Murder Wears White

by Stephanie Blackmoore

  Keith slapped his cell phone down on the kitchen island and shook his head. “There’s some kind of Marcellus Shale drilling convention in town, and every hotel, motel, and inn is full. We can drive back to Pittsburgh, but it’s getting dark.”

  Becca thrust her plump, rose-colored bottom lip out in a maudlin pout. “But I don’t feel safe here! There must be somewhere we can stay.” She batted her tarantula-like lashes, and a sly smile played on her lips.

  “Let’s stay with my mother. I’m sure she won’t mind.” Keith picked up his cell to make the call.

  “No!” Becca’s smile faltered, and her voice ricocheted around the room. “I mean, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Your mother goes to bed so early, I wouldn’t want to disturb her.”

  I suppressed a smirk. I wouldn’t want to stay with Helene either.

  “Mallory can certainly accommodate us at her little B and B, right?” Becca’s smile returned and broke freely across her face, revealing even, blinding teeth, enhanced by some kind of whitening solution.

  “The house is still being renovated, and the contractors will start work tomorrow at six AM.” I wouldn’t mind taking in Whitney, but I wasn’t so sure about Keith and Becca. Keith had been absolutely inhospitable to Lois’s dogs, and he’d be reunited with them. But then I pictured the guest room upstairs, its hideous peach and sea-foam equanimity slashed to ribbons and bits. Even I couldn’t be so callous as to lie about there being no room at the proverbial inn.

  Keith and Becca weren’t my first choice for guests, but it was undeniable that Becca would be a calming influence on a now hysterical Whitney. “But there are three bedrooms ready enough to accommodate you.”

  * * *

  The last time Keith had been in my home, he was skulking about trying to find some valuable paintings. Tonight he strode around grandly as if he owned the place.

  “I love what you’ve done with the house.” Keith smirked as he guided Becca around a pyramid of paint cans lined up in the middle of the back hall. “Are you sure it’ll be done in time for Whitney and Ian’s wedding?”

  Whitney gave a firm nod. “I’m getting married here, and it will be done by the day after Halloween. Right, Mallory?”

  “That’s right,” I affirmed and led everyone up the grand staircase with a new balustrade and bannister firmly in place. I knew because I gave the gleaming dark wood a subtle practice shove before we advanced up the stairs.

  Rachel peeked her head out of the last bedroom I’d assigned to my first guests and gave me a thumbs-up. I’d called her on the way over, and she’d made up all of the beds and placed toiletries in the bathrooms. The bedrooms were finished enough for guests, with fresh paint, buffed wood floors, beautiful modern bathrooms carved out of what were once large closets, and the original, massive beds appointed with new pillow-top mattresses. The decorations were a little spare, since most of them were still stored in the carriage house, but the rooms were cozy, clean, and, more importantly, nearly finished.

  “Ahem.” Keith and Becca peeked into each room as I led them to the one I’d picked for them.

  “This is the room I always played hide-and-seek in,” Keith mused, gesturing toward the green bedroom, where my mom was staying. “Grandma Sylvia had a huge wardrobe in here with a trick hollow back. When I was six or seven, I could just squeeze into it.”

  Becca stared with naked envy at the house. It was still a showstopper, despite the renovations not being finished.

  I opened the door to the blue bedroom and gestured them in.

  “Ooh, this is lovely.” Becca spun around in the room, outfitted in alternating pale and deep blue stripes, irises, cornflowers, and lots of frothy eyelet lace. It was the most complete bedroom, and I was giving it to them free of charge.

  Becca dropped her bag on the floor and slipped off her shoes. “What will you serve for breakfast?” She cocked a dark eyebrow and waited expectantly for the answer.

  “Excuse me?”

  Becca flicked her eyes dismissively around the room. “This is a bed-and-breakfast, right?”

  I bristled. “Of course it is! It’s just that we’re not officially open . . .”

  Becca exchanged a simpering glance with Keith. As of now, my unexpected guests could dine on Rice Krispies, yogurt, and oatmeal, but I wasn’t going to serve them that.

  “We’re having avocado eggs benedict, bananas Foster French toast, fruit compote, and southwestern omelets.”

  “That sounds wonderful, Mallory.” Whitney looked exhausted.

  I left Keith and Becca and led Whit down the hall to the most elegant bedroom of all, the purple room.

  “This is what will be billed as the honeymoon suite,” I told her, flicking on the light. Bruce, Fiona, and Maisie had been following Whitney and happily jumped on her bed.

  “It’s gorgeous,” she breathed, turning around in the room, painted a heavy French cream with a deep orchid accent wall. She knelt down, and the doggies leaped from the bed, yipping and jumping up to give her kisses. It was a sweet reunion, and the pups looked ecstatic to see her.

  “I’m just going to head out to get some things for breakfast. Call me if you need anything. I’ll leave you with a key to the front door so you can step out with the dogs if you need to.”

  “Thanks again.” Whitney gave me a big hug, and I headed out for provisions.

  * * *

  Shopping at three in the morning was a fantastic experience. I had the grocery store to myself and quickly filled my cart to the brim with delectable ingredients for several days’ worth of breakfasts. I didn’t know how long it would take the crime team to process Keith and Becca’s guest bedroom and when my unexpected guests would feel safe enough to go back.

  I carefully steered the Butterscotch Monster through the near-empty streets and kept close watch for deer and other critters roaming in the cool fall night. The clouds and rain had cleared off, and I stepped out under inky black skies with a latticework of twinkling stars. I smiled as I headed back to my boat of a station wagon for my third and final trip. A feeling of serenity washed over me as I contemplated the house. It felt wonderful that nearly all the rooms were occupied, even if not by paying guests. I was energized as I hefted the heaviest bags onto my wrists and set off to prep a delicious breakfast.

  I gazed at Thistle Park, hulking and solid in the moonlight, and swallowed a scream that came out as a strangled gurgle. Up on the widow’s walk stood a figure in a heavy bell skirt, her hair in a tidy bun. I dropped my bags and backed up to take in the woman from a better angle, but she was gone.

  “There’s no such thing as ghosts. There’s no such thingasghosts. There’s nosuchthingasghosts,” I chanted to myself in hyperventilation speed. The front door creaked open, and this time I did scream, before Rachel clapped her hand over my mouth.

  “Shh! We actually have guests, in case you forgot! You’re really spooked.” She cracked a big bubble of gum, and the scent of spearmint permeated the air.

  “The widow’s walk . . . I saw her . . . the ghost!” I gasped this out between short puffs of cold air.

  Rachel rolled her eyes so hard the whites shone by the light of the moon.

  “Stop making fun of me! I know you don’t believe in them, but that’s no reason to tease me, especially today, when so much has happened.”

  “I’m not kidding.” Breathlessly I told Rachel about the apparition on the roof as I heaved the last of the heavy bags into the front hall.

  “Well, let’s go see!” Rachel rubbed her hands together as goose bumps stood out on her arms.

  “The food will go bad.” My voice wavered. “How about you put it away? I’ll run upstairs and poke my head outside to catch the ghost.”

  “Are you sure?” Rachel’s eyes went wide.

  “I’m sure. You need to stay inside. You must be freezing.”

  Rach was dressed for bedtime in a short satin robe that barely covered the silk shorts she wore. I’d be freezing in a getup like that. I couldn’t wait
to don my cozy but threadbare flannel PJs with the black cat and pumpkin pattern. Maybe that’s why I have yet to go on a real date with the man I’m seeing. I slowly headed for the widow’s walk.

  I climbed the steep back staircase to the third floor, then advanced with tiny steps. Each footfall groaned with my weight, and I wished, not for the first time, that Jesse’s renovations had de-creaked the noisy stairs. Finally I reached the third floor. It appeared to be empty and still. I made my way to the back of the apartment for the second time in less than twenty-four hours and to the door to the widow’s walk.

  I placed my hand on the doorknob, which was ice-cold, as if the door had been left open. I hoped my kitties were still inside this time. I flung open the door, and I peered up the short flight of stairs to the roof and saw nothing. I let out a shaky breath and climbed to the top, where it was eerily calm. No ghost occupied the widow’s walk. The moon seemed even larger up on the roof, a wide, silver-white wafer in the sky. I stood on my tiptoes and could just see the outline of a barge traversing its way slowly down the Monongahela, low and flat to the water like a submerged hippopotamus. I looked up at the stars winking merrily at me. It was a beautiful, cold, velvety night, and the world seemed peaceful after the day’s tumultuous events.

  “Phew.” My heart rate began to decelerate to normal. “I must have imagined it,” I whispered to myself.

  But what is that smell? The delicate, old-fashioned aroma of lilacs wafted to my nose. I spun around in a circle, expecting to come face-to-face with Evelyn McGavitt’s ghost. I was still alone. My eyes swept the landing again and alighted on something gleaming on the ground. It was a small scrap of cloth, a dainty lace handkerchief. It was stained, aged, and fragile.

  My heart accelerated again, and I wheeled around. I carefully placed my foot on the top stair of the widow’s walk. With a shaking hand, I pushed the scrap of cloth into my pocket. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.” I shut the door firmly behind me and made my way to the top of the back stairs on my way to the second floor.

  The lights went out, and an earsplitting scream echoed from below me.

  I stumbled down the last few stairs to the second floor, falling on the last step. I swore and rubbed my twisted ankle and felt the walls with trepidation.

  “Mallory?” Mom reached out in the dark and grabbed my hand. “Oh, this is just awful!”

  I held her hand, and the two of us did an awkward crab walk in the dark down the last flight of stairs, following the sounds of the bedlam below, ending in the kitchen. Rachel turned on a flashlight, and I could see her, Keith, Becca, Whitney, and my mother in the weak glow. And Hunter. Hunter?

  “What are you doing here?” I blurted out. My face heated.

  Rachel’s silky robe suddenly made sense.

  “I wanted to observe the house at night, and Rachel graciously invited me,” Hunter said gallantly, without a shred of embarrassment. “The EMF went nuts right before the spectral event.”

  “It’s true, dear,” my mother said with a worried frown. “I set my alarm to wake up and join in the fun, and that little instrument went haywire right before all the commotion.”

  My mother, the moonlighting ghost hunter? All of the consternation about her rejected design plans had evaporated in her excitement.

  “The spectral event?” Keith’s mouth turned down in a forceful sneer. “What’s the meaning of this?” He crossed his arms and blustered over to Hunter. He was decked out in a navy robe and a grade A-scowl. His browbeating of Hunter was put to a merciful end by the scrabbling sound of the dogs and cats. They were meowing and barking one flight up.

  “Why aren’t they coming downstairs?” I grabbed a flashlight from the small stash in the kitchen drawer. Mental note, get more flashlights, one for each guest room. I had a lot of things to tweak before our official grand opening. I raced up the stairs, the flashlight bobbing with each step. I stopped in front of the white bedroom, where no one was staying.

  “They’re locked inside,” I whispered. I used the key ring I’d snatched from what would be the check-in area in the front hall and unlocked the door. Whiskey and Soda came tumbling out, followed by Fiona, Bruce, and Maisie. I heard a crash and swung my flashlight into the hall. The McGavitt family’s factory was famous for their miniature decorative menageries of whimsical crystal animals. Our real menagerie of animals caromed around the corner in the hallway and collided in a mass of churning legs, fur, barks, hisses, and meows, straight into a built-in wall curio display. The delicate glass menagerie shook and rattled. A spotted giraffe and a striped tiger teetered off the edge and met their shattered and splintered demise. The rest of the animals slid off the shelf, and the little crystal critters were dashed to pieces.

  “Kitties! Doggies! Stop it!”

  I broke up the dog and cat kerfuffle, and the cats ran for the third floor, while the dogs trotted down the stairs to the first floor. I tried each door on the second floor, but they were all locked.

  Rachel and Hunter joined me, growing more and more excited.

  “Whitney, Keith, and Becca heard their doors lock, and Becca screamed when she couldn’t get out at first,” Hunter explained. “This is the strongest, most clear manifestation I’ve ever witnessed.” His gray eyes sparkled.

  Clearly, everyone about me had lost their wits. “This is hooey. Someone locked those doors, and they weren’t of the supernatural persuasion. I’m calling the police.”

  Chapter Nine

  “No crime has been committed.” Truman glanced at his watch and yawned. “This was a harmless prank gone wrong.” He stopped to address my mother, who started to speak up in annoyance. “Although, I can see why you’re so spooked. You shouldn’t use real keys.”

  The lights were on again. Faith had discovered that every fuse had blown in the basement.

  “You should upgrade the electrical around here,” she tsked, and my face went red.

  “Jesse did do electrical upgrades!”

  Disdain was etched on Truman’s tired face.

  “Ghosts have very strong electrical fields.” Hunter’s face was flushed with excitement, and he nearly bounced on the balls of his feet. “The fuses were blown by their presence!”

  “Or someone sent us a message,” I muttered. “Why wasn’t the security system tripped?”

  “Um.” Rachel’s voice was very small, and she studied her mule bedroom slippers. “I took the security system offline for ghost hunting tonight. We were roaming around outside and didn’t want to trip it.”

  Truman groaned.

  “I should sue you!” Keith clenched his hands.

  “Most B and Bs use real keys.” I turned to address Truman and ignored Keith. I wanted to keep the quaint skeleton keys, but not if they were a security risk for my guests.

  “I work hotel security at the Senator,” Hunter broke in. “I can help you set up a key card system. Your guests will be much more secure.”

  “But someone must have broken in to do it,” I protested. “I’ll change the locks, but right now I’m more concerned that someone was able to get into the house.”

  “There are a lot of people here.” Truman’s tired eyes swept the room to take in all of us assembled around the breakfast table, clutching cups of strong coffee. “Any one of you could have orchestrated these shenanigans. It wasn’t someone from outside.”

  “Are you accusing us of staging this fiasco?” Keith puffed his chest out. His navy robe rose and fell with each blustery breath, but it didn’t work.

  “Keith,” Truman began, drawing himself up to his full height, “I’ve spent the night processing your house after a genuine crime and my son’s office after another break-in. I don’t mind making sure the premises are secure here, but I won’t be told how to do my job.” Truman looked imposing, though exhausted, still in his full uniform. “I’ll check the grounds, as a courtesy, but don’t expect me to find anything. You need to take a close look at each other and figure out who would want to do this.” Truman looked us
each in the eyes briefly in turn and stalked out the back door, flooding the grounds with a flick of the spotlights out back.

  “It was a ghost,” Hunter affirmed calmly, his clear and pleasant voice filling the dead air.

  Keith threw up his hands and scowled at Hunter. “There are no such things as ghosts.” He turned his searing gaze on me. “If this is how you run your B and B, you’ll be out of business in less than a year. Ingrid Phelan is right.” He turned and left the kitchen, Becca following him, mincing off on low-heeled satin bedroom slippers.

  “I’m not quite sure what you ever saw in him,” sniffed my mother. She’d apparently forgotten counseling me to go through with the wedding to Keith.

  Whitney looked sleepy and appalled, and she hugged Bruce to her and sipped her coffee. Maisie and Fiona sat at her feet.

  I nonchalantly tried to make everyone feel at home, despite the recent events. It was now five in the morning, and the contractors would be arriving in an hour.

  “I may as well make breakfast. Are you guys hungry?”

  I was met with enthusiastic nods and cheers for food, and it was too late for everyone to go back to bed. So I began to make the inaugural breakfast for the B and B under the strangest circumstances I could imagine.

  “Need any help?” Hunter appeared at my elbow as I chopped peppers, onions, and mushrooms for southwestern omelets.

  “Thanks for offering.” I gave him a smile. “You could set the table for me. You worked with Lois at the Senator Hotel. What was she like?”

  He blushed and stacked plates for the guests. “Honestly? We called her the Stasi.”

  I stopped chopping in surprise right before I almost hacked off my left thumb. “She seemed so nice.” A little pushy, but pleasant.

  “She was a pretty cheerful lady. An institution at the Senator. She cheerfully stuck her nose into people’s professional and personal lives. She was the head of HR, and I work in security, so our paths crossed a lot. The ghost hunting is just a hobby, one I hope will pan out into a reality TV show.”