Murder at the Inn

by London Lovett

  "I was thinking something light and fresh like the Lucille Ball. I love the pickled vegetables Ballard puts on the hummus."

  Raine took her glasses off and began to clean them with the ends of her shirt. She looked unusually dour.

  I reached for my glass of water. "You look sort of glum and I'm an expert at detecting glum today because the newspaper office was ripe with it."

  "It's that silly Applegate group that's coming to town. Paranormal preservers or whatever they consider themselves."

  "Ah, Lana told you about the visit?"

  Raine put her glasses back on and blinked behind the thick lenses to make sure she'd erased all the smears. "She told me. I'm heading over to Lana's after lunch to help her plan a menu for their stay at the Cider Ridge Inn. I can't believe she talked you into hosting them."

  I raised a brow. "You can't? Seriously? We're talking about the woman who could talk a grizzly bear out of a pot of honey with hardly a wink and a nod."

  "True. And you're kind of a pushover."

  "Thanks, friend."

  "You're right. Sorry. I shouldn't have brought my bad mood to lunch." She lifted her hands and shook them like she was drying them. Her bracelets did a hoola-hoop style dance around her thin wrists. "There. All the bad juju is gone." She pushed the corners of her lips up and held a smile. "See, the ever-charming and happy Raine is back."

  Ballard, the owner of Layers, came out with her order pad. "Have you two decided on lunch?" Ballard was the culinary and marketing genius behind Layers. It was the most popular eating spot in town.

  Raine grabbed the menu. "I was in a terrible mood a few minutes ago and I was certain the Vincent Price was the way to go but I'm feeling less wretched so I'm going to pick something else. Start with Sunni. It'll only take me a second to decide."

  "I'll have the Lucille Ball with an extra scoop of pickled veggies."

  "You know what, me too." Raine handed Ballard the menu.

  Ballard tucked her pencil behind her ear. "Lana came in here earlier for a breakfast sandwich. She said you were hosting the Applegate Paranormal Preservation Society this week."

  "My sister can spread news faster than melted butter. Yep, they are spending tomorrow night at the inn, hoping to make contact with the infamous Cider Ridge ghost."

  Raine scoffed loudly. "Good luck with that. Those frauds couldn't conjure smoke from a blazing hearth."

  Something told me my lunch partner was going to switch back to a Vincent Price. Or possibly even a Bela Lugosi, liver pate on pumpernickel.

  "Well, no pressure, Sunni," Ballard continued unabated by Raine's negative comment, "but it sure would be sweet if that big paranormal convention happened here in Firefly Junction. Lots of business."

  "So I've heard from my sister, my boss and now you. But no pressure. All I can do is make sure no one falls through a broken floorboard or gets a splinter from the door casings. My place is not exactly homey and inviting yet. And I have no control over the ghost in my house."

  Both women looked at me.

  "I mean if there is a ghost. I certainly wouldn't know it because as I said, I have no control over the supposed spirits living in the inn. Can I get a bag of chips too," I added for a less than subtle topic change.

  "Yes, coming right up." Ballard was just about to spin around and head inside but something behind me caught her eye. Whatever it was, it made that same eye twinkle with admiration. Raine's eyes sparkled too.

  I was just about to look back over my shoulder when Raine kicked my shoe. "Don't look. It's too obvious."

  "Uh, I think the pair of you are already making it obvious." I had a vague idea of just who might be walking up behind me. I no longer needed to guess.

  "Detective Jackson," Ballard said with a much more frilly tone than I had ever heard. "I've got your sandwich ready. I'll go fill your soda."

  "Great. Thanks, Ballard."

  It had been a few weeks since I'd seen or spoken to Detective Brady Jackson. My reaction to the sound of his voice was disconcerting. I would have preferred no reaction so I could more easily convince myself that the incredibly tall and good looking detective was just an acquaintance. But acquaintances don't normally make your heart race.

  A large shadow fell over the table. I peered up at Jackson. He pushed his sunglasses up into his unruly hair. Although I had to admit it seemed as if he'd put a few more seconds into his grooming session this morning to tame his lion's mane. He hadn't vanquished the windswept look that he wore so well.

  I smiled up at him. "Detective Jackson," I said cheerily. "Nice to see you."

  "Good to see you too, Miss Taylor."

  "Vincent Price," Raine said suddenly. She slapped the table. "I should always go with my first choice. Isn't that what they told us to do on tests?" She swung her black boots around from the bench. "I'll be right back. I need to go tell Ballard to change my order." My best friend knew I was somewhat smitten with Detective Jackson so it was entirely possible she hadn't really changed her mind back to Vincent Price. Either way, she was off in a flurry of colorful cotton.

  Jackson took a seat on the bench across from me. His amber eyes looked pale in the afternoon sunlight drizzling through the poplars. He rested his muscular forearms along the edge of the table. The blue shirt he was wearing went nicely with his golden skin tone. "And what have you been up to my busy little bluebird? Guess the news business is slow when murders are scarce."

  I nodded. "I was just thinking that we needed a good throat slashing or poisoning to liven things up around here."

  He smiled at my dark sarcasm. "I've missed ya, Bluebird. Guess you're busy with the inn."

  "Yes and work and my sisters and everything else that keeps falling onto my plate. I've been asked to host the Applegate Paranormal Preservation Society for a night at my haunted inn."

  He laughed. "That is a long sounding name for a silly sounding society. How do they preserve people who are already dead?"

  I pointed at him. "You see. That's what I thought at first until my sister explained that their goal is to make sure lingering spirits live a full—" I tapped my chin. "What was that word? Oh yes, a full un-life."

  His laugh was deep and rich. Naturally. "That sounds like a lot of fun." Raine stepped outside and she looked around as if she was trying to find another excuse to leave Jackson and me alone at the table.

  "Raine, here's your spot," Jackson said. He threw his long leg over the bench. "Sunni and I were just catching up." He waved to the empty bench with a flourish. Raine fiddled with her glasses as she sashayed past him to sit.

  "Catch you two later." He nodded specifically at me. "And stay out of trouble."

  The giggle spurting from Raine's lips sounded nothing like her real laugh. "We'll try."

  Both Raine and I let our gazes linger overlong on Detective Jackson as he strolled to the restaurant door and disappeared inside.

  Raine flipped forward to face me. "Well, how was it?"

  "How was what? Our ten second conversation? Just fine. We talked about throats being slashed or wrung. It was all quite romantic."

  She huffed in frustration. "You've got to work on your flirting, my friend. And besides I couldn't think of any other good excuse to stay inside longer." She tapped the side of her head. "The bathroom, duh. Oh well probably just as well. You would have just gone on to talk about murders and mayhem." She took a sip of water. "So APPS will be at the inn tomorrow night? I should drop by and pay them a visit. The only true talent in that group is Jamie Nielsen. He wrote a great book called—"

  "Those Living Among Us," I interjected.

  "Yes. Have you read it?"

  I tilted my head. "What do you think?"

  "You should read it. It might just make you a believer."

  "Who's to say I'm not a believer? I just don't have to waste time reading books by ghost experts when I hang out with a top of the line spirit medium."

  Raine blushed at my compliment. "I suppose you're right." She sighed. "Now if I could ju
st make contact with that darn elusive Cider Ridge Inn ghost."

  "I'm sure he's around, Raine. Maybe he just doesn't like to make himself too obvious." I picked up my water.

  "That's it." She snapped her fingers. "He's shy. Why didn't I think of that before. I just need to read up on how to get a shy ghost to reveal itself."

  I smiled inwardly at the notion of Edward, the most opinionated, outspoken arrogant apparition ever to grace the spirit world being too shy.

  Chapter 6

  Everything was wonderful about the transition to autumn except that there were less hours of daylight. But a setting sun didn't stop me from making the short trek to my sister Emily's house. I would be rewarded for my dusk adventure with a basket of the first apples of the year and goat snuffles. Snuffles wasn't a technically accurate word for the sweet kisses from Emily's goats, Tinkerbell and Cuddlebug but it was the best term I could come up with for warm fuzzy snouts pushing eagerly against my skin.

  With the sun close to setting, the girls, as I called them, would be safely tucked away in the barn, out of view of nighttime predators. Delicious aromas wafted through Emily's kitchen window and mingled with the earthy odors of the farm. Excluding the unique smell hovering around the chicken yard. Emily's feathery brood had a perfume all their own.

  I spotted Emily's white blonde hair in the kitchen window. She was washing something in the kitchen sink. She tapped the window and waved at me as I crossed the yard with Newman and Redford in tow. I pointed toward the barn and pantomimed hugging myself to let her know I needed a goat cuddle before I came inside.

  She understood me perfectly and nodded. The dogs, however, had no desire to see goats or anything else except whatever treat Emily had in her dog cookie jar.

  As I rounded the barn door, I stopped just short of smacking into Nick, my brother-in-law. He had switched his summer caps and straw cowboy hat out for a dark green knitted beanie.

  "Hey, Sunni. Coming to get some apples? They're kind of small but really crisp. Lana took a bunch to make apple pie."

  "Did she? Then I hope she's making me a pie. I'm doing her a big favor. She already seduced me with her date nut bars but this favor is big enough to earn a pie too."

  Nick hung up the mucking rake on the hook. "Yeah, she told us about the paranormal group having a slumber party at the inn. She's talked Emi into baking her blackberry hand pies for the event. She's inside right now making them. Are you coming inside?"

  "Right after I see my two angels, Tinkerbell and Cuddlebug."

  "Angels"—He laughed dryly—"That's a good one. Emi hung one of her rugs out to dry on the laundry line and Cuddlebug ate all the tassels."

  I stifled a laugh. "Did she at least chew them all to the same length?"

  "She didn't need to. By the time Emi caught her all the tassels were gone. I'll see you inside."

  I grabbed a handful of hay and walked to Butterscotch's stall. The Belgian mare walked to the door to nibble the hay. "They've got you locked in early. I guess that's why I didn't find you outside the inn today." I patted her and headed down to the goat pen.

  Cuddlebug was knelt down in a soft spot on her straw bed. She bleated quietly but was too lazy to get up and greet me. Tinkerbell, on the other hand, trotted over and stood up on her back legs, so I could scratch her head. "You two are already bedded down for the night. Auntie will have to make the walk over here earlier or we're never going to have time to play." I rubbed Tink's soft gray ears, said good night to all the animals and headed toward the farmhouse. Emily and Nick's two-story century old farmhouse with its gabled roofs, brick chimneys and peeling red paint looked picture perfect in its grassy setting with the colorful Smoky Mountains as its backdrop.

  I headed up the back steps and into Emily's heavenly smelling kitchen. Two trays of rectangular hand pies were cooling on racks on the table.

  Nick was already eating his pie, dipping it in vanilla ice cream before each bite.

  "Yum, I want mine with ice cream too." I walked to the cupboard and took down a bowl.

  Emily brought me the tub of ice cream and a spoon. "I hear Lana talked you into a slumber party with ghost hunters."

  I filled the bowl with a healthy scoop of ice cream. Emily handed me a warm blackberry pie.

  "I don't know if you can refer to Lana's coercion techniques as talking into but she convinced me it will be good for the town. As long as they have a good time and enjoy their stay. And I'm supposed to flatter them with an interview in the Junction Times. It feels like the whole town is counting on me to make sure the ghost hunters have their convention here next month." I dipped my pie into the ice cream and closed my eyes to enjoy the bite. "Hmm, this takes away the stress of the day."

  Nick was down to just ice cream. He grabbed a spoon from the caddy. "At least it's not all on your Cider Ridge ghost. Lana said they were also making a stop at the Dandelion Inn in Birch Highlands. I hear that ghost is much more active than your ghost."

  I wiped my mouth with a napkin. "My ghost? Anyhow they can conjure and summon and turn on all their ghost machines, my ghost is not going to make an appearance." (With any luck.)

  "Then Lauren Grace will just have to flow out of the Dandelion walls in her shimmering white dress and long silk hair." Nick noticed he'd gotten both Emily's and my attention with his description.

  He shrugged. "I didn't make that up. There's a portrait of Lauren Grace, the original owner of the Dandelion Inn hanging over the mantel in the dining room. She's wearing a long gauzy dress or night rail or something. Apparently she was quite the stunner back in the day and when she was alive, of course. People have spotted her on the landing of the staircase in that same white dress. Supposedly she died when she fell down the steps."

  I finished the pie and was angry at myself for eating it so fast. "It sounds like the portrait helps people imagine a woman in a long white dress. If she were wearing a yellow polka dotted pair of pants in the portrait, I'll bet less people would see her floating around."

  Emily piled the pies into a container. "Now that you mention it, Sunni, I can't say I've ever seen a ghost in a movie or picture wearing yellow polka dot pants. You might be onto something. That portrait puts the image in people's heads and then it's much easier to conjure up Lauren Grace's spirit."

  Nick licked the last drop of ice cream off his spoon. "Too bad there isn't some portrait of that poor guy who took the bullet in the duel on your front yard. Maybe it would be easier for people to see him."

  Just what Edward needs, a portrait of himself to admire. "You might be right about that, Nick. Hopefully the group won't be too disappointed in the lack of paranormal activity in the Cider Ridge Inn."

  Chapter 7

  The lights in the bathroom flickered on and off as I finished my makeup. Thankfully, Edward's Victorian era propriety kept him from lingering anywhere near my private rooms as he termed them. My bedroom and bathroom were off limits just like the world past my front porch. Only he'd voluntarily created the border on this side of the house. The front yard and everything beyond it were off limits because his spirit was confined to the house where he died. I supposed it was a good thing that unhappy haunts weren’t allowed to wander the earth freely. The world would be a chaotic mess, even more so than it was without disenchanted souls causing havoc.

  The lights went off just as I finished my mascara. My windowless bathroom was drowned in darkness. I had to feel for the doorknob. My fingers wrapped around it just as the lights flashed back on. They flickered for a few seconds before going off again.

  I left the bathroom and headed to the cellar door in the kitchen. Tom Fielding's work lights must have been running on their own battery pack. I shielded my eyes from the harsh glow bursting up the basement stairs. "Tom, the lights are out. I'm still getting ready for work. Haven't made my coffee yet."

  His giant head peered around the corner where the antiquated fuse box was located. "Are you sure? I haven't turned off the electricity yet."

  I turned back and
glanced to the clock on the stove. "Yes, it's off."

  Tom scratched his wide chin. "Hmm, not sure what's happening but then these old houses are such a wiring mess it could have nothing to do with my work. I'll see what I can find out."

  "Thanks."

  "The man is an imbecile," Edward scoffed behind me. I shut the cellar door, even though there was no way Tom could have heard the comment.

  "I'm sure it's something that can easily be fixed. It has to be. I'm hosting visitors tonight, my first at the Cider Ridge Inn."

  "I can tell you that the light fixtures buzzed, fizzled, popped and did everything but emit light yesterday while you were out of the house. I think you can expect to give your visitors quite the show this evening." Edward swept up Newman's ball. The dog sat straight up from his morning nap as if someone had flipped on his switch. Edward popped the ball up into the air and Newman caught it snugly between his teeth.

  "Don't play catch with him right now. I'm late for work and there is no coffee and I'm already tense about tonight." I pulled the coffee carafe out from the machine and shook it to see if there was enough for a cold cup. "Darn it. There's not enough coffee here for a mouse. I'm going to have to stop by the coffee shop." I took a step and the tennis ball whizzed past my head and bounced off the wall before shooting back toward Newman.

  I turned a fiery gaze on Edward. He shrugged his vaporous shoulders. "Sorry it slipped."

  "It slipped? Balls don't generally fly like missiles when they've slipped. Please, Edward. Can't you find someplace else to be right now? I'm not in the mood for your antics."

  "You are very disagreeable this morning." He floated up to his favorite perch on the kitchen hearth.

  "Guilty as charged and yet I plan to stay disagreeable." The pressure suddenly placed on me by my sister and my editor had really pushed me out of the wrong side of the bed. Tom, in the center of it all, fudging with the electricity only made things worse.

  The lights turned back on. I waited a moment to see if they had stabilized. It seemed they had. I quickly filled the coffee maker and dumped a good scoop of medium roast into the basket. I was going to need an extra kick today. I pushed the on button and the pot whispered its comforting hissing sound to let me know in a few minutes I'd be sipping a hot, rich cup of Joe.