The Gallery of the Dead (Tropical Breeze Cozy Mystery Book 3) (20 page)

“So now Jane was wearing a bloody tee shirt. No problem. In fact, even better. If any blood was found on Carmilla, she could say it was from handling the bloody tee shirt in the backpack. And why was there a bloody tee shirt in the backpack? Because Jane always kept clean clothes in there. After the murder, we were meant to assume that she ripped off the bloody one and put on whatever clean one was in the bag, then disappeared into the night. In reality, Jane took off her tee shirt and pants, shoved them both into the backpack, swiped on some purple lipstick and instantly became Carmilla. As the vampire queen, she was basically wearing nothing but underwear anyway. Incidentally, that’s the real reason she refused to wear the jumpsuit the rest of you wore – it would have shown underneath Jane’s clothing. Carmilla’s leather thong and fishnet get-up wouldn’t. But she had neglected to tell Paul about the change in plan. The one involving a
knife
,” I said, deliberately baiting him.

“You didn’t have to stab her,” he cried, as Carmilla (she looked like her to me now, even without the wig) hissed at him like a snake.

She called him names I wouldn’t call the devil himself, but ended with the most devastating name of all: loser.

Hearing that word, he turned to the Sheriff and said, “I’m ready to make a statement now. But not here. Not in this house. I can see into the foyer. I can see her blood. Take me somewhere else. I’ll tell you everything.”

“So Teddy was never in any danger after all,” Bernie said when the police had left with Paul and Whitney McBain.

“Oh, yes he was,” I said. “He was in a lot of danger, right up until the time they arrested that woman. She needed to keep everybody thinking that Teddy, not Misty, had been the intended victim all along and that Jane was still at large, a madwoman with a fixation. So Teddy should still be in danger. She would have attacked him again, and she might have actually killed him.”

Taylor was nodding. “Paul was too obvious a suspect if everyone knew his mother was the target, and even though he had an alibi, it wouldn’t have been too long before the police figured out that he had a possible accomplice – his wife.”

“And that his wife was an actress,” Jinx added. “By the way, I thought her real name was Marva something.”

“Marva Craddock,” I said. “That was a high school classmate of hers. She’d stolen her I.D., and after the murder, when the police demanded her real name, she gave them that. A quick check would have confirmed that there was indeed a Marva Craddock who went to that school at the right time, and if there was nothing else to make Carmilla look suspicious, it would have ended there.”

“Our Carmilla had I.D.s coming out of her ears,” Jinx said. “I.D.s and burner phones and wigs. Even she must forget who she is sometimes.”

“Oh, no she doesn’t,” I said. “She’s sharp, that woman – far sharper than her husband. I went through Teddy’s personnel file on her: after Teddy decided to do his first show in Tropical Breeze, Carmilla suddenly contacted him, after months of refusing his offers. This whole thing had to be her idea. It would be interesting to know if she also directed Paul to make noises in the night, pretending to be a ghost.”

“Who cares?” Taylor said. “While we’re spelling things out, I suppose it was Paul who whisked her away from Cadbury House after she overheard us talking and realized she was busted.”

“I assume so,” I said weakly, resettling my glasses. They had jumped off my nose at the idea that Taylor didn’t care whether or not the haunting was a hoax. Incredible! If Bastet was in the habit of occasionally possessing our Taylor, I couldn’t help but feel that she could have made a better choice (me) for earthly assistance. While I regained my composure, the conversation swirled on.

“I knew some of the guys from the crew on Carmella’s last gig,” Jinx said. “When I found out I was going to be working with her, I took them out for a drink and asked about her. Let’s just say they were not madly in love with her. Basically they all thought she really
was
Carmilla.”

“I think so too,” I told him. “I think the character portrays her real personality, and she was comfortable as Carmilla. But Carmilla was married to Paul, and they were in a downward spiral financially.”

“What in the world did she ever see in Paul?” Taylor asked.

“Somebody weak that she could control. A slave, if you will. When she saw an opportunity to get at his mother’s property, she couldn’t resist. But as Paul’s wife, her motive was too strong, so she gave us Jane. She had to use misdirection, and she did it masterfully. Once things settled down, Whitney could move here, appear to be a new girlfriend, move in with Paul, whatever. Taylor, here, was to call me when anybody even vaguely resembling Jane or Carmilla showed up and started dating Paul. Instead, she called me when she recognized Jinx. But when she mentioned the new girls in town I decided to take a look for myself, and there she was behind the counter at Perks.”

“That’s why we had to wait to give out the whole story,” Bernie explained to Jinx. “If we moved too soon, Whitney would have left Paul twisting in the wind, assumed yet another identity, and disappeared forever.”

“Right,” I said. “But Paul was weaker than we thought. He was shocked by what his wife had done. He’s been living here alone since the murder, and every day he had to look at his mother’s bloodstain on the floor. It wouldn’t come out. He must have been crumbling and Whitney knew it. So she had to come back months before she planned to so she could keep him in line.”

“Loser,” Jinx said sadly. “Well, I’m glad he was. Don’t get me wrong – I’m grateful to Barnabas, and I could work at The Bookery forever, but I want to be me again, and I couldn’t while I was a suspect. I want to really thank all of you, especially you, Ed. You saved me from a pretty bad time of it, maybe even jail time. You were all wonderful,” he said, looking at Taylor and Bernie. “An unlikely trio of avengers, but wonderful.”

I’m always embarrassed by compliments. I never know what to say. Taylor saved me by saying, “Why don’t we all go back to Cadbury House and have a feast? Teddy still doesn’t know what happened here, and he might be a little upset we didn’t let him in on it before now.”

“Why?” I asked. “I told him as much as I could.”

“But you didn’t give him the whole story. Let’s go tell him he’s not in danger anymore.”

From the Journal of Edson Darby-Deaver

Naturally, Teddy was furious with me. I had saved his life. I had untangled the web of the assassins. I had handed them over to the police cleanly, without Teddy even having to be present, and what thanks did I get?

“You kept me in the dark all this time!” he shouted. “She could have come at me from any direction, at any moment! Even Porter would have told me more than you did, if he could speak.”

Porter was flipping his tongue around loosely, shooting sprays of saliva and staring at Teddy with adoring eyes, and Teddy was caressing him as if Porter alone had saved him.

“But I’m the one who figured it all out and brought the killers to justice,” I said.

“You tell him, Ed,” Taylor put in.

We were eating pizza and drinking diet colas out of plastic bottles. (If Taylor ever invites you to a feast, don’t expect more than one course and don’t bother to dress up.) Still, the gathering was congenial until Teddy realized the extent of what I had known, or at least suspected, since the very night of the murder.

“You might thank Edson for saving your life,” Lily suggested.

“Yeah, thanks, Ed,” Teddy snarled. “Next time, if you want us to think you’re clever, solve the murder
before
it happens. Have you seen what they’re calling me in the chat rooms? ‘Teddy Force, the Ghost Maker,’ because people keep dying during my investigations.”

I considered. “You have to admit, Teddy –“

“By the way, Ed,” Taylor cut in, mercifully stopping me before I could step on my tongue again. “Wasn’t there something you meant to ask Jinx when all this was over?”

“Eh?”

“You know,” she said largely, “about his
nom de guerre?
” When I still didn’t get it, she gave up on me and turned directly to Jinx. “Barnabas told me he was wondering about it too. Why pick a name like Fred, when you could have been Rambo or Dead-Eye Pete or something?”

Jinx gave a lopsided smile. “I was feeling kind of lost and insecure right then. I guess I went back to my childhood for the only unconditional love I’ve ever had – from my dog, Fred.”

Taylor made a moany little sound. “What kind of a dog was he?”

“She. A shepherd mix, dumb as a rock, but as sweet as shoofly pie. I miss her every day.”

We paused for a maudlin moment. I had the good sense to remain silent.

“Come here, Porter,” Teddy said suddenly.

“Isn’t that nice?” I said, hoping to make peace. “You and Porter really have a special bond, don’t you?”

Teddy glared at me. I was not yet forgiven, apparently.

Lily, who knew her Teddy, finally said just the right thing. “All the press coverage is going to send our ratings through the roof when they start broadcasting the show.”

“Yeah,” Teddy said, his handsome face clearing. He took an enormous bite of pizza and with his mouth full said, “That’s true.”

He slipped the crust to Porter, who snapped it up and swallowed it down almost without chewing.

“Oh, no,” Lily said in a little moan, looking across the great room.

The way she said it made my skin prickle, and I half expected to turn around and see the ghost of Vesta floating out of her former bedroom.

Instead, I saw the cat Bastet coming toward us.

“Taylor, if that’s your cat you’d better pick her up quick,” Lily said with an edge of terror in her voice. “Porter will rip her apart.”

By then the dog had noticed the cat and gotten away from Teddy. He ran into the great room, skidded to a halt, sat down abruptly and stared as Bastet walked right by him.

I looked at the dog, I looked at the cat, and I tried not to breathe.

Bastet put her tail straight up in the air, assumed a regal tilt to her head, lavishly ignored the dog and walked slowly past the kitchen and on out the pet door in the mud room.

Porter stayed where he was. His eyes were locked onto her and his breathing, always very noisy, had stopped. After she left the room he started breathing again and looked blankly at Teddy.

“What’s the matter, boy?” Teddy asked, going to the dog and kneeling. He stroked Porter’s head and looked into his eyes. After a few moments the dog gently laid himself down flat with his legs splayed out. Teddy sat beside him, took the dog’s head into his lap and caressed him, murmuring.

“That’s some cat,” Jinx remarked.

“Yes,” I said. “Isn’t she?”

Taylor and I stared at one another for a bit, but neither of us said anything.

I never was able to analyze the recording of my encounter (if that’s what it was) with Cassandra Whitby in the gallery on April 10
th
at 3:47 pm, one hundred years to the minute after her death. You will recall that Misty McBain’s murder occurred only hours later, and I was engrossed in my theory of the crime for some time afterward, not to mention trying to prevent another one. By the time it occurred to me that I had material to transcribe, Wyatt had recorded over whatever I had in his video camera. And of course there was no voice recording of anything but Porter playfully barking.

But no proof.

Only one mystery remained: who had cut up Teddy’s clothing during our stay at Cadbury House? By the time that was done, Carmilla had escaped.

Taylor discovered the person we humorously call “The Ripper” and has asked me to keep his or her identity a dead secret. I shall. Taylor promises that a stern talking-to was all The Ripper needed, and this person was over Teddy by that time anyway.

The Ripper claims to have become good friends with Lily now, and is no longer upset that Teddy showed up with a fiancé. In fact, they have a lot of fun discussing Teddy’s little quirks when he isn’t around.

And since Teddy is incapable of controlling a dog like Porter by himself, he has taken The Ripper on the road with him after all. Taylor didn’t seem to mind that she would have to hire a new receptionist for Orphans of the Storm.

And The Ripper promises to stay away from Teddy’s clothes from now on, whether he’s wearing them or not.

The feeling among my friends and associates was that the investigation at The Royal Palm was over, but I am a scientist. I was unsatisfied. I worried about the fate of the house and whatever entity might still be trapped within it.

Paul, of course, could not claim his inheritance, and by the time the house was sold by court-appointed agents of the estate, the equity was almost eaten up by legal fees. The remainder went to a niece who had a Christmas-card-only relationship with Misty, and hadn’t talked to her in years.

Which left the house in the hands of what I believe is called a “flipper,” someone who buys distressed – or in this case, disreputable – property in order to turn it over for a profit.

I asked for permission from the court to investigate a possible paranormal presence in The Violet Room, and their response was phrased in beautiful legalese, but amounted to a raspberry. I’m sure there were gales of laughter in the halls of justice.

There was only one man I could go to for commiseration. I found him in the usual place. I may never see the inside of his house, but I suspect he doesn’t see much of it himself.

He was on the bench at the beginning of the walkover at the side of Route A1A, watching the traffic go by, and unfortunately, he had his guitar. He didn’t even stand up when I pulled over and parked, but he did leer at my car.

I walked over and sat across from him without a word. I didn’t bother with the recorder or any note-taking.

At last, he spoke. “You’re worried about her.”

No need to say who he was talking about. We both knew.

“I am.”

“Don’t be.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged. He began to strum the guitar. “She’s in her own space. Do you know who bought the house?”

“A woman named Rita Garnett.”

Jasper nodded. “Rita
Allen
Garnett. Her granddaughter.
Will you find me when I wander, will you love me when I’m found? Will you need me when I’m helpless, will you always be around?”
he sang suddenly in his sweet, after-twilight voice, though it was the middle of the afternoon.

I sat still with my eyes unblinking until they watered. Then I whispered, “She’ll take good care of her.”

He was rocking to the rhythm of his song. “She was a nice girl, little Rita. I think I’ll go over some time and say hello to ‘er.”