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I mean, Noah didn’t say it was fired from Crane’s gun—most likely because he didn’t want to worry me. Or let’s be real, he didn’t want to incite me to make a citizen’s arrest.
Crane’s gun fires a 40-caliber bullet, and that’s what killed both Bella and Marlena.
Crane had a motive, that’s for sure.
A spray of silver stars appears next to me.
“Oh, Lottie”—Teeny Weenie barks and yips in a panic—“that little angel of yours has sprouted a pair of pointy horns.”
“Lyla Nell?” I ask, amused.
“That would be her. It’s as if she can’t get enough of me. I’m not sure how she’s done it, but once I’m in her grip, not even the fact I’m a ghost is enough to escape her smothering affection. I think she’s killed me twice since we’ve been here.”
My fingers touch my lips in horror. “That must mean her powers are growing.” I shake the thought away. “Weenie, I have a question for you.” I lean his way and pretend to be humming along with the music strumming over the speakers. “I know for a fact Bella was blackmailing Crane in exchange to keep the arson charge quiet, but what was she making her do? I mean, Bella was a great author. She made good money. She used to be a lawyer, and I’m assuming she made a good chunk of change doing that, too.”
“She was a great author,” he agrees. “But that didn’t last long after that accident.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, she had headaches. She couldn’t sit and stare at the screen all day. She said it made her see double.”
A thought occurs to me and I suck in a quick breath.
“Weenie, I think you just put the final piece of the puzzle together. I know exactly why Crane wasn’t so fond of Bella, and I know what Bella was really doing with Marlena Mills, too.”
I take a ragged breath as I glance over at the women, and yet I only see Danya standing there.
“Danya?” I speed her way and quickly come upon her. “Where’s Crane?”
“Oh, hi, Lottie. Isn’t this grand?” she gushes as the lights from the chandeliers up above reflect off her glasses. “We just got here, but Crane needed to step outside to get some air.” She points to the door in the rear. “She said something about all these bodies making her feel claustrophobic.”
“Thank you,” I say, speeding in that direction, and Teeny Weenie speeds right alongside me. We exit through the rear door and into the balmy evening.
“I see her,” he says, floating above me a good ten feet. “She’s surrounded by lush foliage. Your mother really does exceed at horticulture.”
“The rose garden,” I say, taking the side gate and landing in a veritable wonderland of roses of every color and variety in a grand courtyard.
The sky has transformed to navy velvet with a sea of stars already shimmering, and yet a tangerine glow still outlines the horizon.
The air is warm, almost tropical, as if Cormack had somehow managed to order the weather to her liking for tonight’s event.
It’s a perfect summer night.
And if it ends with an arrest, it will prove to be perfect indeed.
I spot Winslow and Thirteen near the sparkling fountain in the corner, and they’re both napping on the lowest watery tier. It’s an unusual sight, but then, nothing about my mother’s B&B runs as usual.
The woman I came to see is here as well, holding herself near the gate that leads to the parking lot. Something churns inside me in fear she’s about to bolt.
Crane turns around abruptly and a half-hearted laugh evicts from her once she sees me. She’s wearing a crimson pantsuit that matches her locks, and that no-nonsense persona of hers seems to have softened a notch at the sight of me.
“Lottie”—she laughs—“you scared the daylights out of me.”
Weenie barks in the direction of the fountain. “There’s that cat again. I can’t seem to focus whenever he’s around. Excuse me, Lottie. I’d better take care of this. Don’t get to the good part without me.” He tears off like a bat out of the hot place, and Thirteen rouses with a hair-raising yowl.
“Crane,” I say, unsure of where to go next. Neither Noah nor Everett would want me to get to the good part without them either. And I don’t have Ethel with me. I didn’t think I’d need her services this evening. Boy, was I wrong. “How are you doing?”
“I’ve been better.” She shakes her head while looking at a pom of peach old English roses, my mother’s most prized flowers in any of her gardens. “I’ll admit, I’m not in a partying mood. In fact, I was just thinking of leaving. I’m in desperate need of a vacation. This entire month has weighed heavy on me.”
