Ghostly Paws (Mystic Notch Cozy Mystery Series) (3 page)

I glanced out the window toward the coffee shop. “I’ll pop down and ask her later. Lavinia said she was lighting a candle at church and that’s why she was here early. Maybe Pastor Foley saw someone.”

“What about the police?” Pepper started to stack the teacups back on the tray. “Surely they’ll investigate?”

“Yeah, that’s the problem,” I said. “It
looks
like Lavinia fell. I thought that’s what happened and I’m sure Augusta thought so, too. So, unless something comes to light, I don’t think there’ll be an investigation.”

“But, Lavinia told you—”

“Not Lavinia,” I said, cutting her off. “Lavinia’s
ghost
. And who’s going to believe I found out about the murder from her ghost? Nobody. In fact, it’s probably better if I don’t say anything to the police. I have a funny feeling that if I did, it would only point the finger of suspicion at
me
.”

***

I woke up to Pandora digging her razor sharp claws into me. In my dream, I swore she was talking.
Get up now. Now. Now.

“Meow. Meow. Meow.”

“Ouch!” Pandora was crouched on my chest. I swatted her away before her claw ripped a hole in my black knit turtleneck.
 

I glanced at my watch. Noon! Had I really fallen asleep in my bookstore?
 

I sat up and wiped the drool off my cheek. Good thing no customers had come in. Or maybe they had come and found me sleeping.

Pandora trotted over to the large front window, hopped up onto the wide ledge where one of her overstuffed cat beds sat and stared pointedly down the street.
 

My eyes followed her gaze straight to the coffee shop—
The Mystic Cafe
. Come to think of it, I
was
getting a little hungry. The cafe had a great selection of sandwiches. I could close up for lunch, get something to eat and drink … and ask Myrna if she saw anyone this morning.

I pushed up from the couch and wiped the cat hair off my sweater, then grabbed my wallet, locked the bookstore and headed down the street. I was halfway to the cafe before I realized my leg wasn’t even hurting anymore. I felt thankful that the pain was slowly lessening with time.

The Mystic Cafe
was abuzz with activity. Almost all the local merchants came here for lunch. It was off-season now—too late for the crowds that came for skiing and too early for summer tourists, so the cafe wasn’t quite as crowded.

I made my way to the counter, nodding at the locals I knew, which was most everyone in there, seeing as I’d grown up here and most people didn’t leave Mystic Notch. Ever.
 

I was the exception, going “down south” as they called it, to become a journalist. I felt a pinch in my chest at the thought of my former life. Best not to think about that now. Fate had stepped in and I was happy to be home again and starting a new life at the age of forty-eight.

As I walked through the cafe, I caught myself sneaking a peek at people’s hands to see if anyone was wearing a large ring. What was I doing? These were my friends and neighbors. A shiver went up my spine as I realized that anyone could be the killer—even someone I trusted and had known my whole life.
 

Myrna Littleton stood behind the counter, her gray hair piled in a bun, her vintage red cherries apron barely covering her plump figure.
 

“What can I get’cha, Willa?” Myrna pulled a pencil out of her bun and poised it over the long pad of paper she held.

“I’ll have a tuna on rye … and if you have a second, I’ve got a few questions.”

Myrna wrote down the order, ripped the paper off the pad and clipped it onto a round metal holder, then twirled it so the order was facing Bud, the guy who made the sandwiches in the back.
 

Her steely gaze assessed the crowd, then she nodded at me and shouted to one of her employees, “Alice, can you watch the front?”
 

Myrna pulled me to the side, out of earshot of the workers and customers. “What’s up?”

“Well, you probably heard Lavinia was found dead this morning,” I said tentatively. There was no love lost between Myrna and Lavinia and I wasn’t sure what her reaction would be.

“Darned old fool fell down the steps, I hear.”

“Maybe…”

She looked over her blue framed cats-eye glasses at me, her brow wrinkling in confusion. “What are you saying—she didn’t fall?”

“It’s possible she had some help.”
 

Myrna snorted. “Well, I know a few people that would have liked to help, but I thought the police were ruling it an accident.”

“They are. It probably was. But I was just wondering if you saw anyone around this morning. I know you open up early, and it looks like Lavinia went in early for some reason, so I was wondering if someone else was in there.”

Myrna crossed her arms over her ample breasts, scrunched up her face and tapped the pencil on her lips. “Let me think … I came in to set things up early—you know we get an early morning coffee crowd—so I spent most of my time out back.”

“Oh, so you didn’t see anyone or anything out of the ordinary?”

“Well, now come to think of it, I did. I took the trash out to the dumpster in the alley. The church is right at the end of the alley and I happened to glance down and saw that woman that runs the new real estate business.”

“Ophelia Withington?” I asked. Ophelia had come to town about ten years ago and opened a real estate business. She was hardly ‘new’, but these Yankee old-timers considered anyone not born here to be ‘new’. Ophelia had married auctioneer Pete Withington, who had passed away a couple of years ago.

“Yeah, that’s her. I thought it was strange that she’d be out that early in the morning and even stranger what she was wearing,” Myrna said.

“Why? What was she wearing?”

Myrna looked at me with a funny look on her face. “She was wearing one of them big old raincoats … a trench coat, I think they’re called. I can’t imagine why she’d want to traipse around in that thing. Heck, they weren’t even forecasting rain.”

Chapter Four

I couldn’t wait to interrogate Ophelia, so I grabbed my sandwich and raced to my old Jeep Cherokee in the parking lot. The bookstore wouldn’t suffer too much if I kept it closed for a few hours over lunch.
 

The day had warmed to an invigorating seventy degrees. The fresh mountain air gave me a burst of energy as I pulled out onto Main Street. I drove past the early 1900s storefronts. Some were brick, some clapboard, but all had been recently renovated so as to keep the nostalgia of the town’s past while looking neat as a pin.

Withington Real Estate
wasn’t much more than a mile’s drive. I munched on my sandwich as I drove, enjoying the mountain vista view revealed by the steep drop to the left. On the right, the stark granite face of the mountain jutted up into the sky.

I pulled up in front of my destination just as I swallowed the last of my sandwich. The building was an old colonial Ophelia had purchased and retrofitted into office space. I recognized her Beamer in the parking lot.

Brushing the crumbs off my lap, I trotted up to the door and opened it, revealing the wide pine flooring of the reception area that used to be the living room of the house.

An antique oak desk sat at one end of the room. Comfortable looking upholstered chairs and a sofa sat along the walls. It almost looked like a regular living room, except for the receptionist sitting behind the desk.

I approached the young girl. She couldn’t have been more than twenty, but the way she caked on the makeup made her look older.
 

“Can I help you?” she asked through bright red lips.

“I was hoping to talk to Ophelia.”

The girl looked at me uncertainly and I got the impression she was about to give me the brush-off, so I said, “Tell her it’s Wilhelmina Chance. I know she’ll want to talk to me.”

I knew Ophelia would want to talk to me because she’d been pestering me to sell my grandmother’s thirty-five-hundred square foot Victorian on twenty acres since I’d inherited it. If she got the impression that’s why I was here, it certainly wasn’t my fault.
 

The receptionist picked up the phone, told Ophelia I was there and replaced the receiver, then stood up. “This way, please.”

She scooted out from behind the desk and I followed her down the hall. I couldn’t help but notice her skirt was a bit too short, but if I still had legs like hers I’d probably wear one that short, too. Not that my legs were
that
bad, especially for pushing fifty. I exercised a lot and was still slim, but they were scarred up from the accident and I didn’t like to show them off anymore.

Ophelia met us at the door of a bright blue and yellow room that boasted a tasteful, marble-mantled fireplace. Her frosted blonde hair was perfectly coiffed and a strand of creamy white pearls hung around her neck, the only accent to her tasteful beige and black dress.
 

I pushed my frizzy red curls into place self-consciously.

“Wilhelmina; how nice to see you.” Ophelia held out her hand and I got a whiff of Chanel No. 5. Although her voice sounded pleasant, her dark eyes bore into me with a predatory glare. It was clear to me that Ophelia was interested in only one thing—getting big commissions from selling houses.

“Same here,” I lied as I shook her hand.

She gestured toward a chair and I sank down into the tufted leather while she went back around to the other side of her desk.

“So, what brings you here?” Her brows raised in hopeful arcs. “Did you finally decide to sell? That property is so much for a single woman to manage.”

“It is, but that’s not why I’m here,” I said, ignoring her obvious disappointment. “I’m sure you’ve heard that Lavinia was found dead at the library this morning.”

“Yes, such sad news.” Ophelia’s face showed no emotion.

“Well, I heard you were there this morning and I wondered if you saw anything.”

Ophelia’s back stiffened. “Me? I wasn’t at the library. And why are you asking about it? I heard she slipped and fell.”

“Oh, she did,” I said to soothe her and put her off guard, afraid she might clam up if she thought I was accusing her. “It’s just that Lavinia was in there earlier than usual and I was wondering if someone else was there, too. Someone said they saw you near the church right down the street. I was wondering if you noticed anything unusual or saw anyone.”

Ophelia’s eyes darted around the room, her mouth set in a firm line. “Who told you they saw me?”

“I’d rather not say. What were you doing there that early anyway?”

“Well, I’d say that’s none of your business,” she huffed. “But if you must know I was … err … lighting a candle in memory of Pete.”

She placed her palms on the desk and pushed up from her chair. I noticed she still wore her wedding rings—a large diamond and wide gold band that blinked in the sunlight.

“So you didn’t see anything strange or notice anyone at the library? Did you see Lavinia?”

“No. No. And no.” She came around the desk and opened the door, inviting me to leave.
 

I can take a hint, so I stood. “Okay, let me know if you remember anything. Sorry to bother you.”

I felt her eyes drill into my back as I walked down the hall, through the reception area and out the door.

A niggle of doubt tickled my stomach as I got into my car. I was almost certain Ophelia was being evasive. Lavinia had said she was lighting a candle at almost the same time—wouldn’t Ophelia have seen her? It
was
possible they had missed each other. I wasn’t sure of the exact timing.
 

I doubted Ophelia had pushed Lavinia—what would be her motive? But if she wasn’t being evasive because she knew something about Lavinia’s murder, then what, exactly, was she hiding?

***

“Ophelia Withington?” Pepper scrunched up her nose. “I don’t think she’s the killer.”

“Why not?” I asked. “Maybe she had some kind of grudge against Lavinia. She does seem to be mean, selfish and spiteful.”

“She wasn’t always that way, you know.” Pepper sat down on the sofa while she waited for me to organize my sales receipts for the day.

“Really?” I cocked my head at her.

“She was actually very nice and kind when she first came here. Pete’s lengthy illness and death made her bitter.” Pepper looked at the canister of tea leaves she’d brought from her store. “Come to think of it, she might benefit from one of my teas.”

My brows shot up. Pepper’s special tea’s sometimes backfired—I shuddered to think of Ophelia Withington being even meaner than she was now.

I took a sip from the tall glass of iced tea Pepper had brought. She usually closed up the tea room earlier than I closed the bookstore. Sometimes she’d bring a snack or tea over, which we’d enjoy before we walked down to our cars together. Today she’d brought iced tea to celebrate the beginning of spring—it was only sixty outside, but after a long winter in the White Mountains, sixty felt like summer.

I finished my record keeping and pushed the drawer of my antique cash register shut.

“All finished?” Pepper asked. “Looks like you made some sales today.”

“I had a pretty good day. Sold a mint condition, first edition of Nancy Drew and made a few sales from the used book section.” The Nancy Drew made me a couple thousand richer—the used books would buy me coffee for the week.

“That’s great,” Pepper said. “I had a visit from Derek Bates. He wanted some Wolfsbane tea. He’s such a nice guy.”

“He is. He came here, too. He was looking for an old family scrapbook. I guess his mother sold it at a yard sale by mistake.”

Pepper burst out laughing. The Bates family came from old money. Actually more like old-old money. So old that no one remembered how they originally made the money.
 

“Idris let her have a yard sale? I can’t imagine that.”

“Me, either.” I smiled as I pictured the look of delight on the faces of local antique dealers when they saw yard sale tables loaded up with antiques spread all over the lawn of the gigantic stone mansion just outside town.