Once inside, Vanessa inhaled and closed her eyes. “I love the smell of baking cookies. It reminds me of when I was a little girl. Mama always had something good in the oven when I got home from school. But, of course, we didn’t live like this.” She swung her arm toward the crystal chandelier, the Persian rugs, and the massive oak staircase dominating the foyer. “Your mother married into this.”
“I remember visiting Nana and Grandpa Wells at their little house outside town. I loved her biscuits and homemade strawberry jam. We plan to try out her recipe when the strawberries come in.”
Elise looked up from her book as they entered the kitchen.
“Are you reading Aubrey’s book?” Vanessa asked.
Elise nodded. “I bought one last night. After hearing him announce he’d based the mansion in the book on this house, I thought I’d check it out.”
“I bought one, too,” Vanessa said. “We’ve known each other since kindergarten. He’s probably River Crest’s most famous citizen.”
“Aubrey gave me one for the house library,” Molly said. “He had promised one to Mom. He mentioned her in the acknowledgments and signed it, ‘To Harrington House. A true inspiration.’”
Vanessa laughed. “He signed mine, ‘To Vanessa, one of my oldest and dearest friends.’ What a crock. We traveled in the same circles, but I wouldn’t call him an old and dear friend.”
“I started reading this while the cookies were in the oven,” Elise said. “He may have used more than just the house as inspiration for his book.”
Molly and Vanessa exchanged glances. “Like what?” Molly asked.
“It’s set in an Ohio River town during Prohibition and is about a family named Harrison and their daughter, Eleanor. They make a ton of money in the shipping business and get involved in bootlegging moonshine from across the river. Eleanor falls in love with the wrong man and mysteriously dies in the mansion. Sound familiar?”
“Oh my,” Molly said. “Eleanor Harrison. Elnora Harrington. I should’ve read the book description more closely.”
Vanessa pulled the book across the counter and opened it to the inside flap. “You wouldn’t get all that from the blurb.” She read aloud, “Volatile, a gripping tale set during Prohibition amid moonshiners, bootleggers, and forbidden love in the Appalachian hills. Did the shipping magnate’s beautiful daughter commit suicide, or was she…murdered?” Vanessa drew out “murdered” in an overly dramatic tone.
“The romance is a subplot, but it sure seems to mirror what I know about your family,” Elise said.
“We should all read it and identify other similarities,” Molly said. “Though it doesn’t matter. It was so long ago, no one would make the connection. Will they?”
“So what if they do?” Elise said. “This town is barely a speck on the map. Is there anyone alive who remembers this? It was almost a hundred years ago.”
Vanessa fanned the pages of Aubrey’s book. “Perhaps Aunt Elnora didn’t like how Aubrey portrayed her, and she killed him.”
Molly wrinkled her brow. “I didn’t know ghosts could read.”
“What ghosts?” Nana asked from the doorway.
They turned, and Molly said, “It appears that Aubrey has taken a few liberties with our family’s history while writing his book.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s embellished on the local folklore. My granddaddy used to tell us tales that could curl your hair.” Nana slid onto a stool and plucked a cookie from the cooling sheet. “My great-granddaddy Mullins lived way up in a holler on the Kentucky side. He had a still, and from what my granddaddy said, it was the best moonshine around these parts. Old Pat Harrington”—she pointed at Molly—“your great-granddaddy on your daddy’s side, had the boats to move the shine up and down the river. No big secrets there. Shipping and bootlegging helped build this house and a good part of this town.” She took a bite of the cookie and closed her eyes with an appreciative, “Mmm.”
“Do you know what happened to Elnora Harrington?” Elise asked.
Nana shrugged. “No one really knows. That was before my time. Like everybody else, I’ve heard the stories about how Elnora took a likin’ to one of the boys from the wrong side of the river, and her daddy didn’t approve.”
“Star-crossed lovers,” Molly said. “Like Romeo and Juliet.”
“As star-crossed as anybody could get,” Nana said. “The story goes, her daddy said she had to break it off. She was only eighteen or nineteen. Then, on a stormy night, she climbed out the third-floor dormer window. Nobody knows why she was up there. So, whether she slipped on the wet tiles, jumped, or was pushed, the poor girl ended up on the ground with a broken neck.”
Molly shivered as if an icy hand had shimmied up her spine.
“Enough of these ghost stories. Mother, are you ready to go?” Vanessa asked. “I have a showing this afternoon, and then I have an appointment with the detective at four.”
“Yes, I am,” Nana said, swiping three more cookies from the plate. “I’ll get my purse and be right back.”
As Nana left the room, Vanessa said, “She can weave a story with the best of them, and I’m sure she can’t wait to be the center of attention at the dinner table tonight. She’ll have the ladies at the assisted living enthralled with her tales.”
The landline rang. Molly grabbed the receiver, still chuckling over the vision of her grandmother and her elderly friends around the dinner table and Nana embellishing the story with each new telling.
“Harrington House Bed-and-Breakfast.” Molly listened to the voice on the other end of the line before cutting him off. “No comment. Please contact Detective Tony Shannon at the county sheriff’s office.” She hung up.
“Who was it?” Vanessa asked, lines of concern crossing her forehead.
“It’s starting,” Molly said. “It was the local ABC news affiliate. They wanted a statement and an interview.”