Night of the Living Wed

by Laura Durham

  I stepped into the hall and peered at the door next to mine. No movement or sounds from inside, and from the darkened peephole, it appeared that the lights were off. “It came from in there.”

  Richard rushed up to us in his Bedford Springs bathrobe with the black-and-brown Yorkie tucked underneath his arm. “What’s going on out here? Hermès won’t stop growling at the door.”

  “Didn’t you hear the gun go off?” Mack asked him.

  “Gun?” Richard looked at all of us in turn. “Who brought a gun?”

  I shook my head. “Not by us. It came from the room next to me. Kate woke me up because of the moaning and thumping from next door, and then that stopped, and we heard a gunshot.”

  “How did Kate hear it, and I didn’t?” Richard asked. “Her room is on the other side of mine.”

  Kate looped an arm through mine. “Because Fern and I were having a sleepover with Annabelle.”

  Richard nodded. “That explains the pajamas.” His eyes fell on Buster and Mack. “How many people were a part of this sleepover?”

  “Just the three of us,” I said. “And that was plenty.”

  “Don’t worry,” Fern said, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. “I got you a pair too.”

  Mack tugged the flannel sleeve of his pajama top. “It’s like our new club uniform.”

  “Just what I wanted,” Richard whispered to Hermès. “To be a part of the world’s least intimidating gang ever.”

  “What’s going on?” Stuart said, sounding out of breath as he ran up to us. His eyes grew wide as he took in the five of us in matching pajamas.

  “Stuart? What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “I’m the manager on duty,” he said. “Someone called the front desk and said they heard a gunshot?”

  Kate raised her hand. “That was me, and we all heard it.” She swept a finger to encompass everyone except Richard.

  “And it came from in there,” I said, pointing to the room next to mine.

  Richard put a wriggling Hermès down on the floor, and the little dog ran to the unoccupied room and began sniffing at the space under the door.

  Stuart’s face paled. “Are you sure? No one is staying in that room.”

  Kate put her hands on her hips. “Everyone keeps saying that, but Annabelle and I clearly heard noises coming from it tonight.”

  Stuart raised his hands in surrender. “Why don’t we take a look inside and you can see for yourself?”

  Hermès danced around the catering director’s feet as he pulled a card key out of his pocket. “This is a master key. It lets me into any room on the property.”

  Kate nudged me. “That would have come in handy yesterday, right?”

  I shushed her as Stuart pushed open the door to the dark room, and Hermès ran in ahead. Buster held the door open for all of us as Stuart flicked on the light switch.

  It looked like a room under renovation. The carpet had been pulled up to expose the padding underneath which felt lumpy as I walked over it. Drop cloths covered the desk and bed, and a cloth lay in a heap beside an uncovered upholstered chaise lounge chair that I recognized as an exact copy of the one in my room, sans the two overstuffed cushions mine had. A pair of paint cans and an orange bucket had been tucked in the corner by the French doors to the porch.

  I took a deep breath. It was hard to detect the scent of gunpowder over the smell of paint. I ran my fingers over the walls looking for any holes or nicks that might indicate a gunshot. Nothing.

  Mack peeked under the drop cloths on the bed and desk. “No one shot a gun into these.”

  “It doesn’t look like anyone’s been in this room.” Kate ran a finger across the dusty media console. “This is creepy.”

  Hermès ran busily around the room sniffing and yipping, then returned to Richard, who scooped him up with one hand.

  I turned to Stuart. “I don’t know what to say. I could have sworn the sound came from in here.”

  “Maybe you heard a car backfire,” Stuart said. “It’s easy to mistake the two noises.”

  Buster shook his head. “No, it was a gun.”

  I didn’t ask why Buster was so sure, but I believed him.

  Stuart started for the door. “I’ll file a report if you want.”

  My eye caught a flash of white on the floor near the French doors, and I bent to pick it up, then I tucked it into my sleeve before Stuart could see that it was a card key. If I wasn’t mistaken, it was the card key I’d lost the day before trying to break in from the porch. As an afterthought, I pressed the handle of one of the French doors, expecting it to be locked. To my surprise, it opened.

  “Do the doors to the porch lock automatically?” I called after Stuart as I pushed the doors all the way open.

  He looked back at me. “No. We had too many people going out to sit on the porch and getting locked out so we changed them. Now you have to be inside to lock them manually.”

  Interesting, I thought. This door had been locked yesterday, but now it opened easily. I wondered if whoever had been making all the noise tonight had escaped through this door while we were gathered around the door in the hall.

  “So much for finding evidence of the gunshot.” Fern sighed. “I suppose the answer is obvious.”

  Richard narrowed his eyes at Fern. “And that would be?”

  Fern shook his head. “That it was a supernatural gun, of course. Ghost guns don’t leave bullet holes.”

  I heard a sharp intake of breath and turned to see Brianna and Kerry standing outside on the shared porch. Both women wore hotel bathrobes, but only Brianna wore a self-satisfied smirk that made my heart sink.

  Chapter 15

  I dipped my toe into the slightly cool blue water of the indoor pool before lowering myself in backward using the metal ladder. I was not one of those brave souls who jumped into a pool all at once to lessen the shock. I liked to distribute the shock evenly over several torturous minutes. Since the water in the resort’s indoor pool wasn’t as cold as it looked, I submerged myself to my neck, enjoying the feel of weightlessness as I bobbed in the shallow water.

  The sound of the water slapping the sides of the pool echoed in the empty room as I took my first breaststroke, passing one of the tall square columns that surrounded the pool. Early morning light had begun to peek in from the windows around the top of the arched ceiling, and it bounced off the rippling surface. I felt the anxiety of the previous night melt away as I cut through the water, pausing to touch the side and then flipping around to cross the pool again. After a few laps, I stopped to catch my breath.

  It was nice to have the pool to myself so early in the morning. I suspected most guests were either sleeping or grabbing their first cup of coffee. I knew that my crew was sleeping in. At least Kate and Fern had still been sprawled across the bed when I’d tiptoed out of the room before dawn, and both Richard’s and Buster and Mack’s rooms had been dark and quiet when I passed. I let my body go limp as I floated in the water, closing my eyes so that I wasn’t aware of anything but the faint scent of chlorine and the soft sound of the water.

  I thought about Brianna’s smug expression the night before when she and Kerry had overheard us from the porch. I hated thinking that by opening the French doors, I might be the reason Kerry’s next viral blog post featured the phrase “ghost gun.” I tried to put the thought out of my mind and focus on relaxing. Easier said than done.

  “You came back to swim.” The voice cut through the quiet and made me jerk up, splashing water into my face.

  “Who’s there?” I asked, rubbing my eyes.

  “Anna.” The voice was that of a young girl. “We met the other night when you came here, but you didn’t swim.”

  “Of course.” My eyes swept the room until I spotted the girl standing next to one of the columns near the far end of the pool. Again, she wore a dark dress. “I remember you.”

  “Are you having a nice visit?” she asked.

  I laughed because it sounded like such an adult thi
ng to say. “It’s been interesting, that’s for sure. How about you? Have you had a nice visit?”

  She shrugged. “It’s a little boring. There aren’t many children my age to play with.”

  As much as this was an adult’s haven, I had to admit I hadn’t seen many children aside from Anna during our stay. Bedford Springs seemed like the perfect place to come if you wanted a few days away from your children.

  “Do you like swimming?” I asked, taking a few lazy strokes toward her.

  “It’s okay. Most of the children play in the outdoor pool when it’s warm.”

  I glanced around me at the soaring columns and sweeping staircases on either end. The beautiful surroundings didn’t seem to invite raucous games of Marco Polo.

  “You’ve been here before?” I asked.

  “My parents are friends with Dr. Anderson,” she said, as if this explained her visits.

  When I reached the side of the pool, I hoisted myself up and padded over to the chaise lounge where I’d left my towel. “I’ve met a Mr. Anderson who works here. Is that who you mean?”

  Anna crossed behind a column near the double staircase and disappeared from sight for a moment. “Dr. Anderson owns the hotel.”

  I toweled off my legs. That didn’t sound right, since I knew Bedford Springs was an Omni resort. Maybe this Dr. Anderson owned Omni? I knew the company was privately owned, but I had no idea who, in fact, owned it.

  “Annabelle!” Buster rushed into the room holding a fringed cushion in one hand. “There you are.”

  Mack followed close on his heels, also carrying a throw pillow. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

  I wrapped the pool towel around my waist. “I was enjoying an early morning swim and talking with Anna—” I looked to where the girl had been standing, but she was no longer there. Buster and Mack’s loud entrance must have scared her off. I suspected she’d ducked up the staircase to the second floor.

  “What are you two doing up so early?” I asked, grabbing another towel from a nearby chair and pressing it to the back of my wet head. “I walked past your room this morning, and it was quiet.”

  “We’ve been up for ages,” Buster said. “It’s the curse of being a florist. After all the years of getting up at the crack of dawn to hit the flower markets before all the best blooms are gone, it’s impossible for us to sleep in.”

  Mack lowered his pillow, and I could see that he was back to his all-leather ensemble. “Goodness knows we’d like to.”

  “Are those the throw pillows from the chair in my room?” I asked, recognizing the fabric of the cushions they both held.

  Buster looked down at his. “No, we got these on the loading dock.”

  I knew it was still early in the morning, but I felt like I was a few steps behind. “What were you doing on the loading dock?”

  Buster took a few steps toward me, and the chains on his leather vest jingled as he walked. “Do you remember how we asked the general manager if we could tour the loading dock?”

  I nodded. I’d remembered hearing him ask the night before at the fire pit and thinking it was strange. “Why exactly do you want to tour the loading dock?”

  Mack sat down on the lounge chair in front of me, and his black leather pants groaned from the strain. “We’d love to design some events here. The space is gorgeous for weddings.”

  “But we always need to check out the loading docks to see how hard load-in will be and how many staff we have to add,” Buster said. ”Obviously, we already know all the spaces in DC, but when we see a new venue we always check out the loading dock.”

  This wasn’t a bad idea. I made a mental note to add this to the list of things I checked out on a site visit. “So how’s the loading dock?”

  Mack gave me a thumbs up. “Easy peasy.”

  I shrugged on the robe I’d brought down from my hotel room. “So what’s with the cushions?”

  Mack jumped up. “What am I thinking? The cushions. It’s the reason we were tearing the hotel apart looking for you.”

  Buster pointed to a black hole seared into the fabric of his cushion. Mack did the same.

  I leaned closer. “What am I looking at?”

  “Bullet holes,” Mack said, his voice almost a whisper.

  “We saw these peeking out of a trash can in the loading dock,” Buster said. “Someone was trying to get rid of them.”

  I felt goosebumps form on my arms. Ghost guns didn’t leave bullet holes in throw pillows.

  Chapter 16

  “Go through it one more time for me.” Kate came out of my bathroom wearing skintight beige pants and a scoop neck black sweater.

  Richard sighed. “Buster and Mack found the pillows with the bullet holes. They showed Annabelle. She showed me. We all came to show you and Fern.”

  Hermès gave a series of happy yips from the floor.

  “After we woke them up,” I added.

  “I remember that part,” Fern said from where he lay on the upholstered chaise lounge fully dressed in black riding jodhpurs, a white shirt, a black velvet vest, and his pink satin eye mask. “It was much too early.”

  “It’s not too early if we want to figure this thing out before we have to check out,” I said, tugging the front of the pumpkin-colored sweater I’d thrown on over a pair of jeans.

  “I understand all that,” Kate said. “What I’m fuzzy on is your theory.”

  Buster pulled one of the cushions out from behind Fern’s back and Fern yelped in protest.

  “See this?” Buster held up the cushion from my chair next to the identical cushion he’d found on the loading dock. “It’s a perfect match.”

  “Do you remember when we were in the room next door?” I asked, putting a hand to the nape of my neck where my hair was still wet from the pool. “It had pretty much the same furniture as my room, but the chair in that room has no cushions. At least not anymore.”

  Mack waved his pillow at Kate. “We think someone used the cushions from that chair so there wouldn’t be a bullet hole when they shot. See?” He grabbed the cushion Buster held. “They stacked them on top of each other. The bullet went clean through the first cushion but stopped somewhere in the second because there isn’t an exit hole in that one.”

  Kate leaned close to the black holes seared into the fabric of the throw pillows. “That’s pretty clever. It made it seem like the shot had been fired by a phantom gun.”

  “What did I tell you?” Fern mumbled from the chair. “A ghost gun.”

  “So now we know how someone did it.” Richard took a seat at the desk. “Now we just need to figure out who did it and why.”

  “Reese told me to follow the money and see who benefits most if the resort starts declining because of the ghosts rumors,” I said. “But it also has to be someone who has access to the room next door.”

  “Reese told you?” Kate arched an eyebrow. “How often have you two been talking?”

  I ignored her and crossed the room to open the French doors. The sunlight was rising over the trees and spilling across the porch. I breathed in the morning air, letting the coolness invigorate me. “So most likely someone who works here.”

  “Or a cat burglar,” Mack said. “I’ve always thought it would be romantic to be a cat burglar.”

  I tried to imagine the enormous leather-clad man scaling the side of a European villa while his chains jangled. It wasn’t a pretty mental picture.

  “Since we haven’t come across any cat burglars to date, we can probably rule that out,” Richard said.

  “And it has to be someone who could have passed information along to Kerry for her blog. Remember what she told us at the spa? Someone was giving her inside information,” Kate said.

  “But does she know anyone here who would give her information?” Buster asked.

  “You know.” I tapped my chin with my pointer finger. “I noticed her exchange a look with the assistant manager last night at the fire pit. I wonder if he’s the one she’s been communica
ting with?”

  “Mr. Anderson?” Richard asked. “Wouldn’t he be out of a job if the management team got the boot?”

  Richard pulled out a sheet of Bedford Springs stationery from inside the top desk drawer and wrote Mr. Anderson’s name across the top. “What’s his motive?”

  “Anderson, Anderson.” I thought for a moment. “The little girl in the pool mentioned that an Anderson owned the hotel. I wonder if there’s a connection we’re missing.”

  Kate pulled her phone out of her back pocket, and I was amazed she’d been able to fit it in considering how snug the pants were. “I’ll Google Anderson and Bedford Springs.”

  I paced in front of the open French doors. “So let’s say that the assistant manager knows Kerry somehow or reaches out to her on his own. He would have had access to the reservations. He could have assigned our rooms to be sure we were on either side of the empty room.”

  Mack snapped his fingers. “And he could have used a master key to get in the room and make noises. And it makes sense that he would know about the trash cans on the loading dock. It would be a pretty safe place to throw them where no one would notice them. Too bad for him we’re obsessed with load-in.”

  “But why him?” Richard tapped the paper with his pen.

  “Bingo!” Kate held up her phone. “It’s right here on the resort website. Dr. John Anderson was the original owner of Bedford Springs.”

  “Dr. Anderson.” I stopped pacing. “The girl said the owner was Dr. Anderson.”

  “It must be a different one, because this guy lived in the late 1700s,” Kate said. “He started this place as a health spa based on the natural spring waters.”

  “Do you think the assistant manager, Mr. Anderson, is related to the original Dr. Anderson?” Richard asked.

  “He did say he was a Bedford Springs native and had been working at the hotel since he was in high school,” I said. “I’ll bet he’s either related to the original owner or he thinks he is.”

  “And what’s his end game?” Buster asked. “What does ruining the reputation of the resort do for him?”