The night before the baking competition…
I tucked my feather duster underneath my arm and fished my small notepad and pencil out of my apron pocket. I leaned against a bookcase in the library, chewing on the inside of my cheek. Fifteen minutes from now, the first official ghost tour would begin, and I would help lead the guests through the spooky library part of the tour.
My costume—an undead maid—was meant to strike fear into the hearts of the guests, but I was struggling to concentrate on the task ahead.
I was stuck on Brenda’s murder.
Hastily, I scribbled out my notes.
Glendaree Bijon lied about recipe book being stolen. No alibi.
Norman Sweet had ample motive to get rid of Brenda, but claims he was going to break up with her. No alibi. Supposedly works at the library but leaves for work early? Very suspicious.
Kayla Wren wants to win the competition and was canoodling with Norman Sweet. Find out alibi?
Colton Harrison wants to win the competition but doesn’t have a strong motive. Find out alibi?
Marie Tippett supposedly arrived after her sister’s demise. Can’t be a suspect then, can she?
White Kia or hatchback sighted near house on morning.
Muddy bootprints on the front porch but the flowerbeds were dry.
Note under the fridge that mentioned the recipe book.
Brenda invited a lot of people over and was friendly.
Potential attempted murderer on the loose? Could that be the reason why none of this makes sense?
“Charlotte.” My grandmother poked her head around the library’s heavy oak wood door. “Are you ready?”
“Yeah.” I slipped my notepad and pen into the front pocket of my apron and brushed my hands off.
“Good. You look frightful!”
“As per the plan.” I’d done my makeup white and ghostly, with dark circles under my eyes.
“Lauren is leading them from the kitchen. They’ll be here any second.” My grandmother’s excitement was palpable, and I couldn’t fault her for that, even though I was utterly frustrated by the case and my lack of progress.
You should’ve focused on getting their alibis before anything else. But it was easier said than done. People weren’t willing to talk to strangers about their whereabouts.
A knock rat-tatted at the library’s door, and I drew myself up straight. I had practiced my lines for tonight over and over again. Spooky stuff was my favorite, especially with Halloween in a couple of months.
“Enter,” I said, lifting my chin, and sweeping my feather duster through the air.
The library door creaked open—Gamma had decided we’d forgo oiling the hinges to add to the creep factor—and the guests and attendees of the ghost tour shuffled into the library. A few of them gasped at the sight of me, and I swallowed my mirth.
“Welcome, living ones,” I said, with another sweep of my feather duster. “I have a torrid tale to tell. Will you listen? Or will you flee?”
A younger teen in the back let out an audible gulp. Her friend nudged her and rolled her eyes.
“Answer me,” I yelled, drawing several shocked cries. “A simple yes will suffice.”
A variety of responses in the positive followed.
“Very well.” Another sweep of my feather duster as I strutted toward a bookcase. “You have entered the library of the Gossip Inn, once a museum, and before then… who knows what this building was used for? Rumor has it that the original owner was a recluse. A hermit. And all who stepped onto these grounds would suffer a fate worse than death.”
I paused, allowing the words to sink into the room. They were, of course, untrue. Gamma and I had no idea how the inn had come to be. Even the previous owner of the museum had been unsure of its history.
But for the sake of the ghost tour, we used a variety of tall tales to feed the fear. After the murders that had occurred at the inn, it was easy to draw in a crowd of people driven by morbid fascination.
“He installed a variety of secret passages, one of which would lead to a guest’s ultimate demise.” I leaned over and clicked the button on the side of the bookcase. There was a click, and it swung outward, revealing the rickety staircase beyond.
The ghost tour attendees gasped. The teens murmured appreciatively.
“Now, it’s getting cool,” a girl whispered.
“Follow me,” I hissed, and started up the stairs.
The guests shuffled in behind me, a deathly silence descended upon them. At the top of the stairs, we entered the attic. Gamma and I had discussed putting up a recreation of the scene, but we figured it was a little too soon to do that. It was one thing to host a ghost tour, but we didn’t want to mock the deceased.
The attic itself was spooky at this time of night. We’d set up several lanterns to cast their flickering light across the collection of covered and uncovered furniture, most of it dusty.
“In this very room,” I said, walking to the end of the attic and stopping beside one of the windows that looked out on the roof’s shingled overhang and the inn’s grounds below, “a man was murdered. Strung up and left to die. It is rumored that his spirit haunts the attic and library, roaming across it, occasionally letting out a scream of terror to frighten those guests who—”
A piercing howl broke through my words.
The ghost tour attendees yelled, screeched and grabbed onto each other.
It would’ve been priceless if not for the fact that the howl wasn’t part of our script. I had a recorded scream that I could play from my phone at any moment, and I had not touched the button.
“What was that?” a woman cried. “Did you hear that?”
“It’s not real. This is not real.”
“I’m totally freaking out right now, Dorothy. Are you totally freaking out right now?”
“We’re not in Kansas anymore, sister.”
While I appreciated the humor in the Wizard of Oz references, it didn’t help clarify what on earth was going on. This wasn’t part of the plan.
I glanced out of the window and my heart went cold.
A wolf paced around outside in the grounds, right beside the greenhouse. It let out another howl to the inky night sky. The guests rushed toward the windows, gasping and pointing.
“What’s that?”
“It’s a wolf! A werewolf!”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Dorothy, werewolves don’t exist.”
“Didn’t I tell you we weren’t in Kansas anymore?”
“I thought you said you were from Arkansas?”
Another figure appeared near the greenhouse. This one, a woman wearing a cloak. No. A pashmina.
Belle-Blue! Caught in the act. Why had she brought a wolf to the inn’s grounds? Had Gamma been right about her all along? Was she somehow involved in what had happened to Brenda or…?
Another person appeared below. My grandmother. Marching toward Belle-Blue.
“Everyone remain calm,” I said, and then I dropped the feather duster, popped the window open and climbed out of it onto the roof.
The guests screamed. They applauded. They would surely be back again for round two. Heavenly only knew how I’d involve this in the routine the second time around.
Agile as a cat, I moved down the roof tiles and toward the drop off to the first floor overhang above the kitchen door. I dropped down onto it, then let myself off the edge and onto the steps.
“—knew you were up to no good!” My grandmother’s voice carried across the grounds.
“No idea what you’re talking about,” Jessie said. “I’m out for a stroll, that’s all.”
“With a wolf?”
“This is a husky,” Jessie replied.
I rushed across the grass toward the pair. My grandmother faced off the pashmina-draped interloper, her fists on her hips. The wolf, actually, a beautiful blue-eyed husky that barked and hopped, occasionally letting out a howl, seemed fascinated with the greenhouse.
“You’re spying on us, aren’t you?” Gamma asked. “You knew tonight was the first night of the ghost tours so you decided to come by and see what information you could gather.”
“Your ghost tours pale in comparison to mine. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Belle-Blue tried walking off but Gamma caught her arm.
“You’re not going anywhere!”
“Unhand me, you witch!”
“Hey,” I snapped at the pair of them. “Calm down. Belle-Blue, if you don’t want to get arrested for trespassing, I suggest you tell us what you’re doing here. Now.”
“I told you. I was going for a stroll.” Belle-Blue folded her arms. “Clearing my head before I judge the baking competition tomorrow.” Even now, caught trespassing, the woman was insufferable. She cast a smirk at my grandmother. “Aren’t you happy for me, Georgina? Judging a prestigious competition like this?”
“I know you’re up to something. I’m going to find out what it is.”
The husky sniffed and whined, letting out another howl and scratching at the greenhouse door. What was that about?
“Charleston,” Jessie said, patting her leg. “Charleston, come here, boy.”
The dog ignored her. I didn’t blame him.
“Charleston!”
I glanced back up at the attic window. Most of the guests had their hands and noses pressed to the windows, watching in awe as the situation unfolded.
“I’m calling the cops,” Gamma said. “How about that, Belle-Blue? I bet they’ll be very interested to hear you’ve been trespassing on my property for the past week. Oh yes, I know all about it. I have camera footage. They call that direct evidence, you know. Direct evidence of your crime.”
Jessie paled.
The dog yelped and whined.
My irritation at the situation grew, and I marched over to the greenhouse door and opened it with a thunk.
Three things happened simultaneously.
Jessie screeched for me to stop.
The husky dog let out a yip of glee and streaked into the greenhouse.
And a man, standing in the center of the greenhouse wearing raggedy clothes, a smiley face tattoo underneath his eye, turned and tried to run out of the back door of the greenhouse.
Except there was no back door. He slammed into the misted glass at the back and broke through stumbling before crashing to the ground face first.
“It’s the convict!” I said. “Quinton McLarkall.” I raced out after him, crunching over broken glass. The husky dog rounded the side of the greenhouse, avoiding the glass, thankfully, and licked the side of the man’s face.
Quinton groaned. He had several small lacerations on his cheeks.
“Quinton!” Jessie screeched, and ran over, flapping her pashmina like a bat from the below. “Quinton, are you all right?”
“I’m fine, auntie.”
“Auntie?” Gamma and I asked in unison.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Gamma asked, striding over. “Why are you here? Belle-Blue?” The danger in her tone struck fear into my heart, and I wasn’t on my grandmother’s bad side. “Explain yourself!”
Belle-Blue rolled Quinton over and checked him for serious wounds, fussing and cooing.
“I’m fine,” Quinton said. “I didn’t get injured. Just a few cuts and scrapes. Sorry about your greenhouse.”
“Jessie.” That was all Gamma had left to say.
Belle-Blue’s chin wobbled. “I didn’t know where else to bring them. His mother kicked him and Charleston out of their home after Quinton was released from prison and I can’t have them at the guesthouse. I… I can’t do it.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because she’s afraid of how it will look,” Gamma answered instantly. “You didn’t want to ruin your chances of being a judge for the Tri-State Baking Competition, isn’t that right, Belle-Blue?”
The other woman nodded mournfully. “I needed a place where Quinton and Charleston would be safe until the competition was over. Everyone in this town is so judgmental! Even though he’s been proven innocent, they still think that he killed that man.”
“I didn’t,” Quinton grumbled. Charlston had crawled into his lap and was licking his face, wagging his fluffy tail like crazy.
“He’s my only blood relation left,” Jessie said. “His mother passed, and his father is an evil creature who married into our family. I just wanted to keep him safe.”
It was the first time I’d seen a soft side of Belle-Blue, and I didn’t like that I felt sympathy for her after all the trouble she’d put us through.
“And you thought you’d use my inn as a safehouse? My greenhouse?”
“He only sleeps here at night,” Jessie said. “It hasn’t been a problem until now. It—”
“Quiet.” Gamma raised a hand. “I should have you both arrested for trespassing.”
Quinton bowed his head. Charleston, who was growing cuter by the second, whined and wagged his tail at us.
“But I won’t. Belle-Blue, you’re going to pay for the repair of my greenhouse. Quinton, you can stay here, in the shack on the edge of the grounds. You’ll pay your way by helping with the gardening. Charleston can stay too. Outdoors. Nowhere near my cats.”
What was my grandmother thinking? I was all for empathy, but what if this guy was a murderer?
If he is, it will make questioning him that much easier.
“Thank you,” Quinton said.
Jessie looked like she’d swallowed a toad. She didn’t like relying on my grandmother for anything, but what could she say? The alternative was losing her spot on the judging panel due to negative public opinion.
“I don’t like this one bit,” my grandmother continued, “but that’s the way it’s going to go. And once the anger and fear have blown over, Quinton, we’ll discuss next steps. Perhaps, you’ll move in with your aunt then, though I don’t see why you’d want to when she’s made it clear she’s embarrassed by you.”
Jessie colored and opened her mouth to say something, doubtlessly snarky, before snapping her jaws together.
“Quinton,” I said, the thought occurring to me. “Where were you on Monday morning?”
“I was with my aunt,” he replied, nodding to Jessie. “She took me to Crabapple to get breakfast.”
“It’s true.” Jessie’s tone was displeased.
Would Jessie lie to protect Quinton? Or was that a stretch? It seemed he had an alibi for the morning of Brenda’s murder and that meant that this was yet another dead-end in the case.