A Dead End (A Saints & Strangers Cozy Mystery Book 1) (6 page)

“You want me to saddle her for you?” Paul asked.

“Not today,” Kit said. “Thanks. I just wanted to say hello. I’ve missed her.” She placed her nose close to Peppermint’s, breathing in her earthy scent.

“Well, she gets attention. Don’t you worry about that. Your mama’s down here pretty often.”

Kit’s eyes popped. “My mother? Out here?” As much as Heloise loved her menagerie, Kit’s horse was pretty far down the list. She tended to stick with animals she could confine and control within the four walls of Greyabbey. One of the reasons that Kit failed to qualify.

Paul shoved his hands in his pockets, sensing he said something wrong. “She’s a real stickler. Makes sure Peppermint is getting plenty of exercise and what not.”

“Huh.” Kit didn’t know what to say. “Well, I’m back now and I intend to spend quality time with her.”

“I’ll bet your mama will be real happy about that.”

Kit’s brow creased. “I’m talking about Peppermint.”

“Oh. ‘Course you are.” He fell silent and Kit gave Peppermint one last pat before heading back to the house.

“It was nice meeting you, Paul.”

“See you around, Miss Wilder.”

“Call me Kit. Everyone else does.”

“Everyone except your mama. I ain’t never heard her call you nothing but Katherine.”

Kit glanced at him sharply before trudging back to Greyabbey for the evening. Sadly, ‘everyone except her mama’ pretty much summed up her entire life.

Kit slid into a seat at the back of the room, hoping no one noticed her lateness. The walk from Greyabbey had taken longer than expected and then she’d gotten lost in the building and ended up in an anthropology class. When she saw Francie and Charlotte’s matching blond ponytails, she knew she was in the right place.

To her relief, she’d received a text that morning that her car would be delivered to Greyabbey that afternoon. Small favors and all that.

“The human experience. The study of how people think, behave and feel. That’s why we’re here. That’s psychology.” Professor Wentworth worked the room like a talk show host. He had charisma, Kit acknowledged. He was also easy on the eyes, although the hot pink tie suggested that she might not be his type. She snapped a surreptitious photo of him during the lecture and sent it to Jordan for his input. Not that she was interested in dating a professor. More negative press was the last thing she needed. Leaving Los Angeles was hard enough. Throw a corpse and a forbidden relationship on top of that and you had yourself one humdinger of a reputation. Kit was already the engine of the gossip train. She didn’t need to be the caboose, too.

Jordan’s reply was short and sweet. “Not all pink ties are created equal. He’s one of yours. Too bad.” He added a sad face emoji for good measure.

Kit stifled a giggle.

“All phones should be turned off and tucked away,” Professor Wentworth said loudly, shooting a pointed look in Kit’s direction.

The heat rose to her cheeks and Kit turned off the phone before sliding it into her bag. She’d need to get reacquainted with school rules. It had been a few years since they’d applied to her.

By the end of the class, Kit was brimming with enthusiasm for her chosen major. Professor Wentworth was engaging and knowledgeable and she knew he’d manage to keep the class interesting.

Stepping into the corridor, Kit noticed Francie and Charlotte lurking outside the door. From their excited expressions, Kit knew that they’d heard about the skeleton in her closet…er, floorboards. Another point for the Westdale gossip mill.

“Is it true?” Francie asked, her almond-shaped eyes morphing into walnuts.

Kit pursed her lips and nodded.

“This is why you should always outsource your renovations,” Francie said solemnly.

“Tell us everything,” Charlotte insisted.

Kit glanced over her shoulder, not wanting to be overheard. “Let’s go to Butter Beans where we can hide in a corner. I don’t think I’m supposed to be blabbing about everything I know.”

Butter Beans was busier than usual and Kit realized it was because classes were now in full swing. She’d need to ask Sam when the best times were to come. She didn’t want to battle for a seat every time she stopped by.

They waited in the long line for drinks and chatted about school until they could sit down and quietly discuss Kit’s discovery.

“Which other classes do you have?” Kit asked. It would be nice to know if they shared any other classes.

Charlotte pulled out a color-coded, laminated schedule.

“What is that?” Kit asked, craning her neck to see.

“It’s my schedule,” Charlotte replied, waving it at her.

Kit stopped Charlotte’s hand from moving so she could get a closer look. “Why does it remind you to brush your teeth at seven in the morning?”

Charlotte tucked away the schedule. “I have organizational issues.”

“And working memory, too,” Francie added. “It’s all part of her dyspraxia. Remember? I mentioned it the other day at the fountain.”

“But what if you lose the laminated card?” Kit asked. “Will you forget to brush your teeth?”

“Hopefully not. I’ve gotten pretty good with the basics.” Charlotte held up her phone. “Anyway, the card is a backup. I also have reminder alarms on my phone.”

“The card is in case she drops her phone into a toilet or a fountain,” Francie added.

“Both of which have happened,” Charlotte added. “Or I just lose the phone completely.”

“How do you cope?” Kit asked. As an actress, she’d relied so heavily on her memory and physical skills that she couldn’t imagine functioning with Charlotte’s condition.

“Daniel Radcliffe has dyspraxia,” Charlotte said, as though she knew what Kit was thinking. “He managed okay as Harry Potter.”

“He sure did,” Kit agreed.

They finally got their turn at the counter and placed their order. Sam wasn’t working this shift so at least Kit didn’t need to field any questions about whether Orson Welles was, indeed, the greatest filmmaker of all time. As if she’d worked with him personally.

There were no seats available by the time they retrieved their drinks so they hovered between a few tables, sipping their drinks.

“I’m surprised no one notices you,” Charlotte whispered. “You’re a pretty big name in Westdale.”

Kit shrugged. “I don’t think Westdale viewers featured into the demographics for
Fool’s Gold
.”

Francie lit up. “That’s not what she means.” She cleared her throat and increased her volume. “Oh my goodness, I had no idea you were the daughter of Heloise Winthrop Wilder. I do apologize for my ignorance. Your mother is an inspiration to us all.”

A middle-aged man glanced up from his newspaper and Kit noticed that he was reading the Westdale Gazette. She didn’t think anyone read the actual paper anymore.

“Would you ladies like this table?” he offered. “I’m finished with it.”

Francie placed a grateful hand on her chest. “That is so sweet. Thank you.” She winked at Kit as he gathered his belongings and vacated the premises.

They sat down at the available table and Kit grumbled under her breath.

“What’s the matter?” Charlotte asked.

“This is what my life is going to be, isn’t it?” Kit moaned. “No matter what I do for myself, as long as I’m in Westdale, the only thing that matters is who my mother is.”

Charlotte shook her blond ponytail. “No, I’m pretty sure who your father is matters, too.”

Kit groaned again and covered her face with her hands. “Between the dead guy in my house and the wide sphere of influence held by my mother, I’m regretting the decision to move back here.”

Francie and Charlotte exchanged looks. “Well, we’re not sorry,” Francie said. “We’re happy to have you here and not because of your mother or father.”

“That’s only because your families are on par with the Winthrops and Wilders,” Kit pointed out. “You don’t need Heloise’s favor.”

“Yes, but we sure don’t want to be out of her favor either,” Francie said.

Kit understood the sentiment all too well.

“So tell us about the murder,” Charlotte urged. “Who was it?”

Kit told them about Ernie and the relevant neighborhood gossip.

“Are you scared to sleep there?” Charlotte asked. “I mean, what if the murderer comes back?”

“Why would the murderer come back?” Kit asked. “The victim is clearly dead.”

Charlotte lowered her voice. “What about the victim’s ghost?”

Francie gave her friend’s leg a gentle smack. “Charlotte Tilton, don’t talk like that. You’ll scare Kit straight back into Greyabbey.”

“No she won’t,” Kit said. “Believe me, my mother is far scarier than any dead man’s ghost could ever be. Anyway, I’m already back at Greyabbey until the police finish checking the house over for evidence. I doubt they’ll find any, though. Ernie’s stuff was moved out by the bank ages ago and I tore up the carpet that had been put down to conceal the floorboards.”

“Somebody went to a lot of trouble to hide the body,” Francie said.

“And they would’ve gotten away with it, too, if I hadn’t decided to renovate.”

“So where’s Ernie’s stuff now?” Charlotte asked.

“In a storage unit,” Kit replied. “The police are investigating there, too.”

Francie rubbed her hands together excitedly. “This is so exciting. A real crime in Westdale.”

“My father wants to know why the paper hasn’t reported it,” Charlotte said. “He’s so ill most of the time, all he does is read. I think he was hoping to read about something more salacious than the Pilgrim Society tea party.”

Kit’s brow wrinkled. “I don’t know. I guess I’ll need to ask Crispin. It does seem odd.”

In fact, everything about this murder seemed odd. Kit hoped the police figured it out soon because she wouldn’t be able to fully embrace her new life until she was back in her new home.

After her chat with the girls in Butter Beans, Kit decided to swing by the house and check on police progress. She figured her presence might remind them that someone actually lived in the house besides a skeleton. She opened the front door and stepped into the middle of a heated argument between Chief Riley and Romeo.

“Who loses a body?” Romeo demanded, standing perilously close to Chief Riley. The chief was wider but Romeo had the height advantage.

“Technically, it was no longer a body,” Chief Riley said. “And I don’t know what the hell happened. My boys told me they delivered the remains to West Chester.”

“To the M.E.’s office or to a random guy in the parking lot?” Romeo shot back. “Or do they not know the difference?”

“They’re good cops,” Chief Riley insisted. “The bones will turn up.” Chief Riley’s voice shot up an octave. His face was beet red and Kit worried that he’d suffer cardiac arrest in her house. The last thing she needed was another dead man in her living room.

“Now how are we going to establish cause of death?” Romeo muttered.

“Gentlemen, I can see there’s an issue,” Kit said, placing herself between them. “How about we take a second to breathe?”

“Westdale cops are a joke,” Romeo continued. “How hard is it to transport something from Point A to Point B? We would’ve been better off calling the UPS guy to take care of it.”

Chief Riley puffed out his chest. “I’ll be on the phone with Sheriff Jackson in two minutes if you keep this up.”

“Good. She’ll tan your hide for me.” Romeo took a step back and raked his hands through his thick hair. “I shouldn’t have agreed to let your guys take care of it. I had the forensics team on site.”

Chief Riley’s shoulder relaxed and he adopted a calmer tone. “It was a big deal to them. County handles all the big cases. They just wanted to feel like a part of the action for a change.”

Romeo pointed a finger at the chief. “You need to fix this and fast. I don’t want to be the whipping boy for Westdale’s screw-ups.”

“I’ll do my best,” he promised before high-tailing it off the premises.

“Well, that was awkward timing,” Kit said. “I take it there was a bit of a snafu with Mr. Ludwig’s remains.”

Romeo paced the living room floor. “Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Numbnut say they delivered the remains but the M.E.’s office doesn’t have them.”

Kit thought Jamison and Harley were nice enough guys, but she wasn’t about to vouch for their competence. “They’re still learning,” she said.

“I’d rather they learn about how to write a parking ticket and stay out of my murder investigation.”

Kit resisted the urge to wrap a comforting arm around his broad shoulders. “The chief is right, Romeo. This is a murder in affluent Westdale, their turf. People like to flex their power muscles here. Harley and Jamison don’t want the Pilgrim Society coming down on them for not solving the murder right away. If they upset the wrong people, they’d get fired.”

“Fine. Maybe I’ll let them join my team over at the storage unit,” he grumbled.

“The one with Ernie’s things?”

Romeo nodded. “My guys have been searching for any evidence they can find.”

“Like a murder weapon?”

“Anything. Evidence of a struggle. Blood stains. You name it, but that unit is chock full of junk.”

“That might be the thing to keep the Tweedle twins busy then.”

“So explain this Pilgrim Society to me,” Romeo said, resting an elbow on the wooden mantle. “Why do people think they’re better than everyone else because of sharing a little DNA with someone hundreds of years before their time?”

“Why are you so proud of your Italian heritage?” Kit shot back. “It’s the same idea.”

“Somebody’s defensive considering the way she rolls her eyes at the mere mention of Mayflower or Pilgrims.”

He was right. Kit was being defensive, but the Mayflower descendants were her people, like it or not. She’d defend them to anyone, despite her personal feelings on the subject. That was just her way.

“These social events are an excuse to parade around and feel superior,” Kit explained. “Like your Columbus Day parade or whatever it is your people do.”

Romeo suppressed a grin. “My people tend to talk loudly and gesticulate.”

“My people talk softly, mainly idle gossip or, if it’s a pissing contest, about the wings of hospitals that have recently been named for them.”