Death in the Park Read online

  "I don't know if I need Sherlock Holmes skills to read the label on a flattened box. But I should probably tell you that Bounty Foods is a local cannery. The distribution facility is right here in Smithville. Almost every restaurant, school and food establishment within a two hundred mile radius uses Bounty Foods. But I'll make a mental note of that. In the meantime, I've got work to do. And just a warning, if you're going out the back gate, the kitchen manager is like a pit bull when she's mad."

  "Yes, I've met the pit bull. Thank you and good luck with the investigation, Detective Jackson." I stopped, sure I'd caught him divulging an investigation secret. Maybe Mills was a person of interest and she was angry when he questioned her. "One question, how do you know that Ms. Mills is mean?"

  He flashed a far too white grin. "I went to school here and I may or may not have started a few food fights in the cafeteria."

  "Yep, I can see you as a food fight instigator. Good day."

  Chapter 23

  The busy morning had left me hungry for lunch. I'd collected a few puzzle pieces but none of them fit together. If nothing else, I would at least have my lackluster article about the summer work program for my Junction Times debut. It wasn't ideal or anything I could be proud of, but I figured it would go mostly unread, leaving me an opportunity for a second debut article next week. Hopefully, by then, I'd have something more interesting to write about.

  I was still shaking off my somewhat passive-aggressive chat with Detective Jackson. Of course I couldn't blame him for trying to keep the integrity of his investigation by putting a stop to any meddling by a curious, ambitious journalist. Just like he couldn't blame me for trying to meddle in the investigation. I was, after all, a curious, ambitious journalist.

  I hadn't figured out my next plan of action yet. Mostly because I was too light headed from hunger to think straight.

  Raine's Psychic Shop was inside a cute, early century cottage on Edgewood Drive, just a few blocks from the newspaper office. She lived in the back of the house and conducted her tarot card reading and fortune telling business in the front room. I parked my jeep and skipped the newspaper office, heading straight to Raine's shop. I didn't have the energy to chat with Myrna. I needed sustenance in the form of a Katherine Hepburn, a chicken salad sandwich on pumpernickel with a side of citrusy fruit salad.

  Raine was standing in the side yard outside her shop, filling a two-tiered birdbath. The shop was painted a creamy cerulean blue with ivory trim and dark pink highlights painted around the windows. The front door, my favorite part of the house, was a Dutch door painted navy blue. The top half of the door was open, and patchouli incense smoke streamed out over the front stoop.

  "I hope you're ready for lunch," I said as I swung open the white gate to enter the front yard of the shop. "I'm half past starved and two shades past famished. Whatever that means. See, I'm just babbling because of low blood sugar."

  Raine laughed as she walked over to turn off the hose. "I'm hungry too. Your sister had me holding light strands as she hooked them up on the barn rafters. She sure has no problem climbing those high ladders. Makes me dizzy just watching her. I told her she should hire Mike Frey. He's a house painter."

  "That's my sister's motto. Don't let any job be done by a man, when it can just as easily be done by a woman." I followed Raine into the shop. The front room, where all the psychic stuff happened, was kept dark and incense filled for ambience. The two front windows were covered in thick, gold and blue damask curtains. Victorian style lampshades with scallops and fringe gave the room a dated but gothic feel. Two tall dark green tufted chairs sat on either side of a tiny round walnut table with the obligatory crystal ball as a centerpiece. The carved wood mantel over the slate hearth held some of Raine's tools of the trade, including an antique Ouija board and a stack of tarot cards.

  Raine quickly gathered up a tea cup that was sitting on the table.

  "Were you reading tea leaves?" I asked.

  "I do occasionally, but I find them aggravating to work with. There is never a clear message. Especially in the chamomile tea I used today. The store was out of my usual leaf reading tea, black cinnamon. It was just Marylou Tuttle anyhow. She wanted to know if she would beat her friend Rita at this summer's pie baking event." She rolled her eyes. "Waste of a good cup of tea. I told her I had no way of knowing if she would beat her unless I actually tried her pie." She laughed. "I mean what a waste of time. I tell fortunes and talk to spirits. I don't have time to predict the winner of a baking contest."

  I always tried to be supportive of Raine's business, but like my sister, Lana, I was a realist. I needed proof. I needed tangible evidence. But Raine was my friend and she took her psychic skills very seriously. I wasn't going to do anything that might hurt her feelings or our friendship.

  Raine disappeared into the small kitchen at the back of the shop to put away the tea cup. She returned to extinguish the incense sticks. "By the way, when I was at Lana's, Ursula came by on her break." She rolled her eyes. "She said she couldn't watch her brother lick mayonnaise off his fingers one more moment without wanting to bop him over the head with her thermos."

  "They are entertaining. No doubt about that."

  "I'll say. She said something about a special monogrammed hammer that had gone missing." Raine put the last stick of incense out. "Who monograms a hammer?"

  "Ursula, apparently. And I forgot about that darn thing. I was going to look for it. It was the source of a big fight yesterday afternoon."

  "You can save yourself the time. The hammer showed up and, of all places, it was sitting in one of your kitchen drawers. Ursula went through the drawers to find a bottle opener for her soda, and there it was, the monogrammed hammer, sitting snugly in the drawer with your utensils."

  "What? How on earth did it get there?" I shook my head. "If those two weren't so good at restoring old houses, I swear I'd think twice about keeping them on."

  "Naturally Ursula put all the blame on Henry. She said he was either losing his mind or playing tricks on her so that she would lose her mind. Either way, I think they're both halfway to the loony bin. Of course, there's always a more logical explanation for the hammer turning up in the drawer."

  "What, that I'm losing my mind?"

  Raine grabbed her straw hat from a hook by the door. "No. The ghost might be playing tricks to get some attention. Just like the bad kid in class who acts out because no one is looking at him."

  We walked out to the sidewalk and headed toward Layers. "So you're telling me my house is not only haunted, but it's haunted by a troublemaker."

  "Generally, they are all troublemakers. After all, they are here because they haven't been able to rest in peace. Usually it's some unrequited love or a death that was never avenged or something along those lines."

  She spoke so matter-of-factly, I was almost inclined to take her seriously. I knew she believed every word, but I was still strongly in the disbeliever category. Then it occurred to me, I'd been saying no to the séance mostly because I thought it was just a silly waste of time, especially for adults. I could remember more than my share of spooky ghost stories and séances at friends' slumber parties when I was a kid. The thought of a group of perfectly respectable and clear thinking adults holding hands around a table waiting for the spirit world to show some kind of sign that it existed seemed nothing short of ridiculous. But maybe I wasn't being fair to Raine or to my resident ghost, I thought wryly. If I allowed Raine to have a séance in the house, it might prove to her and to my younger sister, for that matter, that there are no unhappy spirits haunting the inn. She'd have to drop the subject for good.

  We picked up the pace when the mouthwatering smell of grilled onions drifted to us from the stove vent on Layers' roof. "You know something, Raine. You're right. Let's have that séance at the inn."

  Raine stopped and grabbed my arm. "Really?"

  I motioned toward the restaurant. "Keep it going, buddy. Remember, I've got low blood sugar."

  Her shoulde
rs sank. "Oh, then we really aren't going to have a séance. This is just you suffering from a light head."

  I started walking, and she came along too. "It probably is just that, but let's have one anyhow. My sisters will like it too. It's a chance to eat goodies and drink wine spritzers. And talk to ghosts, of course."

  She clapped a few times in rapid succession. "Yay. Tonight?"

  "Sure, tonight works. I'll let my sisters know."

  We reached Layers. Raine opened the door. My head grew lighter at the delicious scents floating around the restaurant. "We should invite Henry and Ursula," Raine suggested. "Séances always work better with more people."

  "Are you sure?" I asked. "They might start arguing and scare off the spirits."

  We sat at our usual table by the window. Raine pointed to me with her menu. "You have to take this seriously and be opened minded, Sunni, or it won't work. Spirits know when they are being mocked." She raised her brow. "So do mediums."

  "You're right. I will be on my best behavior, and I will open up my mind as wide as possible."

  "Woo hoo, we're having a séance," Raine said in a sing-song voice.

  "Yes we are." This time I pointed my menu at her. "But if nothing happens and no ghost makes contact, then we drop the subject of the haunted inn for good." I reached across and shook her hand.

  "Deal."

  Chapter 24

  I was less in need of eggs than I was of a baby goat fix when I'd decided to walk to Emily's place. And fix I got.

  Tinkerbell, the gray kid, as baby goats were called, pushed her miniature hooves into my thigh as she stretched her tiny muzzle up to suck down the last few drops of milk from the bottle. Nick was cradling Cuddlebug while she took an impromptu nap after her bottle.

  I stroked the top of Tinkerbell's head. Tiny nubs of horns were just starting to sprout. "Well, it's official. After nineteen years, I'm finally an aunt again. Only Oliver didn't have horns." Tinkerbell balanced on my leg. "Or hooves." The goat pulled its mouth off the empty bottle and bleated a cute teensy wail. "Although, the sound is similar to the way Ollie sounded when he wanted more milk." With the bottle drained, Tinkerbell jumped off of my lap and half-danced, half-leapt across the kitchen floor. Cuddlebug woke up and followed behind her.

  Nick got up to lead the two kids out to the shed he had layered with warm, dry straw and a few old tires to act as jungle gyms.

  Emily handed me an egg collection basket. "I'm so excited about Raine's séance. Just think what a great marketing bonus that would be if you could advertise the inn as a haunted bed and breakfast."

  I put the basket on my arm and followed her out the back door to the chicken coop. "I'm not sure about that. It might very well keep a lot of people away. Besides, Emi, I've agreed to let Raine do this so she can stop obsessing about the so-called ghost at Cider Ridge Inn. She's even got Ursula and Henry convinced that some otherworldly entity is watching them work. I'll let Raine do her thing. She'll see there is nothing unusual about the house except that it is old and creaky."

  "You never know what will happen."

  "Yes, I do. We'll fill ourselves on sandwiches, potato salad and wine spritzers, and Raine will eventually be full and tipsy enough not to care about the lack of spirits. And that will put an end to it."

  Emily grabbed a bag of scratch from the storage bin outside the coop. Her hens came scurrying toward us in a mad frenzy. "I'll keep them busy with food. There should only be a few eggs left in the next boxes. I got most of them this morning."

  I looked around the chicken yard with noticeable apprehension.

  Emily sensed my fear and laughed. "Don't worry, I've got the roosters in their cages. You're safe to wander, free from attack."

  "I wasn't afraid. Terrified maybe but never afraid. After all they are just birds." Right then one of the hens came full fury with beating wings out from the nest boxes, startling me into dropping the basket.

  Emily had another good laugh. "What is happening at work? Lana seemed to think you were working on the murder case."

  "The police are working on it. I'm just snooping around to see if I can find out what happened to Alder Stevens. He just didn't seem like a prime murder target. Just an old guy who worked hard his entire life and then lost his wife right at the time he was suppose to retire and enjoy his time off." I pulled a warm egg out of a straw nest and placed it in the basket.

  Emily doled out the cracked corn. Her hens waltzed around her, pushing each other to get to the goodies. "I agree. I don't see how he could have had too many enemies. Is it possible that it was just a horrible act of violence with no motive or target, and Alder just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time?"

  "I suppose that's possible but highly unlikely. It seems the killer went through a great deal of effort to steal the murder weapon from the pawn shop." A plump rust colored hen sat in the next nest box. Her beady black eyes seemed to be saying, 'move on unless you want your hand pecked' so I did just that. "I'm sure the plan was to use a weapon that couldn't be traced back to the owner. They tossed it into the ravine at the park, only that's where their plan went awry. Rather than get washed down to the sea with last winter's runoff, the gun landed on a pylon where the agile and athletic Detective Jackson could easily retrieve it."

  "Ah yes, Detective Jackson. I understand aside from being a good detective, he is quite the player. Best stay clear of that guy."

  "I'm trying my best to do just that. Only this murder investigation keeps putting us in the same place. I think he's getting rather annoyed about finding me in the middle of his investigation. But that just makes me want to work harder to find the murderer first."

  I placed another egg in the basket and moved to the last three nest boxes.

  "You're at somewhat of a disadvantage, I'd say." Emily tossed out the last bit of grain, and the chickens scurried away to eat it. She walked over to help me finish collecting eggs. She easily shooed away the red hen that had given me the evil eye just seconds earlier. The bird clucked angrily as she pushed it out of the box. She reached in and pulled out an egg. "You know, I used to deliver eggs to Alder Stevens about once a month. He stopped ordering them after his wife died."

  I turned quickly to her. "So you know where he lived? I had a visit to Alder's house on my list for tomorrow's research. I won't be able to see anything but the outside. I just thought it would give me more of a sense of the man by seeing where he lived. With any luck, I'll run into a few neighbors who might have interesting things to say about him."

  "It's a cute, nicely kept house off Crimson Grove, just before the bridge. You might be able to snoop around in the backyard. When I delivered eggs, they had me go through the gate and leave the eggs in the screened porch at the back of the house. They never locked the screen. I'm not even sure it ever had a lock. There's a small shed out back too. Alder used to build birdhouses as a hobby. They are hanging from the trees in his yard."

  Emily's pink lips turned down in a frown. "I'd forgotten about his bird houses. Now I'm feeling extra sad about it all. That poor man. Who could possibly have wanted to kill him?"

  "That is exactly what I intend to find out."

  We walked out with our basket of eggs. Nick was running around the yard trying to corral the two goats, who'd apparently decided not to turn in for the evening.

  Emily and I laughed as Nick lumbered around, being outsmarted by the tiny critters at every turn. "You might need to get one of those shepherding collies if you're going to grow your goat herd," I said. "Either that or Nick is going to have to get a lot more agile. Either way, he's going to be hungry, so I should get home and make those sandwiches. I suppose I better figure out which room will be the most conducive for connecting with the spirit world. See you in a few hours."

  Chapter 25

  I put the remaining cold cuts and the finished sandwiches into the refrigerator and headed into the room that would have been used as a formal dining room back when it was a single family home. The room, which was a
good distance away on the same floor, was a cavernous dining hall that had, no doubt, seen more than its share of large, formal dinners back in the manor's glory days. If I stood in the long, rectangular room long enough, squinted my eyes and turned on my imagination, I could almost visualize the space with the wavering flames of glittering candelabras and suffocating beeswax candles reflecting off sparkling white wainscoting and lush damask wallpaper. But once my visuals turned off, the only things left were the bare bones of a once opulent dining hall. But I was determined to restore the entire place, room by room. I might be a hundred years old and broke by the time I opened the doors of the inn for travelers, but I wasn't going to let the enormity of the project overwhelm me.

  I'd moved to Firefly Junction with very few possessions, deciding to leave what little I had behind and avoid a big move. Since I was short on furniture, and not particularly equipped for a séance, Lana had offered to bring over one of her party tables and some chairs. They were light, foldable and easy to transport. After some thought, I determined that an unsettled spirit would be just as easy to reach from the formal dining room as any other room in the house. With its peeling walls, dirt crusted window panes, and smoke blackened hearth, it was just decrepit enough to provide a sinister ambience for contacting the ghost world.

  We'd decided to wait for dark to make sure the mood was just right for a séance. With the long summer hours, it gave me a little time to myself. Almost to myself. Newman and Redford trotted in from the kitchen to join me on a short exploration of the second floor. In a way, I was thankful to have them along. Henry had warned me not to travel along the top floor too much on my own. He feared the wood floors had rotted enough to make them dangerous. I figured if I fell through and got stuck in a broken floorboard then my dogs would eventually get hungry enough to go find someone to feed them, and in turn, I'd eventually be rescued. It wasn’t exactly a 'good boy, Lassie' scenario where the heroic dog rushes right off to sound the alarm that the master was in danger, but I wasn't going to kid myself either. Newman and Redford loved me as much as I loved them, but I always took a back seat to a bowl of food.