Murder at the Inn Read online

  Murder at the Inn

  Firefly Junction Cozy Mystery #3

  London Lovett

  Wild Fox Press

  Murder at the Inn

  Copyright © 2018 by London Lovett

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  A Humbug Holiday

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Lana poked her head in through the back screen door. "I come bearing gifts." A basket lined with a pink linen napkin and adorned with a polka dot ribbon followed her head. "My yummy nut date bars." She stepped inside.

  I was already halfway across the kitchen to the basket. I reached in to grab a gooey bar, Lana's own concoction of chewy dates, peanut butter and whatever goodies she had in her kitchen pantry.

  "Hmm, it's still warm. Are those pistachio nuts I'm tasting?"

  "Yep and chunks of chocolate, but you already know that because you have a sixth sense when it comes to chocolate." Lana walked straight to the coffee pot. She had recently decided to highlight her brunette hair with streaks of pale silver in an attempt to camouflage the emerging strands of gray. I still wasn't sure how I felt about the style change.

  I placed the basket on the large pine table in the center of kitchen. The Cider Ridge Inn’s kitchen was easily my favorite spot in the massive house. The dogs seemed to agree. Newman and Redford were stretched out in front of the giant brick hearth. It wore the wonderful patina of age and use. The original black kettle still hung over the spit. I had yet to use the two hundred year old cooking hearth but its restoration was on my list of a million other projects to bring the inn up to code and make it a welcome place for visitors. That dream was still a long way off, however, making my current day job as a journalist for the Junction Times a necessity.

  "I'm just about to head to work." I reached into the basket and pulled out two more bars, one for my coffee break and one for Myrna, my favorite work mate. "I suppose I should ask why my sister has baked me a basket of my favorite date bars."

  Lana batted her lashes innocently as she took a sip of coffee. She released a 'hmm coffee' sigh as she lowered the cup. "Why can't I just make something nice for my favorite sister?" A fabulously fake smile followed.

  "Well, if this basket had arrived by way of my little sister, Emi, then I wouldn't think twice about it or even question the motive. But when my big sister skips in with a wonderful treat, it usually means she's about to ask me to fill three hundred goodie bags for an upcoming party event." I lifted my right hand. "I still have paper cuts from the four hundred origami swans I helped you fold for the Richman wedding. By the way, I'm folding those things in my dreams and the other day I absently folded my napkin into a swan while I was eating a sandwich at Layers. Fortunately, Raine, my lunch mate understood and sympathized. She said she can't look at a square of toilet paper without wondering how it would look with wings."

  Lana lingered over a few more sips of coffee. "I just need to ask you one little favor."

  "Ah ha, I knew it. These yummy bars came with a price." I broke off another piece. "Out with it. You've come this far and I'm not handing these back so what is it you need? Counting Jordan almonds for treat bags? Folding paper stars for garlands? Stringing lights around the barn?"

  "Hosting a small group for a night in the Cider Ridge Inn."

  A sharp laugh shot from my mouth. "Funny lady."

  "Actually, I'm serious." Lana's chin jutted forward, signaling that she was switching to her persuasive salesperson mode. There were few people on earth who could resist a Lana Taylor sales pitch. It was the secret behind her success. "It's a charming little group called the—" she smiled enthusiastically. "You're going to love this. They are known as the Applegate Paranormal Preservation Society." Before I could interject or toss out an objection she held up her finger. "Wait. There's more. Their motto is—" Her brown eyes lifted in thought, then she pulled out her phone. "I want to get this exactly right because it's so awesome." I'd already given up the fight and glanced at the clock on the wall while she pulled up the awesomeness on her phone. "Here it is. They call themselves APPS for short and they are—" She cleared her throat. Only Lana could make this big of a production out of something as silly as a club motto. "APPS is dedicated to helping spirits lead full un-lifes." She chuckled. "Get it? Un-lifes."

  "Never heard such a clever play on prefixes and words." Sarcasm dripped off my response. "Lana, you must be out of your mind. The inn is so far from ready for visitors, there's just no possible way."

  "But that's why they want to stay here. Cider Ridge Inn is on some important paranormal ghost hunter list as one of the most haunted homes in the region. The creepier, more dilapidated and creakier, the better. Look, it's one night. I'll bring all the food and amenities. You just need to provide the inn and any of those spirits that might be lurking in the crumbling walls and rafters." She winked dramatically as if we were both part of a two person society of skeptics. Lana didn't believe in ghosts and neither had I until Edward Beckett, the resident ghost, made his first introduction.

  My gaze circled the kitchen. Usually by now, this topic would have already conjured my incorporeal friend, but I didn't see or hear him.

  Lana walked to the sink to wash her cup. "I'd hate to think that the Dandelion Inn over in Birch Highlands was going to get all the publicity and recognition as a haunted inn. They are staying at the Dandelion on their second night and I don't think that place is half the haunted character as this one. But if you want Dandelion Inn to become the cool place to visit, then that's your choice."

  I snuffled an 'oh pleeze' sound. "As if I ever had a choice in this matter once you made up your mind that it would happen."

  She put the cup in the drying rack and spun around. "So you'll let them stay?"

  "I'm not happy about the idea but I know if I say no you'll stay here and bug me until I say yes and I'm late for work."

  The pots and pans hanging from the rack over the pine table swung into each other, creating a light tinny clatter. It seemed I'd found my ghost.

  Lana stared up in confusion at the pots that were still in pendulum motion. "What caused that to happen?"

  I was constantly having to drum up excuses for unexplained events. "Occasionally a breeze shoots through the back screen door."

  Lana reached up and stopped one of the pots from moving. "Must have been a good strong breeze to move aluminum and iron pots. Sometimes, it almost seems as if you do have a spirit hanging around the inn. A few of those weird occurrences should be perfect for their visit. They'll be thrilled."

  "How many peo
ple can I expect?"

  "Just five."

  "Really?" I was starting to smell an ulterior motive. "You don't usually bother with small parties of five. What's in this for you?"

  Lana picked at some invisible specks on the pine table. "It might lead to something more substantial and lucrative."

  "Substantial and lucrative," I repeated. "Now that sounds more like my sister Lana."

  She sighed loudly. "All right so I'm doing this as a favor to show the group that I'm the perfect party planner for the annual October Paranormal Society Convention. Every year the ghost hunter groups get together for a big shindig and this year they are considering Firefly Junction. It would be a great gig."

  "Fine. But you're going to owe me more than just a basket of date bars." My phone buzzed. I picked it up from the counter. "Oh shoot, I forgot the electrician was coming this morning."

  "Then you decided to rewire the house first? I guess that's why I don't hear Ursula's incessant harping this morning," Lana said.

  "Yes, they have a few weeks off. They had some small job over in Hickory Flats and yes, I hate to admit it but I'm looking forward to the break. Not that I'm kidding myself. The electrical upgrade is going to cost me a fortune but Henry was right, I need to have the electrical wiring brought up to modern code before we go any further with the restoration. Guess it's a good thing you delayed me or I might have missed him."

  "See, big sister to the rescue as always," Lana quipped as she headed to the back door.

  "Oh really? Think you have that backwards this time. When can I expect the apples?"

  Lana laughed. "APPS and they will be here tomorrow night." She blurted the last part quickly before walking out.

  I lunged toward the door and swung it open as she hurried down the steps.

  "Tomorrow night? Thanks for all the advanced notice."

  She waved over her shoulder without looking back.

  "Your sister is pushy," Edward's deep drawl rolled around the vast kitchen.

  I shut the back door and turned around. He was standing, (as well as someone made of vapor could stand) beneath the hanging rack of pots and pans shifting them back and forth with his long, transparent fingers. The gentle clanging sounds produced reminded me of the pulleys on boats moored in an agitated harbor. The blue ribbon holding the queue of hair at Edward's neck was always tied perfectly in a bow. His cravat, the one article of clothing that had been loosened while he lay dying from a gunshot wound, always hung in exactly the same position around his neck. The shiny black Hessian boots, the ones that were too difficult to remove on his death bed, hovered just above the kitchen floor as he tapped the pots one more time, sending them into a metallic chorus.

  "Please stop playing music on my pots and pans. By the way, I need you to be on your best behavior today. An electrician will be here for the next week working on wiring throughout the house."

  He turned around and leaned against the pine table, crossing the boots at his ankles. It was a casual stance that always made him look alive and solid, even though his feet weren't touching the ground. "What a lot of bother. Candles and a few gas lanterns are all that's needed to light up this house."

  "And to set it on fire too," I added. "I think we'll stick with electricity. Beeswax gives me a headache and I just don't see myself walking around every night with a candlestick in my hand."

  "Did your sister suffer some sort of shock?"

  "What do you mean?"

  His lighter than air fingers fluttered toward his own dark head of hair. "Those white streaks in her hair. Did she experience some sort of fright?"

  I laughed lightly. "No fright . . . unless you count a fear of looking forty."

  Edward coasted over to check out the contents of Lana's goodie basket. "Looks like bricks of mud. Your sister brought you bricks of mud and you immediately caved to her demand that you allow strangers into the house."

  "They aren't bricks of mud and I didn't cave. I compromised. And it's only for one night. Just make yourself scarce tomorrow night. Scratch that. Make yourself completely non-existent."

  I had no other ghosts to compare him to, but Edward was particularly striking and handsome, a quality that caused him more trouble than good when he was of flesh and blood. His dark, appealing good looks were very much to blame for his untimely death when they proved too tempting for Bonnie Ross, the original lady of the house. An angry husband, Edward's distant cousin, no less, sent Edward to an early grave with a dueling pistol. Only that grave didn't seem to be able to hold him and he somehow ended up lingering in the hallways and empty rooms of the Cider Ridge Inn. His reason for staying behind was a mystery to both of us but I intended to find out one day. At least one day when I had a moment of free time.

  A truck pulled up to the house. "The electrician is here. Go find something to keep yourself occupied today and stay out of his way. He came highly recommended and I don't need you scaring him off with your ghostly antics."

  "Highly recommended? This from the woman who hired two court jesters to restore the house." With that, Edward vanished into thin air.

  Chapter 2

  Tom Fielding, the electrician, lumbered toward the front porch. Parker Seymour, my boss, had recommended him for the job of updating the wiring at the inn. Parker had a good belly laugh when he told me that Tom's nickname was Big Friendly Giant, like the character in the children's book. He also told me I'd see why when I met the man.

  Tom had to duck to avoid crowning himself on the portico as he climbed the steps. A mound of light brown hair topped his broad head and was cut short enough to highlight his two enormous ears. His friendly gray eyes sparkled above a bulbous red nose, the perfect complement to his broad smile. My hand was completely swallowed up by his as he shook it.

  "Miss Taylor? We talked on the phone. Tom Fielding." His baritone voice reminded me of the big bass drum in a marching band.

  I tilted my head back to smile up at him. "I'm sure you get this question all the time—"

  "Six foot seven," he answered quickly. "Although my mother swears I was six foot eight when I graduated high school. I guess somewhere along the way I dropped an inch. Either way, it saves me time on a ladder. If you can show me to the basement where the electrical box is located, I can get started. I know you mentioned you'd be leaving for work this morning."

  "Yes. Come on inside and I'll show you to the basement." As I opened the door, Newman and Redford bounded out. A tennis ball was jammed between Newman's fangs. Normally, a motor driven wench couldn't pry that ball from his teeth but my dog literally did a jaw drop when he saw the giant man on the porch. The tennis ball bounced down the steps, landing softly in the grass at the bottom. Both border collies sat obediently without even being told to sit.

  Tom's laugh nearly rattled the windows and caused Redford to whine nervously. "Hello, you two." He leaned down and let both dogs smell his giant hand before giving each one a pat on the head.

  "I hope you don't mind dogs. They generally just sleep out on the back porch and chase squirrels while I'm at work. They won't get in your way."

  "I don't mind at all."

  I led Tom into the house. He lowered his head to avoid the doorjamb. "These older houses tend to have a patchwork of various electrical systems. When was this place built?"

  "Early nineteenth century." I led him through to the kitchen and to the cellar door. "I'm sure it was candles and lanterns for the first century." I thought about Edward's candle suggestion. He must have been 'in residence' when the first electricity was wired through the house. It must have been quite surprising for him to go from candle wicks to glowing light flicked on from a switch in the wall.

  Poor Tom nearly had to walk on all fours down into the cramped basement with its low slung ceiling. I reached for the chain and pulled on the single light bulb. It flickered and instantly began to smell like burnt dust. "I'm afraid this is the only light down here. The fuse box is over there in the corner."

  "I've brought my own lights. I
spend a lot of time in dark basements." His laugh thundered off the block walls. "I suppose that sounds a little creepy," he continued. "But you understand what I mean."

  "Of course." We turned past the rickety wooden staircase to the corner where the antiquated electrical box was sitting.

  Tom spent a few moments clearing the cobwebs from around his head and then pulled a pair of wire-rimmed glasses from his shirt pocket. The wire temples were spread wide to fit around his large face. He leaned down and inspected the box, a black lacquer rectangle embossed with brassy gold print. "Ah ha, a Western. Oldie but goodie." He straightened. It was like watching a giraffe pull its head up off the ground. "I'll get started right away. I should be finished in a week as long as that old Cider Ridge ghost doesn't get in my way."

  My eyes popped nearly as wide as my mouth. "Ghost?" I muttered shakily.

  His laugh scared a rat out from hiding. It scurried across an overhead beam and disappeared into an opening in the wall. The rat temporarily took my mind off the ghost subject.

  "Do you think there's any chance that the rat we just saw is a recluse? A loner?" I asked.

  "You should probably call an exterminator just in case. And I was just kidding about the ghost, of course."

  My sigh of relief was strong enough to blow dust off the fuse box. "Of course."

  "The rumor of that ghost has been circulating around these parts for years. Just like the ghost of Lauren Grace over at the Dandelion Inn, it's just a lot of fluff being tossed around by people with more time on their hands than they know what to do with."