Better Dead
Page 29
At nine o’clock Inquiring Minds would air the episode they’d shot back in the fall all about the haunting at her B & B. Holly ran her finger under the high neck of her black cashmere sweater. She had been on the receiving end of that look practically since birth. Nelda knew her too well. “Technically, Holly Grove had a ghost.”
“H-a-d.” Nelda spelled out the word. “You know you’re in for a hurricane of trouble if folks find out you’re acting like you got a ghost and you know fool well you don’t. That’s all I got to say.”
* * *
Inquiring Minds would air coast-to-coast, full-color proof that Holly Davis’s Louisiana B & B was haunted, in less than an hour. H-a-d a ghost, my foot. Holly swiped her hair from her face, then backed out into the entrance hall with her cart. Trouble? Nelda just couldn’t see the value in keeping the ghost—in spirit, anyway.
Holly’s basic black stilettos clicked on the cypress planks as she rolled the cart down the twelve-foot-wide entrance hall that ran from her front door to her back door. The wheels wobbled under the weight of the one TV in her entire B & B. She hauled the old thing out of storage only for special occasions, like the LSU-Alabama game, the Super Bowl, and . . . tonight. Otherwise, she kept her plantation home frozen in 1857, because that was what her guests paid to experience.
That and the ghost.
Holly could live with that lie, but it would be uncomfortable tonight. Her neck and chest heated. She had no doubt red splotches had congregated under her black cashmere sweater like lie detectors.
No one, except Nelda and Jake, could ever know the ghost of her not-so-dearly departed had checked out—permanently. The success of Holly Grove depended on keeping that a secret. She scrubbed a hand over an itchy spot on her neck, then straightened the pearls Burl had given her on their fifth anniversary.
Unfortunately, the ghost had top billing for the show tonight, but Holly Grove would still get nationwide exposure. She liked to think of it as alimony payments from beyond the grave. Thank you, Burl.
The steady thud of a hammer sounded from above. Holly and the whole town had done their part to keep Mackie McCann busy and sober until Jake could get back and keep an eye on his dad. She’d hired Mackie to renovate the widow’s walk and bring it up to code. Then she’d have an added attraction of stargazing from the top of Holly Grove. She’d even bought a special mounted telescope, which was a little over the top, but she loved it.
After the ghost buzz had died down and winter had set in, business had slowed to a few guests here and there. That was to be expected, so now was a good time to tackle the renovation. After tonight, she hoped she’d be booked for months and Holly Grove’s future would be secured.
Portraits of five generations of the women in her family lined the walls of her entrance hall. She’d never let them down. They’d held on to Holly Grove through wars, epidemics, floods, crop failures, and the Great Depression. Unfortunately, none of them had been able to hold on to a man, either.
A mystery portrait had hung in the entrance hall until she moved it upstairs last week. It had always felt out of place. Mama and Grandma Rose had guessed the portrait was of some relative, but neither had known for sure. With both of them gone, Holly would probably never know. When tourists asked about the portrait, she had little to offer. After replacing the painting with recent ghost memorabilia, she had plenty to say at that stop on the tours. The display clashed with the historical period of the house, but she could live with that infraction for the publicity.
She stopped the cart and straightened a framed glossy magazine article titled “Ghost in the Grove.” It was nestled between other articles and a collection of autographed photos of Holly with TV reporters and minor celebrities. The pics on a bulletin board of “supposed” ghost sightings by guests needed tidying, too. Holly stood back and frowned. All the frames hung slightly askew.
She sighed and straightened the Gazette article about Nelda’s big skillet award for her gumbo. Nelda’s housekeeping skills didn’t match her cooking skills. It seemed she could never dust and put things back exactly as they had been. But Nelda made up for that one flaw in so many ways, it wasn’t worth mentioning.
Nelda busted out of the kitchen and trotted down the hall, waving Holly’s cell phone. “Unknown number,” she said, panting. “Answer it quick. It might be your Jake.”
Holly grabbed the phone, and her heart took an involuntary uptick. “Or a telemarketer.” She answered the call with a well-modulated hello.
“Holly Davis?” asked a smooth professional voice on the other end of Holly’s cell phone.
Totally a telemarketer. Fifty-fifty chance and I lose. Good reason not to gamble.
“Yes,” Holly answered, her voice as flat as her mood. She shook her head at Nelda, and she ambled back toward the kitchen.
“I’m Sylvia Martin’s assistant, Megan Long,” said the woman on the line.
“Sylvia Martin of Inquiring Minds?” Why would she be calling? Did they find out her ghost was gone? Cancel the show? The rash under Holly’s sweater resurrected and marched across her collarbones in an organized protest of each scenario.
“Yes,” said Morgan or Meagan or whatever her name was. The rat-a-tat of fingers on a keyboard sounded in the background. “I’m certain you’re getting ready for a viewing party, but Sylvia asked me to nail this down before you get a flood of reservations after the show.”
Holly’s internal thermostat kicked up a few degrees. “Nail what down?”
Rhett joined her pacing the hall, as though he sensed something wasn’t right.
“She asked me to book Holly Grove for a follow-up, ASAP.”
“Book Holly Grove? Follow-up?” Her throat tightened as she spoke. “On what?”
“Your ghost, of course.”
Holly practically choked, then stood dead still. The one that’s gone. “My ghost?”
Rhett sat in front of her. He cocked his head to the side, as though he couldn’t believe what she’d said. She could hardly believe what she’d heard.
“He was quite a hit with our test audience. They rated ‘Ghost in the Grove’ the best episode of the season,” the assistant continued at an excited clip. “‘Return to Ghost in the Grove’ will open Inquiring Minds’ next season.”
“But . . .” She rubbed the back of her neck. What could she say? I don’t have a ghost anymore? Oh, hell no.
“This is quite an opportunity for your establishment. Our viewership is up to three million and growing.”
“I’m sure it is.” She pinched the bridge of her nose and plopped down on the bottom step of the staircase. “But I’m renovating right now, and after the show, I hope to be booked solid for a while. It’s just not a good time.” Ever.
“We’ll work around the renovations and pay you for your trouble. I’ve booked your available rooms from Wednesday through the weekend for the shoot, as well as the formal rooms downstairs.”
A riff from “Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)” rang out from Holly’s computer in the kitchen—her alert for online reservations. The rash on her chest turned to arson to get her attention. Holly launched herself from the steps. “No! You can’t.”
Rhett’s nails tapped the wood planks as he trotted to her side.
Oh, Rhett. This isn’t good.
“Excuse me?” what’s-her-name said, but she’d surely understood no.
Holly could live with the little lie that Holly Grove was still haunted, but she would never allow anyone to prove it wasn’t. “No offense, but I’m not interested in being on the show again.”
“Sylvia will not take this well.” The assistant’s tone had turned sour. Holly had firsthand experience with Sylvia and didn’t need round two. She was a force to be reckoned with.
“Give her my apologies,” Holly said. And tell her to butter my biscuit and take a bite, because that show ain’t gonna happen.
“That won’t be necessary. Please hold the line for Sylvia Martin.”
Oh, crapola.
Gag me.
“Sylvia,” Holly gushed. Not to be outdone, she faked it, too. “Thank you so much for thinking about me and Holly Grove. It would have been so much fun to be on another episode of Inquiring Minds.” About as much fun as digging up her ex for old times’ sake. “Unfortunately, as I told your charming assistant, we’re in the middle of renovations. Maybe another time?” Like next February 30.
“Holly, dear, I’ve booked the rooms. This is the time.”
“Sylvia, dear, no offense, but I just can’t make that commitment right now.” Holly rubbed muscles knotting in her neck.
“May I be perfectly honest?” Sylvia asked.
If possible. “Always.”
“I report on the strange, the unusual,” Sylvia said, repeating the promo line from her show. “I’m very good at what I do.”
Modest too.
“It’s not all real,” Sylvia said. “I report, and the fans decide what’s real and what’s not.”
Holly rolled her eyes. Most of it was questionable, in her opinion, but Nelda and millions of others were true fans of the show.
“The ghost in the grove is real,” Sylvia said emphatically. “I know it. You know it. And my viewers will know it after tonight, right?”
“Right.” The word squeezed through her vocal cords an octave higher than the truth would allow. H-A-D a ghost. Nelda’s correction looped through Holly’s mind. “Tonight’s show can speak for itself. Why do another one on the same ghost?”
“Because I can win.” Sylvia chopped each word with cool calculation.
“Win what?”
“I’m getting to that.”
Lordy. The long way, especially for a New Yorker.
“There’s this creeper, a debunker, who’s been trolling me ever since the debut season of Inquiring Minds,” Sylvia said.
“I’ve had a few trolls on my Web site.” Some of them had a creep factor that gave Holly chills. She wouldn’t wish trolling on even a frenemy. “Just ignore him and delete his posts.”
“I’ve blocked him several times. He was a nobody. Now he’s got a huge following on his blog and YouTube channels. He’s questioning my credibility. My integrity.” An edge crept into Sylvia’s voice. “A few hours ago, I was promoting Inquiring Minds on a live radio show and that troll had the nerve to call in.”
Holly pitied the guy for taking on Sylvia live. “What did you do?”
“He said he could debunk any of my hauntings—anytime, anyplace.”
Oh, crapola. “And you called his bluff?”
“Of course. I challenged him to come to Holly Grove to attempt to debunk your ghost on my show, because I know he can’t. The whole thing is going viral. My producers are loving it. The sponsors will love it. Plus, your ghost is going to silence him once and for all. That troll is going down.”
Holly cringed. My ghost was real, but he’s gone—and I can’t tell her or anyone else ever. A twinge of guilt lulled about in her gut, but so be it.
“There’s just one teeny-tiny problem,” Holly said in a singsong voice. “Burl and I are, um, going through a rough patch. You know. Marital trouble. To tell you the truth, we’re not speaking right now.” A proper lie is always partly true, right? “He may not even show up if I want him to. He’s spiteful like that.”
“No problem,” Sylvia said. “My undergrad is in theater. I’ll act as if he’s there, even if he doesn’t show up.”
“Wouldn’t that be lying?”And if she could actually act, wouldn’t Sylvia be acting?
“No. That would be great television.”
“What if that’s not enough to convince the debunker?”
“Holly, dear. Cameras fail. Hard drives crash. I wouldn’t be the first to lose footage.” Sylvia gave an exasperated sigh. “Believe me, nothing will air that makes me look bad.”
“But without proof of the ghost, the debunker wins.”
“I don’t have to prove there is a ghost at Holly Grove. The show tonight proves that. He has to debunk the ghost on the follow-up show, and he won’t. I guarantee it. My career is on the line here.”
“Mine too. I just can’t chance anything to ruin the publicity Holly Grove will get after the show tonight. I’m sorry. I just can’t do another show.”
“There’s just one tiny problem, Holly,” Sylvia said.
Is she mocking me?
Papers rustled. “I’m looking over the contract and releases you signed with Inquiring Minds back on October twenty-seventh.”
Holly’s mouth went dry. She’d been so thrilled for the publicity, she’d barely read the darned things.
“Section six-A,” Sylvia said. “It’s called an option. An option for us to follow up on the show or retake the episode within one hundred days of the original shoot. You know, in case there was significant public interest or something went wrong, which we know can happen, right?”
Holly plopped back down on the steps. “And if I don’t allow the shoot?”
“Legal tells me you’d owe the production cost of the shoot. Megan, can you draft an estimate of the flight costs for the crew, four days’ labor, and so on?”
“I’ll have my attorney call you.” Holly didn’t have a lawyer. Delta Ridge hadn’t had a lawyer since Leo Perkins went senile, but they had a bail bondsman who’d lost his law license. At least he could read legalese.
“Holly, dear. There’s only one choice here. Pay or play.”
* * *
“You better have a good reason for messin’ up that bed you made this morning.” Nelda’s brows creased over her brown eyes as she peeked in the bedroom door. “What’s the matter? You sick?”
Holly sniffled and shook her head. “I’m so screwed, and it’s all my fault.”
“Says who?” Nelda crossed the well-worn antique rug and propped a hip on the side of Holly’s four-poster bed. As the mattress sagged under Nelda’s weight, Rhett slid next to her.
“This.” Holly waved the contract.
“A piece of paper made you crawl up in bed and blubber like a baby?” Nelda cocked her head to the side. “Must be some piece of paper.”
“It’s the contract I signed to have Holly Grove on Inquiring Minds back in October.”
“And it’s making you cry three months later?”
“I would have signed a deal with the devil to get publicity from Inquiring Minds back then.” She flung the contract across the bed. “Evidently, I did.”
“I’m guessing Miss Sylvia Martin is the devil.”
“Pretty much.” Holly blew her nose, then wiped at her eyes. “There’s an option in there that forces me to agree to a follow-up show if they ask, and Sylvia did. She called a while ago to schedule a follow-up show on my ghost.”
Nelda scrunched up her brows. “The one you’ve been telling me is gone?”
“And worse, she’s challenged some debunker to try to prove Holly Grove isn’t haunted on her show. I can’t tell her it’s not haunted anymore!” Holly fell back onto the bed and pressed her palms to her skull to ease her brewing headache.
“Don’t option mean ‘optional’?”
“Yeah. For Inquiring Minds.” Holly rubbed her temples. “Not for me.”
“You sure about that?”
“As sure as I can get without hiring a lawyer. I called my old roommate, Sarah. She’s a lawyer in New Orleans now. Her ‘free’”—Holly drew quotation marks in the air—“legal advice was to comply and buy her a drink next time I’m in the city.” Holly blew her nose. “I even asked Purvis.”
“That bail bondsman? Purvis Cumpton?”
“He used to be a lawyer, until he got disbarred.” She couldn’t remember why, but he was the closest thing Delta Ridge had to a lawyer. “He said the same thing and offered his bail services if things got ugly.”
“What happens if you don’t do the show?”
&nbs
p; “Sylvia said I had to play or pay.” Holly held her hand up and rubbed her thumb across her fingers. “Paying is not happening. I can’t. Then they’ll sue and put a lien on Holly Grove.”
Nelda shook her head. “There goes your credit, again.”
“And maybe Holly Grove, if reservations drop off.” Debt. Taxes. Nonstop maintenance. “I’m one stumble away from losing her.” She paused. “If I play and do the follow-up show, I could be exposed as a fraud.” Holly flopped her hands on the bed. “There goes my business and Holly Grove.” Pay or play. “I’m so screwed.”
“You’re only screwed if you keep wallerin’ and blubberin’ in that bed. If you’re gonna get screwed, it outta be fun, right?”
“Nelda!” Holly landed a teasing slap on her arm. “I guess that means I’ve got to play this thing like a boss.”
“Now you’re talkin’.” Nelda picked up Rhett and stood. “What you gonna do?”
Holly eased off the high bed and slipped on her stilettos. The four inches of height always fortified her confidence. False confidence was better than none. “Whatever it takes.”
Pamela Kopfler is an award-winning author of humorous mysteries with a kick of Southern sass. She lives in South Louisiana, where the spirits are restless, the food is spicy, and the living is divine.
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Stay sassy, ya’all!