A Story to Kill (12 page)

“Tell them about the mirror,” Linda slurred her words. “The mirror was the thing that made me scream.”

Cat winced. She'd paid a lot of money for that antique vanity in Linda's room. If it was destroyed, she'd be heartbroken. She prodded her friend. “The mirror?”

“In red lipstick—a really nice brand by the way, not cheap—someone wrote, ‘Go Away.' Isn't that weird?” Shauna picked up the glass and threw back the shot. “So we're waiting for your Uncle Pete to get done at Bernie's, then he's coming here. I told Linda we'd put her up in the blue room until this gets settled.”

Seth stepped closer. “Wait, what happened at Bernie's? Did he say?”

“Some couple got into a fight. I guess the girl wailed on the guy pretty hard. He's already left in an ambulance to get stitches.” Shauna played with the glass in her hand, rolling it by the edge on the table. “This Bernie's sounds like that dive I worked at before we left California.”

“We were just there. No one was fighting when we left.” Cat looked at Seth. “You don't think it was Amy and Billy, do you?”

Seth put his hands up at his sides. “Who knows? Amy's kind of a flake. And that guy didn't like the fact she was hitting on me. Of course, she hits on everyone.”

“Maybe you should convince her you're not interested,” Cat muttered.

He stepped in front of her. “When are you going to get it through your head that I'm not interested in anyone besides you? Although I kind of have to be out of my head to think we can make it this time.”

“Well, you don't have to stick around, we can handle this problem. Even though you think I'm an idiot,” Cat shot back.

“I never said ‘idiot,'” Seth responded. But before he could go any further, Linda slapped the table hard.

“Stop fighting. Life is too short. I'd give anything to have my Tom back. I'd never start another fight with him for the rest of our lives, if I could just have him back,” Linda said.

The room grew quiet as they all looked at her. Cat hoped Linda wouldn't cry. She didn't know if she could keep from joining her.

The door to the kitchen opened, and Uncle Pete entered. He glanced at Cat. “You're not having a very good week, are you?”

“That's the understatement of the year.” She put her purse on the bar that lined the far kitchen wall and sank onto a stool. “So was my guest the guy sent to the hospital for stitches?”

Her uncle chuckled. “Amy got in some good left hooks with the guy. He'll be fine, but I'm pretty sure the romance has soured. Especially when he told the EMTs he lived in his mother's basement and was on her health insurance. I guess Amy thought he was the next Hemingway and was going to whisk her away to his mansion back east.”

“Where?” Linda asked, slurring the last word.

“Not sure, but somewhere around New York City.” He stood in front of Linda. “When did you leave your room tonight?”

“I went to campus to meet with Larry about seven. We had dinner, then I came back here after.” She pointed to her watch and her finger slid off the surface into the air. “Ten thirty, I checked.”

He looked at Shauna. “Did you see her come in?”

Nodding, she wiped her hands on her jeans. “I was working on a marketing plan here at my desk when she came in for a drink of water before going to bed.”

“I had to take my pills,” Linda murmured, her eyes glassy and her head drooped over her chest.

Uncle Pete frowned at the half-gone bottle and then shook his head at Shauna. “Did you really need to relax her that much?”

“Don't judge me. My comforting skills consist of mostly opening and pouring. I am a great listener though.” Shauna took the bottle away as Linda reached for it. “Let's get you some coffee and a seltzer. You're going to have a whopper hangover in the morning.”

“I don't want coffee, I want another shot,” Linda grumbled, sinking lower in her chair.

Uncle Pete took out his notebook and wrote a few words. “Where's her room? I'd like to get home before my morning alarm goes off.”

“I'll take you.” Cat stood and stretched. “I need to see the damage anyway.”

Shauna dug through a drawer and pulled out a camera. “You might want to take some pictures in case we decide to file an insurance claim.”

Groaning, Cat took the digital camera from her friend. “Is it really that bad?”

“I don't know. Linda screamed, I went running, and we hurried down here to call 911. I wanted to get her away from the damage.” Shauna gave Cat a knowing look. Linda seemed determined to get into places she wasn't allowed. Like her dead husband's room that had been cordoned off with police tape. Cat hadn't seen a need to tell her uncle about Linda's wanderings, but she would ask about the laptop and the discrepancy in the subject of Tom Cook's final project on the way up to the room.

Seth sat down at the counter. “I'll stay.”

“You really don't have to. I'll lock up as soon as Uncle Pete leaves.” Cat paused, her hand on the door her uncle had just exited.

Seth shrugged. “I'm waiting for a cup of coffee, then I'll walk through the house to make sure it's clear. Then I'll leave.”

His tone told Cat she wouldn't win this fight. And besides, even though she didn't want to admit it to herself, she was glad he had volunteered. Right now the house felt excessively big. He didn't need to know how scared she really felt, however. “Knock yourself out.”

She caught up with her uncle on the second floor landing. He held his hand out in an
after you
gesture. “She's near the end of the hallway. We only have these six rooms open right now, so once I move her to the last one, we'll be almost full. Two rooms with crime tape, and four with people.”

“I may not need to seal the room for long. What, you have the weekend with this group, then you've got a month before the next session?” Uncle Pete tried to hitch his belt up over his protruding stomach as he walked.

“If there is a next session. Shauna seems to think Tom's death will bring out the curious. I only want to run a monthly retreat where people can go to write, think about writing, and talk about writing. Is that so hard?” Cat shivered as they passed Tom's room. The yellow crime-scene tape was starting to peel off the doorframe. She hoped it wouldn't take off the varnish, then felt horrible about worrying about her décor when Tom was dead.

A door opened and Rose's head popped out. She had wrapped her hair in a cotton scarf, and it was apparent they'd woken her. “Oh, I thought I heard voices.”

“Sorry ma'am. We're just checking something out.” Uncle Pete nodded. “Please close the door and stay in your room.”

Instead of following his instructions, she opened the door wider, revealing a pink bathrobe, and looked down the hall toward Linda's room. “Don't tell me she killed herself in grief over losing the love of her life.”

“Linda's fine. She's downstairs having a nightcap before she turns in.” Cat paused at the older woman's door. “You go back to sleep. You'll wake Daisy.” Cat could see the other sister's form in one of the room's twin beds.

Rose laughed. “Daisy sleeps like a log. Nothing wakes her until her alarm goes off every morning at five thirty.” She lowered her voice. “She denies it, but I know she takes sleeping pills. She has since before she retired. Now, it's just a habit.”

“We really need for you to go back into your room and close the door,” Uncle Pete reminded her.

Rose looked at Cat to see if she would counter his instructions, but when she nodded, Rose relented. “Fine. But don't plan on waking me up later to ask me questions. I'll be available tomorrow after I get my word count in. And after breakfast, of course.” Then she shut the door, a little too hard.

“I' m winning friends all over tonight.” Uncle Pete put his hand on Cat's back. “Let's go check out Linda's room.”

He pushed open the door. Linda had left the light on, so they could see the damage clearly. Her clothes were strung out from one end of the room to the other, her suitcases upended and slashed with some sort of sharp blade. The antique mirror was still intact, but had a message written in red lipstick. Cat whispered the words, “Go away.”

She took a step forward into the room and her uncle pulled her back out. “I need to get my crime-scene guys in here. Right now, all we're going to do is close it up and lock it so no lookie lous can peek in.” He took a napkin from his pocket and nodded to the camera. “Take your pictures now. Your insurance company will want to know what it looked like before the crime guys make a mess. I'm sorry about this, but it can't be helped.”

“You didn't trash Linda's room, no need to be sorry.” She powered on the camera and took several shots of the damage. Then she nodded to her uncle. “Go ahead and lock the door from the inside. I've got a key downstairs.”

As they made their way back to the kitchen, he paused, looking at the front door. “Is that keyed?”

“Yep, no one can get in after nine without using their card, or going through the kitchen door. Shauna locks that when she turns in for the night.” She looked at her uncle. “What are you thinking?”

“I believe someone had to have access to a key card in order to do this.” He stared at the lobby area for a minute or two. “We'll have to check the timeline, but I'm hoping we can pinpoint the vandalism between nine and ten thirty.”

“Which means . . .” Cat paused, not sure she wanted to hear his conclusion.

He looked at her. “Whoever did this has a key to the house.”

Chapter 12

Cat lay awake long after Uncle Pete and Seth had left. Her mind was racing, unwilling to let her body fall into the sleep she craved. While she and Uncle Pete had surveyed Linda's room, Seth had walked through the house and checked all the window locks and outside doorways. The outside entrance to the cellar had been deemed suspicious and boarded up with a 2x4 until he could get a new lock installed the next day.

She glanced at her clock. One thirty. She pulled herself up and put her robe over her pajamas. She wandered downstairs and opened the door to the one room she hadn't brought herself to enter since her return to Aspen Hills. Michael's study.

Flipping on the power, she surveyed the room. His large oak desk was cluttered with boxes and piles of books that graduate students had brought over under the economic department's chair, Professor Ngu's, watchful eye. She'd thanked Michael's colleague for his hard work, offered them drinks, and then closed the door to the office. Cat hadn't known what she'd planned to do with anything in there, but she'd hoped the memories and the door would remain closed. At least until she'd dealt with her conflicting feelings about the loss.

As she stood there, memories filled her. Better times at the beginning of their life together when he'd work at the big desk and she'd sit, curled up, in one of his wingback chairs, reading until he had finished. Then they'd go upstairs and make love. After a year, he'd moved his after-dinner work period to his campus office, claiming he needed the close access to the library. She had offered to walk with him so they could continue their time together, but he'd refused. Cat started going to bed alone, and after a few months Michael stopped even coming home for dinner.

The night she'd asked him for a divorce, she'd made up a picnic dinner of homemade chicken, coleslaw, and apple pie. She'd added a bottle of his favorite wine to the basket and driven to campus. The night should have been romantic, but instead, it had turned disasterous. Opening his office door, she'd surprised him and his latest against his desk. She'd set down the basket and stared at her husband. Her voice was unwavering when she said, “You should lock the door.”

She'd found the motel receipts on his desk when she'd arrived home.

When he'd finally shown up hours later, she had listened to his apology and pleas for forgiveness. Then she'd told him she'd be seeing an attorney in the morning and she would sleep in the guest room near her office. She'd already moved some of her clothes from their room before he'd arrived.

Now, she stood in his study and wondered about the man who had everything and kept wanting more. She opened the first box she came to, lifting out the books and stacking them near the bookshelf. She'd go through them later and set aside the ones to offer the library.

She'd finished emptying three boxes when she heard a sound. Looking up, she saw Billy Williams in the doorway, leaning against the doorjamb. He glanced at his watch. “You should be asleep. I hope you didn't stay up to wait for me to return.”

Cat studied his face. He did look beat up. His left cheek sported a bandage and his right eye appeared to be on its way to a nice shiner. “Couldn't sleep. You're not having a restful retreat.”

He snorted. “I've been in the back seat of your uncle's squad car too many times for my liking. But what's the saying? What doesn't kill a writer goes into his next book? I've got tons of first-hand experience with police types to make my thriller more authentic now.”

She pushed her bangs out of her eyes. “Most writers do research on things like interrogations and police procedure. It's easier than really being a person of interest in a murder or a victim in an attack.”

He held up his hands, a wide grin filling his face. “Totally was not on my to-do list for the week. But it's been an opportunity.”

“We aim to please.” Cat looked around the room. She'd only touched about half of the boxes stacked on one side of the wall. This was going to take more than just a few hours.

“What's going on in here? I thought your office was on the third floor in the castle room.” He picked up a book. “
Modern Economic Theory of Emerging Nations
? Doesn't seem like your typical bedtime read.”

“My ex-husband was an economics professor at Covington. This is his study and the boxes are from his campus office.” She wasn't sure why she was explaining this part of her life to the man, but now that she'd stopped organizing, she realized she was dead tired. This time when she hit the mattress, she'd go to sleep. She stood up and dusted the front of her jeans. “I'm going to turn in. Have a nice night.”

Billy waited for her to walk past him. He stepped back as she reached the doorway, pulling the door shut behind her. “I'm grabbing a soda and a few cookies from the kitchen, then I'm writing for a couple hours. This story is begging to be put on paper.”

She'd checked the front door before walking upstairs. Billy, true to his word, had grabbed a soda and a handful of Shauna's oatmeal chocolate chip cookies and was already on the second floor before she took her first step up to her own room. Her own manuscript would have to wait until next week when the house was clear and she could think about something besides Michael, Tom Cook, and the people who currently shared a roof with her.

Tonight, all she wanted to do was sleep. She hoped her mind would leave her alone and keep the nightmares away.

Her internal alarm went off at five Friday morning, and she groaned as she rolled out of bed. A ten-minute shower later, she almost felt awake. She stumbled into her office and booted up her computer. On the desk was a carafe of coffee and a still-warm muffin. Shauna had left a note with the tray:
Write, I've got the crew handled
.

Whispering a quick prayer of thanks, she broke open the blueberry muffin and smeared butter on it. She checked her email for any important messages, but realized she was stalling. She finished her muffin and switched over to the Word document that held her current manuscript. Within a few paragraphs, she was lost in the high-school world. She'd just helped her heroine buy a prom dress when a knock sounded at her door.

“Come in,” Cat called, assuming it was Shauna. She didn't turn as she heard the door squeak open. “I'm happy you're here. I could use a refill on the coffee.”

“I'll be glad to get you some more,” Seth answered, causing Cat's fingers to freeze on the keyboard. She took her attention from the scene she'd been writing and slowly turned toward the door. He walked over and grabbed the carafe, filling her cup with the last few drops.

“Wait, I didn't know it was you. I can get my own coffee.” She stretched her neck. “What are you doing here?”

“Working.” He glanced at the screen. “That another teenage witch book?”

“Third in the series. And last one on my contract. If I miss deadline next month, it might be my last book.” She rubbed her face. “And I don't have a thriving retreat business to fall back on.”

“Yet.” Seth added to her statement.

“What are you talking about?” Her brain was still working through the fictional scene. Talking to real people while she was in this state never turned out well.

“You said you don't have a thriving retreat business. I just added one word: You don't have one
yet
. I think this is a great idea. You'll do fine. Shauna says bookings are up this week.” He leaned on the table where her tray sat.

“You and Shauna talk a lot about me and my business.” Cat felt a little put out by his statement. But was it because he was getting into her business or because he spent a lot of time talking to her partner?

“Your business? I swear she thinks you two are partners.” His mouth curved into a grin and he took in her ratty jean shorts and a tank top. “I like the Daisy Dukes by the way.”

She reached down to her legs and tried to pull the shorts down a little. “Give me a break. It can get hot up here. Remember, you were going to get me bids on a new air system for the upper floors.”

“Already in the works. Hank will be over next week to do an estimate.” He cocked his head. “But if that's what you wear when you're hot, maybe I'll call him to come after the temperature drops. I'm enjoying the view.”

“And I'm busy working. What do you want?” Time to get off this line of conversation before she told him how she liked the way he wore his jeans tight to show off his still-fine butt. Her gaze drifted down his body, but when she realized where her attention was going she blinked and made eye contact. Too late. Seth had noticed and the jerk was laughing.

“Working, huh?” He set a key on her desk and slid it her way. “I'll let you get back to it, but I wanted to tell you I got a new lock on the cellar door. I gave one key to Shauna and here's another. I'll keep the third until we're done with renovations, just in case.”

Cat thought about the damage to Linda's room. Someone really didn't like the woman, but why? The only person who came to mind was Rose, but even she'd expressed her empathy over the woman's loss of her husband. She remembered the conversation with Sara; that had been more than odd. Something else was going on, but Cat was damned if she was going to let anything else happen in her house. Especially to rooms she'd painstakingly decorated for her guests to enjoy.

She noticed Seth watching her. “Do you think someone came through the cellar?”

He ran a hand over his hair. “There's a lot of dust on the floor down there that doesn't look like it has been disturbed in years. So, no, I don't think someone used the cellar door as access. Neither does your uncle.”

“I know. He told me his theory. I just can't believe any of my guests would hate Linda that much.”

“Find the answer to that question and you'll find your vandal.” Seth didn't verbalize the rest, but she knew he was thinking the same thing as she was: and the murderer. He tossed the empty carafe in the air. “I'll be right back with your coffee. Then I'm heading upstairs to the attic. Those built-in bookshelves are giving me grief. Old houses are never level.”

She watched him leave her office and wondered, not for the first time, what the heck she'd done moving back home. Too many memories surrounded her here. Like last night going through Michael's boxes, she'd shed tears over a marriage that had been long dead before the judge signed the divorce papers. Now she had Seth back in her life or at least in her house causing all kinds of carnal thoughts to run through her mind. She'd had fun last night, right up to the time that Billy and Amy had confronted her. Then she'd come home to more drama.

She turned back to her monitor. Drama belonged on the pages of her story, not in her life.

Shauna brought up the coffee with a plate of still-warm shortbread cookies. “How's the writing going?”

Cat hit save before she turned around. “Good. I'm convinced that working every day is the secret to a book that holds together. I don't have to refresh myself when I come back. I might have to schedule my own writing time even on weeks we're doing the retreat.”

“I can handle the group, especially around breakfast time. You just tell me when you want to write and we'll get through it.” Shauna nodded to the cookies. “Tell me if you like those. I found the recipe online last night after I went to my room.”

“You took the laptop with you?” Cat smiled, knowing her friend hadn't wanted to use the computer any more than she had to for work.

“Stop teasing. I'm learning.” She pointed to the ceiling where hammering had started. “Seth was already here and had already started a pot of coffee when I got down to the kitchen. The boy is a hard worker, I'll give him that.”

“I think he's becoming too comfortable around here. We won't be able to get rid of him once the project is done.”

Shauna started walking out of the office and paused at the door, staring at Cat. “Are you sure you want to?”

She didn't wait for an answer, but Cat wasn't sure she had one to give anyway.

* * *

When Cat turned off her computer a few hours later, happy with her progress, she ate the last cookie and grabbed her dirty dishes to take downstairs. At least with all the stair climbing, she hadn't felt the effects of Shauna's baking. Yet. There was that word again. She promised herself she would check into a local gym next week or at least schedule a hike up Sugar Hill a couple times a week. That should get her started on her way to increasing her metabolism and maybe even toning a bit. The hiking paths that wound around and up Sugar Hill had been claimed by the city a few years ago and now were marked and kept in good shape for local enthusiasts. Besides, in a few weeks, the first snow would coat the town and she'd have to resort to a gym treadmill.

A delivery guy stood at the counter with a vase full of red roses. He set them down as she maneuvered the last few stairs. “Sorry, has anyone helped you?”

“No need for a signature, we just like to know our flowers are delivered to the right place before leaving.” The guy looked at his clipboard. “Is there a Linda Cook here?”

“She's one of our guests.” Cat set the dishes on the sideboard and wiped her hands on her shorts. “There must be two dozen here.”

“Three. The owner had to call in a loan from a shop in the next town. No one orders three dozen red roses.” The guy grinned. “I don't know what he did to get into this much trouble, but boy, he's pulling out all the stops to get out of the doghouse.”

Cat watched as he left the lobby and jogged to his mini delivery van, an A
SPEN
H
ILL'S
F
LORAL
decal on the side. She glanced around, reaching for the card as she checked for interruptions. She opened the envelope, and read aloud, “Thanks for a lovely evening. L.”