Murder at the Inn Read online

  "Yes, I've heard the Dandelion Inn has a ghost too." I coughed. "I mean is supposed to be haunted too. I've got to get to work so I'll let you get started." I headed to the stairs.

  "Is there anyone else in the house?"

  My foot missed the first step. I grabbed the loose railing to keep from falling. "Anyone else?" I asked. He'd thrown me off with the ghost comment. I needed to pull myself together. It was the first time I'd left someone, other than Henry and Ursula, in the house alone. I worried what havoc my very real ghost may cause. "Oh right. No. Just me. So feel free to turn off the electricity. I made sure to unplug everything."

  "Terrific."

  I headed up the steps and was nearly clear of the house when Edward came out from the shadows on the front porch. The front porch was the outermost border to his eternal world.

  "That's not a human," he said as he floated up onto the railing. "That's something out of Greek mythology."

  "Just behave," I said sharply.

  "What's that?" Tom asked as he walked out the front door.

  "Oh, hello, nothing." I waved my hands in the air as if that helped me look less crazy. "Just talking to myself. Reminders of things I need to do today."

  "Like behave," Edward said quietly behind me. My heart skipped a nervous beat, but then I reminded myself only I had the privilege of hearing him.

  "Sorry to interrupt your mental list." Tom smiled and continued down the steps toward his truck.

  I spun on my heels, lifted my hands and flexed my fingers open and shut silently telling Edward to vanish or disappear or dissipate, whatever process needed.

  He stared at my hands. "I can't tell if this pantomime means you painted your nails with one of those garish colors again or if you're having some sort of seizure."

  I grunted and stomped my foot.

  "I'm going with the latter," he quipped. "I'm leaving but I'm not happy about having Goliath stomping around the house all day." His figure fizzled into thin air.

  Chapter 3

  Myrna came gliding around the corner from the break room as I stepped into the newspaper office. She was holding a chocolate buttermilk donut on a napkin. "Morning, Sunni. Chase brought donuts." She stopped on the short journey to her desk and lowered her voice. "Of course, it was his turn."

  "True. Did he remember jelly donuts?"I pulled the strap of my laptop case off my shoulder.

  "Already put one on your desk." Myrna practically skipped away with her buttermilk confection. Myrna was only five feet tall with particularly short legs but she moved with the fluid grace of a ballerina. I'd talked her into taking dance lessons, assuring her she was a natural. It turned out she had always wanted to be a dancer but she'd convinced herself a dancer needed long legs. Two weeks ago she'd signed up for a ballroom dance class.

  I lowered my laptop onto my slightly cluttered desk, making sure not to squish the jelly donut. "How was dance class last night?" I asked.

  She chirped with excitement and scurried across the room to my desk. "Theodore, the dance instructor, told me I was his best pupil to date. His sister teaches a ballet class on Friday nights at the same studio. I'm thinking of joining." Myrna was trying a new orange color on her lips. It was bold and slightly distracting.

  "You should join. Like I keep saying, you were born with a ballerina's grace."

  "Aren't you the sweetest. And you were born with far too much journalistic talent to work in this newspaper office, but I'm glad you're here." She motioned back toward the editor's office. "Chase is in there now." She leaned down to whisper. "I think there's trouble in paradise if you catch my drift."

  Which I didn't at first. I blinked up at her waiting for her to elaborate. "Paradise?"

  "Chase and Rebecca are not speaking, apparently. Something about him always flirting too much with other women."

  I took most of Myrna's gossip lightly. She loved to embellish and add her own details. Chase Evans, a writer for the Junction Times, was dating Rebecca Newsom, the newspaper owner's daughter. That relationship kept him billed as lead reporter even though our editor, Parker Seymour, often complained about the lack of depth and quality of his work. A twinge of guilt grabbed me as my mind immediately dashed to the possibility of a breakup resulting in some of the better stories landing in my lap. I quickly doused the guilt with a bite of jelly donut.

  Myrna nodded at the donut. "Good stuff, eh? Anyhow, I think Parker wants to see you after he's done talking to Chase. There's been plenty of grumbling behind that door today so Chase is not in a good mood."

  I wiped a drizzle of raspberry jelly off the corner of my lip. "And if Chase is grouchy, Parker will be even grouchier. I swear they like to one up each other when they are in a bad mood. I should probably finish this donut for fortification."

  "Good idea." Myrna laughed as she walked back to her desk.

  Parker's door swung open just as I pushed the last large bites of donut into my mouth. My cheeks were full and bloated with sugary dough and jelly when Chase came marching out of the office. As often as Myrna liked to embellish her descriptions, it seemed she had been spot on about Chase's mood. A brisk, chilly air followed him as he swept back to his desk and sat down hard enough to move his desk forward an inch.

  My best bet was to allow him to finish his tantrum on his own. Chase and I had not grown close or formed much of a friendship and I saw no reason to change that now. He was one of those strikingly handsome, immaculately dressed and groomed men who easily attracted women or at least women who liked that polished style. I preferred someone with a little less attention to appearance and more attention to charisma.

  "Can't believe I have to spend my time interviewing wackadoodle ghost chasers," he muttered loudly enough to make sure I heard him.

  I contemplated ignoring his complaint but the phrase ghost chasers caught my attention. I spun my chair back to face his desk. He was wearing a new designer sweater over a blue collared shirt and his hair had enough product to give it a glassy shine.

  "Did you say ghost chasers?" I barely got the question out when Parker bellowed my name.

  "Taylor, why are you sitting at your desk?"

  I spun back around, leaving my question still lingering in the air behind me. "Did you want to see me, Mr. Seymour?"

  His deep glower caused his heavy moustache to rock back and forth under his nose.

  "Right," I said and grabbed a notepad. "Of course you want to see me." I hopped up from the desk and headed toward his office.

  "Sunni would do a much better job with those paranormal society people. She likes those kinds of odd ball assignments," Chase added, completely ignoring that Parker's glower grew more menacing with each word.

  I scowled back at Chase to let him know he'd just erased the check in the bonus column he'd earned from buying donuts.

  I turned back to Parker. "If it's an article about the Applegate Paranormal Preservation Society, I wouldn't mind taking that story on. In fact, coincidentally enough—" I started but was cut abruptly off by Parker.

  "You know something, Evans. You're right," Parker said sharply enough to assure all of us that he was absolutely not agreeing with Chase. "We'll give the paranormal society story to Taylor. You'll probably just mess it up anyhow. And frankly it's too important of a story. There's a massive convention of ghost hunters every October and they are considering holding it here in Firefly Junction. It would be a huge boost to business in the area." Parker pointed his thick finger at me. "So make sure you do a good job. Make it flattering. Pretend you believe in ghosts if you have to."

  I pressed my knuckle to my mouth to silence a snicker. "Uh, I think I can be open-minded when it comes to the spirit world."

  "That's right," Parker grunted. "You're good friends with that flighty, extravagant psychic, Raine or Storm or whatever her name is." He was truly in a terrible mood but I needed to stand up for my friend.

  "Raine is neither flighty nor extravagant. People have a great deal of respect for her talents." I changed course before
I got myself into trouble. "I'm happy to do the article on the Applegate Society. It just so happens, the Cider Ridge Inn is one of their stops this week."

  Chase blew an immature sound from his mouth. "Guess they're planning to have a chat with the Cider Ridge ghost. Love to hear how that goes," he sniped.

  "You won't have time to hear," Parker said. "There's a labor dispute at the sanitation department. A whole lot of stink in the air, literally and metaphorically. That'll be just up your alley, Evans. Head over there now. The two sides are about to meet to hash out a contract."

  I peered back at Chase. His mouth opened into an O. "Wait, is that all you have? I don't want that assignment. I'll take those ghost whisperers instead. At least they'll be good for a laugh."

  "Too late," Parker barked. "My mind's made up. Now go out there and write me something about garbage that isn't your usual garbage." With that, he slipped back into his office and snapped the door shut.

  Chapter 4

  It seemed my day was filled with requests to make sure the Applegate Paranormal Preservation Society, better known as APPS, felt welcome and inspired by our small town. Considering I'd only just heard of the society an hour earlier, they had inadvertently become the full focus of my day. I was grateful that I'd said yes to Lana's request. It would be much easier to interview the group while they were staying right inside my house.

  House, such a strong, non-ambiguous word, only the inn was still far from being a proper home. While I was certain the visitors looked forward to the ambience and shadowy gloom my ramshackle inn had to offer, I had to make sure they were comfortable and safe. The formal dining room had been mostly restored, subfloors tightened up and plaster holes filled. Wallpaper, painting and fixtures had been put on indefinite hold since the electricity project became a priority but the cavernous room would make a great meeting place. Lana would no doubt add her own creative flare to make the group feel pampered and pleased during their brief stay.

  Myrna came out from the back room with a stack of sticky notes. She balanced them like a tottering tower on one hand while she knocked on Parker's door with the other.

  "Come in," he barked.

  His harsh tone never affected Myrna. She handled his sour moods better than anyone. The man loved to write everything on sticky notes. His desk and computer were decorated with dozens of them. A rainbow colored stack of sticky notes was sure to improve his mood. Chase had thundered out of the office a few minutes after Parker had ordered him to cover the labor dispute at the sanitation department. Myrna waved Chase out with an enthusiastic grin. She had cleverly joked that the two of us were sandwiched between two stale pieces of bread with both men in a foul mood. The other slice of stale bread had been holed up in his office all morning.

  My fingers hovered over my keyboard. I couldn't do much for my story until the group arrived in town but I could use the time to do a little research about APPS. I typed in the very long name of the group and was rewarded with numerous entries.

  The Paranormal Preservation Society was founded in 1960 by Martin Applegate. A few grainy pictures showed a young man with thick wavy hair and round John Lennon style glasses standing in front of a Volkswagen bus with the letters APPS painted along the side. On further reading, I discovered that his son, Kenneth Applegate born in 1964, joined him on his cross country ghost adventures. A side note mentioned that Martin Applegate had been heir to a sizable fortune but he had lived frugally, interested more in his ghostly pursuits than living the life of a well-to-do heir. Martin kept a large journal of all his travels to spirit filled places and Kenneth had it compiled into a memoir titled, Haunted Applegate Adventures. It was published three years ago and the reviews were glowing.

  The next entry focused more on current day adventures of the APPS group. According to a press release by the book publisher, Martin Applegate died just two years before the book's release. Kenneth Applegate had taken over the society five years before his father's death. I skimmed various articles and from the samples I read, Kenneth Applegate took the paranormal preservation thing quite seriously. "Ghosts should not be considered aberrations or ghouls or incorporeal nuisances," Kenneth wrote in a book foreword for another writer.

  "Well . . ." I tilted my head from side to side. "You haven't met mine," I muttered to myself.

  Myrna popped quickly out of Parker's office. Her head shake caused a strand of hair to fall from her bun. "Thought those sticky notes would do the trick." She plopped into her chair. "Stay clear of him today. He thinks he's getting the flu and is using that as his excuse to be a grizzly bear." She rolled her eyes. "He's always on the cusp of some illness only nothing ever comes of it." In that, Myrna was not exaggerating. Parker Seymour was a textbook hypochondriac.

  I continued reading Mr. Applegate's statement. "Ghosts are the free spirits that most of us strive to be. They should be respected, observed and celebrated."

  I sat back and stared at the screen. "The man is positively enamored with ghosts." Was I making a mistake allowing him into the inn? What if he had a sixth sense strong enough to detect Edward's presence? Now that my skeptic days were one tall roguish Englishman behind me, it was much easier for me to believe that there were people who could ferret out disquieted spirits. Raine was certain I was living with a ghost but she had never heard or seen him. No one heard or saw Edward unless he chose to reveal himself. That thought relaxed me some.

  I went back to my research. Angela Applegate, the younger sister of Kenneth, was the treasurer and secretary of the society. Their membership fluctuated yearly but the board was made up of five people, including the Applegate siblings. I clicked on the book where Kenneth had written the foreword. It was titled Those Living Among Us a rather cryptic title for what the publisher declared as the "first and foremost handbook on paranormal detection and study".

  The author was Jamie Nielsen, a name that looked familiar. I glanced back at the article listing the board members of APPS. Jamie Nielsen was on the board. It seemed I would have two published authors and specter experts milling about the inn tomorrow night. Before leaving the bookstore page for Nielsen's book, another familiar name caught my eye. Kenneth Applegate had left a review for Nielsen's book and it was far from glowing. He'd given it a one star and called it a myriad of falsehoods and conjecture based on flimsy facts. Unfortunately for Nielsen, Applegate's review was front and center on the book’s page. It seemed especially odd that someone would first agree to write a foreword for another author's book and then disparage the book badly in a review. It could only be assumed that the two men were well acquainted given that Nielsen was a member of the board for the society.

  Myrna's intercom buzzed and Parker's deep voice grumbled through it. "Myrna, can you bring me that orange juice in the refrigerator? I'm feeling sicker by the minute. Oh, and grab a few of those donuts on the way."

  Myrna sighed. "How sick can he be if he's got an appetite for donuts?" she asked me. Unfortunately, I wasn't the only person to hear the question.

  "What's that?" Parker snapped through the intercom.

  Myrna's face blanched but only for a second. She knew Parker couldn't run the newspaper office without her. "Darn button is always sticking." She pressed it to speak. "Nothing, Mr. Seymour," she said sweetly. "I was just telling Sunni that I put aside your favorites, maple bar and crumb donut holes."

  I flinched when she said my name because I knew it would remind him that I was still sitting out in the office.

  "Sunni is still out there?" he growled. I knew him too well already.

  Myrna pulled her mouth tight and gave me an apologetic shrug.

  "Why isn't she out talking to those ghost hunters? Advertisers will flock to the paper if Firefly Junction hosts that convention."

  "I'm doing research right now, Mr. Seymour," I called loudly across the room. "The society isn’t getting to town until tomorrow," I continued.

  "Taylor!" he shouted, causing both Myrna and me to flinch. "Why are you yelling across the room when m
y office is twenty feet away?"

  Myrna gave me a second shrug as she mouthed the word 'sorry'.

  I grabbed my notebook and walked to his office. I knocked once before opening the door.

  Parker lifted his big hand to stop me from entering. "Don't come near. I'm contagious or you might be contagious. Or we might both be contagious. Either way, my immune system has been compromised by the stressful morning. Evans is to blame for that. What is it you need, Taylor?"

  I stood in the doorway, not daring to take a step inside. "You told me not to shout across the room so I came to the office."

  He waved me out. "I didn't call you to the office. I was just asking why you were shouting. Now go get that interview and make sure that screwy bunch of ghost chasers sound unscrewy.

  Chapter 5

  Raine pushed up her long, flowing sleeves as she sat on the bench across from me. The sleeves slid right back down to her ring covered fingers.

  "Hope you don't mind if we eat outside," I said as I handed her the menu. "I can't get enough of the fall breeze. And the pretty colors. Such a relief after a sticky summer." The tall tulip poplars circling Layers, our favorite lunch spot, had just begun to slip into the glorious butter yellow glow of autumn. It was my first fall in Firefly Junction and I was waiting anxiously for all the trees to show off their fiery orange and red plumage, something I sadly missed when I worked in the city where the only sign of fall was the occasional sweater and scarf sale at the local department store.

  "I suppose city slickers like yourself are always awestruck by fall colors but after a few years of raking leaves just to find the front lawn, the whole thing sort of loses its charm." Raine put down the menu. "I think it's a Vincent Price sort of day, a patty melt with lots of grilled onions."