Murder Wears White

by Stephanie Blackmoore

  “Hi, Mallory.” She gave me a big hug and settled onto the other swing, too small for her lanky frame as well.

  “Have you decided on a Halloween costume? You’re running out of time.” Garrett continued to swing, sweeping his long legs out each time they threatened to dig though the soft oval of sand below.

  “I’d still like to be a zombie.” Summer pumped her legs furiously, and the rusty swing set shuddered and groaned.

  “I think that’s fine.” Garrett turned to face his daughter and abruptly stopped swinging.

  “Really?!” Summer hopped off her swing with a graceful leap and landed on her feet.

  “But I don’t think Grandma is on board. I doubt she’ll help you make your costume.”

  Summer’s face fell. “I can make my own, I suppose.”

  “I can help you this weekend when I have a little time,” Garrett offered.

  “Oh, sweetie, I’d help you too, but I’m so busy with the B and B. We can practice applying zombie makeup, though, and maybe we can tear up some of your clothes for the rest of the costume.”

  Summer’s face lit up briefly.

  “And you could always wear Natalie’s Glinda costume,” Garrett added. “As I recall, that was some getup.”

  This earned a glare from both me and Summer.

  Summer’s pretty face twisted in a frown. “Thanks, Dad, but I don’t want to be a good witch. I’ll figure it out.”

  “What if you compromised?” I asked slowly. I could see it.

  “What do you mean?” Summer sat back down on the swing and turned to me with interest.

  “What if you zombie-fied the Glinda costume and you were a zombie princess? Grandma Lorraine might be on board with that, and it’d be unique and even beautiful.”

  Summer cocked her head to the left. A slow smile spread across her face.

  “Ooh, let’s do it!” Summer jumped off the swing and started brainstorming. “I can slash the dress and tear the sleeves. I’ll spill red paint on it to make it look like blood—”

  “Now wait a minute, young lady.” Garrett held up his hand. “I’m not so sure Natalie will go for that. You need to tell her your plans before you do that to her costume.”

  “Of course I will,” Summer exclaimed. She was already up and bounding off for the house. “I’ve got to call Jocelyn and Phoebe! Thanks, Mallory!”

  “What have I done?” I hung my head and sunk onto a worn wooden seesaw.

  Garrett laughed. “I’m not sure if this will please my mom, or Natalie, but it will be one heck of a costume.”

  “It looks like you can ask her yourself.” I jerked my chin toward the driveway.

  A lemon-yellow Beetle with a little flower attached to the antenna pulled in. The costume in question hung in the car. The poufy pink dress filled the entire backseat, little sequins and mirrors winking on the netting and bodice.

  “Hello!” Natalie waved like a maniac from the driveway and tried to wrestle the gown out of her car. “Garrett, be a dear and help me, please.” She batted her ginger-colored lashes coquettishly and offered him a gentle smile.

  Garrett was already on his way and carefully leaned over to help her hoist the costume out of the backseat. Natalie didn’t move and crowded him beside her car. They laughed as they carried the dress up the wet walkway, standing close to make sure the fabric didn’t touch the ground.

  I followed them wordlessly to the front door, five paces behind. It clicked shut after Natalie, and I tried to suppress rolling my eyes as Summer opened it for me.

  “Thank you for the costume, Natalie.” Summer was all politeness and solicitude. “I was just telling Dad and Mallory I’d like to wear it after all.”

  Natalie flashed a sunny smile and helped Garrett lay the voluminous dress on the couch. It was so stiff and big, it looked like there was a person already in it.

  “I knew once you got a look at it that you’d want to wear it, sweetie.” Natalie spoke to Summer but her eyes were on Garrett.

  Summer winced at the term of endearment but quickly recovered.

  “I’ll return it after Halloween.” She stared glumly at the dress, consigned to her fate of being a good witch. Her dream of being a zombie with her friends seemed to be slipping away. There was no way Natalie would let her modify the dress.

  “I go all out each Halloween, and I never re-wear a costume,” Natalie gushed. “Tell you what, you keep it, my treat.”

  A glimmer of hope lit up Summer’s big hazel eyes. “Do you mind if I alter the dress?”

  Natalie’s big grin dimmed a few watts. “I suppose,” she mused. “It is your dress now to do with as you like. Even that preposterous idea to be a zombie.” Natalie winced.

  “Great!” Summer picked up the heavy gown and examined it, no doubt planning her makeover with scissors and red paint.

  “I’m going to try it on right now.” She heaved the heavy dress over her shoulder and dragged it back to her bedroom.

  “Have a seat, Nat.”

  Natalie flashed a flirty smile and joined Garrett on the couch, where she crossed her legs and scooted a bit closer to him.

  “I know you weren’t a coroner when the Vanessa Scanlon case went down, but can you do me a favor?”

  Natalie sharply inhaled and leaned in closer to Garrett. “Anything for you.”

  “Can you look into the case file for anything . . . unusual? Any sign that evidence was tampered with on the coroner’s end?”

  Natalie frowned. “I’ve heard some rumors over the years about that case, but I don’t believe the coroner’s office would be involved. My predecessor was old-fashioned, but he was a straight shooter. Still, for you, I’ll look.” Again with the megawatt smile. “I’ll see if something was overlooked.”

  “Thanks, Nat. It means a lot to me.”

  “Natalie!” Lorraine opened the door laden with grocery bags, and Garrett jumped up to help his mother. “What a lovely surprise.”

  “Good news, Lorraine! Summer is going to wear my Glinda costume for Halloween!”

  “That’s just wonderful.” Lorraine set down a bag of veggies and clasped her hands together. “You worked some magic on that girl.”

  Natalie bid Garrett good-bye with a quick hug, taking him by surprise, and a longer one for Lorraine. She nearly skipped down the front path. Garrett and Lorraine walked Natalie to her car and began to unload groceries.

  “Is she gone?” Summer peeked her head out of her bedroom and called down the hall.

  “The coast is clear. Natalie’s getting into her car.”

  Summer breathed a long sigh and joined me in the kitchen.

  “I can’t stand Natalie.” Her eyes were the picture of melancholy. “She doesn’t like me,” she said softly, pushing a lock of short blond hair behind her ear. “I hope Dad picks you, and not her. Dad and me, we’re a package deal. Natalie doesn’t get that.”

  “Oh, honey, I bet Natalie didn’t mean anything.” But I wasn’t sure. Summer was pretty perceptive.

  “She was always trying to change me. She tried to make me more like her. When she and Dad were going out, she got me pink sweaters and girly perfume and wanted me to be more cheerful.” She stared up at me through her short blond bangs, tears gathering at the corners of her elfin eyes. “I’m plenty cheerful!”

  “You never told me this.” Garrett appeared in the doorway with his hands weighed down with heavy grocery bags. He set them on the floor and crossed the small kitchen in three steps. “Sweetie, I wish you would’ve said something.” He scooped his lanky daughter up in a bear hug.

  “So you’re not getting back together with Natalie?”

  Garrett raised his eyebrows at me over Summer’s head. “No, I’m not.” He seemed to be saying it for my effect as much as hers.

  Summer relaxed and broke the hug. She started to put away groceries, and her smile was so big it revealed all of her magenta braces. I had to stifle my smile and pitched in with the unpacking. We finished, and I stayed to help Lorraine mak
e dinner while Garrett helped Summer with her homework. We ate without Truman, who was held up at work.

  Garrett walked me to the Butterscotch Monster and gave me a gentle kiss.

  “Break it up, you two,” Truman said, all affability and weary smiles. He stepped out of his police car and ambled over. Garrett’s face turned to steel, and he broke our embrace.

  “What do you know about tampering with evidence in Eugene Newton’s case?”

  A look of confusion was followed by a flash of anger. “That’s a fine way to greet your father,” Truman grumbled.

  “Mallory spoke with Rusty today. He admitted it.”

  “What were you doing talking to Rusty, Mallory?”

  “You had to have known, Dad.”

  Truman focused his laser beam of anger on Garrett instead of me. “You’re lying. Rusty is a man of integrity. He would never have been anything but ethical with an investigation, especially for murder.”

  I shook my head sadly. “He moved the murder weapon from the woods to Eugene’s shed.”

  Truman backed up as if he’d been struck in the face. He looked horrified for a single second. And even more alarming, his expression turned to one of recognition.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Just look at the potential customers!” My sister took in the Senator Hotel ballroom and plastered on a winsome smile. A woman and her daughter stopped to take a brochure and a miniature scone. Today was the Port Quincy Hospitality Expo. The event featured every hotel, inn, and restaurant in town showing off their services. Denizens and businesses from Port Quincy and nearby towns drifted from booth to booth and perused venues for weddings, parties, meetings, and out-of-town guests. We’d scored a prime location, as our booth was one of the first ones a visitor would encounter upon entering the busy room. The expo had begun fifteen minutes ago, and we’d already gone through a tray of treats and a stack of brochures featuring pictures of the finished exterior of the B and B, the yellow bedroom, and a table set for tea. I was glad the expo was this weekend. I could push thoughts of Rusty and Truman’s reaction to the news that he’d rigged the investigation out of my mind.

  “Oh no . . .” A prickle ran down my back, and I gazed up at Ingrid Phelan.

  She had arrived late and paused from hurriedly setting up her booth. Her display consisted of a stack of black-and-white fliers advertising the Mountain Laurel Inn, and her sour face glared at yours truly.

  “Who peed in her Cheerios?” Rachel hefted up another tray of food and placed it at an enticing angle at the edge of our booth. This one held cupcakes iced like tiny tuxedos, with a rim of matching white chocolate strawberries. I hauled up a giant carafe of tea and another of coffee to give to inquiring customers. Ingrid was barely listening to the young couple who peppered her with questions and instead seemed more focused on giving my sister and me the stink eye.

  “She’s just mad she has such a lackluster booth.” I kept my face impassive. I didn’t want to give Ingrid any ammunition for her husband, Troy, to deny my rezoning application.

  As another couple left our booth with a treat and a paper cup filled with steaming tea, Ingrid yelped and swiftly marched over. She waited with barely suppressed ire for the representative from Quincy College to finish speaking to us. As soon as he was gone, she descended upon us like a flying monkey.

  “What do we have here?” She picked up a strawberry and held it in front of her as if it were rotten. “The rules for the expo stipulate purveyors are not to give out food and drink.” She jutted out her chin in a haughty puff and deposited the strawberry on the tray.

  “There’s nothing about that in the rules, and you know it.” I gestured to several booths to our right. “There are several restaurants giving out food.”

  “The guidelines stipulate that restaurants can give out food, but it doesn’t say anything about B and Bs.” Ingrid pointed her nose skyward with a superior air and didn’t seem to notice that a few people were gathering to listen to her complaints.

  “Gimme a break.” Rachel tapped her sparkly nails on our booth in annoyance. “It doesn’t say we can’t. You’re just jealous more people are visiting our booth and that you didn’t think to offer food.”

  Ingrid’s eyes went wide, and her mouth opened and closed like a fish.

  “You impertinent girl!” She lost any semblance of dignity, and her cries echoed around the ballroom. “My inn has been around for fifty years, and it won’t be driven out by the likes of you two imposters!” Her reedy voice screeched like an incensed barn owl, and her lacey brown shawl flapped around her shoulders like a pair of tattered wings.

  “Is that what this is about?” I sighed and handed her a brochure. “Ingrid, we’re not trying to run you out of business. We’ll have different guests and different functions. For instance, we’re holding weddings at our B and B, in addition to visitors. I think we can peaceably coexist.”

  Ingrid’s face broke into a slow smile. “The Mountain Laurel is now hosting weddings as well.”

  I tried to stop my eyes from growing wide, but I was taken off guard too fast. “But—”

  “But you’re too small!” Rachel sputtered.

  “I’m putting on an addition this spring that will double my square footage and allow for weddings seating up to one hundred people.” She glared at the two of us and raised her voice for the rubberneckers. “And unlike you, this isn’t my first rodeo. We’re rated Port Quincy’s best bed-and-breakfast.”

  “That’s because you’ve been Port Quincy’s only bed-and-breakfast,” Rachel piped up.

  “You’ve got that right, Miss Shepard.” Ingrid put on a hard smile. “And after the Planning Commission denies your request, the Mountain Laurel will remain the only B and B.”

  “Excuse me, ladies.” A portly man in a herringbone vest emphasized the last word, letting us know he thought we were anything but. “Is there a problem here?” It was Randolph Wayne, the manager of the Senator Hotel. He could have been an NFL referee breaking up a scuffle between players instead of a hotel employee reminding two B and B purveyors to mind their manners.

  I smoothed the front of my shirt, and my face warmed. “There’s no problem.”

  Ingrid scurried back to her booth and shuffled her stack of fliers. Duly chastened, we carried on with the rest of the morning, talking up the B and B and handing out treats. Ingrid hightailed it out of the ballroom the second the expo was over, but Rachel and I lingered, chatting with other restaurateurs and hoteliers.

  “Thank you for keeping your cool.” Mr. Wayne appeared at my side, looking officious with a clipboard and walkie-talkie. He accompanied Rachel and me as we left the ballroom and headed for the elevators.

  “No problem.” I hesitated as the elevator doors slid open with a metallic clang. “I know Lois Scanlon worked here for years in HR. I wanted to express my condolences.”

  Mr. Wayne’s bushy eyebrows shot up above his round tortoiseshell glasses. “We’re still reeling from Lois’s passing.” The elevator closed, trapping Rachel and me with Mr. Wayne.

  “I have an odd question.” I bit my lip and took a chance as my sister pressed the button for the ground level. “Years ago, were there any problems with jewelry here at the Senator?” I let the air whoosh out of my lungs and pushed away thoughts of Truman’s disapproval.

  Mr. Wayne gave me an odd stare. “When would that have been?”

  “The nineteen nineties.” The door slid open on the ground floor, and guests waited impatiently for us to leave the elevator.

  “Miss Shepard, you’d better come with me.” Mr. Wayne’s ruddy round face took on an odd yellow cast.

  Rachel left with the keys to the Butterscotch Monster, and I rode the elevator up to the seventh floor and followed Randolph Wayne to his office.

  “Have a seat.”

  I settled into a plush chair and took in the photos flanking Mr. Wayne’s desk. There were pictures of politicians and dignitaries dining and attending events at the Senator. There was a photo of
JFK standing on the steps of the hotel, and of Jimmy Carter shaking hands with a young and befuddled Mr. Wayne. Mr. Wayne seemed to be rooted in the past goings-on at the hotel, and I hoped he could remember what had happened when Vanessa was an employee.

  “I’ve worked here for forty years, moving from bellhop to general manager of this hotel. I consider myself to be something of a historian for the Senator.” He glowed with pride and straightened his vest. “And yes, your question about thefts in the nineties does ring a bell. I was assistant manager then, and we had a little problem with guests’ wallets and jewelry walking off.” His shoulders drooped in embarrassment, and he sat back in his chair.

  I cleared my throat. “Er, I’ll just get to it. I’ve been looking into the whereabouts of Vanessa Scanlon back then and think she was fencing jewelry.”

  Mr. Wayne’s eyes stretched to the size of saucers behind his magnifying glasses, and he sputtered, “It all makes sense now. No one would have believed it until she disappeared. She was so sweet. But she ran the housekeeping unit and had access to all of the guests’ rooms.” He shook his head and hid his face in his hands. “Come to think of it, the thefts stopped after she disappeared. I didn’t realize it at the time.”

  “Did you ever say anything to the police?”

  Mr. Wayne bristled and drew himself up in his chair. “They never asked!”

  I stifled a groan.

  Mr. Wayne grimaced. “It was awful when she disappeared.” His eyes narrowed. “And why are you so interested in the Scanlons?”

  Good question.

  “Because Lois died right in front of me,” I stammered. “And Vanessa’s daughter, Whitney, is marrying at my B and B in a little over a week. And because I don’t think Eugene Newton is guilty of Vanessa’s death.”

  Mr. Wayne’s eyes went wide again. “You don’t think Lois’s death had anything to do with the Senator Hotel and Vanessa, do you?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out. Someone placed Bloody Mary mix with clam juice on Lois’s mints. She spent the day before at the chocolate convention, right here in the hotel.” Where there were plenty of people who held a grudge against her. Including one Penelope Jelinek, who had been forced to pay Lois a bribe. “She left her bag with the mints alone in a convention booth for fifteen minutes while she harangued some poor employee.”