Witches and Wine Page 10

  "I know, Taylor, but I still think he's our best suspect. We know it wasn't any of the women we talked to earlier. I mean, there's plenty of motive there, but I feel like we'd know if they were lying to us, you know? Plus, everything just seems to point back to Cosgrove. And I want to know why," she told me as we hopped back into her car. "I was thinking about it. About how we're going to find out about the murder weapon. What if Phil Cosgrove plays golf?"

  "Yeah," I began, sounding dubious, "but how would we find that out? I don't think that's something he'd just volunteer to us. He already knows we're asking around about him."

  "That's why we check the one place outside of wherever he lives that might be able to tell us: Hillside Golf and Country Club. It's right outside of Rosemary Creek, and it’s definitely where everyone from around here who plays golf goes. He might be a member there, we should check on it."

  We zoomed along the highway leading out of town, the hills rising against the fading light of the sky. I watched as the last of the sunlight hid behind the hills, and before I knew it, we passed a sign reading “Rose Hill, two miles ahead”.

  As we pulled up, the iron gates to the towering Hillside Golf and Country Club were in the middle of being closed by an older gentleman wearing a cabby hat.

  "Shoot!" Karen hissed. She rolled down her window once the man realized we were pulling up, and put on her best smile. "Hi, sir. We left our things inside our uh, lockers? My wallet and my friend's cell phone are in there and we were just about to go out to dinner. Is there any way we could run inside real quick and collect our things?" she asked as sweetly as possible.

  The tiny, older hatchback did not go unnoticed by the shorter man and dread prickled across my chest as he looked it over, suspiciously. Evidently, this was more Lexus territory, not Toyota. "I’m afraid I don't recognize your vehicle miss; do you happen to have your member's card on you by any chance?"

  "I knew we should've taken your mom's car," I mumbled, searching Karen's purse for the one thing that might have helped us. The leathery book fell into my lap as Karen nervously chuckled. Suddenly, everything felt completely natural, and I knew exactly what to do, without knowing what I was doing. I closed my eyes and tried to envision seeing the perfect spell in front of me, my fingers rushing over the wispy pages one by one until something told me to stop.

  I opened my eyes and read the name of the spell, chewing on my lip as I looked over the words. Karen was trying unconvincingly to get the guard to let us in, but I knew it wasn't going to work. I tuned her out as I focused on the words in front of me. Nothing had ever felt so right before. I knew this was going to work. It had to work.

  "Volo videre quæ vos videtis, vincoroa. Vincoroa. Vincoroa," I chanted softly under my breath, imagining the guard listening to us and letting us in. Convinced, as it were.

  Karen glanced at me for a moment, and then turned back to the man just as something changed in his expression. His eyes glazed over slightly for a moment, then went back to normal.

  "Oh, right. I remember you now," he boomed, stepping back with a strange sort of smile on his face. "Let me just open these back up for you, Miss. Please, take your time."

  Karen smiled back and I waved as she pulled up past the gate and continued along the drive lined with thick hedges and bushes on either side, both of us giggling.

  "I can't believe you did that!" she squealed. "That was amazing!!"

  My legs felt shaky as we pulled up to the circular driveway, but I laughed. "I can't believe it actually worked! I totally thought I was screwing up the wording. Beginner’s luck, I guess."

  "Well, either way, it was awesome," Karen grinned as she parked the car in front of the insanely ornate-looking clubhouse. "Now we just have to convince whoever is left inside."

  I shrugged, grinning right back at her. "Piece of cake."

  And thankfully for us, I was right, and we didn’t even need to use magic to do it. The receptionist at the front desk easily believed the same little sob story about forgetting our things in our lockers. Since it was after hours at the club, we didn't run into anyone else as we hunted down the club directory posted outside the elevators.

  I trailed my finger alongside the black board, looking for something that would help us. "Clubhouse office. You think we might find something there?"

  "Maybe. But I don't know if the office would be empty this soon after closing time," Karen replied as she pressed the button for the fourth floor anyway.

  The elevator dinged as its shiny, reflective doors opened up, exposing the large fourth floor lobby. It seemed to be where many of the club's behind-the-scenes spaces were located, including the laundry room, the staff offices and of course, the main clubhouse office. The lights on this floor had already been turned off, with the exception of the off-shooting hall to the left.

  "If I read that map right, I'm pretty sure the clubhouse is this way," Karen whispered, pointing to the darker right hallway. She held a finger to her mouth and slowly moved towards it, her footsteps muffled by the lush circular rug bearing the country club's crest.

  In a stroke of luck, the hallway was quiet and completely devoid of any other staff members. It only took a simple spell from Karen to get inside the main office, at the far end of the hall. I winced as the door swung open too quickly, banging into the wall behind it, but seeing as we were the only people on this whole floor, I figured no one else would have heard it as we slipped inside.

  "This should do it," Karen said as she walked into the cubicle with the biggest desk space, two large flat-screen monitors sitting on top of it.

  She fired up the computer, the left monitor blinking on simultaneously to reveal a black screen with multiple tabs at the top you could toggle through. I was starting to love computers that didn’t need a password to get in. Karen clicked on the “members” tab, and the screen flashed to white with spaces to key in a member search by member number, or by full name.

  "Bingo," I whispered behind her.

  She nodded, quickly typing in Cosgrove. I held my breath until a whole list of Cosgroves populated on the screen. It turned out there were twelve people with that name registered at this golf club. Fifth from the bottom, was Phil M. Cosgrove, at 122 Fuller Way, Apartment B, Rosemary Creek. Excited, I pointed to his name, trying to keep my voice down. "Look!"

  Karen double-clicked on his name which pulled up another box with all of his information in it. His phone number, his credit card number – although only the last four digits were shown - his membership term, all of it was in our hands. There was a box that read Additional Notes that Karen clicked on too, and both of us read the latest notes under our breath. They were dated from the day of the murder.

  Member scanned in 07:00. Member locker code entered 07:12. Member removed golf bag from storage unit 07:15. Member took golf bag and items home to clean them instead of replacing them in storage unit. Member scanned out 07:26.

  My eyes nearly bugged out of my head. Phil Cosgrove had taken his golf clubs home from the club less than an hour before Henry Mortran had been killed. "Holy crap."

  But Karen just shook her head. "I knew it," she whispered. "I freaking knew it."

  Chapter 16

  I rubbed at my temples, wishing I hadn't even brought it up. It was barely nine o'clock in the morning, and I had only managed to finish half my cup of coffee before Karen got straight to work.

  "I don't know if I feel right breaking into somebody's house when they still live there and all. Getting into your dad's old files in his law firm was one thing, but breaking into a stranger's apartment? I don't know, Karen. I think we should probably draw the line there."

  Throwing her hands up in the air, Karen groaned. "How on earth are we supposed to find the golf clubs then?"

  It was a valid point. But then, so was my desire to avoid committing a felony. "I don't know, to be honest. Maybe this is the point in our own investigation that we should let the police department know what we know?" I answered weakly, already knowing what Ka
ren was going to say.

  Her jaw dropped. "Seriously? You want to tell Chief Benson that we just happen to know Phil Cosgrove might be the murderer? What do you think he's going to say? How would we even back up our evidence? It's not like we can waltz into the police department and tell them how we figured everything out. Then we’d be the ones in jail." She began pacing back and forth, chewing on her lip. "No, that won't work at all. Besides, they haven't exactly shown they’re the brightest cops out there so far, have they?"

  Another valid point.

  "All right, so we don't tell them. What do you think we should do? Because I'm telling you, I'm not down with committing burglary. I'm too young and too cute for prison. We both are."

  Pausing, Karen stared down at the floor for a moment before looking back up at me. "We exhaust the rest of our resources, I guess. As much as I hate to say it, now might be the best time to go talk to Sydney. And believe me, I really hate to say it," she explained, rolling her eyes. "Sydney and I do not get along well, just in case you didn't notice the first time she tried to strangle me to death."

  "And here I thought she was just leaning in for a friendly, step-motherly hug." I fought the urge to grin at the way Karen scowled back at me. "Okay, so we go talk to Sydney. Where would she be — at your father's house?"

  "Yep. 32 Mountain Avenue. The place where dreams go to die. Ugh, I did have high hopes of never having to go back to that place."

  Grabbing a blueberry muffin on the way out, I was pleased to find that the morning was going to consist of law abiding interviewing rather than breaking into a man’s home. With a quick wave and check-in with Barbara, we headed to 32 Mountain Avenue, Karen looking less than thrilled.

  Despite everything I knew about Henry Mortran’s schemes involving money, I was still momentarily surprised to see just how extravagant the house - or rather, the mansion - at 32 Mountain Avenue really was.

  With its perfectly manicured lawn set high on one of the hilltops in the Valley and the view to prove it, stonework, columns, dozens of tall windows, and even a three-car garage at the tail end, the place was like something out of an episode of MTV Cribs. I half expected Kanye to roll on out of the front door, a big smirk on his face.

  "Obnoxious, right?" Karen muttered as we pulled up to the ostentatious front drive, complete with a large stone fountain full of cherubs spilling water out of various basins. "This was definitely my dad, one hundred percent."

  Since I wasn't going to touch that particular conversation with a ten-foot pole, I simply shrugged, gesturing for us to go to the front door. "Might as well get it over with."

  She let out a whine, pouting at me as we got out of the car. "Ugh. I still like my idea to break into the apartment better."

  "Then go for it, but I don’t have enough savings to pay your bail," I replied, following behind her.

  Even the sound of the doorbell as Karen rang it was ridiculous, a loud chiming collection of notes that reminded me of some crazy old cuckoo clock. Were the Mortrans deaf or something?

  We barely had enough time to exchange a look before the door cracked open, but instead of being greeted, a couple of men in well-tailored suits filed out, both of them placing their hats back on their heads and walking right past us without so much as a backward glance.

  "Okay, then," I mumbled. The weird part was that the door had been left wide open, and even from the front doorstep I could hear a number of different voices carrying on right inside the house.

  "I guess we should just let ourselves in," Karen half-suggested, half-asked, slowly shaking her head and beckoning to me.

  Shutting the door behind me, my mouth dropped open as I got my first look at the huge, open grand foyer that led to the extra grand staircase. It was beautiful, but at the same time it was like an emotionally devoid museum of art, with huge paintings and sculptures placed in what must have been some sort of feng shui positioning, looking as though no one was allowed to even breathe near them. Not to mention, everywhere I looked were bold splashes of deep reds, giving off a rather intense vibe. It was superficially nice, but there was absolutely no soul to this house.

  Karen and I followed the voices into what must've been the parlor, where expensive furniture was carefully placed on mahogany hardwood floors, and Sydney Mortran stood near a group of people who were all talking over one another. No one even seemed to bat an eye at our unexpected presence.

  Karen cleared her throat, slowly approaching Sydney as if it physically pained her. "Hello? Sydney?"

  While the chatter between the other people didn't really die down, Sydney looked over, frowning at the sight of us.

  "Karen? What are you doing here?"

  Karen glanced back at me and pasted on what I figured was supposed to be some kind of sympathetic expression, but I had learned pretty much right off the bat that Karen wasn't the best at hiding her true feelings when it came to Sydney.

  "I, uh, wanted to come check on you, to see how you were doing."

  You could almost see the wheels turning in Sydney's head, or rather, underneath the pile of blonde hair sitting on top of it.

  "Oh. Well, thank you. I’m going over the funeral arrangements for your father's service at the moment," she replied hesitantly, her voice like gravel under tires.

  Karen and I both nodded. "Right, I should've known that, sorry. Um, do you think we can have a few minutes to talk? You know, alone?" Karen asked.

  Whatever pretense existed between the two of them dropped immediately, Sydney leveling a cool gaze at my new roommate. "As I said, Karen, I'm a bit preoccupied at the moment. I know you probably don't care much either way, but —"

  "Karen! Taylor! It's nice to see you both again," a deep voice interrupted, preventing Sydney from hurling another insult Karen's way. Darren James was quickly working his way through the group of people, his dark eyes wide with a smile. "I believe Sydney's in the middle of handling some things with the funeral home staff at the moment, but I'm sure she wouldn’t mind if I chatted with you for a few minutes, right Sydney?" he asked her, gently placing his hand on her shoulder.

  Sydney pulled a fakely grateful smile, nodding at Darren. "Thank you, Darren. I'm just so exhausted after everything this week. I really appreciate it." She pulled her black shawl tighter around her thin shoulders and walked away without another word.

  Darren let out a sigh of relief. "Sorry about Sydney, ladies. She's been a bit of a mess, as I'm sure you can understand."

  "Sure. What are you doing here?" Karen asked him quietly.

  "I'm here to help with the arrangements on behalf of the firm. There was some money put aside for these kinds of things, and I thought I'd volunteer my time the best I could. Poor Sydney, she just hasn't been quite herself lately. Very snappy, not trusting of anyone. Of course it must be so difficult for her, considering what happened to Henry, so I figured it might help ease her troubles if I handled most of the actual paperwork. I'm sorry, Karen. This is probably the last thing you want to talk about right now."

  But Karen obviously wasn't in the mood to play games, especially after that last little snipe from Sydney. "I think it's pointless to pretend that my father and I had the perfect relationship. Hey Darren, can I ask you something?"

  He nodded, gesturing us over to a more vacant area of the room. "Sure thing. What do you need?"

  "Did you ever look into the way Henry conducted business with his clients? I know you don't practice family law yourself, that was his specialty, but I was just curious. I recently found out that he had been helping his clients — all of them disgruntled husbands dealing with divorce cases — hide assets from the courts. I was wondering what you thought about those sorts of business practices?"

  Darren jerked his head sideways, looking back at the group of people. "I'm sorry, what? How did you find out about that? That’s not possible."

  Karen chewed on her lip for a moment, but finally answered. "The truth? I saw it in one of his files on his desk."

  "Karen!" I hissed at
her, elbowing her in the ribs, at the same time as Darren groaned, pulling us all even further away from everyone else.

  "You were looking through confidential client files? Karen-"

  She shook her head, cutting him off. "I get it, it's a big no-no, I shouldn't have done it, I'm sorry. But look, the police just aren’t handling this case properly, if you ask me. And I was just curious. I wanted to know why my father had such a nasty reputation with all the ex-wives in this town. And I got my answer. I can't really say that I'm surprised, but you seem to be. Did you honestly not know?"

  Darren sighed. "No, I had no idea. I, of course, knew that there were plenty of women in the town who weren't too fond of him, yes. But I thought that was just because of who he represented, that's all. Family law attorneys make enemies, it comes with the territory. While we were both managing partners of the firm, like you said Karen, he had his side of the business, and I have mine. You don't often see family law and corporate law mixing."

  "And do you know anything about Phil Cosgrove? He's a professor at Brambleton College. He was also one of Henry's latest clients," I asked. After all, Darren seemed to be pretty open to answering questions right now.

  Frowning at me, Darren shook his head. "I'm sorry, Taylor. That's not something I'm at liberty to discuss with either of you. Attorney-client privilege. Something the both of you should respect a little bit more."

  A light blush crept up my face, since I knew deep down he was right, but I figured it didn't hurt to ask.

  With another glance in Sydney's direction, Karen sighed again. "Well, I guess there's no point in hanging around here. Thanks for the chat, Darren. If you hear about anything else that you are allowed to at least mention to us in passing, please let us know."

  "I'll see what I can do, but I can’t make any promises," Darren replied softly. "I'm sure I'll see you very soon."

  We couldn't get out of the house quickly enough. By the time we hit the pavement in the driveway Karen’s walk already had a bit more of a bounce in it.