Oak: a Doyle Witch Cozy Mystery by Kirsten Weiss

Author:Kirsten Weiss [weiss, kirsten]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: witch mystery, cozy mystery, novella, amateur detective, woman sleuth, female detective, murder, killing, crime, ghosts
Publisher: misterio press
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TEN

Boyd was dead.

I sat on the bumper of an ancient Ford pickup. Deputies and crime scene techs scrambled like ants in and out of Boyd’s Victorian. The sun climbed higher in the sky.

The coroner wheeled out a body bag.

I stayed and watched and thought. The sun arced in the sky, and the crowd of law enforcement personnel around the Victorian thinned.

McCourt had said I’d stirred things up. Now Boyd was dead.

A man was dead.

Connor came and sat beside me. He set his broad-brimmed hat on my head. “You’ll get a sunburn.”

“I can’t help you,” I said, weary. “I didn't see anything, not even a ghost.”

He wrapped his arm around my shoulders. “No one expects you to see everything. How are you feeling?”

“Cold.”

“I’ll get you a blanket.”

I shook my head. “I'm not traumatized. But I wish we'd gotten here sooner. I wish I would have noticed a hint, a sign something was wrong, that he was in danger—”

“Don't think that way.” He hesitated. “When's the last time you've had a decent sleep?”

“I can't remember.” I yawned. “What happened to him?”

“It looks like suicide. Hanging.” He paused. “There was a note. We found it in his printer tray. He confessed to killing Sandy.”

“Oh,” I said quietly. Suicide. I closed my eyes. “Did the sheriff ever learn Sandy’s last name?”

He nodded. “Rancho, according to her employment files—Sandra Rancho. We'll do more digging, don't worry.” He squeezed me lightly, his arm slipping to my waist. “This isn't your fault.”

I rested my head on his shoulder. “Don't you have to go back there?” I nodded toward the two-story house.

He shook his head. “The sheriff wanted to know if you saw… anything here.”

“No,” I said. “I think it's too soon.” In my limited experience, ghosts didn't manifest right away, especially not after a traumatic death.

He hesitated. “She'd like you to come inside.”

“Why? McCourt knows who the killer is. She knows who the victim is.”

“She said she wanted to wrap things up. If you don't want to, you don't have to. I can tell her it's too soon for you to see any… anything.”

Was this why I'd stayed? For the wrap up? Or did Sandy want me here?

I shook my head. “It's okay. I'll go in.”

He didn't ask if I was sure. Connor just stood and extended his broad hand, and I gratefully took it.

I handed him his hat, and we walked into the Victorian.

The sheriff stood looking up a dark-wood staircase that led to a mezzanine. A rope dangled limply from its banister.

“You knew,” she said. “You knew he was dead.”

A shard of sunlight streamed through the transom window. It pointed like a dagger toward the rope. They'd cut Boyd down and left it hanging. I studied the rope’s cut end and the loops of knot coiled around the bannister.

“Death has an emptiness,” I finally said.

She nodded. “I suppose it does.”

I walked toward the rope.

“Don't touch it,” she warned.

I stopped a foot from the rope, dangling above me. Now that she'd told me not to, the impulse to reach up and touch it was irresistible.

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