Murder on the Hoof: A Mystery (Colleen McCabe Series) (5 page)

She kicked off her shoes in the foyer, clicked on a light and the television in the living room, and crossed back through the foyer to the kitchen. Smokey stretched from her nap atop the dining room table and yawned. “Get down,” Colleen reprimanded, and pointed to the ground. The cat let out a sleepy cry of protest and jumped to the floor. No matter how many times she shooed Smokey from the table or scolded her for being on it, the cat persisted in treating the table like her bed. Colleen removed the cloth, dropped it in a ball on the floor near the kitchen entrance, pulled a fresh one from the baker’s rack, and spread it over the table. There was nothing appetizing about cat fur in one’s food.

Smokey rubbed against her calves as she retrieved and cracked open a can of Fancy Feast ocean whitefish and tuna. Sparky sniffed the air and whined. “This isn’t for you,” she said to Sparky, and set the dish in front of the cat. “Come on,” she said, and the dog followed her to a corner, where she filled his bowl with Beneful beef stew. The sounds of feline and canine slurping filled the air. Colleen’s stomach growled. Guess I’d better feed myself, she thought. She tugged open the refrigerator door and scanned its contents: a gallon of milk, two slices of cold pizza, a container of expired vanilla yogurt, and an unopened block of cheddar cheese. She glanced at Smokey’s and Sparky’s bowls, half-contemplating whether or not the pet food was a better option, and then shook her head. Cold pepperoni pizza it is, she decided, grabbing the plate with the pizza slices, a glass, and a bottle of wine from Currituck County’s Sanctuary Vineyards, and then headed into the living room. The shower could wait until after she ate.

She flumped onto the sofa and mindlessly watched cable news. Her thoughts drifted to the day’s events. Notwithstanding Doris’s tragic death, the training exercise with the addition of the actors had gone well. Even though there was tension in the house between Chip and Kenny over Fawn, she was pleased with her team and how they had worked together. Business at the station was fine.

It was her personal life that was bothering her. But why? Nothing had changed between Bill and her—not really. So what if he’d had a relationship with Hayley? It didn’t mean he was interested in her now. In fact, she and Bill had grown closer since early July. So why was she feeling so uneasy? Smokey joined her on the sofa and began her postdinner bath. Sparky entered a moment later and lay on the rug in the center of the room. She envied how secure and content they both were. It was her feelings of insecurity, her lack of confidence and uncertainty about her standing with Bill, and, yes, her self-consciousness about her looks that were bothering her. She poured herself another glass of wine and padded into the hall bathroom for a reality check.

She flipped on the light, leaned close to the mirror, and scanned her reflection. She looked tired, but, all things considered, she wasn’t entirely unattractive. She had been blessed with her mother’s beautiful ivory skin and her father’s steel blue eyes. She had never liked the freckles that dotted the bridge of her nose, but others found them “cute.” Her medium brown hair was thick and wavy and framed her face nicely, especially with the ends lightened from the summer sun. On the rare occasions when she had worn makeup and dressed in more than jeans and a T-shirt, some had even remarked that she was pretty. Still, she had never received the reaction from men that Hayley had today … and she didn’t want to, at least not in her professional life. In fact, in the beginning of her career she had worked hard to downplay her looks. She hadn’t wanted to be seen as anything other than a fellow firefighter. Being a firefighter isn’t a beauty contest; all people care about is that we help them. She growled at her reflection. Stop scrutinizing your face like an insecure thirteen-year-old. You’re fine. You’ve always been fine. Nothing’s changed. She clicked off the light in disgust and climbed the stairs. She hated herself for thinking like this. It was stupid.

After two glasses of wine and a hot shower, she felt more like herself again. She changed into a pair of comfortable shorts and a T-shirt, opened the bedroom window, settled into bed, and listened to the water from the sound gently lapping at her pier. Soon her eyelids grew heavy and she drifted into a peaceful sleep.

The serenity was short-lived. At 2:30, Colleen tossed in the bed, uncomfortable and hot. She threw the comforter back and flipped the pillow, hoping that the cool underside would help soothe her back to sleep. She woke again at 3:34 and flipped the pillow again. At 4:10, she felt dehydrated, got a drink of water from the bathroom sink, and attempted to lull herself back to sleep by counting backward from one thousand. Finally, at 5:15, she knew it was useless. There was no point in tossing in bed for another hour or so. She might as well get up and start her day.

She changed into athletic gear and her favorite running shoes and groggily descended the stairs. A long early-morning run always helped clear her head. She padded into the kitchen to get a drink of water before leaving. Smokey lifted her head from where she had settled onto the clean tablecloth, blinked, and then drew a paw tight over her face to get more shut-eye. Glad someone’s able to sleep around here, Colleen thought. She chugged a tall glass of water, then grabbed her keys and Sparky’s leash. At the sound of the jingling keys, Sparky appeared in the foyer, yawned, and stretched first his front and then his back legs. Colleen had stretched upstairs, but she gave a final pull on her quads before opening the door and heading out.

They started off on Lakeview Court, a quiet road that wound through her neighborhood. The sky was lightening, but it was still relatively dark, with about twenty minutes before the sun peeked over the horizon. Birds sang their early-morning melodies and a chipmunk scurried across the road. She turned onto Bluewater Court and then onto Ponton Lane. Back in high school, she had often taken midnight runs and loved the feeling of having the world all to herself. While on these runs, she would occasionally see someone heading out in the dark for a work shift, and it would remind her that there were two worlds—one inhabited by the day dwellers and the other by the night dwellers—and that she was a mere visitor in the night one. Never had she imagined then that she would become a resident of the lightless world when she began doing evening shifts at the firehouse. She had always found those shifts disorienting and had had trouble sleeping due to the anticipation of a potential call. She didn’t think she’d ever get used to night rotations. She approached Route 12, stopped to leash Sparky, and then the two made a right onto Ocean Trail.

As she fell into a steady pace, her mind drifted to the events of yesterday. Nothing that had happened at work was anything more stressful than she had experienced before. Even the arrival of the film crew, while unusual, wasn’t something that should be causing her insomnia. It was her uncertainty about Bill’s feelings for Hayley and that alone that had kept her up. It was at times like this that she missed having a girlfriend to talk to. Back in high school and college, she had had teammates with whom to share “boy trouble,” but, as people do over the years, Colleen had lost touch with a number of her high school and college buddies. That’s why it had been nice when she and Bill had become friends.

Colleen and Bill had first met through their jobs. She had been surprised by how quickly she began to feel comfortable around him. While she had always had many gal friends, she had tended to be a bit more reserved when it came to guys. Men had tended to fall into two camps: those whom she thought of in strictly platonic terms and those whom she thought of only romantically. Bill was the first man she’d thought of as both a friend and would-be boyfriend. Despite occasional disagreements, they respected and trusted each other, and he had become the first person she went to when needing to discuss professional or personal troubles. She had never imagined anything or anyone threatening their relationship. But if Bill and Hayley still had feelings for each other, then, Colleen knew from experience, there wouldn’t or shouldn’t be any room for her. Three was always a crowd.

She left Ocean Trail and ran onto Persimmon Street and then left onto Corolla Village Road. She slowed her pace as she passed the historic Corolla Chapel, the site of many beautiful weddings; the Lighthouse Wild Horse Preservation Society with its official wild horse tours; Island Bookstore, a favorite stop for book lovers; and the Corolla Schoolhouse, a historic two-room schoolhouse recently reopened as a charter school. It was no mystery why Old Corolla Village was popular with visitors. She left the schoolhouse behind as she approached the Currituck Beach Lighthouse. She gazed heavenward at the lighthouse, marveling at the attractiveness of the unpainted brick structure, before jogging onto the Currituck Heritage Park grounds.

Once in the park, she unleashed Sparky and the two happily made their way around the basin, past the boathouse, the wildlife education center, and over the historic bridge. The rising sun washed the sky in salmon-orange rays, and she admired how brilliantly the yellow Whalehead Club Historic House Museum gleamed in the light, a definite jewel in Corolla’s crown. Originally built by nature lover and conservationist Edward Knight and his wife as a vacation getaway in the 1920s, the five-story, 21,000-square-foot structure had at various points in time been used as a World War II Coast Guard receiving station, a summer boarding school for boys in the late 1950s and early 1960s, and a rocket-fuel research facility in the mid- to late 1960s. After subsequent unsuccessful attempts at resort development, it was abandoned and left to deteriorate. She was pleased that Currituck County had eventually purchased and restored the property in the 1990s. In 2002, the building had been fully returned to its original splendor and the doors were opened to visitors.

They approached the building, ready to make the turnaround and head home. Inky, a black tomcat who frequented the park and Old Corolla Village, appeared from behind the Whalehead Club and strutted across the lawn. Sparky cocked his head at the sight of the cat and, before she could grab his collar, took off after it. She grunted in frustration and sprinted after him.

Inky spotted the dog, scurried to a propped-open door at the side of the Whalehead Club, and darted inside. The dog tracked the cat into the building, hot on the trail. Please don’t let Sparky damage the antique furniture or artifacts, she prayed. She heard barking and quickly entered the house. What unfolded next inside the Whalehead Club would change the course of events in Corolla for the remainder of the summer.

“Betty Botter bought a bit of bitter butter,” Colleen heard a chorus of voices say as she made her way through the pink-tiled kitchen and the Tiffany-designed dining room, searching for Sparky. She paused a moment, puzzled, and listened to a second round of tongue-twister recitations: “Freshly fried flying fish. Freshly fried flying fish.” Now Colleen understood what she was hearing. The theater group was having an early-morning rehearsal. Actors, she thought with a shake of the head. She hoped Sparky was with them.

She slowed and carefully made her way from the stunning dining room into the main foyer and down the hall toward where the voices were clearly enunciating in unison. As she traveled the length of the structure, the voices grew louder. She couldn’t help but admire the Art Nouveau architecture and furniture and was relieved that none of the furniture seemed to have been disturbed. She reached an area at the end of the building sectioned off by a temporary curtain. “She sells seashells by the seashore,” the chorus chanted. This was clearly where the theater group was rehearsing. She took a deep breath and pulled back the makeshift curtain.

Members of the theater troupe were assembled in a circle in the middle of the library, their lips pursed in exaggerated pouts. She wondered what they were up to and then, a second later, watched with surprise as the actors blew air through their lips, resulting in a loud raspberry sound. Her eyes widened at the sight of almost a dozen of Corolla’s finest citizens making what she considered fools of themselves. Colleen decided she’d better get out of there before they tried to rope her into participating in their theater games. She discovered Sparky observing the group from underneath the magnificent one-of-a-kind Steinway sketch-design piano near the window. Inky perched above him on the piano. Colleen couldn’t imagine that the museum’s curator or tour guides would approve.

Myrtle appeared at Colleen’s side. “Look at that foolishness,” she said with disgust, indicating her fellow actors.

Not wanting to get into a discussion about the merits of vocal warm-ups and desirous of returning home, she ignored Myrtle’s comment and made an effort to get Sparky’s attention with a snap of her fingers. Sparky cocked his head, squinted his eyes in a content expression, and proceeded to ignore her. Bad dog, she thought, and tiptoed across the room to retrieve the canine.

“Okay, everyone,” Lane Walker said, entering from a second entrance with Nellie under his arm. “I’ve got an announcement to make.” The room fell silent. “Nellie here has agreed to take Doris’s role in the play.”

A murmur of surprised congratulations rippled over the group. Nellie beamed, and Colleen saw something she had never seen in her before: triumphant pride.

“Just one minute!” Myrtle exclaimed.

“I know some of you may think it a little soon to recast, given dear Doris’s passing yesterday morning, but we don’t have much time before we open and, as the saying goes, my show must go on.” Lane patted Nellie on the shoulder and she nearly skipped with delight to the stage area.

The group dispersed and took their places. The actors strolled to an area in front of the fireplace that was serving as the temporary stage until the production was ready to move outside to the veranda for the performances. Nellie’s nephew, Adam, and veterinarian Doc Wales worked on the script at a table on the opposite side of the room, near the antique grandmother clock. Sam Riddle positioned a set piece near the entrance to the sunroom, and Sam’s wife, Rita, stitched costumes at a card table in the corner. Colleen wondered if it had been a wise idea to allow the group to use the library for rehearsals. I bet the curator will be happy when they move outside, she thought.