Witch Slapped (Witchless In Seattle Mysteries Book 1) (17 page)

“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.

Her grin returned on her openly cheerful face, meaning, she got it. But still she shook her head. “He asked not to be disturbed by anyone, but you can leave the papers with me. I’ll be sure to give them to him.”

I patted my purse protectively. “I’m afraid I just can’t do that—Sally, is it?” I glanced at her nametag and pretend-squinted. “You have no idea what he’ll do to me if he doesn’t get these.
No. Idea
,” I emphasized with big, round, pleading eyes. “Could you possibly call up to his room?”

“Couldn’t you call him on your cell?”

I let my shoulders sag in disappointment. “Can you believe I left it back in Seattle?” I used the heel of my hand to tap my forehead. “I can’t believe I was such a knucklehead and forgot it, and if Mr. Von Adams finds out…well, I just hope my dog Belfry doesn’t mind moving into a shelter. It’s the only hope he has of getting that wheelchair he needs for his paralyzed back legs if I lose my job.”

“Talk about going the extra mile,” Win remarked.

Sally cracked a little. I saw it in her deep brown eyes as they melted at the mention of my fictitious dog. “I totally understand. I have three cats and I’d do just about anything for my furbabies. I can’t call him. There are no phones in the rooms, but maybe I could just go up and tap on his door for you?”

I knew there were no phones in the rooms, or I had prayed things hadn’t changed much in ten years, anyway.

“Would you? You’d save my life, and Belfry’s. Wanna see a picture of him? Oh, he’s so cute, all furry and—”

Sally flapped a hand upward and smiled sympathetically. “No need. I’ll go do that. Be back in a jiffy.” As Sally took her leave, heading up the narrow staircase toward the bedrooms, I patted myself on the back.

“A paralyzed dog, Stevie? Are there no lengths to which you won’t go? Have you no shame?” Win asked, but I heard admiration in his whisper. “How did you know she was an animal lover?”

“Cat hair on the arm of her navy-blue shirt. Just so’s ya know, Spy Guy, I’ve been around the block a time or two. I might not have been around Morocco’s block or in some of the priciest art galleries in the world, but I did once stop a meteor from blowing up Boise.”

“Not a lie,” Belfry chirped.

Leaning over the desk, I found the logbook where I hoped it would list which room Hendrick was in and flipped through it. “Bingo!” I whispered as I skimmed the list of five bedrooms and located Hendrick Von Adams.

I looked around the daintily decorated sitting room just to the left of the reception area, in pastel blues and whites, with a crystal chandelier and vases full of dried lavender, and pointed to the archway.

“Now, if I remember correctly, if we go through the kitchen, there’s a back staircase we can go up while Sally comes back down. Hopefully, Chicken Man wasn’t too hard on her. But I promise to make it up to her if he is. A year’s worth of cat food should do it.”

Heading for the archway, I poked my head into the swinging door of the kitchen, making sure all was clear before scooting across the long expanse and raising a fist of triumph when I located the stairs.

Slipping off my shoes to keep my entrance quiet, I slid along the stairs until I reached the top, flattening myself against the wall just as Sally was heading back down the other set of steps toward the reception area.

“Coast is clear,” Win called.

Blowing out a breath, I ran toward the Monet Room and threw my shoes back on then tapped on the door, wincing when it echoed along the wood-floored hallway.

“I thought I told you, I didn’t want to be disturbed again and I have no assistant named Steven Whatever!” a voice bellowed from behind the door just as it popped open.

An angry man in an expensive Burberry polo sweater threw open the door, his hard face nothing short of enraged. He was all angles and chiseled and rock hard like a male model.

And then something clicked as he stood there, aghast someone else had the audacity to disturb him. He was wearing Burberry—just like the trench coat I’d seen at MZ’s before the end of my love affair with Tito.

Wouldn’t a guy like this own a Montblanc, too?

Was I in the presence of a killer? Was this Hendrick Von Adams the man who’d forced MZ to call off the Senior Alert people and then strangled her to death? Over some fried chicken?

“Who are you and what the hell do you want?” he all but howled in my face as he used his elbows to lean on the doorframe, looming over me like some Calvin Klein Gigantor.

“Stevie?” Win queried.

“Hmmm?” I murmured, leaning back away from the door as I fought to put a sentence together in my head.

“Very large, very angry man. Suggest new strategy. Copy?”

“Copy,” I croaked before I turned to make a break for it.

But Hendrick grabbed me and whirled me around, his grip like a steel band on my arm. “
What do you want?
”

Wow, he was strong. Like, Godzilla strong. My instinct to zap him one came and went when, in that brief second, I realized I couldn’t even if I wanted to.

Keeping my purse and Belfry close to my chest, I went limp as a wet noodle when he began to drag me into his room. Then when he least expected it, I stomped my very pointy heel on the bridge of his foot, grinding the spike into his flesh with a warrior cry.

I also noted, not only was he strong, but he had some set of lungs.

“Owwww!” he hollered, making my eardrums rattle, but he lost his grip on my arm.

With an opportunity to escape present, my heart pounding, my pulse racing, I made a break for the door, skidding around the corner and flying toward the stairs on the slippery polished floor.

“Stevie?”

The burly figure calling my name at the end of the hallway was like manna from heaven. “Sandwich! Help!” I screamed, barreling toward him, my ankles wobbling in my ridiculously high heels.

My feet somehow moved faster than my legs and I knew I was going to lose my footing before I did, but there was no stopping me as I tilted forward and rammed straight into Sandwich.

His enormous arms went around me just as the velocity of my body impacted his, making him lose his footing, too.

We fumbled and fell down the shallow stairs, me clinging to Sandwich’s big frame, my mouth wide open and screaming with each tread we hit.

Landing with a thud, I flipped over him in an awkward somersault of limbs, where I landed sprawled out in a very unladylike manner, on the ceramic tile of the kitchen floor.

Win almost sounded exhilarated when he cheered, “Way to stick the landing! Good show!”

O
fficer Nelson, with his disapproving glare and ultra-shiny shoes, was the first to offer me a hand up. “Miss Cartwright,” he drawled in cool tones.

I allowed him to pull me upward, yanking my hand back and running it over my denim shrug, which was currently somewhere up around my ears. I straightened my clothing with an achy groan and caught my first glimpse of Sandwich’s tangled limbs.

“Oh no!” I ran to the bottom of the steps where he was crumpled up, his head at an awkward angle against the wall. “Sandwich! Aw, sweet Pete! I’m
so
sorry! I was running from that deranged madman and I saw you too late! Let me get you a cold pack for your head.”

I rose to go to the fridge to search for an icepack, but Sandwich grabbed my hand with a groan and pulled me to him. “Please. Just let me die in peace, Stevie.”

“You’re not going to die, silly. If you didn’t die when you ate a sardine, mayo and sweet-pickle sandwich, you won’t die from a little fall. Promise. Just let me get you some ice for your head, and we’ll fix you right up.”

I patted his wide chest as reassurance, but then old sourpuss Nelson was there, giving me the “could you be any more annoying” stare.

“Miss Cartwright? I suggest you let Officer Paddington have some room to breathe. Why don’t you come with me and explain what you were doing upstairs at Mr. Von Adams’s room?”

Instantly, I was indignant and huffy when I pointed toward the staircase. “Did you see what that deranged lunatic did to me? He attacked me for doing nothing more than knocking on his door! I’m going to file assault charges!”

“
Attacked you?
” Hendrick was suddenly in the kitchen with us, his expression still outraged, but mixed with some seriously obvious smug. He glared at me so hard, I thought surely my face would melt right off and slide to a puddle on the floor.

Jamming his hands into his equally expensive trousers, he narrowed his gaze in my direction.

But I narrowed mine in return.
Right back at ya, Chicken Man
. “You have some temper, don’t you, Mr. Von Adams? Care to explain to the officers why you grabbed hold of my arm and dragged me into your room?”

“I did no such thing!” he openly lied.

Now I was livid. Like, so furious my eyeballs rolled so far to the back of my head, I was sure someone would have to knock my noggin to jar them back into place. “You did too!” I accused, shrugging off my denim jacket to show the imprint of his fingers on my upper arm. “I didn’t do that to myself, did I?”

But Hendrick wasn’t so easily intimidated. He came right back at me, his scowl cold and furious. “I told that pesky woman downstairs I didn’t want to be disturbed! How
dare
you show up at my door unannounced?”

“Why so private, Mr. Von Adams? Just what are you hiding? Could it be the fact that you had something to do with Madam Zoltar’s death?” I yelped, sarcasm seething in my tone.

“Oh, Stevie,” Win groaned. “You’ve cocked it up now.”

But I waved Win off like a fly circling a peach pie on the windowsill. “Care to explain this?” I yanked the Montblanc from my purse, still wrapped in the tissue like it was the Holy Grail, and held it up under his nose in ta-da-like fashion. “Does this belong to you, Mr. Chicken-Opolis-Moneybags?”

But Hendrick’s face was completely blank. Which meant he was a good faker. I hoped. I mean, I had just accused him of murder.

Officer Nelson held up his hand, all calm and like a cucumber. “Now, Miss Cartwright, I’m going to have to ask you to take a deep breath and settle down.”

“Settle down my eye! He certainly had motive to harm Madam Zoltar. Did you ask him about how he was trying to pressure her son into getting his mother to sell the store to him?
Did you
?”