Cloudy with a Chance of Ghosts (Destiny Bay Cozy Mysteries Book 4) Read online

  So I opened a new can and gave Sami a snack. He rubbed against my wrist as I was putting out the food. Love from a cat—so rare, it makes you feel all warm and cozy inside.

  I went out into the living room. The television was still on, but Aunty Jane was gone. I looked out back, but I didn’t see her. I wasn’t exactly worried. She came and went all the time. But I’d been struck by her mood a little while earlier. Something about her anxiety seemed to have rubbed off on me. I gave up, though, and headed for Jill’s.

  I was borrowing a truck from the Miyaki Farms barn—some of Jagger’s painting were pretty big. I’d already made arrangements with the new foreman and it was ready and waiting for me. Now if I could just manage to drive the big old thing, we’d be all right.

  It turned out to be easier than I’d thought—automatic shift and everything. I cruised up to Jill’s apartment with no problem. She came out in a bright yellow dress with ruffles, making me smile.

  “You look like a piece of sunshine,” I told her. Lately she was usually in her coffee-colored Mad for Mocha t-shirt, so it was nice to see her all girly again. And here I was in jeans and a silk camp shirt. Maybe I ought to rethink my wardrobe choices.

  We didn’t talk about what Jagger had been going through until we were well on our way.

  “I told him we were working on his case,” she said.

  I laughed. “Oh, that must have given him a sense of peace and tranquility,” I said. “No worries, mate. The girls are on the case!”

  “Sneer if you want to, but I have to tell you, he’d heard about you doing some pretty good sleuthing in the past, so he was impressed.”

  “Really?” Okay, I admit it, I was pleased. I might even have blushed, just a little. “Good. Let’s hope others feel that way and give us information when we try to talk to them.”

  “No problem there. You’re the girl with the magic touch.”

  She laughed, but I wondered just how much she understood about the magic. She knew about my getting Bebe to go into a kind of trance that helped her talk about her accident when it looked like she’d caused the death of a fellow cut-flower grower. And now she’d seen what I did with the hotel clerk. But I was pretty sure she didn’t understand about my ghosts—or how the magic was something inherent in my family. What the heck—I didn’t understand it!

  We drove up to the beautiful cliffside mansion and parked in the parking area below the entryway. The little lot was filled with vans and trailers. All the other artists from the show were there picking up their art work as well.

  We walked up the stone steps and into the foyer and I could tell that Jill was feeling uneasy, wondering if anyone was going to attack her because of Jagger being a “person of interest” to the murder case. We smiled and waved at a number of people I remembered from the day before, then saw Debbie arguing with her father in a side room that looked like a den of some sort.

  “You have to be careful,” Debbie was saying in a hushed voice, as though she didn’t want anyone else to overhear. She glanced out and saw us and closed the door to the den in our faces, not even a smile or a word of welcome.

  Jill and I turned and looked at each other in astonishment. Very few people are so blatantly rude. But this was probably a trying time for them.

  “I guess she didn’t find what she was looking for in Keri’s room,” I said as we soldiered on toward where the art works were being kept.

  Jill was thinking hard. Suddenly, she gasped. “I think he did it.” She stopped short and grabbed my arm to stop me as well. “Don’t you think he did it?”

  “Who?”

  “Carlton of course. Who had a better motive? Keri was going to do a tell-all article on him. Maybe she was driving him crazy, always around, always eavesdropping and taking pictures. Maybe there are things in his background he couldn’t bear coming out.” Her eyes got very big. “Maybe he followed her down to the orchard and….”

  “Hello ladies!”

  We swung around to find Alda Gruening, the organizer lady, beaming at us.

  “Have you come for one last look at these beautiful works of art?” she asked jovially. “Many of them are still available. Just let me know which ones interest you and I’ll…”

  “Oh, thanks Alda,” Jill said quickly. “We’re not here to buy. We’re here to pack up Jagger’s pieces and get them out of your way.”

  “Oh.” Her face fell, then took on a new look. “Is he still under arrest? Are they charging him?”

  “He was never under arrest,” Jill said coolly. “And they aren’t charging him with anything. There was no real reason they even took him in for questioning.”

  “No real reason?” Alda’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you kidding? He was running off with her purse. And everyone saw them arguing earlier.”

  “They barely knew each other,” Jill protested.

  “They were dating,” Alda said back.

  Jill’s mouth fell open but she didn’t make a sound. It was obvious that statement had shocked the words right out of her.

  Marilee joined us at that point. “I wouldn’t refer to it as ‘dating’ Alda,” she said, pushing back her thick blonde hair and smiling in a strained sort of way. “They went out for coffee after the set-up the other night. Jill’s right. They barely knew each other. No motive I can think of. Give it a rest.”

  Alda shrugged, loath to give up on a theory. “What was in that purse that he was so anxious to keep hold of?” she pointed out.

  I finally thought maybe I could contribute to the general nit picking.

  “It looked to me like he was trying his best to get rid of the thing at the time,” I said. “He acted like it was a hot potato and he didn’t want last touchies.”

  Everyone frowned at me and I shrugged. People always like fairy tales better than the truth. Jill went off with the two women to look into packing material for Jagger’s pieces, but I lingered behind. I’d seen the little Siamese kitty again and I was wondering where she’d gone.

  Then I saw her, heading up the staircase I’d followed Marilee up the day before. She turned to look at me, meowed, put her ears back and ran up to the top of the stairs. If that wasn’t a sign that she thought I ought to follow her, I didn’t know what one was. I did as she commanded.

  She ran right into the same room Marilee had been tearing up over the day before. I followed the cat in, a little short of breath but willing, and she jumped up on the bed and meowed at me urgently, as though I was supposed to know exactly what she was saying.

  I looked around. The room was beautifully decorated and nicely finished off, with wainscoting and enameled molding. I walked over to where the cat was seemingly pointing, and I gasped. It was almost as though I’d received an electric shock. There was a sense of energy, then a buzzing, and it got louder as I got closer to the wall. There was something there, something behind the paneling, I was sure of it. But before I could begin knocking and poking around, Debbie showed up and ruined everything.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded, looking fierce.

  “Here?” I said, as though I didn’t have a clue where I was. “Oh, here. Uh…the cat wanted me to follow her and I…”

  “What cat?”

  What cat indeed? I looked around but couldn’t find her. “That little Siamese,” I said, feeling bewildered and a bit foolish. “You know the one.”

  “We don’t have a cat.”

  I stared at her. “But I saw one. I saw her yesterday, too. She came right up the stairs and….”

  “No cat,” Debbie said, eyes flashing. “I don’t want to be rude, but you really are intruding on a private area of the house.”

  “Of course.” I looked around but there was nothing that was going to save me. “I’m sorry. I came up here yesterday because Marilee was here. She said this was her bedroom when she worked for you and….”

  Debbie was shaking her head. “I think you must have misunderstood. This isn’t Marilee’s bedroom and never was.”

  �
��Oh.”

  “There are three bedrooms on this landing. Mine, the one that Marilee used while she lived here, and then this one, which is the one we used as a guest room. Hardly anyone ever stayed here.”

  “Oh.”

  That threw me for a loop. Why had Marilee lied to me? And where was that darn cat?

  Chapter Five

  Debbie led me back out of the area very sternly and I felt properly abashed. I really had never meant to intrude on private areas and I was truly sorry. Still…

  I caught up with Jill and went with her to start the packing process. It looked like it was going to be a huge job of taping together large pieces of cardboard to form boxes individually around each framed canvas.

  “Did it ever occur to you?” I grumbled to Jill, “That Jagger did this on purpose?”

  “Did what?”

  “Got himself arrested so he could get someone else to come pack away his paintings for him?”

  “He didn’t get arrested,” she insisted doggedly, not even cracking a smile at my lame attempt at humor.

  “Hmm.”

  Celinda Moore was there, packing away her huge works of body paint splashes of color and complaining about the mess George Marker had left behind when he’d collected his trash can pictures.

  “It’s no wonder he chooses to paint what he does,” she said, shaking her head. “It seems to be right down his alley.”

  Old George wasn’t there to defend himself and her nagging was getting old, so I risked asking an uncomfortable question.

  “Have you recovered from yesterday’s ordeal?”

  She looked at me, surprised. “It wasn’t my ordeal,” she said. “I just walked around a tree and found a body. Then I called in the discovery. It had nothing to do with me.”

  I thought she was a little quick to jump on the defense. “Can you tell me something?” I asked, but didn’t wait for her permission. “Did she have any papers with her when you found the body? Did you see a notebook or….?”

  “No, nothing,” she said, turning away abruptly. I could tell she wasn’t up for any chatting on the subject.

  “She was wearing a camera on a cord around her neck,” a voice said behind me. “I saw it when they were loading the body into the paramedic van.”

  I turned. It was Quill, taking her exquisite pen and ink drawings off the wall and sticking them into a case she had on wheels. Very nifty. Very efficient.

  “Thanks,” I said. “Did you have a chance to talk to her at all?”

  She shook her head. “Not yesterday. Although I did have lunch with her the day before.”

  “You did?” I glanced around the room to see who was still there. Celinda was going off as quickly as she could. Alda was busy explaining something to some other artists over on the side, so Jill was the only one left to overhear.

  “Was it a friendly lunch?” I realized that sounded tacky. “I’m sorry, but you see Jill and I are trying to find out what happened….”

  “To help Jagger. I understand.”

  “Yes.” I grimaced, hoping I wasn’t going to have to come right out and start aggressively questioning her.

  “Don’t worry.” She smiled a Cheshire cat smile and patted my arm. “She had an ulterior motive for asking me to meet with her. She wanted to pump me for information about Carlton.” She shrugged and made a face. “I carefully avoided telling her anything that might matter. I hate that kind of journalism. But the Caesar Salad at the Bay Club was divine.” She waved with only fingers and started off down the hall, pulling her cart behind her.

  “Thanks so much,” I called after her, then looked at Jill, but before I could say a word, yelling was heard from outside the building.

  We went out onto the terrace and looked down at the parking area. There was Marilee, half running to her car. Debbie was coming after her. I couldn’t understand what she was screaming at her, but it was definitely emotional. Marilee didn’t linger, hopping in and roaring off down the driveway. By the time I looked back, Debbie was out of sight beneath the overhang.

  “Wow. What do you suppose that was all about?”

  “I’ve got no clue.”

  We walked back in. Jill was frowning again.

  “I think I’ll go ahead and take the smaller ones out,” she said, flashing me a look. “Then maybe I can see what Debbie is up to down there.” She shrugged. “I’ll be right back.”

  She left and I began packing up the largest of Jagger’s paintings. It had won a prize and still held it’s gold ribbon. I had to admit, I really did like it. The colors he’d used, the line and shadows, were evocative of a yearning that seemed to hit me in my secret space—right between my heart and soul.

  I was smiling to myself about that when I heard a meow. Turning quickly, I caught sight of my little Siamese dashing around the corner. Where was she going this time?

  “Hey,” I told her as I quickly followed. “Did you know that people say you don’t belong here? What’s the deal little cutie?”

  “Meow.”

  Her cry had that deep vibrato some Siamese achieve and it made me laugh. I looked around, wishing there was someone nearby who could confirm that she was real. She came over and rubbed against my legs, then dashed off again and I had to follow.

  Turning a corner, I realized she was heading up the stairs again.

  “Oh no, sweetie. I can’t go up there.”

  I stopped at the foot of the stairs and watched her reach the top, then turn back and call to me. Something inside was pushing me, pulling me, trying to make me follow her again. As happy as she made me, there was something as little scary in it all.

  “No!” I told her.

  She called again, even more urgently. It was obvious cities would fall and the dam would break if I didn’t do what she wanted me to, right away.

  I looked around. There was no one to see me. I had to go.

  “Oh, alright,” I said, and ran up the stairs behind her. She was going into the same bedroom and I went in, too, my heart beating like a drum.

  There was someone in the room.

  “Oh!” I started to back out again, apologizing, until I took another look.

  A young girl of about eleven sat on the bed. She had long blond hair and big blue eyes and was dressed in a long, filmy blue dress that made her look like a princess. She smiled, very serene.

  “Hello,” she said.

  I gulped. I knew she wasn’t real. Or maybe, a better way to say it was that she wasn’t a real, live girl. She was something else.

  “Who are you?” I asked hoarsely.

  “My name is Julia Geiger. This is my bedroom.”

  “You…you live here?”

  “Of course. I lived here long before Carlton Hart and his daughter moved in.”

  “I see.” And I thought I really did. It was getting so that I couldn’t go anywhere without bumping into ghosts of one kind or another. At least she seemed somewhat benign. Some didn’t.

  “Well…” I turned, ready to leave. I really didn’t want to get involved in ghost problems.

  “She took them,” she said softly.

  “What?” I turned back.

  “She took them.”

  She gestured toward the wall and I looked over to see that a space behind the wainscoting had been pulled open, looking like a small mail box in the wall, right at the point where I had felt the buzzing before. It was open and it was empty.

  I turned back to Julia. “Who took them?” I asked. “And what did she take?”

  “It was the woman who used to live here. Marilee. She took everything.” She shrugged, looking tragic. “I couldn’t stop her.”

  “Does Debbie know?”

  “Debbie?” She looked blank, as though she didn’t know who I was talking about. “I don’t know.”

  This whole situation didn’t make any sense, but I was beginning to realize it was usually like that with ghosts. I didn’t know if it was a case of them really not knowing things, or if they were hiding things they
did know, or if they were just annoyed with living people and didn’t give a fig whether they helped them or not. It was a mystery.

  Suddenly I noticed that the little Siamese cat was sitting next to her on the bed. Well, that made a lot of sense. No wonder she was so infuriating. She was a ghost cat I supposed. Funny. She looked substantial.

  I heard Debbie’s voice from below and I sucked in my breath and turned on my heel. “I have to go,” I said. I really didn’t want to get caught up here again—especially now that the secret place in the wall was empty.

  I was down the stairs in a flash and ready with a bright smile the moment Debbie turned my way. She was walking in with Jill and didn’t even acknowledge my presence.

  “I think he’s really an important image in the artistic community,” she was saying. “I’m sure all this nonsense about Keri will get cleared up and he’ll be back, good as ever.”

  “I sure hope so.” Jill sounded worried. She looked over at me. “Did you get the rest of the paintings packed up?” she asked.

  Of course I hadn’t. I’d been trailing ghost cats up forbidden stairways and meeting wispy wraiths with secrets. I didn’t have time for common hard labor.

  “I was just taking a break,” I said, giving her a wink.

  She frowned at me which was unexpected. I could tell she was seriously unsettled about the situation with Jagger. Was she beginning to wonder why he had been kept at the police station for so long? I was afraid there were substantial reasons for that.

  “We ought to get this done,” she pointed out, looking anxious.

  And so we got back to work.

  A half hour later we had everything packed up and ready to go. We carried the boxes out to the truck, then looked back at the house, sitting so high and proud above its neighbors. I wondered what Carlton was doing—what his daughter Debbie was up to. The murder in their front yard had to be completely debilitating for both of them—yet, they could do better if they reached out to the rest of us instead of acting like we might be guilty.

  Still, maybe that wasn’t it at all. What if they were guilty? It was something to think about.