least one of us would discover part of an answer,” I said. I retrieved my phone and rapidly swiped through the photos I’d taken at the police station. I remembered a similarly hand-drawn trunk growing many branches bearing oval leaves with names written inside. When I realized I hadn’t taken a photo of that piece of evidence, I groaned in frustration.
I snapped a photo of our completed jigsaw as Kahula said, “Look at this.” She held up a piece of variegated wood, whittled into a squared-off hook.
“That’s a key,” Paul said. Kahula dropped it in Paul’s outstretched hand. He examined it closely. “The narrow end slides between the floorboards until it catches. You turn the key, and it pushes a wooden latch out of a groove, so you can remove a section of your wall or box or whatever. When she was young, Danica and I fitted one in the floor of her bedroom for her to store her treasures.” He turned steely blue eyes to CJ. “That’s how we found out about you.”
Paul rotated his head around a room covered in beautiful paneling. “This old house is full of places to build a hidey-hole.”
“Wouldn’t it be smartest to hide whatever in her room?” Carlee’s bright silver-blue eyes glittered with hope.
Lauren rattled a ring of keys. “I can access her space, but I won’t take the kids up. You never know what we might find, and I won’t intrude on her privacy any more than we need to.”
With a truce in the works, CJ and Paul followed Lauren up the stairs, giving each other a wide berth.
Jane and Kahula herded the kids into the library, hinting at a game to take their minds off the contents of Danica’s possible cache.
I grabbed my jacket and the leashes and escorted the dogs outside for one final excursion for the night, but I wasn’t prepared for their barking and pulling, and neither was Kimber Leigh.
“Please hang on to them,” she cried, sneaking from the shadow of the trees. “I’m not doing anything wrong.”
“Sit, Maverick. Sit, Renegade,” I requested in a friendly voice. “Quiet.”
I think I was as surprised as she when they settled at my feet. Under my breath, I said, “Just be ready for anything.”
I crossed my arms in front of me. “Why are you skulking around at this hour?”
She bristled. “I am watching out for my investment.”
“You invested in the White Star Inn too?”
“No. But I’m sure Willy did, and I want to protect my inheritance.”
“Even if he did invest, how do you know it will come to you? Do you know what’s written in his will? There are all kinds of ways to make gifts or deny someone a bequest.”
She shook her head of salt-and-pepper waves. “We were still married.”
“That won’t matter if he named another beneficiary.” I waited as she mulled over my words.
“I’d contest it.” She scrunched her face. “I deserve whatever belonged to Willy.” She took a menacing step toward me. “I need it.”
Sometimes my mouth worked faster than my brain. “Did you kill him?”
“Absolutely not.” She snarled through gritted teeth. Maverick read the tension in the air and stood. He roused Renegade with a touch, and Kimber Leigh paled. She turned and slipped back into the trees.
“Thanks, guys.” I dug in my pocket for my ever-ready baggie of tiny training treats, but before I could get them out, the dogs caused a stir again, dragging me around to the front of the inn. “Kimber Leigh? You have to stop sneaking around,” I called, hoping I could rein in the dogs again. “They don’t like that.”
A door slammed and Irinia Holocek emerged from the car at the bottom of the hill. She wore a long camel hair coat, leather gloves, and tall brown boots. She’d pulled back her hair and formally made up her face, dressed for a night on the town, but probably not this one. She peered down her nose at Maverick and Renegade and barely acknowledged me as she tromped to the front door. She tried the knob, but it wouldn’t budge. She banged on the door. “Reggie? It’s me.” She rapped a few more times and called to me, “Is Reggie here?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him.”
She crossed her arms and chewed on a hot pink thumbnail. The door opened. “It’s about time,” she said. The house swallowed her whole.
“She sure is friendly.” The dogs totally missed my sarcasm. We’d started around to the back yard when the front door reopened.
Reggie held Irinia by the elbow and wrestled her toward her car. “I told you I’d call.”
“You don’t love me.”
“Of course, I love you, but there’s too much going on here, and you need to stay away.”
“What else can I do to make you forget her?” She wrenched her arm out of his grasp and stalked a few steps away, halting halfway down the hill. The heat of her glare singed me. “I dyed my hair to match hers. I gave up my job. I bought a new wardrobe. I tore up the family …”
“What? What else did you do, Irinia?” He hiked toward her. As Reggie slowly inhaled, one pup tore the leash from my hand. Renegade made a beeline toward Irinia, strap, tongue, and ears flopping in tandem, ready to play. Irinia yelped and twisted on her high heels, crashing into Reggie. He kept his balance, but not his cool.
“Tether that dog,” he growled, towing Irinia down the steps.
Maverick and I raced past them. “Sorry,” I called. I watched as Reggie urged Irinia into her car.
Maverick and I caught up with Renegade and reentered the house. Paul had unlocked the cache as predicted, and he and CJ arranged the contents of Danica’s stash in the parlor.
Jane opened a small box containing a harmonica and pointed to the other containers. “All of these instruments come with instruction books, but does anyone know what they are?” she asked, pointing her phone and adding the photo to an app to put a name to the unusual instruments.
“Danica loved music.” CJ picked up each instrument and repeated its name. “Kalimba. Ocarina. Mouthpiece for a bagpipe. Tin Whistle. Didgeridoo. Recorder.”
Nestled inside a hard plastic case sat a long wooden flute, but the pile of money under the flute caused a stir.
CJ said, “Katie, please call Sheriff Zasko.”
He didn’t pick up, and I left a message. “Sheriff, this is Katie Wilk. We found a few more items that might be of interest. Please give me a call.”
Paul raised an eyebrow at the message I left.
I chewed on my bottom lip and sighed. “I’m already on his bad side. Maybe he won’t pick up.”
Sheriff Zasko’s text came an hour later. “Very busy. Unless another body, can it wait?”
Nothing we had found wouldn’t wait. “Yes.”
Jane whipped up two cups of her hot chocolate, using the tantalizing aroma to lure me to the library. I wrapped my hands around the warm cup, sipped, and concentrated on untangling the thoughts fogging my brain.
“You always do that when your mind is elsewhere.” The office chair creaked as Jane leaned back to view an entire shelf.
“Do what?” I stifled a yawned and glanced at the books in front of me, neatly arranged by height, shortest on the left.
“You ordered the books by size without regard to titles, author names, cover colors, genres, or age.” She knew me well. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
