The Witch's Bones: (A Cozy Witch Mystery) (One Part Witch Book 5) Read online

“I’m going to go over to speak to his nephew, Brady Kingston, and then I need to talk to these people you listed, people who might have been angry that Mr. Kingston wrote reviews damaging to their businesses. I was hoping that you might be able to come along.”

  “That really doesn’t sound like my idea of a good time. I didn’t even know Theodore Kingston, and I’m sorry, but I’m not all that interested in the circumstances of his death.”

  “I get that. But I have sworn to act in the best interest of my clients, and I seriously think that he was murdered. And if I don’t dig into this, then the truth will disappear. So, I’m sort of hoping that you might do this as a personal favor to me. People tend to clam up big-time around a lawyer. Your presence would be a huge help, not to mention your insight.”

  While Martine’s sense of obligation to Theodore Kingston was nil, her debt to Jeremy was considerable. He was, after all, the one who had referred her to Dr. Svenson, which had resulted in getting her life back and being able to walk away from that hateful wheelchair. Yeah, unfortunately, she really did owe him one.

  “What do you need me to do?”

  *****

  Theodore Kingston’s house was every bit as grand on the inside as it had appeared on the outside. A miniature little mansion befitting of a man whose business was yachts. His nephew, Brady Kingston, was in his late twenties, thin, fidgety, and anxious to get Jeremy and Martine out of his home as quickly as possible.

  “I’ve got some business meetings lined up this morning. You know, I would’ve had the life insurance coming to me, except I don’t get that money because my uncle committed suicide. Did you know that? That if someone commits suicide, the life insurance doesn’t pay out? That really sucks.”

  “Indeed, it does,” Jeremy empathized. “But if I understand correctly, you are the sole beneficiary of this house, his yacht business, and his liquid assets. That’s not too shabby.”

  “The liquid assets don’t add up to much. He just bought two more new boats for the business. We were doing fine with four boats, but he wanted to have six. That tied up a lot of spare cash. And he did a huge renovation of this house last year. That took up a lot of big cash. So, yeah, I got the business and I got the house. But I don’t know if I want either of them. I think selling them is the way to go. Otherwise, I’d have to stay in Oyster Cove, and I’m really ready for fresh scenery, know what I mean?”

  “You’re going to be leaving town soon?” Jeremy asked.

  “Yeah, as soon as I get all the business details figured out. Like I said, I have some meetings this morning.”

  “Were you surprised that your uncle committed suicide?” Martine asked bluntly.

  “Sure. Sure. I mean, that kind of thing is always a surprise, isn’t it?”

  “Was he despondent? Ill? Suffering from depression? Was he on any kind of medication?” Jeremy asked.

  “No. Not that I know of. I wouldn’t say depressed. He was cranky. Maybe that’s not a nice thing to say about someone who has just passed, but my uncle was really a cranky, grouchy guy. Not always easy to live with.”

  “You worked for him, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah. I helped out with the yacht rentals. I would make sure everything was well supplied before it went out—you know, champagne, beers, gourmet food, clean sheets, the whole works. And then when the ship came back, I was basically the cleaning boy, getting everything in shape for the next trip out. I also brought in a lot of new customers. I got a commission on that. Yeah, my uncle gave me five hundred bucks every time I brought in a new customer. In fact, that’s the only thing he really paid me for. I did all that other work just for room and board. Can you believe that? He was not a generous guy.”

  “Did he have any enemies?” Martine asked, wanting to get to the point.

  “Enemies? What makes you think he had enemies?”

  “The police are treating this as a suicide, and I’m well aware that there was a suicide note. But I think that it’s too early to rule out homicide. So, you lived with him. He was cranky and grouchy and probably complained freely in front of you. Who were his enemies? Who was he mad at? And who was mad at him?” Jeremy asked.

  “Well, everybody knows about the contractor.”

  “Everybody except us,” Martine said impatiently. “What about the contractor?”

  “Well, like I was saying, my uncle did a huge remodel last year, and they did a pretty good job, but one of my uncle’s treasured antiques went missing during the remodel. Oh, there were people in the house all the time. Any one of them could have taken it, but of course, my uncle held the owner of the company responsible. And he gave him a really bad write-up on Angie’s list, I guess. And they had a pretty loud, ugly showdown about that.”

  “Could I get some contact info on that guy?” Jeremy asked.

  “Sure thing.”

  The doorbell rang.

  Brady looked tense. “This is probably one of my meetings. They’re a bit early.”

  He went to the door, with Jeremy close on his heels, and Martine thought it best to follow as well. They opened the door to the woman in her late forties, casually dressed, and looking rather worried and uncomfortable at the sight of Jeremy and Martine.

  “Brady. It is Brady, isn’t it? I just wanted to stop by to offer my condolences for the loss of your uncle. Mr. Kingston was such a caring, thoughtful man. He truly knew how to look out for other people. Salt of the earth. A terrible loss to the world. Terrible loss to you, Brady. My sincere condolences.”

  “Ma’am, I’m Jeremy Todd, Mr. Kingston’s attorney, and I’ll be handling his estate. And your name is . . .?”

  “Naomi Webster.”

  “And you know Mr. Kingston in what capacity?”

  “Oh, he and I, well, we . . . attended the same church. Yes, I’ve known him for years. Well, I don’t want to hold you all up. Just came to pay my respects. Brady. Perhaps I’ll see you in church soon.”

  “Okay, sure,” Brady responded unenthusiastically. “Who doesn’t want to get preached to?”

  Naomi Webster made a hasty exit, and behind them in the house, they could hear someone coming down the stairs.

  “That’s my grandma. She’s in from Nantucket, and was trying to take a nap. She’s really old and she’s really torn up about this. So, maybe we could finish this up some other time?”

  Mrs. Kingston, a frail woman in her mid-nineties, slowly made her way to the foot of the stairs.

  “Sorry if we woke you, Grandma,” Brady said. “This is uncle Theo’s lawyer. They’ll be leaving soon.”

  “Oh, you knew my poor son. My poor Theo. Can anyone tell me why he would do such a terrible thing? Take his own life, when everything was going so well, when he had so many plans for the future?”

  Jeremy gave her his arm and helped her into the living room and into an armchair.

  “I’m afraid I didn’t know him well enough to be able to say what was happening with him.”

  The sight of the grieving mother was even enough to touch Martine. Nothing would bring her son back, but what would disturb her more—knowing that he killed himself or knowing that he had been murdered?

  “What kind of plans did he have for the future?” Martine asked gently.

  “Oh, he was expanding his business, of course. And he was getting this house all fixed up. It looks wonderful, doesn’t it? He was going to add a deck out back. And . . . I know it’s silly, but he even had plans to take me out for my birthday next month, at a real five-star restaurant. I was so looking forward to it. Why would he even make plans like that if he knew that he wasn’t going to be around?”

  “Restaurant? Do you remember the name of the restaurant?”

  “Le Bistro. It’s not easy to get reservations for it. The food is supposed to be exquisite, a much higher class of restaurant than you typically get in Oyster Cove. My son had a real understanding of quality in good food. He wouldn’t stand for mediocre offerings. Only the best was good enough for him, and of course, he wa
nted to make sure that my birthday was a very special day.”

  “Of course, he did.”

  Mrs. Kingston was unlikely to provide any additional insight into her son’s demise. It would certainly be cruel to prematurely tip her off that he might have been murdered. After a soothing cup of herbal tea, Brady was able to convince her to return to her nap. He wasn’t happy however, that Jeremy and Martine lingered.

  If there were any kind of business meetings about to happen in this house with Theodore Kingston’s estate money, Jeremy was determined to witness it. He was soon rewarded with a knock on the door, and three businessmen, who weren’t known to one another but had been scheduled by Brady to arrive at the same time.

  “Mr. Milner. Mr. Brooks. Mr. Smith. This is my uncle’s attorney, Mr. Todd, and his . . . assistant, Ms. Cadet.”

  Assistant? Well, she couldn’t very well be introduced as a hacker, could she?

  All three men were dressed to impress, but Mr. Milner definitely won the prize for most expensive suit.

  “Christopher Milner, at your service, Mr. Todd. I trust you are helping young Brady here through all the difficult complications of sorting the estate out.”

  “Mr. Milner, your name is familiar to me. You wanted Mr. Kingston to partner with you on a large arcade project. I believe, ultimately, he decided against it. He recently tied up a lot of his capital, and he also had questions about the viability of the project.”

  “He did explain about his cash flow problem. But I believe you’re mistaken about his enthusiasm for the project. He thought it had enormous potential. There’s a solid five months in Oyster Cove and the whole Cape area where entertainment essentially comes to a halt. No surfing, no boating, no beach. The arcade will fill a huge void—it’s an untapped market. I think young Brady, here, would do well to consider stepping into his uncle’s shoes and getting in on the ground floor with this project.”

  “Yeah, Mr. Milner. It sounds like a super idea, but I’ve still got that cash flow problem. Until I sell this house, and then I’m probably going to be leaving Oyster Cove. Too many sad memories, you know. Time for a new start.”

  “But, what about your uncle’s yacht business?”

  “That’s why I’m here,” Mr. Smith chimed in. “I’m prepared to offer a very generous price for your uncle’s business.” More casually dressed than Mr. Milner, he looked very much like a man of leisure, on his way to lunch at the country club.

  “Not as generous as my offer,” Mr. Brooks said. “I intend to buy the entire Kingston fleet, all six yachts—$1.8 million for the lot.”

  “And you are . . .?” Jeremy asked.

  “Zachary Brooks.” With a few facial scars, Mr. Brooks had the look of a self-made man. No silver spoon here. He looked as if he had fought his way up from humble beginnings.

  “$1.8 million,” Mr. Smith stammered. “That’s . . . that’s quite an offer. And significantly more than the business is worth, in my opinion.”

  “That’s because you have a rival yacht business, Mr. Smith. You and my uncle were competitors, always fighting for the same customers. But Mr. Brooks, here, is one of our valued customers, and I’m pretty sure my uncle would rather see his company wind up in the hands of a loyal customer. Especially if you can’t match his price.”

  Mr. Smith fumed, grabbed his briefcase, and with a terse goodbye, was out the door.

  “I’ll have my lawyer draw up the purchase papers,” Zachary Brooks said. And you get the keys ready, and we will transfer the money into the account of your choice.”

  “Cool. Just give me a call as soon as you’re ready,” Brady said.

  After Mr. Brooks had made his exit, Mr. Milner renewed his sales pitch. “$1.8 million. That is a beautiful amount of capital. And you’re thinking about selling the house as well? There’s a lot of smart things you can do with that money, young man. And although I realize the yacht business was very time-intensive for you, you could draw in a lifetime of revenue from the arcade business without ever having to live in Oyster Cove or attend the day-to-day maintenance. You would simply be a silent partner who rakes in a substantial monthly income. Can we meet next week simply to have you look at the blueprints and business plan? I know you want to make an informed decision.”

  “Sure. I can do that. You got my number, right?”

  “Indeed, I do. Until then, Mr. Kingston.”

  And then, Jeremy and Martine were alone with Brady once more. Although Brady clearly hoped they would leave as well.

  “So, got everything you need?” he asked hopefully.

  “Pretty much. Just need the name of that contractor. The one who stole the antique.”

  “Oh yeah. Gavin Ramsey. Just look him up on Angie’s list. You can get his contact info there.”

  “And your uncle’s review. Thanks for your help.”

  Jeremy and Martine were soon headed down the driveway.

  “What do you think?” Jeremy asked.

  “That I had a grandparent die in the house while I was living with her. I was much younger. And I have a feeling that my grandmother was a lot nicer than his uncle. But . . . he’s just not as upset as he should be. In fact, I think you’re more upset about Kingston’s death than he is.”

  “Very true. Now we have to figure out why.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Contractor Gavin Ramsay wasn’t difficult to find. He was at home, tearing his Craftsman Bungalow apart and putting it back together again, having nothing else to do with his time. Since his reputation had been trashed on Angie’s list, business for him and his workers had completely died out.

  “Yeah, I heard he died. Blew his own brains out. About eighteen months too late to do me any good. He ruined my business. He ruined my life. He ruined my reputation. Now, I’m just a thief. I’m the contractor who stole a twenty-thousand-dollar antique from one of his clients.

  “Like I could really tell a twenty-thousand-dollar antique from a five-dollar piece of trash at someone’s garage sale. I have no problem admitting that I’m not that kind of mastermind. And besides, what good would it have done me to steal twenty thousand dollars and then to lose a hundred thousand dollars in income for all the lost jobs this past year? What kind of dummy does that?”

  “But you have workers. I’m sure that you like them and trust them, but is that a possibility?” Jeremy prodded. “Could one of your workers have pocketed the antique?”

  “Got a crew of six. Half of them are family. My family. The other guys I’ve known since middle school. No. Not even remotely possible. I’ll vouch for each and every one of them. But that’s what makes it so much harder. It’s bad enough that Kingston wipes me out, destroys any chance I have of getting any of the big contracts. And now, me and my family are living on our savings.

  “But the few jobs we were able to pick up this past year were mostly friends of friends who were throwing us a bone, and even they don’t really trust us. They asked us to bring along a porta potty. A porta potty! Because we can’t be trusted to go into their homes and use the bathroom. It’s humiliating for my guys, because we’re all being treated like thieves.”

  “Were they angry at Mr. Kingston?”

  “Oh, most of them are ready to knock his block off. But they’d have to get in line behind me. It was me that he slammed in that review. My name. If I’d had the money, I would’ve taken him to court for slander and for every dime that I’ve lost because of him.”

  “Do you think it might be possible that he was killed? Murdered?”

  “Is that why you’re here? To find out if I killed him? Answer me this. What good would it have done me? Even if I could do it and get away with it, how does it feed my family? How does it put money in the pockets of my team? How does it resurrect my business? It’s just like I said about stealing that antique. What’s in it for me? A big, fat nothing.”

  A lot of people were suffering the consequences of Theodore Kingston’s malicious pen. It seemed entirely possible that one of them might have snapped w
ith rage. But it was going to be a very, very long list of suspects.

  Hopefully, Martine had satisfactorily discharged her obligation to Jeremy. Because she now had to focus all of her concentration on surviving one of the greatest ordeals of young adult life—meeting the parents.

  *****

  The most imposing thing about the Beaumont clan was the plot of land that they lived on. It had been purchased by Morgan’s grandfather when he was a young man and the land in Oyster Cove was plentiful and cheap. There had been more than enough space to build houses for his children on the plot. The main house, belonging to Morgan’s parents, looked as if it could easily accommodate three generations.

  A house had already been built for his eldest granddaughter, her husband, and their three children, and locations had been tentatively decided for the rest of the Beaumont clan as soon as they are ready to get their families started. It was a cross between a fishing family and the Kennedy compound. Although not wealthy, the Beaumonts were something of a local dynasty.

  Morgan was twenty-nine years old and next in line to have a home built on the compound and populate it with more little Beaumonts. Of course, he had to find a wife first. Inadvertently, that was the pressure cooker that Martine had walked into, and it didn’t take her long to figure it out. This family was overly, inexplicably, heavy-handedly delighted to meet her.

  “Everyone, this is Martine. Martine Cadet. Now, I asked everyone to wear name tags ’cause you’re never going to remember all of this. My parents, Meryl and Remy Beaumont. Grandmother, Clara Beaumont. Big sister Coral, little sister Piper, and little brother Anchor. And then my nephew Sailor, niece Bay, and you’ve met Crew. And of course, Ahab. There will be a quiz later, but it will be multiple-choice.”

  “I don’t think that I’ll forget Crew and Ahab. And all the other names—Sailor, Anchor, Bay, and Coral . . . am I sensing a theme here?”

  “Oh, we are a real fishing family,” Morgan’s mother affirmed. “Everyone’s name comes from the sea.”

  “But . . . Morgan? I thought perhaps that he was named after your favorite rum.”