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 my 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.