Murder at the Inn Read online

  "So much work to be done," I groaned, then snapped out of my defeatist mood and pulled out my phone. After the night before, I was a bit hesitant about calling Jackson, but I was certain he'd be pleased once I told him what I found.

  "Hey, Sunni, I was just about to call you. Are you still at Dandelion Inn?"

  "Yes, that's what I called you about. I think I've solved the case."

  He cleared his throat. "Which case? Applegate's death or the painting?"

  "Oops, I forgot all about the painting." I walked to a white wrought iron bench under a maple tree and sat down. "I've got a theory about Kenneth's fall."

  "Theories aren't exactly ironclad in court."

  "No, there's evidence to go with it, but I don't think this will have anything to do with court. It has to do with heartbreak and desperation and a ghost expert who was not terribly expert."

  "Maybe we can wrap all this up. I've got a fingerprint match on the letter opener," Jackson said. "I'm heading your way right now. Should be there in five minutes."

  "All right, I'll just sit here in Kitty's garden and lament how far my inn has to go to be civilized enough for human visitors."

  Chapter 34

  Raine and Kitty had gotten so involved in their conversation, as I walked through the dining room, my friend didn't even notice me. She'd even picked up a cloth and joined in on the silver polishing session.

  I mentioned to Kitty that Detective Jackson was on his way with some information about the painting then I headed out to the front yard to wait for him. I wanted to talk to him before we were inside where others could hear. It was entirely possible that my theory was way off. I certainly didn't want to accuse or offend people until I knew for sure. There was a nice amount of evidence supporting it though, and I was rather pleased with myself for coming up with it.

  Jackson's car pulled up in front of the house. I curled my hands to stop the annoying trembling that always started when I was about to come face to face with him. He climbed out of his car and pushed his sunglasses up into his thick hair. His long legs carried him quickly across the lawn to the brick pathway where I was standing.

  "Bluebird, I see you're outside enjoying the fresh air."

  "Wanted to talk to you first. But before I start, whose fingerprints were on the letter opener?"

  "There were two sets of prints. Since we saw her holding it, we can assume one belongs to Wilma. I put the second print into the database and found a match with a federal employee, a postal worker, to be more specific. Barbara Simpson retired from the postal service two years ago. The big question remaining is why would a perfectly sweet ex-postal worker want to shred a painting?"

  "I think I might know." I pulled the strand of fake hair from my pocket and held it up in the light.

  He squinted at it. "Is that the wig fiber?"

  "It sure is. I found it in Barbara's hairbrush. And there were a few strands on her suitcase. I'm fairly certain, if you open her luggage, there will be a wig to go with these strands. And that's not all. Raine and I were snooping around the hallway, and I noticed some fabric sticking out of the laundry chute. I pulled the garment free and discovered it was a long, white dress. It looks like the one Lauren Grace was wearing in her portrait."

  "You think Barbara was dressing up to look like Lauren Grace?"

  "Yes, exactly."

  "Was she trying to scare the group or was she just making sure there was at least one ghostly sighting during their stay at the inn?" he asked.

  I glanced back at the house. The light was on in Barbara's room. It seemed she was up and about. I turned back to Jackson. "Barbara was madly in love with Kenneth Applegate, but he hardly paid her any attention at all. At the same time, Kenneth was obsessed with Lauren Grace."

  My theory gelled in his mind. "Ah ha, so she dressed up like Lauren to get his attention."

  "And she got it all right," I said. "I think the mark on his chest was Barbara trying to grab Kenneth as he fell."

  Jackson rubbed his chin. "But if he was in love with Lauren Grace, why was he telling her to go away when he finally met up with her on the stairs?"

  "Because, as a few people have pointed out, Raine included, Kenneth Applegate was not a skilled ghost hunter. Something tells me, Barbara's version of the Lauren Grace ghost was his first encounter with a spirit."

  Jackson nodded. "She tried to touch him. He got scared and stepped back too far. So, in a way, he was scared to death."

  "Nice play on words, Detective Jackson. I guess we should go inside and see if the scenario is true."

  We walked into the house. It was the second time that day I'd run into the unpleasant side of Angela Applegate. "Poor Kitty," she said in a huff as she came down the stairs. "She is having to put up with so much commotion this week."

  Jackson stopped and stared at her. "If by commotion you mean an investigation into your brother's death, than yes, Miss Bloomfield is having a difficult week. But I'm sure she'd like me find out what happened to Kenneth, as well as the painting." He spoke coolly enough that she had no real response except a small huff.

  "I'll be gone from here tomorrow," she said curtly. "I've already left word with the coroner on instructions for Kenneth's body. He wanted to be cremated."

  "I suppose that is mentioned in his will," Jackson said pointedly.

  Her eyes flickered with unease. "Yes, it was part of his estate. If you'll excuse me." She tried to sidle past him.

  "Miss Applegate," he said, "can you tell me where Miss Simpson is right now?"

  She looked perplexed by the question, and it seemed she didn't want to answer. "She is still upstairs," she said reluctantly.

  "If you don't mind, could you tell her to come downstairs and bring her suitcases with her."

  Again, she was hesitant. But Jackson's imposing size and the confident way he handled people, made him a hard person to say no to.

  "Yes, I'll go upstairs and see if she's dressed." Angela wandered toward the stairs in no particular hurry.

  "Dress," I said with a finger snap. "I'll go get the dress I found." I hurried into the dining room. Raine and Kitty had moved on to a pot of tea.

  "Kitty, just so you know, Detective Jackson is here." I picked the dress up off the chair. "I'm going to show this to him."

  Kitty laughed. "What interest would Detective Jackson have in a dress?"

  "Not even his style," Raine quipped. They had a good laugh together as I carried the dress out of the room. If nothing else, it seemed Raine had given Kitty an afternoon off from all her worries. My friend was good at that.

  Jackson was still waiting for Barbara to come down the stairs when I returned with the dress. I held it up against me. "What do you think?"

  "You'd make an adorable bride."

  His comment was so unexpected, words escaped me.

  He chuckled. "I'm just kidding around. Sort of." He added cryptically at the end.

  I pushed the comment to the back of my mind. "Do you see how similar the dress looks to the one in the portrait?"

  "I don't remember too many details about the dress but yes, I can see it."

  Tentative footsteps came down the stair. Barbara blanched as white as the dress when she saw it in my hands. She covered her face and sobbed. Angela moved to stand next to her and put her arm around her shoulder.

  "Why don't we go into the drawing room," I suggested. "Then Barbara can have a seat."

  Angela nodded in agreement and led a shaken Barbara to the drawing room. Jackson and I followed. They had come downstairs without the suitcases but something told me they wouldn't be needed. The floodgates had been opened, and it seemed we were about to hear everything.

  Barbara and Angela sat next to each other on the settee near the window, and Jackson and I took the wingback chairs to face them. Jackson didn't say a word. He just leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, to show he was ready to listen.

  Angela pulled a tissue from her pocket and handed it to Barbara. She kept a supportive a
rm around her. She was certainly not upset with Barbara over Kenneth's death. If Angela and Kenneth had different mothers, it was more than plausible that they were never all that close to begin with.

  "It was all a terrible mistake," Barbara said through a sniffle. She paused to blow her nose and took a deep breath. "You see, I just wanted him to notice me." She said those words toward me as if it was something we women had in common more than we liked to admit. (She had a good point.) She turned her puffy eyes back to Jackson. "He was so obsessed with that woman," she said it with such derision, one could almost believe that Lauren Grace was alive and well and stealing other women's boyfriends. "It was a silly idea but I thought if I dressed up like Lauren and pretended to be her—"

  "You mean Lauren Grace?" Jackson asked.

  "Yes, I thought it would be fun and that it might get him to notice me, to look at me the way he was always staring at that blasted portrait."

  Jackson and I exchanged glances at her last few words. It seemed Barbara was the painting vandal as well.

  Barbara wiped her eyes, but the tears had stopped. She shook her head dejectedly. "It all went so horribly wrong. Kenneth was just reaching the top of the stairs when I came out of my room in a wig and the dress. I reached toward him. Only a few sconces were lit in the hallway, so the light was dim. I thought he would recognize me, but he panicked. He yelled for me to go away and took a sharp step backward. His arms flailed but I was only able to grab a piece of his shirt." She shuddered visibly and took another breath. "The next thing I knew, Kenneth was dead at the bottom of the stairs. I ran back to my room and shut the door. I was so frightened about what I'd done." A dry sob shook her shoulders. "I loved him. I never would have hurt him. But when the police showed up, I was too terrified to say anything."

  Angela, who had been sitting silently next to her, spoke up for the first time. "She confessed everything to me on the way to the hospital. I've forgiven her. It was a tragic accident, that's all."

  Barbara's nostrils flared. "It was all her fault, that awful Lauren Grace."

  "So that's why you destroyed the painting?" I asked. "Revenge?"

  Barbara dropped her face in shame. "Yes."

  Angela squeezed her shoulders again. "But I'm going to reimburse Kitty for the value of the painting so there won't be any charges."

  Jackson nodded. "Then this case is closed. Thank you for letting us know what happened."

  The two women got up and shuffled out of the room.

  Jackson leaned back and ran his hands over the arms of the wingchair. He rested his head back and turned his face my direction.

  "Nice detective work, Bluebird."

  I smiled. "Thank you very much."

  Chapter 35

  Having a box of chocolates hand delivered to your door was always extra special. Having a marvelously handsome detective deliver that box of chocolates gave a turbo boost to extra special.

  "I just came by to say thank you for your help with the Applegate case." Jackson stood in the front door as he handed me the black velvet box. It was topped with a dazzling gold ribbon. "I did a large amount of mind debate, trying to decide if you were a dark chocolate or milk chocolate kind of girl. Couldn't come to any conclusion, so I bought you both."

  I took the box. "You can be sure that if chocolate is the main word, you can place basically any descriptor in front of it and I'll eat it."

  "Soo"—he squinted one eye in thought—"Cricket-filled chocolate?"

  "No. Even I have my limits." I motioned for him to follow me into the kitchen.

  "I don't want to keep you," he said as he walked behind me. "I can see you're on your way out."

  "I've still got a few things to do in the house. But what gave it away? My rustic barn attire?" I placed the chocolate on the counter and waved my hand to highlight my faded jeans that were missing knees and my old sneakers. "I'm just on my way to help my sister, Emily, do farm chores. I find they help me clear my head on the weekend. Nothing like some quality time with chickens, goats and horses."

  "That actually sounds more fun than my day. I promised to meet some friends in the city for lunch. Long drive, lots of mindless talk, way too much food and then a long drive back."

  "You do have a lot of friends," I noted.

  "Yeah, maybe more than I need." We walked back out to the porch and stood face to face, leaning against the railing. His amber eyes were always filled with energy and spirit.

  "Thanks again for the chocolate but you really didn't need to. You know how much I love to solve murder mysteries."

  Tiny creases formed on one side of his mouth. It was that tilted grin that always took his appeal one step further. "You sure do and you're good at it. Did you get your article written?"

  "I did. Barbara allowed me to write the story. I titled it "When Heartbreak Turns to Tragedy".

  "Now that's a nice hook. You're too talented for the Junction Times."

  "So I've been told, but I'm thankful to Parker for giving me the job." I leaned my head toward the house. "You may or may not have noticed but I live in the quintessential money pit."

  "It does have a way to go before it's like Dandelion Inn."

  "That reminds me," I said. "Naturally, I had Kitty's permission to write the story too. She texted me that she's getting tons of reservations based on the article."

  "I'm glad for her." Jackson stepped toward me. "And I'm glad you moved into Firefly Junction." He leaned closer.

  My heart raced. It seemed I was about to get that kiss. That kiss. I needed to outsmart Edward and his mischief. "Uh, I know this is kind of a weird request but could we take this down to the front yard?"

  Jackson blinked those heavy lashes a few times. "All right."

  We walked down the steps to the front yard. We were still in full view of the porch. "Maybe over here, out of view of the house. The dogs get kind of protective of me." What a bunch of baloney that was.

  "You mean those two dogs standing under that tree harassing a squirrel?" he asked.

  I glanced back over my shoulder. My two dogs were never where they were supposed to be. I laughed lightly. "Well then, we moved for nothing. Now where were we?"

  I stepped closer. He reached up and lifted my chin with the side of his finger. I closed my eyes and waited.

  "No, you know what—" He lowered his hand. "The moment feels kind of forced now. Never good for a first kiss. I'm going to save it for another time." He headed toward his car.

  I was disappointed but at the same time, I had to agree. "I guess then I'll see what all the hoopla is about," I called.

  He glanced back over his shoulder. "No hoopla. Fireworks maybe but no hoopla."

  I waved and walked back up to the porch. I watched him climb into his car. I released a soft audible breath as he drove away.

  A tongue clucked behind me. "You are easily charmed. One box of chocolates and you're sighing dreamily."

  I chuckled as I walked past him to the door. "Yes, the dreamy sigh was all about the chocolates." I walked inside and shut the door.

  Continue with Book 4, A Humbug Holiday.

  About the Author

  If you enjoyed Murder at the Inn please consider leaving a quick review. Each and every review, no matter how long is incredibly helpful and greatly appreciated.

  London Lovett is the author of both the Port Danby and Firefly Junction Cozy Mystery series. She loves getting caught up in a good mystery and baking delicious, new treats!

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