Murder of a Hermit, page 5
‘I’m still waiting to learn about all of the secret passages in this place,’ Dylan said.
‘A full guided tour would be nice,’ Nate added.
‘You’ll both be waiting for a very long time,’ Summer snapped.
‘And you can forget about me owing you a kiss,’ Hope muttered under her breath. ‘I officially welch.’
She didn’t know whether Dylan heard any of her words, and she didn’t stay to find out. Megan was not by nature an unduly nervous or panicky sort of person, nor did she tend to exaggerate minor mishaps into full-blown crises. So if she said there was a problem and their help was needed, it meant that something was genuinely wrong and they should proceed with haste, not scoff and deliberately dawdle like Nate and Dylan.
Without further delay, Hope exited the study and headed down the hall toward the boutique. She paused as she entered the shop and noticed a collection of shopping bags that were sitting on the floor not far from the front door, which stood wide open.
Only a few paces behind her sister, Summer noticed the bags also. ‘We must have had a visitor in our absence.’
‘A visitor with luxury taste, apparently,’ Hope said. ‘Those are from some of Asheville’s most expensive clothing stores.’
‘I wonder who the person is.’
Hope responded with a small smile. ‘Probably not the Hermit. Based on those pieces of waxed canvas that we found, together with Megan and Miranda’s descriptions of the man, he appears to be more of a camping and outdoor enthusiast than a designer shoe and handbag aficionado.’
Summer nodded. ‘That makes sense. What doesn’t make sense is why he was in our cellar. There is absolutely nothing of interest or value down there, especially for a camping and outdoor enthusiast. And if his goal was to sneak upstairs into the brownstone, it still doesn’t make sense. It’s not as though we keep piles of cash lying around the living room. The jewelry in here has some worth, of course, but the case’ – she gestured toward the display case that was still crowned by the mammoth crystal vase with its throng of apricot roses – ‘is always locked. The only way that someone could steal from it is by distracting us with a potential purchase, the same as with any other attempt at shoplifting. A prospective thief wouldn’t crawl through the shrubbery and the metal door, slide down the potato-coal chute, and then slink up the cellar stairs into the study. The possibility of being caught is too high. Plus, there’s the issue of getting out again. Does the person return through the study and the cellar, or do they hope to leave through the boutique?’
‘An excellent question. In the case of the Hermit, he must have climbed back up the chute and gone out the metal door, because we would have spotted him otherwise.’ Hope considered for a moment. ‘And from a timing standpoint, it works. Miranda saw him at the side of the property after Megan saw him in front of the window, so Miranda’s sighting could have been when he was coming out of the cellar rather than entering it.’
Summer nodded again. ‘That makes sense, too. But what doesn’t make sense is why he was in front of the window at all. If you want to break into someone’s cellar, don’t you try to be as stealthy and invisible as possible? Miranda caught a glimpse of him by chance, because she was watching so closely for the arrival of the contractor and construction crew. But Megan saw him multiple times. Do you pace back and forth on the sidewalk in front of a building that you’re planning on breaking into? It isn’t smart.’
‘It certainly isn’t,’ Hope agreed. ‘And while we’re on the subject, it also isn’t smart to leave such obviously high-priced shopping bags sitting in an open doorway like this. Anybody passing by on the street could see them and simply reach inside to take them.’
‘Which means that our visitor has more money than brains—’
Summer was interrupted by another flurry of loud shouts outside. Unlike when they had first heard them in the cellar, these were no longer muddled.
‘What the devil is he doing?’ yelled a man.
‘Get him away from it!’ hollered a booming baritone that resembled Paul Larson’s.
Miranda’s squeaky syllables came next. ‘Stop him! Won’t somebody stop him?’
Startled, Hope and Summer looked at each other. Were they talking about the Hermit? Before either one could react, Dylan and Nate appeared next to them, having finally made their way from the study into the boutique.
‘What the hell is going on out there?’ Dylan said.
‘Nothing good. I can assure you of that,’ Nate replied.
Grabbing his doctor bag, Dylan dashed out of the front door with Nate.
‘Oh, sure,’ Summer groused, as she and Hope followed the pair, albeit at a somewhat slower pace. ‘When Megan says that help is needed and we should hurry, Nate and Dylan drag their feet and lecture us about the definition of an emergency. But when it’s Miranda and Paul and whoever else bellowing for assistance, now suddenly it becomes a truly urgent situation.’
Hope was seconding the complaint, when she caught an odd sound coming between the continuing shouts. ‘I wonder…’ she mused to herself. Then she said to Summer, ‘Hold on a second. I’ll be right back.’
With quick steps, Hope returned to the boutique, pulled a bag from the drawer in the palm-and-Tarot-reading table, and then rejoined her sister, who had paused on the front walk. They were just turning the corner to the side of the brownstone when Nate’s voice rose above the others.
‘Do not touch the water!’ he ordered.
‘But we have to get him out!’ Paul argued.
‘If we don’t, he’ll be electrocuted!’ Miranda shrieked.
‘And if you touch the water, then you’ll be electrocuted with him,’ Dylan informed her sharply.
Hope and Summer rushed toward the commotion. The drizzle from that morning had recommenced as a fine mist. It thickened the smoke that spiraled up from the generator into a heavy black plume and further intensified the accompanying burning smell. Nate’s guess in the cellar appeared to have been correct: the generator had short-circuited. To Hope’s surprise, no one was attempting to repair it or was even standing near it. The entire group was clustered around what looked from a distance to be a large, inflatable swimming pool. The pool – together with a set of giant snaking hoses – took up nearly every inch of space between the two brownstones, flattening the bordering boxwoods and smothering the grass. As Hope got closer, she saw that it was a makeshift retention pool into which the water from the Larsons’ cellar had evidently been pumped. Based on the shouts, she expected to find the Hermit with his olive-green canvas cloak wading confusedly in the middle of it. But there was no Hermit. Instead, there was Percy.
‘My baby!’ Rosemarie Potter cried. ‘My poor, darling baby!’
Rosemarie was a gregarious woman in her fifties with blazing red-dyed hair that had been dampened to a slightly less eye-popping shade of cranberry by the mist. She was one of Hope’s most loyal clients, regularly visiting the boutique every few days for a reading, which was almost invariably focused on her bumpy love life. Almost equally invariably, Rosemarie was accompanied to the boutique by her darling Percy. Except Percy wasn’t a baby. He was a middle-aged, roly-poly pug with a similarly sociable disposition and a proclivity for ending up in places where he shouldn’t be. In this case that meant taking an impromptu bath next to a visibly sparking frayed extension cord. Hope could only guess whether the cord had arrived at the Larsons’ already damaged, or was the victim of Percy’s sturdy, exploratory teeth. Either way, it was in all likelihood the cause of the generator’s short-circuit. It was also the cause of everyone’s shouting.
‘Won’t somebody do something!’ Miranda implored.
‘How is the cord getting power?’ Nate asked her and Paul. ‘Can we cut the supply?’
Paul nodded in the affirmative and pointed toward the rear of their brownstone. ‘The contractor said that he would go to the main—’
Hope didn’t hear the rest of the explanation, because Rosemarie gave an ear-splitting wail.
‘Percy! You must get out of there right now!’
Percy didn’t budge an inch. In his defense, Rosemarie’s words were so garbled by her sobs that he probably had difficulty even recognizing his name.
‘Get out right now!’ Rosemarie repeated, more pleading than commanding. ‘Please, Percy!’
The pug responded with a cheerful yip and continued to splash in the pool, which was brown and murky with sediment, as could be expected from water that had been standing for days in the Larsons’ earthen cellar. As the spray hit the frayed cord, it sparked brightly. Everyone gasped, and Rosemarie wailed once more.
‘He’ll die! My poor, darling baby will die!’
In her distress, Rosemarie started to race toward the pool. Dylan pulled her back just in time.
‘No,’ he said firmly but calmly. ‘You aren’t going anywhere near that water.’
Rosemarie looked at him beseechingly. ‘But Percy needs help!’
‘And he’ll get help,’ he assured her.
‘A solution is in the works…’ Nate began.
As he reiterated what Paul had told him a minute earlier about the contractor cutting the power, Rosemarie clutched at Dylan’s arm for support. It reminded Hope of the bag that she was holding under her own arm. In the general panic, she had forgotten all about it. She took the bag into her hands and opened its top with a deliberate crumpling noise.
Summer turned to her sister. She squinted at the bag for a moment in confusion, and when she realized what it contained, she grinned. ‘How on earth did you know to bring those out here?’
‘I wasn’t sure, but I thought that I heard Percy’s yips between all of the yelling. That’s why I went back into the shop before.’ Hope shook the bag and its contents as loudly as she could.
Percy stopped splashing. His dripping face snapped in Hope’s direction.
She shook the bag again and called in a low, clear voice, ‘Percy, I’ve got your doggie cookies.’
In spite of all of the surrounding noises and distractions, Percy managed to catch some combination of the word cookie, the sound from the bag, and possibly even a hint of aroma from his favorite treats. Without an instant of hesitation, he sprang out of the pool and sprinted toward Hope. She had never seen his chubby little legs move with such speed.
Megan – who was standing to one side, leaning heavily on her crutches to relieve the pressure on her injured leg – burst out laughing. ‘Apparently the old adage about a man’s stomach being the way to his heart applies equally to canines. This is why I said that your help was needed, Hope. With as often as Percy is in the boutique, I knew that you would be able to think up a rescue plan for him.’
Percy slammed to a halt directly in front of Hope. Eager for his promised treat, he pushed his wet nose against her leg, leaving behind a glob of mud.
It was Hope’s turn to laugh. ‘That’s the thanks I get, eh?’ She took a cookie out of the bag and gave it to him.
Summer reached down to add a pat, but she pulled her hand back when she realized that he was coated with a film of dirt. ‘Yuck. You need a bath, Percy. A real one this time, with a good shampoo. We have to make sure that he doesn’t go into the shop today, Hope. We don’t want wet-dog smell lingering tomorrow during the Wednesday afternoon tea.’
‘Or a trail of muddy paw prints, which neither of us is interested in scrubbing from the floor.’
Ordinarily when he visited the boutique, Percy was limited to one treat, otherwise he grew greedy and continually demanded more. But Hope figured that an exception could be made on this occasion, considering that the poor chap had very nearly been electrocuted.
‘Here’s a second cookie. It’s the last one for today, though,’ she told him. ‘So don’t stare at me with those big, sad eyes as though you’ve been horribly deprived. We all know that Rosemarie spoils you rotten. Isn’t that right, Rosemarie?’
Hope turned to Rosemarie with a smile, but she discovered that Rosemarie hadn’t heard a single word. Nor had Rosemarie noticed that her darling Percy was safe and sound and merrily crunching on a bonus treat. She was too busy alternately sniffling into Dylan’s shoulder and nodding earnestly at Nate. Both Paul and Miranda had disappeared from view, presumably to check on the contractor’s progress regarding cutting the power to the frayed cord.
‘How’s that for irony,’ Summer remarked dryly. ‘The fortune teller is the one who solves the problem, while the decorated police officer and the board-certified physician stand around and discuss it.’
Hope’s smile widened. ‘Don’t forget about the vital contribution from the tea lady. As I recall, you were the one who refilled Percy’s treat bag last week.’
Summer laughed.
‘Hello!’ Megan called and waved at Rosemarie’s group. ‘The calamity has ended. The pug has been liberated. All is well.’
There was a momentary silence as the group glanced around in collective surprise, then came a cry of delight.
‘Percy! Oh, my darling, darling Percy!’
Rosemarie rushed to the pug, who was finishing the last of his cookie while simultaneously depositing several more globs of mud on Hope’s leg. As Rosemarie scooped him up in her arms, Percy shook himself, showering Rosemarie in myriad dirty droplets of water, but she didn’t care. She just hugged him harder, tears of joy streaming down her face.
‘Was it you who saved him?’ Rosemarie looked back and forth between Hope and Summer, bobbing her red mop that was beginning to frizz from all of the moisture. Before either of them could reply, she continued, ‘I don’t know how to thank you! You’re wonderful! Didn’t I tell you how wonderful they are?’
As she posed the question, Rosemarie turned her head toward the boutique. Hope followed her gaze and, to her astonishment, she saw a woman standing at the corner of the brownstone. She was wearing a slim, charcoal-colored dress that blended with the gray sky and the gray mist, making her appear nearly invisible. Hope didn’t recognize the woman. But Rosemarie was apparently familiar with her, because she went on speaking to her.
‘Didn’t I tell you?’ Rosemarie repeated enthusiastically. ‘That’s why I said you had to come with me to the boutique.’
Hope and Summer exchanged a curious glance. Did the shopping bags that had been left on the floor of the shop belong to the woman? Hope took a closer look at her. She was in her late thirties or possibly early forties, with silky black hair that was parted down the middle and tapered perfectly at the top of her shoulders. Both her dress and the coordinating high heels were chic – and definitely not designed for standing outdoors on the wet ground in the steadily increasing drizzle.
‘Why don’t we go inside?’ Hope suggested, directing the remark and a friendly smile at the woman.
The smile was returned, and the woman took a step forward.
Rosemarie went on chattering. ‘I’m sure that you and Hope and Summer will be the best of friends. You have so much in common.’ She gave a little start as though a sudden realization had occurred to her, and she stared at Hope with wide eyes. ‘Could you foresee the peril that would befall Percy? Did the Tarot cards show you what would happen? Is that how you knew to rescue him?’
There was a chortle behind Hope. She didn’t need to turn around to know that it came from Dylan. Summer must have heard it, too, because she began to glower at him, but Rosemarie’s next words stopped her short.
‘How silly of me!’ Rosemarie exclaimed with a giggle. ‘I’m prattling away, and I haven’t even properly introduced you. Hope, Summer… This is Madam Gina. She has the gift, the same as you. And she holds séances.’
SIX
‘I don’t like her,’ Summer said.
‘You don’t even know her,’ Megan responded.
‘I don’t have to know her. I can just tell.’
Megan looked up from her seat at the palm-and-Tarot-reading table, where she was decoratively arranging an assortment of snack platters in preparation for the imminent arrival of the Wednesday-afternoon-tea participants. ‘Based on what?’
‘That smile of hers yesterday. It was cold and stiff. She was obviously forcing it. Don’t you think so, Hope?’
Hope – who was positioning small groups of chairs around the boutique to allow for natural movement and flow of conversation – hesitated a moment before answering. ‘I’m not sure what I think of Gina.’
‘Don’t you mean Madam Gina?’ Megan returned with a chuckle.
‘That’s precisely my point!’ Summer exclaimed. ‘It’s impossible to like someone who uses such a ridiculous moniker. It’s inane and insulting and—’
‘Yes, we know,’ Hope interrupted her sister gently. ‘You’ve mentioned before that it makes it sound as though she’s running a brothel.’
Summer nodded vigorously.
‘But we don’t know if she actually calls herself Madam Gina,’ Hope said. ‘It could be a flourish courtesy of Rosemarie. She can get a bit overly dramatic at times, especially when it involves the mystic arts.’
‘Gina didn’t correct Rosemarie when she introduced her to us that way,’ Summer argued.
‘That’s true,’ Hope conceded.
‘And she also didn’t correct Rosemarie regarding her supposed gift or that she holds séances.’
Hope couldn’t dispute those points, either.
‘I can tell you exactly what kind of séances Gina holds—’ Summer continued.
‘The kind that bring in lots of cash,’ Megan concluded for her.
Summer nodded again. ‘I have no doubt that she preys on the pocketbooks of the grieving. She probably combs the local obituaries in search of distraught relatives and friends who will eagerly hand over their last penny, desperate to see or speak with their deceased loved ones once more.’
