Nightingale's Nightmare (Cassadaga Book 4 (9 page)

“Ladies,” Martinez said in greeting, nodding his head. “Seems we have more skulls. Chloe, do you know the history of this building?”

“I tried to find out the history a couple years ago,” she replied as Nightingale stepped away from the conversation. “I spoke with Gladys, you know, the woman who used to live over there before she was murdered.” Chloe pointed to the house next door.

“I remember,” Martinez said.

“She seemed to think some rituals went on here when this was a house. It burned down and was rebuilt as we see it.” Chloe looked sorrowfully at the detective. “I’ve always wondered what was underneath, but it’s all been filled in and cemented over.”

“Did Gladys say what types of rituals?” he asked.

“She really didn’t know, but said some people suspected Santeria. They found charred animal parts after the fire. They did burn a lot of candles, I was told. That’s what caused the fire.”

“And the area underneath has been cemented over?” Martinez wrote rapidly with his pen pressed against the pad he constantly carried with him.

“Yes.”

“People ever speculate what was under there?”

“Yes, gold coins or human bodies.”

“Really?” His eyes
shot up from his pad. “Well, that might be partially true. We found the skulls, anyway.”

“What was the conclusion of the first skull we found?”

“Old, quite old,” he said, returning the pad and pen to his pocket. “Nothing that would be connected to any current murders or missing people.”

“What about the body at The Tavern? Any clues pointing toward someone?” Chloe asked the question hopefully.

“You mean, as in away from Nightingale?” he asked with a small, knowing grin.

“Yes,
that’s exactly what I mean.”

“I don’t have any evidence that points toward Nightingale.”
Martinez squinted his brown eyes as the sun shifted into his face.

“Then she’s been cleared of suspicion?”

“Unless something turns up, yes.”

Chloe’s face broke into a warm smile. “That’s the best news I’ve had all day!”

Martinez smiled a genuine smile at the little woman before him. “I’m glad I was able to make your day, Chloe.”

“Thank you for telling me.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll tell France, too, after we leave.”

“I would be so grateful for that, Detective Martinez. I feel so bad for Nightingale. She’s been so upset by all of this, it’s even effecting her business.”

“That’s too bad,” he answered. “I’ll see what we can do about that as well. Maybe a press release.”

Nightingale
walked nearby where Corporal France supervised the digging and retrieval of skulls. He hardly looked in her direction. Her heart began to ache over the thought that he might not be interested in rekindling their relationship when this murder investigation was over. That possibility hadn’t mattered to her until just now.

At first she had been so pissed off, she didn’t want anything to do with him, ever. But seeing him today made her realize that she was still in love with Bill. But was he still in love with her? Had he found someone else to love? That thought brought her heart up to her throat. She tried to swallow it back
down.

Bill looked over at Nightingale as he took hold of the handles on the wheelbarrow
. She knew he saw the sadness in her eyes. She had to muster up some dignity, so she turned her back and walked home with her head held high—and tears in her eyes.

As Nightingale approached her house, she saw the damned black cat lounging in its favorite spot. The beast never moved.
How was that possible?

“Get out of here!” she screamed, waving her arms in the air. “Go! Get!”

The cat didn’t flinch, nor did it change position. However, the stubborn creature growled when Nightingale came closer. Yellow eyes slanted hostilely, with two fangs  bared. Nightingale backed up toward the house.

“Chill,
blackie, your day is coming.”

~~

Nightingale woke from a restless night’s sleep, which wasn’t unusual for her lately. It was five in the morning. Sheesh, such an hour to be awake!

The first thought she had after was, change everything around to the positive. Of course, that had always been her
philosophy. Instead of fighting the negative thrust upon her, she would do the opposite: introduce more of the positive. Nightingale would take positive steps to counteract the negative. 

After breakfast, Nightingale
did a cleansing of the house interior, beating a drum to chase out the negative influences. After that, she went around to every corner and in between with a white candle and incense to bless the areas. Once she completed that task, she visited all the corners again with the white candle flame and a tiny china bell that tinkled a delightful sound. She encouraged only the highest and most positive energies to enter the house. Nothing negative would be welcome or permitted.

She went outside the house to sprinkle sea salt around the perimeter, all the while delivering positive prayers of abundance and hope. Nightingale ignored the presence of the black cat that was eyeing her every move.

When her work was done, Nightingale climbed into her car for her next task:  to visit the local humane society. She was going to adopt a cat from a rescue shelter, preferably a white one. Nightingale had always loved animals, especially cats. Her desire was to give a good home to a needy adult cat and counteract any negative vibes in the house. It was time to open her home and heart to another animal.

Nightingale was aware that
many adult cats were overlooked because they were simply, adults. Everyone seemed to want a kitten. That desire totally baffled Nightingale because she knew from experience that adult pets were equally wonderful to adopt and far more in need of love and companionship than kittens. Babies were more easily adopted. The adults always showed devotion for being rescued, as if they realized their life had been saved. It was a shame that everyone didn’t recognized that fact.

Nightingale entered the Halifax Humane Society, asking for directions to the cat area. She was directed to the building and entered with her breath held tight. It was always depressing to be in such an environment, but this was the place to find the most needy animals. She wanted to save a life, so here she was, walking down the aisle, looking for the fortunate kitty to give a forever home.

Several cats meowed at her as Nightingale passed by. They were all precious, but nothing struck her fancy as yet. She asked an attendant which ones were the most likely to be put down soon, and was shown to several cages.

Enormous golden eyes peered out from the top cage, surrounded by white fluff. She was a puff ball of love and affection, rubbing against the bars with enthusiasm.

“Meow,” she said, calling to Nightingale. “Meeeeeooow.”

Nightingale stopped in her tracks when the snowball tapped
the top of her head through the bars. “Meow.”

Translated, that meant, see me. I love you.

“Would you bring this one out, please?” Nightingale asked the attendant.

As soon as the feline was picked up and place into Nightingale’s arms, she slithered in deep, nestling her
furry head into the side of Nightingale’s neck, purring for all she was worth, vibrating against Nightingale’s ear.

“Oh, my, she’s beautiful and so loving,” Nightingale said. “I think she likes me.”

“I would say so,” the attendant agreed.

Nightingale held her out so she could exam her more closely. The cat wiggled, trying to get back into an embrace.

“I think she wants me to take her home. She picked me, don’t you think?”

“Yes, I certainly do.”

“I’ll take her.”

“Okay, follow me and we’ll do the paperwork.”

The attendant put the cat back into the cage and plucked up the sign attached to the outside with the history on the animal.

“Just fill out the information on the form, write a check, or we take cash, of course.” The woman handed Nightingale a pen
and a clipboard with the application. “She’ll make you a very good pet.”

“Friend,” Nightingale corrected. “She’ll be my friend.”

The attendant smiled as Nightingale tackled the paperwork, then wrote out a check.

“What do you think you’ll name her?”

“I don’t know yet. It will come to me,” she answered, anxious to get her friend out of confinement. “I’ll have to observe her personality.”

“Do you have a carrier?”

“Yes, I do. I had a cat before, so I still have the carrier. I’ll go out to the car to get it.” Nightingale left the building to retrieve the carrier, feeling excitement rumble around in her tummy.

The two women persuaded the white
furbaby to enter the carrier and Nightingale toted her away, feeling quite satisfied that she had found the perfect feline. She was only two years old, young for a cat, a long life expectancy ahead.

When Nightingale returned home, she noticed the black banshee was still rooted in position. “Humph, your days are numbered,” Nightingale muttered as she carried in the new addition.

Once inside, Nightingale released the fluffy white beauty into her new home. At first she was cautious, smelling slowly everything within two feet of her. Then she became braver, curiously expanding her vision to other areas for investigation. Nightingale left her alone to explore the new surroundings, checking for phone messages.

Punching the button, a
n electronic voice told her that a particular number had left a message. Nightingale listened intently.

“Nightingale, Bill. I guess you’re not in. Sorry I missed you. We need to talk. Would you call me? I’m off tonight and could run by for a talk. Call me, please.”

The words stung her heart and inspired joy all at the same time.

Bill had called
!

He wanted to talk.

About what?

She hesitated to return the call too quickly. After all, it hadn’t been her idea to
separate. That was his decision. His ethics, she supposed, given she was a suspect in a murder investigation.

Nightingale wasn’t sure how she felt about this event. While she now realized that she still loved Bill, her feelings were hurt.
He had ended their relationship because she was a suspect, even though he supposedly didn’t believe she murdered her ex-husband. She rolled her eyes in annoyance. Life was never easy.

Nightingale sought out the new cat, finding her in the kitchen. She pulled out a china bowl for water and filled it, placing the dish on the floor. Next she poured crunchy nuggets into a dish, setting it on the floor beside the water.

“Eat, pretty one.” Nightingale stroked the cat’s thick coat with one hand. “We’re going to be great friends, you and me. What am I going to name you? What do you want to be called?”

The cat pushed into the bowl of food, noisily munching away, chewing her path to happiness.

“I know--Chewy!  I’ll call you Chewy.”

The cat raised her head briefly between bites, casting an appreciative glance at her new owner. Nightingale figured that was an agreement to the name.

And so she was christened Chewy.

Fourteen

Nightingale swiftly changed her clothes. She wanted to look fresh and appear bubbly when Bill arrived, so she chose an aqua blue dress that glanced around her shins. The color set off her red locks perfectly and accentuated her blue eyes. She was ready, but she didn’t know for what.

Bill had requested the meeting. Had anything changed? Was he having second thoughts? She didn’t know, so all she could do was wait for his arrival.

When Bill knocked on the door, Nightingale walked to it, accompanied by Chewy. When she opened the door, Bill looked at her and then glanced down at Chewy.

“Hi. You have a cat.”

“Yes, this is Chewy. Say hello to Bill, Chewy.”

As if on cue and well trained, the cat meowed.

“Oh, that’s so cute,” he said. “She’s really pretty.”

Bill entered, reaching down to stroke Chewy.
“What a beauty you are…yes,” he said as he petted her head. Chewy seemed to accept his advances, purring like crazy.

“Well, come in.”

Bill followed Nightingale into the living room, then sat in a chair by himself. Nightingale wasn’t sure what to make of that.

“So, you wanted to see me…”

“Yes, I have some news.”

“Okay,” she said with a shrug, ”what’s up?”

“You’ve been cleared of suspicion regarding the Bradford Perry murder.” Bill sat back in his chair, waiting.

“
Well, it’s about time.”

“I never believed you were guilty. I want you to know that.” He looked hopefully at Nightingale.

“But that didn’t stop you from dropping me like a hot rock.”

“Nightingale, I couldn’t see you under the circumstances. Even Detective Martinez said I was doing the right thing.”