Hearts & Haunts, Confessions of a Closet Medium, Book 3 Read online

  “You’ve had issues with her?”

  Darinda hesitates, glancing around, but then nods. “She’s young. She makes mistakes.”

  “I know I sound nosy, but what kind? You mean, like, computer stuff?”

  She fiddles with her keys as if deciding whether to answer. “It’s no big deal. She was using her break to try on gowns. I know some of the girls do it behind my back, but if she had just asked, I would have been happy to let her do it once in a while. One day, she forgot her phone in her car and left the building with a dress on. Not a sample, mind you, one a bride had already purchased and was waiting for alterations on. The dress hem became soiled. I was livid when I found out. Sal, too. As I said, it was a foolish mistake on her part. I reprimanded her.”

  “Sal wanted to fire her, didn’t he?”

  “You know how he is—was. But she’s a wiz with so many things. She handles our website and designs these amazing ads. Our online sales have doubled since I hired her.”

  “The photographer who was taking publicity shots—has he done any shoots for you?”

  “Jason? Sure, many times. Cathi recommended him. In fact, he’s quite good.”

  I think about Victoria’s metal document case, Jason’s camera, and the trowel. All hard enough to do damage if swung at someone’s head. The clip on the case and the lens on the camera have edges that could possibly break skin, much like the edges of the trowel.

  “Thank you,” I say, turning back to Logan. “See you tomorrow.”

  19

  “You have that look in your eye,” Logan says under his breath.

  I watch Darinda through the glass entrance as she leaves. “What look?”

  He threads his fingers through mine. We stroll past the once luxurious waiting area filled with antique chairs, elaborately molded side tables, and gold-framed pictures of landscapes that seem tired. “The one that says I’m not cuddling with you on the couch at my place tonight.”

  I grin. “You wanted to do more than that.”

  He winks.

  “Are you checking out of the suite tonight, Miss Fantome?” Kalina carries a potted African violet to the desk where Baldwin sits doing a crossword puzzle.

  The plant is in full bloom, probably fresh from the atrium. She’s wearing gardening gloves and removes them as she speaks. “We have the Sweetheart Saturday event going on in the dining area if you and Mr. Cross want to attend.”

  I see her eye my finger for the engagement ring that’s still in the box in Logan’s pocket. “I saw it on the ad for the fair. Sounds fun.”

  “We have chocolates and a delightful drink list of Valentine cocktails. My favorite is the Love Potion martini. Raspberry and chocolate.”

  Logan meets my eye. “You want to stay, don’t you?”

  I bite my bottom lip, debating if there’s any way I can make him happy and resolve both Tallulah's dilemma and Sal’s murder.

  He takes my silence as an answer. “Could you send a tray of chocolates and a bottle of pink champagne to the suite?”

  I’m still full of cheesecake, and I’ve had plenty of alcohol, but I’m determined not to argue.

  I swear Kalina’s face falls. I have the feeling she wants to get rid of me, even though she told us about the specials. “Of course. I’ll bring them up myself in a few minutes.”

  Logan leads me to the elevator. From the corner of my eye, I see one of the resident ghosts lounging in a chair. I also notice Kalina slaps down her gloves a little too hard, making Baldwin jump. As if it’s a statement about goofing off, he hides the crossword book, adjusts his readers, and begins typing on the computer.

  Did she know Sal, I wonder? Could she wield a garden trowel like a weapon?

  The elevator dings, and the door panels slide open. “Kalina?” I call. “Where were you when Sal was killed?”

  She glances around, looking slightly horrified, but no one pays attention to us. The few couples present are filing in and out of the area for the event.

  Her husband, however, glances up and zeros in on me. “What kind of question is that?”

  Kalina hurtles toward us, still watching for anyone who might be listening. “I’m sorry, but what are you insinuating?”

  “You were at the desk that night, correct? You saw Victoria sneak a bottle of schnapps from the bar.”

  I point at the double doors farther down. There’s a closed sign on them, but a staff member has been going in and out with trays of fancy drinks. I assume there’s a bartender inside.

  “Victoria did what?” Baldwin appears surprised, removing his glasses, then shoving them back on. He starts typing. “Did you add it to her room bill?”

  “Of course I did,” Kalina insists, but she sounds like she’s covering. She rushes back to the desk and stills his hands with hers. I overhear her say quietly, “It’s been taken care of. Would you be a dear and go see about that champagne? I’m not sure we have enough pink in stock.”

  He removes his readers. “I ordered a whole case for the Single Lady Fizzies.”

  “Baldwin.” Her tone is one I’ve heard many times when Mama is warning me not to sass her. “Please go make sure there’s an unopened bottle for Mr. Cross and Miss Fantome.”

  Baldwin, like me, knows better than to argue with that tone. He rises from the chair and passes us, as Logan holds the elevator doors open.

  “I’ll put you down for another night. The food and drinks will be delivered shortly,” Kalina calls with a fake smile.

  I take a couple of steps closer to her. “Did you know Sal?” Still holding the door, Logan reaches out and tries to tug me back.

  Kalina smiles even sweeter now. “I’d never met him before Thursday. I sure hope Detective Jones finds the culprit and wraps this up quickly. This poor hotel has been through enough in its lifetime without the bad publicity this is bringing.”

  Logan’s hand finally manages to grasp my arm, and I step in with him, thinking that the hotel is getting a great deal of business because of the fair, regardless of the crime. However, I couldn’t agree more that this old place has been through enough. It doesn’t make sense for her to commit murder if she’s truly worried about her bottom line.

  Of course, crimes of passion are rarely logical.

  As the doors close, I realize I haven’t ruled out anyone nor discovered further evidence.

  I’m back where I started.

  20

  Upstairs in the suite, I pace. “I need to start at the beginning and work through this again.”

  In good attorney fashion, Logan grabs a notebook and begins writing down the details, creating a timeline, and quizzing me about the different players and what their motivation could be as I talk.

  My internet searches so far have been about Tallulah. Lowering myself into a cushy chair near the fireplace, I turn my attention to Sal and do one for him.

  There’s not much outside of the usual social media pages, but he’s listed the places he attended school. The college catches my eye, so I try that in connection with his name and come across an article about a dress design contest he won there. I’m about to pass by the photo of him and the runners-up when a face that seems familiar stops me.

  I zoom in. In the black and white picture, the woman isn’t staring at the camera but at Sal. He holds up an award and trophy. Her hair is different, but I’m sure I recognize that profile.

  Reading the article, I scan the names. “Aha!” I bolt to my feet. “You’re not going to believe this.”

  Logan looks up from the doodles on his notepad. “What?”

  I blow up the picture and turn it so he can see the screen. “Do you know who that is?”

  “Sure, it’s Victoria.”

  “They were both in this design contest in college. He won a scholarship and an internship to work with Tyrone Worthington.”

  Logan gives me a blank look. “Should I know who that is?”

  “He’s a famous bridal designer.” I stare into the dark fireplace, thinking about the two y
oung college students, and the repercussions of Sal besting her.

  Logan flips to the page he started on her, adding the information. “What was the date?”

  I check. “Two-thousand thirteen. Victoria came in fourth. There’s some motive for you.”

  “Really? For murder?”

  I bite my thumbnail. “That scholarship and internship may have changed the direction of her life. She wanted to be a wedding gown designer, and she ended up a bridal fair planner.”

  “That’s a long time to wait to get revenge, and it seems kind of petty, don’t you think?”

  “Not at all. The fashion designer business is extremely cutthroat and hard to break into.”

  He waggles the pen between his finger and thumb. “But Sal didn’t become a designer either. He worked for a bridal shop. He never created his own gowns, did he?”

  “Maybe that’s why he was so happy putting mine down.” I sink into the chair once more. “He never made his dream come true, even after winning that opportunity. I had no idea.”

  “And you think Victoria killed him because of that?”

  I sure wish Sal’s ghost would visit so I could confirm the theory and get clarity on what was going on between them. “It’s not proof, but it’s more than what we had. I’m sure my dad would say people have killed for less. Maybe Victoria had a crush on Sal.” I do another quick search. “Doesn’t look like she’s married, maybe never has been. He may have ruined her hopes for a career and turned her down for a relationship. A woman scorned and all that… Men should know better than to mess with us.”

  Logan reviews the notes and moves back and forth between sheets. “Penn mentioned Sal was going to report Victoria. Wonder what that was about?”

  “Maybe he didn’t like her flirting with him. He may have threatened to mention her behavior to Top Events’ management, and she wanted to stop him.”

  “Sexual harassment?” He writes the word under Motive with a question mark. “Murdering him over that still seems extreme. Those cases are usually he said-she said, although typically, it’s the other way around with the woman filing the complaint.”

  “True, but maybe he was threatening her to get her to stop. I mean, if he was never interested in her, and she was coming on to him, it’s kind of sad, but knowing Sal, he would report it. What an ego boost for him.”

  “Not a super likable guy, was he?”

  “Not with people he worked with. The brides all seemed to love him.”

  The chocolates and champagne arrive, but it’s not Kalina who delivers them. It’s a staff member. I’m guessing she did that on purpose so I couldn’t question her further.

  The candies are pretty, but they’re not nearly as good as Queenie’s. I only take a bite of a cherry topped one, and throw the rest away. Logan starts to pop the cork, but I stop him. “I need to keep a clear head.”

  Once again, I feel slightly guilty, as he sets the chilled bottle in the fridge, but I truly need to figure this out, and I’m a bit of a lightweight when it comes to liquor. “There’s something we’re missing, too many facts, not enough concrete evidence. I’m running out of time. If I could just solve either Tallulah's situation or Sal’s murder, I’d feel a lot better.”

  “Who’s Tallulah?”

  “A ghost who haunts this place. She’s the daughter of the original owners and she’s… Never mind. Long story. Our most pressing issue is Sal.”

  Logan studies his notes in silence. I’m about to put forth another theory when a knock sounds on the door. We exchange a look.

  “Who could that be?” I whisper. “We already received the chocolates and champagne.”

  He shrugs.

  I tap the notepad and make a motion for him to stick it in the bedroom as I go to the door.

  A good thing too, because the person on the other side is the last one I want to see right now.

  Detective Jones stares at me through the crack. Tabby rubs against his legs. “Miss Fantome,” he says, his voice dripping with his accent. “We need to talk.”

  21

  “What do you want?” I keep the door partially closed. “I was just getting ready for bed.”

  He hooks his thumb in his belt loops. “I need to ask you a few more questions.”

  Logan’s hand touches my shoulder as he peers over the top of my head. “About what?”

  Jones appears slightly disgruntled that my attorney is here. His lips firm and a crease appears between his brows. “In regards to Mr. Luxton’s death. We can either do it here, or I can take you down to the station. Your choice.”

  Some choice. He sounds too serious for my liking. I glance behind him to see my three suspects lined up along the wall. The Nottingham family peers down at all of us, serious and condescending.

  Sherlock appears, floating near the onlookers. He seems agitated. Or perhaps excited. He keeps making obvious glances at the women as if indicting the killer.

  But which one?

  I point my chin at the eavesdroppers, pointedly staring at Victoria. “Are you interviewing them as well?”

  Jones doesn’t even glance over his shoulder. “I’ve already spoken to them, and you are the person I need to talk to now.”

  I peek at Sherlock. He nods. Approval?

  While the suite is in no way mine, it feels like an invasion to let Jones in. Plus, I may decide to show him what I’ve discovered in the study in an effort to circumvent whatever the killer intended by planting—or hiding—it there. “I’ll meet you at the other end of the hall in a minute. I need to run to the bathroom.”

  Tabby weaves in and out between his legs. She meows at me and looks up as if supporting my decision to speak with the detective. Sherlock also seems to endorse the decision, gliding in the direction of the study.

  As Jones saunters off, the women follow. Logan draws me back and shuts the door. Tabby barely slides through, running over my foot before it closes. “As your lawyer, I highly recommend you say nothing.”

  “Actually, I think I need to tell him what we’ve unearthed.”

  “He hasn’t arrested you yet, which means he’s trying to trap you into saying something to incriminate yourself.”

  “I know that, but…”

  “Ava, seriously, this is a bad idea.”

  Tabby scratches at the door and meows forlornly. “You’ll be beside me to stop me from doing that, but I should tell him about the connection between Sal and Victoria. Also, there’s something weird with Kalina.”

  Logan sighs audibly. “Refusing to say anything further until he has a warrant is a way to do that.”

  I rise on tiptoes and kiss him. “Those three witches out there are trying to hang me for this crime. Trust me, with a cop for a dad, I learned plenty of maneuvers to talk myself out of trouble. The best thing for me to do in this instance is throw suspicion back onto them. I can’t do that if I stay silent.”

  He brushes a strand of hair from my shoulder. “I knew I couldn’t talk you out of it, but I had to try.”

  I grab my phone. “I love you for it. Better grab the notebook.”

  Hand in hand, we move toward the study. Victoria, Christine, and Kalina are whispering in a huddle. They stop and watch me as Logan opens the door to usher me in.

  I lean toward them and mutter as though I’m one of their gang. “I know who did it, and I’m going to prove it.”

  Not expecting this, they rear back as if I have a disease they’re afraid to catch. The expressions on their faces could be fear. Either that, or they think I’m nuts.

  The jury’s out on that. As I disappear inside, I give them a Cheshire smile and a finger wave bye.

  22

  Jones has cleared one end of the large table and motions for me to sit across from him. “Brought your watchdog, I see.”

  Logan doesn’t take offense and holds the seat out for me. “Because she’s smart.”

  The detective leans back, causing the heavy wooden chair to groan under his weight. “That posse out there is quite dete
rmined to pin this murder on you. Want to tell me why?”

  I honestly wish I knew. I’m too anxious to sit, and cruise around the long table, trying not to worry my fingers. Sherlock has resumed his station by the fireplace. “Because one of them—maybe all three—had a hand in it. They need a scapegoat.”

  Tabby slips past me and under the table.

  Surprisingly, Jones doesn’t argue or seem confrontational. He simply nods. “Got any evidence to support that?”

  What I have is shaky at best, but I launch into what I’ve pieced together. I grab several fancy fountain pens from a reading table that holds an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel and position them under the yellowy light of the nearest banker’s lamp. Each represents a player in the situation, and I move them around as I walk him through a possible theory of what happened.

  Quiet as a mouse, he listens and watches the writing utensils, his face devoid of expression. Logan adds a comment here and there, but otherwise, he also remains quiet and focused. Sherlock sits, pipe in hand, reading a book and appearing not to listen at all.

  “Then there’s this.” Using my phone, I pull up the picture from the contest.

  Jones’ shoulders barely move in a shrug. “So?”

  I relay the facts about Sal winning, and the possible consequences for Victoria. “There’s a link between them. Victoria may have been jealous or angry. She might have been looking for revenge. Then there’s a possibility she had a crush on him and never got over him.” I tap the notepad where Logan wrote down the information about Victoria flirting with Sal. “A member of our group thinks she overheard Sal threatening to report her. Could be for sexual harassment.”

  “You think I don’t know how to use an internet search engine?” Jones stares at me. “I already discovered that photo, and while your theory may be accurate, I still have no proof.”

  “But I—”

  Logan touches my hand to silence me. “Detective, you know Ava didn’t do it. You’re not here to arrest her, so why don’t you tell us why you are here.”