by Bobbi Holmes
“And the killer? Is the killer among them?” Walt asked.
“He wouldn’t say,” Heather said.
“I thought you said you had good news,” Lily said. “None of that sounds too good.”
“According to the ghost, the killer didn’t make any threats against anyone—and as far as the ghost knows, the killer isn’t planning anything. He feels that getting all these people together might trigger something,” Heather explained.
“We don’t know much more than we did before,” Danielle said with a groan.
“You now know one of your guests might get murdered. Before, you didn’t know for sure if he was talking about your guests,” Heather reminded her.
“Like I said, not sure why you think that is good news,” Lily said.
Nine
Bentley Mason gave his boss credit, she never seemed particularly upset when a new business contact extended a hand in greeting, believing him to be Jack Stafford. A sure sign the new contact hadn’t done his or her homework prior to the meeting. But he had to admit, he looked more the part of producer, with his perfectly coifed dark hair, neatly trimmed at the sides with a pompadour. He rocked the designer stubble. Today he wore a dark suit jacket over his crisply ironed mauve dress shirt, sans the tie. If not a producer, many assumed he was an actor instead of the producer’s assistant.
He sat across from Jackie at the table, their lunch meeting had ended ten minutes earlier, and the most recent person to mistake him for his boss had just left the restaurant. Bentley stayed behind with Jackie so they could review some last minute details about their upcoming trip to Oregon.
Silently waiting for Jackie to finish looking over her notes, Bentley studied her features. The word wholesome came to mind, with her red hair neatly trimmed, falling just above her shoulders. Freckles dusted her face, and when Jackie smiled, she showed off straight white teeth. Her brows arched perfectly over hazel eyes, and he thought she looked more like a girl off the farm as opposed to the shrewd businesswoman she was.
A sharp pain shooting from his lower back disrupted his mental musing. Sitting up straighter, he reached back and grabbed hold of his right hip and winced. The motion caused Jackie to look up from her notes.
“Did you take something for that?” she asked.
“Yes, before we ate.”
“You need to do something about that back,” she chastised.
“The doctor says I can either live with it with some good drugs, or get surgery. I opt for drugs.” He rubbed the sore area and then relaxed. “It feels better now.”
“You’re too young to have back problems,” she said.
“Tell that to my back,” he grumbled.
She set her notes aside and said, “By the way, did I mention Seraphina took Phoebe back?”
Bentley arched his brows. “How did that happen?”
Jackie shrugged. “I have no idea. But she’s coming with us and will be staying in your room.”
“With me?” Bentley choked out.
“You don’t look thrilled?” she teased.
He rolled his eyes.
“Most men would love the idea of sharing a room with the lovely Phoebe.”
“Cute,” he said dryly. “She’s not really my type.”
“It’s why I was glad they had a room with twin beds. I thought this might happen.”
“I can’t believe you thought Seraphina would take Phoebe back. You must know something juicy you aren’t sharing,” Bentley said.
“I just assumed Seraphina might be hiring another assistant—and if she did, she’d want the assistant to come along. Although I have no idea why a singer needs her own personal assistant.”
“I heard Birdie paid Phoebe’s salary,” Bentley said in a whisper.
Jackie shrugged, disinterested. “I heard that too. Frankly, I thought Birdie would lose interest in her little project after Randy’s death. But I suppose it keeps her occupied, and as long as she continues to fund this project, she can pay for all the assistants she wants.”
“I’m looking forward to it. I think it’ll be fun,” Polly Larimore said as she chopped the greens for their dinner salad. Her husband, Teddy, sat at the nearby home bar, drinking a gin martini. “I just wish there was some way to see my brother while we’re in Oregon.”
“You can see him another time. This isn’t exactly a pleasure trip. I’m not particularly looking forward to staying in a bed and breakfast with a bunch of people I don’t care about.” Teddy Larimore, who was a good fifteen years older than his wife, showed no signs of gray in his head of dark brown hair. Which made one suspect considering the tinge of gray along the outer corners of his shortly cropped beard. Like his beard, he wore his hair neatly trimmed, with the outer edges cut short, its back length touching his collar, and the front combed forward, almost touching his bushy brows.
“What are you talking about? We’ve been friends with Jackie and Julius for years,” Polly reminded him.
“Jackie is a business associate. It doesn’t mean I particularly want to vacation with her and Julius. And this trip is nothing more than an unnecessary work trip to appease Birdie. I’d rather go up there without all the additional baggage.”
Does he consider me part of this additional baggage? Polly asked herself.
Teddy downed his martini. Setting the glass on the bar top, he looked over to the kitchen island, watching his wife prepare their salad. She’d had her dark hair cut that afternoon in a perky wedge.
“Why didn’t you get highlights this time?” he asked.
Polly glanced up from the cutting board. “I just didn’t. Thought I would try something different.”
“You look better with highlights.” He fished his gin-soaked olive from the martini glass and then ate it.
“I can get them next time,” she told him.
Picking the empty glass off the bar top, he stood up and carried it to the kitchen island and set it down for Polly to wash.
“I talked to Seraphina today,” Polly told him, dumping the lettuce she had just chopped into a large bowl and ignoring the martini glass.
“Why are you talking to Seraphina?” he asked.
“We’ve gotten close. I’ve been giving her some acting tips,” she said.
“Leave her alone, Polly. You haven’t had a role in over five years, and if I want your help, I’ll ask you.”
“She asked me,” Polly said in a small voice.
“She shouldn’t have. You’re the director’s wife, not an acting coach.”
“You said I might be able to get a part in Moon Runners.”
“What did Seraphina have to say?” he asked, ignoring her comment.
“You will never guess, but she hired Phoebe back.”
“Why would she do that?” he asked.
Polly shrugged. “She said something about it all being a misunderstanding, that there really hadn’t been anything between Barry and Phoebe. And that Phoebe had been as hurt as she had been, and she wanted to make things right.”
“That doesn’t mean she has to rehire her.”
“And she’s coming to Oregon,” Polly added.
“What!” Teddy said louder than he had intended. The outburst made Polly jump.
“I don’t know why you’re so upset. Anyway, I thought you liked Phoebe?”
“She’s Seraphina’s assistant. I don’t particularly like or dislike her. But we don’t need that type of drama.”
Polly giggled.
Teddy furrowed his brows and asked sternly, “What’s so funny?”
“You know movie crew—drama. Isn’t drama what you do?” Polly giggled again.
“Don’t be obtuse,” he snapped.
“I’m not being obtuse! Goodness, Teddy, do you have to be so cranky all the time? You don’t like my hair. You don’t want me helping Seraphina. You don’t like my jokes!”
Teddy let out a sigh. “I’m just tired. I’m not looking forward to this trip. I would rather scout the area without taking an entire
entourage along.”
“Can’t you just try to enjoy yourself?” Polly asked. “It’s been so long since we’ve gone anywhere together. I know it’s for work, but the Oregon coast is beautiful, and I’m excited to be staying at Marlow House.”
“Why?” He frowned. “We’ve stayed at B and Bs before, and from what I understand, it’s just a house now.”
“Haven’t you read about it?”
“Read about it? It’s the house where the author lives, why would I read about it?”
“It’s fascinating. There are lots of articles about Marlow House online. Did you know it was built by the founder of the town, who happened to be one of Walt Marlow’s distant cousins? In fact, he was named for the grandson of the founder, and he looks just like him.”
“Yes, I’ve heard all that, so?”
“Did you know some people think Marlow House is haunted?” she asked.
He laughed. “Don’t they always say old houses are haunted?”
“I’m serious. And there have been a number of murders at the house.” She sounded far too happy to be delivering that piece of news.
“Then I suppose Chase should be staying at Marlow House instead of Bentley. Sounds like the perfect place to inspire a writer,” Teddy said sarcastically.
“Actually it is. I never understood why Chase insisted on getting his own place. Surely they could have put Bentley in some nearby motel,” Polly said.
Teddy shrugged. “Chase doesn’t like anyone around while he’s writing. It would be more convenient for him to stay in Marlow House so he could easily collaborate with Marlow. But I suspect it is his way of keeping Marlow at a distance. You know Chase, when he’s adapting a book, he sees the final project as his own and doesn’t appreciate the original author butting in too much—especially a new author, like Marlow.”
“It is Walt Marlow’s story,” Polly countered.
“And I trust Chase to do an excellent job with the screenplay. He is one of the best.”
“Then why has he never even been nominated for an Oscar? Or an Emmy, for that matter,” she asked.
“It’s the politics. Chase is not that well liked in the industry, and you know it.”
“Well, I’m just glad we’re staying at Marlow House. I wish you were looking forward to it too.”
“Fine, I’ll try to enjoy myself,” he promised unconvincingly.
“Dinner should be ready in five minutes,” she said brightly.
“I’m going to my office to make a quick call.”
“Don’t take too long. Dinner is almost ready.”
“It won’t take long,” he said before turning away.
A few minutes later he stood alone in his home office, the door closed, and his cellphone to his ear. When the party answered, he asked in a harsh voice, “What are you up to?”
“Oh, Teddy, I was wondering when I would be hearing from you,” the female voice purred.
“I’m warning you, Phoebe,” he hissed.
Ten
Joanne Johnson spent Thursday putting fresh sheets on all the beds in Marlow House, washing a load of towels, along with cleaning all the bathrooms, vacuuming the house from top to bottom, and dusting. For a woman with a full load of chores she had a cheerful outlook, eagerly anticipating the guests. The housekeeper had missed the B and B. She enjoyed meeting the different people who had stayed at Marlow House, and there always seemed to be something interesting happening, although she could have done without a few of the murders.
On Friday morning she made a trip to the grocery store to purchase necessary items for the upcoming week. She had already returned and had put everything away, filling Marlow House’s pantry and refrigerator, and now sat at the kitchen table, reviewing the upcoming week’s menu with Danielle. Danielle was just refilling Joanne’s cup with coffee when the back door opened and in walked Lily and Sadie.
“Morning, Dani, Joanne,” Lily greeted them cheerfully as Sadie went to press a wet nose against Joanne’s hand, and then Danielle’s, while her tail wagged. Danielle gave the golden retriever a scratch behind her ears before the dog ran out of the kitchen, looking for Walt.
“Hello, Lily,” Joanne said with a smile.
“Want some coffee?” Danielle asked, still standing by the coffee pot.
“I would love a cup,” Lily said as she sat at the table and then lifted the lid off the cake pan sitting in the middle of the table.
“Help yourself,” Danielle said just as Lily snatched one of the cinnamon rolls off the plate.
“I was going to.” Lily giggled.
Danielle chuckled and then grabbed a clean cup from the cupboard for Lily.
“I understand you have your hands full now,” Joanne said.
Pulling the sticky roll in half, Lily gave Joanne a questioning look.
“I ran into your sister-in-law at the grocery store this morning,” Joanne explained. “She tells me Connor isn’t just standing now, he’s jumping—and quite high. My, he is a precocious one! He’s barely six months. I don’t think my niece’s son could stand on his own until he was nine months.”
“Kelly sure is a chatty thing,” Lily grumbled under her breath before shoving a piece of roll in her mouth.
“One of my friend’s sons walked at nine months,” Danielle said as she brought the coffee cups to the table.
“Fact is, Connor is not doing that much jumping,” Lily said. Or standing, she thought.
“Little ones certainly keep you busy,” Joanne said. “But if he’s already standing—much less jumping—I’d say you have a pistol on your hands!”
Lily smiled dully at Joanne as she accepted a cup of coffee from Danielle. She then changed the subject and asked, “So when are your guests going to be here?”
“They should be arriving any time now,” Danielle said as she took a seat. Just as she sat down, she glanced at the kitchen window and spotted a man standing outside looking in at them.
“Either that’s one of them now who decided to come to the back door, or Seraphina’s fans are going to be more annoying than we imagined.”
As Danielle stood up, both Lily and Joanne turned around and looked at the window.
“What are you talking about?” Lily asked.
Danielle pointed to the window. “The man.”
“What man?” Lily asked.
Joanne stood up and made it to the door before Danielle. She jerked it open and looked outside. Glancing back to Danielle, she said, “There’s no one out here. What did you think you saw?”
“Another ghost?” Lily asked Danielle after they left Joanne alone in the kitchen.
“I assume that’s what it has to be. I saw him standing there, even after Joanne opened the door and looked outside. And then he vanished.”
“And it wasn’t the ghost you saw the other day?” Lily asked.
Danielle shook her head. “No. It was another guy. Different person. Getting a little crowded around here.”
Danielle and Lily headed to the library to tell Walt what Danielle had just seen when the doorbell rang.
Phoebe had driven the rental car from the Portland Airport to Frederickport, allowing Seraphina to sit in the back seat with Beatrice Adair—or Birdie, as she liked to be called. When Birdie had asked to travel with Seraphina, even offering to pay for all the travel expenses, Seraphina had said yes—and no.
While Seraphina appreciated all that Birdie and Randy had done for her, there was no reason for Birdie to continue picking up the tab. Seraphina could pay her own way—plus she was acutely aware of how much she owed Birdie.
The time had passed quickly from the airport to Frederickport, and they now stood on the front porch of Marlow House, waiting for someone to answer the door. Seraphina smiled inwardly, thinking about the first time they had met. She had thought Birdie the stereotypical rich white lady—or at least, how she had once imagined one might be, before she had met any. At sixty-three, Birdie had only slight creases around the corners of her brown eyes, and Seraphin
a would describe her as mature as opposed to old looking. If Birdie had ever been flighty or youthful, it was before Seraphina had met the woman.
Fair skinned, Birdie wore her thin blond hair down, its ends turning up into a slight flip at the shoulders. She wore makeup with restraint, plum lipstick and black eyeliner. Slim and tall, Birdie had been fairly active and fit. But after Randy’s death she had taken a fall and now used a cane and found it difficult to walk without one. It was one reason Seraphina would not try coming up with an excuse to avoid flying to Portland with Birdie. Birdie needed assistance traveling now, and she and Randy had been there when Seraphina had first started her career. In fact, if not for Birdie and Randy, she would not have landed the role in Moon Runners.
Seraphina could tell Birdie was not happy that she had taken Phoebe back, but since she was no longer paying the woman’s wage, she didn’t think it was any of her business. Fortunately Phoebe seemed to be going out of her way to work her way back into the older woman’s good graces. Normally it wouldn’t matter, but they would be spending the next week together.
The front door finally swung open and she found herself facing not one—but three people. The man she recognized immediately, Walt Marlow, the author of Moon Runners. He was as handsome as the picture on his book jacket. Next to him were two attractive thirtysomething women, both much shorter than herself, with the redhead being the shortest.
Forty minutes later Seraphina sat in the library with Walt and Danielle Marlow. Shortly after arriving, they had been introduced to their hosts, along with a neighbor and the housekeeper, Joanne Johnson. They were shown to their rooms, where Seraphina had eventually left Phoebe to unpack for her.
Birdie had been given the downstairs bedroom so she wouldn’t have to maneuver the stairs. The Marlows’ neighbor had said her goodbyes and left with her golden retriever, and now Seraphina enjoyed a cup of green tea with her hosts.
“You have a beautiful home,” Seraphina said. “I love that it’s been in your family for years. I always envy those who have such a strong sense of family history.”
