A Zen For Murder (Mooseamuck Island Cozy Mystery Series Book 1) (6 page)

BOOK: A Zen For Murder (Mooseamuck Island Cozy Mystery Series Book 1)
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Dom could see evidence that they had taken a cast of the lone footprint. Something about it bothered him. It looked out of place, marring the pattern of the concentric circles that had been traced in the sand.

It was hard to believe a violent murder had happened in such a peaceful place. Dom had never meditated the regular way, much less by the use of a zen garden, but he could see how immersing oneself in the repetitive motion of drawing patterns in the sand could be relaxing. Especially up here, where the air was filled with the fresh smell of the forest and the chirping of birds. It was a quiet place—a good place for reflection.

Dom doubted it had been this quiet earlier in the morning. The condition of the body told him that Zoila had struggled. Had she cried out? She must have … but why had no one heard her?

“Can’t go in they’ya.”

Dom turned to see the gardener, Banes, standing beside the trash barrel, a scrunched up Coke can and an empty white bag in his hand. “I know. I was just looking.”

Banes squinted at Dom. “Hey, ain’t you that famous detective form Boston?”

Dom straightened with pride and preened his tingly left eyebrow.
 

“Well, I could hardly claim to be famous,” he said modestly.

“Well, I heard about ‘ya.” Banes nodded toward the crime scene area. “I bet you got some ideas on who killed her.”

“I’m afraid I don’t. Not yet, anyway.” Dom raised a brow at Banes. “What about you?”

“Me?” Banes took a step backward. “Why, I have no idea.”

“And you didn’t see anyone up here or hear anything this morning?” Dom ventured.

“No, sir. I was on the other side and I’m a little hard of hearing. I was actually a bit late on my rounds this morning. Had to clean up horse poop on the trail.” Banes scrunched up his face. “Otherwise, I might have been here when ... well, you know.”

Dom nodded. “So, just what are your tasks here?”

“Well, I usually come up and rake the garden.” Banes pointed toward the sandy area. “I make sure there are no leaves or pine needles on the sand.”

“Do you make these circles?” Dom indicated the intricate series of circles that radiated from the stones that seemed to be placed at random in the zen garden. It reminded him of the waves that radiated from a rock tossed into a pool of water.

“Yep. To start. The way it works is the people come and make their own circles with the rake. That’s part of the meditation. But each morning, I come up and rake them out to start the day. It’s kind of fun, really.”

“And the rakes. Do you supply those?" Dom asked.

Banes sighed. “Yes. We have to keep a supply of them, because sometimes people walk off with them.”

“And this morning, the rake was missing.”

“Yep.” Banes looked over at the crime scene and shuddered. “I guess it might have been the murder weapon.”

“Could I see one of these rakes?”

“Sure, just let me throw this out.” Banes indicated the trash he held in his hand. As Dom followed him to the trash can, he noticed the white bag was a take-out bag from
Chowders
.
 

“Do you get a lot of trash up here? You’d think the islanders would respect it more,” Dom said.

“Didn’t use ‘ta, but it’s happening more and more now.” Banes tossed the trash in the can and shrugged. “Kids.”

Dom frowned at the trash. He could see the crushed soda can being tossed out by reckless kids, but he wondered if kids would be bringing take-out bags from
Chowders
up here. He didn’t think so.

He tore his attention from the trash and joined Banes at the small storage shed. The gardener unlocked the door and reached inside, producing a strange-looking wooden rake.
 

“There's a couple of different kinds of rakes for zen gardens, but this here’s the kind of rake we use.” Banes handed it over for Dom to inspect.
 

It wasn’t too heavy and of simple construction. A handle with a metal piece at the end. One side of the metal was flat and the other had a series of short, sharp tines protruding from it.
 

“The flat end is used to smooth out the sand, and the end with the tines is used to make the swirls and patterns around the rocks in the garden,” Banes added.

Dom fingered the tines thoughtfully. With enough force, they could have caused the injuries that had killed Zoila.

Had the killer used the zen garden rake for his murderous act? And, if so, what had he done with it afterwards?

***

The Barrett family had settled Mooseamuck Island back in the 1600s and had once owned most of the land. Over the years, parcels had been sold off, and even the old family hunting camp—the first structure on the island—had been sold by Kenneth to Zoila, less than two years ago.

The Barretts had kept the best piece of land for themselves, which included a mansion—the largest house on the island—situated on a point of land that was surrounded by the Atlantic Ocean on three sides.

Dom pulled his Smart Car around the circular drive and got out. A fountain splashed melodically in the middle of the driveway as Dom walked to the homes impressive, double-wide oak doors. He rang the bell.

After a few seconds, the door swung open and a man in a black jacket looked out at him.

“Yes?”
 

Dom stared back.
A butler, in this day and age? People still have them?

“Hi,” Dom said. “I’d like to see Kenneth Barrett, please.”

“Master Kenneth is in the stables around back.” The butler leaned out onto the step and pointed around the left side of the house, where Dom could see a fancy carriage house.

“Okay. Thanks.” Dom turned and headed toward the stables, enjoying the view of rolling hills giving way to the cliffs and the Atlantic below. As he neared the carriage house, he heard a loud clatter and then cursing. Peeking his head in, he saw Kenneth in one of the stalls, standing amidst a messy pile of wooden-handled stall mucking tools.
 

“Ahem.” Dom cleared his throat and Kenneth snapped his head up.
 

“Oh. Hi. I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

“You muck out the stalls yourself?” Dom asked incredulously. He couldn’t picture Kenneth, who looked like a male model with his swoop of blond hair, blue eyes and Kirk Douglas chin doing this type of work.

Kenneth shrugged. “Sometimes. I find this type of work keeps me grounded.”

Dom nodded, inhaling the earthy scent of leather, hay and horse manure. He noticed that even the stables had the air of the ‘well-to-do’. The saddles and bridles neatly hung on the walls were of the finest quality. Even the barn implements piled in front of Kenneth had matching gold and maroon adornment on the handles—a color combination that was repeated in the rosettes on the bridles and the coat of arms that hung over the doorway.
 

“What can I do for you?” Kenneth worked his way out of the stall and motioned for Dom to follow him down the aisle. A palomino snickered as they passed her stall, her blonde mane swaying like corn silk as she bobbed her heard up and down. Kenneth stopped for a minute to stroke her velvety nose. Dom noticed the horses were in tip-top shape. This one was freshly groomed, her saddle shined and polished.
 

“In the diner, you mentioned that you talked to Zoila yesterday and she seemed agitated. I wanted to ask you more about that,” Dom said.

Kenneth stopped and frowned at Dom. “Why? The police have already been here.”

“Of course,” Dom replied. “But I’m not with them.”

“Oh, no? Then why are you asking?”

“Let’s just say I want to make sure us islanders get a fair shake. Zambuco isn’t from the island, so …” Dom let his voice trail off, taking a moment to glance down at Kenneth's shoes. They were square toed—not a match to the footprint at the zen garden. Then again, this surely wasn't his only pair of shoes.

Kenneth stared at him for a few seconds, then Dom saw something change in his eyes. He nodded and spread his arms. “I don’t know much. Like I said, Zoila lived in my family's old hunting camp. She was doing some minor renovations and found some pictures she wanted to give me. She also wanted to keep the history, so she asked me to come out and go over the various additions to the camp. She was interested in what year each room was added ... that sort of thing.
 

Dom gave an encouraging nod. “And ...”

“Well, that’s it. I went out and showed her where the original camp was, then each section that had been added.”

“You said she seemed agitated.”

Kenneth’s eyes darkened. “Oh, right. She did. She kept looking around, like she was expecting someone or something.”

“Oh, really? And did anyone come?”

“No. It’s pretty remote out there. The conservation land abuts three quarters of that lot.” Kenneth’s brows scrunched together. “Well, now that I think about it, someone rode by on a bicycle up the path that goes through the conservation land. She seemed really spooked about that.”

“Who was it?”

“Just the Flannery kid. She relaxed once we saw who it was, but when we heard the bike coming, she seemed agitated.” Kenneth hesitated, then added, “I just figured she was probably waiting for Ben to come back.”

“Ben?”

“Yeah, Ben Campbell. The guy who works for Sarah. I saw him peddling away on his bike, like he was being chased by a demon on my way out there.”

Dom’s eyebrow twitched and he reached up to smooth it. “How interesting. Did she mention what he was doing there?”

“No. I assume he must have delivered some food up to her.”

“Or he could have been a client.”

“I suppose.” Kenneth’s face darkened. “Hey, you don’t think—

Dom held up his hand, cutting him off. “Oh, no, I don’t think. Not until I have all the facts, anyway. Right now, I’ve just begun to gather them.”

“Okay, right. Wouldn’t do to jump to conclusions.”

“Nope. But you’ve been very helpful.”
 

“Sure, anytime.”
 

Dom turned to leave, walked a few steps, then pivoted around again. “Say, did you see anyone coming up to her place when you were leaving?”

Kenneth frowned. “Now that you mention it, yes, I did. I was driving away and passed Shane McDonough at the end of the road.”

“And what time was that?”

Kenneth frowned. “Well, I'm not sure, but I wasn't there long. I guess it must have been about one o’clock.”

“Okay. Thanks.” Dom turned and left for good, this time, getting into his Smart Car and pulling around the fountain, then out of the driveway. As he pulled out onto the road, he saw Claire Watkins’s brown Fiat taking a left into the driveway.

Dom waved and smiled, despite the feeling of irritation that swept through him. He was certain Claire was visiting Kenneth for the same reason he was. He was annoyed that Claire was investigating Zoila’s murder. He didn’t need her butting in with her touchy-feely methods.
 

Then again, joining forces with the woman might not be such a bad idea. Though she was annoying to work with, they had done good work in the past and her assistance had been vital in solving quite a few of the cases they'd been on together. Not only that, but he was convinced Claire Watkins knew something and his instincts told him what she knew was a key piece on the puzzle of who murdered Zoila Rivers.

Chapter Eight

Claire eyed the silver Smart Car with irritation. She should have known Dom would be investigating. That was exactly what she didn’t want. She was afraid he would misinterpret what was going on, with his ‘stick to the facts’ attitude. He was too rigid in his ways and Claire had a feeling this was a case where you had to consider the human aspect.
 

She knew the islanders better than Dom and would be able to interpret the clues more accurately with that knowledge. A feeling of dread settled on her as she parked next to the fountain. She just hoped she could find the killer before Dom or Zambuco went off half-cocked and arrested the wrong person.

Kenneth came round the side of the house as she was walking toward the front door. A scowl darkened his face when he saw her.
 

“I should have known you would show up,” he said.

Claire frowned at him. Kenneth was in his mid-forties—a spoiled rich kid that Claire didn’t have much use for. She’d never had much to do with him and judging by the rude comment he just slung at her, she’d been right not to.

“Why do you say that?”

“It’s just that you seem to always wheedle your way into any criminal activity on the island. Sometimes, I wonder if your nephew actually solves any cases or if you do it for him.”

Now she remembered. Kenneth and Robby had been rivals on the football team in high school. She’d have thought Kenneth would have forgotten about that by now. Claire chose to ignore his comments and get down to business.

“Have you been out riding?” she asked, indicating the horse dung on his boots.

“Earlier. I was just in the barn tidying up.” He continued toward the house. “I know you’re not here to make small talk. You’re here to butt into the Zoila Rivers investigation.”

BOOK: A Zen For Murder (Mooseamuck Island Cozy Mystery Series Book 1)
12.78Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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