Death in the Park (Firefly Junction Cozy Mystery Book 1)

by London Lovett

  I placed another egg in the basket and moved to the last three nest boxes.

  “You’re at somewhat of a disadvantage, I’d say.” Emily tossed out the last bit of grain, and the chickens scurried away to eat it. She walked over to help me finish collecting eggs. She easily shooed away the red hen that had given me the evil eye just seconds earlier. The bird clucked angrily as she pushed it out of the box. She reached in and pulled out an egg. “You know, I used to deliver eggs to Alder Stevens about once a month. He stopped ordering them after his wife died.”

  I turned quickly to her. “So you know where he lived? I had a visit to Alder’s house on my list for tomorrow’s research. I won’t be able to see anything but the outside. I just thought it would give me more of a sense of the man by seeing where he lived. With any luck, I’ll run into a few neighbors who might have interesting things to say about him.”

  “It’s a cute, nicely kept house off Crimson Grove, just before the bridge. You might be able to snoop around in the backyard. When I delivered eggs, they had me go through the gate and leave the eggs in the screened porch at the back of the house. They never locked the screen. I’m not even sure it ever had a lock. There’s a small shed out back too. Alder used to build birdhouses as a hobby. They are hanging from the trees in his yard.”

  Emily’s pink lips turned down in a frown. “I’d forgotten about his bird houses. Now I’m feeling extra sad about it all. That poor man. Who could possibly have wanted to kill him?”

  “That is exactly what I intend to find out.”

  We walked out with our basket of eggs. Nick was running around the yard trying to corral the two goats, who’d apparently decided not to turn in for the evening.

  Emily and I laughed as Nick lumbered around, being outsmarted by the tiny critters at every turn. “You might need to get one of those shepherding collies if you’re going to grow your goat herd,” I said. “Either that or Nick is going to have to get a lot more agile. Either way, he’s going to be hungry, so I should get home and make those sandwiches. I suppose I better figure out which room will be the most conducive for connecting with the spirit world. See you in a few hours.”

  Chapter 25

  I put the remaining cold cuts and the finished sandwiches into the refrigerator and headed into the room that would have been used as a formal dining room back when it was a single family home. The room, which was a good distance away on the same floor, was a cavernous dining hall that had, no doubt, seen more than its share of large, formal dinners back in the manor’s glory days. If I stood in the long, rectangular room long enough, squinted my eyes and turned on my imagination, I could almost visualize the space with the wavering flames of glittering candelabras and suffocating beeswax candles reflecting off sparkling white wainscoting and lush damask wallpaper. But once my visuals turned off, the only things left were the bare bones of a once opulent dining hall. But I was determined to restore the entire place, room by room. I might be a hundred years old and broke by the time I opened the doors of the inn for travelers, but I wasn’t going to let the enormity of the project overwhelm me.

  I’d moved to Firefly Junction with very few possessions, deciding to leave what little I had behind and avoid a big move. Since I was short on furniture, and not particularly equipped for a séance, Lana had offered to bring over one of her party tables and some chairs. They were light, foldable and easy to transport. After some thought, I determined that an unsettled spirit would be just as easy to reach from the formal dining room as any other room in the house. With its peeling walls, dirt crusted window panes, and smoke blackened hearth, it was just decrepit enough to provide a sinister ambience for contacting the ghost world.

  We’d decided to wait for dark to make sure the mood was just right for a séance. With the long summer hours, it gave me a little time to myself. Almost to myself. Newman and Redford trotted in from the kitchen to join me on a short exploration of the second floor. In a way, I was thankful to have them along. Henry had warned me not to travel along the top floor too much on my own. He feared the wood floors had rotted enough to make them dangerous. I figured if I fell through and got stuck in a broken floorboard then my dogs would eventually get hungry enough to go find someone to feed them, and in turn, I’d eventually be rescued. It wasn’t exactly a ‘good boy, Lassie’ scenario where the heroic dog rushes right off to sound the alarm that the master was in danger, but I wasn’t going to kid myself either. Newman and Redford loved me as much as I loved them, but I always took a back seat to a bowl of food.

  Each step on the long, steep staircase had its own sound. Some creaked, some moaned and some just plain snapped, like the brittle twigs on a tree. I gripped the banister tightly, but avoided running my palm along it. It was more splinters than wood at the moment. I wondered which was less stable, the stairs or the banister?

  I reached the landing. From there, I could go right or left. There were three rooms on each side of the stairs. I’d explored a few on the right in the past several weeks and decided to give the left side a whirl. I’d avoided exploring more but not so much out of fear of falling through floorboards. I was more afraid of seeing, firsthand, just what I’d gotten myself into. The house was large and there were numerous rooms and bathrooms, necessary for an inn or a future bed and breakfast. I’d set a goal of two years to restore the entire house, but that seemed more than a little ambitious.

  The dogs trotted ahead, not caring about the crackling sounds beneath their paws as they sniffed in the air for something of interest. They were always great at giving me the heads up if something furry or even scaly was about to jump out from a hole in the wall or crack in the floor.

  I tiptoed lightly, hoping that would keep me from breaking through any weak boards. It was silly because I was fairly certain tiptoeing didn’t make a person lighter. If it did, a great deal more people would be moving about on the tips of their toes.

  The dogs ran ahead, finding something to smell at the end of the hallway where some of the paneling had been pulled free from the wall. I stopped at the last door, a room that I’d never looked in yet, mostly because I expected it to look exactly like every other room on the top floor, dilapidated, sad and empty. As I reached for the doorknob, something rattled the door. I pulled my hand quickly away and stared at the paneled door. The wood was warped and shedding its last shreds of dark blue paint. It stopped rattling, signaling that the movement had been caused by me grabbing the doorknob. It would probably slip right off its hinges when I opened it but I forged ahead. Or at least I tried. The knob turned, but just a little too much to be effective. It was so loose, I waited for it to fall off into my hand. The broken knob was no help at all. I pushed and pulled the door, but it wouldn’t budge. I leaned against it with my shoulder, but it was frozen in place, almost as if someone was pushing against it from the other side. I was sure it hadn’t been opened in years.

  “Hmm, probably rusty hinges.” My voice echoed back to me in the empty hallway. The sound of it caught Redford’s attention. He raced toward me, and in his jubilance to see me for the first time in two minutes, he hopped up on his back legs. His front paws bounced off the door. With no big fan fare or rattle or creak, the door opened. The smell of decades of stale air ushered out. I waved my hand in front of my face as I pushed the door open farther.

  With the amount of energy it took to get the door open, I somehow expected more than a mostly empty room with the same peeling walls and dirt crusted windows as the other rooms on the floor. There was one difference however. Next to some more broken paneling, lay a large tarnished brass light fixture that had apparently been ripped from the ceiling, as evidenced by the big chunk of ceiling plaster stuck to its brass chain and the matching hole above. Wires hung from the hole in the ceiling, reminding me just how much internal restoration would be needed to get the house up to code. Across the room from the fallen light fixture was what remained of a wrought iron bed frame and a wooden chest. The bottom of the chest was stained dark
with moisture as if it had sat in water or gotten wet. The window above it had three panes missing, and the holes had never been covered with wood or plastic to keep out the rain. The floor beneath the broken window was soaked and moldy.

  “Ugh, what on earth was I thinking when I started this project?” I said to myself. Redford pushed his head up against my hand at the sound of my voice. “I guess this is why I’ve avoided looking in these rooms. Just a lot of bad news.”

  Newman trotted into the room and dropped his ball. It rolled past me and stopped against the side of the trunk. If the trunk was heavy, it could very likely fall through the soaked floor. I didn’t need a disaster like that.

  I walked lightly on the damaged floor, trying to stay mostly on the dry outer edges. It was a little like trying not to fall into the thin ice on a pond. I leaned forward and grabbed the wooden handle on the trunk. I gave it a sharp yank, expecting it to be too heavy to move or to at least be stuck in place on the swollen, moist floor. But it came free easily, and I fell back on my bottom as it slid toward me.

  The dogs immediately set to work sniffing it in case it was a large box of dog treats. Once they’d determined there was nothing edible inside, they headed out the door. I heard the click-clack of their claws on the hallway floor and then the staircase as they headed down to the first story.

  I had a few spare minutes, so I flicked open the metal lock and lifted the lid of the chest. Instantly, the smell of decayed linens and mildew struck me. The chest was filled with what appeared to be bed sheets and tablecloths. I lifted up a neatly folded sheet. It was as brittle and frail as a dried leaf, but the handstitched monogram could still be read. The initials B L R were neatly embroidered in blue thread. The bottom of the chest was soaked through along with the folded linens at the bottom of the pile. A greenish mold was making its way up the sides of the wooden interior.

  I reached forward to close the lid on my entirely disappointing treasure hunt when I noticed a piece of parchment poking its yellow corner out from two pieces of folded fabric.

  I pulled the parchment free. It crackled with age as I unfolded what appeared to be a letter. The script was written with a skilled hand with artistic curls and swirls. So many so, that it was almost hard to decipher. But since my own writing was disastrously bad, I was fairly adept at reading difficult handwriting. There was no date or address or formality to make it recognizable as a letter other than the salutation at the top. The letter writer didn’t even sign their name.

  I stood and walked to the window to catch the last strands of sunlight streaming through the dirty panes.

  My dearest Buttercup, my dearest Bonnie,

  It is pure whimsy that such a bonny lass should be named Bonnie. You floated past me in your clouds of silk petticoats and my delirium was complete. I am a madman when you are away and I am a madman when you are near. At night I press my face into my pillow and imagine it is the coiled masses of your lavender scented hair. I caught the kiss you last blew to me and I’ve kept it in a jar by my bed. I long for those delicious moments when your kiss is not just air and your lips are all too real. Tonight I will come to you in your dreams and we will dance, and laugh, and kiss. Yours always…my love.

  I perused the letter once more and thought it a shame that letter writing went out of style. I folded the brittle parchment carefully. Emily and Lana would get a kick out of reading it. “Sweet but a little corny,” I said out loud as I left the room.

  I gasped and jumped forward as the door swung shut sharply behind me. I glanced back at it, my heart still thumping in my chest. Must have been a breeze shooting through the broken window, I told myself as I hurried down the hallway to the stairs.

  Chapter 26

  Nick, Raine and I carried in the table and chairs while Emily and Lana made white wine spritzers and set out the sandwiches and potato salad. Raine took an inordinate amount of time arranging the seats around the table, insisting they had to be just right for a proper connection to the spirit world. While most of the large windows in the dining room were crusted with dirt, the moonlight still managed to cast a glow through the room.

  “We need to cover those windows,” Raine insisted. “Do you have some sheets we could use?”

  “I don’t really relish the idea of hanging my bed linens over those filthy windows. There are cobwebs glued all over them. Besides, I think the moonlight sort of adds to the atmosphere. You know, sort of a Halloweenish vibe.” By the look on Raine’s face, I’d said exactly the wrong thing.

  “Sunni, this has nothing to do with Halloween. That is a holiday where little kids get dressed up like ghosts and ghouls to get candy. Tonight is about reaching into the afterworld to find out why the disgruntled spirit haunting this house is still hanging around.”

  “I know exactly why he’s still here,” a soft, slightly raspy voice called from the dining room entrance. I quickly went through my list of names for the quilters I’d met on my first day at work. Marylou. She was the delightful and talkative woman with the mass of gray curls and permanent smile lines around her eyes and mouth. She pulled her light blue sweater tighter around her as she stepped into the cavernous dining room. “This house is full of drafts, my dear. You should take care not to catch a cold. Drink plenty of hot tea. That keeps the germs away.”

  I walked toward her and took her hands. “Marylou, what a nice surprise. I wasn’t expecting to see you.”

  “Well, I ran into Ursula at the bank. She mentioned that Raine was holding a séance at the Cider Ridge Inn. I just had to be a part of it. I hope you don’t think I’m a nosy posy.” She rolled her eyes. “Rita is always calling me that.”

  “Take it from someone whose job it is to be a nosy posy, you are not a nosy posy. And I’m very happy you came. We were just going to head into the kitchen for some sandwiches. Then you can tell me exactly why my resident spirit is disgruntled.”

  Nick was already spoon deep in the bowl of potato salad, and Ursula and Emily had started sipping wine spritzers.

  “Where’s Henry?” I asked as I picked up my glass.

  Ursula finished her sip and wiggled her nose. “That tickles. Henry decided to watch a bowling tournament on television. He said there’s no such thing as ghosts. So we’re better off without him. We don’t need all those negative thoughts ruining the night and scaring off the spirits.”

  “I suppose not. Well, there’s plenty of food then. I even made a special triple decker sandwich for Henry. Maybe you can take it home with you.”

  “That’d make him happy. He did mention something about a doggie bag as I was walking out the door.”

  Emily had set the table, buffet style. Each of us grabbed a plate and a sandwich and we headed across to the table we’d set up in the dining room.

  Marylou looked around at the peeling walls and broken light fixtures. “With a little vision and a lot of work, this room could be quite elegant. Like it no doubt was when Mr. Cleveland Ross built the house back in 1815.”

  I had positioned myself next to Marylou, hoping she had some stories to tell about the house. She mentioned that her now grown children had all gone to Smithville High, which meant she’d lived in the area for a long time.

  Raine put down her fork and picked up her wine. “I know there were rumors of a duel that took place right out front of the house.”

  “More than just rumors. And, as expected, the duel with pistols ended in tragedy,” Marylou glanced around the table and saw that she had everyone’s rapt attention. Her mouth turned up in a pleased smile. Her blue eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as she positioned herself taller on the chair. “As I’m sure you know, the house was built by Cleveland Ross.”

  “Yeah, Marylou, we all know that,” Ursula interrupted. “Get to the good stuff.”

  Marylou’s shoulders rose and fell as she took an irritated breath. “I’m getting to it, Ursula.” Marylou settled back down into her seat to continue. “He was a gruff, older man with a great deal of wealth, both inherited and earned th
rough lucrative investments in cotton and tobacco. From what I’ve heard, his first two wives died, one in childbirth and one from a fever. Back then, people died of all sorts of common maladies. Why, my grandmother’s sister died from an ingrown toe nail. Can you imagine that?” She pressed her fingers against her mouth to cover a laugh. “There I go again bird-walking to some completely unrelated subject. Anyhow, Cleveland, who was in his mid-forties, married a young woman named Bonnie. She was only in her early twenties, but back then it was quite normal for the man to be much older.”

  I held my breath hoping she wouldn’t run onto a new subject. I wanted to hear more about Bonnie and Cleveland. “Bonnie,” the name popped from my mouth, pulling all eyes my direction. Marylou frowned slightly at the loss of attention. “Sorry, Marylou, I didn’t mean to interrupt. It’s just that with all the bustle of getting the house ready tonight, I forgot about the letter I found.” The metal chair stuttered over the rough floor as I stood from the table. “Everyone eat up and I’ll run to fetch the letter. I have a feeling it will enhance Marylou’s story.” I smiled down at her. “Which I hope she will finish telling when I return.”

  “Of course.” She straightened again and reached for her sandwich. “The food looks delicious.”

  I hurried out of the dining room and through to my bedroom where I had placed the letter on the top of my dresser. After Lana and Raine had arrived with the table and chairs, and Nick and Emily soon after, I’d pushed the letter out of my mind. But while I didn’t know who wrote the letter, I now knew the chest, linens and letter belonged to Bonnie Ross, the young bride of Cleveland Ross. It was possible that it was Cleveland himself who had penned the love letter to his new wife.

  I opened the bedroom door and headed straight to the dresser. No letter. I opened the top drawer, thinking I might have inadvertently stuck it inside. No letter. I glanced around the room to my nightstand, the bed and the bench at the end of the bed. No letter. I dropped to my knees and searched under the dresser. Then I crawled across the floor and lifted the bed ruffle. It was as if the letter had just dissolved once it hit fresh air. But that made no scientific sense. The other possibility was that I was losing my mind and there never really was a letter. I shifted back to the dissolved in fresh air theory. Although, more likely, I just forgot where I laid the darn thing. It would turn up.