“I’d planned on the place being sold,” Elizabeth almost snarled. “It’s ready to fall down around our ears. What are you planning to do about it? I’ve heard that you’re not rich, like the old woman was.”
“I’m not rich,” Maureen admitted. “I plan to operate it at a profit.”
Elizabeth laughed, a short un-funny laugh. “Fat chance of that happening. What are you going to do? Raise the rates on the old dump?”
“Absolutely.” Maureen knew she sounded a lot more confident than she felt.” I’ll raise the rates and I’ll give the guests their money’s worth—starting with your restaurant. Elizabeth’s.”
Another burst of bitter laughter. “My restaurant? It wasn’t even named for me. Penelope named it after the queen of England back in 1970. I answered a want ad for a manager fifteen years ago. Been here ever since. There used to be a big picture on the wall of Queen Elizabeth at her coronation. I took it down and bought the neon sign. There was always plenty of money. Penelope trusted me to do whatever I wanted to with the place. So I did.” Maureen thought of her lucky Bermuda coin. Queen Elizabeth again?
“I see. As I said, we’ll be making some changes. I asked you yesterday to get the figures together for the Halloween advertising you’d planned. May I see them?”
Elizabeth actually pouted as she pulled a sheet of paper from her desk drawer and slapped it onto the desktop. “Here. This is the best I could do with such short notice.”
Maureen couldn’t stifle the sharp intake of breath the bottom line produced. “You can’t be serious!”
“I’ve already signed a contract for a full page with the newspaper.” Elizabeth’s smirk was back.
“All right. We’ll honor it.” Maureen pushed the paper back across the desk. “But the inn is not going to pick up the tab for the whole town’s Halloween celebration. We’ll call the other businesses today and offer them the opportunity to have their names included in a full-page co-op Halloween advertisement. Then we’ll divide the cost among all of the participants.”
“Today?”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll do half the list.”
“What about the radio and TV?”
“I’m sure they all do community service spots. I’ll send releases to all the local media. Won’t cost a dime. Now about the dining room . . .”
“There’s nothing wrong with the way I run the dining room.” The woman stood, looking down at Maureen. “Penelope loved the way I ran the dining room. She loved me. She should have left the whole damned old place to me.”
Maureen spoke slowly. Calmly. “We need to get hold of the expenses. For instance, we’re paying retail for too much of the food. Together, you and I can make this work. Sit down please.” Elizabeth sat.
Below the edge of the desk Maureen had fingers on both hands crossed.
Chapter 21
One quick phone call to the Haven Chamber of Commerce provided Maureen with a list of addresses, e-mails, and phone numbers for most of the businesses along Beach Boulevard. She’d estimated that a full page with Halloween art could easily feature forty sponsors, including the inn. Since Elizabeth already knew everybody in town, and was friendly with many, the idea of the co-op ad went well. By lunchtime Elizabeth had signed up thirty of them while Maureen managed to sell the remaining ten—including the bookshop, a thrift store, the L&M Bar, and the law office of Jackson, Nathan and Peters. She hoped the Halloween weekend celebration would attract enough diners—and maybe even a few lodgers—to the Haven House Inn to pay for their share of the ad.
“So far, so good,” Maureen told Finn as she attached his leash for a somewhat overdue walk. “And Elizabeth might turn out to be not so bad after all.” The cats had already left the suite. The animals’ food dishes had been picked up and washed, so one of the housekeepers must have dropped in. “I think I’ll get a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign,” she said. “I’m not crazy about people wandering in and out of here all the time.”
“Woof,” Finn agreed. The golden tugged her toward the stairs, which he had decided he preferred to the elevator. “I sold one of the co-op ads to a Mr. Crenshaw at the Second Glance thrift store,” Maureen said. “Let’s stop by there and see if they have one of those push bells for Lorna.” They left the building via the side door, avoiding the lobby and the porch. She dropped her voice, even though there was no one nearby. “Can you believe that, Finn? I’m going shopping for a gift for a ghost.”
A police car was parked in front of the inn. Is Hubbard back again? she wondered. I hope he’ll finish up with this investigation before Halloween weekend. Police running around the place could put a damper on everything. She glanced up at the far end of the porch. The sawhorses with the UNDER REPAIR sign were still there. So was a uniformed cop. She walked a little faster, not looking back. If they want to talk to me again, they’ll just have to wait.
Finn made the necessary stops along the way to the Second Glance. Maureen had always liked thrift stores, and it occurred to her that this one might be a likely spot to get rid of some of Penelope Josephine Gray’s massive hoard. A sign on the side of the lavender-painted storefront announced that all proceeds went to a local charity that aided abuse victims. A bell over the door jingled when she opened it. “Hello!” she called. “Mr. Crenshaw? I’m Maureen Doherty. We talked earlier today about the Halloween newspaper ad. Are dogs allowed in here?”
A man stepped from between merchandise-crowded aisles. “Hello, Ms. Doherty. I’d rather he waited outside,” he said. “We have a store cat. There’s an old hitching post around to the side. You can hitch him up there and I’ll let you in the back door.”
“Okay, I don’t think he’ll mind.” Maureen walked around the lavender building and looped Finn’s leash over what certainly appeared to be a straight-out-of-Gunsmoke old western hitching post. “Be right back, boy,” she promised. Second Glance did indeed have a selection of push bells. She chose the most elaborate one, with incised carvings on its bronze-colored surface, and Mr. Crenshaw welcomed the idea of accepting whatever good used merchandise Maureen might want to contribute. “It’s tax deductible, you know,” he said, “and by the way, I’m an accredited appraiser, so it there are any antiques or other items of value I can give you a pretty good estimate of what they’re worth.”
“Perfect,” she said as he wrapped her purchase. “Where’s your cat? I’ve already met Erle Stanley Gardner over at the bookshop, and I’ve recently acquired two of my own.”
“Yes. I’d heard that you inherited Ms. Gray’s cats along with the inn.” Once again, Maureen wondered if everyone in Haven knew all of her business. “But you asked about Petunia. She’s around here somewhere. She sleeps most of the day. The darn ghost keeps her awake most of the night.”
“Ghost?”
“Oh sure. Most of the Haven ghosts are pretty quiet, but mine fancies herself an opera singer. Bursts into song around midnight. I stay away from here once it gets dark. Not really fond of opera. The shops on either side of mine aren’t open at night either, so she’s not really bothering anybody.” He looked around, then whispered, “She’s not very good.”
“I’m confused,” Maureen said. “You say ‘most of the Haven ghosts.’ I guess that means there are—uh—rather a lot of them in the neighborhood?”
“Oh dear, no. It’s not as if everybody gets to have one. No indeed. None of the newer places have any as far as I know, and even some of the old-timers are ghostless. Poor Mrs. Patterson over at the bookstore does everything she can to attract one, but so far, no dice.”
“I see,” Maureen said, though of course she didn’t. “I’m planning to stop at her shop today. She sems very pleasant.”
“She is that. The poor soul tries so hard to attract her late husband to visit her. Bakes his favorite cookies every morning, I understand.”
“I’ve had the cookies. They’re really good. She could probably sell them.” Maureen accepted her wrapped bell. “Thank you, Mr. Crenshaw, for placing your Halloween ad.
Let’s hope for a successful weekend.”
“I’m sure it will be. It always is. I’ll let you out the side door. Your doggy probably misses you.”
Maureen and Finn emerged from beside the lavender building and approached the crosswalk leading to the opposite side of Beach Boulevard and the bookshop. The mention of the late Mr. Patterson’s favorite cookies reminded her that she’d totally skipped breakfast. A few of those shortbread sweets would be most welcome. A police car rolled to a stop just as she stepped off the curb, a uniformed officer at the wheel. Frank Hubbard leaned out of the open passenger window.
“Are you deliberately avoiding me, Ms. Doherty?”
“Of course not. Is there something wrong at the inn?”
“I don’t know. Is there? I presume you’re heading back there now?”
“I’m going to stop at the bookshop first,” Maureen explained. “It shouldn’t take long.”
“I’m sure you can do that later,” he spoke firmly. “You seem to have developed a habit of slipping out through side doors and ducking behind buildings whenever you see a patrol car. We need to talk.”
“Of course. We’ll head for home right now. Come on, Finn.” She reversed direction. The patrol car made a U-turn and cruised slowly along beside her—all the way back to the inn.
It was disconcerting. Slipping out the side door? Ducking behind buildings? What was the man talking about? Maureen had used the side door to avoid the lobby and the rocking-chair quartet. Ducking behind buildings? Did he mean tying Finn to the hitching post beside the thrift store?
“I think Officer Hubbard has a naturally suspicious nature,” she told Finn. “I suppose that’s part of his job, but we’ll set him straight, won’t we?” This time she used the front stairway, her package containing Lorna’s bell in one hand, fully aware that those observing her couldn’t help noticing that she’d acquired a rolling police escort. Head high, she climbed the steps, moving between the growing accumulation of lighted jack-o’-lanterns. There were only a few people on the porch. Did that mean there’d been more checkouts since morning? Probably. She was going to have to speed up her efforts if she was going to be able to save the place.
She reached the top of the stairs and turned in time to see Frank Hubbard get out of the patrol car. Stepping over the grinning pumpkins, he followed, then moved past her, holding open the green front door to the lobby.
“After you, Ms. Doherty,” he said.
Chapter 22
“We need to have a talk, Ms. Doherty,” Hubbard said. “Could you put that dog away somewhere?”
“I’ll just run up and put him in my apartment,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”
“Don’t leave the building,” Hubbard said. “I’ll wait right here for you.” He sat in one of the white wicker chairs. Without acknowledging the order, she and Finn headed for the stairs. She noted once again that there was no one manning the check-in desk.
“He’s sure in a snit about something, Finn,” she said. “I hope whatever it is doesn’t take long.” She unclipped the leash and pushed the dog quite unceremoniously into the living room. The cats weren’t in evidence. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
She took the elevator back down to the first floor. Hubbard stood when she entered the lobby. “I’ve already arranged with Elizabeth to use her office,” he said. “We’ll just need to go into the dining room for a moment to pick up the key. If you’ll kindly follow me?” He pushed the louvred doors open. Maureen followed.
Elizabeth, in red apron with menus in hand, hurried toward them. “Oh, it’s only you two. I thought for a minute you were late lunch customers.” She waved a menu toward the nearly empty room. “We could use a few.”
“Couldn’t we have our talk at one of the tables, Officer?” Maureen asked. “I was so busy I skipped breakfast today and I’m truly hungry. Won’t you join me for lunch?”
“I can’t accept any gratuities,” Hubbard said, frowning.
Elizabeth tapped his arm with a plastic-covered menu. “Oh, Frank, knock it off. You and all the Haven cops get free coffee and doughnuts here all the time. Sit at a table near the front so it won’t look so deserted in here.”
Maureen watched Hubbard’s expression. I’m all in favor of supporting law enforcement, she thought, but how much free food are we handing out every day to the good citizens of Haven?
“Well, okay, Liz. But we’ll sit over there in the back.” Hubbard pointed. “This is official police business.”
“Fine.” Elizabeth led the way to the table he’d indicated. “Need menus?” She waved one in their direction.
“No thanks.” Maureen put her package on the empty chair beside her, facing Hubbard across the round table. “I’m just going to have a chicken salad sandwich and a cup of coffee.”
“Ham and cheese for me, with coffee,” the officer said. “And potato chips and a pickle.”
Elizabeth motioned for waitress Shelly. “She’ll take your orders. I have enough to do around here without waiting tables.” She fast-walked back to her usual position beside the dining room entrance, where she’d be able to hear the push bell in the lobby.
“I’d like to get something straight, Officer,” Maureen began. “I don’t know exactly what you meant when you said I was ducking you, but that’s simply not true.”
“Really?” He sounded doubtful. “Never mind that for now. I have a few questions about the contents of your medicine cabinet.”
Shelly appeared at Hubbard’s elbow. “You want to order something?” They each repeated their orders, with Maureen adding the pickles and chips to hers. The coffees arrived almost immediately. Maureen slowly added cream to hers and sipped thoughtfully—buying her a few moments to try to process what he’d just said.
He had questions about the contents of her medicine cabinet?
It’s not even really my medicine cabinet, she thought. At least, not yet. It’s still full of Penelope Josephine Gray’s stuff. Things I’ve never used. Never even touched.
She didn’t volunteer any further comment. He didn’t either. They waited for their sandwiches, neither one speaking until the plates had been delivered and the waitress had moved a good distance away from their table. Maureen nibbled on her sandwich. Didn’t touch her chips or pickle. Maybe she wasn’t as hungry as she’d thought she was. She sipped her coffee.
Frank Hubbard had eaten most of his sandwich before he broke the uncomfortable silence. “I ran a check on those medicine bottles.”
“Ms. Gray’s medicine bottles,” Maureen said.
“Yes. They had her name on them. One contained cough medicine. It had been prescribed several months ago. It was partly full. Her fingerprints are on it.” He answered her unasked question, “We have a record of Ms. Gray’s fingerprints because the inn has a liquor license. If the license gets transferred to you, we’ll need yours too.”
“Of course.”
“The other bottle contained her heart medicine. Digitalis capsules. The same drug that poisoned Mr. Wilson.”
“Yes. I know.”
“That was a new prescription. Yet the bottle was half-empty.”
“You believe Ms. Gray’s medicine was used to kill Mr. Wilson.”
“Yes. Actually, we’re sure of it. And strangely enough, there were no prints at all on that bottle. There should have been some. Ms. Gray’s or even the pharmacist’s.” His eyes were focused on Maureen’s face. “But someone had wiped that bottle clean. A good number of those pills wound up in Mr. Wilson’s system. Do you have any idea how that could have happened, Ms. Doherty?”
“Are you seriously suggesting that I could have—would have—poisoned a man I’d never even met?”
“I’m not suggesting anything. I told you before. I collect evidence. The contents of a medicine bottle I found in your bathroom were used to kill a man. That is evidence. My job is to ask questions about it. You discovered the body. You admitted to touching the body. When we arrived the body was on the floor at you
r feet, although the man was sitting in the chair earlier. There are several witnesses to that fact. Do you have any idea how that—”
Maureen pushed the remains of her lunch away. “I think I would like to talk to my lawyer before I answer any of your questions, Officer Hubbard.”
“Of course.” He stood. “We’ll talk more later. She watched as he left the room, then reached for her phone.
“Hello? . . . Lawrence Jackson, please. This is Maureen Doherty and I think I have a problem.”
Chapter 23
“Yes, Ms. Doherty? . . . Larry Jackson. What seems to be the problem? Somebody trying to hold the inn liable for that man’s death?”
“Not exactly.” Maureen tried to keep her voice level. “Somebody seems to think it’s possible that I’m responsible. Me. Personally.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I don’t either. I just had a talk with Officer Hubbard. He seems to believe that the poison that killed Mr. Wilson came from the medicine cabinet in my bathroom.” She attempted to give the attorney a brief version of what had just transpired. “Besides all that,” she finished, “he thinks I’ve been trying to hide from the police. That I’ve been ‘ducking behind buildings,’ ‘slipping out through side doors.’ ”
“Um—were you?”
“Of course not. Listen. Are you in your office? Can I see you now?” She saw Shelly approaching. “I can’t talk where I am right now.”
“Yes. I’ll be here for the next half hour or so. Can you come right over?”
“On my way.” She put the phone in her purse, picked up her package, and left an appropriate tip on the table.
Elizabeth was still at her menu-dispensing station. “Everything all right, Maureen?” she asked.
“Sure. Fine. Just remembered an appointment. Gotta rush.” She held the package toward the woman. “Can I leave this with you? I’ll pick it up later. It’s nothing important.”
Be My Ghost Page 13
