The Inn at Holiday Bay: Haunting in the Hallway

by Kathi Daley

  “I agreed. I’m looking forward to the entire month. Did Lonnie come by to help you hang the skeletons in the hallways?”

  Georgia nodded. I had hired Lonnie Parker to oversee the renovation of the inn, and even though his job was now complete, we could always count on him to come by when we needed either some muscle or some height; Georgia and I were both petite.

  “While he was here, he promised that he would be by this week to check out the flicker we seem to be having in the lights in both the inn and the cottage.”

  I smiled. “The flicker that Gaylord is certain is linked to the strange noises he’s been hearing in the hallway at night?”

  Georgia’s face grew serious. “I realize that Gaylord’s assertion that we have spooks in the house is sort of out there, but he’s not the only guest to mention the rattling in the hallway. The couple who checked out of suite two a few days ago swore they heard a pitter-patter overhead, and the man who stayed in suite three said he felt a presence when he got up to grab a snack in the middle of the night.”

  “It’s probably just the very realistic decorations you’ve put up. We wanted to create the feel of a haunted inn and, apparently, we’ve done just that.”

  “What about the flickering lights?” Georgia asked.

  “I’m sure it is just a short in the wiring system. Lonnie will figure it out.”

  Georgia got up and walked to the window. It was still pouring rain. “I guess I should go to do our nighttime lockup.” She pulled on a rain slicker. “Hopefully, if we do have a ghost, it will behave itself tonight.”

  The inn was a twenty-four-hour a day, seven day a week undertaking. Georgia and I had established a routine of locking all the doors and making sure all the overhead lights on the main floor were turned off at ten. There were dim nightlights for guests who might get up for a drink or a snack after that, and all the suite keys also opened the back door leading from the kitchen out to the drive between the house and the cottage, should one of the guests return from town after lockup. At this point, Georgia was working seven days a week with Nikki’s help, but eventually, we planned to employ someone to cover the daily operations at least part of the time so Georgia could have some time off. Of course, we’d just begun booking rooms two months ago, so in the short term, she seemed fine with the way things were. She provided a hot breakfast and dinner, but the guests were on their own for lunch. With Nikki’s assistance with the cleaning and laundry, Georgia had time to focus on marketing, reservations, and the food.

  I picked up my teacup and cookie plate, set them in the sink, and began emptying the dishwasher. During the day, Georgia handled the inn, while I focused on my writing, but we generally shared the chores associated with the cottage in which we lived together now that Georgia had a full-time job, just as I did. Now that my writing career was up to speed again and the inn was fully operational, Georgia and I were both busier than we first imagined we would be. That was fine, though. I could see that Georgia was in her element with meals to prepare and guests to see to, and I was happy to be back in the saddle with my writing. I’d started off slowly, uncertain of my readiness to be back in the public eye, but I had a book signing at the local bookstore the next day, and my newest novel would be released in a month.

  I reached up to place a pair of wineglasses on the overhead rack when I noticed that I had a call on my cell phone. It was Colt, so I picked up. “Hey. What’s going on? The body we found did turn out to be Wesley Hamilton, right?”

  “It did. At least the first one.”

  “The first one?”

  “When the crime scene guys got here and excavated Wesley’s body, they found another one beneath his.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “I’m afraid not. The other body is fully decayed, so we don’t know who it belonged to or how long it’s been there yet. What I can say is that whoever killed Wesley was not the first person to have the idea to bury their kill in the Hamilton family plot.”

  Chapter 2

  Dixie Landers and her daughter were an absolute delight. When I arrived at the inn the following morning, they immediately invited me to join them for breakfast on the patio. Georgia had ignited my curiosity about Dixie’s story during our conversation the previous evening, so I graciously accepted.

  “Your inn is lovely,” Dixie said after I’d served myself from the buffet and joined them on the patio.

  “Thank you.” I smiled at the dark-haired woman. “I feel very fortunate to have found it.”

  “It’s such a unique property,” Holly added. “The way it overlooks both the sea and the forest. The view has to be one of the best along the entire stretch of coastline.”

  “Our neighbor to the north of us has a pretty amazing view as well, but he doesn’t sit up quite as high as we do, so I agree, the view from this property is the best in the area.” I took a sip of my coffee. “Georgia filled me in on the reason for your stay, but she didn’t mention where you are from.”

  “Augusta,” Holly supplied.

  “Georgia?”

  “Maine,” Dixie corrected.

  “That isn’t all that far from Holiday Bay. Have you visited here before?”

  “A few times,” Dixie replied. “Now that I’ve read the journal and my memories are beginning to return, I’m sure I must have spent some time here when I was a child. I’m not certain that I lived here, though. I remember our home being surrounded by forest. I don’t remember being near the sea, but I do have a very vague memory of visiting a lighthouse.”

  “It must be so odd to be handed a piece of your life you had all but forgotten.”

  Dixie tilted her head and stared off into space as if pulling at the string of a memory. “Very odd. And to know I have sisters I’d forgotten about is the oddest part of the whole thing. I’ve spent a lot of time in the past few weeks trying to picture them, but all I can really pull up are flashes of images that I can’t seem to focus.”

  “Did your adoptive parents know about your sisters and your past?”

  Dixie looked directly at me. “I don’t know. They were killed in an automobile accident when I was eight. One of my aunts on my father’s side raised me. She never mentioned anything about my past, and I never asked. She passed away three years ago, so I can’t ask her now. The only relative still alive from the families of either of my adoptive parents is an uncle who lives in Philadelphia. I called and spoke to him after I received the journal, but he and my father weren’t close, and he swears he didn’t know a thing about my adoption or my life before I came to live with his brother and his wife.”

  I cut a piece of sausage and took a bite. Georgia made the best sausage and pepper stir fry I’d ever tasted, and I appreciated it each time it was served. “So, what is your plan to begin your search?”

  “Holly and I will begin by just talking to folks. If my mother did live in this area, or even if she just visited often, we’re hoping that someone might remember a woman with four daughters named Dixie, Heather, Hannah, and Lily. It will be a challenge to find someone who was around fifty years ago, but we don’t have anything else to go on right now.”

  “Do you know your birth mother’s name?”

  Dixie shook her head slightly. “I’m afraid her name was never mentioned in either her journal or the letter. I know that will make it harder to track her down. All I really have is the postmark from the package I received leading back to Holiday Bay. It’s not a lot to go on, but it is a place to start.”

  “Perhaps someone from the post office will remember who mailed the package.”

  “I’m not counting on it, but maybe.”

  “Well, I wish you the best of luck, and please do keep me informed as to your progress. I’m not sure what I can do to help, but if you think of something, just holler.”

  “We will and thank you,” Dixie said.

  I chatted with the two women for a while longer and then headed inside, where Gaylord sat at the large dining table with a man who looked to
be in his twenties and a young girl who couldn’t be older than seven or eight. This must be the uncle and his niece Georgia mentioned. I poured myself a cup of coffee and joined them. I liked to meet as many of our guests as I was able to. Some people were in and out for just one night, but I usually managed to speak to those who stayed longer.

  “My name is Abby Sullivan,” I greeted the man and the child.

  “I’m Jeremy and this is Annabelle.”

  I smiled at the pair. “I’m happy to meet you both. Will you be staying with us for long?”

  “Two weeks,” Jeremy answered. “Annabelle and I hope to move to Holiday Bay, so we’re here to check the place out while I look for a job.”

  “Annabelle lives with you?”

  Jeremy winked at his niece. “Right now, I’m living with her. Her father was never in the picture, and her mother is overseas, so I moved into my sister’s home to stay with Annabelle. But to be honest, my sister’s place is too large for the two of us, and my sister won’t be back for at least two years, so Annabelle and I decided to find a place of our own.”

  “Two years?” I couldn’t quite prevent the tone of surprise in my voice. “I realize this is none of my business, but why will Annabelle’s mother be away for so long?”

  “She works for the State Department, and she goes where the job takes her.” Jeremy placed his hand over Annabelle’s and gave it a squeeze. “But Belle and I don’t mind. We do okay on our own. Right, sweetheart?”

  The girl shrugged. I could see that she wasn’t happy to have been left behind. It even occurred to me to check out Jeremy’s story. There was something suspicious about a young man traveling alone with a young girl who was not his daughter. I knew we had a copy of his ID on file from when he registered, so I figured I’d have Colt check him out just to be certain the story he was telling was the whole truth.

  “What sort of job are you looking for?” I asked.

  “Really anything that will allow me to support both myself and Annabelle here in Holiday Bay. Annabelle’s mother does send me money every month, which would be adequate if we were to continue to live in her museum of a house, but we’ll need to supplement that if we want to live somewhere else. I have a bachelor’s degree in art history, which won’t do me much good in the real world, but I worked for a year as a landscaper and two years in hotel management. Oh, and I’m handy with a hammer, and I can cook. Maybe not as well as Georgia, but I can hold my own in a café or diner.”

  “It sounds like you should be able to find something with such a varied résumé. Good luck with the search. If I hear of anything, I’ll let you know.”

  When I headed back to the cottage to do my writing for the day, I called Colt about looking into the legitimacy of Jeremy’s situation. If he was telling the truth and he actually was keeping an eye on his niece with his sister’s blessing, he might be just the sort of person Georgia and I had been looking for to help out with the yard maintenance, snow removal, and heavy lifting. If he could actually cook, that would be a bonus; there were bound to be times when Georgia needed a day off or was ill, and someone would need to feed our guests.

  I gave Colt Jeremy’s full name, address, and driver’s license number, and then headed into my bedroom, which doubled as my office. I’d hoped to ask Colt about his investigation into the bodies in the grave, but it seemed apparent from his clipped responses to my queries that he was both busy and not alone. He said he’d run a background check on Jeremy and then call me back. I figured I could ask him more about the murder investigation then.

  The manuscript I was working on was coming along nicely, although I had to admit that I’d been a lot more distracted by everything that was going on at the inn than I’d thought I would be. Not only were there events to discuss and plan, but I found the various guests who came through to be so interesting as to completely divert my attention from the job I really needed to keep up with if I was going to continue to pay the bills until the inn was in the black. I loved my work as a writer, but when there were so many real-life stories playing out just outside my window, it was increasingly hard to focus. Somehow, I managed to do just that today, and when my phone buzzed alerting me to a call, I was happy to find that I’d managed to write more than three thousand words in the past three hours.

  “Hey, Colt, that was good timing.”

  “It was?”

  “I just completed my writing for the day and was about to get ready for my book signing at Firehouse Books this afternoon, so this is a good time for me to talk. Did you get the info I was looking for on Jeremy?”

  “I did, and it appears he is legit. His sister does work for the State Department, and I found a document giving him temporary physical custody and shared legal custody while she is away.”

  “That’s good to know. The guy is really nice, but the niece didn’t speak once the entire time I was chatting with them. I wasn’t sure if she was shy or scared.”

  “Probably a little bit of both, with some sad added in. I’m sure she is feeling bad that her mother left her behind.”

  “Yeah, it does seem like Jeremy has taken on a tough job. Any news on the two bodies in the grave?”

  “The one on top has been positively identified as that of Wesley Hamilton, which we knew. Approximate time of death is compatible with the timeline of his disappearance, so it looks like he was killed about the same time he turned up missing. The identity of the body found beneath him still has not been verified, but we are working on it.”

  “Well, keep me in the loop if you can.”

  “I will. So you are doing a book signing today?”

  I opened my closet and stared at the options. Dressy? Casual? Sophisticated? Laid-back? Who was I? What sort of image did I want to project? San Francisco Abby would know exactly what to wear, but Holiday Bay Abby no longer felt comfortable in those same clothes. I was a different person now. I supposed a total purge of my wardrobe was called for. “Yes, I am doing a book signing. My new novel won’t be out until next month, but Vanessa asked me to do a signing for some of my backlist, and I told her I would,” I said, mentioning Vanessa Blackstone, the owner of Firehouse Books. “I don’t expect a huge turnout, but that will be fine. I figure this will give me a chance to ease back into things.”

  “I guess I could see how it might be hard to return to the public eye. I’m sure that you have readers who know your story and will ask about it.”

  I pulled out a black wool skirt and a soft cashmere sweater. “I’ve been preparing myself for that, and I think I am ready to respond to questions about Ben and Johnathan without breaking into tears. It has been almost two years since they were killed. I won’t say that it has gotten easier to live without them, and I will never forget them, but I do seem to have a better handle on my emotions. I don’t suppose you want to get dinner later. I have a feeling I’ll need to decompress once the signing is over.”

  “I can do dinner as long as I don’t have an emergency to deal with. Do you want me to pick you up?”

  I tossed the sweater on the bed and pulled out a silk blouse. “The signing will be over at six, and I’ll already be in town. How about I meet you at that new Mexican cantina on Easter Boulevard?”

  “That sounds like a plan. I’ll call you if something comes up between now and then.”

  “Great. See you then.”

  I hung up and looked at the pile of clothes I’d considered and discarded. Why was I making this so hard? No one would care what I was wearing. Deciding on black slacks and a simple white blouse under a dark green cardigan, I grabbed clean undergarments and headed for the bathroom. Since living in Holiday Bay, high heels and designer clothes had been replaced with jeans, T-shirts, and tennis shoes, none of which were appropriate for a book signing. Yet the pencil-thin dress and three-inch heels I’d worn to the last signing before the accident didn’t seem right either. So much had changed. I sort of felt like a butterfly who’d just emerged from the cocoon only to find that she didn’t quite know wha
t to do with her wings.

  Chapter 3

  I showered and dressed, then headed into town. I needed to stop at both the bank and the post office on my way to the book signing. I paid most of my bills online, but I did still have a couple each month that required a good, old-fashioned envelope and stamp. The line at the post office to buy stamps was manageable, but the one at the bank was crazy long. I supposed I should just use the ATM to get some cash, but I was hoping to speak to the teller about depositing some old royalty checks I’d received from my first publisher with whom I’d never set up direct deposit. The checks didn’t represent a large amount of money, but they were more than six months old, so I wondered if depositing them was still an option.

  With only one window open, the line was moving along at a snail’s pace. I was considering just coming back another time when a second teller opened a window, and the line began to move much faster. It was early yet, so I still should have time to deposit the checks and get some cash to cover myself for the next few days.

  “Good afternoon, Abby,” the teller greeted me when I finally made it to a window.

  “Martha.”

  The woman leaned in closer and lowered her voice. “I guess you heard about Mr. Hamilton.”

  I nodded. I wasn’t sure if Martha knew that Wesley’s body had been found or if she was simply referring to the fact that he was missing, so I waited for her to elaborate before I responded.

  “There are those who thought he was just off having a fling, but I’m not surprised to hear that his body was found,” she continued.

  “So you heard about that?”