Murder at the Inn

by London Lovett

  "I was napping in my room," she said hoarsely. Her throat was strained from crying. "The chef's scream woke me from a dream." She rubbed her temple. "I can't remember what it was about, but the scream became part of the dream. Then I woke with a start. I quickly pulled on my shoes and headed out to the hallway to find out what was going on." She covered her face and her shoulders shook. "Can't believe it," she muttered into her hands.

  "Do you need any assistance informing next of kin?" Detective Jackson asked. "We can provide you with that help if you need it."

  She shook her face and lowered her hands. "I'm Ken's only remaining close family. Our father died ten years ago of a heart attack. Ken and I have different mothers. His was out of the picture before he was out of diapers. My mother didn't really get along with Ken, but I've left her a voice message. There are some distant cousins to call but that can wait. I'm going to need some time to process all this." Her voice wavered.

  "Of course," Jackson said. "Let us know if we can help. Just a couple more questions—when was the last time you saw your brother alive?"

  She pulled her sweater closer around her. "Must have been around eight this evening. We finished dinner and agreed to meet at ten in the drawing room for tonight's activity." She pulled a tissue out of her sleeve and wiped her nose. "Kenneth was looking so forward to it. He was sure we'd see the ghost of Lauren Grace during this stay."

  Jackson looked at me. I winked to let him know I'd fill him in on ghost details later.

  Jackson returned his attention to Angela. I sensed his hesitation and predicted what might be coming next. "Can anyone else confirm that you were in your room during the time between leaving the group and Kenneth's fall?"

  Her swollen eyes rounded. "Confirm? No, of course not. I was alone. As I said, I was taking a nap. I don't understand the reasoning behind these questions. I thought it was an accident." She sat forward. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

  "No, nothing is definite. There were a few witnesses who heard your brother speaking to someone just before he fell."

  Angela covered her mouth. If she had been the murderer, she was doing an admirable job of looking stunned. "That's impossible. Everyone admired my brother. The witnesses must have been mistaken."

  "I've no doubt of that. We're just being thorough."

  "When will they take Kenneth out of the house? It seems like it's taking awfully long to move him." She whimpered a moment. "He needs to be taken off those horrible stairs. They are obviously dangerous. I'm sure that's why Lauren Grace fell to her death too. They are too slippery and too steep."

  "I think the coroner is just getting ready to move Kenneth. I'll tell his assistant to let you know when they are closer." Jackson stood up. "Again, I'm sorry for your loss."

  "Is there anything else I can get you, Angela?" I asked.

  "No, thank you, Sunni. I'll just wait here until they need me. I have a great deal of thinking to do."

  "Of course. I'll let you alone then." I followed Jackson out.

  I had to speed up my pace to keep up with his long legs. The evidence crew was finished and just packing up their equipment. Jackson stopped to talk to them, while I continued on to the dining room.

  Rex was sitting alone at one of the tables sipping a glass of what appeared to be whiskey. "Where's everyone else?" I asked.

  "Barbara was feeling faint. Kitty helped her up the servant’s stairs to her room. Nielsen? Who knows where that guy is. He's always up to his own thing. Never really wanted to be part of this group anyhow. He thinks we're all amateurs. Ken, included. They were constantly competing, but if you ask me, neither of them had much talent. Not that I often talk ill about the dead, but Kenny was more of a showman than a paranormal expert."

  I sat down across from him. "And you? Are you one of those people gifted with extra sensory perception?"

  "It comes and goes. But if you ask me—the ghost who haunts this inn most likely gave Kenny a push down those stairs."

  It certainly wasn't what I expected Rex to say after the phrase 'if you ask me'. He was still wearing his corduroy professor coat with the elbow patches. The lingering scent of cigar assured me he'd stepped outside to have a smoke recently.

  I took a long look at Lauren's portrait. Her smile was mild and serene, as if she was unhappy when the portrait was painted. "Why do you think Lauren Grace caused Ken to fall?"

  Rex picked up his drink and swirled the amber liquid around before shooting it back. He finished the swallow with a satisfied sigh. "Kenneth was obsessed with Lauren Grace. It was like nothing I've ever seen before. Carried her picture in his wallet like she was alive and his wife. And he spent most of his time here staring at the portrait. When he wasn't staring at it, he was pestering Kitty for information. Where did she sleep? Were there any linens or personal items still in the house? Did Lauren Grace eat off the fine china stored in the buffet? He was obsessed with her. Any woman would have had more than enough."

  "Yes but Lauren Grace is no longer alive." It seemed necessary to remind Rex.

  "Obviously but these spirits can get angry just like the rest of us." He sat up straight and pulled a cigar out of his pocket. "That's my theory anyhow. If you don't mind, I need to go outside and have a chat with this cigar."

  As he walked out, I mulled over his theory. I certainly knew that ghosts were capable of abrupt mood changes. That thought caused a short laugh to spurt from my lips. Was it possible that Lauren materialized just to scare the man who'd been staring at her portrait all day? It was an entirely ridiculous idea, and yet, it seemed Kenneth had definitely encountered someone on the stairs. And that someone was the last person to see him alive.

  Chapter 22

  Most of the chaos had cleared. The coroner had taken Kenneth Applegate away. Plastic had been placed over the stairs until a crew could come in the morning to remove the blood. Everyone had gone to bed, although I doubted there would be much sleep.

  Jackson finished talking to Kitty, letting her know what to expect for the next few days. He told her he’d be back in the morning to talk to the rest of the guests. She looked weary. It seemed she had hours ago given up the fight to keep her curls piled on top of her head. Her blondish-pink hair hung around her thin shoulders in complete disarray, giving her an almost childish quality.

  I waited on the porch for Jackson. It was two in the morning, which meant I wouldn't be in bed until three at the earliest. The earlier adrenaline from discovering that Kenneth was dead had drained away leaving behind a heaviness that weighed down my limbs. I couldn't wait to flop down on my bed.

  I rested my hands on the porch railing and gazed out at the darkness. Birch Highlands, where Dandelion Inn was located, was a rustic mix of forest and open space. The vacant lot across the street was filled with tall weeds and the leftover wildflowers from summer.

  Jackson walked out the front door. Kitty latched the door behind him. He had to be as tired as the rest of us but somehow he looked fresh, as if he'd just gotten out of bed.

  "Do you have some sort of elixir at home that allows you to look like this after a long, grueling night?" I waved my arm up and down in front of him, but even that took too much effort. My hand flopped to my side.

  Jackson smiled. "Come on, sleepyhead, let's get you to your jeep."

  I trudged along next to him with invisible weights on my shoes. "Or maybe you're up late like this so often, you know, with your many friends, that staying up past midnight is just another day at the office." I covered my mouth. "Sorry, sleepiness has the same effect on me as four glasses of wine. Stuff just slips out of this mouth, and there's no reasonable thought behind it. So ignore me." I stopped abruptly. "Is she your girlfriend?"

  His amber eyes looked wolfish under the late night moon. "Who?"

  "The pretty redhead at the coffee shop." We started walking again. Rustling sounds in the brush landscape lining the road followed us to my jeep and caused me to walk a bit closer to Jackson.

  "Just a friend who happe
ns to be a girl," he said.

  "Now I'm confused." I shook my head. "See lack of sleep makes me bubble headed."

  "I don't know. You handled yourself pretty well in an ugly situation back there. Thanks for your help tonight."

  "You're welcome." We reached the jeep. I turned to him. His hair ruffled just enough in the breeze to make it look like he was standing for a magazine shoot. "You know how much I enjoy a murder mystery."

  "If that's what this is," he said. "Aside from the staff, the guests were all in their individual rooms, either resting or working on the computer. Which means no one can confirm anyone else's alibi."

  "Did your team find anything of interest?"

  "They took blood and tissue samples off various parts of the staircase. From a visual inspection, it seems he struck his head on the fourth oak balustrade. It's carved with a lot of corners." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small evidence bag. "I did an inspection of my own at the top of the stairs and found this."

  He held it up and shined his phone light through the bag. I squinted into the brightness. One long strand of yellow fiber or hair was curled up at the bottom of the bag.

  "Is that a hair?" I asked.

  "Didn't feel like it when I picked it up. I think it's nylon. Anyway, it might not have anything to do with the case."

  "I don't know about that. I'm sure you gathered by the end of the night that the owner, Kitty Bloomfield, is very compulsive about cleanliness."

  "I did and I can tell she's close to falling apart when she thinks about those stairs." He stuck the bag back into his pocket.

  "I spent some time with everyone, Kenneth included, at my inn last night. I can tell you a few things I noted about the group’s dynamics. I was in my journalist observation mode, so I've got it all up here." I tapped my temple.

  "You're not too tired?"

  "I passed tired two hours ago. I'm at that stage my mom used to call 'mild hysteria' where reality and fantasy and grumpiness collide. Her words, not mine. My dad, Pops, as we called him, loved to watch old movies late at night and I'd sneak out to watch with him occasionally. We kept it a secret from my mom, but she always knew because of 'mild hysteria'."

  "Are you still close with your parents?" he asked.

  Tired also tended to push my emotions into overdrive. The brief memory of watching television with my dad made my throat tighten. "I talk to my mom quite often." I swallowed before saying the sentence I always hated to say aloud. "Pops died of a heart attack while I was away at college. We were very close. He loved sports, and I was the family athlete."

  "I'm sorry to hear that."

  "Thanks. It gets a little easier each year, but that whole saying of 'time healing pain' should be revised to 'lots and lots of time heals pain'."

  Without warning, Jackson reached up and brushed a stray hair behind my ear. The simple, sweet gesture had a sobering effect . . . on both of us. A moment of awkward silence followed. It seemed he hadn't expected to do it any more than I'd expected it to happen.

  "You should probably get home," he finally said to break the quiet. "Are you all right driving by yourself, or do you need a police escort?"

  "I think I can make the short journey to Cider Ridge without getting lost. Thanks."

  He reached to open the driver's side door.

  "Wait, I was going to list a couple things I noticed about group dynamics," I said. "They might help you if this is a true murder case."

  "It's late, Bluebird. Get some rest."

  I stopped before sliding into the seat. "I can do quick bullet points." I held up my fingers and folded one with each observation. "Barbara Simpson was in love with Kenneth. Kenneth was obsessed with the ghost of Lauren Grace. Jamie Nielsen was always butting heads with Kenneth. Kenneth wrote a nasty review about Nielsen's book." I was down to my thumb. "Angela and Rex—hmm—I don't have too much to add about them. Although Rex did theorize this evening that the ghost of Lauren Grace had had enough of Kenneth staring at her portrait so she pushed him down the stairs."

  "Good night, Bluebird."

  "Good night, Detective Jackson."

  Chapter 23

  Lana and Raine were at my back door at what felt like the crack of dawn. It was ten in the morning. I climbed out of bed and pulled on my robe. Redford and Newman were sitting behind empty food bowls giving me doggie looks of disgust as I shuffled past them to the back door. I unlocked it and turned right around to make a beeline for the coffee pot.

  "What have you done this time, little sister?" Lana said dejectedly as she followed Raine into the kitchen.

  My head was still groggy and her accusation confused me. "Uh, I overslept because I was out late. It's hardly worth a lecture."

  "I'm not talking about oversleeping and you know it." Lana sat on a stool and started peeling a banana.

  I pulled the coffee can down from the cupboard. Redford barked sharply once, reminding me about their breakfast. I hurried over to the pantry to get a scoop of dog food.

  For some inexplicable reason, Raine had wandered out of the kitchen into the rest of the house.

  "Where's your electrician?" Lana asked as she broke off the tip of banana.

  "He was driving out to the city this morning to pick up some parts. Thankfully. I had a long night, and I was just as glad not to have to wake early to let him inside."

  Lana wiggled her bottom on the chair. "So glad that worked out for you, but why on earth did you have to kill off one of the society members? And the namesake one with all the decision power to boot."

  I finished with the coffee and walked to the refrigerator for some orange juice. "Why would you say I killed him?"

  "Because when my little sister shows up to a place, chaos is sure to follow."

  I held up the orange juice. She shook her head. "One serving of fruit is more than enough this morning. What happened at Dandelion Inn? I heard Kenneth fell down the stairs. Did that Jamie guy finally get tired of their constant sniping and give him a push?"

  My sister was not usually in such a surly mood. I was certain it had to do with her dream of hosting the paranormal convention falling tragically apart.

  "Not sure how it happened yet." It wasn't my investigation to tell, so I kept any details, small as they were, out of the conversation.

  "Maybe it was the ghost," Lana suggested. "They say she's a real pistol. Shows up at all hours of the night and even sometimes in the day. At least for those people who believe she exists." Lana was definitely not herself. I wondered if that was the reason for Raine disappearing the second they walked inside.

  I walked to my kitchen cupboard. "Hey, sis, I've got your favorite cereal." I shook the box of Lucky Charms. "Those marshmallow rainbows will take that frown right off your face."

  Lana signed loudly and put her elbows on the table. "Pour me a double. Lots of marshmallows, please, and plenty of luck to go with it because my own luck took a turn south."

  I filled a bowl with cereal and milk and placed it down in front of her. "You don't know if the whole convention is cancelled. APPS is just a small group."

  "But Kenneth Applegate is like the Grand Poobah of the whole big conglomeration of ghost enthusiasts. He was supposed to make the decision next week." She circled her spoon around the bowl of cereal, hunting for marshmallows. She caught a few and pushed them into her mouth. "Hmm, good stuff." She lowered the spoon into the bowl and her shoulders sank. "I had so many cool ideas for decorations and food. It was going to be a real howling event." She laughed at her play on words.

  "Actually howling would be for a werewolf convention. Ghosts are more into moans and chain rattling."

  "There you go stereo-typing incorporeal beings again," Raine said as she strode into the kitchen from the hallway.

  "You're right. I think we have Charles Dickens to blame for the chain rattling thing." I lifted the box of cereal. "Lucky Charms?"

  "No, thanks." Raine paced a few times in front of the hearth. Her brows were furrowed, and she fidgeted wit
h the silver bangles on her wrist as if deep in thought.

  I cocked a questioning brow at Lana. My forty-year-old sister was too busy chasing a yellow moon marshmallow around her bowl of milk.

  "What are you doing, Raine?" I walked to the coffee maker.

  She shook her head and muttered something, completely ignoring my question.

  I filled a cup with coffee, walked over and ran the cup past her nose as she stared at the brick hearth.

  She turned her face to me and adjusted her glasses. "For me?"

  "Well, I wasn't trying to catch nose hairs for my coffee."

  She took the cup and had a sip.

  "Now that you've had some, why on earth are you pacing in front of my kitchen hearth?"

  Her answer was apparently a half cup kind of response. She took a few more longer sips. "I felt something when I walked in here this morning." She leaned toward me to whisper. "I think he's upset about something."

  I looked over at the dogs. They had already plowed through their food and were finding the best spots on their pillows for a morning nap.

  "Not the dogs," she said louder. "Him. The ghost. I felt his presence last night when we were eating pizza. I didn't say anything because I knew I'd just get that—" She pointed at my face.

  "What? My face. I can't really do anything about it. It's attached."

  "No, see that. The mocking. I knew you wouldn't believe me just like I know you'll poo poo the feelings I'm having right now." She lifted her shoulders up and down. "I just can't shake it. Something about the aura in the house is different. It's darker, gloomier."

  More and more, I was becoming a firm believer in Raine's psychic skills. In summer, she had predicted a murder that she couldn't possible have known anything about, and now it seemed she knew Edward was upset. Which he certainly was, even though he hadn't made an appearance all morning. Another sign that he wasn't himself.

  "No mockery from me, Raine. If you're feeling it, then it must be true."