A Mew to a Kill (11 page)

She hopped into the car and twisted around so she could plop her gigantic, blue-striped tote on the back seat.

“What’s in the bag?” I asked

“Just some tea for Neil.”

I rolled my eyes. Pepper thought everything could be solved with tea. I thought she was naïve and one of these days, her naïveté and her tea were going to get her in trouble. Maybe even today.
 

Neil lived in a cabin in the woods about a mile out of town. As I drove down the dirt road that led to his place, the forest got thicker, closing in on all sides. I realized how isolated it was out here, no houses or businesses … or people to hear us scream.

“Are you sure this is a smart idea?” I asked.

Pepper made a face. “Of course. We’re just going to talk to him. I’m sure he’s just an eccentric artist, not a killer.

“I hope you’re right,” I said as I pulled the car up alongside his cabin.

The cabin was painted dark brown and looked surprisingly neat for a man who lived alone. Still, it seemed to have a hollow, empty feeling. Or maybe I was reading too much into it. The dark windows stared at us as we approached the small front porch. I felt creeped-out.
 

Apparently it was just me, though, because Pepper practically skipped up the steps. The white bag she’d taken from the tote dangled from her hand as she tapped on the door. Clearly, her delight in having another victim for her tea overshadowed the fear that Neil Lane could be a killer.

The door jerked open, surprising us both. Neil Lane’s tall, lanky figure loomed over us in the door frame. I’d only seen him a couple of times from afar and had forgotten how tall he was. His bushy, auburn hair sticking out from the top of his head gave him even more height. He stared at us with bloodshot eyes.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

“It’s Pepper St. Onge from
The Tea Shoppe
and Willa Chance from
Last Chance Books
downtown.” Pepper held the white bag in front of her face. “We brought you some tea.”

Neil’s eyes narrowed as they went from Pepper’s optimistic face to the bag. “I don’t want to buy any tea.”

He started to shut the door but Pepper shot her palm out to stop him. “No, we’re not
selling
the tea. We brought it to give to you. It’s a gift.”

Neil’s brows contorted into a deep ‘V’ and he scratched his scraggly beard. “A gift? Why would you bring me a gift? People don’t just do that for nothing. What scam are you running?”

Pepper shook her head. “No scam. It’s a social visit. We wanted to talk to you about the art show. I’m sure you’ve heard what happened to Paisley Brown.”

At the mention of Paisley’s name, Neil’s eyes widened.

“What about her?”

Pepper slid me a questioning look. We hadn’t discussed how to go about questioning Neil. “We … we were just wondering if you knew anything about her work or if you’d heard who was going to replace her in the art show.”

Neil’s face grew red as he stared at Pepper. “I don’t know who’s replacing her at the art show and I could care less. Now, get out of here before I call the cops!”

And with that, he slammed the door in our faces, leaving us standing on his porch. Inside, I heard a loud thud and cursing as if Neil had punched a wall or thrown something.
 

“Well, that didn’t go exactly as planned.” Pepper bent down and placed the white bag gently in front of the door.
 

“Why are you leaving that?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I just have a feeling maybe he could use it.”

“Really?” I started down the steps. Pepper always was a softy, but it was pretty obvious Neil Lane wasn’t the type to sip tea. “I don’t think your tea is going to help. Cordelia was right, that guy has one mean temper.”

“Well, it’s a special concoction. I heard Neil was known to be lacking in social skills. I think his temper might just be his frustration at his lack of social skills.”

I shook my head as I slid behind the wheel of the Jeep. Pepper was a bleeding heart, always thinking the best of people and wanting to help them. As I pulled out of the driveway, I glanced at Neil’s cottage in the rear-view mirror. “It’s too bad Neil didn’t seem to want to tell us anything about Paisley.”

“Maybe he didn’t know anything,” Pepper suggested.

“Maybe, but if that’s the case, why did he have such a violent reaction to the mere mention of her name?”

***

“Can you believe Opal Winters hangs out at a jazz bar?” Pepper asked as we drove away from Neil’s.

“She seems more like the rock bar type, but I guess you never know.” I glanced at the clock on my dashboard. It was only four and Pepper's contact had told us Opal usually appeared at the bar around five for happy hour. “It looks like we have a little bit of time. You want to go check out Paisley’s brother?”

“Of course. I brought some tea to bring to St. Vincent’s, too. You know I drop off a special blend of herbals for the homeless every week.” Pepper rummaged in her giant tote bag and pulled out another white bag which she centered on her lap.

St. Vincent’s church was at the west end of town, off the beaten path. The church had converted part of the rectory into a homeless shelter. We didn’t have too many homeless in Mystic Notch, but at least the few who were without homes had a place to go. The weather in the mountains could get nasty, especially in winter when temperatures dipped below zero.

I parked in front of the small church and Pepper led me to a side door where she rang a doorbell. Father Tim answered, his face lighting up in a smile when he saw Pepper.

“Pepper, thank you so much.” Father Tim took the bag and ushered us inside.

“Father, you remember Willa Chance?” Pepper gestured to me.

Father Tim’s brows tugged together as he studied me. “Anna’s granddaughter?”

I nodded. “That’s right. Good to see you again.”

“Same here.” Father Tim put the bag on a blonde wood desk and gestured for us to sit in the wooden chairs that were lined up against one wall. The chairs were plain, made from similar light wood as the no-frills desk. There were no pictures on the off-white walls, the only decoration a wooden cross hanging over the desk. The word Spartan came to mind.
 

“Oh, we can’t stay.” Pepper glanced at me.
 

“We’re here looking for one of your parishioners—Kenny Brown,” I said.

Father Tim’s forehead creased in concern. “Is Kenny in trouble?”

“Oh, no. It’s nothing like that. His sister was a fellow merchant down on Main Street and she died in a fire. We were just wondering about him…”
 
I let my voice trail off hoping Father Tim would assume we were wondering about Kenny’s well-being as opposed to wondering if he killed his sister.

“His sister perished in the fire on Main Street?” Father Tim stroked his gray beard.

“Yes.” I nodded solemnly

“So, that explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“Why Kenny was acting so oddly.” Father Tim shook his head. “I was afraid he might have gotten back on drugs. I should have had more faith.”

“How was he acting oddly?”

“Oh, it’s just the other day he ran out of here like a bat out of hell. He missed serving supper to the homeless and he’s usually very diligent about that. He was touchy and jumpy. Of course, it’s all understandable now.” Father Tim spread his hands. “I wish he’d said something to me.”

“I heard he stays in the homeless shelter.” I was even more anxious to talk to Kenny now, considering his odd behavior.

Father Tim nodded. “He did, but he’s done quite well this year, really pulled himself up and now he is in the halfway house across the street. He’s in room five over there if you want to go over.”

The halfway house was across from the church. It was an old colonial that was now used as a halfway house. I eyed the peeling paint warily as we approached.
 

“I hope this isn’t a mistake,” I said.

"Of course it isn't," Pepper replied as we approached the door. "It's run by the church."

Right. What could possibly happen to us across from the church?

I knocked.

“Come in, it’s open!”
 

We shrugged at each other. Pepper opened the door and we stepped into a living room that had clearly been furnished with hand-me-downs. Probably cast-offs donated to the church. On one wall was a big sign with a list of rules—no food in your room, no pets, no fighting. Despite the dilapidated appearance of the outside of the house and the worn furniture, the inside was neat and orderly.
 

“Pepper!” A pimple-faced twenty-something with glasses wrapped Pepper in a hug.

My right brow flew up and she laughed at me. “Willa, this is Barney … he’s a house monitor from the church.

“Hi.” I shook his hand, wondering if his enthusiastic greeting and happy attitude had anything to do with the tea Pepper routinely brought to the church.

"The church takes the halfway house very seriously so they have monitors like Barney who volunteer to spend time here and make sure everyone is following the rules. It's important for the success of the program," Pepper explained to me, then turned to Barney. “We’re here to talk to Kenny Brown. Is he in?”
 

“Sure. His room is right over here.” Barney led us down a hallway to a door that had a black and gold number five stuck on it.

Barney tapped on the door. “Kenny! Someone here to see you!”

A scuffling sound came from the other side of the door and it cracked open. I looked up into a thin face to see brown eyes clouded with suspicion. “What?”

“Hi. I’m Willa and this is Pepper. We’re friends of your sister. We came to see how you were doing,” I ventured.

He frowned at me, then glanced back into the room behind him, closing the door even more so the crack was smaller. Apparently, Kenny was not going to invite us in. “You were? I never saw you with Paisley.”

“Umm, well … we were fellow shop owners on Main Street.”

“Yeah, so?” He slipped out through the crack in the door, closing it behind him and standing there with his arms crossed over his chest. He was lanky and stood a good six inches taller than me. As tall as Neil Lane and just as thin, but much younger.

“We just wanted to come by and pay our respects,” I said.

“Oh, really? What do you know about what happened to her?” Did he sound scared? No, it was more of an accusation than anything.

“Us? Nothing?” I noticed the freckles sprinkled across his nose. He was just a kid. Could he have killed his own sister?

“Right. Aren’t you one of the judges in that art contest?” He glared at me.

How did he know that? “Umm, yeah. I was.”

“You were one of the ones that didn’t want her in it?” He glanced over his shoulder at the door as if there was something in his room he was protecting—something he didn’t want us to see.

“Well … I … “ I wasn’t sure what to say.

“You voted against her, didn’t you? She said some people voted against her. Her feelings were really hurt. As if that wasn’t enough then someone goes and kills her.” His eyes misted, but when he leaned toward me, his voice turned threatening. “And I wonder just what
you
know about it.”

I backed up. “Me? I don’t know anything about it.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He scowled at me, then at Pepper. All traces of the freckle-faced kid I’d seen a few seconds earlier disappeared with the angry look on his face. “Well, I don’t need your condolences.”
 

He spat out the words, then cracked the door open again and slipped through, then peered back out at us. “And don’t come back!”

He punctuated the warning by slamming the door shut in our faces.

Chapter Eleven

“We’re batting zero so far. I hope Opal is a little more receptive,” I said as we drove away from the halfway house.

“Yeah, Kenny sure didn’t seem friendly. You’d think he would have been nicer to friends of his sister.” Pepper’s face was thoughtful as she leaned back in the seat. “Maybe I should bring him some tea.”

“I’m more worried about what he was hiding in his room.”

“Yeah, he did seem reluctant to let anyone see in there. Do you think he has something in there that has to do with the fire or Paisley’s death?”

“I don’t know, but he’s hiding something,” I said. “Do you think it’s weird that he knew who I was? I’ve never seen him before.”
 

“Maybe Paisley told him or pointed you out across the street one time when he was at her shop.”

“If she did, it would have to have been the afternoon before she died. He sounded like he knew I'd voted against her and we didn’t vote until that morning.”

“Good point … so if he was there the night she died …”

“He could be a suspect.”

I turn onto the highway to take route ninety-three to the next exit where the jazz club,
The Embers
, was located. Pepper amused herself by sorting through her tote bag. I hoped she wasn’t going to bring bags of tea into the club.