Chihuahua of the Baskervilles (21 page)

“Unless Cheri’s in it with him.”

“Maybe. Hold this plywood while I put the box back.”

Michael held the plywood away from the wall. “It’s difficult to think of Cheri and Bob as criminal masterminds. Maybe the booze has nothing to do with Cheri. Maybe Bob sits in his garage mixing up Tickle Me Elmos and getting hammered.”

“
Tickle Me Elmo?
Is that a real drink?”

Michael nodded. “Strawberry schnapps, pineapple juice, and Everclear. I bartended briefly in college.”

Angus shuddered. “Okay, you can lean the plywood back now. The thing is, if the schnapps is Bob’s, I wouldn’t expect there to be a half-empty bottle out here. It’d be in his kitchen.”

“I guess. Are you going to tell Charlotte that you think Bob is giving Cheri booze?” Michael asked.

“Not tonight, but assuming Charlotte recovers, yes.” Angus swiped his hands together to get rid of dust. “Strawberry schnapps … That would explain Cheri’s choice of strawberry perfume. Of course, nothing completely covers the smell of alcohol after it’s gone through your system. It’s the bits you don’t metabolize that stink up the breath.” He looked around. “I think I’m done. Did you find anything?”

“A bag of plaster,” Michael said. “You could use that to make some sort of paw-print device, but from the looks of the spiderwebs, it hasn’t been touched in years.”

Angus nodded. “Let’s go back to Miramont Castle and see what’s going on.”

They closed the garage door and went back to the house, where Angus placed the keys on the shelf. “Thank you!” he called out.

“Did ya find your phone?” came an answering shout.

“Yes! Thanks!”

They closed the door and walked past the Baskerville house.

As they crossed the street and neared Miramont Castle, Angus said, “Let’s go around the back and see if someone could get inside without being noticed.”

Miramont Castle was built into a slope. Stairs led up the left side, faintly illuminated by a streetlight on the road above.

“There’s a terraced garden up here,” Michael commented. “I remember that from the brochure.”

Angus stumbled slightly on the edge of a concrete step. “Why do I never have a flashlight?”

They wound their way up the hill, following the path as it looped through planted beds, past bedraggled flowers that had gone to seed this late in the season.

When they were most of the way up, Angus stopped and pointed. “See that pipe coming out of the ground? That’s a spigot. And what’s that lying beneath it?”

“A bucket,” Michael said, “and
mud
. Whoever made those muddy paw prints could have done it right here.”

They went over to investigate. The spigot dripped slowly onto the churned ground beneath. The metal bucket sat upside down. Angus reached for it.

“Wait a minute!” Michael said. “Shouldn’t we leave that for the police? We might have already messed up footprints or something.”

“At the moment, we’re standing on a gravel path.”

Michael pointed. “Your toe is in the mud.”

Angus lifted his foot carefully and took a step backward. “Fine, but what if the bucket is gone when the police come?”

“I’ll keep watch.” Michael looked around and pointed to a carefully manicured seating area. “On that bench over there.”

Angus looked up the hill. “There’s the back entrance to the castle. I’ll go in and see what I can find out.”

The back door led directly into Miramont Castle’s gift shop. The woman seated behind the small counter looked up in surprise as Angus entered. “I didn’t expect anyone to come in this way. Are you looking for the wake?”

“I’ve already been, thanks,” Angus said. “I’m with
Tripping
magazine. We’re doing a story on the wake, but right now, I’m interested in who could have brought a bloody great spider inside Miramont Castle.”

“Wasn’t that
awful
? Poor Charlotte.” She shuddered. “As for who could have brought it, people have been coming and going all day, setting up for the wake and the dinner. It’s one of the biggest events of the year.”

Angus thought for a moment. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen a boy called Jay hanging around. Dresses a bit goth.”

“Barb Metcalf’s son? I haven’t.”

“How long have you been at the castle today?”

“Oh, since about three. Mindy would have been here before that. I think she got in at ten.”

“Thank you.” Angus turned and took in the rest of the shop. The room was long, narrow, and lined with shelves containing everything from candy and toys to Victorian-style hats and cloisonné trinkets.

He went over to a rack of small stuffed animals and picked up a poodle, then a cat, and examined their feet. The toys didn’t have pads, just fur. He put them back. “Is there anything in here that could be used to make paw prints on fabric?”

“We have some rubber stamps. One of the designs might be paw prints.” She came out from behind the counter and led him through the main room and into a second section, filled mostly with books. A small Peg-Board hung on one wall, with rubber stamps hanging from metal rods. “Here we are.”

“Wait…”

Before Angus could ask her not to handle it, she had taken one of the stamps from the rack and turned it over to show him the bottom. The raised rubber surface looked very similar to the prints in the coffin.

“I don’t suppose it has any mud on it,” Angus said, sighing.

“Mud? No,” she said, running her finger over the rubber. She stopped and bit her lip. “Should I not have touched it?”

“Now that you have, does it feel damp, as though it’s been washed?” Angus asked.

She pressed on the rubber again. “No. It’s perfectly dry.”

“Then I imagine it’s all right. But you might want to keep an eye on the others and not let anyone handle them until the police get here. Do you know if the last performance is over?”

She looked at her watch. “It should be, even with the delay.”

“And how can I get there from here?”

She pointed. “Go down that hallway, through the tearoom, and keep going. You’ll run right into it.”

When Angus reached the parlor, Officer Deloit was taking a statement from Ellen while Officer Boyd dusted the coffin for fingerprints.

Suki had apparently been co-opted as police photographer. She waved at Angus before focusing her camera on the coffin interior.

Shermont Lester, standing by the wall, looked even gloomier than his Victorian mourning garb could account for.

Angus walked over and joined him. “I don’t suppose anyone has confessed yet?”

“No.” Shermont pointed to the officer who was working on the coffin. “All that fingerprint dust is going to ruin the cloth, you know. The paw prints we could have sponged off, but now we’ll have to reupholster the entire coffin, and for what? Everyone in the world touched that thing this evening. I think he just wants the practice.”

“I can hear you, Sherm,” Officer Boyd said.

“Good,” Shermont shot back.

Officer Deloit finished talking with Ellen, and Angus went over to speak to her. She finished writing a note and looked at him expectantly.

“My writer, Michael, is sitting outside in the garden, guarding a tap, a bucket, and some mud.”

Officer Deloit raised her head and spoke to the room at large. “Did anyone wash something off in the garden?”

Ivan raised his hand. “I washed spider off my boot.”

“Did you use a bucket to do that?”

“I turned the bucket over and put my foot on it—the one without the shoe—so my sock would not get wet.”

Officer Deloit looked down at her notebook and made a note. “I’ll have my partner dust it anyway. He wants the practice.”

Angus lowered his voice. “Have you searched people’s belongings? I’m thinking the spider might have needed a special container—a box or jar with holes in it, for example.”

“Good point. We’ll look.” She flipped to a new page of her notebook. “I might as well take your statement, since you’re here.”

Angus went over the evening’s events, leaving out his searches at the Baskerville house and Bob’s garage. He finished by asking, “How much longer before you can look at that bucket? It’s just that my writer is out there guarding it.”

“James!” she called. “You about finished in here? There’s a bucket outside for you to work on.”

He straightened. “Regular-size bucket?”

Officer Deloit looked at Angus, who nodded.

Officer Boyd smiled. “Excellent. I’ll get the fume box.”

“Fume box?” Angus asked.

“He puts the item in a box with some heated glue, and the glue shows up any prints.”

“You’re taking this seriously, aren’t you?” Angus said.

She made a rueful face. “I have to tell you, if a robbery call came in, we’d be out of here. This doesn’t even involve breaking and entering. Vandalism is the worst I can call it.”

“Perhaps,” Angus said, “but I think someone may be trying to scare Charlotte Baskerville to death by giving her a heart attack. She makes some pretty sizable bequests in her will.”

Officer Deloit’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know that?”

“She mentioned something about it. You might want to check pet stores and see if any of her employees recently bought a tarantula. Bob Hume spends a lot of time at that house, as well.”

Officer Deloit tapped her pen against her thigh. “If I have time, I’ll do that. I’ll say one thing for this case—it’s weird, and weird is always interesting.”

Angus reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a business card. “In that case, you might enjoy our magazine.”

Nineteen

Angus and Michael waited around until Suki finished taking pictures. As the three of them walked down the front steps of Miramont Castle, Michael said, “Wouldn’t it take a fair amount of time to spell out
Death
in paw prints? And the cushion would be out of the coffin the whole time. You’d think someone would have noticed.”

“It wasn’t done there,” Suki said. “Turns out the paw prints were on a separate piece of cloth that was put into the bottom. It would have taken less than a minute to tuck it inside.”

“I still think Cheri must be involved in tonight’s business,” Angus said. “Wouldn’t she have noticed a spider when she got in the coffin? Or have crushed it?”

Suki shook her head. “There was a bunch of swagged material lining the sides. They found a slit where someone could have put the spider. Apparently they’re attracted to warmth, so it was only a matter of time before it climbed out and snuggled up to Cheri. Or maybe it was just exploring. Poor thing.”

They crossed the street, carefully looking both ways first. “Hold on a mo,” Angus said, when they reached the other side. “Let’s talk out here a bit before going in. That piece of fabric—”

“I’ve been wondering about that,” Michael said. “Ellen has all that cloth lying around, and she has the most compelling reason to be angry at Charlotte.”

“Yeah,” Suki said. “But anyone could have gone into Colorado Springs and bought fabric, or even ordered it online. I wonder if the police are going to try to track it down.”

“I don’t think so,” Angus said. “Officer Deloit told me they’re treating it strictly as vandalism right now. It’s not exactly high on their list.” He looked at the Baskerville house, lit from top to bottom. “Shall we go in?”

Ivan came out as they stepped onto the front porch, a pack of cigarettes in his hand.

“Any word on Charlotte?” Angus asked.

“No.” He shook a cigarette out of the pack and put it in his mouth, where it bobbed as he talked. “But I know these old women. They live forever.”

“Let’s hope so. About that spider…,” Angus said.

Ivan rolled his eyes as he applied flame to his cigarette. “Not you, too. Cheri was angry because she
loves all creatures
.” He invested the words with a wealth of sarcasm.

“Actually, I was going to say you were very brave,” Angus went on.

Ivan exhaled smoke and grinned on one side of his mouth. “Exactly! When something is dangerous and in the way, it needs to be eliminated, yes?”

“Sometimes, yes.” Angus pointed at the door. “Is everyone else inside?”

Ivan waved a negligent hand. “Go in. They are all there.” He reached out and caught Angus’s shoulder, his gaze suddenly intense. “Later tonight, I will have surprise. It will be good for your magazine.”

Angus glanced at the others. “Um, we’ll look forward to it, won’t we?”

They nodded.

Once inside and with the door closed, Michael shook himself slightly. “That guy gives me the creeps.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Suki said. “That much confidence is kind of sexy.”

“Oh, please,” Michael said. “He’s a total cliché. Dramatic Russian Guy, twelve ninety-nine plus shipping.”

*   *   *

Angus, Suki, and Michael were in the upstairs parlor discussing photos for the article when they heard the heavy front door close, followed by the sounds of Ellen’s and Charlotte’s voices downstairs.

Angus checked his watch as he got to his feet. It was a little after 11
P.M.
“They didn’t keep her overnight. That’s a good sign.”

The three of them went into the hallway, where they met Ivan coming out of his room.

Charlotte reached the top of the stairs. Instead of the Victorian gown she had been wearing when the paramedics took her away, she wore knit slacks and a matching tunic in turquoise. Several hospital bracelets wrapped her wrist.

Beside her, Ellen carried their purses and a garment bag.

Lines of weariness drew Charlotte’s mouth down, but she smiled when she saw them waiting for her. “A welcoming committee. That’s nice.”

“You are well?” Ivan asked.

“A touch of angina, that’s all. Just a few more pills to remember.”

“So it wasn’t a heart attack?” Suki asked.

“Thankfully, no.”

“But it does mean she needs to take better care of herself,” Ellen said. “More exercise, and less saturated fats.”

Charlotte shook her head slightly. “That’s the least of my worries.” Her voice broke as she said, “If only the doctors could find out who would do something like that.”

Ivan stepped forward and took both of Charlotte’s hands in his. Gazing into her eyes, he said, “We will find out who tortures you, and stop it. I will do séance, now, tonight. We will ask Petey.”