Privy to Murder

  Privy to Murder

  A Tali Cates Paranormal Mystery

  Carol Shenold

  Denton, Texas

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Deadly Niche Press

  An imprint of AWOC.COM Publishing

  P.O. Box 2819

  Denton, TX 76202

  © 2012, Carol Shenold

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  ISBN: 978-1-62016-002-2

  Visit the authors’ website: www.carolshenold.com

  Dedication

  Privy To Murder is dedicated to all the “Cuchara girls” for their support in the form of critiques, gossip and wine, you know who you are, my family for putting up with writing hours and my late husband, Karl, who always said I could do it.

  Chapter One

  A ghost in the outhouse started everything. That, along with the body and Mumsie’s warning about the “Big Evil.” However, I’m getting ahead of myself.

  Ever since I moved into our old falling-down family home, in Love, Texas, I’d been short on money. Mumsie was Lucinda Marie Carter-Downs, hyphenated before hyphens were cool. The day I came back with Sean in tow, Mumsie had said, “Tali Cates, Amen Ka told me several times your scumbag of a husband was no good.”

  “I worry about you, Mumsie,” I said, “thinking you are taking advice from an Egyptian mummy. And if you knew Brian was so bad, you could have warned me.”

  “You’ve never paid attention to Ka’s warnings.”

  She was right. I lost confidence in mother’s counseling efforts after she began channeling messages from spirit advisors—more than one, she claimed.

  Mumsie was tall, elegant, and slender, with short, sassy white hair. In some ways I wanted to be her when I grew up. But the spirit business was not even a choice for me. I’d promised myself to stay away from spirits and special gifts after Brian threw us out on the street for being different.

  Now it was time to test my new business, and I was stuck in the kitchen arguing with my mother. It was getting late. The afternoon sun blasted the sliding glass doors, splashing itself on the carpet in the dining room. The smell of mother’s tacos filled the room.

  “Mumsie, I have to go soon. Can we postpone this conversation?”

  She didn’t think I should have left Brian in the first place. I hadn’t confessed he forced me out of town and out of the marriage. I really couldn’t tell her why, admit that my own husband had been afraid of me and my gifts.

  Thank God for my friend, Reneé, and her willingness to invest in “Party On: Entertainment Texas Style.” Tonight, at Mag Tannehill’s party, we would launch the party-planning business that could make us rich, or at least keep us out of debtor’s prison.

  I’d never again be as dependent upon anyone as I’d been on Brian. I’d never again rely on something as nebulous or unreliable as a psychic gift for a living—or admit to anyone that I had any kind of off-the-wall ability. People turn on you if you’re different. Now I had to prove to myself I could earn a living without predicting the future, and make it on my own.

  “Okay, Mumsie,” I said. “We’ll talk about it later. Don’t forget to pick up Sean from Cub Scout day camp.”

  I ran to the bedroom to make myself presentable in a black broomstick skirt, black shell, black boots and turquoise jewelry. Don’t outshine the hostess; you already tower over her. I confined my bushy hair in a French braid. A touch of lipstick and blush sufficed for makeup—thank God for olive skin.

  Racing back through the house, I grabbed lists and then jumped into my red Chevy pickup. After six o’clock, Love, Texas rolled up its streets. It hadn’t caught on to the Open 24 Hours craze yet. Only the new mall stayed open until nine PM.

  The caterer’s truck passed me on the road, a good sign. The florist had delivered the red, white and blue carnation arrangements earlier, and I knew the band made its sound checks early. Mag-the-Terror knew how to throw a party—just hire me to hire everyone else.

  I turned into the drive, drove around back, and parked the truck out of sight. My hands shook. Could I really pull this off?

  The Terror, so-called because of her history of wild behavior, met me at the back door. Her red hair glowed and so did her nose. Apparently Mag Tannehill still liked her booze and heavy perfume. Her musk-heavy scent tried to crowd me off the step. She started in. “Why don’t we have twinkle lights in the willows and around the clearing, and where are the doves? You were supposed to order doves.” Her skinny arms punctuated every word.

  Mag wasn’t any easier to deal with now than when we were seventeen-year-old rivals.

  “Remember? The horses ate the twinkle lights, and the dogs hunted the doves.” In the interest of animal safety we moved the lights to the treetops and nixed ordering more doves. “I’m going to make sure the gift bags are in the chuck wagon and . . .”

  “I don’t like changes. Looks like we’ll be discussing payment later.” With a flash of green sequins, the Terror turned on her heel and slammed the door in my face.

  * * *

  A picture of Mag tearing up the check scared the socks off me. That check had already disappeared into the medical bill bottomless pit. Sean’s asthma was a killer, literally, and divorce eliminated our health insurance.

  My boots clicked on the tile as I passed the pool, blew out the chlorine fumes and made my way down to the garden. The Hard Living Band, with portable stage and dance floor, squeaked their fiddles. Reneé, the caterer—and my friend and partner-in-crime since grade school—clattered dishes and waved as she set up.

  On the west side, next to a stand of trees that shaded them from the evening sun, the food tables formed a line. The aroma of hot air, honeysuckle, and barbecue filled the air. Past the dance floor, five tables with seating for ten dotted the manicured lawn. Disposable cameras sat on the tables, ready for candid shots. Bandana tablecloths fluttered in a light breeze. Lights twinkled in the trees.

  The antique wagon on the east side of the lawn held no gift bags. My heart gave a jump before it plummeted into my stomach. Shit. I mean darn. More fuel for Mag’s temper. I looked around: tables, band, food, flowers, and wagon. Outhouses? At the south end of the garden, at the bottom of the hill, crouched four portable potties, disguised with fake fronts to look like old wooden outhouses. Against the outhouses, colorful gift bags glowed next to the dark wood like flowers in the wilderness. I hauled the fifty-some bags of goodies up the hill.

  Guests arrived and milled about. Women with big Texas hair and sparkling cocktail dresses squealed as if they hadn’t seen each other in months. Men charged the portable bar and beer flowed. Nothing like free booze and summer heat to stir up a thirst.

  My boots were sweaty; sandals would have been a better choice. Sweat tickled my shoulder blades. Parties in August always turned deadly with heat and pests, but if I could pull it off, I might land the rich tailgate parties come football season.

  Mag’s shriek flew over the chatter. “I told you I liked this dress. What business is it of yours anyway? It’s my money.”

  A man’s voice murmured too softly to hear—her husband Frank, I guessed.

  “I will not be quiet. My friends deserve to know what a jerk you are.”

  Another bass rumble, then Mag whirled her way past the pool, into t
he garden, sloshing her drink, unsteady on her feet. Her green sequins screamed new money. She hollered at me across the expanse of lawn. “My clothes will be ruined in this heat. I told you we needed some of those mist thingies. Some party planner you are!”

  Her cronies nodded in sympathy. I saw more money fly away. The others would never hire me now. Why had the idiot chosen August for an outdoor party? This was Texas, for God’s sake, ninety degrees at eight in the evening. She’d nixed the expense of misters when I suggested them.

  Mag’s sparkles and voice swirled into the chaos of surrounding conversations, then surfaced near Reneé’s tables.

  “Can’t you do anything right? I said chocolate!”

  Reneé’s voice answered. “Mrs. Tannehill, we discussed this earlier and agreed that the heat would make truffles impossible.”

  Mag snapped back. “You’re the caterer. You should have figured out a way.”

  She turned on her heel, which promptly dug into the grass and sent her flying into the dessert table. Cake and fruit catapulted into the air. The sparkles on Mag’s dress dulled under the layer of cake.

  My cell phone rang.

  “Oh, Tali,” Mumsie said. “Listen. Don’t worry.”

  I interrupted. “Worry about what? What’s wrong?”

  Mumsie interrupted me. “Sean’s okay. I was only twenty minutes late but he’d already called Brian. Brian’s unhappy but Sean’s home safe. And by the way, the spirit is okay.”

  The dial tone was lost in the roar of blood in my ears. He called Brian. Even the thought of my ex made my stomach turn. How could Sean have called him of all people?

  Mag ran toward the house to clean up. I sidled into the trees, out of sight, to calm down. I leaned against a tree and took deep breaths. If I stayed still, I might never move. I turned to go back. A root tripped me and I grabbed for a tree. It yelped, or something yelped. Leaves moved. I heard a giggle, the same deep voice rumbled, and Frank, Mag’s husband, strode into the clearing ahead, followed by one of Mag’s best friends, Betty Ann Marshall.

  I tried not to rustle. Frank wrapped his arms around Betty Ann and kissed her, slow and deep. They walked away in opposite directions. I felt like a kid sneaking a peek while the older kids necked.

  Go back, circulate, make sure everything’s smooth. You don’t have time to hide. Reneé may need help with the food. I crept away.

  Reneé punched my arm. “Hey, Tali. Mag’s in great form, don’t you think? Who will deck her first?” She handed me a glass of champagne. “Here, join the crowd. It’s not like they would notice.”

  I sipped, and nearly choked when my cell phone vibrated again.

  “What?” My voice squeaked at the end of the word—always did that when I yelled. “Is Sean okay?”

  “How would I know?” my daughter Cass snapped.” You’re the Super Mom.”

  “What is it, Cass? Did the human pincushion leave you? Are you coming home?”

  “No, Mother. Unlike you, I can keep a man. But I do need you to wire me some money. It’s really important.”

  “Cass, what are you thinking? I have no job. No husband. No money. I’m living with my mother.”

  “Jeez, Mom. If you could keep a job and husband you wouldn’t have that problem. Now what am I supposed to do?”

  “Welcome to the real world. You wanted to be on your own.”

  “It’s your fault I had to leave. I couldn’t stay after you got kicked out of town for all that crazy stuff. You owe me.”

  “I don’t owe you anything. Call back when you’re a grown-up, or at least when I’m at home, not working.”

  This time I hung up on her. She’d go straight to Brian for money and never learn how to be on her own.

  I turned away from Reneé, hoping she didn’t see my anger. No one could cut me down like Cass, except of course Brian. My daughter had learned from the best. To keep from screaming I took a deep breath, grabbed another glass of champagne, and downed it in one gulp. Reneé raised an eyebrow.

  The party was in full swing: husbands, wives, lovers dancing and drinking, and a few unlucky ones might be fighting. The dance floor bounced with couples doing the two-step and line dancing. I saw Betty Ann shaking her way through a dance with Frank. Mag watched from the sidelines. For once I couldn’t read her expression. Her daughter, Donna, stood next to her, showing no emotion.

  Why couldn’t Cass be more like Donna? Donna was such a placid girl. She never raised her voice or caused trouble. But I’d brought Cass up to be independent, and she was, with a vengeance. At least Sean still loved me. I hoped.

  “You know, Reneé, if we go into the business together, you’re taking your life in your hands. Disaster follows me.”

  Reneé looked toward the dance floor, her eyes angry. She shook her head. “Honey, we’ve been doing things together since junior high. We haven’t killed each other yet. Besides, I’ll protect you. I’m taking karate lessons from Sam in Denison.” She brushed her short red hair out of her eyes and stood an even taller five-feet-two. “Not to change the subject, but have you seen the new locksmith in town?” She gestured toward the dancers. “Keith something—he’s a cutie and single.”

  “Thanks, kiddo, I don’t need a matchmaker.” But I looked. “Then again, he’s pretty hot with his tan and long hair. A real Tom Cruise meets Johnny Depp.”

  In between sets, cicadas sang. Peaceful summer nights with bright stars above always made me glad to be back home. Just now even the heat felt right.

  Reneé and I watched guys for a minute, and then I looked at my watch. It was almost nine and I hadn’t seen the fireworks company yet. Nothing better mess up the party finale. On my cell phone I punched the numbers for “Fire on Demand” and waited for an answer. I got a recording. I hoped my expert was on his way.

  Frank Tannehill came to the table for more champagne. He was still nice looking in spite of his boozy expression and slight paunch. His boyish grin still had the power to get him what he wanted, at least with the floozies who’d killed one too many brain cells with bleach.

  “You put on quite a shindig, Tali. I’ll recommend you to my buddies. Their wives entertain.” He tossed down a glass of wine. “Speaking of wives, mine isn’t cooling off.”

  “Something in particular bothering her?”

  “Life bothers her. Thing is, I don’t know why she’s so pissed tonight, but the faster this shindig ends, the better. And don’t worry about your money. She gives you any trouble, I’ll cover the cost.”

  I pictured him dancing with Betty Ann. “I’ll pass out the gift bags, now, before it gets dark and then the fireworks will end things.” I turned to my partner and asked, “Reneé, do you need help packing up when we’re done?”

  She shook her head. “I have a couple of kids from the church coming for the heavy work.”

  The fireworks crew were setting up. Good thing the burn ban had been lifted last week. I handed out twenty-five bright gift bags full of Texas-themed trinkets like sugared pecans, locally made salsas and jalapeño jelly before I plodded back to the wagon for more bags and ran into Mag.

  “Did I tell you to hand out the gift bags?” Her tone could have killed a toad.

  “I figured you’d want them passed out before the fireworks. You don’t want to have to do it all yourself. That’s why you have me.”

  “Oh, is that why?” She talked loud enough for half the party to hear.

  Lord, keep me from slugging her, I thought as I continued across the lawn, giving gifts, a regular summer Santa. It took forever but I finished and the fireworks snapped, crackled, and popped.

  * * *

  Drinking champagne, bad choice. Now it was pee, or else. I raced to the outhouses. When I reached the first one in the row, a dark patch of something on its step stopped me from going in. Okay. I may not want to know what that is. I entered the second one, took care of business inside the hot box, prayed the buzzing wasp wouldn’t sting me, and came out with a gasp. It smelled worse than death in there.

/>   I looked up the hill and then hesitated. I’d better take a look at the other outhouse, lest some guest complain. Curiosity and the cat notwithstanding, I opened the door—to my everlasting regret.

  Mag sprawled on the floor, wedged between the door and commode, a bloody knife next to her. Her blood spread beneath her body and spilled under the door—what had first attracted my attention. I wasn’t the only one. So many flies were droning, they competed with the music. I shivered, and not just from horror. The privy was cold as ice. My stomach lurched, protesting the champagne and death. My heart stopped.

  My eyes adjusted, or maybe the light changed because I suddenly saw the body with greater clarity, Mag’s horrified expression, eyes wide open. I looked up to see where the light came from, thinking fireworks, and there, next to Mag’s body, was—Mag? Her form flickered like faulty video, then disappeared. I’d have sworn she shook her fist at me. I reached out to touch the blood, fresh.

  No. I can’t be mixed up in something like this. No spirits. No murders.

  My heart began to beat again. I breathed in great gasps and fell backwards out of the privy into Frank.

  He took in the blood on my hand and the body, opened his mouth and began yelling. “What the hell have you done? My God, she’s dead!”

  I leaned close to him and spoke close through clenched teeth. “I haven’t done anything but find your wife. What do you know about this?” I pointed to the outhouse.

  In the dusk, Frank’s face seemed to turn even paler. “Nothing. Are you accusing me?”

  “I’m calling 911 and the sheriff.” My voice shook.

  “What about the guests?” Frank stage whispered.

  I struggled to keep my voice steady and strong. I shoved the picture of the spirit out of my head. “Your wife’s dead. I think her party guests are the least of your problems.”

  I turned away and lost the champagne.