“Moving from croissants to cupcakes, I see.” Looking around the coffee bar, he was impressed with what Caren had done with the old hardware store. Every business in Kerrigan Falls was housed in a building that “used to be” something else. The old floor still had that heavy sound as your feet moved over the solid planks. He’d once come here with his dad, poring through the drawers and drawers of screws and nails. Now they housed tea bags and coffee beans. The rich jewel tones of the velvet sofas and chairs mixed well with the weathered leather Chesterfield chairs and sofas Caren and Lara had found.
Caren laughed. “Can I interest you in an almond croissant? It only has about an hour of good life left in it. I usually order them for our mutual friend, who is probably enjoying the real thing in Paris.”
“Sure,” said Ben. “I usually only see her for dinner, so I wasn’t aware of her croissant habit.”
“Have you talked to her?” There was a hint to Caren’s voice that she had inside knowledge of his budding relationship with Lara. If you could call it that.
“I talked to her a few days ago,” he said. “She should be home today, shouldn’t she?”
Caren smirked as if this only reaffirmed her suspicions.
“Have you talked to her?”
“I got an email,” said Caren. “They extended their trip a few days. Something about an art expert.”
“Did she tell you she was chased by some woman down through the streets of Paris?”
“What?” Caren’s voice rose. “She did not.” He’d wanted a to-go cup, but she poured his coffee into a porcelain mug and placed the warmed croissant on a matching plate. After sliding both across the counter, she leaned on the glass display. “Does Audrey know this?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I told Lara to call the police. She’s got a valuable painting. Someone could be trying to steal it or kidnap her to get it. If you talk to her before I do, make sure she calls the police.” He took a sip and was pleasantly surprised that it was a fresh pot—something that usually didn’t happen in the afternoon. He carried the mug over to the nearest seating area.
Caren came around with the warm croissant on a plate. “I worry about her.” She leaned on the back of a low leather chair. “I’ve seen that painting hanging across the hall from the guest bathroom all my life. Who would have thought it was valuable.”
“So it was the across-from-the-guest-bathroom painting?”
“Exactly,” said Caren, laughing. “Usually it’s some Parisian champagne advertisement poster or dogs playing poker. It’s the most disrespected wall space in any home.”
Ben laughed. “And Audrey gave the painting to Lara?”
“Yeah,” said Caren, folding her arms. “Lara wasn’t really a fan of it. The thought that it might be valuable was a real shock to her.” She paused.
“You look like you want to ask me something?” He took a bite of the almond croissant, realizing he’d never had one before. The flowery, vanilla taste of the center was a surprise.
“Is it that obvious?” she hesitated.
He was wondering if she was going to ask him his intentions toward her best friend. “What do you think really happened to Todd?” Caren looked down, her long spiral curls bouncing anytime her head moved.
He was uncomfortable with this question. Michelle Hixson had asked the same thing, and he hadn’t had a good answer then. In the interest of the case, he couldn’t get into the specifics with Caren any more than he could with the reporter—especially not Caren, who out of friendship would feel some obligation to tell Lara whether advertently or inadvertently. Carefully, he weighed his response. “What I can say is that I don’t think Todd abandoned Lara.”
She actually looked relieved at his answer. “There are just so many theories out there—some of them crazy. I heard there is a coven.”
“I’ve heard most of them, but the coven is a new one,” said Ben, amused, sipping his coffee. “The Dulles Airport thing was wrong. I saw the guy on the security tape, definitely not Todd Sutton.”
“Seriously,” said Caren, sounding a little surprised. “You need to get a phone line for tips.” Just then the bell rang and a customer came through the door. Caren excused herself and went back behind the counter.
Placing his cup on the coffee table, Ben noticed there was a Ouija board—an old one. He touched the curved edges. It doubled as a tray. It was vintage, but the wood on it was pretty and it had been well kept. He pushed the planchette with his finger, causing it to move a little. It seemed to move a bit farther than his effort implied, and he jerked back a little. “What the—”
Smoothly, as if it were skating, the planchette began to slide across the wood. Instinctively Ben looked up to see if it was hooked to a wire. He looked under the table to see if there was a remote. That would be a funny gag, he thought. The planchette stopped, like it was idling, waiting for him to focus on it. Then, slowly it began to move again, stopping on the letter D.
“Okay,” said Ben nervously, still glancing around to see if anyone was watching him, playing a trick on him. This would be the kind of prank his college buddy would play… then he realized that Walker was dead.
The planchette traveled across the board, landing on E.
Ben picked up his coffee and sniffed it. It smelled like coffee and it didn’t seem to be spiked. “Okay.”
As though it was waiting for his affirmation, the pointer moved again, settling on the letter Z.
Z? Ben looked confused and waited for another letter. A minute went by and nothing. “Dez?”
Nothing.
Caren appeared behind him and
