Murder Wears White

by Stephanie Blackmoore

  I jumped in front of her and pushed Summer back into her father’s arms.

  “You gave her the dress, remember? You even specified she could use it for her zombie costume.”

  Her face turned as orange as an Oompa-Loompa.

  “I wouldn’t have done so if I knew she’d ruin it!”

  “Natalie, I won’t have you talking to my daughter that way.” Garrett stepped out in front of Summer and joined me by my side. “Perhaps I should have run Summer’s plan for the dress by you, but really, if you gave the dress to her as a gift, you can’t place restrictions on its use.”

  “That little brat!” Natalie took a step back. Her saccharine shell dissolved as if she’d been left out in the rain. In her place was no longer Glinda, but a very bad, very mean witch.

  Lorraine found her strength. “Don’t talk to Summer like that!” All her misgivings about the costume melted away, and Lorraine morphed into Grandma Bear.

  “Summer is my daughter, Natalie.” Garrett placed his arm around her. “Anything that went wrong was between the two of us and had nothing to do with her. Now. Get. Out.”

  Natalie turned on the heel of her little white Keds and motored out of the room, into her Beetle, and reversed hard down the driveway, with a squeal of tire rubber on the pavement.

  Summer hugged her father, and Rachel and I helped Lorraine sit down.

  “She never liked me, Dad.” Summer sat on the couch and picked up the lone thumbprint that had remained on the tray.

  “She’s crazy, sweetheart.” Rachel sat on one side of her, and I sat on the other.

  “We’re a package deal, kiddo.” Garrett smiled at his daughter, and she smiled shyly back.

  Phoebe showed up as a zombie scuba diver, and Jocelyn had borrowed her mother’s white coat and stethoscope to become a zombie doctor. The girls oohed and aahed over each other’s costumes. They kidded around in the living room and took shambling steps with their arms outstretched. We took pictures of the three girls with their cell phones and sent them out into the night with Garrett as chaperone.

  “Thanks for working on Summer’s costume with her.” Lorraine walked Rachel and me to the door.

  “I’m sorry it was such a shock.” Maybe we should have warned Lorraine what a zombie princess costume would entail.

  She bit her lip as if trying to decide whether to say something. Finally she wiped her hands on her candy-corn apron. “I loved Natalie like a daughter. I appreciated her cheerfulness and positive attitude. But I never for a million years thought she wasn’t going to be anything but kind to my Summer.” She paused and gave me an impetuous hug. “I know you love my granddaughter, and I thank you for that.”

  I left with tears in my eyes. Rachel and I hightailed it out of there for Whitney’s rehearsal.

  * * *

  “I now pronounce you man and wife. You may now kiss the bride.” The Reverend Marcus Callender, clad in jeans, grinned as big as he would tomorrow during Whitney and Ian’s real ceremony.

  Ian swept Whitney up in a dramatic dip on the grand staircase landing and kissed her.

  “Woot-woot!” Rachel and I cheered from the hall below. The rehearsal was going off without a hitch.

  Whitney and Ian walked down the stairs hand in hand.

  “It’s all coming together.” Whitney took in the delicate bird chandelier and turned around in a slow circle. “The house looks fabulous. I just knew you could pull it off.”

  She and Ian left to talk to her father, who was looking on fondly at his daughter.

  “We were able to pull it off, thanks to you.” I hugged my mom, and she pulled Rachel into her embrace. I lowered my voice. “Now all I have to do is find the missing money and everything will be resolved.” Except for Lois’s murder, and the identity of Vanessa’s real killer.

  “How did Jesse take the news?” Mom murmured, trying to look nonchalant.

  Doug couldn’t arrive fast enough.

  “He believes me, thank goodness. After all we’ve been through, he knows I wouldn’t stiff him. I wrote him an IOU. And he’ll be able to manage until we resolve this with the bank.” Jesse had been tense, but ultimately understanding.

  Marcus Callender sidled up to me. “I hear the prosecutor has started exploring whether to free Eugene Newton.” His soft brown eyes were filled with hope. I didn’t want to dash them.

  “The prosecutor could file a motion to vacate the conviction and claim the case against Eugene is without merit. But it would be even better if they could find the real killer. He’s not out of the woods yet.”

  Marcus’s face fell. “I thought the diary would be enough.”

  “Garrett thinks if he presses the issue, Eugene could be out by Thanksgiving. We’ll have to wait and see. But at least he has a shot, thanks to you.”

  Marcus blushed. “I never put two and two together before. Thank you for asking the questions to jog my memory.”

  Whitney, Ian, and Porter gathered their coats to head over to Pellegrino’s for the rehearsal dinner. There was a knock at the door that shook it like a battering ram.

  “Police! Open up!” I hurried over and threw it open. There stood Truman and Faith, their faces grim.

  “We have a warrant for the arrest of Whitney Suzanne Scanlon for the murder of Lois Scanlon. Whitney, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say—”

  “Is this a joke? It isn’t very funny.” Ian took a step toward Truman and blocked him from approaching Whitney. A vein throbbed and pulsed on his forehead.

  “I’m sorry. Please step aside.” Truman glared at Ian, and he finally acquiesced. Ian’s hands balled into fists and his knuckles turned white.

  “Whitney, don’t say anything. I’m calling a lawyer.”

  Faith cuffed Whitney and led her away, sobbing. We stared out the front door as Faith gently sat her in the back of the police car and drove down the drive.

  Ian talked animatedly into the phone, then swiped it off. “We’ll get my fiancée out of jail.”

  “I’m not so sure if it’s a murder charge,” I began.

  “Mark my words. Whitney and I are getting married tomorrow, no matter what I have to do.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  The dog groomer’s was about to close. Even though Whitney and Ian’s wedding was in limbo and the doggies probably wouldn’t serve as ring bearers, I still needed to pick them up. I pulled in front of Peggy’s Pooch Palace, a combination doggie hotel and pet salon. A chime made of silver dog bones clinked softly in the blustery wind. I swung open the door, and a barking noise announced my arrival. It was canine heaven, with dog drinking fountains, an activity course, and grooming stations.

  “I’m sorry I’m here so close to closing time,” I apologized.

  The mêlée that had ensued after Whitney’s arrest delayed me about half an hour. I wanted to get back home and brainstorm a way to spring Whit from jail, but the dogs needed to be picked up.

  “You’re fine, dear,” the heavyset woman with soft copper curls smiled from behind the counter. “I bet these guys will be happy to see you.” She led Fiona, Bruce, and Maisie around from behind the counter.

  “They look adorable!”

  Bruce was restored to his former shiny glory, his hair trimmed and dematted. He sported a new tartan collar and sat on his haunches, waiting for a treat. The woman rewarded him with a small bone cookie. He trotted over to me and pawed at my knees. His nails had been trimmed and his doggie teeth brushed. Fiona looked happy to dote on her son. She wore a red sash around her neck. Maisie had small pink bows along her collar, and her white fur was gleaming and soft.

  “Hi, babies.” I was going to miss them when Whitney went back to Baltimore. It hit me, if Whitney couldn’t shake the murder charge, she might not be leaving Port Quincy anytime soon.

  “Big day for these three tomorrow, right? It’s not every doggy that gets to be a part of a wedding ceremony.” The woman knelt in front of the pups and presented them with more treats.

  I d
idn’t bother to correct her and spread the news of Whitney’s arrest.

  “C’mon, sweeties. You need a good night’s sleep,” I counseled the dogs. “I don’t have your beds, but you’re staying the night with me.”

  The woman frowned and hustled back behind the front desk. “That reminds me. I still have a key for Lois’s house. Will you give it to Whitney? I was going to give it to her tonight. I’m sure you can get the dogs’ things over there if you need to. To tell you the truth, they’re a bit stressed. Bruce, especially.”

  I didn’t doubt it after his ordeal roaming the streets for a week.

  “I know Lois sometimes gave him doggie Prozac. You could get it for him at her house. It’ll keep him from chewing your things.”

  I thought of the damage Bruce had done to Rachel’s Jimmy Choos and wished we’d known about his meds before.

  She presented me with a small house key clearly labeled with Lois’s name.

  I gave her an incredulous stare. “Are you sure you don’t want to give this to Whitney yourself?”

  The woman shrugged. “Give it to her tomorrow. And you can go get the dogs’ beds and get them settled for the night. Wish her a happy wedding for me!” She gaily sent me off with an enthusiastic wave and a pat for each dog.

  I left with the key and directions to Lois’s house, and the dogs trotted obediently beside me. I settled them in the backseat and stared at the key.

  Truman will kill me.

  I shrugged and headed for Lois’s house. It was a pretty, Tudor-style cottage on the eastern side of Port Quincy. Hardy fall weeds had started to encroach on the orderly but shriveled beds of petunias edging up to the house, long dead from the first frost. Brown leaves were piled up in the yard. Still, you could tell Lois had meticulously maintained it.

  The trio of Westies sniffed each blade of grass and rock as I approached the front door. I glanced around at the neighboring houses and decided to enter from the back, in case anyone called Truman. I was sure my trespassing couldn’t hurt anyone, since the police had probably already looked through the house in the course of investigating Lois’s murder. I inserted the key and jiggled it for a minute before it caught. The back door opened with a whine. Bruce and Maisie excitedly yipped and hurried past me, pulling me in after them on their leashes. Fiona gazed up at me as if to question my decision to enter the house. Then she gave an eager bark and followed her children.

  “Whoa, you guys sure are excited to be home!”

  I stood in a neat, pale blue kitchen, decorated with photographs of what looked like Scotland. There were fields dotted with flocks of sheep and tumbledown castles, craggy oceanside cliffs, and meadows of heather. It appeared that the pictures were all amateur shots, but skilled ones. I wondered if Lois had taken them on her travels.

  The house smelled musty and unlived in. The dogs had a field day sniffing and pawing through their old abode. I followed them to the living room, where three plaid dog beds sat before the fireplace. The walls were covered with extremely lifelike portraits of Westies. The painter had captured their personalities, and it was easy to see which canvases featured Fiona, Maisie, and Bruce among the host of other pups Lois must have cared for over the years. The hair at the nape of my neck prickled as the dogs seemed to watch me. I didn’t want to believe in ghosts and was glad they’d been debunked at Thistle Park. But the portraits were giving me the willies, as if guard dogs from beyond the grave were keeping watch over the house.

  “Let’s go, pups.”

  They trotted after me but whined at the pantry, and inside I found a bag of fancy gourmet dog food.

  “Might as well take this.” I picked up the heavy bag, and it split open from the bottom, scattering kibble all over the kitchen floor.

  “Oh, no,” I groaned and looked for a broom. “Don’t eat too much.” The dogs tucked in to the spilled food, when something caught my eye. I reached down and pulled out something enclosed in a plastic freezer bag amidst the dog food.

  “What the . . .” I slid a small notebook embossed with the Scottish flag out of the plastic baggie while the terriers noshed. The first page contained a list:

  PQPS

  Wi-Fi

  $$$

  The rest of the pages were blank. A prickle of recognition raced up my spine, and I drew in a sharp breath.

  “Doggies, we have to go.” I knew who killed Lois, and if I played my cards right, we could spring Whitney and the wedding would go on.

  I sent a text message and gunned the engine of the Butterscotch Monster on the way over to Pellegrino’s. The dogs barked and slid around in the backseat, sensing my tension. I hoped Truman and Faith could meet me, but they might have been trying to question Whitney. I wanted a public place when it all went down.

  I power walked into the restaurant and ran straight into Angela. The dogs barked and twined their leashes around my ankles. I stepped out of the tangle and apologized.

  “Mallory! I’m so glad to see you.” She looked distraught. “I just got the call from Whitney’s lawyer, and then Ian. I was wondering why no one showed up for the rehearsal dinner.” She gestured behind her to the private dining room, where servers were dismantling an elaborate buffet. She was dressed in a pretty green velvet dress, even fancier than her usual restaurant attire, probably anticipating joining her niece and family for the rehearsal dinner rather than working.

  “I’m sending all of this food over to the soup kitchen. I can’t believe this is happening, and that Whitney has been accused of this awful thing.” Her hands shook, and she blinked her eyes in agitation. “That dear girl would never do this to her aunt.”

  “Do you know why they think Whitney did it?” I knew that, unlike Rusty, Truman played by the books. If he’d arrested Whitney, he had a good, if not erroneous, reason for doing so.

  “They found a small vial of Bloody Mary mix in her luggage, according to Ian. Someone called it in anonymously to the police.” She wiped a tear from the edge of her eye, completely rattled. “Obviously it was planted. There’s no way Whitney would’ve murdered her aunt Lois.” Angela was near hysterics.

  I grabbed her shoulders to calm her down. “It’ll be alright. I think I know who killed your sister.”

  Angela stared at me as if I’d gone mad. “How did you figure it out? And who is it?”

  I felt a buzz in my pocket and ripped my cell phone out.

  I’ll be right there.

  “I don’t have much time. He’ll be here soon. I went to Lois’s house.”

  “You what?” Angela bristled. “How did you get in?”

  “The dog groomer, Peggy, gave me the key to get the dogs’ things since I thought they’d be staying with me indefinitely. A note fell out of their food.”

  I held up the notebook, encased in plastic once again.

  “Don’t you see? The ghost hunters are using Wi-Fi at the hotel and in other inns they’re inspecting to access guests’ financial information from their laptops and tablets. They hack into their computers through the wireless connection, use keystroke software or find passwords typed into files, and steal from the guests.”

  Angela frowned. “But what does this have to do with my sister, Lois?”

  “Lois was known as the Senator Hotel Stasi.”

  Angela blanched at the moniker.

  “She spied on her employees in her role as head of HR. She blackmailed Hunter, and he killed her in retaliation. He works security at the Senator and could have easily doused her Altoids with Bloody Mary mix.” I was nearly breathless after my cursory explanation of motive, means, and opportunity.

  “Very good, Mallory. Too bad no one will get to hear your theory play out.”

  A cold, hard object pressed into my back.

  I stifled a cry.

  “Come with me. Both of you. And don’t make any sudden movements.”

  Hunter led Angela and me out Pellegrino’s back door into a wide, dark alley. It stank of rotten garbage and gasoline. The only light was from a gorgeous half mo
on hanging diagonally in the sky. A large dumpster blocked my view of the exit to the alley. I gulped cold air and tried to think fast. I said a prayer that I wouldn’t lose them for good this time and let go of the leashes holding the Westies. They scampered off into the night, and Hunter removed the gun from my shoulder blades for one second to point it at the retreating dogs.

  “You killed my sister?” Angela moaned, and her cries got louder as Hunter trained his gun on her.

  “Shut up. I need to think. Both of you, against that wall, and keep your hands up where I can see them.”

  Angela and I shimmied against the cold brick and stared at Hunter, pacing and pointing his gun at us.

  “So Lois was blackmailing you,” I ventured.

  Hunter gave me a barely perceptible nod.

  “She tried to get me to pay her a bribe,” I offered.

  Angela stifled a little gasp next to me.

  “It made me feel awful. I can’t imagine what it would have been like to work with her looking over my shoulder.”

  Hunter shook his head, and the gun wobbled. “You have no idea. She brought those mutts with her and let them roam the halls, like watchdogs. She was in all of my business, personal and professional, and tried to get me fired for updating the paranormal group website just once during work hours. All I had to do was remove her EpiPen from her purse and swap in the doctored mints.”

  “And she found out about the theft with the Wi-Fi.”

  Hunter’s eyes grew wide, then reduced to icy slits.

  “You’re the second one to figure that out, and the first one is dead. Yes, I used the Paranormal Society as cover to steal from guests through the Wi-Fi.”

  “So how did you transfer my funds to Switzerland?”

  “It’s easy. I installed keystroke-recording software in your laptop. The bank will find that you logged in and transferred the funds. I answered all of your challenge questions correctly. Not that you’ll live to dispel that notion. I needed to get out of here, and I hoped Haunted Histories would come through for me, but you managed to ruin that for me, too!”