six

“Michael couldn’t have killed Christy,” Adele repeated. She twisted the gold watch circling her wrist. “He can’t even kill spiders.”

“The killer was most likely someone she knew,” I said, gesturing at the museum. “No one broke in. Nothing was taken. Christy didn’t get caught up in a robbery.” Not that there was anything to steal—unless you were a fan of paranormal knickknacks.

“It wasn’t Michael.” Adele checked her watch. “Oh, darn. I nearly forgot, I’ve got an appointment with my father and our lawyer. Let’s not continue this conversation later.” Slipping her green purse over her shoulder, she minced out the door.

Harper and I looked at each other.

“Any minute, she’ll remember that we’re going there together,” Harper said. “I’d better go find her.” She hurried out the door.

Dieter’s shoulders slumped, his hands falling to his sides. “I think I made her mad.”

“Christy—the other woman—was killed in Adele’s tea shop, and she and Michael are the most likely suspects,” I told him. “There’s nothing you can say to make that better or worse.”

He leaned against the counter. “Michael’s a jackass. The whole town knows he cheated on Adele, and now he’s begging to get her back. At least she’s smart enough not to fall for his garbage twice.” Dieter raised his eyebrows, questioning.

I chewed my lower lip. I’d witnessed some of Michael’s attempts to crawl back into Adele’s good graces. But Christy had told me she and Michael were engaged. Had it been a lie? Had Christy been trying to ruin Michael’s attempts at reconciliation with Adele? And was that a reason for him to kill her?

When I didn’t respond, Dieter returned to his work. The whine of the circular saw punctured the air.

The front door banged open. I looked up, glad for the distraction, and reached for a ticket.

A man walked inside, a five o’clock shadow darkening his chiseled features. His hair was tied back in a short blond ponytail. A motorcycle helmet dangled from his fingers. His gaze lingered on me, and he shrugged his muscular shoulders. They strained against the contours of his black-leather motorcycle jacket. This was a guy who put in some serious gym time. It was embarrassingly easy for me to imagine him bare-chested on the cover of a romance novel.

He plunked the helmet on the counter, rattling the tip jar. “You in charge?”

I smoothed the leer from my features. “I’m running the Paranormal Museum. Would you like to buy a ticket?”

He glowered. “No, I would not like to buy a ticket. I would like you to shut off that damn circular saw and move your dumpster out of my rear parking space.”

“Your rear parking space?” I sucked in my cheeks.

“I own the motorcycle shop next door. And I can barely hear myself think over that saw.”

A flush of warmth flooded my body. And annoyance. “I’m not in charge of the renovations, but I’ll let the owner know, and I’ll talk to the contractor about a better time to run the saw. Er, when would be a better time to run that saw?”

“Since I live over my shop, never.” The man turned on his booted heal and stormed out, brushing past a tall, older man in a gray suit.

The older man scratched his neatly trimmed beard. His blond hair was streaked with silver, and he was well built. He approached the counter, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “What’s his problem?”

“No refunds. Can I help you?” I took in the briefcase in his broad hand, the silver hair, the expensive suit. He didn’t fit my customer profile, but that was a work in progress, so I decided to stay open-minded.

He glanced around. “I was looking for Adele. I’m her lawyer. Is she here?”

I grabbed for my cell phone. “Her lawyer? She left not long ago to meet her lawyer for lunch.”

He laughed. “That’s okay. She must be meeting with Fred, her criminal attorney. I do estate and business law. We’re old friends. I was just dropping by to see how she was doing.”

“I’ll let her know you stopped by, Mr. …?”

“Just Roger. She’ll know who I am.” He leaned an elbow against the counter. “So who are you? You don’t look like you’re with the Wine and Visitors Bureau. I know everyone there.”

“I’m Maddie, a friend of Adele’s. She asked me to manage the museum until she could find a buyer.”

“Rats. I was hoping you’d be the buyer. She needs to unload this albatross.”

“It’s not so bad. It could make money.”

“Not enough. Whoever buys it should give it more flash.”

“I do think the museum could do a better job telling the stories of the artifacts,” I admitted.

“Artifacts? This junk?” He laughed. “This stuff is boring. An old spirit cabinet? Who cares? The museum needs something sexier.”

“Sex sells?” I asked coldly. He was a friend of Adele’s so I had to play nice, but I wished he’d shut up about the museum. “I suppose it depends on the sort of client the new owner wants. Personally, I think putting a rotating macabre art exhibit in the Creepy Doll Room could bring in repeat customers. Add a gift shop, put it online, and the owner could really bump up revenues.”

“You want to get rid of the creepy dolls? People love the creepy dolls.”

“There’s empty wall space in this room,” I pointed out. “I could shift things around and mount new shelves for the dolls here.”

“Those aren’t bad ideas. I know a guy who’s an art agent. He could probably set you up with the types of artists you’re looking for.”

“Thanks.” Wait. Did I just take over the project? I backtracked. “But I’m not—”

Dieter walked through the plastic curtains. He raked a hand through his hair, spiking it higher. “Hey, I’m going to need to turn off the water for an hour. Oh, hi Roger.”

“Dieter!” The lawyer clapped him on the back. “So Adele took my advice and hired you for the job. Dieter has done the remodels on several of my rental properties,” he said to me. To Dieter: “How’s that caveman diet going for you?” He winked at me. “Well-cooked meat and raw vegetables. That’s the ticket to health.”

Dieter winced. “Haven’t had a chance to try it yet.”

“Don’t delay. You’re only young once. How’s the remodel going?”

“The police had the museum shut down Friday, but I was in Tahoe anyway, so I’m still on schedule. But there’s something I’d like to talk to you about, Roger.”

“Sure. We can talk.” The lawyer shook his head. “I still can’t believe she’s dead. What was Christy doing here?”

“Christy? You knew her?” I asked.

“She’s a junior partner at my firm. Was a junior partner, I mean.”

“Did Christy do estate and business law too?” I asked.

“Yep,” Roger said. “I wonder if she had her own estate in order? So many of us don’t.”

Dieter changed the subject. “Maddie, I also wanted to let you know I’m done with the saw for the day.”

“Oh, good. One of the neighbors was complaining.”

Dieter’s dark brows drew together. “Let me guess. The motorhead next door?”

Roger clapped him on the shoulder. “As long as you’re running the saw during working hours, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“I’m not worried,” he said. “The guy’s pissing me off. Wanna come out back and we can talk?”

“What’s the rush?” The lawyer reached for me and drew me into an awkward group huddle, his arms around both Dieter and my shoulders. I tried to edge away.

“Do you two want to know the secret to life?” he asked. “Don’t take yourself so seriously. If you can do that, everything else falls into place.”

“I’m not sure that applies to our situation,” I said. “The police are taking Christy’s death very seriously, and they seem to consider Adele a prime suspect.”

“Adele?” Dieter asked. “She’s half Christy’s size. How’s she going to take her down? Even if this goes to court, Adele’s got nothing to worry about.”

The lawyer shook his head. “If this goes to court, she has everything to worry about. Some of my oldest friends are criminal attorneys. I’ve heard all the stories, and let me tell you something. Defendants, lawyers, cops—everybody lies. Don’t count on the truth setting Adele free.”