by Zoey Kane
A Grave Situation
Book 5, Z & C Mysteries
by Zoey Kane and Claire Kane
Copyright 2014
Published at Smashwords by Breezy Reads
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A Grave Situation has a stand-alone plot, just like every other Z & C Mystery.
About the book:
Always up for adventure, Zoey and Claire Kane visit a castle hosted by a self-proclaimed Count Dracula. Even better, next door lies a cemetery haunted for a hundred years by Isobel Myer, a heartbroken bride who floats through the tombstones at night in a tattered wedding dress. But soon cats are found buried in a grave, drained of their blood. Fear also shakes the community when a young woman is discovered with a stake in her heart. The Kanes are determined to solve the mystery, even if that means stalking loonies, goonies, and things that go suck in the night.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue
ONE
Claire’s yellow Volkswagen crunched along a gravel road interrupted by occasional potholes. Ahead, an ominous castle with narrow and crooked peaks jutted from the misty earth, tall and gothic. The late evening fog wrapped around its base like a puffy shawl, the moon positioned perfectly behind its highest point.
Zoey put the brochure of the place into her purse. “Well now, I am hoping this will turn out to be as much fun as our friend Lucas said it would be.”
“He guaranteed it, Mom,” Claire said.
They drove through a gate and parked close to massive double doors with black iron hinges. Zoey removed her seatbelt and clutched her real snakeskin purse that had been given to her through the mail by an admirer—Deputy Too-Tall Riley Jones. “Too bad Riley couldn’t come,” she said.
Claire gave a wry smile. “Knowing you, it will take about forty-eight hours before some man woos you.”
They each stepped out of the car and stared long at the spooky habitation. A red neon sign read, “Dracula’s Castle Hotel.”
Zoey’s imagination was going wild. Who would she meet at a place like this? Another vampire enthusiast like Lucas? The handsome news reporter and hometown friend of Claire had first introduced himself to the duo as Dracula himself, back when their home, Hillgate, had been a hotel. White makeup had covered his perfectly-tanned face, with fake blood dribbling down his chiseled chin. Maybe there would be a handsome man more her own age here.
They climbed the steep steps. An engraved brass sign hung over the door with the message “Enter if you dare. Blood type B positive greatly appreciated.”
Claire banged the huge old brass ring on the weather-grayed wood door. It echoed loudly. A moment later, it was creaked open by a very unusual man whose hair was long and graying at the sideburns. His nose was hooked like a hawk’s beak, and Zoey took an immediate dislike to his gray goatee beard; it was very long, ending just above his waist in a point.
“Good e-ven-ing,” he eloquently said with a Transylvanian accent. “Won’d you come in? My name is Cound Dracula, and this is my … humble abode.” He bowed from the shoulders.
Claire’s eyes narrowed, thinking that his role-playing was just a little too authentic for her comfort. There weren’t any cheesy makeup effects across his pale face that she could detect. In fact, nothing looked costume-y in the least bit.
Zoey stepped into the foyer first, her high heels clacking softly against the stony floor. She was thinking the place looked rather dull. There wasn’t a pop of color anywhere; neither could she find a decoration across the vast, gray, brick walls. One statue stood to the right of a staircase, a half-man, half-lizard character.
She turned back to the host. “Where are the other guests?”
“They are already in the dining room. You’ve arrived jusd in time.” The Count lifted an arm and his cape spread open like a bat wing. “Thiz way.” He pointed to their right.
“Count…” Zoey eyed his hand. “May I say, you are in dire need of a manicure?”
Claire muffled a laugh. The Count didn’t show any hint of amusement, continuing to point with his long, pointy and yellow nails. “Thiz way,” he repeated, half bowing again.
Zoey kept an eye on him, just in case he might break out of character, but nope. “Alrighty then,” she said, and flounced toward a dark corridor, lit only by a few candles high up on the walls.
They soon turned a corner. Around a rectangular, heavy wood table, sat four other people. Candles flickered along the velvet runner.
“Have a seat,” Dracula said, pulling out high-back chairs for the ladies. “Dinner will be out soon.” Their travel brochure had mentioned late dinners, after dark, as part of the package.
“I’ll be back,” Dracula said, heading toward another hall.
When he was out of sight, Zo laughed to herself. She mimicked Arnold Schwarzenegger from The Terminator: “‘I’ll be back’ … boy, he is so serious about his role. Have any of you seen him crack out of character yet?”
A young woman of maybe eighteen years old sat across from her, her blond hair loose and ethereal. “No, I haven’t! He is really good. He really knows how to look creepy.”
The gentleman next to her took off a dark brown fedora, creased down in front. He set it on the empty seat between him and a couple of older ladies. “Yes, he’s very good,” he said. “Been doing this for a while now—what, fifteen or so years?”
“Seventeen,” one of the old darlings blurted, like she was answering a question from Trivial Pursuit. “He’s been here twenty years, hosting dinner parties for seventeen.”
The ladies had gray hair swooped up into buns, resembling one another down to their old-fashioned, long-sleeved blouses. One said, “We’ve been here hundreds of times.”
“Hundreds?!” Zoey and Claire said at the same time.
“Yes,” they answered.
“We’re sisters—Lenora and Beth Binger,” said the thinner one. “We live here in town, so it’s very convenient. The food here is divine, so how can we not come so many times? Plus, we help around here once in a while when he’s out.”
“Which one’s Lenora and which one’s Beth?” Claire asked.
The thin one spoke again. “I’m Lenora.”
“I’m Beth.”
“Interesting,” Zoey said. She patted her mouth with her linen napkin, though all she blotted off was deep red lipstick.
“I’m Zoey, but you can call me Zo. Claire and I—she’s my daughter by the way—are here for our first time. We’re foodies, so we appreciate a divine dinner. We hail from a little town, barely on the map, called Riverside, far, far from here. It’s known for the best buffets around.” She turned to Claire. “How of
ten do we go out to dinner, dear?”
“At least three times a week. The rest of the time I’m the chef,” Claire said matter-of-factly. “Mother doesn’t care to cook, except she can make a variety of really good salads.” The response conjured some amused smiles.
“True, if it wasn’t for my daughter moving back in with me, I’d continue my nightly ritual of frozen or ten-minute dinners. I’m a grab-and-build cook.” She lifted her silver chalice, tapped it a few times with her French tips, and took a drink.
The blonde spoke. “My name is Lacey. I’m originally from one town over, so I could have come here sooner if I wanted … I just have been busy with school and work and stuff. But now I’m graduated, so…”
With graceful fingers, Claire pointed to the man beside her. “And you two came together?”
“Oh, no, no,” the man said. “We’ve just met. I’m Frank.” He pulled a business card out of his wallet and handed it over. “Frank Hardy, Ghost Hunter,” he said, and that’s what it read on the card.
Zo and Claire shared a look at each other, mutually intrigued. “You find ghosts, then,” stated Claire.
“No.”
“No?”
“No.” The man put his elbows on the table and leaned over, looking keenly back and forth between the new guests. “Ghosts do not exist.”
“Hmmm,” responded Zo to the irony.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Frank quickly added. “How can you be a ghost hunter if you don’t believe they exist? Simple. I like to prove supernatural events are fake, or delusions of the mind. You might have heard of me—The Real Ghost Buster of Orange County.”
Zoey and Claire sat, staring blankly.
“No? Never heard of it? Well, my TV show’s new, doesn’t have much funding. Actually, it’s on a free public channel. BUT…” He put a callused finger up. “One day I’ll hit the big networks and be nationally televised. First, I need to prove myself to the big networks.”
Zo’s eyes went wide, and she nodded. “How are you going to do that?”
“That’s part of why I’m here.”
“There are ghost stories about this place?” Claire asked, brushing some of her brunette shoulder-length hair behind an ear. A large gold hoop glinted in some candles’ firelight.
“Not here.” His dark brown eyes became more intense, nearly matching the black hue of his hair. “Near here. The old church’s graveyard next to us.”
“That’s right,” Lenora said. “There has been a rumor circulating for more than a hundred years about Hall Cemetery. I don’t believe it, myself.”
“That’s good,” the ghost hunter said. “Because it isn’t real. She isn’t real, I mean.”
The young blonde, Lacey, fingered the collar of her black turtleneck sweater. “Oh, that’s right. We’ve all heard of her. Actually, I’ve more than heard of her—I’ve seen her.” Her voice was soft and serious.
“Seen her?” Zo asked, and Claire leaned toward her.
Frank snorted. “You couldn’t have.”
“I did. She has really long black hair. She wears a white nightgown with blood across her chest, and only comes out at night, always smelling like lavender.”
“When was this?” Zo asked, her interest piqued.
“It was prom night. I was out on a double date. We stopped by the graveyard after the dance. I didn’t believe in her either until I saw her.” She continued her story by raising her right hand. “Swear on my grandma’s grave, she saw me staring at her and then just—poof—disappeared.” Her small hands fluttered around for drama.
Frank cut in gruffly: “These sorts of things happen all the time. People go somewhere expecting to see something, and then they do. Our minds play tricks on us.”
“But I said I wasn’t expecting to see anything. I didn’t believe,” Lacey said hotly.
“Let me ask you something.” He turned to her, as if excited for the confrontation. “It was prom night, right? How many drinks did you have?”
“Drinks? I didn’t have anything to drink other than punch, so there.”
“Oh come on, you don’t have to hide anything. Your parents aren’t here, and it’s not like we’re going to tell the authorities on you. Everyone gets drunk prom night.”
“Well, I didn’t. I’m not afraid to tell you whether I had alcohol. Last night I had alcohol.” She crossed her arms and stared him down.
He put up his hands like he surrendered, but his voice still came across as purely skeptical. “Whatever you say, missy.”
“The name’s not Missy. Call me Lacey.”
Zo was starting to feel uncomfortable. It was apparent the others were as well. “Frank, Frank, let her be. She says she saw the ghost, and perhaps she did.”
“She didn’t.”
“I did.”
Footsteps echoing down the hall stole their attention away from the argument. The Count arrived, holding up two large entrees hidden by ornate silver lids atop platters.
“Smells delicious.” Claire sat up and politely placed her napkin across her slacks.
He set them down onto some antique linens like they were hot pads. Upon removing the lids, steam puffed out from the chicken and vegetables. “There is more,” he said.
“Would you like some help?” Claire offered. The older women looked at her knowingly, shaking their heads.
The Count said, “This is my job. I’ll be back.”
And again, the ominous character disappeared down a dark hall.
Her round cheeks blushing, Beth said, “He doesn’t accept any help.”
Zo nodded like she knew. “He didn’t even have a butler or hostess to greet us.”
Lenora fiddled with the pearl brooch adorning her long neck’s collar. “Nope. And there’s no housekeeping either. He does it all, down to the turning over of our beds in the morning.”
“That’s a lot of work,” Lacey said. Her feathers not ruffled anymore by Frank, she happily forked some meat.
Lenora continued, “It’s part of Dracula’s story. He didn’t have any servants.”
“That’s right,” Beth piped in, after offering Claire some steamed broccoli. “And just like the book, there aren’t any mirrors either.”
“No, no mirrors, dear sister,” Lenora agreed. “But unlike the book, there’s been no indication that he crawls up walls.”
Zo’s jaw dropped, though not over the creepy man crawling up walls. “Just how does he expect us to do our hair?”
“I hope you packed a mirror,” Lenora said with a giggle, behind her fingers.
“I didn’t. Did you, Claire?”
“No.”
“Where’s the closest Wal-Mart?” Zo just had to ask.
“In this little coastal town?” Lenora said. “Oh, an hour away or more. But there’s a charming boutique less than ten minutes away, across from the ballet studio. I shop there quite often, myself. Cocoa’s—you’ll like it.”
“Since it would obviously be closed at this hour”—it was after nine—“I know what I’m doing right when I wake up!”
After a hearty meal of three courses, everyone headed off to their quarters. Zo inspected their room’s little bathroom. Nope, no mirror. When Zo came back into their big, desolate, and cold room, she plopped down on one of the two small beds and said, “Remind me why we’re here again.”
“Because my friend Lucas was very impressed with this place when he was here, and you love adventure.”
TWO
The Kanes were up at the crack of dawn. After brushing through her mother’s long strawberry blond hair, Claire got busy applying makeup. However, clouds conspired with the sun, dimming the bright rays, so it was a bit of a challenge. Not that the small window’s dust would have allowed much more.
“Careful! Don’t poke my eye out.”
“Sit closer to the window,” Claire said. “Scoot over.”
“I really don’t like other people doing my makeup, sweetie.”
Claire picked some soft brown sha
dow for the crease of her mother’s eyelids. “What choice have you got?”
Later, walking down the sidewalks of the little town, Zo asked, “Are you sure my makeup looks good?”
“Yes, Mother.”
“Did you do it how you do your makeup, or like how I do my makeup?”
“Like how I do my makeup.”
“Why would you do such a thing?” Zo playfully bopped her daughter on the arm with her purse.
They passed a couple of fisherman-themed souvenir shops, one with a sea captain carved out of a giant tree trunk beside its entrance. The air was perfectly warm, with a salty fresh breeze. They continued talking about this and that, especially about last night’s dinner party, when out from another business stepped a man Zo couldn’t ignore, to say the least.
He looked to be maybe forty, forty-five? His dark brown hair waved down to his shoulders. There was an elegant air about him—a sloping nose, nice jawline, his tight v-neck hugging his nicely formed chest muscles. But who wears pants like that? Zo wondered, although she was awful glad he did. They were a tight, navy-colored material, not shiny like Speedos, though they clung to his strong calves, thighs, and—ahem—nice rear.
Zo nudged Claire a little too hard in the ribs, trying to point attention toward her find.
“Ouch,” Claire yelped.
“Hush,” Zo said. “Twelve o’clock.”
“It’s nine o’clock.” Claire looked at her gold watch. “Technically … 9:06.”
Zo rolled her eyes, and said ever-so-quietly out the side of her mouth, “Not the time. The man. Straight ahead.”
Claire darted her eyes forward, then darted them away even quicker. “Wow,” she said under her breath, agreeing with her mother.
The man was headed in their direction. A clever little idea suddenly came to Zo. She reached into her pocket for her keys, and as he was about to walk by, she let them fall from her loose grasp and kept going.
Claire noticed right away. “Mom, you dropped—”
“Hush!” she said. “Keep going.”
