Murder at the Fortune Teller's Table Read online

“That’s all I know. I questioned her, and she assured me she planned on contacting you and returning the book.”

  I didn’t know how much backstory Edie had given Stanton. I explained how she knew where the book was hidden. There was a gray area there. She hadn’t been given access to the book, just promised some of what was in it.

  “Auntie wasn’t going to work in the store, just provide remedies,” I said.

  The sisters mumbled something to each other in Greek.

  Adrasteia threw back her head. “We have the book. That is what matters.”

  Fotini looked at me. “You were the messenger between Despina and the Book of Secrets. Despina would want you at her memorial service. You and the other woman who worked with Auntie are invited to attend. It will be held at Auntie’s house on Sunday at eleven. People bring food. We eat, we drink, we talk, we think of Auntie.”

  “Thank you. I’ll let Mary know.”

  In a flurry of moving black robes, they swept out as they’d come in, book in hand.

  Had Despina helped locate the book? If so, would she help find her killer?

  Chapter 25

  The next morning, I was pleased to find that my hands and ankle had improved. It was probably the great meatloaf dinner I’d eaten last night. Not quite one of Auntie’s homeopathic remedies, but medicinal in its own way. It had certainly made me feel a lot better.

  I thought about the day ahead. Scott and the Silver Sentinels. This should be a fun as well as an interesting morning. I looked forward to seeing them interact with each other. I took a little extra time with my makeup since I’d be representing the inns of the area today. My sister would be proud. She’d tried so often to get me to work on my appearance more. Growing up, the horses didn’t mind that I didn’t use eyeliner, and they were all I cared about. I had yielded when I met my ex, then gave it up when he left.

  Makeup done, I joined Helen in the workroom. The breakfast baskets were ready, and we each did our deliveries. I thanked my lucky stars, or maybe it was Despina, that Ken didn’t appear as I dropped off the muffins, coffee, and fruit. John’s car was parked in the lot, so he’d made it back at some point. I wondered if he knew the story of the book.

  For my offering for the potluck breakfast, as it was turning out to be, I’d decided on a cheese platter. Cheese for breakfast was common in Europe, and we had such a nice selection, thanks to Andy, I thought it would be fun to take some. Gertie was bringing bread, so I put some crackers in, along with the plate. There would be way more food than we’d all eat, but that was what made events like this fun—plenty of food and a wide variety. I made a second platter for Despina’s memorial service.

  I placed everything in a sturdy bag and put it behind the driver’s seat. The fog had burned off early, and it was clear blue skies all the way to Corrigan’s place. I parked and saw the little brown-and-white llama looking at me. The pasture they were in came all the way to the front of the house. Taking out the food, I went over to the animal and scratched its shoulder.

  When we’d considered getting llamas for the ranch, I’d done some research. They were considered very friendly, social animals for the most part. However, Scott was right about the fact that they could and would, in some instances, spit. They could regurgitate their entire stomach contents and spit it up to ten feet away. Usually that happened when they felt threatened, but sometimes it could be just because they were in a bad mood.

  This little guy seemed like a happy camper as he chewed and wiggled his ears. His huge brown eyes assured me he had no negative intentions toward me. I took a few minutes and shared with him some of what had been happening. He nodded his head up and down as if in agreement. In reality, he was probably getting rid of an annoying fly. I walked along the fence toward the front door, and he followed beside me like a dog.

  Scott answered my knock, wearing a full-length white apron, dishtowel tucked into the tied strings in front.

  He gave me a quick hug and took the bag. “I told you not to bring anything. I see you listened to me, like usual.”

  The hug was nice. I wasn’t so sure about the listening part. I followed him into the kitchen. It looked like Helen’s ingredient assembly line when she was cooking, but with even more items. Plates with mounds of several different freshly chopped herbs filled the counter with a flat of eggs next to them.

  I remembered how surprised I was the first time I’d seen a carton of eggs as a little girl. “Why are the eggs in boxes, Mommy?” I’d asked.

  We collected the eggs from our chickens in wire baskets, and when there was a surplus, we sold them in flats to neighbors. I’d seen them available that way here at the farmers’ market, held on Saturday. Scott was clearly learning his way around.

  “What can I do to help?” I asked.

  “Make yourself comfortable. Would you like some coffee?”

  “I’d love some.” He had a commercial coffeemaker similar to mine, only much bigger.

  “Actually, you can put this pitcher of ice water on the dining room table.” He pointed to a door on the other side of the kitchen.

  Yesterday, we’d sat in the informal window seat of the kitchen. Today I got to see the main dining area. I entered a high-ceilinged room with wood-paneled walls and large plate-glass windows opening to the back of the property. There were six rectangular tables, each with spacious seating for eight.

  Scott had set one of the tables and placed the vase of gladioli from the kitchen in the center of it. Yellow napkins, almost a perfect color match for the tall sprigs of flowers, were neatly folded beside the plates.

  The window framing the back pasture let me see that my newfound friend wasn’t far away. The little llama peered in my direction. A mural depicting the history of the area covered the opposite wall.

  I returned to the kitchen. “Have you named the llamas yet?”

  “Named them? Do people name farm animals? Especially ones that spit?”

  I laughed. “Yes, they often do. Llamas are kept as pets by many people, and you only have a few of them. Incidentally, they rarely spit at humans. As long as you don’t try to eat their food, you should be fine.”

  “Well, I don’t know,” he arched an eyebrow at me, “some of those tender bits of grass look pretty tasty.” He took a look around. “I think I’m ready. Why don’t you name them? There are five females.”

  “I’ll take you up on that. Maybe we’ll even enlist the Silver Sentinels.”

  Car doors slammed, and we went to the front of the house. Martha had parked a white compact car next to the Professor’s Mercedes. Scott and I went to the cars to help them unload.

  “Mary, is there something I can carry for you?” I asked.

  She passed me a foil-covered baking pan. “If you’d take this, that would be great. I’ll bring in the second one for Auntie’s service so I can put it in the refrigerator.”

  I peered inside the car. “Where’s Princess?”

  “We thought it would be best to leave her and Sergeant home with Gertie’s son, Stevie, since we weren’t familiar with the place. If Martha needs any help, I’m with her.”

  Scott approached Martha. “Hi. I’m Scott Thompson. Kelly told me about you.”

  “Glad to meet you,” Martha said, her voice at a normal level. She must have adjusted her hearing aids. “Thanks for the breakfast invite.”

  “Glad you could come,” he replied.

  Scott took the plastic container Gertie had removed from the car, and we all entered the house. The Sentinels chattered happily as they unloaded their wares.

  Scott turned on the stove and began melting butter in a large frying pan. “My mise en place is ready.” He nodded at the ingredients on the counter. “Time to cook my part of the breakfast.”

  Gertie and Mary inspected his ingredients on the counter.

  “I see you have fresh basil here,” Gertie said. “I grow it, and you’re welcome to have some anytime you need it.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

&n
bsp; Mary had picked up an unlabeled glass container filled with a mixture of spices. “What’s this?”

  “A special blend called Scott’s Secret,” he replied with a smile. “I brought it with me from home.”

  Mary and Gertie poured a little on a saucer and began inspecting it, calling out various spice names.

  “You ladies are good. It doesn’t sound like it’s much of a secret anymore!”

  He cracked eggs into a bowl. The group took their offerings into the dining room while he cooked eggs and bacon. The breakfast party was a success as everyone talked, laughed, and ate. It was a gala event. Mary’s fruit crisp had been saved for last.

  “Before we partake of dessert, I’d like your help with something,” I said.

  The group nodded and waited expectantly. While breakfast was being put on the table, I had written on some slips of paper and put them in a bowl.

  “You might have noticed we’ve had some observers while we’ve been enjoying our food.”

  Everyone chuckled and looked at the long-nosed, long-necked animals staring over the fence and into the window.

  “I’d like to give our new friends names. There are five female llamas, all different in color. I’ve put those colors on slips of paper. You get to name the one you pick. Mary and Martha, you can have one for the two of you, and Ivan and Rudy the same.”

  “What fun!” exclaimed Gertie.

  They drew from the container and went outside.

  “We got the butterscotch one,” Mary said excitedly. “I think we should name her Martha. She looks like she’s smiling in a way that reminds me of you.”

  “Funny, I was thinking Mary would be a good name because of her round cheeks.”

  “We could call her M and M,” Mary said.

  Martha snorted. “That’s a candy.”

  “How about Miss M?” Mary countered.

  “I like that,” Martha said. “What do you think, Miss M?”

  The animal batted her long lashes as if in approval. The llama naming was on.

  Rudy and Ivan had been quietly conversing with a stately white llama, the largest of the group.

  They joined us, and Ivan announced, “We name her Natasha. She is like Russian snow queen in children’s tales that baba, Grandma, used to tell.”

  Gertie left her tan charge and showed us the strands of fine hair she held. “I’ve always wanted to learn to weave. Something new on my horizon. I’m naming her Nell in honor of my aunt, who was a skilled weaver.”

  The Professor petted the neck of a black llama with a white stripe down her face. “Louisa Mae for Louisa Mae Alcott. They aren’t exactly little women, but it would be nice to have a literary touch.”

  I’d chosen my brown-and-white pal. “I’ll name her Annie. All those tight little curls remind me of Orphan Annie.”

  I went with Mary and Martha to the kitchen to help with dessert. Scott accompanied us.

  It was fun seeing his tall frame bent over in serious contemplation next to Mary’s short figure, his dark hair next to her white. Scott stood next to her as she slit a vanilla bean lengthwise and scraped its seeds into a milk mixture. After cooking it briefly, she put a spoonful of the crisp into a bowl, added some cream, and handed it to Scott.

  “You can be the official taste tester,” Mary said.

  “Glad to.” He took a bite and rolled his eyes in pleasure. “I’d really like this recipe.”

  “Of course, honey.” Mary’s dimples popped into view. “I’d be happy to share it. And I’d like the combination of your special-blend spice mixture.”

  “Deal,” he said.

  Mary stirred the cream, and Martha put spoonfuls of the crisp on plates. The mingled scent of cooked blueberries, raspberries, and peaches filled the kitchen and made my mouth water. Their colors of blue, red, and gold took the experience to another level. Martha began ladling the cream on the oat-crumb topping.

  I put the desserts on a tray and carried them into the dining room, while they took care of putting away what was left. They joined us as I sat down. The conversation consisted of appreciative oohs and ahhs.

  Scott sat back. “Thank you all for bringing such wonderful culinary delights. I planned on taking care of you, but I’m the one who got the special treat.”

  “I beg to differ,” the Professor said. “I didn’t know scrambled eggs could be so tasty.”

  The others nodded in agreement.

  “I’m glad I’m having a chance to get to know you. I’d love to hear how your group was formed.”

  Gertie sat up. “We were part of a community group. Some pickpockets were preying on tourists, and we felt we should do something about it.”

  I’d heard the story before, so I began clearing the table. After a couple of trips to the kitchen, I heard their triumphant conclusion to their first case.

  Scott frowned. “Kelly told me what you’re working on now. It’s a leap to go from catching pickpockets to looking for a murderer.”

  “We do what is necessary to help our friends and our community,” the Professor said.

  Rudy folded his napkin and put it on the table. “Auntie and Summer’s deaths were deemed an accident because they said Auntie made a mistake.”

  The Professor sighed. “Just because someone has a few more years on them than most doesn’t mean they automatically make mistakes. And yet that’s what people often think. That’s the conclusion they jump to.”

  “We know our friends. If we think something isn’t right, we check it out. We don’t just take it at face value,” Mary said. “Auntie wasn’t the type to make a mistake. She knew what she was doing.”

  “We trust our instincts. We want to be sure justice is done for those we care about,” Gertie said.

  Five serious faces stared at Scott, their hair color white, silver, and steel gray.

  “We believe Auntie and Summer were killed. We want to find out who did it, for their sake,” the Professor said, “and to prevent the person from harming anyone else.”

  “Mark called me,” Mary said, “and has invited all of us to Summer’s memorial service on Monday afternoon at three. Let’s talk later about going together.”

  They all nodded.

  Mary continued, “I talked to my friend who manages the botanical gardens. He didn’t have anything new to help us. He did tell me they put the topiary donkey in the shed.”

  I was glad Eeyore had been cared for.

  Gertie piped up. “I have news. One of the women in my class called. She told me she saw an older woman meet with Edie for a few minutes, then leave on her own. The two looked a lot alike, and the newcomer was dressed in purple.”

  “That must’ve been Sue Ellen,” I said. “It means she was out and about by herself during the time of my attack.”

  Mother and daughter were both without alibis. More small pieces to add to our puzzle.

  Chapter 26

  Scott offered to take the Silver Sentinels on a tour of what would be the community center. Martha, Mary, and I excused ourselves to attend Auntie’s service. We retrieved our food from the refrigerator and went to the parking lot. I got in my Jeep and pulled out, the sisters following me in Martha’s white compact.

  When I reached the driveway to Despina’s cottage, I saw a row of cars parked along one side of the lane, leaving space for one car to pass. I debated about going in or parking out on the road and decided to drive to the house. If there wasn’t any place for the car, I could turn around. In my rearview mirror, I saw Martha behind me.

  As I reached the clearing, I saw Auntie’s sparkling white house with the cornflower blue trim looking like a jewel, with the late-morning sun encasing it. The yellow flowers adorning the porch provided a vivid contrast to the brilliant blue. The backdrop of redwood trees and the lush green meadow framed it like a painting.

  A couple of lines of cars occupied the glen, but there was space for us. I parked, and Martha pulled in beside me. I got out and took the cheese plate from the bag behind the seat. Mary jo
ined me, holding her fruit crisp covered in a red plaid dishtowel. Another vehicle arrived as we walked toward the house.

  Mary sighed. “I’m going to miss Auntie and Summer. We had some fun and interesting times together. And we were able to help so many people. I hope the sisters will continue her work like they said they would.”

  “Maybe they’d like your help,” I said. “You know many of the people. You could help with the transition.”

  “Good idea, Kelly. I’ll ask them after they’ve had a chance to settle into the cottage. Maybe I’ll do it after Despina’s second service, the one that takes place forty days after her passing.”

  We went by a hummingbird feeder and all ducked as a feathered fighter buzzed over us to shoo a trespasser away from the food. We stopped and watched the iridescent beauty, hovering in place with blurred wings. He eyed us, seemed to feel we weren’t a threat, and settled in for a snack.

  “It’s a treat to observe nature’s artwork and be reminded of the beauty that’s around us,” Martha said. “I believe it’s important to appreciate life and the wonderful gifts we receive each day. Auntie and Summer can no longer do that. I think that makes it all the more important that we value every moment we have.”

  We nodded in agreement, continued on, and went up the steps to the back porch. Since my last visit, a second table had been added next to the counter along the side. Several Despina look-alikes, with their heads covered in black babushkas and wearing matching garments, occupied the chairs, with plates of food in front of them. Greek words filled the air.

  We entered and paused at Auntie’s shrine. A small photo of her had been placed between the sculpture of Jesus and the miniature Parthenon. A slender bud vase with a single red rose had been put next to it.

  We continued into the kitchen. Dishes and pans covered the counters. Trays had been set up on one side to accommodate more food. Fotini was swirling from one side of the room to the other. She saw us, came over, and took Mary’s dish.

  She pulled back the corner of the cover. “Ahh . . . The fresh fruit. It smells so delicious. We put here.”

  Fotini somehow managed to tuck it into a space on what appeared to be a completely full counter. Phil’s discussion of magic came to mind.