One Corpse Open Slay Read online

  Stiles clucked his tongue. “Before you make a final judgement, his mother died in a nursing home, alone, because Yule was too busy to get on a flight and come back from Munich, where he was judging a competition.”

  My eyes widened. “How’d you find that out?”

  “The nursing home his mother was in. His neighbor told me what a snake he was and gave the nursing home as an example. I called and tracked down one of the nurses who still works there. She’s an administrator now, but she remembered Yule—or maybe it’s more accurate to say, she remembered the ghost of his memory.”

  That burnt my britches. “Meaning he hardly ever visited his mother.”

  Stiles shook his head in disgust. “Yep. He was even a jerk to his own mother. She said his mother talked about him all the time like he was the best thing since sliced bread, and she didn’t want to disillusion her. In her last days, she suffered from dementia. So they let her go on and on about how amazing he was, but most of the staff couldn’t stand him.”

  I shook my head in sadness, my heart clenching. “So she died alone?”

  “Not alone. According to the nurse—whose name is Teresa Kline—a woman came to visit her with a little girl a few times before she died. She was there when Mrs. Wolfram passed.”

  A little girl… Maybe Teresa Kline had a story to tell. “Good. I don’t even know her, but that makes me feel better. No one should die alone. Did you ask this nurse turned admin who the lady was?”

  Stile lifted his chin and grimaced. “She said she didn’t know, but she’d ask around—though it might take time to find some of the old employees. Anyway, I can tell you this, there weren’t many who had good things to say about Yule. Not anyone in the competition or anyone who’s ever competed with him before—or virtually almost anyone. Even his closest neighbors in Kennebunkport didn’t like him because he was always complaining about their dog running on his private part of the beach.”

  I nudged him with my shoulder. “And you said you didn’t have anything new.”

  “Well, I sort of don’t. Nothing of great import. He was a crappy human being. That’s mostly the gist of it.”

  “Well, if I have another vision, I’ll let you know. It’s still early in the game, but for now, that’s all I have, too. A big, fat nothing.”

  “Not even a kitten, right?”

  I laughed, but I kept looking out the window to hide my guilt. “Not even. Now, when’s your date with Darien?”

  Looking over at the microwave, he said, “In about forty-five minutes. That means I have to git. But will I see you and Hobbs at the ice festival for the second round of competition?”

  “You bet you will.” I gave him a quick kiss on his cheek. “Have the best time ever on your date with Darien.”

  He rolled his eyes as though my expectations were that they run off and get married. “It’s just drinks, Hal.”

  “A drink you’ve been waiting a month to be invited to have. Enjoy it, Stiles. Remember when you told me not to overthink? Don’t overthink. And if you come across anything else you’d like to share with me about this case, I’m not opposed.”

  He chuckled and pulled on his hat. “I don’t get it.”

  I cocked my head. “Get what?”

  “Why so invested? The last two murders made sense. Uncle Monty was involved, and with the first one, you were worried about Cyril. But why do you care who killed Yule Wolfram?”

  I couldn’t tell him the real reason, could I? Because a tiny lovebug of a kitten and I had fallen in love.

  No. I sure couldn’t. So I fibbed. But only a little. “Because he ruined a perfectly good sled race, thank you very much. Hobbs had a real chance to beat everyone and he messed that up. Also, he was mean to Twyla. No one should be mean to Twyla.”

  Stiles gave me a skeptical but amused glance. “You sure it doesn’t have to do with a kitten and the possibility it might become evidence?”

  I lifted an eyebrow in the superior way I imagined Atti would if he had an eyebrow to lift. “I still have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  He chucked me under the chin. “Of course you don’t. Okay, I’m out. I’ll see you later.” He kissed the top of my head and pulled his hat farther down over his ears. “And I meant to tell you, there’s a light out on the tree by the edge of the cliff.” He pointed at the tall, leafless oak at the end of my property. Then he laughed on his way out.

  Because there was always a light out somewhere, wasn’t there?

  When I heard the front door close, and Stiles’s vehicle start up, I was about to summon Barbra back to me but Atti beat me to it.

  He appeared out of nowhere right back on the counter where she’d been eating before Stiles arrived, Barbra in tow.

  “Halliday?”

  I gave him a guilty look, even though I felt zero remorse. “I will not let you guilt me, Atti. I’m not letting those savages have her!”

  “That’s not the trouble, Poppet.”

  I frowned. “Then what’s the trouble?”

  “Did you picture our barn when you cast the disappearing spell upon little Babs?”

  I scooped up Barbra, and she immediately curled into my neck as I nuzzled the top of her tiny head. “I did. Why?”

  “Then consider yourself fortunate I can follow your trail of magic dust.”

  That was true. As my familiar, one with his own magical abilities, he could follow the vapor trails of my spells.

  I winced and bit my lower lip. “Why?”

  “I believe, when next we practice, we need to focus on specificity.”

  “Meaning?”

  “The Pottery Barn in the mall is not the same as the barn in the back of the house.”

  Oooo, dang.

  CHAPTER 8

  “Here we come a caroling, among the leaves so green!”

  “So Stiles said he didn’t have a lot of information, but he sure did give us a lot of leads,” I explained to Hobbs as we walked through the parking lot toward the ice festival.

  Chainsaws buzzed in the cold air, signaling the ice carving competition was in full gear. The weather had turned frosty-cold, and a smattering of snowflakes had begun to fall.

  The lights from the festival glowed, outlining all the amazing carvings inside the grounds. From the parking lot, the view was incredible with each structure dotting the horizon.

  Hobbs stopped in his tracks for a moment, stopping me, too. “Let’s just take a sec to really appreciate how beautiful this is. Look at it, would ya, Hal? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  I nodded with a happy sigh. Despite the murder and mayhem as of late, there wasn’t anywhere prettier than Marshmallow Hollow at this very moment.

  The paths that led into the festival were lined with carving after carving. Some big enough to rival even Hobbs’s height. There were Santas in every possible position, reindeer and sleighs, fairies decorating a Christmas tree, snowmen and gingerbread.

  There was even a life-size gingerbread house you could physically walk through. But the biggest draw of all? The ice bar, where you could get an alcoholic beverage while you gazed at familiar bottles of libations lining the ice shelves behind the bartender, all carved out of ice.

  Everything was lit up (with no lights out, BTW) to perfection, the glow soft and warm. There were heat lamps everywhere, and the food trucks were in full swing.

  “So beautiful. I’m always amazed at how year after year, I’m still surprised by its beauty.”

  Hobbs smiled down at me and pressed a kiss to my lips. “It really is, and so are you. Now, Detective, what do I need to know before we head into the lion’s den?”

  I explained to him what Stiles had told me as we walked toward the entrance and headed straight for a heat lamp. I was freezing by the time we made it only a little of the way through the entry.

  “So I assume we’re going to call the nurse turned administrator, aren’t we?”

  I held my gloved hands up to one of the freestanding lamps. “I think we shou
ld. I also think we should talk to Twyla, and Bitty from the shelter.”

  “Bitty?”

  “Barbra didn’t just appear out of thin air, Hobbs. She came from somewhere. She was in a backpack. Someone put her there, which means, however briefly, she had to have been someone’s, right? But she’s pretty tiny. That makes me wonder if Bitty had her at the shelter and someone adopted her. The last time I was at the shelter, there were no stray pets left, but that could have changed in the last week. If the cat hair on Wolfram matches Barbra’s, and we find out where she came from, we might have a solid lead as to who was with him last. I think you’ll agree, he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d have any pets.”

  “But Barbra could also have been a stray who wandered off from her mother. Doesn’t Bitty have a whole catch-and-release program for ferals?”

  I nodded. “She does, and that’s a very good point. My only worry is, if Stiles asks her about the kitten, will she tell him we were asking, too? Won’t that make him suspicious?”

  Hobbs soothed me by running his knuckles down my cheek. “We can fudge the truth a little, Hal. Why don’t we just say we heard one of the forensics team say he had cat hair on him? It’s not a complete fabrication. We did see his body, and you did see what you thought was cat hair on him, right?”

  He was really good at making things up on the spot. I wondered if that was something I should be worried about.

  But I dismissed it in favor of finding more out about Barbra and how she fit into this. “I did, and I guess—if I listen to Stiles—people are becoming accustomed to me asking a bunch of questions. So Bitty probably wouldn’t bat an eye.” That decided, I suggested, “I say we start there. She has a booth here, set up for donations, and we have about fifteen minutes before the judging starts.”

  He tugged me by the hand. “Then let’s do it.”

  We worked our way through the crowd, weaving in and out until we managed to make our way to Bitty’s booth. She’d hung up a cute picture of a little girl in a basket, buried in a pile of puppies and kittens, on her tiny wood stand, and as always, she was working the crowd like the expert she is.

  “Hey, Bitty!” I called to her with a smile, the glow of the lights wrapped around her box-shaped hut making her eyes appear to twinkle.

  Bitty, in a furry black Russian hat, rainbow-colored gloves, and the most colorful quilted coat I’d ever seen, smiled back at me. I think I’ve mentioned, but Bitty’s very eclectic, in fashion and life in general. She marches to the beat of her own drum.

  “There she is! As pretty as a picture, and look, you brought your cute boyfriend with ya. Hey, Hobbs. How goes it?”

  Hobbs held out his hand to her and gave it a light squeeze as he grinned. “It goes well, Miss Bitty. How goes it with you?”

  “Pretty fine after that sweep you pulled off at the adoption. You fixed us up right for the holidays. Can’t tell you how fortunate I feel to have all my babies situated. Anyways, how’s my boy Stephen King?”

  Bitty was referring to Hobbs paying the adoption fees at the last adoption fair. If I haven’t said as much, he’s an animal lover like me, and a really great guy to boot.

  “He’s doin’ real fine. Had a little trouble earlier today, which I’m sure you heard about, but still and all, you made a great match with us, Miss Bitty.”

  She swatted the air and grinned at him. “That’s my job. Now, what can I do ya for tonight?”

  “I have a question about a kitten.”

  “Shoot,” she demanded with a grin and finger guns as a passerby dropped a five-dollar bill in her donation bucket.

  I balled my hands together in a fist to keep them warm. “Do you have any at the shelter? Or did you? In, say, the last couple weeks since I talked to you about Karen?”

  She tucked her nose into her plaid scarf and shook her head to ward off the sharp wind. “Nope. No kittens. You lookin’ for a friend for Phil? I could call over to my buddy in Bangor or one of the cat rescues?”

  I grinned. “I think you know I’d have them all, if I could. But not right this second.”

  “What about any new mama cats in your feral program?” Hobbs asked.

  She jabbed a finger in the air. “Yep, handsome, I did have a mama cat who was run over this mornin’. Such a shame. I cry every time someone from the county informs me one of my babies is gone. But I picked her up and did right by her, told her she was loved before sending her to Doc Francine to cremate her and ease her over the Rainbow Bridge.”

  Bitty never allowed a stray, feral or otherwise, go without a proper burial. She made sure she told them they were loved, she filled out a death certificate and filed it away because, in her mind, they’d never be forgotten if they had something that said they were here and they were valued.

  I smiled a smile of sympathy. “I’m sorry, Bitty. I know how hard you try with the ferals, and I know they appreciate it. Was she tagged?”

  As part of the feral program, Bitty had all of the cats who were part of the colony chipped or tagged to keep track of them, and she personally oversaw and tracked each incoming cat to make sure they were spayed or neutered.

  “Yep, all my feral furbabies are tagged or chipped, spayed and neutered so we don’t have more. But you know how people are, kiddo. Someone’s always droppin’ a baby off on the highway, and somehow they find their way to me. She was a newer girl, and sakes alive, did I have a hard time catching her—real skittish. Named her Starlight. We didn’t spay her because she was pregnant. But the poor girl had only one baby that lived.”

  My stomach jolted, and I found myself gripping Hobbs’s hand harder. “What happened to the baby?”

  Bitty’s aging face dropped. “Wish I could say, honey. Starlight hid her baby pretty well from everyone. I only got a peek of it every now and again when she would carry it around. Last I saw the wee one, she was with Starlight—still in the process of weaning, I think. But Starlight hid her so good, I couldn’t get my hands on the baby to tag her, too. Then Mama Starlight was killed, and that means baby is alone. Worries me sick, thinking the little nugget could still be out there all alone without its mama. I even checked all the feral houses we have set up, but I didn’t find her.”

  I gave her a look of sympathy, wishing I could tell her—if the kitten I had was indeed Starlight’s—that she was safe and warm, and she’d be loved. “How old would you say the kitten was?”

  “Oh, maybe six, seven weeks at best. Mama usually begins weaning at four weeks. So it’d still be pretty tiny.”

  I heard the worry in Bitty’s voice, but I always admired her strength when it came to a loss. She got back up and did it all over again, every day, no matter how much it hurt her heart. “Could it survive on its own being so small and living in such bitterly cold conditions?” I asked, still wondering how Barbra had managed to live.

  Bitty smiled. “Sure she could. We have tons of folks who help with the feral program. There are lotsa places the little one could find food and shelter all over Marshmallow Hollow.”

  “What did she look like?” Hobbs asked.

  “Boy, you two sure got a lotta questions about a cat I haven’t seen in a few days, don’t ya?”

  I froze as though someone had shined a light on me and was threatening me with the infamous line, “We have vays of makink you talk!” But Hobbs stepped in with a smooth answer.

  “I was only curious. In case we see her somewhere. Also, I’m just doing a little research for a friend who might want to start up her own feral colony. That’s all. I want to be sure she does it right.”

  Bitty swiped her hand at him, tapping his arm with a beaming grin. “You’re not just good-lookin’, you’re kind, too. A lethal combo, huh, Hal?” She gave me a suggestive wink.

  I nodded in agreement. “For sure. So back to Hobbs’s question, what did this kitten look like? If we see it, I’ll let you know.”

  She clapped her gloved hands together. “If you do, that would be aces. It needs fixin’ and some shots.” Scratc
hing her ear, she paused for a moment. “It was a tabby, with a little bit o’ peach on its head. A gray tabby. Pretty thing. That soft gray, you know? Not dark. And fluffy. It was real fluffy, with a round face. Can’t say if it was a boy or a girl, but it didn’t seem as afraid as Mama was.”

  That definitely sounded like my Barbra.

  I dropped a twenty in her donation bucket and smiled. “I promise if I see it, or hear about it, I’ll let you know. Until then, give me a call about setting up a feral space back at my house, okay? I’ve been meaning to mention it to you, it was just so busy at the factory, I forgot.”

  Bitty reached out and pulled me into her arms. “You’re the greatest. Just like your mama and Karen.”

  I gave her a tight hug back and a little wave. “Thanks for your help, Bitty. You’re awesome.”

  As Hobbs and I turned to go, we both paused when we heard voices screaming in the middle of the ice festival, right by the ice elves display where someone had cleverly carved elves doing handstands and cartwheels.

  “It was you!” a female voice squealed, making me whirl around.

  “You leave me alone, Blanche Ritter!” another female voice screamed, one you could hear even over the Christmas carols being played through the sound system.

  I pulled Hobbs along behind me, making my way to the elf display, where both women had stopped in the middle of the carnival and faced off.

  Blanche Ritter, her perfectly made-up eyes flashing in anger, her finger under Twyla Good’s nose, bellowed, “I can’t believe he was sleeping around with the likes of you! You, with your feigned innocence and babe-in-the-woods widow act! You killed him! I know you did, because he was going to leave you for me!”

  Twyla, an older version of her pretty daughter, with sandy-blonde hair and pretty green eyes that widened, simmered. It was evident from the way she glared at Blanche Ritter, her lips thinning, her nostrils flaring.

  And then, she did something totally unexpected.

  Sweet, quiet, unassuming, gentle Twyla Good latched onto the finger Blanche waved under her nose with her teeth and bit down.