Murder at the Mansion (7 page)

“W
e'll find out,” Deputy Stanton added. “It'll just take some time.”

Sylvia not who she said she was? Why had she lied? “Did she have identification in her purse?” I asked.

“No purse.”

“She had one with her on the whale watching trip,” I said.

“Thanks for letting me know,” Deputy Stanton said. “Working at your place is fine as long as the detectives can reach you when they get here.”

“You have my cell phone number and the inn's number.”

“Right,” he said.

I stepped outside and filled my lungs with the scent of redwoods and tangy ocean air. The light mist carried by the breeze cooled my face and slowed my racing thoughts. The soft melody of the rustling leaves soothed my raw nerves. The short walk back to my inn didn't give me answers, but it helped clear the cobwebs in my mind. I got in my Jeep and headed to the carriage house. On the way, I passed Stevie and his bouncing pair of beagles. They were harnessed and looked ready to work. We exchanged waves. As I went by the four-car garage, I saw part of the side of his RV peeking out from behind it; the sign advertising the beagles and their trade was covered as promised.

I parked and grabbed the faded denim shirt I stored on the backseat for whatever need might arise. The last time it had encased a terrified poodle ready to make my hand into a sausage. I'd stopped traffic in both directions on a busy road when I saw him running between cars. The same dog melted into his grateful owner's arms, then smiled at me and licked my hand when I'd reached to retrieve my shirt.

After slipping it on, I loaded the dust-covered boxes and drove back to the B & B. The work shed housed a large wooden table, convenient for a variety of projects. I put the boxes on it, sneezing as the dust found new life from the action. I'd unpacked two of my moving cartons the night before and decided I'd go into the house to get them in order to transfer some of these things into clean containers.

The kitchen held the sweet lingering fragrance of the morning's baking. A warm, embracing smell, it helped to push out some of the cold memories of the afternoon. A plastic-wrapped plate sat on the counter. A croissant laced with miniature chocolate chips called my name, and I ignored it . . . at first. Then I gave in and savored the rich butteriness and the hint of chocolate. This was my new life. How lucky could one get? I allowed myself a sigh of pleasure and continued on to my living quarters.

I returned to the shed and got to work. Legal documents went into one box. I planned to examine them in my room. In the other, I placed the pictures and newspaper articles, glancing at them as I did so. There was some fascinating history in those yellowed papers. The Silver Sentinels might have fun sorting through them. I called the Professor.

“Hello, my dear. So wonderful to hear your voice and have you back with us.”

“I'm glad to be here, too.”

“I'm sorry to hear there seems to have been foul play at the Heights. Not a fun start to your return.”

Startled, I asked, “What do you know about it?”

“It's a simple equation. The coroner's van and the deputy sheriff's car go by. People are being questioned. You can't talk about it. In all probability, it's murder.”

“But . . . how . . .”

“You sound a bit surprised. I called Daniel to find out what he knew. As you know, we all take part when something is afoot, and that was my assignment.”

“I'll bring you up to speed when I can,” I said.

“We know you will.”

“I called because I have a project the group might be interested in.” I explained what I found.

“Delightful idea. I'll call the others and get back to you.”

I turned my attention to the box full of Christmas ornaments. Placing them on the table, I didn't think they looked special. Probably common ones used around the house. After photographing them in batches, I packed them in the carriage house box I'd emptied.

The books in the last carton didn't appear rare. Nothing jumped out at me from the titles, authors, or copyright dates. I lined them up six at a time and photographed their spines and put them back in their box. An Internet search would tell me if they were valuable.

I looked around for something to label them with, but no luck. I'd take care of that tomorrow.

I put the ornaments and books back in my Jeep. As I started to pick up the box of legal papers to take to the inn, my phone rang.

“The group's excited about seeing what you've unearthed,” the Professor said.

“Great. I'll get the conference room ready for you for tomorrow morning.”

“Perfect. We're looking forward to it.”

I transferred the clippings and photos into the other clean box and carried it to the meeting room. It would be fun to have them here, and work with them again. I retrieved the last box and headed back inside the inn. Helen stood at the kitchen counter.

Fred was stretched out in a rectangle of sun and beat a tune with his tail in greeting.

“Hi,” she said. “Are you going to be able to make the party tonight?”

I put the box on the counter. “I think so.”

“I'll leave directions for you.”

“Thanks.”

Helen opened the refrigerator, and I noticed a cake. But this wasn't just any cake. Bright spirals of color—orange, red, green, purple, and blue—swirled around the sides and top. It was the first psychedelic-looking frosting I'd ever seen. It matched Stevie's tie-dyed top.

She pulled it out and put it on the counter.

“Wow! That looks amazing.”

A little pink colored her face. “Thanks. I made it for Stevie's party. I still have some decorating to do.”

“It's a real work of art.”

The conversation halted as Tommy burst into the room. “Hi, Mom, Miss Kelly.”

But he wasn't looking at us. He only had eyes for the dancing hound in front of him.

Fred began baying, and Tommy chimed in, howling along with him.

“Good grief! Enough, you two.” Helen said. She looked at me. “Are you sure you're ready for this?”

I laughed. “Absolutely!”

Tommy got a bottle of juice from the refrigerator and sat at the counter.

“I've started a side business doing custom baking,” Helen said. “It's been fun. I love to cook, and I'm beginning to get to know some of the locals.”

Tommy managed to bounce up and down on the flat wooden stool. “I'm the official taste tester.”

“I look forward to hearing more about it. See you two later.”

I picked up the carton and went back to my room. Putting it next to the couch for later, I stretched and thought about another cup of coffee. My phone rang, and I recognized Hensley's number.

“Kelly, Deputy Stanton would like you to come back. The detectives are here, and he has more questions for you.”

“I'm on my way.”

I paused in the kitchen. Helen was bending over the cake and writing on the top with a piping bag, like my mom used. The name
Stevie
appeared in bright turquoise letters.

“I have to go the Heights. Unless something unusual happens, I should still be able to make the party at some point. I might be late.”

“Okay. I'll let the others know.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“Oh, Phil and Andy checked in yesterday.”

Sommelier Phil—short for Philopoimen—Xanthis provided the wine for the inn. He and cheese monger Andy Brown created pairings for the guests. They were supplying Redwood Heights the cheese and wine for the Whale Frolic festival. I'd told them they could stay at Redwood Cove B & B, even though we weren't officially open for guests. There were still a few minor details that needed to be taken care of, but the rooms were ready.

I opened the Jeep's door, took off my denim shirt, and tucked it away for its next adventure. Daniel's VW bus was ahead of me as I drove down the road to the mansion. We parked next to each other and walked in together.

“Have you heard anything new?” I asked him.

“Nope. Hensley didn't have anything else for me to do, so I left.”

We went to the office in silence, where we found Hensley and Stanton seated at the desk.

Deputy Sheriff Stanton ran a roughened hand over his face. “I appreciate your promptness. Do either of you have anything to add to what you've already told me about the woman called Sylvia Porter?”

We both shook our heads. Neither of us had had much to do with Sylvia . . . or whoever she was.

“We're trying to figure out what besides her purse might be missing. Did you see her carrying anything?”

“She had a camera,” I said.

“Did you notice what kind?

“No, sorry.”

“I have a list of the jewelry she had on,” he said. “I'd like the three of you to look at it.”

Hensley spoke up after perusing the items. “She had an unusual pendant that isn't listed here. Belonged to her mother.”

“I'll get a description of it later from you.” Stanton jotted in his notepad. “You've had some jewelry thefts here. Refresh my memory.”

“The last couple of days a few items have gone missing. I'm still reluctant to call it robbery. I'm hoping it's a coincidence two guests misplaced their things. However, the jewelry's gone, and I needed to report it. Both incidents happened during afternoon tea. The guests left their rooms unlocked when they went to the parlor.”

“I understand all the current guests were staying here at the same time as the murdered woman,” Stanton said.

“That's correct.”

“Do you know what any of them were doing between eleven thirty and twelve forty-five?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact I do. Twelve people went on a whale-watching trip and then had a catered lunch accompanied by Claude Baxter, a chef who works with us part-time, and a wine steward he knows. They explained the special attributes of the meal. The others were on an all-day horseback riding excursion we arranged.”

“So they all have alibis, sounds like,” Stanton said.

“Except for Jerry Gershwin,” I volunteered. “He came back with Sylvia.”

“Is there anyone else who stayed here and has left who might have had contact with her?”

“The only person would be a Robert James,” Hensley replied.

“I'd like to see his registration and payment information.”

Hensley pulled a paper from a manila folder on her desk. “I can show you what he put down, but there's no payment record. He paid cash.”

“That seems unusual,” I blurted out.
Oops. No one asked for my opinion
.

Hensley handed the form to the deputy. “Identity theft has caused more people to do cash transactions. I didn't think anything of it.”

“Can you tell me anything about him?” Deputy Stanton asked.

“He was a walk-in. We'd had a last-minute cancellation, so it worked out. He only stayed one night. Checked out yesterday.”

Daniel volunteered, “I ran into him while I was working outside. He asked me about some of the outlying buildings. Wanted to know their history.”

Stanton nodded. “We'll see what we can learn about him, though there's nothing to indicate finding him is a priority.”

Daniel spoke up. “He's still in town. At least he was as of lunchtime today. We were celebrating my daughter's good grades with a pizza, and I saw him.”

Hensley's brow creased. “I wonder why he checked out, since the room was still available.”

Daniel shrugged. “He was with some guy I didn't recognize.”

“Thanks.” Stanton turned to Hensley. “What about your staff during that time?”

“All the live-in staff was present or on errands: They are Cindy Watson, Lily Wilson, and Tina Smith. I don't know if any of them have alibis,” Hensley said. “I asked Cindy to bring fresh coffee. She should be here any minute. You can find out what she was doing.”

As if on cue, there was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” Hensley said.

Cindy opened the door and wheeled in a cart with thermoses on it. She pushed it over to where coffee had been placed earlier and began exchanging containers.

“Ms. Watson, where were you today between eleven thirty and twelve forty-five?”

Cindy stopped what she was doing and faced the deputy. “I went into the parlor and saw Mr. Gershwin working on the computer. He introduced himself, and we talked a bit. I mentioned I was going to the market. He wanted to come along and see what was available and mentioned he'd been working on some new recipes.”

“When did you last see him?”

“It was about twenty after twelve. I had to come back here for a meeting. He said he was going to look at restaurant menus. I looked over my shoulder on my way here, and I could see him going up the hill in the opposite direction.”

Even if he rushed back after Cindy arrived at the meeting, it's unlikely he'd made it before twelve forty. He didn't seem a likely suspect.

Deputy Stanton turned to me. “The detectives are in the dining room and would like to ask you some questions.”

I found them, and we shared introductions. The detectives asked almost the same questions as Deputy Sheriff Stanton. It didn't take long, and I was soon on my way home.

Home. There was that word again. I really liked the sound of it.