by Krista Davis
There was no point in scolding them. But Twinkletoes’s new friend had taught her a very irritating trick.
I returned to the library, cleaned up the newspaper, and reshelved the books. Only three had to be replaced. Oddly enough, one of them was Haunting Horrors of Wagtail. No mention of Mallory on the cover. I flipped it open to the title page. Only Mark’s name was listed. The copyright was in Mark’s name, too. I read the dedication. No mention of Mallory whatsoever—not even thanks for her assistance.
I started back to the registration desk with the damaged books in my arms. As I passed the front door, someone knocked eagerly and peered inside.
I unlocked the door. “Brian. Hi!”
He rubbed his arms as he lumbered in. “Brrr. It’s cold out there! Thanks for letting me in, Holly.”
“Are you through for the night?”
“Uh, not completely. I just came to get some, um, batteries for the recorder.”
“Lillian said you’re not picking up children’s voices tonight.”
“It’s a bummer. But sometimes we don’t hear the voices and sounds until we play them back. So far no running feet, though. Nothing exciting like that.” He headed upstairs.
I put on a pot of coffee in the private kitchen and poured myself a mug to stay awake. Assuming Brian had left, I locked the front door. Trixie turned her head to look up the stairs. I didn’t see anyone, but she wagged her tail as though she anticipated someone’s imminent arrival.
“Come on, Trixie,” I called. There wasn’t a good place to conceal myself. I did a one hundred and eighty degree turn and reentered the private kitchen. I scooped up Trixie so she wouldn’t give me away. With the door cracked just enough to see, I peered out.
Brian stole down the stairs, glanced around, and headed for the library carrying a purse.
When I thought it was safe, I followed him. On the other side of the library, he opened the door to Eva’s room and disappeared inside.
It was a tough call. Confront him or let him carry out his plans? If he had killed Mallory, he could be violent, and I could be in serious danger.
I opted to return to the kitchen and wait until I saw him pass by in the other direction.
Seconds later, he unlocked the front door and left. If he was carrying batteries, I didn’t see them. They could have been in a pocket, I supposed.
I stepped out on the front porch into the night air. Brian jogged along the empty sidewalk.
For a long moment, I considered what to do. It wasn’t right to snoop in a guest room. But what if Brian had put something dangerous in that bag? There was no question that his behavior had been highly suspicious. I returned to the lobby and locked the front door securely behind me.
With some trepidation, I opened the door to Eva’s room. The cats lounged on her bed.
I spotted the purse right away. The handle stuck out from under the dressing table, as though Brian wanted it to be discovered.
Taking a deep breath, I pulled it out from underneath the furniture. It was an Hermès Birkin bag—the signature purse of outrageously wealthy women who could plop down cash for a handbag that cost as much as a car. I had seen plenty of them at my old job as a fund-raiser but had never actually held one. It was made of exquisite light blue leather with gold hardware on the front.
I opened it with caution, leaning back in case something fizzed out of it. Nothing happened. I peered inside. It was empty. The interior was oddly stiff. A colorful mosaic that melded into strange hues covered the bottom. Surely this was not how a pricey handbag was supposed to look inside.
I stifled a gasp. One sniff and I knew the truth—it was Clementine’s handbag.
Thirty-two
There was no mistaking the smell of crayons. What were the odds that there would be two expensive Birkin bags in Wagtail in which someone had melted crayons? Zero to none, that’s what.
Clementine had given the bag to Mallory. I wanted to imagine there was a good reason for Brian stashing it in Eva’s room. I could only come to one conclusion, though. He must have taken it from Mallory and wanted to frame Eva for Mallory’s death. That would explain the presence of Mallory’s necklace in Eva’s room, too.
I jogged to the registration desk and phoned Dave.
He sounded groggy. “I’ll be right there.”
Ten minutes later, Dave stood in the lobby with me, examining the purse.
By four in the morning, Clementine had confirmed that it was, indeed, the handbag she had given to Mallory, and with Brian’s permission, Dave was searching his room.
Oma, Mr. Luciano, and Lillian had awakened and joined the crowd of ghost hunters downstairs. I ran around answering questions and offering hot cider. Oma rustled up some platters of cheese and crackers, as well as cookies.
Eva glared at Brian, whose face had turned crimson as the fall leaves. “Why?” she demanded. “Why would you do this to me?”
He squinted at her. “Are you kidding? Do you not know how mean you are to me? You act like I’m a big, dumb galumph. My teachers used to treat me that way, like I was the stupidest blockhead of a kid they’d ever encountered. This is payback, baby! You run around so cocky and full of yourself with your nose pointing up in the air. This is how Brian manifested a ghost out of thin air and bamboozled the public.” He held up his hands and gestured in a prissy manner when he mimicked her.
Eva held a hand to her throat and swallowed hard. If Brian wanted comeuppance, he’d just achieved it.
Dave ambled down the stairs carrying a laptop and a cell phone. “I’d like you to come with me, Brian, so I can ask you some questions.”
“About what? All I did was play a few innocent and harmless pranks to make Eva think Mallory was haunting her. Nobody got hurt.”
“Did you find the other shoe?” I asked.
“No. But there are a few photographs of Mallory on your phone and computer that I’d like to talk about.”
“That’s not against the law.”
“Some of the images are disturbing.”
I gasped. “Are they kind of warped?” I glanced at Eva. “The image in the mirror!”
“My personal favorite.” Brian took a bow. “Heard you both saw that one. It was pretty spooky, huh?”
“Where was the projector?” asked Mark.
Brian shook his head. “I’m not giving away all my secrets.” But the way his glance flashed over to the decorative mummies gave me a clue. Trixie had sniffed around the base of them. I should have paid more attention to what her nose found interesting.
“The recording of a ghost saying Eva’s name?” Mark asked.
“Also me. Pretty convincing, eh?”
“The light in Eva’s room the first night you were here?” I asked.
“Guilty. But none of that was illegal. Just harmless fun.”
He was admitting everything.
“Where did you get the jewelry and the purse?”
Brian grinned as if he was proud of himself. “From Mark’s house, the day we went over to express our sympathy. I dropped them out a window and collected them later. No biggie. I was just borrowing them.”
Dave calmly said, “I’d like to talk with you further back at the station, okay?”
“Wait!” I cried. “Did you try to break into the kitchen door on the lake side of the inn?”
Brian’s brow wrinkled. “Nope. Had nothing to do with that. Sure, I’ll go with you.” He sneered at Eva. “Because I haven’t done anything wrong. I have a clear conscience.”
The moment Dave and Brian left, chatter filled the inn. To a person, everyone speculated about Brian killing Mallory. Only the dogs and cats seemed bored.
Eventually everyone straggled up to bed, except for Ben and me. I thought about Brian and Mallory while we cleaned up.
Mallory must have gone to Clementine’s house while the ghos
t hunters were eating dinner. I thought back but didn’t recall Mallory carrying a handbag when I saw her at the bonfire. She probably dropped the purse off at Mark’s house. Then she joined the ghost hunters for drinks at Hair of the Dog and walked home with Zelda and Felix. At that point, for some unknown reason, she changed into her Becca Wraith ghost outfit. Had Brian sneaked out to Mark’s house? Mark wouldn’t have known, because he was here at the inn with Eva.
I stopped in the middle of washing a pot. A shudder ran down my spine as I considered how cleverly Brian had stolen the handbag and the necklace and planted them in Eva’s room. Maybe he wasn’t as dumb as Eva thought.
Ben brought the last tray into the kitchen.
“Will Brian’s admissions be enough to charge him with murder?” I asked.
“Not a chance. They probably have enough for petty larceny, but that’s all.”
“Those purses have price tags in the five-digit range.”
“What kind of idiot would pay that much for a handbag?”
“That’s not the question.”
“Okay”—he shrugged—“grand larceny. But I didn’t hear anything that tied him to Mallory’s murder.”
Neither had I. Someone must have seen or heard something helpful that night. I stopped in my tracks. But someone had. Clementine had seen someone running with an odd gait. And that merchant from town said his wife saw the ghost of the black panther.
Well, that didn’t help at all!
Ben went up to bed. I held down the fort until Frankenstein showed up at the glass doors of the reception area. My breath caught for a moment, but Shelley, dressed as a cheerleader, arrived right behind him. I buzzed them in, and Frankenstein took off his head long enough for me to realize he was the cook.
Halloween Day had officially arrived.
I was thrilled when Zelda showed up to replace me dressed as a cat. She had drawn whiskers on her face, accented her eyes with makeup, and wore ears and a tail.
I stumbled upstairs to my apartment, brushed my teeth, pulled on a nightshirt, and fell into bed thinking that I would never volunteer for another all-nighter. I dozed off with Trixie at my feet.
* * *
At one in the afternoon I returned to the living. No hot tea or chocolate croissants awaited me in the kitchen. I had missed breakfast, too. A shame. I had come to enjoy them.
While I showered, I considered what costume would be most comfortable to wear during the day. I had a witch costume planned for the gala in the evening. In which box might I have packed my costume for Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz?
I threw on my bathrobe and rummaged through boxes. Twinkletoes jumped into them and Mrs. Mewer stretched up to peer in at her. They made it into a game and chased each other.
The costume turned up in the fourth box and was surprisingly unwrinkled. I’d had the sense to pack shoes together but had to dig down to find the ruby slippers, which were pumps covered with red sequins. Even the bows just above the toes glowed with sequins. Trixie sniffed around the box.
“You’re a terrier, but not exactly Toto.” I cupped my hands around her ears and kissed her forehead. There was no rule that said Dorothy didn’t have a thing for Tootsie Rolls. I slid the costume over Trixie’s head. She seemed quite comfortable in it.
I pulled on my own white blouse and slipped the blue and white gingham pinafore dress over it. I braided my hair and tied it with matching gingham ribbons. White socks, the fabulous ruby slippers, and I was ready to go.
Trouble loomed before I made it all the way downstairs. Dave strolled in the front door of the inn, looking grim. There was no mistaking his police uniform for a costume.
I smiled at him anyway. “Good morning!”
“Living in a different time zone, Holly? It’s afternoon.”
Uh-oh. He seemed a little bit grumpy. “What’s going on? How’s Brian?”
“Brian will probably be back soon. I’m looking for Mark.”
I glanced around the sitting room and the dining area. “Try Eva’s room.”
“Thanks.”
I grabbed his arm. “You’re not going to tell me why?”
Dave looked dead tired. He shrugged. “You can tag along, Dorothy.”
Eva answered the door in a trim pink suit, pillbox hat, and white gloves. Jackie Kennedy for sure.
“Afternoon, Eva. Is Mark here?” asked Dave.
Eva’s eyes widened with fear, and she backed up. “Mark?”
He strolled toward us barefoot, wearing a Sugar Maple Inn bathrobe and a towel around his neck. His hair stood at odd angles, as though he had just towel dried it. “Hi, Dave. Holly.”
“Mark, do you own a penknife?”
“Yeah.”
“Can you describe it?”
“Sure. It’s one of those Swiss models with all kinds of cool stuff on it. Did somebody find it? I’ve been looking everywhere for that thing.” His eyes narrowed. “My name isn’t on it. How would you know it belonged to me?
Dave ignored his question. “When is the last time you saw it?”
“I had it when Grayson got here. We went over to Wraith Hollow and hiked up the mountain. I took it with me then. After that I couldn’t find it. Turned the house upside down looking for that thing.”
“Did Grayson use it?”
“I don’t think so.”
Dave focused on Mark intensely. “Why would Mallory’s fingerprints be on it?”
Thirty-three
I’m not a psychologist, but Mark’s surprise seemed as genuine as my own.
“Mallory?” asked Mark.
“Mallory?” I echoed.
“Maybe she borrowed it,” said Mark.
And just like that, my suspicions about him faded. Mark was calm as a lake on a Sunday morning. He could have used a word like swiped or stole, but he showed his true colors when he said borrowed, as if it were a natural act between friends, and she would have returned it to him.
But I was reeling from the revelation. Someone, presumably Mark or Mallory, since their fingerprints were on the knife, had lost it exactly where the pumpkin had been smashed.
“When did you hike with Grayson?” I asked.
Mark’s forehead wrinkled. “A couple days before everyone else arrived.”
I waited for Dave to continue with his questions. I shouldn’t have butted in.
While Dave and Mark spoke, I was calculating. It seemed perfectly reasonable that it might have fallen out of Mark’s pocket. But it happened during a very narrow window of time, which made it suspect. It had landed there sometime in the last few days. It was lying under a piece of the pumpkin, so one might even draw the conclusion that it happened before or when the pumpkin smashed, making the potential time frame still narrower. But I couldn’t see how it tied into Mallory’s death.
“Where else did you go?” asked Dave.
“When?”
“That day. Before hiking or after hiking?”
“Grayson met me at my house. We walked over to Wraith Hollow and hiked, then I went home to shower and change before meeting with Rose at Café Chat.”
“Thanks.” Dave turned toward me. “Could I have a word with you privately?”
“Sure.” I led the way to the kitchen.
“Someone called the chief of police to lodge a complaint against me. There’s a remote chance that they’ll pull me off the Wagtail detail.”
“No! You’re part of the fabric of Wagtail. We’ll stage a protest.”
“Don’t you dare. I don’t want a big fuss. Don’t say a word to anyone else, okay? I’m on my way to meet with the chief. I’ll keep you posted.”
“No, it’s not okay. We’re not going to let that happen to you. Who complained?”
Dave sighed. “One Birdie Dupuy.”
“Why would she do a thing like that?” What was I thinking?
She was crazy enough to have gotten me out of bed on false pretenses and timed my response.
“She’s been chasing Doc a long time. He only has eyes for Rose. I’d guess she’s trying to ingratiate herself.”
“Say no more. I’ll call your chief and tell him she’s a nut.”
“Thanks, Holly, but that’s not necessary. This business with Brian, the attack on Clementine, Mallory’s fingerprints on the knife”—he shook his head—“I don’t know how it all ties together yet, but at least the chief will know I’m not out of bounds by suspecting murder. Don’t worry. I’ll still be around. They could assign me somewhere else, but I live in Wagtail, and they can’t make me move.”
I hugged him. “Good luck. Let me know if I can help. Okay?”
Dave smiled at me. “Don’t call anybody on my behalf yet. I’ll be in touch after I meet with the chief.”
No sooner had we left the kitchen than Holmes flagged me down.
In dark jeans with bloodred stripes up the sides, tall boots, a cream-colored captain’s shirt with a V-neck, and a black utility vest, he looked fairly normal, but the mock blaster pistol he carried gave his costume away—Han Solo.
“Good morning, Mr. Solo. I’ll be right with you. I think it’s Mr. Huckle’s day off. I’d better give Shelley a hand setting up for the ghost hunters.”
With Holmes pitching in, the breakfast buffet in the Dogwood Room was ready to go in a matter of minutes. The Apparition Apprehenders trickled in, groggy after being up all night. Brian showed up as the Incredible Hulk. Felix and Casper wore coordinating Batman and Robin outfits. Grayson looked dashing in a trim Star Trek uniform. Mark appeared comfortable and normal in khakis, a tan shirt, and a leather jacket, but there was no mistaking Indiana Jones’s hat and whip.
When they settled in, I made a quick round of pouring coffee.
