Diva Wraps It Up, The

by Davis, Krista

  “Your confusion is understandable. My reservation was made by Mr. Luciano, who is in charge of the ghost hunting expedition. I am the ghost debunker whom he hired.”

  Debunker? She definitely shouldn’t be staying near the ghost hunters. Her cat would be happier in the Cat’s Pajamas, our cats only wing, anyway. I made a quick assessment based on her apparent love of vintage clothing and addressed the desk clerk on duty. “Zelda, let’s put Ms. Chevalier in Pounce.” Unless I missed my guess, she would love the pink cabbage drapes and the old-fashioned feel of the room. “Ms. Chevalier, what is your cat’s name?”

  “Mrs. Mewer.”

  “Like The Ghost and Mrs. Muir? That’s cute.”

  Eva smiled. “Thank you. It’s M–e–w–e–r, of course. I have a fondness for 1960s TV shows and puns. The name came from Mrs. Mewer’s tendency to talk.”

  “Mrs. Mewer will enjoy Pounce, I’m sure.”

  Zelda nudged me. “Where should I put Mr. Fischbein?”

  “Move Mr. Fischbein to Jump.”

  “What peculiar names for rooms. Do you have an aversion to numbers?” inquired Eva.

  “Like the town of Wagtail, the Sugar Maple Inn is pet-friendly, so we’ve changed all the room names to reflect pet activities,” I explained.

  A small man whom I’d barely noticed stepped closer, held up his forefinger, and murmured softly. “I . . . I’m Felix Fischbein. I . . . I brought my dog? I was told that was okay?”

  Eva turned to him with a devilish expression. “Mr. Fischbein, we meet at last.”

  Fischbein’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He stuck out a stiff hand to shake hers, his shoulders pulling tight as though he was cringing inside. He forced a smile, one corner of his mouth twitching with doubt. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” He shot a glance at one of his friends. A pudgy guy who glared at Eva. “Your reputation precedes you.”

  The Weimaraner backed away from her.

  Eva cast a critical eye at the pudgy guy. “I imagine it does.” Eva turned to us again. “I love it when ghost hunters quiver in my presence.”

  Uh oh. Did I sense tension? “Jump is a terrific room, Mr. Fischbein, and we’re very happy that you brought your dog.” That worked out well. He must not have informed us that he was bringing a dog. No matter. Problem solved. Plus we had moved away from the argument about ghosts.

  And then Casey returned and had to go and say, “It was definitely a ghost.”

  Zelda whispered, “Bet she doesn’t believe in psychics, either.”

  Oh no. Not what we needed right now. Zelda fancied herself a pet psychic.

  “There’s nothing wrong with my hearing,” Eva announced. “But you are quite right. Psychics prey on those who haven’t the intelligence to know better. They’re nothing more than modern-day snake oil salesmen.” Eva gathered her cat into her arms.

  Zelda stiffened. “Mrs. Mewer wants you to know that she’s afraid of the vultures.”

  Eva glared at Zelda. “Which way is my room, please?”

  Mrs. Mewer hunched her back and dug her claws into Eva’s unfortunate wool coat. The cat ducked her head and twisted it so she could keep an eye on the vultures overhead.

  I hoped Zelda and Casey wouldn’t high-five in front of Eva. I hurried to change the subject. “Would you like a GPS locating collar for Mrs. Mewer’s use during her stay?”

  Eva pondered for a moment. “No. She’s very good at walking on a leash.”

  I didn’t dare trust Zelda or Casey to show Eva to her room. They were bound to argue with her about ghosts and psychics.

  “Would you keep an eye on Trixie?” I asked Zelda and Casey as I handed Eva her welcome packet.

  “This way, please.” I picked up Eva’s bags and led her into the main part of the inn, past the large sitting room and the grand staircase. Someone had gone overboard with the decorations. A mummy stood guard on each side of the staircase. Candles flickered on assorted black iron stands and a trio of faux, oversized black cats hissed at us.

  I pointed at the busy tables in the dining area. “We serve breakfast, lunch, and afternoon tea as well as light dishes by room service on request. There’s a menu in your room, and a cat menu for Mrs. Mewer. I believe Mr. Luciano has made special arrangements for most of your meals. Breakfast is here at the inn at your convenience, and there’s a welcome reception for you at five o’clock this afternoon in the sitting room.” We walked through the library and into the newly built cat wing.

  I unlocked the door and switched on the overhead light, gesturing for Eva to enter. If she was distressed by the conversation regarding her disbeliefs, she showed no sign of it. I debated apologizing for the staff. I probably should.

  She lowered Mrs. Mewer to the bed and turned around in the center of the spacious guest room, taking it in with a dreamy expression. “This is lovely. Thank you for changing my room. I have no idea what the other room looks like, of course, but it couldn’t be any more perfect than this.”

  Pink and red cabbage roses on a soft blue background graced the drapes and down comforter duvet. The walls had been painted the palest blue and the wood floors had been whitewashed, a nice match with the white headboard, white tufted bench at the foot of the bed, and a cozy white armchair near the fireplace. Over top of the bed, in between paintings of cabbage roses, hung a framed saying in an artful gold script: If man could be crossed with the cat it would improve the man, but it would deteriorate the cat. ~Mark Twain.

  An antique mahogany dressing table with a huge mirror and the delicate crystal chandelier that hung from the ceiling offered additional feminine touches.

  Mrs. Mewer wasted no time in leaping to the catwalk that ran along the walls near the ceiling. She viewed us from above with haughty pleasure.

  I strode over to the sliding glass doors and demonstrated how to lock the cat door to the porch. When I opened it, Mrs. Mewer zoomed through, evoking a cry of distress from Eva.

  “She’s fine.” I unlatched the sliding glass door and walked out to the porch with Eva on my heels.

  “It’s securely enclosed with cat-proof screening.”

  Mrs. Mewer had already climbed to the highest point of the tree that had been installed inside the porch just for feline guests. She rested on a branch like a panther, purring so loud that we couldn’t mistake her contentment. A gentle wind blew, no doubt carrying the scents of squirrels and other woodland creatures.

  “This is amazing. Luciano told me that the Sugar Maple Inn offered special quarters for cats but I never imagined anything like this. Is there a litter box?”

  “In the bathroom. And I must apologize for Casey and Zelda. I’m terribly sorry about their behavior.”

  Eva shrugged. “I’m used to it. Three out of four Americans believe in ghosts or some sort of supernatural activity. To do otherwise would destroy their hope in an afterlife. It’s understandable that they wouldn’t want to give up that dream, hence the continuing search for evidence which does not exist.” She sighed. “I can’t complain. I’m augmenting my teaching income by proving it’s all nonsense. The believers keep me employed.”

  “Thank you for being so understanding. Give me a call if there’s anything you need.” As I left the room, Eva was examining the contents of her gift basket. Mrs. Mewer would be thrilled with the locally made toys and treats, and after her less than welcome reception, Eva would probably enjoy the bottle of Fat Cat wine.

  I rushed back to the registration desk. But I ran into the room and stopped short.

  A perfectly round white circle traveled slowly across the wall.

 

 

 
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