Corpses & Conmen (Rosewood Place Mysteries Book 2) (9 page)

“Your mother has mentioned him a few times,” Frank said. “He sounds like a great guy.”

“Oh, he was,” Annie assured him. “He was the best. He died a little over five years ago, but I swear, sometimes I feel like he’s still right here with me.” She pulled the bucket to the front of the shed and returned the two rods. “I’ll just leave these right here so we can get to them easily in the morning. That way, you can just grab one and go,” she smiled.

Annie noticed that Marie was watching them as she re-locked the shed. Frank noticed, too. “What do you make of that loon?” he asked, not bothering to hide his opinion of Marie. “I can’t stand all that ghosts and ghouls mumbo-jumbo. If you ask me, those so-called mediums are just as bad as the con artists that steal people’s money.”

Annie considered this for a minute. “I suppose some people are just looking for a little hope,” she replied finally. “They’re hoping for proof that there’s something after this life. I can see how it could be comforting for someone to tell you that your lost loved ones are safe and happy, waiting for you to come to them.”

Frank rolled his eyes. “Yeah, and those so-called psychics are full of hope that you’ll be foolish enough to hand over your wallet to them so your money can cross over to the other side, too,” he snorted. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m willing to believe in ghosts and an afterlife. I just don’t believe anyone who tells me they’ve got a direct line to the other side.”

Marie waved to Annie, a vacant smile on her face. Annie waved back. “Let’s go inside and see if there’s any pie left. I’d hate for you to miss out on my mother’s dessert,” she said, ending the conversation. She started back up towards the house and Frank followed behind, much less agitated than he’d been when he’d stormed out of the dining room. Annie breathed a sigh of relief and hoped that she’d seen the last of the drama for the day, but something in her gut told her she needed to be ready for more, just in case.

“You’re going to have to let that dog sleep in the house,” Rory advised Annie, “or nobody’s getting any sleep.”

She covered her ears, drowning out the high-pitched whine coming from the barn. “I doubt they can hear it in the house,” she replied. “Besides, he could always sleep with you in your camper,” she teased.

Rory grinned. “Oh, no, Annie Purdy, you are not pushing that trouble onto me.”

“Wait a minute, Rory Jenkins,” she countered, ignoring his familiar use of her maiden name. “You’re the one who brought the dog home. If anybody’s going to play mother dog, it should be you.”

“Actually, it was Devon’s idea, but since you’re such a mean mom and you won’t let the little fella out there sleep in the house, I guess you’re responsible for the crying.” He crossed his arms and waited for her reply.

Annie laughed. “You can’t antagonize me, Rory. Mean mom, my foot. I let you two keep it in the barn, didn’t I?”

Rory grinned. “You know I have to give you a hard time. Otherwise, I risk losing my cool dude status with the young people around here,” he laughed, leaning back in his chair and stretching out his long, muscular legs. Annie caught herself admiring his tanned legs and comparing them to her own milky white ones, which were definitely not muscular. She made a silent promise to herself that she’d start walking every day once the weather cooled down. The last thing the lodging house needed was an owner who was too out of shape to keep up with the guests, she reckoned.

They sat in a companionable silence for a minute, the sound of crickets and a howling dog filling the night air around them. “I talked to Mr. Martin for a little bit today,” he said at last. “Seems like a nice fella. Tightly wound, though.”

Annie nodded. “I think he’s been under a lot of stress for a while. He and his wife had a hard time last year.” She explained what Doris had told her about the con man stealing their money.

“That’s pretty awful,” he replied. “I hate to hear that. It just goes to show you that there are way too many scumbags out there willing to steal money from decent people.”

Annie realized that she hadn’t had a chance to tell Rory about her conversation with Emmett. “I nearly forgot--Emmett called me. That guy, the one who died? He was a con artist. Emmett says he was wanted in several states and had a rap sheet a mile long.”

Rory sat up straight. “What?”

“Emmett says that he may have even been meeting someone here.” She stopped short at adding the part about a possible murder, but Rory was quick enough to put two and two together.

“Do you think he was killed in some sort of double-cross, or maybe it was a revenge situation? I mean, you just told me that the Martins got conned out of ten thousand dollars. Maybe Frank decided to get some revenge.”

“Ssshhh,” Annie hissed. “I don’t want one of the guests coming out here and hearing this. Emmett thinks that Lou Ross died from anaphylactic shock. When he called to book his room, he did mention that he had a nut allergy, so that makes sense.”

Rory thought for a moment. “If that guy was working with someone, who was it?” He waited for Annie to make a suggestion, but she just shrugged. “Annie, if it was one of your guests--”

“If if was one of my guests, then I have to be extra careful what I say around them,” she replied, cutting him off. “And I have to hope that Emmett and the rest of the police department are quick in finding out who it is.” She reached out and put a hand on his arm. “And he will find out,” she reassured him, “but he has to be discreet. If the killer thinks someone’s on to him or her, they could run. Or panic,” she added.

“Would that be a bad thing?” he asked. “I mean, it would be better for you if the killer just up and left, right?”

Annie hesitated. “It might be better for our safety, but there would still be a killer at large, only then Emmett wouldn’t have any idea of how to find them.”

“But they killed a bad guy,” Rory countered, “someone who conned people out of their money for a living.”

“It doesn’t matter who they killed,” she replied, her voice firm. “Murder is murder. What I’d love to know is why they killed him,” she added.

“If we knew that, we’d probably know who the killer was,” Rory pointed out. “If Frank killed him, which I doubt, one could argue that it’s justifiable homicide,” he joked. “If Lou’s partner in crime killed him, it was probably over money or a woman.”

Annie looked at him quizzically. “Why do you say that?”

“Most crimes of passion are about romances that have gone wrong,” Rory replied. “People do crazy things when their hearts get broken.”

Annie thought about this for a minute. She’d moved across the country and started a new life when her heart had been broken. She hadn’t killed her dead husband’s mistress, though she’d certainly thought about it. “Well, if it was a passion crime, who’s to say it was a woman that did the deed? We don’t know if Lou Ross was into women or men,” she added.

“True. So everyone's a suspect,” Rory agreed. “That is totally
not
helpful.”

They sat there in silence for a few minutes, each contemplating the death of Lou Ross. Eventually, Annie realized that it had become exceedingly quiet. “I think he’s settling down now,” she ventured, gesturing towards the barn and the previously howling dog.

She was about to remark on how glad she was that the dog had stopped crying when she heard barking from inside the house. “What the--”

Annie and Rory both rose from their rocking chairs at the same time and headed for the sound. She hadn’t even got the door opened all the way when she saw the little dog--in Devon’s arms--barking furiously at something just out of sight. She stepped further into the house and followed the dog’s line of sight but saw nothing.

“What on earth are you doing?” She stared at her son, waiting impatiently for an answer. The dog continued to bark, struggling against Devon’s grip. It seemed to Annie that the pup wanted desperately to get into the sitting room, so she peered around the doorway and into the room. Marie was inside, sitting in a chair and reading a book. She smiled up at Annie.

“Everything all right, Annie? That little dog seems awfully upset.”

“Everything is fine, Marie. Sorry to bother you, my son was just putting the puppy to bed.”

Annie returned her attention to the dog. It was no longer filthy, at least. Devon must have washed the pup at some point.
That might explain the whining earlier
, she thought. She approached the pup and tried to help calm it, but it seemed determined to get into the sitting room. It struggled and strained, barking and growling. If the puppy had been bigger, he might have succeeded at breaking loose, but since he was small, the effect was comical. Loud, but still quite funny.

“Mom, I gave him a bath. I just--he was crying. I couldn’t leave him outside all alone.” Devon made his eyes big, rivaling the pup’s for sincerity. “Just for tonight.”

“His barking is going to keep the guests awake,” Annie replied, ignoring her son’s pleading.

“He wasn’t barking in the kitchen,” Devon countered, “he only started when I got to the stairs. He must have heard something weird in there,” he added, nodding towards the sitting room and giving his mother a knowing glance.

“It’s getting late. People will be going to sleep soon, and I don’t want to have to apologize for a barking dog all night.”

“Mom, listen. Let me take him to my room. If he keeps barking, I’ll put him in the barn again and take my sleeping bag out there so he won’t be lonely. I promise that if he doesn’t stop barking in like, ten minutes, I’ll take him back outside.”

Annie sighed. “Five minutes and you are not sleeping out in that barn.” She gave the growling puppy a scratch behind his ear and watched her son ascend the stairs. As soon as they were out of sight the dog stopped barking.

Rory let out a low whistle. “That dog was not happy about something,” he said, stating the obvious. “I wonder what could have set him off?”

Annie had an uncomfortable feeling in her stomach. Probably it was the stress of a barking dog after dealing with the day’s events, but she couldn’t help shake the feeling that she was missing something important about the dog’s outburst. “I guess I should just be glad that he’s stopped barking,” she replied. “At least the cat doesn’t make that kind of noise.”

“That’s because your cat would gladly hand you all over to an axe murderer if she got cat treats out of the trade,” Rory replied. “Dogs are loyal and protective, and it looks like that one has taken a shine to Devon.”

Annie didn’t want to agree with Rory, but the pup had seemed to be trying to protect Devon from some unseen threat. She hated to admit it, but TigerLily would have run and hid in a heartbeat. “Well, let’s hope Dr. Fisher gives us good news about the pup in the morning, eh?” She rubbed her temples, feeling the beginning pangs of a headache coming on.

“I’m going to leave you under the protection of that ferocious beast,” Rory joked, “and bid you goodnight. I’ll see you in the morning, Miss Purdy.”

Annie yawned, surprised by how tired she suddenly felt. She watched him step back out through the front door. “See you in the morning, Mr. Jenkins.” She pushed the door closed behind him, then turned and headed up the stairs to her own bedroom for what she hoped would be a peaceful night’s sleep.

Annie sighed in her sleep. She dreamed she was back in New York, just visiting, and shopping on Fifth Avenue. In her dream, she had a wallet that was so full of cash that she couldn’t close it. Her mother was in the dream, too, picking out lovely, lovely things to take back to Rosewood Place. Annie ran her hand across a pair of silk curtains and admired their delicate beauty.

“Aren’t these gorgeous?” the dreaming woman asked her mother. The gentle sound of elevator music filled the room and Dream Annie could just make out a hint of fragrance drifting on the air, probably from the perfume counter.

“I smell smoke.” Dream Bessie’s words were cheerfully inconsistent with the rest of Annie’s dream.

Dream Annie stared at Dream Bessie. “What?” She looked around the Saks department store, but she didn’t see any smoke. She did see some darling pillows and a dreamy floral comforter set.

“Something’s burning, dear. Wake up.” Bessie smiled in the dream, but her words didn’t sound happy. Dream Annie frowned as her subconscious started piecing together her mother’s words. She didn’t want to wake up, but soon, her eyes fluttered open.

Real Bessie was standing beside Annie’s bed, her eyes filled with barely contained panic and her hands holding a glass of water. “Annie, the deck is on fire!”

Annie was out of bed before she’d even sat up properly. Her bedroom window overlooked the backyard and most of the pond, including the deck. She pulled back her curtain, hoping her mother had just dreamed about a fire. An orange glow greeted her and she just had time to glimpse the outline of a person rushing towards the burning deck. Rory.

He had a bucket in his hand and was scooping water from the pond onto the fire, which thankfully seemed to only be on one end of the deck.

“We need to go help him,” Bessie whispered, reminding Annie that there were guests sleeping in the next room. Bessie lifted her glass to reiterate her point.

“Let’s go,” Annie agreed, taking her mother’s glass and sitting it on the bedside table. “You’re going to need a bigger glass,” she said, pulling on her slippers and moving past the elder woman.

“This isn’t for the fire,” Bessie replied, annoyance creeping into her voice. “I was going to throw it on you. I almost couldn’t wake you. You sleep like the dead, you know.”

They snuck downstairs and out the back door, trying to be as quiet as possible. Annie remained calm, which wasn’t easy. Fire was bad news for her business. If murder wasn’t enough to keep guests away, inexplicable fires would surely do the trick.

“How did you know that there was a fire?” she asked Bessie, stopping in the kitchen to grab the bucket they used for mopping the floors.

“I just happened to glance out my window when I got up to go to the bathroom,” Bessie explained. “It was just pure luck,” she added, shaking her head.

By the time they reached Rory, he had the fire almost completely out. “What happened?” Annie’s bucket hung limply at her side. “Are you okay?”

Rory wiped soot from his hand onto his shirt, then he rubbed his eyes and nose, which still stung from the smoke. “Somebody set the deck on fire.” His tone was certain.

“What?” Bessie’s mouth fell open. “How do you know?”

Rory pointed at the spot where the fire had been. The entire end of the deck was black and charred, burned through in a few places. “The fire was just in that one spot, right by the water. And can you smell that?” He sniffed the air, squinting his eyes in concentration.

Annie answered. “Lighter fluid.” Her mind raced back to earlier in the evening, the storage shed and Frank asking about the fishing rods. Wordlessly, she headed for the shed, stumbling in the inky darkness.

“Annie?” her mother called after her, and Rory followed.

The door to the shed was closed, but the lock was off, lying useless on the ground, barely visible in the dim light of the moon. “I don’t believe this.” Annie picked up the lock and pulled the rounded shackle to confirm that it was locked. “I am positive that I put this lock on the door correctly before I locked it.” She pulled the door open to reveal the bucket of fishing rods and the charcoal sitting inside, but no lighter fluid.

Her stomach churned. She was certain that she’d locked the door correctly. There simply was no way that both she and Frank would have missed the lock falling to the ground right before their eyes. Someone had to have removed the lock again later, but to do that, they’d need the key, which Annie kept in her office, except when she happened to keep it in her pocket. Annie tried to remember whether or not she’d seen the shed key when she’d emptied her pockets at bedtime, but she honestly couldn’t recall if she’d seen it or not.

Rory put a hand on Annie’s shoulder. “Annie, you don’t think Devon would have--”

“Would have what? Set fire to the deck he helped you build?” Anger tainted her tone. “You know he wouldn’t do that.”

“I’m sorry. I know you’re right. I just--I don’t see who else would have known the lighter fluid was even in there.”

Annie groaned. “Frank knew. I showed him the fishing rods this evening, during dinner. I told him you could show him our favorite fishing spot.”

Rory thought this over, then shook his head. “I don’t know, he doesn’t strike me as the kind of person who would do this.”

“Did you see anyone, Rory?” Bessie had made her way to the shed, picking her way carefully through the darkness. “How did you know to come out here?”

“I had my window open,” he replied. “I smelled smoke and thought my camper was on fire. It took me a minute to realize that the smell was coming from down behind the house. I didn’t think, just grabbed a bucket from the back of my truck and legged it.”

“Well, we’re sure glad you did,” Bessie assured him. “Is it out good and proper?”

“I think so,” he replied, moving back towards the deck. “We’d be able to see any sparks still glowing, so I think it’s good,” he answered again, trying to reassure the two women. “I’ll be able to see the damage better in the morning. I guess it must have got one of the lights, knocked them all out,” he continued. Something caught his eye. “Wait a minute,” he said, moving past Bessie and kneeling on the deck. He reached for something Annie couldn’t see, then an instant later the deck was awash in light.

“Somebody unplugged those lights.” Annie had a terrible feeling in her gut. “I’m guessing whoever it was that tried to burn my deck down didn’t want to be seen,” she said, gritting her teeth.

“Well, why on earth would somebody try to burn down our deck? It just makes no sense!” Bessie put her fingertips to her temples. “Whoever did this needs to pay for the damage, that’s for sure.” She
hmmphed
and
hawwed
a little, then sighed. “I’m going back to bed. My body thinks it should be drinking coffee and my brain knows it’s supposed to be under the covers. I’ll see y’all in the morning.” She didn’t wait for a response, but turned and made her way back up to the house.

“She’s really mad,” Rory noted. “I’ve never seen your mother lost for words before.”

Annie shook her head. “She’s not the only one. Rory, thank god you woke up when you did. I’d hate to think what would have happened…” She let her words trail off. “What time is it, anyway?”

Rory glanced at his watch. The luminous dial glowed gently in the darkness. “A little past one. You’d better go get some sleep.”

She started to protest, but Rory shushed her gently. “No, go on. Whoever did this wouldn’t be stupid enough to come back out here now. If it was one of your guests, you’ll figure it out. If it was someone else, well, we’ll deal with that tomorrow, after you get a good night’s sleep.” He put his arm around her shoulder and gave her a half-hug. Annie felt a combination of relief, despair, and the sudden realization that she was standing in the middle of her backyard, wrapped up in Rory’s arm and wearing a pair of fairly threadbare pajamas. She pulled away from him with a sigh.

“Goodnight, Rory. I’ll see you first thing in the morning. We can assess the damage then, I guess.” Reluctantly, Annie made her way back up to the house. She couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her the entire way, but when she turned to look, Rory was nowhere to be seen. Somewhere in the silence of the evening, she was sure she heard a bird calling out, and from the corner of her eye she could just make out the flutter of a blood red wing flying away off into the darkness.