by Lynn Bohart
“Sounds like a decent guy,” Blair said.
“Yes. And when they went back down to the bar, she pointed Lollie out to him.”
“Do you think she ratted out Lollie to Miller?” Rudy asked.
“No. She was hoping to be rescued along with her. Bourbonaise returned, and he asked for Kristina again and gave her the letter. She’s the one who gave it to Lollie.”
“So I wonder how Miller found out about Bourbonaise,” Blair said.
“Grandpa Snyder thinks it was none other than the guy who ran the ferry,” Doe said.
“Aria Stottlemeyer’s great-grandfather?” I exclaimed.
Doe nodded. “According to Grandpa Snyder, Old Stottlemeyer was a big drinker and a big talker. And he was paid by Gramley Miller to keep his ears open.”
“He was on the take?” My mind was whirring. What would Aria think?
Doe just smiled. “Remember what Goldie said…that he used to hear a lot of talk on the ferry. Well, I guess he got paid to pass some of what he heard along to Miller. For instance, he had a fog-horn on the boat that he’d only blow if the cops were aboard. That would warn Miller to hide the booze and the girls.”
I sat back and began to chuckle. “It’s not funny, but I’m sure it’s not what Aria thinks of her great-grandfather. Now I really want to get my hands on that memoir.”
“So he must have told Miller that Bourbonaise was looking for Lollie,” Rudy said.
“Right. And when Bouronaise came back the second time, Miller probably killed them both,” Doe said.
Blair perked up. “So I wonder where LaRue buried Lollie.”
Rudy shrugged. “All this old guy said was that LaRue once told him he buried her where she would feel close to home.”
“I wonder what that meant,” Blair said.
“Where is the family home?” I asked Rudy.
Rudy gave me a sympathetic smile. “Right on the water.”
“She’s still here,” I said breathlessly. “That’s why her spirit is still here.”
Blair looked over at me. “You want to find her, don’t you?”
“Don’t you?”
“Yeah, but you’re not going to start digging big holes in your property, are you?”
“No, of course not,” I said, quietly pondering where I could start digging.
“But where?” Doe asked.
“I presume down by the water,” Rudy said.
Everyone was quiet for a few moments, and then Blair perked up again. “Maybe Miller’s grandson, Frank, knew about the murders and that’s why he kicked us out of his office. Now I want to go back and find out what he knows.”
“Wait a minute,” Doe said. “I’m not sure I want to turn this into a murder investigation again. I thought we were just researching the inn for a book.”
“You’re right, Doe. In the beginning, we were just trying to discover the reason for the hidden room,” I said. “But now I think we have to consider Lollie…”
“And the baby,” Blair said.
Doe sighed in defeat. “Here we go again.”
“So, tell me about the baby,” Rudy said.
“We really don’t know much more,” I said.
“Well, it wasn’t Lollie’s baby,” Rudy said. “She was probably pregnant, but killed before she had a baby. So it could have belonged to one of the other girls.”
“But why would they kill it?” Blair argued.
“Are you kidding?” Rudy said. “Back then, if a baby was deformed in any way, there would have been tremendous pressure to get rid of it.”
“I don’t want to talk about that,” I said.
Rudy shrugged her narrow shoulders. “Look, even if it hadn’t been a Down’s Syndrome baby, babies wouldn’t have been good for business. Or maybe one of the other women was jealous. I doubt we’ll ever know. What did you learn in Puyallup? You said Frank Miller kicked you out?”
“Only because Julia was going through his personal belongings,” Blair said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Rudy asked.
We explained about the confrontation at the bar in Puyallup.
“Whoa,” Rudy exclaimed. “He sounds dangerous. Do you think he was hiding something?”
“Yes,” we replied in unison.
“Then maybe Blair’s right and you need to go back and see what you can find out,” Rudy said.
“And raise a hornet’s nest? No thanks,” I said. “You should see this guy. He could kill a bull moose with his bare hands. Besides, Rush Dooley’s grandson also talked to him and didn’t learn anything, either.”
“Jake?” Rudy asked.
“Yeah. He came to see me this afternoon. He told me not to tell his grandfather, but he’s trying to pick up the story that Peter Vance was writing fifteen years ago about the death of one of the prostitutes. He’s already been to see Miller and got the same reception we did. Well, not the confrontation with the thugs. But anyway, we learned a lot yesterday from a different source,” I said, nodding toward Blair. “We met with Mansfield Foster, the judge’s son.”
“What a charmer,” Blair said with scorn. “But he did confirm how Rose died and the death of her boyfriend. A guy he didn’t seem to like very much.”
I glanced down at my notes. “The boyfriend’s name was Chris Stephens. His body was found over where Luther Burbank Park is now.”
“An accident or a murder?” Doe asked.
“Mansfield said he’d been beaten up pretty badly,” Blair responded.
“And Mansfield was shipped off to boarding school right about then,” I added. “And of course, Rose died a year or so after that. He seemed to suggest her death could have been suicide because she was so despondent about the death of her boyfriend.”
“Does anyone think the judge might have killed the boyfriend to get him out of his daughter’s life?” Rudy asked.
“He was a control freak,” Blair said. “And maybe a sex pervert.”
“Okay,” Doe said, putting her hand up. “We’re going down a road we shouldn’t go down.”
“You’re right,” I said, chagrined. “In fact, I’m beginning to wonder if we should even do the book. We keep uncovering really unsavory things about people.”
“Wait a minute,” Rudy said, putting down her wine. “Let’s not get cold feet now. We can always decide later whether we want to produce a book or not.”
“But don’t you think we’re getting in too deep?” Doe said. “We’re talking about people’s personal lives here.”
Rudy seemed to contemplate this for a minute. “Look, I’ve spent my entire life as an investigative reporter. This comes as second nature to me, whether it’s someone’s personal life or not. If there’s a story, there’s a story. That said I’m not interested in anyone’s sex life. But if someone was murdered, that’s always worth investigating.”
The rest of us contemplated that for a moment.
“You’re right,” Doe relented. “As long as we keep things in perspective.”
“Agreed,” Rudy said. “Now, let’s go over what we have.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
We spent the next hour and a half putting together an outline that included details about each family that had lived on the property. It included Ruthie Crenshaw’s pregnancy, Lollie Gates and the brothel, the suspicious death of Judge Foster’s daughter Rose, and much more. We finished, and Rudy and Doe left. Blair went to get ready for bed, while I sat in my chair, reviewing our work.
“What do you think?” Blair said a few minutes later from the hallway, dressed in a sleeveless, pink nightgown.
I glanced up, rubbing my eyes. “I’m not sure. I agree with Doe that we’re getting in pretty deep.”
“But?”
I sighed. “I agree with Rudy, too. I feel responsible for Lollie now. And the baby. I want to know what happened to them. I want some kind of closure.”
“Well, it’s still early. Why don’t we organize the photos?”
We spent the next t
wo hours organizing photos and chatting about the different storylines we’d run across. It was after midnight when I stood up and stretched.
“I need chocolate,” I said, pulling my arms over my head. “You haven’t had anything to eat in a while; can you have a cookie?”
She raised her head and looked at me through bleary blue eyes. “No. I’m good. I think I’ll go to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”
We left things on the table in organized stacks. Blair went to her bedroom, while I stepped out into the inn’s main hallway, leaving the dogs behind.
The inn was quiet, except for the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock near the front door. As I passed the reception desk, I heard the faint sound of music from one of the upstairs bedrooms. I turned the corner into the breakfast room, which was lit with a small accent lamp, leaving most of the room in dark shadow. I moved quietly so as not to wake Ahab, whose cage was draped in the far corner.
I pushed open the kitchen door and let it swing closed behind me. I’d seen April bring in some of her mint chocolate chip brownies earlier that afternoon. We usually boxed them up and had them for sale behind the reception desk, along with her fudge. But I knew she’d leave a stash for me in an antique jar I kept in the corner.
I grabbed a glass of milk and put two brownies on a plate, thinking I’d have one in case I got hungry in the middle of the night. With both hands full, I used my right hip to swing the door open again and step through.
I ran right into Blair and threw up my hands, flinging both the plate and glass to the floor.
We both let out high-pitched screams, which woke Ahab. He started to squawk, “Help! Help!”
“Oh my God, Blair! You scared me to death,” I said, bending over to catch my breath.
“You did pretty good yourself,” she said, leaning against the breakfast counter to steady herself.
“I do believe in spooks. I do believe in spooks,” Ahab squawked.
In the background, the dogs had started to bark in my apartment.
“They’re heeeeere,” Ahab squawked loudly.
“Shhhh,” I hushed Ahab.
“Are you two drunk?” a snarly voice said.
Blair and I whirled around to find four members of the Welch family standing in the shadows of the foyer, including the elder Mrs. Welch, her pinched features looking even more, well, pinched. I contemplated blaming the ghosts, but thought better of it and then just blurted out a lie I would come to regret.
“Drunk? No, of course not, we…uh…uh, just saw a…a…spider.”
“Mouse,” Blair said at the same time.
I paused, holding my breath, wondering how we would get out of this. Why hadn’t I just admitted to bumping into Blair in the dark?
“Which was it?” the elder Mrs. Welch said with annoyance.
“A spider mouse,” Blair replied before I could respond.
I pressed my lips together, holding back any comment.
“What’s a spider mouse?” her daughter asked.
“They’re creepy little…”
“Tiny mice,” I interrupted Blair, bumping her hip with mine. “They’re very small.” I used my thumb and index finger to demonstrate.
“With lots of creepy legs,” Blair added.
“No,” I said with an eruptive laugh. “No. She’s…um…just joking. They’re just tiny little mice. Quite cute, actually. They come in sometimes because of, you know, all the food,” I said, gesturing around the room. “We just set some traps, and…”
“Squash them,” Blair announced.
I dropped my gaze, not really knowing how to save the moment. When I glanced up, the six of us stood awkwardly staring at each other. Finally, Mrs. Welch said, “You people are weird.”
The group turned toward the stairs and returned to the second floor, mumbling to themselves. We watched them go, and then I turned to Blair.
“Spider mice? Really?”
Blair shrugged. “They could exist.”
“Why are you out here, anyway?” I asked, leaning over to pick up the plate. “I thought you were going to bed?”
“I decided I was hungry and was hoping you still had some of those mixed nuts.”
I sighed loudly. “C’mon.” I picked up my squished brownies and threw them onto the plate and then grabbed my empty glass. I marched through the kitchen door again, to which Ahab remarked, “Going so soon?”
This time, I flipped on the light in the kitchen. My dead brownies went into the trash and the plate and glass into the sink.
“Give me a second,” I said. I grabbed a wet towel and went back to wipe up the milk. When I returned, Blair had pulled out the can of nuts. I served up another brownie for me, and then the two of us sat at the table next to the window. I started to chuckle.
“What?” Blair said.
“That was too funny,” I said, cutting off a piece of brownie with my fork. “You realize that the elder Mrs. Welch is a retired science teacher. I bet she’s upstairs right now googling ‘spider mice.’”
Blair started to laugh with me. “Then I’m sure you’ll get a lecture from her tomorrow.”
We were sitting at opposite ends of the table. Blair happened to glance out the window towards the barn. “What’s that?”
“What?”
“There’s a light up in the attic out in the barn,” she said, leaning forward and pulling the curtain aside. “Do you think it’s April?”
I got up and peered through the window. Sure enough, a light glowed in the upstairs window. It moved back and forth, as if someone were walking around with a candle or small lantern. A chill ran the length of my spine.
“No. Why would she be up there?”
“Maybe it’s a ghost,” Blair said, peering out the window.
“Goldie said something about one of the previous families seeing someone walking around the attic with a candle, but when they got there, the place was empty.”
Blair got up. “C’mon.”
“Whoa!” I responded. “Where are you going?”
“We need to find out who’s out there.”
“Wait! I’ve been attacked twice by intruders here. What if it’s not a ghost?”
“Then we kick their butts,” she said, heading for the door.
“Blair!” I glanced at her feet, which were encased in fuzzy pink slippers. “What are you going to do, smother them to death? Let’s at least go get shoes. And then I want to call April, just in case it is her. And we’re only going to see if the barn has been broken into. If it has, we’re calling the police.”
“Fine,” she said with a scowl.
We went back to my apartment, and I called April. She was watching TV, but said she’d get her robe and meet us out back. We hurried to put on shoes. I grabbed a big flashlight and the key to the barn, and Blair grabbed the baseball bat I kept in the corner in case of intruders. Then we went out the back door of my apartment and circled around the north end of the inn.
We hurried to the front of the bakery and peered up to the two dormer windows of the attic. The light was still crossing back and forth, from one end of the room to the other, as if someone was just roaming around.
A footfall made us whip around.
“What?” April whispered, putting up her hands. “I said I’d meet you out here.”
She was draped in a blue robe, but had on tennis shoes.
“Okay,” I said in a quiet voice. “What do you think?” I asked her.
She studied the light for a moment. “I don’t know. Could be an intruder. Have you checked the doors?”
“Not yet.”
The three of us crept to the front door, our feet crunching on the gravel walkway. It was locked.
“Let’s check the side door,” I whispered.
We tip-toed as quietly as we could to the side door. It was also locked.
“What do you want to do?” April asked. “Do you think someone broke in and then locked the door behind them?”
I shrugged. “I
don’t know. I can’t imagine why anyone would break in and then go to the attic.”
“So you think it’s a ghost,” Blair said with a hint of enthusiasm.
“I don’t know that, either. But since there is a history of this happening, I say we go look.”
April looked cautious, but Blair lifted the baseball bat. “Let’s go,” she said.
I unlocked the door, and we slipped inside. The warehouse was dark, with only the moonlight coming through the one window along the south side of the building. Our stacks of antique furniture loomed above us like misshapen monsters in the dark. I flicked on the flashlight, and we began to climb the stairs.
We reached the landing without incident and stopped to listen. The door to the attic stood open.
“Most likely Mr. Piper left the door open,” I whispered. “Do either of you hear anything?”
They both shook their heads.
“Okay, here we go.”
I approached the open door with trepidation. This might be a ghost, but what if it wasn’t? After all, I’d confronted an intruder recently who had stolen Ahab and almost killed me in the process. I stopped just outside the door and turned to my companions.
“Are you ready?” I whispered. They both nodded with grim expressions. I eyed the bat Blair held in a striking position. “Just don’t hit me in the back of the head with that.”
“Hmpf,” she grunted.
I inched forward, the two of them right behind me. The light continued to flicker in the room, and then it went out. I stopped.
“The light went out,” Blair whispered behind me.
“I can see that,” I whispered back. “Hello,” I called out. “Is someone there? We’ve called the police.”
Nothing. I turned to Blair and April. April nodded. We kept going.
We stepped cautiously through the door and were greeted with the distinct odor of burning candle wax. I used the flashlight to find the source. The candle holder we’d found in the hidden room sat on top of an old chest of drawers, a lazy swirl of smoke rising from its wick. I stepped forward and picked it up. There was liquid paraffin in the well of the candle and the wick was still warm.
