A Crafty Killing Page 9

  I filled the coffee pot. "Not sure if it's necessary. She seems pretty smitten."

  "I'll say." Emily scooped coffee into the filter. "Never seen her act so flirty and frivolous. It's kind of funny. We'll definitely have to tease her about it when we're all alone."

  "I'm on board with that plan."

  Emily flipped on the coffee pot and turned around to look at me. "This is going to be awkward for you, isn't it?"

  "Oh yeah. Of all the men, she had to pick Dave Crockett."

  "Dave Crockett," Edward repeated. "Why does that name sound so familiar?"

  I flicked an eye roll his direction.

  Lana scurried into the kitchen. She shrank down and lowered her voice. "What do you guys think?"

  Emily and I were both flabbergasted. Our big sister rarely asked our opinions on things, especially men. It seemed she genuinely liked Dave.

  "He's very nice," Emily said and looked to me for further comment.

  "Yes, he's nice," I added lamely.

  Lana took our responses as negative. Her brows scrunched. "I know he's no George Clooney, but he's polite and funny and he has a good job."

  Her last comment made my brows jump up. Lana noticed.

  "That's it. It's about the job. Is there some kind of conflict or problem with Dave working at the paper? When he told me, I didn't know how to react."

  I took hold of Lana's hand. "It's not a problem. If you're happy, and you seem to be, then I'm happy."

  Emily joined us. "Me too. You both seem suited for each other."

  "I admit I haven't been this interested in someone for a long time," Lana cooed.

  "You also haven't blushed like that for a long time," I teased. "This might just be the guy." Right then, I decided I would take a quiet backseat to Dave in the newspaper office. I didn't want to cause any friction or in any way disrupt the budding relationship. After all, I was enjoying a blissful, dreamy relationship. Why shouldn't Lana?

  Chapter 18

  We carried the coffees into the dining room. Only Jackson and Dave remained at the table. Nick had decided to throw the ball for Newman and had walked out to the yard. It seemed Dave had just finished a college story about winning a coveted prize for journalism. He didn't seem to be short on stories to brag about. He'd doled out three during dinner, each one just a little too lacking in humility.

  As we set down the coffees, Jackson's expression was stony, hard to read, whereas Dave had a broad smile. He hopped up to get Lana's chair. Jackson apparently felt shown up and jumped up to do the same. It was awkward and a little too late.

  "I can manage on my own, sweetie," I said with a teasing wink.

  "Good God, how can he possibly be a Beckett?" Edward's mocking tone floated around the room.

  Jackson instinctively opened his mouth to respond, but I grabbed his hand and squeezed it hard. I added in an admonishing look to remind him why he couldn't freely engage in banter with our invisible guest. He was still getting used to the notion that no one else heard or saw Edward. I knew from experience there were still quite a few embarrassing lessons to be learned. I sensed it was eating him up inside not to be able to engage in a biting retort.

  Since Emily did the cooking and my own contribution was minimal, I insisted Jackson and I would do clean up. The other guests took their coffees out to the front stoop to gaze at the starlit sky.

  I sensed Jackson was keeping something from me. He kept looking away as I turned to hand him a dish to dry. He'd hardly said a word since we walked into the kitchen.

  "You're quiet," I said casually. "Too much strawberry pie?"

  "There's never too much pie. Just thinking about the day, I guess." I also knew when he was not telling the truth, but I decided to test out my theory.

  "Oh? What about? Details on the case?" My questions clearly threw him off balance. It seemed he thought he could just throw out a casual 'thinking about the day' reference without backing up the claim with specifics.

  "Huh? What case?" He noticed his mistake instantly and stumbled over his words. "Right, right the case. That case."

  I turned to face him with soapy hands held in the air. "All right, buster, what's going on? You're acting awfully un-Jackson like."

  He attempted to divert my attention with a laugh. "And exactly what is Jackson-like behavior?"

  "Oh no, you're not changing the subject that easy. I'm on to you." I spotted Edward in the corner of the kitchen wearing an amused grin.

  Jackson glanced back toward the doorway to make sure we were alone. (Well, relatively alone as long as nosy ghosts weren't counted.)

  He turned back to me and moved closer. "It's just something Crockett said bothered me."

  I inched closer too. "Was it something about Lana?" I was looking for any excuse to loathe the man. One wrong word about my sister would have done it.

  "No, he seems genuinely fond of her. He's especially impressed with her business sense and success."

  "She's not rich," I said brusquely. "Is that it? He's a gold digger, isn't he?"

  Jackson sighed in frustration. "Are you going to let me explain, or are you just going to keep adding in your own guesses?"

  I pinched my lips together and pointed to my ear to assure him I was listening without further comment.

  "Do you remember competing for some story contest in college? It was a big one, between ten colleges?"

  "Right. The Golden Eagle award for most intriguing news article." I smiled smugly. "I just happened to win it. I've got the gold eagle trophy somewhere in the attic." I scrunched my nose in confusion. "How did you hear about that?"

  "That's what Crockett brought up while you guys were making coffee." He looked around again and spun back to face me. "He was going on about how it was only right that Prudence put him in as lead reporter because you were going to leave the business soon anyhow. Then he muttered something about how he'd finally bested you. I prodded him further, pretending that it was guy talk, and we were passing the time with stories. It seems Dave Crockett used to write under the name David Crawford. He only recently decided to use his real name. Apparently, he'd endured too much teasing about the Crockett name in college."

  The point of the story was coming clear to me. "David Crawford got second place in that contest. I never met him. Sore loser never showed up to the award ceremony. I guess second place wasn't good enough." I leaned back against the counter, slightly breathless with surprise. "I'll bet he was thrilled to find out that he would be replacing his nemesis for lead reporter. What a stinker."

  Laughter drifted in from the front stoop. Lana was laughing the loudest, so I could only assume it was something Dave said.

  "That's all right. I'll just have to ignore it. Lana is happy and that's all that matters. But I won't pretend that I'm not disappointed that the man she finally set her sights on is someone who apparently holds grudges for a long time."

  I plunged my hands back into the soapy water. Wispy bubbles floated up and around the kitchen, their ethereal movement reminding me a little of the way Edward moved. I glanced over my shoulder to see if he was still perched in his favorite spot. He'd vanished again but I was sure he wasn't far. Dinner guests sure made him shy. Maybe I needed to have dinner parties more often.

  Jackson put down the drying towel when his phone rang. "Jackson here." The way he answered assured me it was work calling. He wandered toward the hallway for the conversation. In the interim, my housemate appeared in front of me. He looked sullen. At least that was my interpretation. Even though he was mostly wavy vapor, I'd become quite skilled at reading his moods, even when he hadn't made it abundantly clear with one of his snarky comments.

  "What's gotten into you, Mr. Glum?"

  "This is not my glum look. This is my provoked look."

  "Provoked? Why on earth are you feeling provoked? Just because I had some dinner guests?"

  "You know very well how irritated I get when the house is filled with people who chatter and laugh nonstop."

  Lana'
s laughter (somewhat overdone for her normal laugh) floated inside again, adding weight to his complaint.

  "Do you see?" he asked. "And what is with your sister? That is not her natural laugh. Why on earth is she trying so hard to impress that tedious man? There are stone statues in the park with better fashion sense."

  "He does seem to like the color gray." I dried my hands and turned to him. "It's sweet to think that you know my sister well enough to know what her natural laugh sounds like. Here I was thinking that you're only paying attention to yourself when you're hanging around."

  "Of course I know her laugh. It's terribly irritating."

  "And there goes the sweet moment. Poof. Gone." I turned back to my sink of suds.

  "It seems the house is always filled with people. We hardly ever just have a quiet evening." His voice changed as if it was coming from somewhere deeper in his chest. "I miss our conversations, just the two of us, talking, debating, trading stories."

  I paused and stared down at the bubbles, the tiny pops of transparent soap I'd just compared him to. With his unearthly appearance and ability to fade in and out of a room, I sometimes forgot that he was, at one time, a living breathing human who needed friendship, compassion and understanding. I was under no illusion that he hadn't also had some unsavory needs and his character was not always one to be admired. Still, his words and tone seemed to suggest that he was feeling neglected. I was, after all, the one person he counted on for interaction. Jackson and Edward were more prone to antagonism, so it fell to me to listen to his softer, human side.

  I faced him again. "I'm sorry, Edward. It has been busy in this house lately. I promise to set aside some time where there are no contractors pounding nails, no sisters laughing and chatting and—"

  As if on cue, Jackson walked back into the kitchen. "You sure know a murder when you're looking at one, Bluebird."

  "Once again a true romantic. Truly, you should write love poems." Edward had snapped back to his usual self. I realized then that it was a sort of defense mechanism. His sarcasm helped hide his true feelings. I'd just glimpsed the real deal. Edward was in need of companionship as much as anyone else. I shuddered to think how many lonely years he'd spent drifting around the halls of the inn with no end to his solitude in sight.

  "You were so quiet tonight," Jackson started. "I thought maybe you finally found your way to wherever it is you're supposed to go."

  "To wherever it is I'm supposed to go?" Edward asked. "Astute and intellectual as usual. I might have started the bloodline, but somewhere along the way—"

  "All right you two, enough. What did you find out about the murder?"

  "Henrietta Lopez died of an injection of cyanide. According to the way the needle was lodged in her hip, the coroner has theorized that the victim might have been bending over to do something when her assailant plunged the needle into her flesh. Henrietta spun around at the sharp pain. The needle might have snapped off then, just before she fell over dead."

  "So Henrietta actually saw her killer. Everything the coroner said makes sense. Henrietta was probably setting up her quilts. Which means it had to be someone at the fair before it opened, a worker or a fellow vendor."

  "That would be my guess. I'll have to start with the potter to see if he left behind the clay covered footprint."

  Voices and more laughter let us know that the guests were coming back into the house. Edward had vanished when Jackson and I started talking about murder. I was sure he'd gone off to sulk for the rest of the evening or until everyone cleared out. I would make a point of staying up a little later so the two of us could chat. It seemed my ghost was more needy than usual these days.

  Chapter 19

  Now that the Prudence cat was out of the proverbial bag, my contractors were back to making themselves quite at home in my kitchen. The smell of bacon met me as I headed down the hallway. Henry had helped himself to the package of bacon. He stood at the stove in his work overalls and cap, waiting for the strips to reach the perfect sizzle.

  "Hey, Sunni," Henry called from his sentry position as bacon monitor.

  Ursula set about pouring cream into her coffee with intense concentration as if she was about to do brain surgery. She seemed hesitant about greeting me, so she wasn't entirely at home yet. I'd let her off easy for a day, but I decided to ask a few questions.

  I started off easy with a cheery greeting. "Morning, Ursula. Is that a new pair of overalls?"

  She stirred her cream gently and finally looked up at me. "Yes, they've got a few extra pockets. You can never have too many pockets in my business." Her chirpy tone reminded me of the sickly sweet smile she'd attempted on the morning when she insisted nothing was wrong as long as her aunt taking over the newspaper couldn't be counted as a bad thing.

  "Now she spends fifteen minutes looking for her tape measure instead of the usual ten," Henry quipped as he lifted a strip of crisp bacon from the pan.

  "Oh shush. And who told you to cook up that bacon. You could at least ask," Ursula reprimanded as she returned the carton of cream she'd just opened to the fridge.

  "That reminds me, Sunni." Henry sat at the table with his six slices of bacon. Not exactly a breakfast filled with nutrients. "The window installers need to set up some scaffolding at the back of the house. They'll be here in an hour."

  I walked over to the coffee pot. Ursula had already brewed a pot which saved me the trouble. I sat at the table with Henry. Ursula was a little too uncomfortable to sit for a conversation, but I started one anyhow.

  "So your Aunt Prudence found an investment for her money." I tossed it out and an awkward silence followed. Even Henry's crunching stopped. He at least had the courage to look at me. Ursula was back to stirring her coffee with great concentration.

  "I told you she was going to be upset," Henry said. "I wanted to warn you but ole Chicken Little in the multi-pocketed overalls was too scared."

  "I'm not upset, however I would have loved a heads up." I turned to Ursula who looked like a little girl in her oversized overalls, cradling her coffee cup like it was precious. "What I really want to know is did she do this just to spite me? Was it because she wanted to invest in the inn and I said no? She has no newspaper experience. It's hardly a business venture that will make money."

  Henry cleared his throat. He realized he was going to have to do the talking, a rarity for this sibling team. "There might have been a touch of spite, but mostly, Prue fancies herself an entrepreneur. She has more money and time than she knows what to do with, and she has always thought the newspaper needed an overhaul. If you ask me, I think she'll make a mess of things, but that might just bring her down a few notches. She's always been a know-it-all."

  Ursula hadn't said a word. I looked her direction after Henry's speech. Her eyes were glassy. She sniffled twice.

  "Are you mad at me, Sunni?" she asked with another sniffle.

  "Of course she is." Henry enthusiastically jumped in.

  I stood up. "No, I'm not mad, Ursula." I hugged her and she sniffled loudly, drawing in one long sniff.

  "I just couldn't bear it if you were mad at me." She was nearly blubbering by the time our embrace ended. She began searching around in the numerous pockets of her overalls for a tissue. (There really were a lot of them.)

  "Oh, for heaven's sake," Henry grumbled as he marched over with a napkin. "Told you there were too many pockets." He was speaking gruffly, but the kind gesture of rushing over a napkin showed how much he truly cared about his sister.

  I patted Ursula's shoulder. "It's all fine. I'll do the best I can for your aunt to make sure her investment is sound."

  Henry waved off my comment. "Don't fret about it. The woman will probably leave everything to her lady's club and church."

  Ursula's water works turned off instantly, and the Ursula we all knew and loved returned. (I had to admit I rather preferred the cantankerous, lively, less sniffling version.) Her hands went to her slim hips. "Henry Rice, I've told you not to tempt fate by talking about
her death. And it's her business what she does with her money. She can line her coffin with it if that pleases her." Her hand flew to her mouth. "I can't believe I just said that. Now I'm just as bad as Henry. See what you do? You're a terrible influence. Now, if you're finished eating everything in the kitchen, march your bacon stuffed self upstairs and get started on that crown molding."

  "One minute she's crying like a baby, the next she's Attila the Hun," Henry muttered as he tromped out of the room with the last two slices of bacon.

  Ursula's eyes were still glassy and her nose was pink. "Just a little advice. Stand up to her sometimes. I'm not saying get yourself fired. I know you need that job to finish the inn. But don't let her walk all over you. She can be a bear but she's also reasonable." She hugged me again. (Apparently I'd started a thing.)

  She was still wiping her eyes with the napkin as she scurried out of the room.

  "Those two get more ludicrous every day," Edward scoffed from the kitchen doorway. "Are you all right? I sense something has gone awry at the newspaper."

  I couldn't stop a smile. "There you go again getting all sensitive to my feelings." Before he could contradict me or say something that shattered the sweet moment, I spoke again. "Actually, things are not all right at the newspaper. I'd finally gotten the lead reporter position, and the new owner has given the position to someone else." I decided to leave out names and details about the new owner and new lead reporter. I worried he might annoy or perform one of his ghostly tricks on Dave if he came to the inn. I didn't expect Prudence to show up here, but Edward knew she was related to Ursula and Henry. And he was always happy to scare the wits out of Ursula.

  "Of course, in my day, you would never be a lead reporter, or a reporter, for that matter, but it doesn't seem fair. I'm sorry, Sunni. I hope your day goes better today."

  I stared at him for a long moment waiting for the sarcasm to follow. It didn't. "Well, thank you, Edward. And I apologize in advance for the day you're about to have. I'm afraid there will be hammering upstairs."