The Witch's Blood: (A Cozy Witch Mystery) (One Part Witch Book 7) Page 8

  Finn Cochran and concierge Arthur Frost were holed up in Franklin Churchill’s private back office, combing through his files and papers, looking for his will and any other potential clues to his murder. While she waited for Finn to be available, Zoey had asked to speak to Caitlin Murdoch, the housekeeper. It was Caitlin’s lunch break, which she did not want to miss, but she said she wouldn’t mind answering a few questions down in the employee break room as long as she could finish up her meal.

  “Did Mr. Churchill have a lot of friends?” Zoey asked the housekeeper, who was enthusiastically polishing off some leftovers from the kitchen.

  “He was a private man. He had business acquaintances, of course. But not a lot of close friends. Not that I noticed.”

  “You are the one who told me about his ex-girlfriend, Whitney Blair. I spoke to Ms. Blair. She says that they broke up just over a year ago.”

  “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

  “So, who was Mr. Churchill dating this past year?”

  “What makes you think that he was dating anyone? He broke up with his girlfriend, and then he was just by himself. That’s normal, isn’t it?”

  “Actually, it’s not. He was wealthy. He was pretty decent-looking. I met him once. For an older guy, not bad looking at all. And he was lonely.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “His girlfriend was living with him for two years here. And then she’s gone. He has no close friends? Quite honestly, it doesn’t take long for most guys like that, guys who are considered to be a catch, to move on to the next girlfriend. Not to be too crass, but most guys don’t want to sleep alone every night after they’ve gotten used to being with someone for such a long time.”

  “Well, if there was a new woman in his life, he certainly didn’t bring her around here. But then, I didn’t pay close tabs on his habits. I’m just the housekeeper.”

  Caitlin had lined up four medicine bottles in front of her lunch plate, possibly to take right afterward.

  “That’s a lot of medicine,” Zoey commented.

  “It’s not medicine. They’re vitamins,” Caitlin explained.

  “Vitamins. That’s a really good idea. I should be better about taking them myself. But I haven’t been taking them regularly since I was ordered to take them . . .” She reached over and picked up two of the bottles before Caitlin could stop her.

  “Folic acid. B-12. Prenatals. Congratulations, Ms. Murdoch. When are you expecting?”

  “Uh, well . . . okay. Early November. Yes, early November.”

  “And who’s the lucky daddy? I know that’s a nosy question, but the police are going to be wanting to know the very same thing. I know you feel entitled to privacy. But there has been a murder in this hotel. No more secrets.”

  Caitlin looked away apprehensively.

  *****

  Mr. Frost had returned to his duties, and Zoey and Caitlin joined Finn in the back office. He was quite surprised that Zoey had actually sought him out and was even more surprised that she was helping to move the case forward. This was quite a new development that she had brought to light.

  “Ms. Murdoch, how long were you and Franklin Churchill . . . involved?” Finn asked.

  “It started soon after he broke up with Whitney Blair. You were right. He was lonely. And me too, I guess. All I do is work, work, work. There was nothing else in my life. And so . . . we got together.”

  “Did he know that you were pregnant?”

  “Yes, of course he knew. I told him right away. Of course, he was a little worried about what the staff would think. But maybe, maybe I would have been able to leave the job and just stay home and take care of my baby. I think I would have liked that. Who knows? Maybe we would even have had another one. Turned into a real family. I know that you think that’s ridiculous, an important man like him and a nobody like me.”

  “Not ridiculous at all,” Zoey assured her. “How did Mr. Churchill feel about your having a baby?”

  “He was very happy. He was very excited at the thought of becoming a father. This child was going to be part of his legacy. No man wants to die without leaving something behind.”

  “You wouldn’t happen to know whether he left behind a will, would you?”

  “He did not. I can tell you that because we talked about it. I told him that it would be a good idea to put the baby in the will. And he said that he would get around to it. And I know that he would have. He just waited too long. How could he know?”

  “Did he ever mention any relatives?” Finn asked.

  “He doesn’t have any. None. That’s what he told me. So . . . I’m pretty sure that means that everything that belonged to him has to go to his child. Isn’t that true? And even if he did have some cousin or half-sister out there somewhere, this child would still be his nearest relative. I’m right, aren’t I? Everything that Franklin Churchill owned will belong to my child. Won’t it?”

  “That’s not for me to say,” Finn responded. “It might very well be true. I’m sure that the court system will provide a very clear answer on that matter. In the meantime, you might want to get yourself an attorney.”

  “That’s exactly what I will do. I can’t pay them, but after my baby and I have access to Franklin Churchill’s money, then I can pay them. It’s wonderful, isn’t it? To go from being a housekeeper to having a child who owns The Grand Hotel.”

  Finn smiled indulgently. “Upward mobility at its finest.”

  Caitlin got up from her seat. “And now, I have to get back to work.” As she reached the door, she turned back and said defiantly. “I know that everyone will be shocked when they find out. But no one should really be so surprised. Things like this are bound to happen in a place with so many beds.”

  Zoey and Finn sat in silence for a good long while, each trying to piece things together.

  “Well, the good news for you is that there is at least one other suspect on the list. Ammonia and bleach point to the housekeeper. The victim’s money is likely to wind up in the hands of the housekeeper’s baby. That’s means and motive. She says Franklin was happy about the baby. I seriously doubt it.”

  “That did sort of sound like wishful thinking,” Zoey conceded. “But does this mean that you don’t think I’m a suspect anymore?”

  “No. That is not what it means. By the way, what did you come to ask me about today?”

  “I came to ask you who Franklin Churchill really is, since that wasn’t his real name, and there’s no record of his existence prior to his coming to Oyster Cove seven years ago.”

  Then she could tell that he was not so shocked this news as he was by the fact that she knew it.

  “Now you’re going to have to tell me exactly how you figured all that out,” Finn demanded.

  “I knew that if you were convinced that I was the murderer, you wouldn’t be trying to find other suspects. So I had to do it. I had to talk to a few people to try to figure out who might have killed Franklin Churchill. I talked to his ex-girlfriend, Whitney Blair. And I talked to his ex-partner, Lloyd Bacon. Mr. Bacon was the one who hired a detective and found out that Franklin Churchill didn’t have a past.”

  “You talked to these people, and they . . . what . . . they answered all your questions? They sound awfully cooperative. Why would they agree to tell you anything?”

  “I just told them that I was following some leads in the aftermath of . . . police interrogations related to this investigation.”

  “Wait a minute! Did you tell them that you were OCPD?”

  “OCPD? Wait, isn’t that the thing where kids have trouble paying attention to things?”

  “No! That’s ADHD, Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder.”

  “Oh, is it that thing where soldiers come back from war and are really traumatized? Did you think that because prison might have traumatized me?”

  “That’s PTSD. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.”

  “Did you say COPD? Isn’t that the problem where people who have been smo
king their whole lives then have trouble coughing and difficulty breathing?”

  “No, I did not say COPD. I said OCPD! Oyster Cove Police Department. OCPD! I was asking if you had tried to pass yourself off as OCPD?”

  “Oh. No, I did not claim that I was I was OCPD. Or any of those other things.”

  “I can’t believe that you don’t know ADHD and PTSD.”

  “I think that all of us have some gaps in our knowledge base, Mr. It’s a Miracle I Haven’t Already Killed Myself with Bleach and Ammonia.”

  Okay, okay, Finn had to concede, that was a good one. But he had to do his best to hold back a smile. He did not want to like this ex-con.

  “Maybe we each bring a little something to the table. But I have to be able to trust you. Would you be willing to come with me and answer all questions truthfully?”

  “Of course. I have nothing to hide. Where are we going?”

  “To the Mayor’s office.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  What a soothing, mesmerizing voice Mayor Wanda Macomber possessed. And how kind it had been of her to ensure that the doctor and his wife were the designated foster family for Camille. How was it that someone as disagreeable as Finn Cochran had managed to acquire so many nice friends?

  Zoey couldn’t help but wonder if Wanda was one of the handful of people in town who was in on the witch secret. “Did you tell her about me?” she asked Finn.

  “I sure did. But I haven’t told you about her. Mayor Macomber here is another member of the Lilith Hazelwood fan club.”

  Zoey reacted with delighted surprise. How wonderful to meet someone who had also gone through the same unusual experiences.

  “I’m so pleased to meet you, Zoey. I’ve been wanting to get to know you for such a long time now. Hey, can I get you two anything? I have some drinks in the little mini fridge there.”

  “You know, I am a bit thirsty,” Zoey said.

  In response to that train of thought, the mini fridge door opened and a small green bottle of kiwi strawberry fizz floated out and straight to Zoey.

  “Oh, that’s so rude. I’m so, so sorry. I still don’t have very good control over this new thing.”

  “Don’t apologize. It’s fascinating how we all developed such different abilities, depending on which transplanted part we got.”

  “All of us? Wow, how many of us are there? I would love to hear about all the others.”

  “Ladies. The witch symposium is going to have to wait, if you don’t mind,” Finn interjected. “We have a murder here. We also have a murder suspect here. You want to know what Wanda’s talent is? She commands obedience, which is as good as a truth serum. So, let’s get started. Here’s how this goes. She’s going to ask you a question from a list I provided, and you’re going to tell her the truth. Mayor, if you please?”

  “Okay, Zoey, tell us the truth. Did you kill Franklin Churchill?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know who did kill him?”

  “No. I don’t.”

  Finn pointed to a specific question on the list in front of Wanda.

  “Do you hate your ex, Dalton Spitz?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Why do you hate him?”

  “He’s a horrible drug dealer, and he framed me for possession with intent to sell. I mean, that may not have been his original plan. But when the drugs and drug money were found in our apartment, he pretended to the police that they were mine. He watched silently as I was sentenced to fifteen years in prison.

  “He wouldn’t let me see my baby. I was pregnant when I entered prison. He wouldn’t let her visit. He cut off his phone number and disappeared with her. When I finally found him, he had told her I was dead and that I was such an evil criminal that I deserved to die. So, yeah. I hate him.”

  Finn shook his head in disbelief. “Wait a minute. Wait a minute. Wait a minute. You never sold drugs?” Then he remembered that Wanda was asking the questions.

  “Did you ever sell drugs?” Wanda asked.

  “No. Never.”

  “You’re completely innocent?”

  “Yes.”

  “You served eight and a half years for something you didn’t do?”

  Zoey nodded wearily. “Eight and a half years that I should have spent with my baby. Eight lost years. Dalton was responsible for that.”

  Finn and Wanda were both stunned into a moment of silence.

  “I’ve got some questions. I don’t even think they’re written down here.”

  “It’s okay,” Wanda said. “Zoey, answer every question that Finn asks, truthfully.”

  “Did you try to kill your ex, Dalton Spitz?”

  Zoey struggled. “I don’t know. I hope not. I really hope not.”

  “Why don’t you know?”

  “Because I haven’t had good control over this thing that I can do. I think about something, I want something, and things happen. And I’m not always aware of it. Like the shoplifting. I loved that jewelry, and I didn’t know that it put itself in my pocket. I keep thinking about the last time that I talked to Dalton. We had a terrible fight, and he was so mean and smug, and I had to run away from his room, and I was really trying not to think about doing something bad to him because I knew that it might happen.”

  “Sounds to me like you can commit a crime and not even be aware of it. Could you give us a minute? Just step out into the waiting room.”

  After Zoey left, Wanda looked pleadingly at Finn. “She’s as sweet as can be.”

  “I’m still trying to let this sink in. She’s not a scumbag drug dealer. I totally misjudged her there. But how was I to know? Eight and a half years. That is brutal.”

  “Horrible. And losing those years with her baby. Just horrible.”

  “But that just gives her the biggest motive in the world.”

  “But she didn’t kill anyone.”

  “She doesn’t know what she did, and she admits it. She could have made that poison go into room 206 thinking that Dalton Spitz was going to be there and afterward, not know anything about it. I know that you sympathize with her, and even a heartless monster like me sees that she got a raw deal. But she could still be guilty. And until we know, no get-togethers. No lunches. No witch bonding. Keep your distance. I’m serious.”

  Wanda nodded reluctantly. Finn opened the door and gestured for Zoey to come back in.

  “Actually, we’re all done. You’re free to go.”

  “Okay. So, Wanda—see you tomorrow night at Susan’s party.”

  Zoey waved cheerfully at her new witch buddy and dashed out the exit.

  “Susan’s party? What is she talking about?”

  “Susan Sidwell. The town is throwing her an appreciation party at The Grand Hotel for supporting Oyster Cove all these years. I got an invite, of course. And apparently, so did Zoey. Why, did yours get lost in the mail?”

  “Very funny.”

  “I don’t know how well I’m going to be able to do with the stay-away-from-Zoey plan.”

  “Change of plans. I need you to be my eyes and ears tomorrow night. Whoever the killer is, there’s a very good chance they might still be inside The Grand Hotel.”

  *****

  Zoey was not accustomed to putting on nail polish, even prior to her prison sentence. She had attempted it on a few occasions but had always gotten so many smudges and crooked lines that she had to accept the fact that she was polishing-challenged. But the night before Susan’s appreciation party, Zoey had sprawled luxuriously in an armchair in her bedroom while the nail polish brush skillfully applied itself to both her fingers and toes. Nice. A salon job would have cost her at least twenty dollars plus tip.

  Thankfully, she had noticed Rocky’s fascination with her nail brush before he was able to do any real damage. There were several other small items in the room that she was able to float around the cat that completely took his mind off her nail polish. It was a good exercise in concentration for her as well, keeping two things going at once.

  Now,
as she was about to leave for the party, she was glad that she had made the effort. Of course, the nails had to play second-fiddle to the gorgeous Gabriel/Gabrielle creation that had been her surprise gift this past week. They must have known that she had nothing suitable for this kind of upscale event. It was from their latest collection and from Gabrielle’s own closet. She felt like Cinderella.

  *****

  The party encompassed both the dining room and the lobby, which were filled to capacity. Every VIP within 200 miles was there, and over 100 lucky fans as well. The event was not, however, without its party crashers. Esmeralda, for one. She sidled up to Zoey, chugging down a large martini.

  Zoey didn’t want to be offensive, but she was curious as to why Esmeralda was there. “This is surprising. I wouldn’t have thought that you would enjoy hanging out with, uh . . . so many ‘commoners’.”

  “No reason to be surprised. I like movies. And I’ve seen quite a few of hers. More importantly, I had to check out the hors d’oeuvres to see if Chef Linus has been holding out on us. Which he has. He really outdid himself tonight. Didn’t have me pegged for a foodie, did you?”

  “No, I did not, Esmeralda. You’ve been pretty straight with me. So, I know this is a rather delicate question . . . ”

  “Out with it.”

  “Did you kill Lilith Hazelwood?”

  “What if I did? Lilith was disliked by many, feared by some, and her death was celebrated by all. In fact, the day that she died should be declared a national holiday. You cannot deny that her death and the fragments of her body have restored so many of you, given you powers that you never could have imagined, gave you the possibility of a real future and real happiness. You should drink a toast to her death. Oh, look at that. They finally brought out another tray of lobster tails. Tah-tah.”

  It was a cruel and insensitive way of getting to the heart of every transplant beneficiary’s dilemma. Yes, someone else’s death was a prerequisite for her new lease on life. But it was pretty inhumane to celebrate it. Clearly, Esmeralda was not going to lose any sleep on any issues of morality. But did that mean that she might have killed Lilith? Or was she simply like the prison gang members who delighted in their fearsome reputations?