Chapter 23 #2
“What?” The healthy tan of Ambrosia’s skin paled to sickly gray. “I didn’t touch the accounts.” She whirled on Chet, or tried to before the deputies holding her got her under control again. “Did you steal my money?”
“Like, barely any!” Chet said. “But everyone in the platinum level takes pocket change from the cashbox. It’s a perk.”
“No, it isn’t! You better give that money back, or I’ll sue.”
“You have bigger worries than a civil suit against your partner, here,” McMartin snorted. “These are all paranormal criminal charges, so the FPI is going to handle them. I’d be more worried about life in prison.”
Arthur privately thought it was more likely the FPI would bind her powers.
He’d heard of that sort of thing happening to other paranormals who broke the law.
Her crimes weren’t enough to get her executed, but Ambrosia seemed the sort to care more about her image than her longevity.
He eyed her carefully, but she didn’t react to McMartin’s threats.
Instead, she seemed genuinely distraught about the money having been moved, whispering loudly to Chet about his betrayal while he denied it.
“I don’t even know how to get an offshore bank account! Come on, Ambrosia. What would be the point? You have to remember my debit card PIN for me.”
Curious. Chet did seem a little too dense for this sort of trickery. And if Ambrosia had stolen it herself, there would be a layer of smugness about her denials. Even if she were putting on a show, Arthur doubted she would be able to resist bragging about having funds safely out of the country.
“This doesn’t make sense,” Arthur said to Sal, quietly so as not to draw police attention.
“Criminals are often very haphazard in their approach,” Sal said wisely, clearly from experience of all the crimes he’d committed over the long years. “Trying to make sense of them is a fool’s errand.”
Arthur wasn’t convinced. “She could be faking, but she didn’t seem at all worried about the accusations of fraud or turning Wilhelmina into a cat.
” Arthur pulled out his notebook and flipped through it.
McMartin had been correct when he said all the evidence pointed squarely at Ambrosia.
She had the poisoned potion in her bag. She’d put Lola’s journal on her desk—maybe even out in the open, before Other Arthur Miller stacked papers atop it.
She’d inserted herself into the investigation immediately.
Not all killers were geniuses, it was true.
Yet surely someone with as much to lose as Ambrosia wouldn’t keep so many incriminating things around for days after the murder.
There’d been ample time for her to bury the potion in the woods or burn the journal.
Any criminal with an ounce of sense would have immediately disposed of both to hide their involvement.
“She didn’t hide it, though, did she?” Arthur mused aloud.
“Hm?” Sal asked. “Hide what?”
“The journal. It was on her desk. Right in the open.”
“People with more money than brain cells never think they’ll be held accountable. Why, I once knew a woman who thought she could tax the poor into oblivion without consequence. I warned Marie there’d be trouble.”
“Yes, yes,” Arthur said, too distracted to enjoy one of Sal’s stories. “Everything screams that Ambrosia is guilty. Especially the money being gone.”
Making a snap decision, Arthur approached McMartin.
“When did Ambrosia transfer the funds?” Arthur asked him.
“Oh, you’re still here?” McMartin sneered at him, then shot a mean look at Sal. “I can get your statements tomorrow.”
“What time did the bank transfers happen?” Arthur repeated, more forcefully this time. “It’s of vital importance.”
“I don’t remember.” McMartin shook his head. “Why does it matter?”
“I’m not entirely positive Ambrosia’s guilty.” Arthur saw Ambrosia’s head snap up, a hopeful gleam in her eyes. “Of everything. She’s definitely guilty of some things.”
“Seriously?” McMartin grumbled. “You’re always trying to defend your fellow paranormals. Get out of my crime scene.” He turned away, clearly dismissing them.
One of his deputies stepped closer, lowering her voice. “I was the one who found the transfers,” she said.
“Oh?” Arthur waited, forcing himself to be patient. She wasn’t, strictly speaking, supposed to share details like this with an outsider, especially after McMartin told them to get lost.
“Ambrosia authorized it this afternoon. Drained every single account, corporate and personal. She and Chet must’ve been planning to leave the country.”
“Thank you,” Arthur said before pulling Sal away.
“Well, then. Now that that’s settled, what do you say—should we abscond to the woods like two young lads sneaking away for a moonlit stroll?”
“Abscond, yes, but not to the woods.” Arthur waited until they were out of earshot before stopping to discuss. “None of this is adding up.”
“Arithmetic was never my strong suit,” Sal whined.
“We know Ambrosia was here from dawn to dusk performing the ritual. She couldn’t have stopped to make a bank transfer. If that was the plan, why not make the transfer last night? No one would have noticed with the solstice celebrations ongoing.”
“So, what does that mean? They have another accomplice?” Sal asked.
“Ambrosia had motive, she has the murder weapon, she took Lola’s journal…” Arthur trailed off. “Or, someone is trying to frame her. Maybe they put Lola’s journal in her yurt. They could have planted the potion as well.”
“I don’t know, Arthur. That all seems rather coincidental.”
“Nothing is a coincidence when it comes to murder.”
“So, who could it be? Ambrosia didn’t do her dirty work last time,” Sal mused. “Why would she this time?”
“Chet again?” Arthur didn’t think it was likely. “He’s been with her all day, but I suppose she couldn’t have seen him move the money while she was in her trance.”
“No, there’s no signal out here, so Chet couldn’t have done it either.” Sal held up his phone as proof. “Besides, he declined to murder Wilhelmina, so I can’t imagine he’d change his style for Lola. He’d have just turned her into another cat, right?”
“There must be a third party involved.”
“Who else could have moved the money?”
Arthur’s eyes widened as the realization dawned on him.
The coven didn’t have a treasurer. What they did have was an accountant.
One who’d known Ambrosia almost all their lives.
One who’d been there when everything started, who’d stayed in exactly the same place while observing Ambrosia’s meteoric rise from afar.
Sal gasped, apparently coming to the same conclusion as he shouted, “It was Martha Washington!”
Arthur put his head in his hands. They really needed to learn her surname if they were going to accuse her of murder.