The gentle sigh of all the appliances turning off followed. The green brewing light went off and I was back to square one. "Oh, come on. Not today."
Car doors and voices took me to the front window. Raine and Lana were deep in conversation, arms loaded with boxes. "Of course. And now my sister shows up to revamp the dining room for the guests." I zipped past Edward who was watching my hectic morning from his perch.
I swung open the front door. "Please tell me there's a fresh pot of coffee in one of those boxes."
Lana carried her box up the step. "I could tell you there is but I'd be lying."
Raine grinned as she trudged past with her box. "Sorry no coffee here either. Just linens, silverware and dishes."
"Could you grab the baskets from the truck, Sunni?" Lana called as she was halfway to the dining room.
"Sure, I've got nothing better to do this morning," I muttered as I walked out to Lana's truck. Lana had filled individual baskets with snacks, pens, notepads, and mini flashlights. She'd hand-painted names on each flashlight. I grabbed two of the baskets and carried them into the house.
Lana was standing in the center of my unfinished dining room mind mapping the arrangement of chairs and air mattresses. She pointed to the corner of the room for me to set down the baskets. Her hands settled on her hips as she stared up at the bare wires curling down from the ceiling. "I forgot you don't have a chandelier in here yet. There's plenty of light now through the windows but I'll need to bring over some lamps to set up around the room."
"Might be a lot of trouble for nothing." I lowered the baskets to the unfinished hardwood floors. "The electricity is being fickle this morning. Hence my impassioned plea for coffee."
Lana's lip curled. "Uh oh, Sunni without coffee can make for a bad morning. I could go back to the farm and make you a pot."
"No, I'll get some on the way to work. Tom Fielding is here working on the electricity. Hopefully he'll figure out why the lights are flickering on and off this morning. Guess those cute personal flashlights will come in handy."
Edward's constant need to be entertained by earthly humans brought him to the dining room. I scowled quickly at him which only made his image solidify more. Raine stomped right past him with two more baskets. She stumbled forward and nearly dropped the goodies. I froze to the spot as she swished her head back and forth looking for something. "Did you guys feel that?"
"Feel what?" Lana asked.
"It felt like someone brushed my arm with cold air."
I snuck a questioning look at Edward. He returned a sheepish smile. Ever since Raine had conducted a séance in the house to summon Edward, he'd found great entertainment in teasing her.
Raine wriggled once as if to get rid of a creeping sensation. "APPS certainly picked the right place for their visit. It seems the air is thick with paranormal activity today. Too bad they are mostly a bunch of amateurs. They'll probably miss every subtlety."
"Actually," Lana said, "flickering lights are perfect. Ghosts are always doing stuff like that."
Edward laughed dryly. "What nonsense. Why on earth would ghosts do something as mundane as turning lights on and off? Maybe I should pull on a bed sheet and yell boo as well."
I stomped my foot lightly and glowered at him to be quiet.
"Woo, sis, you need to go get that coffee. You're scowling like the Grinch this morning. Just leave all this to Raine and me and don't worry about a thing. I'm sure the visitors will hear plenty of creaks and moans in this old place, enough to keep their overactive imaginations chattering for months."
Raine cleared her throat loudly to show her displeasure at Lana's comment. "The cold touch on my arm had nothing to do with my imagination. It happened. There is a ghost in this house sure as there is a nose on my face."
Lana put up her hand to stop Raine's lecture. "Yes, you're right. But you have to understand, Raine, people like Sunni and me, who have no psychic ability, no connection to the afterworld, have a hard time believing. It's easy to be a skeptic when you can’t hear or feel or sense paranormal events. So you have to give us a break."
I was just disgruntled enough from my morning to feel defensive. "Don't lump me into your skeptic world, Lana. I sense things plenty in this house. Sometimes I'm even irritated by all of it." I raised a brow at Edward. He lifted his in return just before vanishing.
Lana appeared somewhat stunned at my confession. She laughed dryly. "Are you saying you've seen ghosts in the house?"
Raine's eyes widened as she waited breathlessly for my response. If there was anyone in the world I wanted to reveal my secret to, it was Raine. But I'd made a promise to Edward. Besides it was entirely up to him. He decided who could hear and see him and at the moment that club was small, namely myself and two border collies who weren't very discerning about the company they kept.
"I'm not saying I've seen an actual ghost," I said.
Lana's expression and condescending nod came straight out of the big sister's handbook on putting silly little sisters in their place.
"I just prefer to keep a more open mind," I said, adding in a little sister's 'so there' chin lift. It had about as much effect as it did back when I was ten.
"See, Sunni is a true friend," Raine quipped. "Now where do I put the air mattresses?"
"I'm out of here," I said. "Must. Have. Coffee." I waved on my way out the door.
Chapter 8
A heavy, aroma-filled mist hovered around those in line at the coffee shop. The woman in front of me had apparently pulled the short straw, giving her the task of buying coffee for the entire office. And what a picky, spoiled bunch of coffee drinkers they were. Half a squirt of this, only low fat on that, almond milk only, a dollop of nonfat whipping cream. The comical concept of nonfat whipping cream gave me my first laugh of the morning. The barista, a tiny woman who moved like a ninja around the kitchen, gave the woman with the long picky list a piece of her mind, letting her know next time they needed to order in advance of the pickup. I kept my hands straight down at my sides to avoid breaking into a round of applause for the barista.
I reached the counter and inadvertently braced my hands against it as if I had just stumbled in from a trek across the desert and was one step away from dying of thirst. "A grande coffee of the day. As rich and black as you've got. In fact if you leave out the water I'm all right with that."
The young girl at the register peered up in question.
"No, I'm kidding. Water is fine. Makes it easier to sip through that little slit in the top."
She laughed weakly, apparently not finding my humor all that humorous. She spun around and I stared at the coffee as it cascaded into the cup.
"Should I leave room for cream?" she asked.
"Fill it so it’s seeping out the top."
"Someone needs their coffee fix this morning." Even with my senses sluggish from lack of caffeine, I could easily recognize the deep voice behind me. Once my fingers were wrapped securely around my coffee cup, I turned around.
Detective Jackson was standing fresh faced and ready to start his day with shiny badge on belt, dark sunglasses sitting on his head and a very pretty redhead at his side. Her blue pencil skirt, blouse and high heeled shoes made it clear she wasn't his new partner.
The hello stuck in my throat. The morning had started badly. There was certainly no reason for my fortunes to change wind at this point. Seeing him with a lovely woman was the perfectly spectacular finale. And my reaction to seeing him with another woman assured me that I was way too enamored with the man. I needed to squelch my apparent crush and fast. After devoting many good years to a man who in the end opted for someone he considered more suited to his doctor lifestyle, the last thing I needed was to fall for a man who no doubt had a phone contact list filled with women's names.
"You're clutching that coffee like it might try and run away from you," he quipped. I was thankful he left off the Bluebird nickname. But I wasn't sure if that was because it spared me odd looks from his date or if because I w
as fond of it. I was really in a muddle this morning.
I took a sip to clear my head. It didn't help as much as I hoped. "Yes." I lifted the cup. "Heaven help the individual who tries to come between me and my cup of medium roast. I don't want to block the line. It was nice seeing you." The redhead was too busy deciding on her coffee choice to pay me much mind which was fine by me.
I nodded to Jackson and sidled through the other customers and out the door.
I was only a few feet from the jeep when I heard the nickname I'd been both fretting and wanting to hear.
"Hey, Bluebird, wait a second."
I closed my eyes before turning around to gather my wits. I was relieved to see he was alone as he closed the gap quickly between us with his long strides. "Are you all right? You don't seem yourself."
For some reason, his question unexpectedly released the stopper. "Myself? Not quite. I've got a group of complete strangers coming to stay in my house, a house that is hardly fit for rats and mice let alone out of town visitors. The boss is telling me to write a glowing story about the same people, group of ghost chasers, so that they bring their big convention to town next month. My sister is turning the screws on me for the same reason." I put up two fingers. "So that's two people I'll disappoint if the Paranormal Preservation Society isn't pleased with their stay or their article." The rant, newly fueled by the three gulps of coffee I had on the way to the jeep, kept flowing. "Then of course I have to worry that my ghost doesn't screw things up with his usual selfishness." I blinked up at him and tried to assess whether or not he heard the last detail in my flurry of angry declarations.
His faintly cocky smile made the lines next to his mouth crease. "Did you just say you had a selfish ghost?"
My heart paddled around my chest for a second while I constructed a response. "What? No. Did I say that?" (It was the best I could do standing with those amber eyes gazing down at me.)
"You did. You said that you had to worry about your ghost screwing things up because he was selfish."
I laughed and took a loud sip of coffee. I swallowed dramatically. "Do you see what happens to me when I don't have coffee? Which I didn't have because the electrician is working on rewiring the inn and I had no electricity this morning." It was a pathetic topic change but it seemed to work.
"Hey, Bluebird, maybe you're taking on too much. Why don't you let your sister host the group? Doesn't she have a big party barn?"
"See, why didn't I think of that?" I was still so flustered by the reality that I'd talked openly about Edward that I forgot myself and tapped his chest. He stared down at the place on his shirt for a second and then lifted his gaze to me.
"I suppose it's because her barn isn't prone to selfish screwy ghosts," he said.
I nodded. "Oh yeah that's right. They are staying at the inn because it's on some important list of haunted homes in America."
He smiled. "Is that right? That's pretty cool."
"I suppose it's cool as long as I don't have a parade of inn visitors marching through with their equipment and recorders."
He rubbed his chin. "Guess that would be a problem." There was just enough stubble on it to make me wonder if he'd spent the night somewhere other than his own home. I pushed the thought from my head. I didn't need any other aggravation this morning.
"Brady," a voice called from the coffee shop door. It was the redhead. "I've found a table."
"Be right there," he called.
I wouldn't allow myself to sink in disappointment. A man like Brady Jackson would be far more trouble than he was worth. He turned back to me and a perfectly timed breeze pushed a sun-bleached strand of hair across his face and I was rethinking my earlier assessment about the balance of trouble and worth.
"I'll let you go then, Taylor. I just wanted to make sure you were all right." He flashed another smile, only this one was different. This one stole my breath for a moment. It wasn't just because it was an extraordinary smile. I'd yet to have the man flash anything but a breathtaking smile. But this one was slightly different. For some strange reason, for the briefest second, Detective Brady Jackson bore a striking resemblance to Edward Beckett.
I shook off the weird sensation. "Yes enjoy your coffee with your friend." I hurried around to the driver's side and climbed inside. I sipped my coffee and rested my head back with my eyes closed. Work could wait. I needed a few minutes alone with my soothing cup of Joe.
Chapter 9
I'd managed to whisk away the fretful morning. Parker had gone to a meeting with Mr. Newsom, the owner of the paper. His mood had improved since the day before but he was still carrying a large flask of orange juice and a box of zinc tablets to ward off the impending flu or cold or general illness that was apparently ready to strike at any moment. Myrna was spending the morning cold calling businesses to sell advertising slots in the paper, a task she found 'even more loathsome than mopping the kitchen floor'. I needed to look extra busy or risk having her hand me a phone list to join her.
I'd thoroughly exhausted the online information sources for the Applegate Society, or at least all the sources worthy of reading. After a good hour of research I was staring down at a mostly blank notebook. I hated to admit it but the information and articles about the so-called paranormal experts seemed like a lot of fanciful fluff. There were stories of near misses, a shift of breeze inside a cellar, someone certain a cold hand touched them and the typical unexplained orb of light in a photo, usually a photo so dark or blurry it was hard to notice anything was amiss or for that matter supernatural. And this opinion was no longer the meandering thoughts of a hearty skeptic. I now had solid, or for lack of a better term, un-solid evidence of a ghost and he was as incredible to behold as he was annoying to live with. But it seemed none of the people in the APPS group had any firm evidence or proof of the spirit world. Perhaps Raine had been correct in her opinion and they were just a group of frauds or people who had convinced themselves of extra sensory talents that none of them actually possessed. Applegate's review had mentioned that Jamie Nielson, the member who had written the supposed handbook on paranormal detection had based much of his findings on theories and flimsy facts. After seeing his picture, a tall thirty something man with dark eyes, a goatee and with the at ease style that Raine was attracted to I decided her praise might have been more due to the man's physical appearance than his psychic abilities. Of course as far as psychic abilities went, Raine had won me over to the believer's side when she'd sadly but correctly predicted someone would die after reading cards and tea for women in a bridal party. It was a prediction that nearly got her in trouble. Apparently Tarot cards and tea leaves are not a great defense when you were privy to someone's murder.
Myrna grunted as she slammed down the phone. I sat up straight and furled my brow with interest as if something other than my cluttered chaotic desktop was staring back at me. With real purpose I typed in Cider Ridge Inn and hit enter. I'd read the majority of the mostly worthless articles about the inn. It had been awhile since I'd entered the name of the inn. This time several images came up in the small box titled images for Cider Ridge Inn. The first two boxes were taken up by what appeared to be century old photos. I clicked to open them and chirped with excitement.
The elated sound caught Myrna's attention. "I guess some people get to do amusing, wonderful internet browsing while others have to call strangers and beg them for money," she snorted.
I pointed at the monitor. "I'm researching haunted houses for my article and I found my very own haunted house."
Myrna nodded half-heartedly and dialed the next number.
I scooted my chair closer and lowered my face near enough to the monitor that I could see all the fingerprints and smears on the glass. The pictures came up as items for sale in a store called Lola's Antiques. The description read 'mid-nineteenth century photo of the Cider Ridge Inn. Family playing croquet on front lawn while woman looks on from porch. For paranormal buffs, there appears to be a misty figure standing next to the woman'.
The last statement made me chirp again only this one sounded like someone had stepped on my toe.
I was sitting at my desk but my heart was racing. I zoomed in as much as possible but it wasn’t enough to see the grainy, faded picture clearly. My face popped up and I looked over at Myrna. She was just hanging the phone up. Her bright pink lips were pursed with annoyance.
"Myrna, do you have that magnifying glass you were using to read the small print on Parker's medicine bottle?"
"Sure do." She was pleased to step away from the dreaded cold call list. She fished through her desk drawer and got up to walk it over. I got up so quickly, my chair rolled back.
"No," I said far too abruptly, "don't trouble yourself. I'll come get it." I couldn't exactly inspect a photo with a possible image of a ghost right in front of Myrna. Especially one standing right on the porch of the inn.
I scurried across. She dropped it unceremoniously on my palm. "I could have brought it. It would have given me a break from this call list."
I put on my best sympathetic smile. "Any luck yet?"
"Nope. Businesses are always tight with their advertising money at this time of year. Of course that will change if Firefly Junction is chosen as the site of the paranormal convention next month." She winked at me. "Our top reporter will make sure that happens, then I won't have to make cold calls. They'll be calling us."
"I'm not making any promises, Myrna, but I'll do the best I can." My steps were heavier on the return trip to my desk. That dull, thudding pressure weighed down on me as I realized everyone was counting on me to flatter, cajole and praise tonight's visitors enough to win them over. For the first time ever, I wished I could expose Edward. That would certainly make Firefly Junction a shoo-in for the convention.
Murder at the Inn Page 4
