"Good luck with that. Let me know if you find something significant."
"You'll be the first person I call," I said cheerily. But the tone coming from the other side of the phone was stilted. I hated to hear it.
"Talk to you later," Jackson said and hung up.
I climbed out of the jeep. Raine waved her hand to hurry me along.
"I need to drag out my winter coats," Raine said as I reached the front steps.
It took a few minutes for the front door to open. It was Wilma. Her hair was tied back in a red bandana and she was holding a feather duster. "Hello, Kitty mentioned you were coming. She's in the dining room polishing silver." Wilma shut the front door behind us as we stepped into the entry. "She claims polishing silver helps with her nerves," Wilma said quietly. "I'm just glad she likes to do it. I've got enough to do to keep this place spotless." She waved the duster. Kitty's house was so clean, no dust fell from the feathers.
Wilma led us through to the dining room. Raine leaned her head toward mine. "Is that the infamous staircase?" she whispered.
"Yes," I whispered back.
Kitty's thin arm was twittering back and forth as she rubbed polish into a silver serving dish.
"Kitty, you have visitors."
Kitty didn't hear her so Wilma repeated it. She looked up for the first time and gave her arm a rest.
"Wow, talk about elbow grease," I quipped as I looked over the collection of silver platters and serving dishes. "Such a beautiful collection of silver."
The compliment worked its charm. The stern expression Kitty was wearing when we walked into the room melted into a sweet grin. "Thank you. They belonged to my mother."
Kitty smiled up at Raine. "Now don't tell me. I pride myself at being a whiz with names. It's something to do with the weather." She pointed. "Raine, right? I remember when you came to perform the séance. I'm afraid Lauren wasn't being very cooperative that night." Then Kitty's face saddened. Her mention of Lauren had reminded her of the ruined portrait. It was no longer hanging over the mantel.
"It's good to see you again, Ms. Bloomfield," Raine said.
It wasn't my place to tell Kitty about the fingerprints on the letter opener and I didn't need to do anything else to upset Jackson, so I left it out of the conversation. "If you don't mind," I said, "I'd like to take a walk around with Raine. It seems to me if anyone knows what happened to your lovely painting, it would be Lauren Grace, herself. That's where Raine comes in handy. I've witnessed her extra sensory perception on many occasions." I could sense Raine's posture straightening with pride as I spoke. All of it was true. I'd started as a skeptic but had turned a firm believer after Raine predicted a death. And she certainly seemed to be keyed into the ghost roaming around my house, even though Edward had never revealed himself to her.
"What a good idea," Kitty said. "I'm sure Lauren is in a terrible way though after her beautiful portrait was destroyed. So be careful. She can be grumpy when she's in bad spirits." She smiled at her play on words, and I'd certainly been on the receiving end of a badly spirited spirit more than once. "Feel free to explore. I've canceled next weekend's guests. Lucy, Wilma and I are just going to relax for a few days."
"That sounds like a good plan," I said. "We'll let you get back to the silver then."
"Let me know if you run into Lauren," she called as we left the dining room.
I motioned for Raine to follow. "I'm going straight for the stairs. I want to look around. Not sure what I'll find but that's the best place to start."
Raine and I turned the corner to the stairs. Angela was staring at her phone as she walked down. She lifted her face and didn't look thrilled to see us. "You're back again, Sunni?" Her tone was almost accusatory. She stopped a few steps up and sighed loudly. "Haven't you bothered Kitty enough? And me? I lost my brother, after all."
"Half brother," I said defensively. Her tone was making me bristle. It wasn't like her to be so harsh.
"Hardly the point. The tragedy is never going to be behind me with this constant search for some mysterious killer. Kenneth fell down the stairs and hit his head. It was an accident. I don't know why this is getting stretched out into a sordid murder investigation."
Raine shot me a sideways glance but wisely kept her comments to herself.
"So your brother's pleas before his fall were just Kenneth talking to himself?"
She blew a frustrated sound from her lips. "The frivolous imaginations of two staff members is not solid evidence for a murder case. Even I know that."
"And the painting? That wasn't a crime either?" I asked.
"Of course it was, but it had nothing to do with us. Who knows, it might even have been Lauren herself. Ghosts can get very mischievous when they're angry, and she must certainly be angry about all the people traipsing through her house this week. Besides, I've already told Kitty to have it appraised so I can reimburse her for the portrait. Barbara is resting right now. The two of us are leaving in the morning."
"That's generous for someone who didn't have anything to do with the damage," I noted. I wanted badly to mention that she must have come into a fortune lately but that might have been pushing it. She'd gotten my hackles up, mostly because I hadn't expected her to be so rude. Why was she was suddenly so keen to get her brother's death behind her?
"Yes, well, I certainly didn't learn generosity from my father or brother." She finished her descent to the landing and swept past us without another word.
Raine and I watched her disappear into the dining room.
"She's sweet," Raine quipped.
I stifled a laugh. "She was the first few times I met her. I wonder what's changed. Or maybe I'm more irritating than I realized."
Raine put her arm around my shoulder as we climbed the stairs. "Nonsense. You're mildly irritating at best. Seems kind of odd that she doesn't want to know exactly how her brother died."
"Yes, it is odd." We reached the top of the stairs, and I looked back down them. Just days earlier, Kenneth had stood right where we stood and taken his last breath before falling and receiving a fatal blow to the head. "Do you sense anything here?" I asked.
Raine took her hand from my shoulder and touched the oak banister. She closed her eyes and grew quiet in concentration. I waited in tense silence for her to pick up something, a vibration, a static charge, something that might let us know that Lauren was near. Edward materialized at will any place in the house. I could only assume the Dandelion ghost had the same abilities.
Raine's head dropped and her fingers squeezed the banister as she ran her hand over it. She was deeply absorbed in her task. I held my breath and waited, certain she was onto something.
Her face popped up. "Nope, not a thing. I'm telling you this ghost exists only in people's imaginations."
"Darn. Not sure what I was hoping for but after that strange interaction on the stairs with Angela, I'm convinced there is more to Kenneth's death than a bad fall. Let's explore."
Kitty had beautifully woven runners down the center of two hallways, each leading to a different side of the house. Polished hardwood floors peeked out from each side of the runners. "Gosh, I wish my floors looked like this already," I said as we strolled down the hallway.
Raine stopped at a small side table that held a porcelain vase with fake roses. "This place sure is spotless. I can practically see myself in these silk flowers."
"I know. It's daunting, to say the least." We reached the end of the hallway. A small white door with a brass handle sat adjacent to the final bedroom door.
Raine laughed. "Is that a door to a dollhouse?"
"You don't know much about old houses. This is a laundry chute. It probably goes all the way down to the basement where there's a laundry basket waiting to catch clothes and linens."
A piece of white fabric was jammed in the closed door. "Only this piece of clothing got caught and never made it to the bottom." I opened the door to free the fabric but something made me grab it and pull it out instead. Much more fabric c
ame behind the piece jammed in the door. By the time I pulled it free, there was a long white dress hanging in front of me.
"Looks like someone's old wedding gown," Raine said. "Sort of a strange thing to shove down a laundry chute."
"I'll say." I handed it to her. "Hold this up for a second. It looks eerily familiar."
Raine held it under her chin and walked along with it like she was on a runway. "Does it suit me?"
"Not particularly. Especially with the yellow beanie."
She reached up to touch the beanie as if she'd forgotten it was there. "Maybe if I put a tiara over the beanie."
As she mused about her fashion statement, I remembered where I'd seen a dress like it.
"Lauren Grace," I said abruptly.
Raine swung around. "Where?"
"No, the dress. It looks a lot like the dress Lauren was wearing in her portrait, the painting that was shredded last night."
Raine handed it back to me. "Not my style after all."
"Let's go downstairs. I need to ask Kitty who the dress belongs to."
Raine raised a brow. "I see little gears turning in that head of yours, friend. What are you up to?"
"It's just a hunch but I think we just uncovered a major clue to solving the murder mystery."
Chapter 33
Raine trotted behind as I carried the dress down the stairs and into the dining room. Angela stiffened when she saw us enter. Kitty was still hunched over a silver bowl, grinding away with the polishing cloth.
I decided to ignore Angela's skewering gaze and go straight to Kitty. My footsteps and the rustling of the chiffon dress caught her attention. She looked up from her task and immediately focused on the dress.
"What do you have there, Sunni?" Kitty asked. The color drained from her cheeks. "Why it almost looks as if you're holding—"
"Lauren Grace's dress?" I asked.
She was stunned silent a moment, then she lifted her face to me. "Why yes, that's exactly what it looks like."
I held it up for her to get a better look and sensed some hot tension coming from the next table where Angela was nibbling a scone. Kenneth's sister had the most to gain from his death, and she was certainly acting suspiciously.
"Kitty, do you know who this belongs to? A piece of the fabric was sticking out of the door to the laundry chute. I opened it, to free the garment. It seemed like a strange thing to find in the chute. I thought they were generally used for towels and linens."
"Wilma doesn't use the chute at all. She prefers to toss everything in a basket and carry it down to the basement herself." I'd grabbed Kitty's full attention. She put down her polishing cloth and got up from the table to examine the dress. "It's cheaply made," she said on further inspection. "Not expensive, custom finery like Lauren is wearing." Her throat caught a hitch. "I mean was wearing," she said mournfully as if she were talking about the recent passing of a dear friend. Kitty fingered the tiny buttons. "It almost looks like something you'd buy at a costume shop."
"Costume," I repeated the word to myself.
"Gears still grinding," Raine muttered quietly next to me.
"Do you know where the dress came from?" I asked Kitty.
Her chin drew long in consideration. "I've never seen it before in my life."
Wilma walked into the room right then.
"Wilma," Kitty called to her. "Come look at this dress. Do you know how it got into the laundry chute?"
Wilma's brows furrowed while she did the same light touch inspection as Kitty. "I've never seen it before, but it does remind me of the dress in the portrait." Her gaze went instinctively to the mantel but then dropped when the empty wall reminded her of last night's vandalism.
Angela stood up abruptly enough to scrape the chair legs on the floor. "I'll let all of you examine the dress. I'm going up to pack." With that, she hurried out of the room leaving a trail of cool air in her wake.
Raine gave me a conspiratorial wink. She hadn't spoken to Angela much, but you didn't need to know someone to know when they were acting unnecessarily agitated.
"Have you been using the laundry chute?" Kitty asked Wilma.
Wilma shook her head. "Never. I prefer my laundry basket." She turned to me to explain. "I can take it from room to room rather than making constant trips out to the hallway."
"Makes sense," Raine noted.
The kitchen door swung open. Lucy walked out carrying a tray with a scone and coffee. "Wilma, could you run this up to Barbara's room? I don't want the other scones to burn."
Wilma looked at her fingers. They were covered with silver polish. This was my opportunity to have a chat with Barbara.
"I can take it," I volunteered quickly. Without waiting for a response, I walked toward Lucy and took hold of the tray. "Which room is Barbara in?"
"Left at the top of the stairs. Last door on the right," Lucy said. "Thanks and I'll have a fresh batch of cranberry scones in two shakes. That'll take the glum mood out of this room for sure."
Raine pulled up a chair next to Kitty. "I'll stay here. I want to ask Kitty about some of the reported sightings of Lauren Grace. I'm curious to learn more about her."
"And you don't want to miss a hot scone," I added.
"Yes, and that too."
"After the Marlon Brando, I'm surprised you have room," I muttered on my way out.
"Always room for baked goods," Raine called to me.
I carried the tray up the stairs and turned left, toward Barbara's room. The second door from the end was just shutting as I reached the hallway. It had to have been Angela's room. As far as I knew, there was no one else staying at the inn. The men had left and it was just Kitty and the staff. And they were all in the dining area. I would have seen her if she had just climbed the stairs. I could only assume she came from a different direction, and the only thing past her room was Barbara's door and the now infamous laundry chute.
I knocked lightly on the door.
"Come in," Barbara called weakly.
I opened the door. Her shock at seeing me carry in her tray couldn't have been more clear. Her skin smoothed like marble, and she blinked a few times to make sure she wasn't imagining it. She was sitting in her bed, propped up against pillows with a book on her lap.
"I hope you don't mind that I carried this in. Lucy and Wilma were both occupied with other tasks, so I volunteered."
"Oh, yes, I—I should have come down myself, but I'm still feeling poorly. This is all such a shock to me."
"I understand completely."
Barbara moved her book, and I set the tray on her lap.
I struck up a conversation, hoping we could talk about Angela. It seemed possible that Barbara knew more than anyone else. She and Angela appeared to be close. I walked over to the tall oak dresser and pretended to admire her silver plated hairbrush and mirror. "These are lovely." I picked up the mirror.
Barbara broke a chunk of scone off. "Aren't they? I found them at an estate sale near my home."
"I guess you and Angela will be heading out soon," I said as I put down the mirror.
"Yes, the sooner we get away from this place, the better." Her shoulders slumped beneath her robe. "It's filled with terrible memories now. I can't wait to leave. As soon as I feel strong enough, I'm going to get up and pack." She motioned to her suitcases sitting on the upholstered dressing bench at the end of the bed.
"Packing is always something I dread." As I spoke, something on the hairbrush caught my eye. I picked up the brush and discretely pulled free the yellow strand of synthetic hair. "I can never seem to fit everything back inside when I'm leaving." I walked over to the suitcases and saw a few of the same yellow strands stuck with static to the sides of one of them.
"I won't have a problem with that now," she said through a sip of coffee. She lowered the cup abruptly. Her eyes rounded as if she wanted to suck the sentence back in.
"Oh, are you leaving with less than you came with?" I asked casually.
Barbara rubbed her forehead. "You kn
ow I've got a slight headache. If you don't mind taking this tray back downstairs, I think I'll take a short nap."
I pushed the strand of fake hair into my pocket and walked back to her with a concerned brow. "Can I get you anything? An aspirin, perhaps?"
"No." She practically shoved the tray into my hands. "I just need to rest. Please close the door on your way out." She immediately slipped down on the pillows and pulled the cover over herself as she turned away from me in the bed.
I carried the tray downstairs. Raine, who had cheeks full of scone like a chipmunk, seemed to notice that something was up. She followed me into the kitchen. Lucy was foraging around in the pantry, muttering to herself, giving me a brief opportunity to talk to Raine.
My whisper was well hidden by the roar of the stove hood, where Lucy was cooking a pot of something that smelled delicious.
"I think Barbara is responsible for Kenneth's fall down the stairs," I whispered loudly.
"How do you know?" Raine asked.
Lucy reemerged from the pantry holding a bag of potatoes.
"Lucy, I brought the tray back down. Barbara said she has a headache and wants to rest."
Lucy put her hands on her hips and stared angrily at the barely touched scone. "That woman is as delicate as a lace curtain. Thank you for saving me the trip up those stairs."
"You're welcome." I glanced at the door leading out to the backyard. "Is it all right if I take a stroll through the garden, Lucy? It looks charming."
"Sure thing. And the view is best if you walk along the brick pathway toward the back wall and then up along the maple trees."
"Thanks. I'll do just that." I looked at Raine. "Up for a walk or are you still eating scones?" I leaned closer to her. "I need to call Jackson."
She patted her belly. "I think I've reached my limit for the day. But you go ahead. Kitty and I were having a great conversation about an old house she used to live in as a little girl. Not one ghost but three."
"Go ahead and get back to the discussion then. I'm just going out for a stroll." I headed out the back door. For a moment, I forgot the main purpose for the walk. Kitty's garden was a symmetrical maze of round flower and herb plots, each one organized and neatly planned. The colors of spring and summer were no longer visible, but it was easy to imagine the rainbow of nature that took over the garden during the blooming months. My backyard was not a backyard but a vast open field of grass, weeds and anything else that felt the urge to grow behind the house.
Murder at the Inn Page 16
