Celeste Blackmoore felt a trill of excitement as she pushed open the door to Rita’s Eats. She scanned the diner, her heart skipping just a little when her eyes found the small, elderly man sitting in the last booth. She made her way down the aisle and slid into the bench opposite him, the red naugahyde seat squeaking as she scooted across it.
“You have some news, Mr. Skinner?” Celeste raised an eyebrow at the man.
Reinhardt Skinner’s eyes, magnified by the thick lenses of his round eyeglasses, glittered with excitement. He pushed his half eaten sandwich to the side and leaned across the table toward her.
“I may have found something very important in your journal,” he said in a low voice.
Celeste’s heartbeat picked up speed. She’d hired the historian to decipher a three hundred year old journal that had belonged to a distant relative of hers. The journal had been found in the attic of the family home she shared with her three sisters … a home which had been the location of a deadly treasure hunt only months before. The journal had started the treasure hunt and, while Celeste’s sisters thought the treasure was long gone, she held out a hope that there might be something worthwhile in the journal. The only problem was that it was in some sort of code, thus the need for Reinhardt Skinner.
“Oh? What?”
Skinner glanced around the diner. A bead of sweat formed on his forehead. He pulled a white linen handkerchief out of his pocket and swiped at his face.
“This may be the most important find of my career.” He tugged at his red bow tie, pulling it out and loosening the top button of his crisp, white shirt.
“What did you find?” she persisted.
“Well, if what I think I have uncovered is true, this could be a find of historical importance.” He gulped in a wheezy breath. “Not to mention financial significance.”
“Go on.” Celeste bit back her impatience, feeling a jolt of concern at the man’s red face and labored breathing.
Skinner reached across the table putting his clammy hand on top of hers, his black eyes boring into her blue ones. She could feel the excitement rippling off him and her heart skittered in anticipation.
“Miss Blackmoore, it seems you might be sitting on top of Aghh—”
His eyes grew wide and he jerked his hand away to clutch at his chest. Celeste’s heart leapt into her throat as she heard him make a sickening gurgling sound. His eyes bulged in their sockets and he slumped over sideways in the booth.
Celeste jumped out of her seat and ran to his side.
“Someone call nine-one-one!”
* * *
Celeste was still attempting CPR when the ambulance arrived even though Mr. Skinner was clearly beyond help. The EMT’s took over and she collapsed into the booth.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t one of the Blackmoores. You gals always seem to end up with a dead body on your hands.”
Celeste felt her stomach sink at the grating voice. She turned to see Sheriff Overton standing in the doorway glaring at her. She cringed as he ambled toward her, his oversized belly protruding over his belt, a toothpick bobbing up and down in his mouth.
“What have we got?” The question was directed at the EMT, but Overton kept his beady eyes on Celeste.
“Looks like a heart attack," the EMT said as he started rolling the body away.
Overton watched him go then turned back to Celeste. “And you’re right in the middle of it. Big surprise.”
Celeste took a deep breath to squelch the spark of anger she felt. Overton had become sheriff in the seaside town of Noquitt, Maine five years ago—shortly after her mother had killed herself by jumping off a cliff into the ocean. Celeste had only been eighteen and had watched the investigation through anguished teenage eyes. She hadn’t been impressed with him then and was even less so now. For some reason Overton seemed to have it in for her and her sisters and relished accusing them of almost every crime that happened in their small town.
“So tell me, why are you here?” Overton switched the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other.
“I was meeting Mr. Skinner for lunch.”
Overton’s brows shot up. “Kind of old for you isn’t he?”
Celeste suddenly became aware of the entire diner staring at her. She squirmed in her seat.
“We had hired him to validate some of our family heirlooms.” She didn’t need the whole town knowing they had a journal that might lead to treasure—or if Skinner was right, an important historical find.
Overton narrowed his eyes at her. “And that’s why you were here with him?”
Celeste nodded. “He was telling me about … ummm … the items.”
“And what were they?”
“I don’t see how that’s relevant. The man had a heart attack for crying out loud. He was pretty old.”
Overton’s face tightened and he wrote something in a notebook he had produced from the top pocket of his shirt.
“It appears that way, Ms. Blackmoore. But I have a feeling you’re up to no good. We’ll see what the medical examiner has to say—given the fact that you were just in my jail a few short months ago on murder charges I’m going to have to treat this as a possible homicide.”
“What? You know those murder charges were trumped up by you!” Celeste rose from her seat, fists clenched at her side. “The real murderer was caught and my name was cleared.”
Overton laughed and Celeste’s cheeks flamed knowing she had played right into his hands letting him get a rise out of her.
“Well, be that as it may, I have a sneaking suspicion that any death that involves you Blackmoore girls has a lot more to it than meets the eye. I’d be willing to bet this isn’t the last time I’ll be questioning you,” Overton said shoving the notebook in his pocket and turning in the direction of the front door.
Celeste stared after him, fighting the urge to stick her tongue out at his retreating back. As she watched him get into his cruiser in the parking lot, her thoughts turned to Reinhardt Skinner.
She hadn’t known him well, but she was truly sorry that he was dead. Not only because she’d liked the old historian, but also because now, she was going to have a heck of a time figuring out what the “important find” was that he was trying to tell her about just before his badly timed death.
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