Hearts & Haunts, Confessions of a Closet Medium, Book 3

by Nyx Halliwell

  “Real estate? Employees? That’s a big step.”

  “You’re ready for it.”

  Am I? He wants to talk about the future, which is an excellent thing. Unfortunately, I’m sort of stuck in the past.

  “It does appear that we may be able to expand Aunt Willa’s business and even take it in a few new directions.” I rub my forehead. “My mind is overwhelmed just thinking about it, even though I’m happy all this is happening.”

  We continue to chat, Logan talking more about future plans, including some together. “We better take that getaway we’ve been talking about before you get into the summer wedding season.”

  We’ve been considering several retreats for couples, but between our work schedules, we haven’t had time to actually plan one and set aside a weekend for each other. I know it’s important, but all I can do is nod and eat. “We definitely have to look at our calendars to figure out a date.”

  We finish the main meal. Logan pulls out a white box wrapped with a ribbon. “Queenie made your favorite cheesecake for dessert.”

  I help him move the dirty dishes out of the way, taking a moment to smell the roses that are on the table in the beautiful display. Logan put a lot of work into this. I need to enjoy it and appreciate him. “You are both very thoughtful. This is just perfect.”

  It’s dark outside now. Stars in the sky reflect off the lake. I haven’t actually taken time to appreciate this peaceful setting since I’ve been at the hotel. I see now how it might be a restful retreat for someone recovering from the war or many of today’s situations.

  “This could be a resort again if they could find an influx of cash to fix it up and repair it.”

  Logan agrees. “I’m sure I could find investors who’d be interested. It’s definitely a historical landmark. A great place for celebrations, parties, and…”

  For me, it may always be a haunted hotel, but for others, it could be a beautiful, relaxing place to get away from the world. “And what?”

  Logan refills my glass. I wonder if I should have more since I’m already feeling the effects.

  “And other special occasions.” He comes to my side and goes down on one knee next to my chair.

  My stomach teeters. What’s he doing?

  I know exactly what.

  Totally unprepared, my hands begin to shake. I set down the glass. Tabby appears across the way, watching us with interest. Or maybe hoping to score some leftovers. “What is this?”

  His smile is the best thing I’ve seen all day. He withdraws a tiny blue box from inside his blazer.

  An unseen person, probably Kalina, turns on soft overhead lights, illuminating the luscious plants all around us and spotlighting our table. Over Logan’s shoulder, light glints off metal, drawing my eye. Tabby is now on a display of African violets. The trowel I used on Tallulah is lying next to one.

  “Ava Fantome, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” Logan takes my hand and squeezes it. “I’ve been in love with you from the day you returned to Thornhollow. These last few months have been the best of my life.”

  My gaze flicks to the tool. I can’t help it. Tabby paws it and meows. A message? Warning?

  It’s flat. It has a sharp edge. Is this the weapon Detective Jones is searching for?

  “I love you, too, Logan.” Forget the trowel. I force my gaze back to his. His blue eyes mesmerize me. “I have since the fifth grade.”

  He chuckles softly and releases me to flip open the lid.

  Just as he’s about to propose, another thought enters my head.

  Not only is it the right type of weapon, it has my fingerprints all over it.

  17

  “Hold that thought.”

  Logan’s smile fades like melting ice cream. “What?”

  “I’m so sorry, but I think someone may be trying to frame me for Sal’s murder,” I blurt.

  Not exactly the reaction he was looking for. He snaps the box shut and stands. “This all went so much differently in my head.”

  Rising from my seat, I hug him. “I know, it’s just—I want us to do this. The whole thing—dinner, the champagne, the ring, all of it, but there’s a ghost here who wants to harm Gloria, and a living being who offed Sal and wants me to take the fall.”

  He sighs, the sound seeming to come from his toes. “Ava, have you had any sleep?”

  His tone sounds a bit too much like Mama’s. “I’m fine.” Except for the ghosts and the fact I could end up in jail.

  He lowers his voice and looks around. “You really think someone’s setting you up?”

  My scattered brain thinks through the logic of it, and maybe it is a bit farfetched. How would the killer know I’d touch the trowel? That was totally spontaneous, and completely unlikely.

  I try to reign in the drama. “Sorry. Maybe I do need more rest. Blame my mother for my overactive imagination, but I really must figure out who murdered Sal before Jones arrests me. You said yesterday that he doesn’t have anyone else who looks good for it, and my alibi is weak.” I tell him about the hit to Sal’s head and the cut the weapon left behind. “I think I know what the killer used, and it just happens to have my fingerprints on it.”

  I point to Tabby and the trowel.

  Logan stares at it a moment, and finally gives an exasperated nod. “How can I help?”

  “Outside of wiping it clean?”

  It’s meant as a joke but Logan isn’t playing along. “Seriously, Ava. Could someone be pointing at you for this?”

  I eye the trowel over on the plant stand. “Regardless, why leave that in plain sight if he or she did use it?”

  Tabby jumps down and strolls away. Logan takes a drink. “Why would they frame you?”

  “Because of my charming personality?” Again, my attempt at humor falls flat. I know what he’s getting at. “To take the spotlight off them.”

  He tilts his glass at me. “Exactly. You’re a convenient suspect, not one they’re out to get.”

  “I guess that makes me feel a little better.”

  “There was a generous amount of blood. They had to get some splatter on them. Better make sure no one’s planted any bloody clothes or the other shoe on you.”

  There are at least fifty rooms where they could have hidden blood-stained clothes. If he or she is actually framing me, though, Logan’s correct—I need to make sure there’s no other evidence implicating me.

  Why hide that matching shoe in the study?

  Another question emerges that might answer that.

  Who sent me there, where my fingerprints are now all over the door handle and table?

  I stand. “Where’s Kalina?”

  Logan looks toward the entrance. “She helped me plan tonight, but I haven’t seen her since I got here. It was Baldwin who showed me how she’d set up the table.” He points at the flowers.

  I haven’t seen her since earlier either. “Kalina has access to all the rooms and suites.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  I grab my phone and text Penn. “Come with me.”

  “What about dessert?”

  I purse my lips, eyeing the bakery box. No sense passing that up. “Bring it with us.”

  We meet up with Penn and Jenn in the original ballroom. Only half the chandeliers come on when I hit the switch, and the spacious open-air room echoes with our footsteps as I lead the others to the runway. The backstage is still taped off.

  The ghosts are enjoying a party, one that looks like its straight out of the 1920s. Women in flapper dresses dance with tuxedoed partners. Champagne flows, cigars burn. Under other circumstances, I might enjoy the show, sketch a few ideas.

  “What’s up?” Penn asks, bringing me out of the phantom mise en scene.

  Logan sets the box on the raised stage. I motion for each of them to grab a piece of the luscious dessert. “Help yourselves while I pick your brains. This is the best chocolate cheesecake in three counties.”

  Logan had the sense to bring napkins, and we use our finge
rs to each select a piece. It’s messy, but the dessert is extra thick and the pastry crust holds together nicely.

  I explain my concern about being an easy target for Jones when it comes to the murder. “I need to know everything about that night. Do you remember where you were when you watched the last part of the runway show?”

  Jenn points. “Over there. The seats were filled, so we had to stand along the wall.”

  “I sat a few rows back on the left with your mom and Queenie,” Logan tells me.

  I picture it in my mind. “The models came out in what order for Southern Bride?”

  Penn licks whipped cream from her thumb. “Cathi, Christine, and Darinda.”

  “Cathi?”

  “She works in the office,” Jenn says. “We sort of hit it off backstage. She’s Christine’s younger sister. You’ve seen her.”

  I comb my memory and recall a short blond with a crooked front tooth and a penchant for bling. “Did she have any terse interactions or arguments with Sal?”

  The sisters share a look and shake their heads in unison.

  I can’t remember seeing this Cathi at their booth, but maybe she was only here for the runway show. “Darinda modeled a dress?”

  Both of them nod.

  I’m not totally surprised. The two of us loved trying on sample dresses after hours. Plus, she’s a beautiful woman with gorgeous curves, and has plenty of older brides as customers. “Did they each come out multiple times in the same order?”

  Another dual nod. Good thing I’m not drunk or I’d be seasick watching the synchronized movements.

  “Why?” Logan asks.

  “Whoever killed Sal was backstage with him, that’s a given, and I believe it’s someone he knew. Maybe well. He never expected they would attack, and he was totally taken off guard.”

  Jenn’s eyes widen. “You think he was murdered by Darinda?”

  “Not her, but…” I stew and eat a bite of chocolate and whipped cream, studying the stage and attempting to recreate the timeline of what happened out here versus back there. “So Baldwin and Victoria were on stage announcing—”

  “Victoria wasn’t,” Penn interrupts.

  “She wasn’t?”

  Jenn swallows, shielding her lips with her fingers. “Not for the whole thing. She chased Tabby off the stage about halfway through the Southern Bride presentation. They ducked behind the curtain and she didn’t return. I saw her later at the double doors when folks were leaving.”

  Did she tell Jones this?

  “Yeah, but she was flirting with Sal before the show ever started,” Penn states. “She seemed sweet on him. She wouldn’t kill him.”

  Hmm. “How exactly did Sal respond to her attention?”

  “He loved it.” This from Penn.

  “Like the diva he was,” Jenn adds and they laugh.

  No surprise there. These two barely knew him and yet picked up on his personality. “Did he reciprocate?”

  Penn pauses. “I don’t know if I’d call it that. I saw them a couple times that day and they seemed friendly, but that night, he was standoffish. I figured he was stressed about the show. I did overhear him say something regarding reporting her. At least, I think that’s what he said. It was so noisy back there, it was hard to hear much of anything.”

  I stop eating. “Reporting her? For what? To whom?”

  She finishes her piece, shaking her head. “Like I said, it was noisy, and I’m not sure what they were talking about. She seemed upset, though. She stopped flirting, that’s for sure.”

  “There were several hundred people here that night,” Logan reminds me, “and anyone could’ve walked backstage. It wasn’t exactly a secured area.”

  “True, but I think the killer may have in-depth knowledge of this hotel, and that person had a relationship with Sal. Death by stiletto is a crime of passion, as my dad would say. Since it was a wedding shoe and that was Sal’s bread and butter, it reeks of poetic justice.”

  Jenn brightens. “Like a statement. Revenge, maybe?”

  “Could be.” I polish off my slice. “If we figure out the motive, we can find the killer.”

  As we mull this over, the door to the room flies open. Victoria strides in, making a flabbergasted noise. “What in the world are you all doing in here?”

  18

  As she marches toward us, I wipe my hand on a napkin and swallow the last bite. “The night of the show, you chased Tabby from the runway, and you didn’t return, is that correct?”

  Her clipboard taps against her leg, impatient. This is a wooden one, like we used in school, not the metal document case she had when we checked in. “That cat!” Her face contorts as though she’s sucked on a lemon. “Why in the world would you bring it and let her run loose? The hotel doesn’t even allow pets.”

  I’ve worn the same expression more than a time or two. “Where did you end up once you ran her off?”

  She eyes me as if I’ve grown a horn or two. “She went traipsing up onto the catwalk—I wasn’t about to follow her up there. Crazy animal.”

  A charged look from her suggests that the crazy cat has a crazy owner as well.

  I glance at the area above the stage, not having paid any attention to it previously. In my opinion, Tabby is a smart feline to go up there to get away from her. “Why didn’t you return to the stage with Baldwin to introduce the last of the models and do the wrap-up?”

  Her lips press together, eyes shuttering. Then she throws her hands up, the clipboard slapping her thigh when it comes down. “Fine, you caught me.”

  She sighs, and her shoulders slump. I notice her grip has made her knuckles white.

  “With what?” Is she about to confess?

  “Honestly, I needed a drink—a stiff one, if you know what I mean. I snuck off to the bar and snagged some schnapps. I took the bottle to my room then came right back so I could be here when the crowd let out.”

  Convenient, since the bar was closed. No witnesses there. “Did you tell Detective Jones?”

  She touches the pen secured at her ear. “No, but I did square it up with Kalina and Baldwin. It’s paid for.”

  Misdirection, my father would say, focusing on the stolen goods rather than her whereabouts. “Kalina saw you crossing between the backstage and the bar?”

  “Of course. She was at the front desk.”

  Maybe she does have a witness. I make a mental note to verify this with our hostess. “Did you see anyone coming or going from the atrium while you were traipsing around?”

  Her face takes on the you’re crazy look again. “The atrium? No. I saw the photographer and that young Southern Bride model talking in the lobby. She was still in one of the dresses, which I thought was odd. Baldwin and Kalina were having trouble keeping the floor mopped from people tramping in with muddy shoes, thanks to the storm. The dress was going to get dirty. I doubted Darinda would appreciate that.”

  My mind flashes to my own gown and the dirty hem. Was it Cathi? “The photographer was taking a publicity shot?”

  “I really couldn’t say, but I doubt it. They seemed to be arguing.”

  How did they fit into this puzzle? “Do you use him at all your events? Do you have his contact info?”

  “Not every one, but quite a few in Georgia. Some of the larger venues promote him for wedding photography but he prefers smaller ones like this. And of course I have his info, but it’s in my…other clipboard.”

  “You sure are organized,” Penn states.

  Victoria barely acknowledges her. “Top Events Management is a million-dollar business. Organization is key to its fairs. Now, y’all need to leave this room.”

  Turning on her heel, she marches out. We toss the box. “Wonder if I should get on the catwalk?” I muse.

  Logan eyes it and then me. “I don’t think that’s wise, and what would that tell you?”

  Maybe that my shapeshifting great-great-grandmother witnessed the murder.

  Instead of climbing up there and risking my neck, I
should try talking to her. “Never mind. Victoria’s right. Let’s get out of here before Jones accuses me of tampering with the crime scene.”

  As we’re exiting, Penn sidles up to me. “BJ’s coming to get me. I think he’s taking me out for Valentine’s Day, but he says it’s a big secret. He won’t tell me the details. Jenn’s coming, too. Will you need us tomorrow?”

  I’m almost sad they won’t be here tonight. “It’s been good of you to help. I appreciate it. Enjoy a romantic night with your hubby. We’ll talk soon, okay? No need for you to come back.”

  Each girl hugs me before they leave. Logan and I stroll through the large foyer. I see Darinda talking to Baldwin at the desk.

  She glances over as we approach. There are bags under her eyes as pronounced as mine. Her usually perfect hair is a tad messy. A large tote bag is on her arm. “Are you staying again?” she queries.

  My fantasy of going home and sleeping in my own bed hovers in front of me like a ghost. “I think I might. I rather like it here.”

  She doesn’t know I’m lying. “See you tomorrow, then.” She says goodnight to Baldwin and heads for the door. I fall into step with her, leaving Logan leaning on the desk. “Can I ask you a question?”

  She digs in the tote and brings out a set of keys. “Sure, what is it?”

  “How well do you know Cathi?”

  She pauses, facing me. “Is she causing problems?”

  Interesting that she’d jump to that conclusion. “Remember how much fun we used to have when the new lines came in? How we’d try them on after-hours playing the part of the bride?”

  We always said it was for research. In essence, we were playing dress-up.

  She smiles. “I miss those days.”

  “Me, too. Do you still do that with any of the other girls, like Christine or Cathi?”

  She chuckles. “Heavens no. Christine is just an employee, not a friend.”

  “And her sister?”

  “The only reason Cathi’s still around is that she’s fantastic with our social media and has mad computer skills.”