by Krista Davis
Thirty-five
The man caught Trixie by her neck. She snarled, her legs clawing at the air. “You wouldn’t want to see your little dog hurt, either.”
Nobody messes with my dog! I grabbed the chair and slammed it into him with all my strength.
Releasing Trixie, he fell to the floor.
I scooped her into my arms, ran for the door, unlocked it, and swung it open. “Help! Help!”
The music blared, far too loud for people to hear me. Trixie barked nonstop. Gingersnap, Casper, GloryB, and a host of other dogs charged down the hallway to her aid, with Dave in hot pursuit.
I pointed my shaking hand at the man. Even my legs shook. I hoped they would hold me. “He threatened me.”
The man lay on his back, groaning. “I think she cracked my ribs.”
“Who is it?”
“Grayson, I think.”
No sooner had I spoken than the ghost hunters barreled into the room. I looked up into Grayson’s eyes.
“If you’re here, then who . . . ?”
Dave eased the mask off the man’s head. Doc looked up at us, his eyes angry.
“Noooo!” Grayson wedged past everyone, sat on the floor and held Doc’s head gently.
“What’s going on?” asked Felix.
“He attacked me!” I howled.
Grayson winced. “Oh, Gramps. Why?”
“You killed Mallory?” asked Mark.
“No.” Grayson blinked hard. “No, I didn’t. Aww, Doc. I just found you, I can’t lose you now. Someone call an ambulance!”
No one moved.
“Doc is your grandfather?” asked Felix. “I thought you didn’t know your grandfathers.”
“I knew one of them lived here.”
Doc raised a hand and patted Grayson’s hand. “I’d have done anything for you, son.”
Everyone spoke at once.
Dave placed two fingers in his mouth and whistled. “Here’s how we’re going to do this.” He pointed at us as he spoke. “Holly, Doc, Grayson, and I are going to the inn to see if we can figure this out. I want all of the ghost hunters back at the Dogwood Room pronto. We’re going to leave quietly, two by two, and we’re not going to attract any attention to ourselves or disrupt the party. Got it?” Dave held out a hand to Doc. “Get up, Doc. Let’s go.”
Doc winced. “I don’t think I can. She cracked my ribs.”
Dave licked his lips. “When I was a kid, I broke my leg at the top of Wagtail Mountain. Do you remember what you said to me?”
Doc sighed. “Tough it out?”
“You betcha. Now get up.”
“Dave, maybe you should call an ambulance,” I whispered.
A slight smile danced across his lips. He shook his head. “He’s fine. I know Doc and his little tricks.”
While Dave accompanied Doc from the room, I sat on the bed, checking out Trixie. She seemed fine and insisted on licking my face over and over.
I looked for Holmes when I walked out but didn’t see him anywhere. Trixie, Felix, and I took the golf cart back to the inn.
Thirty-six
The ghost hunters who had walked back trickled in slowly. Mark and Eva, Grayson and Lillian, Brian and Mr. Luciano.
When everyone was present and seated, Dave stood up, very much in command. “Okay, I think we have established that Doc is Grayson’s grandfather. Is that correct?”
Doc nodded. “Imagine me opening my front door a few days ago and finding baby Grayson there, a full grown man. I nearly burst my buttons with pride on seeing him.”
“That was why I arrived early,” Grayson explained. “I knew he lived around here. But it took some guts to finally knock on his door.”
Dave crossed his arms over his chest. “Grayson, what happened the night Mallory died?”
“Stop. You don’t have to drag them through this. It’s my fault that Mallory died.” Lillian raised her chin and spoke with a soft yet determined voice.
Everyone in the room turned to stare at her.
“That night, while everyone else was out at dinner, someone snatched GloryB and left a note under my door saying to meet them in the middle of the night and threatening to harm little GloryB if I told anyone, especially the police.” Lillian stroked the little dog on her lap.
“That’s why you were pacing through the inn that night,” I exclaimed.
“I thought the person who took her might have locked her in a guest room. I was walking the halls, listening for her.”
“Lillian! Why didn’t you tell me?” Grayson asked. “I can’t believe it. That explains so much.”
I was glad it clarified things for him, because I sure didn’t understand.
“It was Mallory who snatched her,” continued Lillian. “Apparently she overheard me when I warned Mark about her. She wanted to make a deal. If I did not encourage Mark to marry her and praise her to his family, Mallory would cause me and my rather prim and proper deceased husband great embarrassment by revealing to the press that Grayson and I are involved in a romantic relationship.”
I nearly fell off my chair. From the wide-eyed looks, I wasn’t the only one caught by surprise. Lillian had to be fifteen years his senior.
Brian snickered. “A cougar!”
Grayson smiled, somewhat smugly.
“You cheated on your husband!” accused Brian.
Lillian recoiled. “I did not! He’s been dead for years.” She scowled at him. “Anyway, I tried to grab GloryB from Mallory’s arms. We tussled a little and both fell, breaking one of those beautiful pumpkins that line the walk. I took off running for the inn with GloryB in my arms. When I heard Mallory was dead the next day, I thought she must have hit her head on a rock or something when she fell. I should have reported it. I’m so sorry. I . . . I felt I couldn’t reveal the truth about Grayson and me without a public scandal. Even though my husband is deceased, I try not to bring shame to his memory. It was silly of me to feel that way and wrong of me not to come forward.” She rose to her feet. “I’m ready to accept the consequences for my actions.”
Grayson reached for her hand and clasped it in his. “You didn’t kill her, Lillian. If anyone is to blame, it’s me.”
“You? Oh, Grayson, don’t do this, honey. I have to suffer the consequences for not helping that poor girl.” Lillian sank into her chair.
“Listen to her, son,” said Doc. “Don’t say anything. Not a word. I’ll get you a good lawyer.”
Grayson smiled at Lillian. “I’m not being heroic. I had a run-in with Mallory, too. Lillian didn’t want to see me that night. Now I know why. But at the time, I was depressed and didn’t understand the sudden cold shoulder. I thought I had found someone special in Lillian. Someone mature who wouldn’t pull stunts and lie. I couldn’t sleep, so I went for a walk and saw the ghost of Becca, clear as could be. Of course, it turned out to be Mallory. She was agitated and asked me to let her in the back door of the inn. When I asked her why, she said she wasn’t staying at the Sugar Maple Inn, so she didn’t think Casey would unlock the door for her. Apparently she had tried to break in earlier that evening.”
I let out a little shriek. “I scared her away by turning on the kitchen lights!”
Dave scribbled a note on a pad.
“Mallory hedged and was evasive about why she needed to go inside,” said Grayson. “I thought she might be meeting one of the ghost hunting guys, but if that was the case, why didn’t he let her in, you know? I finally got it out of her. She was planning to murder Eva.”
Eva’s eyes flew open wide, and she gasped for breath.
“Eva!” cried Mark. “She’s hyperventilating!”
I dashed to the kitchen, found a paper bag, and ran back to her with it.
Eva breathed into the bag, her chest heaving. “I never expected that,” she choked.
Mark shook his h
ead. “Mallory had some issues. Who wouldn’t, after all she had been through? But I never would have thought her capable of anything so heinous.”
“She finally realized that you weren’t interested in her, and she was out of her mind jealous that you might reconcile with Eva,” said Grayson.
“And then?” prompted Dave.
Grayson continued. “Mallory said something about stabbing Eva with Mark’s penknife. But she couldn’t find it. She rummaged through the pockets of that big dress she had on and was getting angrier by the moment.”
My eyes met Dave’s. That explained Mallory’s fingerprints on the knife. It must have fallen out of her pocket when she and Lillian struggled. Trixie had found the penknife near the smashed pumpkin, corroborating their stories.
“I took out my phone so I could call Mark and Eva to warn them. Mallory pulled a stick out of the bonfire remnants and chased me. I ran to the gazebo near the hotel and was trying to get a phone signal when Mallory knocked it out of my hand.”
“Ohhh,” uttered Felix. “So it didn’t fall in the tub.”
“Exactly. It fell into the water. I hopped in to pick it up and when I bent over that crazy woman jumped on my back and tried to push my head under water so I wouldn’t inform Eva and Mark. It was insane. I’m bigger and stronger, so I was able to wriggle out of her grasp. I left her there and took off. I guess she drowned after I left.”
That did not sound good to me. I watched Dave’s expression. He blinked hard once. I guessed he might be thinking the same thing as me, that Grayson had murdered Mallory. We would probably never really know the truth about that. From everything I had heard tonight, it was abundantly clear that Mallory was conniving and devious, but Grayson could very well be shaping the story to sound better for him.
“How does Doc fit into this equation?” asked Dave.
Grayson swallowed hard. “I came up here a few days early, just to try to get myself back together after the scandal at my last show and . . . to find Doc. I knew he lived up here and figured it was fate that we would finally be in the same place. Destiny, you know?”
Thirty-seven
“You went to Doc for help?” asked Felix.
“No. He found me sitting on a bench, wondering what to do. I’d gotten in hot water on my last TV show when a girl claimed I got rough with her. It was a bald-faced lie. I never even touched her. And it seemed like it was happening all over again. If I called the police, would they believe me? Or would they believe Mallory when she turned the tables and said I had attacked her?”
“Exactly what were you doing out that night, Doc?” asked Dave.
Doc moaned. “I couldn’t sleep thinking about all the years I’d lost with Grayson. Siggie and I went for a walk. We found Grayson on the bench, just like he said. I thought we better check on Mallory. But when we reached the gazebo, Mallory was dead.”
“You just left her there? Of all people, you should have called me.”
Doc closed his eyes. “Doc would have called you. But Gramps had to help his grandson. I saw the stick. It wasn’t too hard to figure out what happened.”
“But I told you I didn’t drown her,” insisted Grayson.
Dave sighed. “You started the fire again? I should have known it was you. But why?”
“Wasn’t me,” grunted Doc. “You think I’d start a fire and leave it unattended? I don’t want to burn down the whole town.”
He had to be lying. There was no stick in the gazebo when I found Mallory. “But you were the old man who was running with a funny gait,” I said.
“I told you Clementine saw us,” Doc said to Grayson.
“That was probably me,” said Grayson. “Doc said I would leave tracks in the inn if my shoes were wet, so he swapped shoes with me. I kind of staggered back to the inn because his shoes were too small for my feet.”
“Which one of you swiped the shoe last night?”
Grayson frowned at me. “I don’t know anything about that. Doc was freaking out about the shoes, though, so I tossed the other one.”
“Who attacked Clementine?” asked Dave.
Grayson seemed surprised. “Oh, man. Doc, what have you done?”
Doc started choking. “That wasn’t me.”
“I don’t believe that for a second,” I protested. “You had no problem attacking me!”
Dave ignored my outburst. “Did you falsify the medical reports?”
“Didn’t have to. Mallory died from drowning. And there was a bruise consistent with falling.”
Lillian inhaled sharply. “That must have been from when I grabbed GloryB and Mallory fell.”
Dave handcuffed grandfather and grandson before transporting them to police headquarters on nearby Snowball Mountain.
Holmes, who had very sensibly dressed as a vampire, not as Obadiah, barged in with Ben.
We filled them in on what had happened.
Lillian leaned toward Ben. “Are they going to arrest me, too? She must have hit her head when she fell. That’s probably why she drowned.”
Ben attempted the local accent but it came out totally Texan. “That’s not murder, that’s just a killin’.”
I glared at him. “Have you been reading Elmer’s diary again?”
Felix scratched his head. “I don’t follow.”
Thankfully, Ben returned to his normal accent. “You need intent for murder. Or recklessness that any normal person would have known would lead to death, like running a bulldozer over somebody. You’re going to be fine, Lillian.”
Holmes wrapped an arm around me. “You okay?”
I nodded, even though my back was beginning to ache. “More importantly, so is Trixie.” I scooped her up into my arms. “You tried to protect me tonight, didn’t you?” I kissed her sweet little head and held her tighter than she wanted.
No one had the heart to return to the party at the Wagtail Springs Hotel. Holmes was kind enough to help me carry nuts, chips, dip, mugs of hot cider with cinnamon sticks, cinnamon apple pie, apple dog cookies, and salmon chips for the cats into the Dogwood Room. We sat there talking for a long time.
Eventually, one by one, the folks from the ghost hunting crew drifted off to bed. I cleaned up with help from Ben, Holmes, and Felix.
When we were done, Holmes bid me good night on the front porch. “I have an early flight out tomorrow, so I probably won’t see you again.”
“When are you coming back?”
He kissed my cheek. “Whenever you need me.” And he loped off into the night.
Ben was waiting for me just inside the open door. “Nice guy. I’ll be heading home tomorrow, too.”
I locked the door, and we trudged up the stairs. “Back to the old grind, I guess?”
Ben opened the door to my apartment. “I have to tell you, this town could use a good criminal attorney.”
“You’ve never practiced criminal law a day in your life.”
“Might be an interesting switch.”
I went into my room, changed into a nightshirt, and wrapped the big, comforting Sugar Maple Inn bathrobe around me. Ben had figured out how to turn on the fire. I poured us both Zombie Brains and was about to sit down, but found Elmer’s book open on the cushy armchair.
“Did you leave this here?” I asked.
Ben scowled. “I put it up there where the cats couldn’t reach it.” He pointed to a high shelf where Twinkletoes and Mrs. Mewer sat, gazing down at us with feline superiority.
Mrs. Mewer yowled. Twinkletoes didn’t say anything, but her fluffy black tail curled around her, and the tip waved below the shelf as though she was impatient about something.
When I picked up the book, the torn inside cover flipped open, revealing a fragile piece of paper. I sat down, sipped my drink, and extracted it. “Ben! You will not believe this.” I read aloud.
My Dear Mr. Dupuy,
<
br /> Thank you for your very kind invitation to speak at the renaming of the road leading into Wagtail as Wraith Way, in honor of my late father. I understand your plea that it will be unseemly if I am not in attendance. Not only will I not attend but I beg of you to reconsider such a high honor in his name.
As the attorney who has tended to matters for the Wraith family for many years, I trust you will keep this information in strictest confidence. It has weighed heavily on me for most of my life, and it is only at the behest of my mother to remain silent that I continue to suffer under the burden of the truth. Perhaps there will come a day when the Wraiths have long left this Earth and their shame can be revealed. I trust that to your hands, because no Wraith shall ever step forward to admit the abomination that is the Wraith legacy.
While all of Wagtail labors under the belief that Hiram Montacue murdered Obadiah Bagley, the truth is quite different.
My father, an arrogant and pretentious man of extreme pride, insisted I marry Hiram Montacue, another physician, equally prideful and with a cockiness that bordered on imperiousness. The two of them made a bargain for my hand over my objections. It was Obadiah Bagley who captured my heart. My father would not hear of my affections for this tender and decent man because he deemed Obadiah’s status as a lowly snake oil salesman as beneath the station of his daughter.
My parents moved forward with their wedding plans for my marriage to Hiram. I refused and planned to elope with Obadiah. It was my father, Dr. Wraith, who brutally murdered gentle Obadiah with the help of Hiram Montacue. In an argument the following day, Hiram threatened to make my father’s sin public. A foolish bluff, as he knew of my father’s vainglory. For this he was rewarded with a deadly rattlesnake bite at the hands of my father—a gruesome and miserable death. The irony, of course, was that Hiram himself had aided in the murder of Obadiah, the one man who possessed the ability to save him from certain death.
There are those who think I lost my mind because of the deaths of Hiram and Obadiah. Perhaps so. I have chosen to retire to my own devices among the animals who need my help. Unlike the ridiculous pomposity of my father and Hiram, they ask for nothing and give their hearts in pure love. I find solace in their company and hope in their goodness.
