Murder at the Inn

by London Lovett

  Chapter 17

  Kitty Bloomfield was, once again, overly gracious. Not only did she welcome me in to interview her guests, she'd set aside a quiet sitting room for it. I was spending far more time making mental notes of the wonderful Dandelion Inn than I was thinking about my interview questions. Lana had spent so much time treating the group to her various party yummies, my notes from the previous night were mostly observational. I needed some noteworthy quotes, and those could only be gained through a formal interview. Fortunately, the lush decor of feathery embossed wallpaper, supple wingback chairs and the constant scent of cinnamon and citrus from a bowl of potpourri made the formal interview feel much more informal. Although my first interviewee, Jamie Nielsen, sat ramrod straight in the chair as if he didn't appreciate being questioned about his purported talents. Up to this point, his answers had been curt, succinct and, for the most part, uninspiring. He preferred the scientific side to the metaphysical aspects of ghost hunting.

  Jamie rubbed the auburn goatee on his strong chin as he waited for my next question.

  "When did you first gain an interest in paranormal preservation? And exactly what does the preservation term in the society mean?"

  "Surely you've heard Applegate's inane motto of helping spirits lead full un-lifes. Frankly, I'm in this society only until I can get the following and time to start my own. It will be a highly science and data driven group."

  "Do you think that ghost hunting is a matter of having the right equipment and being in the right place at the right time?"

  "Yes, well, not entirely." He had his long hair wrapped into a bun at the back of his head, making it awkward for him to rest his head back against the tall chair. He straightened his posture again. "It takes a good deal of extra sensory perception to be able to locate the spirits. After that, scientific data can be used to prove their existence. Especially for people like yourself who don't possess the sixth sense."

  I stifled a smile. If only I could just spill it all. Wouldn't that send his little man bun into a spinning top. "I see. So in order to be successful in ghost hunting, you must have extra sensory perception."

  "Yes, I believe so. There are plenty who pretend to have it, but they are generally just good actors."

  "Good actors?"

  "Yes, they shriek and gasp and claim to feel cold rushes of air or icy fingers on their arm, but I can tell you there are three times as many fakes as there are true experts."

  With his permission, I was taping the conversation, but I tended to do a lot of note jotting as well. Especially when it was something of interest. Nielsen's interview was probably too controversial to add to what was supposed to be a glowing story on the society, but I would manage to politely fit in a few of his comments.

  Barbara opened the door and walked into the room. She startled and her cheeks turned pink. "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought it was my turn."

  "We are almost done here, Barbara," I said. "I'll come fetch you when we're through."

  "Great. I'll just be having tea in the dining room." She hurried back out.

  Jamie looked even more bored than when we started. I decided to make it the last question. Since he was so certain he had the extra sense, the one that allowed him to experience and see things us regular five sense people couldn't, I thought I'd ask him about the incident at Cider Ridge.

  "One last question, if you don't mind. What do you think happened last night at Cider Ridge Inn? What's your general sense of the incident? Do you feel somewhere in that extra honed perception of yours that it was caused by an unsettled spirit or something that had nothing to do with the supernatural?"

  "My senses and expert background on all things supernatural assure me it was some weather shift or your house settling or even possibly your own suggestion of a jet flying faster than sound and causing shock waves. But it wasn't a ghost. If it had been my equipment would have picked it up. Like I said, true paranormal research requires a sixth sense and a heaping dose of science."

  I was becoming expert at using my poker face with Mr. Nielsen. I finished a few notes. "Thank you so much and I hope I didn't waste too much of your time."

  His face took on a wholly more interested expression as he sat forward. "Since I answered your questions," he said. "May I ask you one as well?"

  I wasn't sure which way this was going. "Sure," I said tentatively.

  "About those pictures I saw you holding—"

  I pushed out a frilly laugh. "Just some old photoshopped pictures of the inn a friend sent. They're nothing."

  He nodded half-heartedly and got up from the chair. I waited for him and caught my breath at the same time. I had no idea if he bought my photoshop explanation. I was just glad to be done with the interview. I double checked that my recorder was working, then I set out to find Barbara. She'd mentioned tea. I crossed paths with the young, energetic housekeeper, Wilma Knowles, on my way to the dining room. She was carrying a vacuum through to the next room.

  "Hello, are you enjoying your stay here at the Dandelion?" she asked. "Any sign of Lauren Grace yet?"

  "Actually, I'm with the Junction Times. I'm writing an article about the group."

  "Oh, right, I saw you yesterday having tea with Kitty. Welcome again." She tromped off with her vacuum. The daily cleaning ritual wasn't something I'd wrapped my mind around yet. There was so much to think about before opening an inn.

  I walked through to the dining room. Barbara sipped her cup of tea, but her focus was on something across the room. Naturally, it was Kenneth. And even more predictably, Kenneth was standing in front of the hearth gazing adoringly up at the portrait of Lauren Grace.

  "Barbara, I'm ready if you're finished with your tea," I said.

  She dragged her gaze away from Kenneth. "Of course." She tipped the tea cup back to finish it and clinked the cup down on the saucer. "Kenny, I'll just be in the next room being interviewed if you need me." She patted her mouth with her napkin and got up from the chair.

  Kenneth looked over at us as if he'd just noticed the two of us standing in the same room. "Isn't she something?" He pointed up at the portrait as he addressed me.

  "She is very lovely. I hope you'll catch a good glimpse of her during your stay." Just as we were about to exit, Angela walked into the dining room.

  "Hello, Sunni," she said before turning to her brother. "I thought I might find you here, Ken. I can't find the notes you gave me to put up on the blog. I've looked all over for them."

  Kenneth grunted in frustration. "I put them right on the dresser," he barked.

  "I've checked my dresser," Angela insisted.

  "No, I meant the dresser in my bedroom." He shook his head as if the miscommunication was Angela's fault when it clearly rested with him.

  Angela smiled weakly at us as she hurried back out of the room.

  "He's very tense about this visit," Barbara whispered as she followed behind me. "He's been waiting to meet Lauren Grace for some time. And I'm sure we will see her soon. We can all sense her presence." We walked along the corridor to the sitting room. "It's quite obvious that there is a lot of paranormal activity in this house."

  We reached the sitting room. I motioned for her to sit across from me on the leather chair.

  "So there is much more activity here than at Cider Ridge?" I asked. Sometimes I was a touch wicked, but there had to be some bonus to living with a secret ghost.

  Barbara was a small, fidgety woman and the tall, wingback chair nearly swallowed her as she scooted back to get comfortable. Her feet no longer touched the ground and they swung lightly back and forth. "Oh, yes, I'm afraid we were somewhat disappointed at the lack of it in your inn." She covered her mouth for a second then lowered her fingers. "I hope you don't find that insulting. It's a lovely home. Well, it will be once you've finished it. But I'm afraid it's just not haunted, or at least not highly active like the haunted house register claims."

  I pointed out my recorder. "Do you mind if I record our chat? That way I can spend more time liste
ning and less time writing."

  "Of course. I don't mind at all."

  "I guess this register I've heard mentioned is a list of houses in America that are known to be haunted by restless spirits."

  "Yes, it's a very long list and your house, Cider Ridge Inn, falls in the highly active section of the list. Kenneth mentioned that he might ask the board that updates the list to move your inn to mildly active. I hope that won't be a problem for you. If it is, then I'll speak to him." Her cheeks rounded. "Kenny and I are very close."

  "Yes, I've noticed you spend a great deal of time together." Unfortunately, it seemed like a one-way friendship but then maybe I didn't know the whole story. "Barbara, when did you first get interested in ghost hunting?"

  "I prefer to call it ghost watching, you know like bird watching. Hunting has such a harsh connotation."

  "True. Good point."

  "To be honest, I'd never thought twice about spirits or paranormal activity until I happened upon Kenny's YouTube program. He was so confident and well-spoken." She was practically gushing with admiration as she spoke. "And such an expert. I was a true believer after just two episodes."

  I nodded. "Yes, I was doing some research for the article. I caught a few minutes of his show. He's very knowledgeable." I'd come across Kenneth Applegate's series but couldn't force myself to watch more than a few minutes. I found it uninspiring and dull. It seemed Barbara'd had the opposite reaction. "Do you think you have the sixth sense that Jamie Nielsen talks about, or did you just join because you found Ken's videos interesting?"

  "I do think I have some of that sixth sense." She spoke of it as if she was talking about having some sugar in her kitchen cabinet. "It comes and goes, but as I've told Kenny, it gets much stronger when he is near." She blushed pink.

  "I suppose that's why you stay so close to him. You are refining that extra sensory perception," I said.

  "Yes, of course. I want to be an exceptional ghost watcher just like Kenny."

  Chapter 18

  My day had been even more uninspiring than Kenneth Applegate's online series. I'd come to the conclusion that the Applegate Paranormal Preservation Society was little more than a mingling of people with varied knowledge and talent in the area of ghosts. They had few significant experiences to share, but all the while, each person was convinced that they were an authority on the subject. Angela Applegate seemed to have the most knowledge, but she, too, had experienced few notable encounters with the spirit world.

  I was relieved when Raine invited herself to dinner at my house. I needed some relaxation and fun. At her request, we'd rolled out a store-bought pizza dough and topped it with an obscene amount of cheese and pepperoni.

  I pulled the slice of pizza from my mouth, and for the hundredth time, found myself still attached to the slice by a string of mozzarella. I kept slurping it in, but finally had to reach up and break the tenacious cheese with my fingers to get free of my pizza. I swallowed the bite. "We might have gone just a tad too far with the cheese."

  Raine was struggling with her own cheese tether as she shook her head in disagreement. "No such thing as too much cheese. That's like saying the pancakes have too much maple syrup or the corn has too much butter. Can't be done." She sat back with the grin of a cat that’d just finished an entire plate of trout. "I'm full though. Couldn't eat another bite."

  "That's a shame because I bought mint chip ice cream for dessert," I said.

  "My dinner stomach is full. There's plenty of room in my dessert stomach."

  I laughed hard enough to nearly slip off the kitchen stool. "Boy, I needed this. It's been a long, tiring night and day. And I'm going back to Dandelion Inn at ten tonight. They are doing a special summoning session to see if they can get Lauren Grace to materialize."

  Raine rolled her eyes. "Oh please. It'll never work. They don't have what it takes. They are all about contraptions and measuring vibrations and temperature changes. According to them, every draft is a ghost reaching out to them for help."

  "But I thought you were convinced that Jamie Nielsen was the real deal. He certainly thinks that. Or was it just that he's tall and nice looking and he wears Birkenstock sandals?"

  Raine pushed her glasses higher on her nose. "Not going to lie. I came to that same shallow conclusion after Jamie and I talked this morning. Up until then, I'd only heard him speak at book signings. But listening to him drone on about EMFs and these new boxes that allow them to capture ghost conversations through vibrations, I realized I was more interested in his cool goatee than his knowledge. So, there you have it. Your best friend shuns substance for broad shoulders and a nice beard."

  For the first time since our talk in the upstairs bedroom the night before, Edward made his appearance. He drifted up to his perch on the hearth. His face was much less contorted with worry. I hoped that the shock about his fathering Bonnie's baby had worn off.

  "Speaking of broad shoulders—" Raine hopped up to get the ice cream from the refrigerator. "Have you seen the town's dashing detective since Monday's lunch?"

  That question caught Edward's full attention. Detective Jackson had shown up to the house a few times, and Edward had taken an instant dislike to the man. A strange thing had happened on one of Jackson's visits. Edward had blurted out one of his sarcastic remarks, meant only for my ears, but it seemed Jackson had heard him. It made no sense at the time, especially because Ursula and Henry were in the same room and they hadn't heard a word.

  I raised my chin at Edward before answering Raine. "As a matter of fact, I ran into him yesterday morning at the coffee shop."

  Raine carried the ice cream and two bowls back with her. "And how did that go?"

  "You'd have to ask the pretty redhead he was with to find out for sure."

  Raine's posture deflated. She'd set her mind on Jackson and me becoming an item, but I was pretty sure she'd be waiting a long time to see that. She pried open the ice cream carton. "That's too bad. Although that's sort of his thing."

  "Redheads?" I asked.

  "No. A multitude of pretty women."

  "Oh." I didn't bother looking toward Edward since he'd already expressed his distaste for my detective friend. Although, the irony of how many character traits they shared was not lost on me. "I didn't talk to Lana today. Did she feel confident about how things went here?"

  "I'm not sure. She thought they enjoyed themselves. Even if the resident ghost didn't make his appearance. But, I'm not convinced he didn't. She told me all about that weird change in air pressure. Sounds like he was mad about something. Maybe he didn't like having so many strangers in his house."

  Edward floated closer, apparently entertained by her theories. Raine paused as he neared. It almost seemed as if she sensed something but then she continued. "I'm not surprised he didn't make himself known. I've already deduced that he is either too shy or too arrogant to bother with any of us."

  Edward tilted his head side to side showing he approved of this conclusion. I found it amusing how Raine had so easily understood his arrogance without ever meeting him.

  I finished my last bite of ice cream. "I suppose I should get ready to head back to Dandelion Inn. Maybe Kitty Bloomfield's ghost is less arrogant than mine and she'll make an appearance. That'll help secure their decision to hold the convention here in town."

  Raine stood up with me and helped me carry dishes to the sink. "I wouldn't count on those silly people to conjure up anything except dust bunnies and a lot of paranormal hooey." She stopped. "Hooey? When did I turn into my mom? Anyhow, don't expect much tonight."

  "You never know. Something exciting might happen. Then I'll actually have something interesting to write for the paper."

  Chapter 19

  It certainly didn't take a sixth sense or clairvoyant skills to know something was amiss at Dandelion Inn. Flashing red lights splashed glowing shadows over the property, causing the Victorian style house to look more sinister than delightful. An ambulance waited, its rear door wide open, at the top of t
he driveway. The remainder of the curbside was taken up by a fire truck, a paramedic truck and two police cars.

  I pulled past the chaotic scene and parked my jeep in front of the next house. Curious and stunned neighbors had wandered out from their houses, some in pajamas and robes, to see what was happening. I walked past one woman who had pulled a snow parka over a pair of pink pajamas. She was holding her cat. The animal didn't seem the least bit frightened of all the activity.

  "Do you know what's happened?" I asked her.

  "No idea." She stroked her cat's head. "I'll bet that terrible ghost has been up to no good. I hear she likes to play tricks on the guests. Maybe someone had a heart attack from fright," she suggested. It was plain to see that she was making up a scenario as she went.

  I forged ahead. As a reporter, I'd learned that if you appear confident, emergency personnel tend to assume you belong at the scene. I strode up the driveway past several firemen talking on the front lawn. They looked my direction.

  "Evening," I said calmly and kept walking right up the front steps and through the open front door. I was immediately met with a distressing sight. Rex and Jamie were doing their best to console Angela, who was bent over with sobs.

  "How can it be?" she groaned between sniffles. Her face was red and wet from crying. "We were just finishing up with his latest blog post. It's not possible."

  Jamie spotted me in the foyer. "Miss Taylor? When did you arrive?"

  Angela peered up from her hunched over position just long enough to see me. She immediately covered her face and crumpled into sobs again.

  Jamie left his position at her right side, allowing Rex to take over for him.

  "I came back to see how the research was going," I said. "What's happened?"

  He leaned over to speak quietly, although whatever it was he had to tell me I doubted it was a secret anymore. "Kenneth fell down the stairs. Hit his head."