Dead and Breakfast

by Lisa Rene' Smith

  Fran startled and jumped back, then her eyes lit up and she smiled. “Oh, it’s you, Luke. What are you up to? I thought you knew better than to use the secret passage.” She couldn’t remember the last time anyone opened that panel in the wall. Gram didn’t want any guests to know about it, so she instructed everyone living at Ledgemont not to touch the door.

  “Franny! Lord, it’s good to see you.” Grabbing her in his arms he spun her around until she begged him to stop.

  Recovered from her fright, Justine cleared her throat, waiting for an introduction. She’d have to wait a little longer as the tanned, muscular young man with sun-bleached blonde hair gave Fran a big kiss.

  “Really, Luke, not now...” Blushing, Fran gestured to her friend. “This is Justine, my best friend from college.”

  Justine tipped her head to the side and whispered into Fran’s ear. “He’s no zombie—he’s scrumptious—you never told me about him.” She grinned and winked at the handsome twenty-something boy with the British accent.

  “A real pleasure, Miss Justine. I’m glad Fran didn’t come home alone.” His smile transformed into a serious expression. “Franny, we’ve got to talk. There’s something...”

  “Excuse me.” A woman’s harsh tone interrupted Luke in mid-sentence.

  Guilt washed over their faces as the trio turned toward Ms. Davis—like a group of students who’d forgotten to do their homework and were about to be punished.

  Francis spoke first. “Ms. Davis, would you please set a place at the table for Luke? I’d like him to join us for dinner.”

  “Miss Sutton, the help does not eat in the formal dining room.” The old woman clucked her tongue. “You should know that. What would your Grandmother think?”

  Luke looked down at his feet, his face crimson with embarrassment.

  “Will my father come downstairs for dinner?” Fran attempted to take some of the attention off Luke.

  “No, Miss. I’ve given him a sedative and he must remain in bed. Perhaps tomorrow he’ll feel up to seeing you.”

  “Excuse me Ms. Davis. I don’t know what’s been going on here since I left, but as one of the owners of this house I would like to invite my friend Luke to join us for dinner. You may join us as well, since your brother and his wife are guests at Ledgemont.” Fran’s hands rested on her hips as she faced off with the brusque woman.

  Scowling, Jean’s dark heartless eyes glared back at the girl but she decided not to argue, answering in a quieter tone. “As you wish...” She pushed the swinging doors to the dining room open, latching them in place.

  * * * *

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Davis.” Courteous, amiable behavior masked Fran’s growing fear. It wasn’t just her nerves. Besides the oppressive mustiness, a strange, almost hostile atmosphere permeated everything and everyone at Ledgemont. Shaking hands with the couple before they sat down to dinner, the woman’s touch felt like grasping an ice tray, and Mr. Davis gripped her fingers so tight Fran gasped in pain. He held on much too long, tickling her palm as he let go.

  “So you’re the famous Fran Sutton. We’ve heard a lot about you—from your parents.” His thin mustache reminded Fran of a comic book villain. “Yes, you’re one lucky young lady.” Looking her up and down, his raspy voice took on an almost seductive tone, matching the gleam in his eyes.

  “Earle, isn’t she the picture of her mother? Blue-eyed, with the same curly blonde hair. Just stunning.” Stout, middle-aged and rather plain, Mary Davis gushed at the beautiful girl.

  “You knew my mother? Did you live in Hawaii too?” Fran couldn’t hide her surprise, and jealousy.

  “Why yes, didn’t you know? Earle and Arthur worked together, on the real estate project on the Big Island. We spent a lot of time with your parents. Your mother never stopped talking about how proud she was of you, and how much she missed you.” Mary’s cold dark eyes didn’t quite match her glowing smile.

  Jean brought in the soup tureen and served all the guests, including Luke, but he kept his gaze down whenever she came near. He’d put on a corduroy jacket, the best attire he could manage on such short notice, and chose a safe seat—between the two college girls.

  “I’m glad you’re here, Luke. We’ll talk later.” Fran spoke to him in a quiet voice, reaching down to squeeze his knee under the table to let him know she still had feelings for him. He blushed.

  Jean scowled at Luke to send him a silent warning, and he barely spoke throughout the rest of the meal. Neither did her brother and sister-in-law. The housekeeper seemed to dominate everyone at Ledgemont.

  When they’d all finished dessert Mr. and Mrs. Davis excused themselves to go up to their room.

  “Luke, may I see you in the kitchen, please.” Luke shuddered like a beaten dog at Jean’s commanding tone.

  “I’ll see what she wants, then I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Ms. Davis had already gone through the door into the kitchen when Luke risked bending down to kiss Fran’s cheek.

  Fran patted his arm and tried to give him her most reassuring smile.

  * * * *

  As the girls strolled past the living room windows, something outside caught Fran’s attention. A car’s taillights, heading down the driveway toward the front gate.

  “Did you see that?”

  “What?” Justine’s eyes were glued to the bookcases full of rare leather-bound volumes and other treasures. “You’ve got quite a collection here.”

  “I just saw a car leaving. Mr. and Mrs. Davis said they were going upstairs so it wasn’t them. Could Jean have sent Nathan and Luke into town at this late hour? I hope not.” Fran turned toward the bookshelves then frowned.

  “What’s going on here? A lot of the first editions seem to be missing!” Looking closer, dust patterns marked the outlines where books once stood. “I’ll have to ask my father where they are. I love those old classics, and some of them are worth quite a lot of money.”

  “Franny, I’m dying to see the other guest rooms.” Justine urged her toward the staircase.

  “All right, I’ll show you. Though I’m not certain where Mr. and Mrs. Davis are staying. Let me check.” Fran stepped over to the oak roll top desk, lifted it open, and reached inside for the ledger.

  Shocked at the desk’s disarray, she had to blow dust off the large black book and the spine crackled when she opened it, like it hadn’t been touched in years. “Oh this can’t be right. Ms. Davis must be using a different book now. The entries stop the same month my Grandmother died.”

  “Let’s not have another encounter with her. You can ask that old sour-face about it in the morning. I want to explore the Inn— come on!” Waving for her friend to follow, Justine had climbed half the stairs before Fran caught up.

  “Let’s stay on this side of the house for now. The Davis’ are probably in the west wing.” Francis headed for the room next to hers and opened the door, flipping the wall switch...nothing happened.

  “I know where there’s a table lamp.” Fran struggled to find it in the dark, fumbling for the knob. They heard it click, but no light came on. “This one doesn’t work either. I don’t understand.”

  After their eyes adjusted to the darkness Justine pointed toward the wall over the bed. “There’s an outline on the wallpaper but no painting. And look, nothing on these other walls either.”

  Anger swelled in Fran’s chest at the sudden realization her father might be selling off the art collection! Of course until last week everyone assumed the estate belonged to him. Grace really meant it to go to Francis some day, and the terms of the new will made it her property now. Those missing items were her books and paintings. Fran’s first inclination was to march into his room right then and there, except, according to Jean Davis he was already asleep, under heavy sedation.

  “First thing tomorrow morning I’m going to insist on seeing my father. I’ll get to the bottom of what’s going on around here...”

  * * * *

  Justine waited until almost midnigh
t to tap on Fran’s door— she knew the over-stressed girl needed some time alone. Hearing a faint ‘come in’ she peered inside.

  “So did you ever find Luke? What happened to him tonight?” Now dressed in her favorite flowing white nightie, Justine slipped all the way into her friend’s room then glanced around.

  “The way Luke reacted when he saw you I expected to find him in bed with you. Is he hiding in the bathroom?” Justine attempted to lighten the mood by traipsing around, peeking behind the drapes and under the bed, but her friend still wouldn’t smile.

  “Now I know why you’ve been so prim and proper at Blythe. You’ve been saving yourself for the boy back home!” No amount of her naughty teasing could take away Fran’s anxiety.

  “I’m not in a joking mood. Sorry. I’m too worried.” Fran stood up and paced back and forth.

  “First that old prune Jean Davis kept me from reuniting with my father. And while you were in your room I looked everywhere in the manor for Luke—he seems to have disappeared!” Fran stopped pacing long enough to gaze out the window. “Oh no, I see lightning in the distance. I think a storm is heading this way.”

  “This is no time to give in to your phobias.” Justine pointed toward the hallway. “I should be the nervous one, I’m about to sleep in a death bed.” Looking back at Fran, Justine made a sudden decision. She climbed into the pink Princess style bed, pulled the covers up to her neck, then let out a loud sigh.

  “You really prefer my room, don’t you?” Fran forced herself to move away from the window. “I get the not so subtle hint. Tell you what—I’ll go ahead and trade with you. I’ll take Gram’s room tonight, I don’t mind.”

  “You’re so sweet. Thanks Franny. I’ll see you in the morning. Just not too early, OK?” Eyes already half closed, Justine didn’t even notice Fran turning off the light on her way out.

  * * * *

  Justine sighed again and rolled over, pulling the covers up even higher as she nestled in for the night. Even in this house full of spider webs, secret rooms, and creepy characters she felt certain she wouldn’t have a ghostly encounter in this secure room. Complete peace. Quiet, blissful serenity...Justine drifted into the fluid zone that existed between awake and asleep.

  An eruption of blinding lightning strikes sent a shock wave through her body and she sat upright, clutching the comforter to her throat as powerful claps of thunder shook the bed back and forth.

  The old-fashioned wood framed window rattled as the storm forced its way inside. Justine’s heart skipped a beat when the latch gave way, the two halves swung wide open, and the pink satin curtains billowed forward like gigantic arms reaching out for her. Large drops of rain blew inside, soaking the plush carpet.

  “Ah nuts.” Overcoming the initial shock, she jumped out of the cozy bed and grabbed both sides of the window. Struggling against the unexpected gale force wind and blinded for a few seconds by another vivid flash of lightning she stood frozen in place. In the tense moment that followed a tremendous boom of thunder masked her death scream.

  The busty auburn-haired beauty dropped face down to the floor with a pair of razor sharp pruning shears protruding from her back. Dark red blood gushed forth, saturating her semi-sheer dressing gown.

  Floating like a cloud the essence of a girl emerged, hovering on the ceiling, surveying the gruesome scene below. A figure dressed head to toe in black wearing gloves and a hat climbed out the open window and down the trellis.

  Swimming in a sea of air Justine labored to follow the attacker, trying to see their face. Who—who killed her?

  “Dead. I’m dead!” She couldn’t get out the window. Dead, and stuck in this house.

  Thinking she should hear bells or see a beam of bright light and angels, instead Justine’s spirit drifted back down to the floor and she stood there a few moments, staring at her lifeless form. Looking down at her hands, she could see the carpet right through them. An ethereal being. Here and not here at the same time. In an instant she realized what just happened.

  “Franny! She’s in danger. Whoever did this meant to kill Fran, not me.” Justine’s spirit essence labored to float through the large door but she kept banging her head against the carved wood panels.

  “Say, this always works in the movies.” If she wasn’t already dead she’d have one killer headache by now.

  Pressing her shoulder against it didn’t work. Kicking the door wouldn’t send her through either. Could her spirit be trapped forever in this one room? She reached for the knob. “Well, naturally...” Justine’s spirit opened the door the conventional way then tip-toed over to the blue bedroom.

  “Psssst, Fran. Hey, wake up.” Justine heard her own voice, but could Fran hear? She jiggled the bed. The girl rolled over and yawned. The ghost reached down and grabbed her shoulders, jostling the sleeping girl.

  “Hmmm. What, who?” Fran’s eyes blinked open. Lightning flashed again illuminating the room for only a split-second, enough to give Fran a glimpse of a human shape leaning over her.

  Fran’s piercing shriek cut through the air before Justine could muffle the sound with a semi-transparent hand. “It’s me—Justine. Look at me Franny.”

  Francis pushed her friend away. “Justine, what do you mean by trying to scare me? Just because you were too frightened to sleep in this room, I traded, and now you’re trying to creep me out by powdering your face to look like a ghost. I won’t let you scare me. Now go back to bed and I’ll see you in the morning.” Fran’s eyes fluttered closed.

  Dead and frustrated, Justine wondered how to protect her friend. Stay in here, as a bodyguard? Go after the killer? She heard the girl’s steady breathing—already sound asleep.

  “Well shoot. If the tales I’ve heard about ghosts are true, then I’m not going to ‘rest in peace’ until I find my killer—and also keep them from killing Fran.”

  Deciding to hunt down the attacker she headed back out the door and across the hall into the pink room to look for clues. “What’s this? Gone. My beautiful body. Where—who—why?” Scratching her translucent head, Justine’s troubled spirit began wandering the manor.

  * * * *

  “You idiot. How could you kill the wrong girl?” A dark figure spoke in muffled tones.

  “Sorry. Who knew they’d switched rooms? Let’s get rid of this one, and try again.” Both clad in black, they struggled to carry a blanket-wrapped body down the back staircase.

  * * * *

  Cold, wet, miserable—Luke shivered and rubbed the back of his head. He felt a huge painful knot on his skull where someone hit him before dragging him out into the woods. “I’ve got to get back, to warn the girls...”

  Disoriented, the young groundskeeper stumbled through the thicket, determined to save Francis. “She’s got to be all right. I don’t know how I’ll live with myself if they’ve killed her.”

  Moonlight filtered through the dense overhang. The storm had passed, but rain kept dripping from the leaves and the muddy ground made running difficult. Luke stopped to catch his breath, the sound of his pounding heart echoed in his eardrums. Loud crickets and frogs added to the din in his aching head then he heard something else, muffled voices.

  Posing like a statue, Luke didn’t dare move a muscle as he watched two people make their way between the trees—less than twenty feet away from him with a huge bundle slung between them. Perspiration ran down his face as panic gripped his soul. It must be a body—his dear Francis? Squinting, he tried to make out who they were. Surely it wasn’t—no, not Jean Davis. She didn’t have the strength. Who were they? The same ones that attacked him?

  * * * *

  “Let’s leave it behind this fallen tree. We’ll come back and bury both bodies later.”

  “Yeah. But what’d you do with the shears? In case someone finds the stiff we gotta pin it on Luke!” A hoarse voice chuckled.

  The two crept back to the Inn as Luke watched, still unable to clearly see the men, or was one of them a woman? One seemed a lot taller than the other,
and their voices were too low for him to identify. Once they’d gotten far enough away he stumbled over to the blanket wrapped form.

  Relieved the face he uncovered wasn’t Fran’s, yet—how terrible. Her lovely friend, murdered and dumped in the woods. Then he remembered—the killers said ‘bury both bodies’ later.

  “Oh Lord, now they’re going back to kill Francis!” Luke forced his shaky legs to propel him toward the house.

  * * * *

  Fran awoke from a strange dream. Confused, it took a moment for her to remember where she was—at Ledgemont—in Gram’s bedroom.

  “Justine!” What a prankster, pretending to be a ghost. Or was that part of the dream?

  Fran slipped out of bed and into her lavender robe, then walked across the hall to talk to Justine.

  “Not here?” She stared at an empty bed and then glanced at the illuminated hands on the travel clock. After two in the morning. “Oh, the bathroom, of course.” Rapping on the door, no answer, and no light shone from underneath.

  “Justine?” Fran opened the bathroom door and turned on the light to another dead end. Could the girl have gone searching for a late night snack? If they were back at college she’d know Justine was out having another one of her ‘study’ sessions.

  * * * *

  “Now where did my body run off to?” Justine’s wry wit lived on, despite her physical death. By staying in Fran’s room she wasn’t worried about seeing a ghost tonight—but she never counted on becoming a ghost. “When I find whoever did this to me I’m going to scare the shit out of them!”

  Her best friend’s life still very much in danger, the girl had to keep searching—someone at Ledgemont Inn wanted to kill Francis Sutton. Arthur Sutton seemed the most obvious suspect, but would a father really murder his own daughter just to keep her from inheriting the B&B?

  “I’m going to sneak a peek at the supposedly ‘sick’ man, if I can ever find his room...”

  * * * *

  Ducking behind a large tree, Luke watched the two figures in black enter the manor’s rear door. Not sure how long they’d stay in the kitchen, he decided to take a more direct route to warn Francis.