“Just let her get it all out, Winterbutt. She goes through this with everyone she’s ever helped. She gets her emotions all stirred up, and because my Stevie’s got a good soul, that heart of gold cracks a little when there’s a person hurting the way Liza is,” Bel offered, climbing along my arm until he was nestled against the warmth of the scarf around my neck.
He was right. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I was empathic, but I’ve had my fair share of transference, and there was nothing I hated more than seeing suffering.
“I’m sorry, Win. I’m sorry this happened to her,” was all I could manage right now.
Win’s radiant warmth surrounded me, bringing with it calm.
“You did nothing wrong, Stevie. But whoever did will pay. If I have to summon a demon myself.”
My head popped up. “Whoa there, Nellie. You can summon a demon? You didn’t mention you could summon demons. Do not—I repeat—do not summon demons, Crispin Alistair Winterbottom! You don’t know the havoc you can wreak and there’ll be nothing I can do about it without my powers. Are you hearing me?”
“Duly noted. No demons. Are there any other horrific entities here I can summon in their stead?”
“No! Leave the dead alone, Win. Promise.”
“Fine, fine. I’ll leave the dead be. But by hook or by crook, I’ll find a way to make this bastard suffer.”
I let my head fall back on the headrest and blew out a breath. “Do you think the person who killed MZ made her call the Senior Alert people and give them her password so they wouldn’t send someone out?” How awful. I couldn’t bear it. My stomach turned again, somersaulting in a sea of too much mint tea and Enzo’s coffee.
“I think anything’s possible, Stevie.”
“I guess this means it’s an official murder investigation and that’s probably why they’re questioning me today.”
“I wouldn’t jump to conclusions about you being a suspect. What’s your motive to murder Madam Zoltar? You have none. You stumbled upon her body and that’s that. Don’t worry, Stevie. That’s what Luis Lipton’s for.”
Right. My fancy criminal defense attorney on retainer. The very idea I had to have one of those in my contacts list on my phone made me want to cringe. But if I had to have one, I was happy to take Win’s advice. According to his stats, Lipton was the best in the Seattle area.
Gripping the steering wheel, I decided action was needed here. Talking with Liza left me more determined than ever to find this dreadful scourge of humanity and see justice was served.
“So next stop, the B&B? I want to sink my claws into that Von Adams dude and all his fancy money.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
I didn’t think about how I was going to get Hendrick to talk to me. That never crossed my mind. What I wanted to do was put him in a headlock and make him tell me why he’d threaten an old woman who wanted nothing more than to keep active—feel alive.
A vision of the pointy heel of my shoe jammed in his ear came to mind. I’d make him talk to me whether he wanted to or not.
I made the short drive to Coraline Evans’s B&B, The Sunshine Inn, and wondered if she even still owned it. Set picturesquely in a corner nook of the subdivision right next door to where I once lived, it was a staple for those tourists who couldn’t afford the prices of Seattle, but still wanted to take day trips into the city or whale watch.
I loved its cottage-like exterior, the French Countryside appeal of the gardens and décor Coraline had devoted so many years to cultivating. In the spring, there’d be lilacs and lavender for days along the cobbled path to the periwinkle-blue front door.
Nothing about The Sunshine Inn said ocean or deep-sea fishing. There were no typical anchors and fishnets hanging from its walls, but by proxy, it represented Ebenezer Falls perfectly—quaint, small town, warm and cozy.
Parking in front of the circular drive, I noted the Bentley Liza had mentioned two cars ahead of mine.
Good, Chicken Man was apparently in. I hoped he liked unannounced visitors.
Dodging the pelting rain, I ran toward the arched door and pushed it open, stepping into the reception area. A cheerful young woman in her early twenties or so greeted me with a warm smile from behind an enormous reclaimed-wood registration desk.
“Welcome to The Sunshine Inn!”
Setting my purse on the rustic countertop, I smiled back. “I’m Stevie Cartwright, it’s so nice to meet you. I’d like a little help with locating a guest of yours.”
Instantly her pretty face shadowed. “I can’t give out private information. The trust and privacy of our guests is our priority.”
Holding up my hand, I nodded and smiled wider. I was prepared for this after Liza told me Chicken Man was a jerk. “I understand completely. But this is rather an emergency. I’m Hendrick Von Adams’s personal assistant, and if I don’t get some vital papers to him, well, I’m sure you know how he can be…” I tapped my purse and gave her the secret put-upon, minimum-wage-salary look—the universal sign for anyone who’d worked for or dealt with tyrants on a daily basis.