She sat for a few minutes, then took out her phone and texted Ryan. Where are you? I’ll meet you at your cottage in ten. Wine and sustenance would be much appreciated. Skipped dinner. LY XOXO. After stowing her phone in her pocket, Liz placed the cage with Farrah inside on the bench. The Sandhill cranes had disappeared. “Just you and me, kid,” Liz whispered. She could barely make out the ferret’s dark sable body, the only thing that stood out was the white mask on her face and the glint in her tiny eyes from the bulb in the lamppost. “I’m sure your mom is okay. In the meantime, we’ll make the best of it. I know Aunt Amelia would love to take you under her wing, but then there’s Barnacle Bob. You want to stay away from that scoundrel.”
Farrah let out a tiny chirp. It seemed she agreed.
Taking in a gulp of salty jasmine infused air, Liz let out a long exhale, ohhm-m-m, like she’d learned in yoga. She mused about who would be running the society now the Wiccan leader was gone. Or, would it no longer continue without its founder? Last night, she’d talked to Kate about Julian Rhodes’s magnetic personality. Even though she and Kate were in relationships, they’d felt the same attraction to the dead man. They’d agreed when his hypnotic Paul-Newman-blue-eyes took you in, as Aunt Amelia called them, their intensity was like an electrical current sending shock waves to your toes. Liz understood Dorian’s attraction to him, but she also saw how his female followers might feel the same way.
And what had been the deal with him and Wren? What was in that folder she was pushing at him and why was she so angry?
Perhaps one of Dorian’s children killed him. Phoebe and her brother both had a reason for wanting Julian dead. If Julian had married Dorian and became their warlock stepdaddy, then when their mother passed, they wouldn’t inherit her fortune. Or at least the lion’s share of it. Or was Dorian the target? She’d received threatening letters. Now that she thought about it, Branson and Phoebe also had a motive for killing their mother before she wedded Julian. They would inherit, and Julian wouldn’t. But Liz couldn’t go there. It was too calculating. Too cold a scenario, and against all the laws of nature.
Then the niggling devil on her right shoulder whispered, It’s done all the time. Natural or not.
Might Garrett have killed Julian, not wanting him to squander Dorian’s fortune?
Liz was getting ahead of herself. It might take days for the medical examiner to come back with any results of cause of death. She knew one thing; Agent Charlotte Pearson would treat the case as a suspicious death based solely on the threatening letters that Dorian had received.
Suddenly, at the same time as a wispy cloud covered the moon, she heard voices.
A female voice said, “It has nothing to do with me. I don’t think you understand. It was probably a curse someone put on him.”
“Phoebe, I don’t believe in curses. I might believe the validity of your mother’s readings because they’ve been proven time and time again. But whatever happened to him is good for us. You can tell me the truth. I won’t tell anyone. We both wanted him out of her life. Now he is. I would rather know now if it was you. Because if it wasn’t you, then your mother might be in danger. Remember the letters she received.” Garrett stepped under a lamppost by the gazebo. Taking both of Phoebe’s hands, he looked down at her. But she pulled away.
“Don’t you play all innocent with me, monsieur. I had nothing to do with the warlock’s death. Did you? How long would it be before he got rid of you and took over all of Mother’s finances? And you’re not fooling anyone, it’s obvious you’re in love with Mama.”
“If it turns out to be…ah…”
“Murder,” she said. Phoebe’s voice changed. It was softer, more agreeable. “You’re right, Uncle Garrett, Mama’s well-being should be our only concern. Instead of arguing, we should be toasting our champagne flutes that Julian Rhodes is no longer one of the living.”
Liz missed Garrett’s response because Farrah started making strange noises. Not the happy dooking, expressing her glee; more like a whiny, whimpering sound. Whatever it meant, Liz had no time to look it up on her phone. Grabbing the cage, she whispered to the ferret to put a lid on it. Thankful another cloud covered the moon, she crept away in the direction of the caretaker’s cottage. She tripped over a palm frond and let out a little squeak, which turned Farrah into a chatterbox.
“Who’s there?” Garrett demanded in a deep voice.
Liz broke out in a run, feeling Farrah sliding from one side of her cage to the other. Veering off the curved flower lined paths, she sprinted into a small grove of orange and lemon trees. Garrett’s voice faded into the sounds of the night. Ahead she saw a light in the caretaker’s cottage and thanked her lucky stars Ryan was home. Lately, the word “home” had two meanings. Ryan was becoming her home, a cozy port in a storm when she needed it.
She stumbled on the seashell path and for a moment her old anxiety about being in a committed relationship crept in, along with memories of last New Year’s Eve. Farrah started her dooking, no doubt thinking her roller-coaster ride in the cage was all great fun. When she reached Ryan’s door, Farrah’s clucking was soon met with Blackbeard’s deep bark.
This should be an interesting meeting she thought, as she turned the knob and charged inside.
What was that old saying, fools rush in? Liz was no fool, but the last thing she expected was to find petite waifish Wren dressed in one of her prairie dresses encased in Ryan’s buff ex-firefighter arms.
The surprise on Liz’s face mirrored Wren’s.
“What’s she doing here? And why does she have that awful thing with her?” Wren asked between sniffles, pointing at the cage.
Liz assumed she meant Farrah, who was now hissing in fear as she set her on the floor.
Blackbeard had no problem jumping on Liz in welcome, giving her a few dozen kisses on her cheek and nose. Liz scratched behind his furry ears; tufts of hair, some long, some short, stood out from his unpuppy like body. He was technically under a year old but couldn’t get much larger. His coloring was that of a calico cat; caramel, black, and tan. His long, pointed goatee was solid black; the reason Ryan christened him with the name of a bearded pirate.
While Blackbeard was thrilled to see Liz, Ryan on the other hand took his sweet time getting up from the loveseat. When he reached her, he stumbled over his words, “Liz, uh, I was, uh, getting worried about you. This is Wren Wagner, Julian’s cousin.”
Duh, Liz thought, I was with you in the lobby the first time we met her. She arched her brow and turned her full attention to Wren, who reached over and grabbed Ryan’s bottle of beer, taking a long swig.
Feeling her face heat, Liz asked, “What kind of host are you? You didn’t offer the girl her own beer?” Even though she called Wren a girl, she looked to be in her early thirties. Her pale, delicate features and physique made her look young and vulnerable. Liz had a feeling she’d been playing damsel in distress for Ryan’s benefit. Then again, if Julian had really been her cousin, she couldn’t fault Wren for mourning a family member. But they couldn’t have been that close because when they’d first met Julian and Wren in the Indialantic’s lobby it was clear Julian wasn’t happy to see her and hadn’t wanted Wren staying at the hotel. Neither had his fiancée, Dorian. And then there was the scene on the beach.
“He did offer,” Wren said between sniffles. Her nose was pink, either from a sunburn or she’d been crying. There was a pile of tissues on the side table, so Liz guessed the later. Wren scooched her thin frame to the edge of the leather loveseat and looked up at them with a wan, tearstained face. “I better get back to the others and see if there’s any more news about Julian.” She dramatically, at least in Liz’s opinion, swiped at the corner of her eye to catch a single tear, then stood and came to where Ryan and Liz were standing. Awkwardly standing, at this point.
The top of her head only reached the middle of Ryan’s chest. He blew Liz an air kiss that Wren didn’t see, and Liz relaxed. Ryan was obviously just pumping Wren for information about what happened on Queen of the Seas.
Wren put her hand on Ryan’s bicep, stroking the tanned, muscled flesh while Liz bit the inside of her cheek to distract herself from pushing Wren out the door or siccing Blackbeard on her.
“Please don’t share anything I’ve told you,” Wren said softly to Ryan, her eyes saucer like and pleading. “I’m distraught and no doubt misconstrued the entire thing. Whatever I told you, stays in this room. Pinky swear!” She glanced at Liz, giving her a weak grin and raised her right hand in Ryan’s direction, her pinky finger extended.
Embarrassment flushed his face as he entwined his pinky with hers and said, “Swear.”
Liz wasn’t the only one jealous about their exchange. Blackbeard jumped up on Wren, nearly knocking her to the floor. His large front paws on both of her shoulders, slow dance style. Then the pup let out a low menacing growl that caused Farrah to start bouncing off the walls of her wire cage, emitting high-pitched ferret screams.
“Blackbeard! Down!” So, Ryan did have a voice. Blackbeard listened to his master and came to Liz. He knew which side his dog treat was buttered.
Ryan removed Wren’s hand from his arm and said, “Do you need me to walk you back to the Indialantic?”
“No, thank you. I can handle it,” Wren answered.