Five

As it happened, Glyn also knew a lot about cleaning up blood. He took point, while gently talking Beck through soaking up the spilled blood, wiping the table and floor down with bleach, while wearing thick rubber dishwashing gloves. Frannie had nervously volunteered to help, but Beck overruled her. She'd been through enough, their host insisted. Cormac held open the garbage bag that the bleached and bloodied rags went into.

"You'll need to get someone in here to do a thorough cleaning, but we'll be able to use the kitchen for now," Glyn assured her.

"Thank God you're here," Beck said. "I don't know what I'd have done without you."

"Mr. Bennett would have been a help, I think." Glyn arched a brow at him.

Cormac tried to ignore the guy. Amelia? he prompted. She was still being very quiet, retreating to as small a space in his mind as she ever had. He worried, and he couldn't close his eyes and try to see her in their shared meadow. Not when he needed to keep track of what was happening here.

Frannie set up a more substantial buffet of breakfast items in the dining room, but no one was much hungry. Even the coffee smelled uninteresting.

Tea, Amelia murmured. Tea makes everything better.

So he drank a cup of tea for her, letting its warmth settle him.

Vane, his coffee cup abandoned on an end table, started pacing, gesturing broadly. "So, are we all just going to sit here staring at each other until the snow stops and the cops come?"

"I don't think I want to let any of you out of my sight," Beck said. "So yes, I think we should all just sit here."

"None of us knew the guy, why would anyone want to kill him?" Lora said. She'd settled in an armchair, hugging herself. Vane came over and rested a hand on her shoulder.

"He wasn't very likeable," Frannie said quietly. Lora looked sharply at her, and Glyn raised a questioning brow. Cormac expected June to shoot back with a grief-stricken and defensive reply, but she didn't, continuing to knead a handkerchief.

"What is it they do on TV?" Frannie said. "Do we know what time it happened? Then we find out where everyone was then."

"Maybe it was the ghost," Lora said. "That unknown spirit in the séance."

They're seriously accusing me? I can't go through this again.

Glyn chuckled. "That would make a good story for your podcast, wouldn't it? Frannie has the right idea, though. The lights went out about 11:30. The blood was already cool when Frannie went into the kitchen, when was it, around 7? So let's say Monty was dead by 4."

"You ask us where we were between 11:30 and 4, we're just going to say ‘asleep,'" Vane said.

"Well, you see, I have to confess I have a terrible habit of eavesdropping. Can't seem to keep my nose out of it. I'd apologize, but it's often so useful."

Cormac tried to remember when he'd gone out to the bathroom and seen Glyn standing on the other end of the hall, after the argument between Beck and Monty. About midnight?

What if Monty hadn't gone back to his room after? And what if Glyn hadn't, either? He tried to remember how many doors he had heard closing. Was it just the one?

"So you were awake and out of your room after midnight, is what you're saying?" Cormac countered.

"Touché, sir. But then so was nearly everyone else. Mr. Vane left his room as well, if I'm not mistaken."

"Just Vane," he said testily. "And yes, I left my room. Just getting my toothbrush from the bathroom. Is that allowed?"

"Pardon me for being indelicate," Glyn said, "But you weren't near the bathroom. You went to Ms. Mirelli's room, yes?"

Beck huffed. "If you'd wanted to stay together I could have given you one of the queen-size rooms—"

"We're not—" Lora started, then looked away. Because Vane's gaze was downcast, and they clearly were. "We're not public about it," she finally said.

"We'd lose credibility," Vane said. "People wouldn't take the cross-promotion between our brands seriously if they knew we were together." He gave Lora a wan smile, which she returned. Clearly, there were feelings.

It's... adorable.

"Or you're just waiting for the right moment to monetize the romance?" Glyn said. Both of them sat up in outrage, but Glyn waved them back before they could say anything. "At any rate, it seems that a number of us were up and about in the night. Beck and Monty argued at the top of the stairs at about midnight... June, when did Monty return to your room, and when did he leave again?"

"I... I don't know. He said he was going to get a nightcap, and I went to bed. I'm a sound sleeper, I wouldn't have heard him come back in. That scream woke me up, and... and that's when I realized he'd never come to bed last night." She let out a dramatic, cut-off sob and kneaded the handkerchief even more forcefully.

Cormac turned to Frannie. "Your room's right next to the kitchen. You must have heard something."

Unless she's the murderer. A little revenge for Monty's earlier transgression?

Was Cormac the only one who knew about that? Frannie was the last person here he'd peg as being capable of murder.

"I didn't." She sounded defensive. "I wear earplugs, because of the way the wind hits that side of the house. It's loud. So I wouldn't have heard anything."

Convenient. Everyone in the room was thinking it.

Amelia had a spell. At least, she had once used a spell that could raise the dead. Not really raise the dead—recall their soul for a moment, to ask them questions. The knife had gone through Monty's chest—he must have seen who his killer was.

That spell is so very difficult, Amelia said, as soon as Cormac thought of it. I've only ever attempted it immediately after death, and even then... it's uncertain any answers would be forthcoming. Monty's been dead for hours.

It might be worth trying, to get some kind of answer.

She hesitated. We would have to explain the ritual to the others. Keep them out of the way while I draw the appropriate symbols. I'm not sure they would let us.

Even if it meant catching a murderer?

It would only increase their suspicion of you.

Glyn was still on his tear. "Mrs. Connor, I know this is difficult, but I wondered if you could go through your husband's things? Just to see if it will give us some idea that might indicate why this happened."

"I don't know, I can't think of anything at all—"

"It can't hurt to take a look."

"All right... just give me a minute to straighten up." June rushed up the stairs. Glyn exchanged a look with Beck, and the pair followed.

Cormac desperately wanted to chase after them. Dig through Monty's things himself, like he was some kind of TV detective. Maybe the room wasn't the only place to look. He set down the mug of tea and paced to the foyer, to the coat tree in the corner, mounded with all their coats and wraps.

He didn't have to work to figure out which coat was Monty's: the big, tan cowboy duster that looked like no drop of mud had ever come near it. Carefully moving aside the coats piled around it, Cormac felt along the side pockets for... he wasn't sure what. A figurative smoking gun. Maybe Monty was blackmailing someone. Maybe he stole something. Maybe he pissed off one too many folk singers.

In the inside pocket of the coat, he felt the hard edge of an envelope, stuffed with folded paper. Crinkling, as he put pressure on it. It would just take a second for him to look at it—

Voices traveled down the stairs. Beck, June, and Glyn. Cormac drew away from the coat tree and waited by the banister. They hesitated on the landing when they saw Cormac standing there.

"Find anything good?" he asked.

"The Connors pack a lot of luggage for a weekend," Glyn said.

June shrugged. "Monty liked his shirts folded just so. Takes up space. I... don't even know what I'm going to do with all his things now."

"You don't need to worry about it, hon," Beck assured her. "Take all the time you need."

June Connor still seemed stunned. She shook her head vaguely, as if the reality of the situation was just now settling on her. "If he had enemies, I'm sure I don't know. If he was keeping things from me—how would I ever know?"

"Why don't you come sit by the fire and rest for now," Glyn said kindly, guiding her into the parlor and steering her toward one of the sofas and not the big chair where Monty had been sitting the night before. His guitar was still propped against the wall.

Beck lingered near Cormac, crossing her arms and sighing. "It's the saddest thing," she said. "All the bags unpacked, his clothes everywhere, and she couldn't seem to bring herself to touch any of it."

"You want to explain what the argument with Monty was about?" he asked.

Her eyes widened. "I didn't kill him, I would never—"

"I'm just trying to understand."

"Monty and Jim did a handshake deal on that big parcel of land, working off hundred-year-old deeds. Then Monty does a mineral survey and bingo, there's a deposit. And I don't get anything. Now, if he bought the land knowing about the mineral rights and didn't disclose them, I could sue. I told him I would... and then he claimed the parcel he bought includes the land the house is on. He'd countersue, get the house, and I'd be skunked."

"So you have a motive," Cormac said wryly.

"With Monty dead, the pressure's off. Oh Cormac, what am I going to do?"

Did she actually do it? Cormac didn't feel like asking that bluntly. "Nothing, for now. Just maybe don't say any of this to Glyn."

"Oh, he already knows. That guy doesn't miss anything."

"Why'd you invite him, anyway?"

"Because he doesn't miss anything." She quirked a smile.

From the parlor, raised voices carried in a sudden argument. Beck went to intervene, and Cormac glanced back at the coat tree. He'd have to go digging for those papers later.

"I don't care about the optics," Vane said. He faced off with Lora in the middle of the room.

"No, I forbid it!" June countered. "Monty was right, you're Satanic!"

"Seriously?" Lora exclaimed at her, then turned back to Vane. "Look, trying to summon spirits that have been dead for a hundred years is one thing, but I don't think it'll play very well trying to exploit a death that isn't even a day old—"

"I don't want to exploit anything, I just want to learn what really happened."

Beck put her hands on her hips. "What are you yelling about in here?"

Flustered, June said, "Beck, you can't let them do this, it's... bohemian."

"Bohemian? What are you talking about?"

Cormac looked to Glyn for an explanation.

Wearing a wry, unperturbed smile, Glyn said, "Mr. Vane is going to perform another séance. To try to speak to the spirit of Monty Connor."