THE WITCH AND THE TEA PARTY (A Rachael Penzra Mystery) (21 page)

“And we can fill in any areas the other one might overlook.” Stella told me.

“Uh, that’s fine,” I stepped aside. I wasn’t going to argue, and they might even have a good point. At the very least, I didn’t have to do the
eeny-meeny-miney-mo routine, or try to pick which one I let in my door.

I seated them and got out another cup.

“We think Nicholas did it,” Martha stated. “It’s always the spouse, isn’t it?”

“And really,” her sister added. “When you think of how Frances treated him, it’s almost a case of self-defense. She was destroying him.”

“So he had a double motive.”

I spoke quickly
while they simultaneously took sips of coffee. “That’s a theory, of course, but without any real proof, there’s nothing anybody can do about it. How do you two come to know the victim so well?” There, move them off the husband subject and ask one of the many questions my aunt and niece had provided me with.

“Her mother’s second cousin was our father’s uncle,” Stella started.

Martha picked it up from there. “That makes us closer than you think, although it isn’t exactly a blood tie since Father’s uncle was his uncle by marriage.”

“We knew her as children,” Stella added. “So it’s like we were regular cousins. We were thrilled when she moved to this area.”

“She hadn’t really changed much,” Martha said, a little sourly.

“But she shared our interest in the occult. That helped.”

“By the ‘occult’ you mean…?” I questioned. That sort of wording can mean anything from ghost hunting to calling up bad spirits.

“We all three believed in fortune telling,” Stella clarified. “She and Martha wrongly believed that the future could be manipulated, but I’m convinced that our fate is drawn out long before we reach this earthly realm.”

I was on her sister’s side, but I didn’t offer any opinion. To me, it hardly seemed worth making any effort in life if everything was that harshly preordained, but I doubt we were meant to know that sort of thing during our human trip through time.

“It must have been fun to be able to share your interest,” I said. “So you both really had a chance to get to know your ‘cousin’ quite well as adults. Did she show any signs of nervousness or ask any odd questions during her last months?”

They’d both had dubious expressions when I talked about them knowing Frances well, but they quickly latched on to the idea she might have known she was threatened ahead of time. It fit right in with their interest in learning about the future. I didn’t disillusion them with the information that the knowledge came from more earthly communications, like wires strung across the top of dangerous stairs.

“What I’d really like you to do,” I explained, watching as
each eyed the cookie plate to try and score the biggest cookie before the other one did. Stella went so far as to lift a few of the upper ones to check out what might be hidden below. “Is tell me about the other people who were at the party. What was your opinion of them. Did any of them act nervous?”

That was a mistake. Good interrogators don’t clue their suspects with
ideas about what they want to hear. Innocent or guilty, people are apt to jump too quickly to say the right thing.

“I thought Nicholas acted rather strangely,” Martha said.

“Definitely,” her sister asserted. “And that Mandrell woman was a wreck. She kept going from one person to the next talking about how wonderful her husband is. Man’s a creep. He will hardly exchange a civil word with anybody he thinks is beneath him in importance.”

“That’s most of the world in his eyes,” Martha laughed, entirely without amusement. “He kowtowed to Nicholas and Frances, of course, but he treats that stupid wife of his like dirt, even when she’s trying to convince people that he isn’t a jerk.”

“What about the captain?” I asked.

“Oh, he was just as usual,” Martha assured me. “A bit vulgar,
of course, and definitely with some unusual ideas, but it’s clear that he’s a leader.”

“He often stops off and talks to us at home,” her sister simpered. “He always brings me
chocolate-covered cherries, ever since I mentioned that I adore them.”

“He brings me daisies,” her sister interjected. “
I’ve always thought they were a sure sign of summer and carefree days of childhood.”

Clearly he was a hit with them. I wondered why he courted them, never for a moment thinking it was for something other than his own benefit.
Maybe he was conning them out of something.

“That Jasper woman acted odd,” Stella said, apparently connecting her with the captain in her mind, subconsciously or otherwise.

“She’s always odd,” Martha snorted. “The only reason Frances let her be around, interest in the occult or not, was because she’s some sort of cousin. I, personally, have never acknowledged the connection. She really has no idea what she’s talking about half the time.”

“Have you talked to her yet?” Her sister
asked, and then snorted. Snorting seemed to be their way of belittling others, since I’d noticed they’d made similar, if weaker, sounds when talking about the Mandrells.

I admitted I hadn’t.

“She’ll fill your head with all sorts of nonsense. Don’t believe a thing she tells you.” Martha continued, glancing at her sister for a confirming nod. “She was talking about her horoscope for that morning, something about danger lurking all about. It would have been impressive, but I’ve heard her use almost exactly those same words half a dozen other times. For some reason, her future—at least according to her—is always filled with danger. Well, she had it wrong this time. The danger had nothing whatsoever to do with her.”

“She was terribly jealous of Frances’ wealth, you know,” he
r sister took up the tale. “And I’m sure that she’d gotten money from Frances several times for those charities she collects for. A leech, that’s all she is, a real leech. Wonder who she’ll try and get money from now. Probably try it on with Nicholas.”

“She’s in for a surprise there,” Martha actually choked herself with a loud snort.  “He might have been all sweetness and light around his wife, but now that she’s gone it’ll be a whole different story. You wait and see. She left him in complete control, fool that she was. He can completely ignore her wishes if he chooses.
Everyone will have to treat him like a king if they want their rightful inheritance. He’ll make good and sure about that. Look how he’s forced us to come over here and talk to you.”

Stella nodded heartily. “Not that we’re worried about you finding out anything
bad about us, of course, but it seems pretty high-handed of him. It isn’t as though Frances was likely to have left us that much, either. We’re only here because she was our cousin.”

Right, like I believed that. “It’s kind of you to take the trouble,” I told
them. “And anything you happen to recall while we’re talking might be a big help to the sheriff. I’m sure we all want to do everything we can to clear up this unfortunate occurrence.” That was one thing to call cold-blooded murder: an unfortunate occurrence.

“What do you think of the
Powells?” I asked. Might as well give them their chance to condemn everybody.

“I’ve hardly exchanged half a dozen words with that man,” Stella said, proudly. “He is definitely a bad egg. I’m convinced that he lives entirely off that sister of his.”

“And she’s no better than she should be,” Martha added. “Madly in love with her boss and makes no bones about it. Oh, I suppose she thinks she’s hiding it, but a blind man could see how she feels. Silly cow. Doesn’t even realize that she’s the stereotype of the stupid secretary who falls in love with her boss.”

“Only she’s not a secretary, of course,” her sister admitted. “Advertising people seem to be important in business, though when you see some of the ads they put out and waste millions of dollars on, you wonder why.”

“Nicholas will find himself in a pickle, now,” Martha added meanly. “He’s always been careful, but I’ve seen him throw her a wink or a special smile when he thought no one was watching. It was safe enough while Frances was alive, but with her out of the way, it isn’t going to be that easy to keep that woman at bay.”

“She’d best watch out for her own health if she pushes him too much,” Stella snickered. “She might find herself drinking some odd-tasting tea some day.”

There wasn’t much more they had to add. It was informative enough, but I would have liked to hear what they had to say about each other.

“I don’t say we don’t bicker occasionally,” Aunt Myrtle said later after listening to the tapes. She was referring to her relationship with her six sisters. “But not one of us would ever treat another the way those two treat each other.”

Maybe not, but anybody who’s spent much time around the Seven Sisters would feel that “bicker” might be a less than accurate term for their disagreements. Still, she had a point. They would stick up for each other against the outside world, probably even finding an excuse for murder if they had to… as long as the victim was outside the family.

Mirrors can be used for divining, but aren’t something to be used lightly. Staring into a mirror can make you look right through your own mind and into something else.
It can be dangerous, but it’s simple and appealing. Find a comfortable position, preferably sitting. Make sure the background behind you is a neutral color, usually a dark hue. There are different opinions about lighting. Some feel there should be light from the side, some think light shining onto the face is best. The latter is distracting, pulling the eyes toward the brightness, but it does illuminate the eyes. The best way seems to be without direct light of any kind, and whatever method you choose, the light must be soft. Throwing a sheet over a lampshade mutes the glare, but be careful the sheet isn’t too close to the bulb. With the mirror directly in front of you, stare at your own eyes as though looking for a passageway into the soul. Soon you’ll become aware of movement to the sides. Slowly allow your gaze to shift toward the prominent side. At first the images will be weak and floating, but with practice you’ll be able to make out definite shapes. Don’t try to define anything. Let it all pass through your head. When you’re tired, stop. Now rest, either in the chair or lying down, and let the images replay through your closed eyes. How you read the story you’re seeing is an individual choice, but usually go for the first thoughts that jump into your mind.

Chapter Ten

George barked that night. I woke up and went to my bedroom window, which faces the street. Nothing in sight. Awake, I wandered across to the bathroom window. Nothing on the lake side, either. With any normal dog I would have figured some wild animal was roaming around, but George is anything but your average canine. His hunting instincts are limited to finding his prey. Then he wants to be best friends with whatever it is. People are considered to be friendly, even when they try to avoid him. A lot do, at least to begin with. He is large and some might say ugly. He doesn’t challenge the world’s largest dogs, but he would be a contender in most contests up to the finals. And like so many big dogs, he had the soul of a saint. Tiny dogs yapped and nipped at him. He wagged his tail. Cats hissed and raised unsheathed claws, but excepting Alexander (who gives felines a bad name in temperament) he wags his tail yet again. Not having any of his own, he doesn’t understand mean bones.

So his barking was unusual. Not unheard of, but not something to be overlooked. I went downstairs where he’d taken to sleeping outside the bathroom door where we kept poor Binky behind a toddler’s gate. Half the floor was covered in newspaper, the other half with a blanket. Even if
she couldn’t figure out the details of potty training, the little girl understood that she didn’t want a messy blanket. It was working out okay, although we had both dogs’ bedding to remove, sometimes along with occasional wet newspapers, every morning before we opened the store.

“What’s
up, George?” I asked him, heading down to the kitchen. Might as well have a little hot chocolate while I was up and about.

George, however, had already forgotten whatever it was that had upset him. He was back on his blanket, but
hopped up again when he realized that I was going to the kitchen. He might not have the vocabulary down pat, but he was an expert at reading body language. Of course it wasn’t really all that difficult to figure out my goal when I headed for the food supply room. I rarely pass up its contents completely. Even hot chocolate almost certainly meant an accompanying cookie or two, some of which was sure to be tossed his way. He did have the decency to peek back over his shoulder at Binky, but not being dumb, he figured she wasn’t going anywhere and there was no sense both of them missing such a great opportunity.

I moved the back door curtains aside and turned on the outside lights. Nothing moved. I turned them off, fascinated as always about how quickly moths and bugs came from nowhere to circle the lights madly, seemingly bent on suicide attempts.

A cup of hot chocolate and a few cookies later, I went back to bed. It crossed my mind weakly that there might be some connection between the barking and the murder, but I couldn’t, even putting my overly active imagination to work, really convince myself that there could be. I did look back across the street at Dora’s. Mac’s truck was outside. I had a lot of faith in the grumpy old codger and wasn’t worried about his sister with him on guard.