And how this object was used last.
Reveal the truth about Missy’s death,
And whether the boo hag stole her last breath.”
Another clash of thunder booms, this time much closer. Cooper and Jack jump.
“Ignore it. Keep your eyes on the smoke,” I whisper.
Rain patters on the roof and ground outside the crypt.
I open my eyes and breathe a sigh of relief. The mortar is working. The incense thickens and condenses, creating the magical movie screen for the vision. A bright light flickers in the middle of the gray haze and images sputter on the illuminated canvas. My head sways. I fix my eyes on the vision as the pictures speed up and come into focus, revealing the master bedroom at High Point Bluff. Missy’s wearing her pink nightie and is seated at her vanity table, madly smacking a brush at her rat’s nest of frayed blond hair. She’s laughing and mumbling to herself as she stares at her mirror.
The vision zooms in on her, as if we’re standing next to her shoulder. She cackles as the brush snags on a tangle. “Little brat will finally get his. Everyone thought I was crazy to keep searching, but I showed them. I knew I’d find something if I looked hard enough!” Though the back of her hair is still a matted mess, she slams the brush down and picks up a pot of sky-blue eye shadow. Leaning toward the mirror, she smears it on with the tip of her index finger and then applies some blush with an extra-heavy hand. “You, Missy Tiffany Cartier Beaumont, have bought your ticket to the big time. That nasty old goat can’t last too much longer, and with the brat in jail, you’ll get everything!” She throws her head back and laughs, then grabs a tube of bright red lipstick and slathers it around her mouth. “Now you just have to convince the goat to call the cops. Which shouldn’t be too hard.” She squirts perfume on her cleavage and winks at herself.
Beau lumbers into the room, leaning heavily on his cane. “Missy!” he growls.
“Dad?” Cooper says.
“Where’s Claude?” Jack asks.
The vision loses focus and begins to flicker.
“Shh, you’ll ruin it,” I snap.
The guys hunker down and direct their attention to the vision. The movie picks up pace and the images brighten.
Missy rises from her vanity. “Beau, sugar!” Her mouth is twisted in a big, red, garish smile. “I’m surprised to see you upstairs.” She baby steps across the carpet in her stilettos. “After our little tiff, I thought you were going to punish me by sleeping in your study again. I was fixing to come down and surprise you with a little midnight snack.”
Beau doesn’t look amused or grateful. “I thought I made my position on your incessant destruction perfectly clear.” His jowls jiggle with each word.
She reaches her hand to stroke his massive chest. “You did, baby, but what’s the expression? Nothing searched for, nothing found?” She bats her lashes.
His eyes narrow. “That’s not it.”
She shrugs. “Oh. Who cares anyway? The point is—”
“The point is, you’ve wrecked my son’s room.”
Her shoulders slump and her lips pucker in a cherry-red pout. “How else am I supposed to find that goll-darn ruby necklace?”
His nostrils flare and his pasty gray skin flushes pink. “I fail to see what that has to do with Cooper. Your thieving friends weren’t on the second floor the night of the party.”
She pats his chest. “Now, sweetie, don’t get yourself upset. You know how poorly your circulation is. You’re liable to have a coronary. And you know I’d be plum lost without you. Besides, I’m sure my friends didn’t take your ruby.” A smile crosses her lips.
He totters on his cane. “I must have that necklace. Why hasn’t Corbeau identified the thieves yet?” Beau starts to sway. Missy plants her arms against his chest to steady him, but she’s far too small to keep him upright. Instead, she uses his momentum to push him toward the sitting room area at the far side of the bed. Heaving for air, Beau plops his massive girth in the love seat. His face turns alabaster and his lips are an almost purply-black hue. Gasping, he points to the small console table by the wall. “Scotch!” His voice ripples with mucus.
She scampers to pour him an extra large tumbler. “Here you go, baby. Drink up!” She tips the crystal glass to his lips and he swills it down.
Within seconds, his skin returns to its normal pasty gray.
She smiles as she saunters to the bureau opposite the bed. “There, there. Now, I don’t want to upset you, but there’s something you need to see. I was going to bring it to you later, but now’s just as good.” She slides open the drawer and slips her hand under a cashmere sweater. Spinning around, she thrusts the pirate’s dagger at Beau.
He perks up, launching himself forward on the love seat. “That was stolen from the King Center.”
“I know. Yet I found it here at High Point Bluff.” She walks toward him, but rather than using her normal, cutesy-baby shuffle, she takes several long, determined strides to the love seat.
He quirks his head. “I don’t understand.”
“Your son stole it.”
His wide brow creases. “Impossible.”
The blade shines, reflecting the light in the corner of the bedroom.
“It was hidden in his bookshelf. One of those fancy textbooks of his is really a secret compartment, probably uses it to hide drugs or something.” Knife in hand, she flicks her wrist and stabs the air with each word. “I thought he’d been acting squirrely, being helpful when he was really trying to see if I found his stash. Well, sonny-boy has met his match. It’s just a matter of time before I find that other rock-thing that was stolen… What’s it called? A mortal?”
“Mortar.” Beau deadpans.
Her lips curl. “What?”
“The other artifact that was stolen. It’s a mortar. Not a mortal.”
She shrugs. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter, because when we get Mr. Corbeau and the sheriff involved they’re going to cart Cooper and his freaky little friends off to jail. I wouldn’t blame you if you disinherited him tomorrow.”
With a grunt, Beau hoists himself off the sofa. “Oh, but it matters a great deal. You see a mortal is a living human being who is subject to death. A mortar, on the other hand, is used to grind spices.” Leaning hard against his cane, he advances toward her, then lifts the dagger from her hand and sets it down on the console with the scotch decanter.
“Okay, I’ll be sure to use the right word when I call the sheriff.”
He shakes his head, waggling his jowls. “You won’t be doing that.”
“Why?”
He steps toward her. “Because I have plans for Cooper and his friends. Crucial, long-range plans that require his utmost freedom and access to his inheritance. He will not be arrested, nor will he serve even a minute’s worth of jail time. Nor will Emma and Jack. You see, Emma and Cooper are to be married, and Jack will, as every Guthrie before him, become Cooper’s faithful servant.”
She inches backward. “But he stole from the museum.”
“I don’t care.”
“He probably took your ruby.”
“That, I care about. But if he does in fact have it, my problems will cease to be problems. All will be well and our future will be secure.”
“Huh?”
He snickers. “You are pretty, but you are so stupid.”
“No I’m not. I’m the one who figured out who the burglars are.”
“And I sincerely thank you for that because now I can rest comfortably knowing that I need only to make it to Cooper’s birthday and then all my plans will come to fruition, just as they have for nearly three hundred years.”
“I-I don’t understand.” She steps backward, deeper into the room.
“Of course not, sugar. Because as I said earlier, you lack the intellectual capacity to comprehend such things. You have been a mildly amusing distraction these last few months, but I think it’s time to go. Don’t feel too bad. You were only supposed to be here another couple weeks anyway.”