Third Time's a Crime Page 8

  I looked over at Scott. He had a network card. It was clear that if we could work our way into Karen’s graces, we might get a laptop or a battery from Father Gabriel.

  Harris proceeded with his monologue, and I poked at Scott. “Who has what? Do you know?”

  He shook his head back and forth. “I only know that Jessica got a bottle of rum, and now what Harris just revealed.”

  An unnerving feeling zipped through my stomach when he mentioned Jessica. He seemed to be spending a lot of time with her, or was that just my overactive imagination? I searched his eyes for anything that might reveal an attraction to her, but he only flashed me a goofy grin and then motioned over to Bert.

  Bert pulled out a box of chocolates from his leather pouch and wiggled them at me suggestively.

  I shook my head. “So what?” I asked.

  “He probably wants the voltmeter you found,” Scott whispered.

  “And what, I get chocolates in exchange?”

  He shrugged. “Well, what about Jack? He’s got the DNA kit, I think.”

  There was probably only one person who could make use of a DNA kit, and that would be Karen. If I could get the DNA kit from Jack, then perhaps I could convince Karen to swap the laptop with me. We already knew Scott had the network card, so together, at least we might be able to get some information online.

  Scott nodded. “It’s a good plan.”

  As soon as Harris dismissed us, I approached Jack. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Scott approach Jessica, and I fought the urge to follow him and eavesdrop on their conversation.

  “Jack, you have a DNA kit?” I asked hopefully.

  He nodded. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this.”

  “Are you interested in a trade?” I asked.

  He looked at me. “What have you got?”

  I showed him the voltmeter.

  “Very interesting,” he said. “Yes, I’d be interested. Do you know how to work this thing?” He glanced down at the DNA kit.

  “I think I might know somebody who does,” I said. We made a fair trade and shook on it.

  Bert asked me, “Would you like a piece of chocolate?”

  I laughed. “No, thank you.”

  He said, “I wouldn’t mind giving these to your friend. Is she around?”

  “Becca?” I asked him.

  “Yes,” he answered.

  “She’s not here. She’s gone to help my dad with the almond harvest,” I said.

  “Oh.” He made a face as if he was trying to mask his disappointment.

  Around us, people were wheeling and dealing for different items. “Somebody else might be interested in the chocolate,” I said.

  Bert shrugged. “Well, I don’t know what I would do with a laptop or even a battery. I might as well just hold on to the chocolates and just not distract myself. Maybe I can find a quiet corner to camp out in and meditate.”

  I shrugged. It’s not as if I believed he was really psychic, but if he was, then certainly he was in no need of a laptop or a network card. People began to leave the room. Alliances were being formed. I saw Father Gabriel talk with Dr. Arch and exchange two items. My uneasiness grew. I needed to get on with things.

  “I’m sorry, Bert. I need to go. Thank you, Jack, for the trade.” Jack wiggled his eyebrows at me and gave me a little mock salute.

  I headed off, determined to intercept Karen before she left the room. “Karen,” I said, “I have a DNA kit I thought you might be interested in.”

  She scowled at me. “Well, sure, if you’re giving it away.”

  “Giving it away?” I said, “No, no. I was hoping you’d be interested in trading the laptop.”

  She laughed. “No way would I trade the laptop.”

  “Well, it’s probably no good to you without a network card or a battery.”

  She gave me a smug smile. “I have both.”

  I tried to hide my surprise. There was no way she had the network card. I knew Scott had it, but I asked anyway, “You do?”

  “Sure. Dr. Arch just traded a flashlight for a battery from the good father, and Jessica has agreed to loan me her network card.”

  “Jessica has a network card?” I asked.

  But it couldn’t be—hadn’t Scott told me she won a bottle of rum, and I knew Scott had the network card. Had the cast been supplied with two cards? What was going on?

  Karen brushed past me. “If you’ll excuse me, we have a little research to do.” She walked quickly out of the room, leaving me with my jaw agape.

  A pit formed in my stomach. Could Scott have traded the network card for a bottle of rum?

  I followed Karen out, searching for Scott. I found him sitting in the library perusing some of the books. “Hey, what’s up?” I asked.

  He smiled at me. “Nothing, just checking out a few books, see if I can figure anything out.”

  “Do you still have the network card?” I asked.

  “No,” he said. “I traded for a bottle of rum.”

  “What? I thought we agreed—”

  He held up a hand, looking a bit sad. “Well, Karen wasn’t going to give up the laptop, so I figured it was kind of pointless. This way, at least we can get drunk.”

  “Scott, I traded the voltmeter for the DNA kit. I was going to try to work Karen for the laptop. It was useless to her without the network card.”

  Scott blinked at me. “I’m sorry, Georgia. I didn’t think. I figured your leg was probably hurting and this”— he waved the bottle at me—“might take the edge off.”

  I wanted to be angry. In fact, I was angry, but I didn’t want to show it. I knew Scott was trying his hardest. Wasn’t he?

  Or was he really just trying to get off the show?

  A wave of sadness overwhelmed me, and I felt lost at the same time. I picked at some peeling paint on the wall. “Do you want to go? Is that it?” I asked him.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Be voted off the show. Tonight’s the first elimination.”

  He shrugged. “No, nothing like that. I think we have a good chance of winning. You do, anyway.”

  “Not without any tools,” I said.

  “You have tools. You’ve got a DNA kit.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t think it’s worth anything to me. I would have rather had the laptop and the network card, but now we’ve got a bottle of rum.”

  Jack and Bert entered the library holding on to the chocolates and the voltmeter. They were followed closely by a cameraman. Jack’s voltmeter was lighting up. “Hey gang. We followed the current over here. Lot of electricity sparking in this room,” Jack said.

  Maybe my temper was lighting up the voltmeter.

  Jack went over to the window and the voltmeter started to spike. “Lots of activity indeed,” he said. He scanned the walls. Bert took a seat next to Scott and held out the box of chocolates to him. Together, they perused for the best ones.

  “I like the soft centers,” Jack said.

  Scott smirked. “That works out well. I like the nut and chews myself.” He popped open the rum.

  Despair swarmed me. I no longer knew in which direction to turn. Scott didn’t really seem interested in figuring out the case, and Bert and Jack were off on a paranormal deep end. I knew I didn’t trust Dr. Arch, nor did I trust Father Gabriel, and yet they were likely teamed up in another part of the castle colluding against Scott and me.

  An idea struck. I needed to make an alliance with them!

  Nine

  I slunk down the hallway—only with my bad leg, my slinking probably looked more menacing than graceful. Still, I was as quiet as I could be, hoping to eavesdrop on Karen and Dr. Arch. After a moment, Scott joined me in the hallway.

  So much for discretion.

  Together we made our way down a long corridor. Th
ere were several large photographs on the wall. One of a crew of about fifty boys ranging from age eight to eighteen, all in uniform, all with sour expressions on their faces. Another photograph was of a gentleman in late middle age with a large handlebar mustache and donning a hat complete with a white plume on it.

  Both photos gave me the heebie-jeebies, as if the people in them were watching Scott and me creep down the corridor.

  We passed the small phone kiosk with the toy ship on it where Jessica had found the rum, and I involuntarily grunted.

  Scott touched my arm. “I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad at me.”

  I shrugged, halfheartedly. “I’m not mad at you.”

  He said, “I felt so bad. Jessica started to cry, and I didn’t know what to do. She was so upset and she thought having the network card would help.”

  I glared at him. “I thought having the network card would help also.”

  “I know. I’m sorry,” he said.

  “If I had balled my eyes out, would you have given it to me?” I asked sarcastically. I regretted my tone as soon as the words were out of my mouth.

  Why did I have to be so mean?

  Certainly that wasn’t a promising strategy for winning back his heart.

  But instead of being upset, Scott gave me a lopsided smile. “You don’t cry about much, do you, Georgia?”

  Was that a good thing?

  We came upon a drawing room with a large brick fireplace that was the focal point of the room. There were several round tables scattered through the room. Settled at one were Dr. Arch, Jessica, Ashley, and Karen, all heads down leaning over a laptop.

  Scott gave me a nod, and led the way into the room.

  As soon as we walked in, the cameraman panned toward us, then Dr. Arch covered the screen. “What are you doing in here?” Dr. Arch demanded.

  Scott held up the bottle of rum and give it a little jiggle. “Wondering if you wanted a drink.”

  The doctor laughed. “If it was good Scotch, I might be tempted.”

  Karen flicked her black hair, securing it over her left ear, away from her face. “Ah, you want a peek at the screen, don’t you?”

  Scott shrugged. “Well, if we can all work together, we might be able to figure something out.”

  “We haven’t really found anything,” Karen said. “Not anything past what we already know, anyway. Jane Reiner was a librarian in training here at the school in 1968, wherein she was murdered and the case has never been resolved.”

  “Who were the prime suspects?” I asked.

  Karen blinked at me.

  “That’s just it,” Jessica said. “There weren’t really any suspects. They figured it was somebody at the school but we don’t know for sure. We don’t have access to the police reports.”

  I had access to old police reports, didn’t I? I could call in a favor with some of my old colleagues over at the San Francisco Police Department, but I no longer had a phone. “Can I send an email?” I asked them.

  Dr. Arch shrugged, “Sure, why not? Three minutes because we’ve got low battery.”

  “Who’s got the power cord?” I asked.

  “No one. They didn’t provide us with a power cord and the network card has limited time on it, too,” Jessica whined. She eyed the bottle of rum longingly as if she realized she had made a bad trade.

  Scott laughed and took a swig of rum complete with a pirate-style “Argh.”

  They pushed the laptop toward me and I quickly fired off an email to some old friends asking them for the details of the case if they could come up with them. As soon as I hit send, the email server pinged and an undeliverable message appeared on the screen.

  Frustrated, I let my mind wander, hoping for an epiphany. My thoughts drifted back to the groundskeeper, Walter, I’d found in the pool last night. What connection had he had to the first murder, if any? How long had he been groundskeeper? Would the officer who arrived to take the information be willing to share any files with me?

  I itched to try to search the Internet for information, but I didn’t even know the groundskeeper’s last name. Instead, I Googled the historical society for the castle. A biography of Gertrude Silverman came up. I scanned the website for staff photos, to see if I could find Walter’s last name.

  I was distinctly aware of the cameraman moving behind me to capture my search. He was sure to record everything, especially the negotiations with Karen and Dr. Arch. A moment later, Father Gabriel and Martha, the historian, found us in the drawing room.

  “Any information?” Father Gabriel asked.

  “Not much,” Dr. Arch confessed. “It seems that we’re going around in circles.”

  The priest paced the room. “I must say I find this place concerning. Disturbingly so. It feels as if there’s so many spirits about, lost souls.” He looked saddened. “If only the producers would let me free these lost souls.”

  “How would you do that?” Scott asked, handing him the bottle of rum.

  “It’s rather involved,” Father Gabriel said. Then he surprised me by actually taking a hearty swig. He made a face after swallowing the rum. “Uck. I prefer wine,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

  We all laughed.

  From down the hall came a loud clattering and a ghostly scream. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end as we all scrambled toward the noise. Father Gabriel sprang to attention and began to chant something to Saint Michael or Saint George. I couldn’t keep up with him. I was the last one out of the room. Even hobbling, the pain in my leg was debilitating. In the hallway, we ran into Jack and Bert. Bert looked pale and Jack was flushed red.

  “What’s going on?” Scott demanded.

  “We found something in the library,” Bert said.

  Ashley, the paranormal docent, raced ahead of us. “Quick, who has the voltmeter?”

  “I do,” Jack said. Together they tore off toward the library.

  “I need my scented oils!” Father Gabriel said. He pulled a rosary out of his pocket. “Some holy water, and salt. We need to clean the doorways!” he yelled, racing after Bert and Jack.

  Next to me, Scott chortled.

  “It’s not funny,” I said. “They believe.”

  “I know they do,” he answered. He passed me the rum. “You need to relax.”

  “I can’t relax,” I said. “I’m sure the groundskeeper’s death is connected.”

  “How so?” he asked.

  “I don’t know, a feeling. Maybe I’m psychic, too.”

  Scott wrapped his arms around me. “I hope you’re not still mad at me.”

  I buried my face into his chest and inhaled his scent. “I told you. I’m not mad at you,” I said.

  “Are you sad?” he asked, pausing. I felt myself stiffen in his arms and he must have felt it, too, because he asked, “About us, I mean?”

  “Yes,” I agreed. “Kind of sad. I wish things could go back to the way they were.”

  He sighed. “Me, too.” After a moment, he said, “I’m trying to get better. Georgia, you have to believe me.”

  “I do,” I said, putting my hand on the base of his neck and pulling his face toward mine.

  From behind, two of the crew practically trampled over us trying to get down the hallway. When one cameraman stopped and filmed Scott’s and my embrace, we disentangled from each other and followed the commotion over to the library. As soon as I walked in, the first thing to hit me was the wonderful smell of musty books. It took all my willpower not to wander over to the shelf and start examining titles, but at one of the tables in the center of the room, there was a Ouija board, and seated in front of it was Ashley, the paranormal docent. Around her Jack and Bert crowded in. It seemed like the thing to do, so Scott and I leaned in as well.

  The overhead lights flickered, and suddenly what little power we had in the r
oom went out.

  Ashley screamed. “Oh, no! Here we go! I told you the spirits are angry with us! Look what happened to Georgia!”

  The only light left in the room came from the windows, but a summer storm was brewing and dark clouds rumbled in, leaving us in relative darkness.

  The historian, Martha, let out a little yelp. “This can’t be real!”

  “Who’s got the flashlight?” I asked.

  “I think Father Gabriel has it,” Scott said.

  Father Gabriel fumbled for the light and shone it at the Ouija board. Ashley had both hands on the dial and her wrists were flung around in all directions as she followed whatever moved her, be it a spirit or her own mind.

  “It’s in the letters?” Jack asked. “What letters?”

  “Must be these letters,” Jessica said. “The letters of the Ouija board.”

  “May the spirit of the archangel Michael guide any souls lingering in this realm over to where they belong,” Father Gabriel prayed.

  “Father! Don’t!” Ashley pleaded. “You can’t dismiss these spirits until they tell us what they need to say.”

  “It won’t work anyway,” Jack said. “The moon is waxing. The spirits won’t be cleared during that phase. We need a waning moon.”

  “It’s in the letters? Huh?” Scott asked. “What if it means something besides the letters of the Ouija board?”

  “Like what?” Jack asked. “Like the writing’s on the wall?”

  An awful shock jolted through my body as I remembered my dream. In the dream, Jane had talked about her mother. About something she’d seen. “Could it be letters Jane wrote home?” I asked.

  Suddenly a wind howled through the room as if a window had been opened. Several books tumbled to the floor in a loud crash.

  Next to me, Martha screamed and reached out to grab ahold of Scott.