Bloodstone (22 page)

Maybe I should go to whoever was running the murder mystery dinner to find out how it was organized, how it would be set up and how it would play out.

“Get in the car,” I told Derek.

He didn’t question me, he just did it. I drove to a quiet spot and pulled out the guestbook.

No re-location information. “Damn it!” I did have receipts though.

“You’re holding out on me. I knew it!” Derek said and Thor growled a low warning.

“It is not what you think. I promise. Look here.” I handed him the guestbook, searching for a way to explain my theories on Mr. Sayer’s assault without mentioning the, ahem, family matters. “This is the list of guests who checked in along with Mr. Sayer last night. Maybe one of them slipped him the drug.”

“My aunt says they put it in people’s shoes. Or blow it in their face.”

“Fine, maybe one of them blew it in his face. Also, he was out for a while at Down and Dirty. Talk to Monique and see who he was hanging out with, how long he stayed, etcetera. Call Gladys if you have to, she’ll be glad to help with the data searches. Start her on the names from the credit card receipts.”

Gladys was the research assistant at the paper and a huge fan of Birdie and the aunts. Like little girls dream of being Taylor Swift, Gladys wanted to be a Geraghty Girl.

The Campbell party said just that in the guestbook and there was only one receipt. Vivian Campbell, though I knew there were more women in their party. The Honeycut receipt indicated the first name to be Claudia. Right, a gift from their daughter. John and Deirdre paid in cash. So did Sayer. First name, Michael.

“What are you going to do?” Derek asked.

“I have to run an errand. Insurance companies.” I rolled my eyes for effect. “You lose one guest and there’s all kinds of red tape.” I turned my head. Wow, that was almost believable.

“Okay, then. I’ll keep you posted,” Derek said and opened the car door.

“Wait a sec,” I said. “Start with the Dinellis. John and Deirdre. He’s an ex-cop from Chicago who investigates judges now. She’s a court reporter. Leo and John go back a ways so you can try to pump him for information if you have to.”

“Anything else?”

I was about to say no when a thought occurred to me. “Actually, yes. Call your aunt. Ask her if there is anything that can combat zombie powder.”

Derek gave me a funny look and then hopped out. A few seconds later, a text came from Cinnamon.

U ok?

I texted back.
Sure

I don’t believe u. Pick me up?

Oh no. I didn’t want Cinnamon involved in this. Normally I was confident that my cousin could very much take care of herself, but this was something way beyond my comfort level. Even though I was better armed than a tank full of ninjas, I couldn’t risk her getting hurt.

Can’t. Outta town.

Liar.

??

Another text came in then. I pressed the ignore button and started the engine.

Cinnamon opened the passenger side door of the car and said, “I’m in.”

“I can see that. Now get out.”

“No, I mean, I’m in. Whatever you’re about to do, I want to help. Got a good nap, so I’m ready to go. And since I haven’t slapped anyone yet today, I’m pretty wound up.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. I don’t want this to turn into a scene from
Rambo
.”

“Is that a shot at my Italian heritage?”

“That’s a shot at your anger management problem.”

She looked less offended. “I can accept that. Where we headed?”

“Cinnamon, I said no. Get out of the car.”

“
If you think I’m going to let you do...” She looked me up and down, her sunglasses perched on her nose, dark hair cascading down her shoulders. “Whatever the hell it is you do when you’re dressed like the Princess of Darkness, you’re loonier than Lolly. And by the way, I’m driving.” She scooted all the way over, forcing me to open the driver’s door and tumble out of the car. I saw her twist her head to say something to Thor. His ears perked up and then he stretched out across the backseat.

I sighed and my phone chirped, reminding me I had a text as I walked around the car.

It was from Ivy.

IVY GERAGHTY’S PERSONAL BOOK OF SHADOWS

by Ivy Geraghty

Entry #15

I am about to go all Krakatoa on someone’s ass! That’s right, bitches, you have messed with the wrong Warrior. Luckily, I managed to eat the Ogham note before they grabbed me (which was so not Snicker’s bar satisfying, let me tell you.) My Geraghty instincts were on high alert. I sensed the Danger before I was taken. And as one of the chosen, I am sworn to protect The Secret, even with my notebook and backpack gone. Little do they know, I always carry pen and paper hidden on my person.

Hark! Do I hear? There is talk of moving me. Who is on the other end of the phone? I get to work calling on Petey and Moonlight.

-Ivy Geraghty, Prisoner of War

FIFTY-SEVEN

The message read,
ten pm, river hotel.

I had to try. Even though it was doubtful the text came from Ivy or even that an answer would come, still I had to try.

Who is this?
I texted back.

Nothing.

It was close to 4:30 then. I decided that Cinnamon driving might not be such a bad idea after all. I could remove the chaps and wipe the crap off my face, plus make a few phone calls.

I opened the door, leaned my head in and said, “How soon can you get us to Havenswood?”

Cinnamon frowned at the dashboard. “In this pontoon boat that Gramps calls a Buick? Forty-five minutes, at least.”

“Let’s get your car.”

Cin smiled wide at that and we made a quick stop at Panzano’s Autobody to pick up the red Trans Am with the phoneix rising painted on the hood. I waited by the Buick with Thor as Tony scooted out from underneath a silver sedan. He smiled at the sight of his wife, his perpetually tanned skin marked with grease splotches. He stood up, wiped his hands on a red towel and leaned in to kiss her.

I felt a pinch of jealousy at their solid relationship. They made it look so easy. I couldn’t even hold on to a dry cleaner.

I plucked my phone from my pocket, called Iris and asked who was in charge of the murder mystery dinner this evening. She said it was headed up by Bea Plough which was not good news. Bea Plough was on the board of the Convention and Visitor’s Bureau for the town of Amethyst. Bea also taught Sunday school which made my grandmother Public Enemy Number One in her eyes. Despite the friendship between her husband, Stan, and my gramps, I was a bad seed.

Cinnamon grabbed a hoodie, zipped into it then put her jean jacket over that. She trotted back and said, “Let’s roll.”

“I have to make a stop at the Plough’s house first.”

“What in God’s name for?” Cin was not a willing participant in Bea’s class. Her mother insisted on her attendance until Bea tried to smack Cinnamon with a wooden paddle. Cinnamon wrestled the paddle away from Bea, smashing a statue of a wise man in the process. She was not invited to return.

“I’ll explain on the way.”

The Ploughs’ home was a two-story Federal brick set back from the road. I followed the cement walkway, stepped onto the porch and cranked the old-fashioned doorbell.

Bea Plough answered. “Yes?” Her voice was firm, authoritative.

She didn’t look happy to see me.

“Hello, Mrs. Plough. My name is Stacy Justice—”

“I know who you are, Stacy,” Mrs. Plough said in her own special way.

“Of course. Excuse me. I was hoping I could ask you a few questions about the murder mystery dinner event this evening?”

Bea pursed her lips and smoothed out her gray skirt. Her gray hair was knotted in a bun that rested on top of her pink scalp. “I’m very busy Stacy. The dinner is in a few short hours and there is much to attend to. You can question me about it afterwards for the newspaper. Goodbye.” She shut the door in my face.

I cranked the bell again.

After a moment, the door creaked open.

“Yes?”

“Please, it isn’t for an article and it will only take a moment.” I smiled, piously, I hoped.

“No.” Slam.

Gave the bell another turn.

“What?” She was hostile now.

“May I at least see the instructions you gave to the participants?”

“No.” Slam. Lock.

Oh, this bitch was asking for it.

Ring, knock, ring, knock. Ring! Knock!

The door opened again. “Stop that!”

“Look, lady, normally I would play this game all goddamn day just to watch you have a nervous breakdown, but I am in a bit of a time crunch. So knock off the bullshit and give me the fucking paperwork or else I swear to Christ I’ll draw a pentagram on your lawn so big it’ll be visible from the Hubble telescope. Then I’ll tell Iris that you’ve taken to dancing naked under the full moon.”

Bea’s face fell and I knew I had her. Those Sunday school classes were her pride and joy, although, I suspect more from the power it granted her than the privilege to preach the message of her heavenly father. If word got out she switched teams, her post would surely be yanked out from under her.

“What’s going on out here, Bea?” Stan said behind her.

“It’s nothing,” Mrs. Plough said over her shoulder.

“Mr. Plough!” I called.

“Who is that?” Mr. Plough came forward and his wife stepped aside. “Stacy?” He was a thin man with a thin mustache perched above thin lips. He reminded me a lot of Vincent Price. But maybe that’s just because I always assumed living with Bea would be like living in a horror flick. “Hello, Mr. Plough. Your lovely wife was just offering me some information on the murder mystery dinner.”

“Well certainly, come in. Bea, would you please get Stacy some tea?”

I held up my hand. “No, that’s alright. I’m fine.” She’d probably spit in it.

Bea said, “I’ll just get that information for you then.” She disappeared for a moment and Stan commented on the weather, which he thought was clearing up. I thought a shit storm was coming and I had no umbrella.

Bea returned, handed me an envelope and said, “Here you go. Now Stan, don’t forget you need to drive me soon.”

Stan said it was nice to see me and left. I didn’t bother thanking Mrs. Plough as I turned to go.

I heard her say behind my back, “They should have locked you up along with your mother.”

I stopped dead in my tracks. I must have looked strange because Cinnamon straightened up in her seat, staring at me.

I turned back, “Excuse me?”

Bea gave a sinister smile and creaked the door closed.

When I got back in the car, Cinnamon asked, “What’s wrong? Did you get what you needed?”

I faced her. “She said something about being locked up with my mother. Do you know what she’s talking about?”

Cinnamon faced the road and twisted the ignition key. “She’s just a mean old bat, Stacy. Pay no attention to her.”

I shook my head, clearing the negativity from my brain. “You’re right. Let’s go.”

Cin pulled away from the curb just as I spotted the Jehovah’s Witnesses a block up. I asked her to pull up next to them and when she did, I leaned out the window and gave them the Plough’s address.

Then we were on our way to the bank. On our way to discover what the key in Ivy’s backpack would open.

FIFTY-EIGHT

I have too much respect for the truth to drag it out on every trifling occasion.