Midnight Mysteries: Nine Cozy Tales by Nine Bestselling Authors Page 12

  ELEVEN

  SAM DIGESTED THE news along with her tacos, which weren’t settling very well at the moment. Not that she suspected anyone she knew would purposely throw a bloody knife into her trash receptacle, but having her business associated with the crime was a complication she didn’t need.

  “Can I come along to see what Lisa says?” she asked as Beau pulled into his normal parking slot.

  “Absolutely. And later I’m going to have you and Rico head the team to search the bookstore for the missing book.”

  She trailed him through the back entrance and spotted Lisa with a box of evidence-bagged items at one of the squad-room desks. They’d met on several previous occasions and Lisa greeted Sam apologetically.

  “Sorry I interrupted your Sunday lunch. Crime never takes a break, it seems, and I thought the sheriff would need to know about this.”

  “No, it’s good you called.”

  Beau reached for one of the red-banded evidence bags. It contained a knife with darkened blood dried on it. The handle was brass, carved with ornate patterns, and the pointed blade looked sharp and deadly.

  “We tested the blood and it’s a match for the victim,” Lisa said. “The length and shape are right, although if necessary we can send it to the OMI’s office in Albuquerque to be absolutely sure it’s the same weapon. It’s at least a ninety-percent certainty.”

  “Prints?”

  “None, I’m afraid. The texture of the handle would have made it difficult to get anything usable but there’s not even a smudge. The killer must have worn gloves.”

  “Any sign of the gloves in or near the dumpster?”

  “No clothing whatsoever,” Lisa said. “And that’s odd. With a wound of this type, there’s no way the killer didn’t get blood on himself. He or she either got out of the area without being noticed or they discarded the bloody clothing nearby and we haven’t found it yet. You might want to put the word out for garbage collectors in the area to watch for it.”

  Beau didn’t look happy. Sam knew automated garbage trucks with metal arms lifted dumpsters, tipped the contents into the truck, set the bins back and moved along quickly. It wasn’t as if a man watched the process close up. And multiple trucks covered this part of town.

  “At least there’s no trash pickup until tomorrow,” Beau said almost to himself. “Maybe we’ll catch a break yet today.”

  He thanked Lisa for the evidence reports and took the large box to his office. Sam followed along, thinking back over the previous evening. Offhand, she didn’t remember seeing any costumes that included a knife. Gloves were common—the night had been chilly. There had been several in Victorian clothing and three or four in Sherlock Holmes attire. There was Count Dracula, Indiana Jones, Cleopatra… But she knew most of them and most did not have gloves as part of their costumes. There had been a Nancy Drew who almost certainly didn’t wear gloves although her Ned Nickerson boyfriend could have had them. She remembered a Wyatt Earp, a Zane Gray, a definitely-ungloved Geronimo. Her head began to swim. Perhaps if they went back through Beau’s and Rico’s interview notes from the party.

  As if he’d heard his name, Rico appeared at Beau’s office door.

  “Okay, Sam, if you don’t mind I’m going to send you with Rico to meet your friend Ivan at his shop. There will be two other deputies with you, and the job is to comb the store top to bottom for that missing book. Rupert had a good point last night—the easiest place to hide a book would be in the bookstore. The killer wouldn’t have wanted to be caught with it, so we have to cover this possibility before the murderer comes back for it or one of Ivan’s browsers handles it. We need fingerprints intact if at all possible.”

  Finding fingerprints seemed remote, even to Sam. If the killer didn’t leave prints on the knife he most certainly wouldn’t have left them on the book.

  Still, it was a vital piece of the case and they needed to find it. The sad part would be if the old book ended up in a dumpster somewhere and became a disintegrated scrap of trash by the time they located it. Damaged, the value of the book would most certainly plummet to zero.

  Sam decided to take her own vehicle for the mission, hoping if they found the book quickly she could just scoot on home for the rest of the day, although she supposed she ought to check in with Beau since she was now on semi-official duty as a deputy.

  Sam and Ivan opted to check the used book section, while another deputy searched the various new book categories. Rico and another man would go through the store itself, check the back room, under the platform stage, even go through paper towels in the restroom. Lisa and her assistant had already covered much of this ground but it was before the importance of the book was known. It couldn’t hurt to check every place again.

  The used books were shelved closest to the fateful stage area and it was where the old book would logically blend in. Easy access and easy disguise. Sam and Ivan were the only two in the search party who had actually seen the book. Sam began with high hopes; Ivan, not so much.

  “I do not be liking this,” Ivan complained under his breath to Sam as they started with the shelves closest to the spot where Darlene had died. “This thing—it can destroy business. And having police all over. Is distressing me.”

  “I know, Ivan. We all would have been better off if it hadn’t happened.” She ran a fingertip near the spines of the books, without actually touching them, to help focus on the titles. All she remembered about the cover was that it was brown.

  Rico and his helper stepped in behind Sam and Ivan and began pulling the carpet cover from the wood stage. Seeing the dried blood once again reminded Sam of the serious nature of the investigation. Even though she hadn’t known Darlene Trawl she felt a pang of sadness over the whole situation. The wooden planks made scraping sounds across the floor as the men disassembled the stage and moved the parts to the back room.

  Ivan kept his eyes on the books, avoiding the deputies altogether. Sam wondered whether his demeanor had to do with his past or if he was just pissed that his party had gone so badly off track. It had started out as such a fun evening.

  They covered half the shelves and walked across the open space where the stage had stood, now facing the rest of the used-book shelves. It reminded Sam how often Beau had told her most of his job involved routine and pure boredom. Only a small fraction of his time saw much action. As a wife she appreciated that; as a deputy she was thankful she didn’t have to do this day after day. Baking and decorating cakes had its own certain routine but at least it was creative and her customers provided a lot of variety to the workday.

  “How’s it coming over there?” she called out to the deputy who was skimming through the shelves of paperbacks.

  “No sign of anything old over here,” he said. “Well, except maybe this paper plate with cheese dip that didn’t get thrown out last night.”

  The chuckle lifted all their spirits a little.

  It was nearly five o’clock by the time they declared the entire store well and truly searched. But no spell book, not anywhere. The three deputies got into their car. A quick stop to clock out and they would be free for the evening. Sam sat in her truck and watched Ivan lock the store and wave goodbye as he pulled out of the parking lot. She called Beau and briefly reported their lack of results.

  “Looks like the killer thief did manage to get the book out of the store. Remember, I mentioned discovering Darlene’s interest in Wicca and the local woman who blogs about it? If it’s okay with you I’ll give her a call, see if she’s heard of this book. Then I’m on my way home—unless you need me back at your office?”

  He said he’d been going back through the party crowd interview transcripts all afternoon and assured her he was more than ready for the day to end.

  Sam found the note she’d made with the woman’s contact information. Autumn Feather’s real name was Cleo Patterson and it had only taken the department dispatcher a few minutes to come up with the right number. Sam dialed it.

  She hadn’t ac
tually considered what approach to take, and when Autumn Feather answered on the first ring, Sam just blurted out what she was after.

  “I read some of your blog online today and I have a question. Are you familiar with a book called Spells and Incantations for the Proficient Witch?”

  “Who is this?” asked a mellow voice with an inquisitive edge to it.

  “Sorry.” Sam introduced herself, mentioning she had recently met Darlene Trawl and learned of Darlene’s interest in Wicca. She left out the parts about the murder and how she was really asking on behalf of the sheriff’s department.

  “And she told you of this book?”

  “Well, we were looking at a copy of it—”

  “Here? In Taos? You saw a copy of that book here in this town?” The formerly gentle voice became forceful.

  “You seem surprised.”

  “Ms. Sweet, that book is extremely rare. There probably aren’t a dozen copies in the whole world. Any real witch would kill to own one.”

  TWELVE

  SAM HUNG UP before Autumn Feather could pry any more information from her. It should be the other way around—she knew this—but she felt suddenly out of her depth. She wasn’t sure what Beau could do about it at the moment, but she had to pass the witch’s statement along to him. She drove home mulling it over.

  Ranger their black Lab and Nellie the border collie greeted her with their typical happy-dog excitement, tails whipping back and forth, bodies in motion. She knew the reason was more about getting their dinner than actual enthusiasm for her company, but it was a nice way to be welcomed home nonetheless. She patted their heads and spoke to them. After a day of murder investigation, their cheerful mood was a refreshing change.

  The dogs followed her to the kitchen and before she scooped kibble into their bowls she heard Beau’s vehicle coming up the long driveway.

  “Whew, I can’t say I was unhappy to see this workday end,” he said as he hung his Stetson on the rack near the front door and shrugged out of his jacket. “This case is a tough one. I guess it’s mainly the fact we have so many people who had access to the victim, and with every one of them I have to sort out the real person from the character they played that night.”

  Sam sympathized. Aside from her close friends, the rest of the crowd was a blur of masked faces. She felt badly that she couldn’t recall more of them but her attention had quickly focused on Jen, Rupert, Kelly, Scott and Riki, making sure those dearest to her were safe.

  She got Beau a beer from the fridge and told him about her call to Autumn Feather, the Wiccan lady. “She actually said, and I quote, ‘Any real witch would kill to own one.’”

  Beau digested the new information. “If there are only a dozen copies known to exist, I can well imagine.”

  “You might want to add to your list of questions for the partygoers—ask whether they know anything about Wicca.”

  His indulgent smile told her he was a step ahead of her in that department. “While you were having a leisurely afternoon at the bookstore, I had a parade of the guest list coming through my office. I tell you, no one wanted to spend part of their Sunday at the sheriff's office.”

  “But they came anyway?” Sam pulled out a container of homemade green chile stew she’d planned to reheat for their dinner.

  “They came anyway. I talked to most of the book group, at least. Learned one tasty little bit of gossip from your friend Riki.” He stood with a hip against the counter, an open bag of tortilla chips at hand. “She says Darlene Trawl and Alan Pritchard were having an affair.”

  Sam stopped in mid-stride, trying to remember Pritchard. “Tall, good-looking guy? Dark hair? He was dressed as Max DeWinter from Rebecca, I think, and his wife is the leader of the book group.”

  “Wow, very good. I had forgotten his costume—or I had no idea who he was supposed to be—but I did remember the wife making some comment about him not appreciating chocolate enough.”

  “Hmm, so Riki says he was having an affair with Darlene? I would not have pictured that.” She set the soup pot on the stove and lit the burner.

  “Unfortunately, I only learned this from Riki after I had already interviewed the Pritchards and Keith Trawl.”

  “Ooh, yeah, I can see a motive for Keith to have been furious with his wife. Maybe he had only recently learned about the affair.”

  “Riki says they kept it pretty discreet. She didn’t want to tell us about it the night of the party with the whole group nearby because she didn’t think many of them knew. She thinks it had been going on for at least a few months.”

  “I wonder how Riki figured it out.”

  “She says she saw them coming out of a vacant house one afternoon. Alan’s in real estate and it was his listing. When she said hello Alan turned the other direction and Darlene turned white as a sheet before coming up with some lame excuse. Well, in Riki’s own charming British way, she said it came out as ‘pure bollocks’.”

  Sam mulled over this new bit. “So, this makes me wonder… Could the affair and the valuable book somehow be a common link here? Or do you have two separate crimes to solve?”

  “I suppose Darlene’s jealous husband could have known of someone who wanted the book. It may all come down to figuring out who switched off the lights at the opportune moment.”

  The answer to the question came sooner than either of them expected when Beau’s phone rang at seven o’clock the next morning. Sam had let Julio take over opening the bakery, giving herself a few extra hours to sleep late and have breakfast with her husband.

  “Yeah, Lisa,” Beau said when he saw the phone’s display. He tapped the speaker button, leaving his hands free to butter his toast. “What’s up?”

  “Sorry to bother you this early. I have a court case later and was afraid I wouldn’t catch you at the office. Wanted to let you know I’ve identified a good, sharp fingerprint from the switch plate at the back door of the bookstore. It’s a match to one of the party guests, a Keith Trawl. By the name, I’m guessing he’s related to the victim?”

  “Okay, very good. Were there any others?”

  “Ivan Petrenko’s. We took his prints at the store for elimination, since he’s touched everything in the place. Otherwise, only the usual smudges that could belong to anyone.”

  He thanked the crime scene tech and hung up.

  “The mystery club would say the plot thickens,” Sam said.

  “Or narrows. Looks like we’re homing in on both motive and opportunity, but we can’t come to a conclusion until we rule out a few other things.”

  “The spell book.”

  “Right.” He swabbed his toast into the last of his egg yolk, popped it into his mouth and carried his plate to the dishwasher. “I’d better go. Did you give me the name and phone number of the witchy lady you spoke to? In case I need to get more information on the rarity of the book.”

  Sam looked it up on her phone’s list of recent calls and read it off to him. They walked out the door together, Beau going to his cruiser and Sam to her bakery delivery van.

  Her shop smelled of pumpkin and cinnamon when she walked in. Julio was pulling a tray of pumpkin spice cookies from the oven.

  “Make sure we start the pumpkin cheesecakes today, too,” she reminded. “By early afternoon we’ll have people asking for them.”

  “I’m on it, boss,” he said. “I already baked the Dia de los Muertos cookies.” He nodded toward a cooling rack full of skull-shaped sugar cookies.

  The tradition, brought north from Mexico, never failed to entice adults who prepared treats and flowers to honor family members who had passed on. The decorated cookies were a favorite with kids as well, Sam suspected mainly because of the appeal of the skulls themselves. She had seen elaborately decorated sugar skulls done in the Mexican tradition but had to restrain herself with embellishments. A cookie, no matter how beautifully done, could only bring a certain price and she wanted these to be affordable for the school kids who dropped by each afternoon with a little spare chan
ge in their pockets.

  Becky arrived and started to make sugar flowers for a wedding cake due Friday. This one called for fifty peonies in varying shades of pink, and the flowers would need time to set up before they could be placed on the fondant-covered tiers.

  “I saw a dress in a magazine,” Becky said. “It had this ombré effect with pink chiffon layered from a deep rose pink at the top to almost-white—just barely a hint of pink—at the bottom of the skirt. The idea popped into my head to try that with the cake.” She held her hands up, indicating.

  “See? The flowers will be dark up here…a little lighter… lighter still… very pale here,” she finished, her hands at the level of the bottom tier.

  Sam looked up from the skull cookies. “Sounds fabulous—go for it.”

  Thirty minutes later, a tray of decorated skull cookies and another filled with Julio’s thick triple-chocolate brownies were ready. Sam put her decorating tools aside and carried the cookies to the display case, her excuse to check out the crowd. All bistro tables were full, customers enjoying their coffee and newspapers, a trio of office ladies taking a final few minutes to chat before they had to report to their jobs.

  Movement in the parking lot caught her eye. Beau’s cruiser stopped in front of Ivan’s bookstore and her handsome husband got out.

  “I’m going to walk over and see what’s up,” Sam told Jen. For the first time in two weeks she didn’t have a pile of urgent orders demanding her attention. Plus, she’d found herself unable to stop thinking about the weekend’s events.

  “Hey, pretty bakery lady,” Beau teased when she emerged from her shop. He deposited a light kiss on top of her head. “Are you swamped with work or do you have time to give me a hand?”

  “Now’s a great time.” She followed him into the bookstore.

  Alex stood behind the counter. One of the cats had draped itself over the computer monitor and the other sat in the middle of the desk.

  “Edgar and Agatha love to be in the middle of the action,” the girl said. “Sorry Ivan’s not here yet. He had a rough weekend.”