Mad Money Murder Read online

  By the end of the year, Kelly and I were sick of Cookie. I've told this story for years, but I usually left the next part out (mostly because it makes me look like an idiot). Because the girls were so distraught, we told them that Cookie was alive and was on vacation near the beach. Why the beach? Because when you come from a landlocked state, the ocean is hailed as the ultimate vacation spot. The girls bought it and talked endlessly about Cookie surfing, serving as a lifeguard and a hero who rescued a Girl Scout troop from a swarm of sharks.

  And it would've worked too. Except for the fact that when we went back to camp to feed the horses again, there was a familiar roan horse, still separated from the others, blissfully eating from a bucket with his name on it. There is no doubt whatsoever that their screams of Cookie! were still orbiting the Earth somewhere.

  Jo seemed surprised when we asked about the horse. She explained that they'd been simply planning to retire Cookie. But he turned out to be a good horse for the more experienced staff members to ride, so they decided to keep him. I refused to talk to her until one year later.

  This was kind of the same thing. Only in this case, I'd insulted the girls by implying that this was something they couldn't do safely, only to be shown up by younger Cub Scouts. We had a saying at camp whenever attempting something difficult—if it was easy, this would be Boy Scout Camp.

  How was I ever going to get out of this one?

  My eyes turned to the back of the house, where a wraparound porch sported cushioned wicker chairs and benches.

  "Look! Swings!" I shouted with as much enthusiasm as I could muster.

  Before I knew it, the girls were on the porch clambering up into them. Betty still regarded me cautiously, as if to say this isn't over. But she was in the middle of it all, swinging back and forth.

  "Let's go back around front," I said after an appropriate amount of time.

  "Okay!" the girls shouted unanimously. Any fury at my misstep was filed away, to be brought out to shame me with later.

  They skipped down the stairs, and we walked as a group to the side of the house.

  "What's that?" Ava squatted down next to a small hole the diameter of a quarter.

  "They look like snake holes," I said. "Just garter snakes, probably."

  "No vipers?" Kaitlyn asked hopefully.

  "Not here." I pointed at another one a few feet away. "This is probably his back door."

  We all laughed as we continued around to the front, past blooming and fragrant rose bushes, up the steps to the front door.

  "Here we go." I inserted the key into the lock and turned.

  We walked into an entryway with parquet floors and an ornately carved bannister on our right, girding a staircase to a landing where a large, round stained-glass window beamed flecks of colored light.

  Kelly gasped audibly. I couldn't blame her. This house was unreal. Like something out of a magazine in Nigel Hickenlooper's waiting room. How long had Aunt June lived here? Did she build the house? I felt a knot of loss, wishing I'd known her.

  But first I needed to warn the girls of the not-so-beautiful critters located somewhere in this fairytale house.

  "Hold on, ladies. Before you explore, there's something you need to know. Aunt June had a collection that's very dangerous. Deadly bugs and other creatures. You aren't to touch anything, no matter how cute it is. Do you understand?"

  The girls stared at me as if in a trance. I'd just told my ghoulish troop that there were fascinating (and possibly adorable) things that could kill you in this very house. Considering the venomous toxicity inside these walls, we were probably safer surfing on the Mississippi.

  Without prompting, the girls held up the Girl Scout sign and promised in unison. I checked to make sure their other hands weren't behind their backs with twisted fingers offering them an out.

  "Now pinky swear," I insisted.

  The girls did that telepathic conference thing again. Using the Girl Scout sign to promise was pretty serious. But the pinky swear—that locked you in like concrete. There wasn't enough candy or the threat of blowtorches that would violate the law of the pinky swear. In fact, I wish I'd known about its power when I was a spy. Of course, it only worked on little girls and not on lying, cheating world leaders, which was disappointing.

  But for these purposes it would be ironclad. And that was what I needed.

  "Pinky swear," Kaitlyn said, holding out her crooked pinky.

  I took it and shook and then went down the line, doing the same with the rest of the girls. Kelly stifled a grin, which was odd since, as a nurse, she knew what kind of dangers we faced in this house.

  "It looks like three stories plus an attic." Betty stared at the loft and its rose window.

  "And a basement," Ava added. "Old houses like these had big basements. My grandma uses hers to can vegetables." She made a face. "Which I don't get because she always put them in jars."

  "We'll stay together," Kelly decided. "And start with this floor, working our way up. We can end with the basement."

  "What are we looking for?" Lauren asked.

  I wasn't entirely sure. "I don't really know. Everything, I guess."

  "But we can't touch anything because anything could be a crime scene," Betty said.

  "Good thinking." Ava patted her on the back. "Keep your eyes open for blood spatter."

  "Or weapons with blood on them," Lauren suggested hopefully.

  Inez frowned. "How will we know if it's the weapon or not? The killer might have wiped it down!"

  Kaitlyn looked around. "Anything can be a weapon. I'll bet Mrs. Wrath has killed people with paperclips."

  "Whoa." I held up my hands. "Killing is wrong, and the CIA doesn't kill people."

  The girls seemed disappointed as they walked toward the back of the house.

  I leaned over to Kelly and whispered, "It takes three paperclips and a whole roll of Scotch tape. It's all in the wrist."

  "Whatever." Kelly rolled her eyes. "Where do we start?"

  "With that room." I pointed to our right.

  It appeared to be a parlor with overstuffed upholstered chairs and a sofa in front of a fireplace. Two tables held little statues.

  "Holy cow!" I bent over to stare. "These are Ugandan fertility totems!" I straightened up and went to the mantle, where there were more tchotchkes. "And these are erotic Chinese figurines from Shanghai!" I found a doily and dropped it over the little "attached" man and woman so that the girls wouldn't see them. "And authentic Russian nesting dolls!"

  "So?" Kelly asked. "Maybe she shopped at Pier One?"

  I stared at her. "So they're not something you can get here. Aunt June must've done some travelling in her day. I really wish I'd known her."

  There was a lot to see here but not enough that it appeared crowded. The walls were painted in a warm, pale peach and would be cozy and inviting in the winter. If the rest of the house was like this, I might seriously consider keeping it.

  After searching the obvious surfaces, with me annoying Kelly by calling out everything I spotted, we looked under the furniture and pulled up the rug. We examined the fireplace and crown moldings, but nothing seemed out of place. Passing through a set of pocket doors, we found ourselves in what appeared to be a study. An antique desk took up one dark green wall, and the other three held bookshelves stuffed with old, leather-bound books and framed photos.

  "Is this…" Kelly's voice trailed off as she stared at a picture. "Is this Nelson Mandela?"

  I ran over to her and picked up the frame. Nelson Mandela had his arm around a white woman with red hair, blue eyes, and a relaxed and happy smile.

  "Is this Aunt June?" I turned the frame over and took off the back. Nelson and me, Liliesleaf Farm, 1961.

  "And this looks like Barbara Streisand!" Kelly squeaked. "Same woman!"

  All of the photos were like that. The same jovial redhead with twinkling eyes, arm draped intimately around some celebrity or politician.

  "This is ridiculous!" Kelly said. "I think this
is her with the Beatles!"

  I took down a photo from a higher shelf. "And a young Prince Charles!"

  Who was this woman? How did she know such a wide range of celebrities?

  It was the same with each discovery. Aunt June had posed with politicians like Egyptian President Anwar Sadat and Jimmy Carter, with actors such as Charlie Chaplin and Cary Grant. There was even a photo of her with Picasso!

  I went to the desk and began opening drawers and sifting through the contents. There had to be a diary or something documenting this woman's amazing life. Did it have something to do with her death? Most of these celebrities were old, but did Barbara Streisand or Jimmy Carter kill her? I stopped and shook my head to clear it. Of course not. Babs and Jimmy wouldn't have killed her and left behind photos. I took advantage of the quiet to take some deep breaths to calm down.

  And that's when I realized something was very wrong. Kelly thought it at the same time and caught my gaze.

  "The girls…" she gasped.

  "…are way too quiet!" I finished.

  "That's not good!" we said simultaneously. I felt a little proud. It was almost like those telepathic conferences the girls had.

  We began to run…

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  "Girls!" I shouted. "Girls!"

  Kelly ran off as I tried calling Lauren (the one I thought the most likely to answer) on my cell.

  Kelly returned, panting in the doorway. "They're not on this level, and I don't hear any footsteps!"

  I was already in the hall, taking the stairs two at a time. There wasn't any time to waste as we gave little more than a cursory glance into each room we ran by. The second floor seemed to be all bedrooms. That meant that the dangerous collection might be on the third.

  Kelly was ahead of me this time. From behind, I noticed that she had 9-1- on her screen, ready to push the last one if needed. I didn't even know if this town had a cop. Most likely a sheriff was the only local law enforcement. Still, it was a good idea to be ready for anything.

  The third floor wasn't so much a floor as a creepy showroom that wound around the staircase.

  "Found the deadly things," Kelly said as I came to a stop next to her. Her voice seemed hopeful. "No girls?"

  "Nope." My eyes were on the bizarre zoo in front of us.

  Aunt June had gone to great zoo-like lengths to set up habitats for each animal. It was pretty amazing. And we didn't have time for it right now.

  I looked at Kelly. "The attic?"

  Kelly yanked on the rope suspended from the ceiling, and I handed her my cell with the flashlight enabled. She scrambled up the staircase, stopping when she could see inside, and scanned the place.

  "Not here." She started to climb down.

  "What's next?" I asked. "The basement? The backyard?"

  "I've got the backyard." Kelly pushed past me. "You take the basement."

  She handed me my cell, and we ran back down to the first floor. Parting ways, Kelly headed to the kitchen door that led to the yard, and me, down the creepy staircase under the main stairs. I wasn't too fond of unknown basements with dubious entrances. But there wasn't any time to think about that. I paused at the bottom of the stairs.

  Empty. There wasn't so much as a stick of furniture and nothing in storage. I heard giggling and ran back upstairs. My heart was pounding.

  "Girls? Kelly?" I cried out at the top of the stairs.

  Kelly appeared. "They're not outside, unless they all jumped into the river and drowned."

  I thought of the Cub Scouts. "Is that a possibility?"

  "I don't think so. I could see Betty doing it, but someone would've run inside to get help."

  "Shhhhh…"

  Someone was shushing someone else.

  Had I imagined it? "Did you hear that?"

  Kelly nodded, looking around. "You don't think this place is haunted too?"

  "Ghosts I could handle," I said. "Aliens, however…"

  "There are aliens here?" Ava's voice cried out.

  "Shhh! They'll find us!" Betty admonished.

  I still couldn't see them. But I had an idea of where they were.

  "Out of the walls!" I shouted. "Now!"

  Kelly and I heard the creak of a door in the study and ran in there. A bookshelf was swinging out from the wall.

  "A secret room?" I asked as the girls ran out.

  "Yes!" Kaitlyn said brightly.

  I doubled over from the exertion. I really needed to get in shape. "Okay, I get that that was fun. But you guys can't do that to us. I almost had a heart attack!"

  Ava shook her head. "That's not from the shock. That's from the Pop-Tarts. Betty—"

  "Enough!" Betty shouted. "You guys should see this room."

  After making a mental note to grill the child about the ingredients of this morning's breakfast, I stepped behind the bookcase and walked into a small room. It looked like a bedroom with a twin bed, dresser, desk, refrigerator and small pantry, and a sink and toilet.

  "It's a panic room!" I gasped. "This place is sooooo cool!"

  "A what?" Kelly appeared next to me. The girls filed in and pooled around us.

  I walked around the room, sliding my hands over the walls. "A panic room. Paranoid people have them built as a place to hide if they ever need to."

  Paranoid rich people or criminals, I should've said. Both the Yakuza boss I worked for in Japan and the drug lord in Colombia had had them. And they were elaborate. Midori's panic room had a koi fishpond and a stereo with every album Dean Martin had ever recorded, while Carlos the Armadillo had a hot tub, a slushie machine, and wood-fired pizza oven.

  I walked over to where we had come in and closed the bookcase entryway. The door looked like one of the walls. There was no keypad or anything. And it was locked tight.

  "This is how it works." Lauren went over to the twin bed and twisted the upper right bedpost.

  The door opened.

  "How did you figure that out?" I asked.

  Tugging on bedposts wasn't something people normally did.

  Lauren cocked her head to one side. "Isn't it obvious?"

  "How did you find it in the first place?" Kelly asked.

  "We pulled a book off the bookcase and it opened," Betty explained. "It was the only yellow book on the whole bookcase, so we figured there was something weird about it."

  That made sense.

  I searched through the dresser, fridge, and desk but didn't find anything out of the ordinary.

  "Aunt June was paranoid," Kelly said, thinking out loud. "Was she nuts? Who would attack her in this town?"

  "It could've been here before she bought it. Perhaps it was a stop on the Underground Railroad?" I wondered.

  "Or," Betty suggested, "it was a hideout from river pirates. She probably had a getaway kayak."

  I avoided her gaze. "Well, we wanted to find something, and I'd say we have."

  Kelly tried to turn the other three bedposts with no result. "Do you think people around here knew about the room?"

  "It's hard to say." I thought about that. "But probably not. The kind of people who build these rooms usually don't tell anyone in order to keep them secret."

  Unless you're a Yakuza boss who went into her panic room and forgot her sudoku or Carlos the Armadillo whenever he had a woman over he wanted to impress. Holy cow! Had Barbara Streisand or Cary Grant ever been in here?

  Aunt June thought she was going to be murdered—is that why she had it installed? It seemed like a plausible reason. It said a lot about her state of mind.

  We herded the girls back into the study, and they showed us how to access the room by pulling on the book Alice in Wonderland. I thought that was a nice touch.

  "Why would someone who worried about death have the death collection upstairs?" Kelly asked.

  "This place is amazing!" Ava gushed. "Why aren't we staying here?"

  Oh sure, bring the girls to a house that had dangerous access to the river and a collection of killer bugs. I'd take the ghosts any day ov
er that.

  "Because we didn't know what we'd find here," I replied.

  Kelly spoke up, "We're staying at the camp. I've paid the deposit."

  A knock at the door startled us. After insisting that the girls stay with Kelly, I went to the hall and answered it.

  "Nigel?" I asked. "Or is it Hal?"

  The man standing before me had the same face as the two men, but that's where the similarities ended. Whereas the other two men dressed conservatively, this one was dressed in a loud paisley shirt, tight black trousers, and black loafers. His hair was trimmed in an edgy style that I'd seen only on teenagers back home.

  "You must be Basil," I said at last.

  "And you must be Merry Ferguson!" He clapped his hands together. "I'm so glad to meet you! I've heard so much about you from Aunt June!"

  After a couple of air kisses, he walked around me into the house.

  "You don't have an accent like your brothers." I followed him.

  Basil rolled his eyes. "Those two stuffy idiots! We were born here. Why would we have accents?" He stepped forward and touched my short, curly, dirty blonde hair. "Oh, sweetie. You need help."

  I snapped my fingers. "You're the town hairdresser!"

  He beamed. "Guilty! Aunt June and I were dear friends. She spoke about you all the time!"

  That caught me by surprise. "She did?"

  "Of course! She said you'd never met in person, but she positively canonized you!"

  This was the man the girls had heard last night, talking about Aunt June having three boyfriends. There's no bigger gossip in any small town than a hair stylist. People always confide in them. Maybe Basil was how I'd find out more about Aunt June.

  "Anyway." He pulled a baggie full of scones from his bag. "I brought you these! Welcome to Behold!"

  "Oh." I took the bag from him. "Thanks. I'm not moving here. I inherited the house and came up here to meet with your brother and consider selling the place."

  The girls and Kelly funneled into the room and surrounded us.

  "You're the guy who colors everyone's hair!" Ava said.

  "Guilty again!" he squealed. "When you have a town like this that looks so run-down, you have to incorporate a bit of color now and then!" He looked at my hair again and shook his head.