by Lynn Bohart
Even at ninety-three, my mother had loved technology and social networking. She’d mastered the Internet, Facebook, and Twitter, and was never without her cell phone, which she used daily to text Angela, me, or members of her bridge club. I hadn’t thought about that phone since she died; now it had rung twice in two days, even though the phone’s battery should have been long dead.
I got up and went to the drawer again, this time with a little trepidation. I reached out and touched the phone, pulling my fingers back for a minute from its cold exterior. The ringtone continued, and I finally answered it. The voice on the other end almost brought me to my knees.
“Julia!” my mother barked in her usual commanding voice. “What’s going on?”
I could actually feel the blood drain from my face, and a glance in the mirror on the wall confirmed that my jaw had sagged open.
“I…uh…Mother?!”
“Of course it’s your mother. Who else would be calling you on my cell phone?”
I glanced at the phone in my hand. It was covered with a God-awful pink, sparkly “Hello Kitty” jacket more appropriate for a fourteen-year old girl. My mother had loved it, but I felt like an idiot standing there talking on it—especially to a dead person.
“Did you hear me? I need to know what’s going on. I think you may be in danger.”
“Hunh?” I pulled myself back to the moment. “Uh…I…”
“Really, Julia, is that all you can say? You sound like you’ve had your tongue cut out.”
The phrase “rooted to the spot” suddenly made perfect sense to me. I seemed incapable of movement of any kind. I’m not sure I was even breathing. This person sounded exactly like my mother, who had a voice that would be hard to duplicate. Even though she’d quit smoking when she was in her seventies, after twenty years of that stuff tearing up her lungs, her voice was raspy enough to strip paint.
“Julia?” the voice asked again. “Are you there?”
A crackling sound, like static, echoed on the line and then was gone.
“Um…yes,” I squeaked. “I’m here. But where are you?”
“Where do you think I am? I’m dead.”
My feet finally moved, and I stumbled backwards to fall into my chair. My heart was thumping wildly and there was a ringing in my ears. Mickey and Minnie perked their heads up from their bed.
“Who is this…really? I mean, this is not very funny, you know. My mother died over a year ago. Why are you pretending to be her?”
Martha’s death popped into my head. Did this call have something to do with that? Was there some mad person out there who had killed Martha and now wanted to torment me?
“Don’t be an idiot, Julia. This is your mother. Who in their right mind would pretend to be me?”
She had me there. Indeed—who would?
“Alright, tell me something only my mother would know. Something from my childhood.”
I was trying desperately to remain calm. I’d grown up in Illinois, so no one locally would know anything about my childhood. There was a loud sigh on the other end.
“You were thirteen years old when you first started your period, and you happened to be in your history class. When you got up to leave, the boy behind you, a boy you had a crush on, burst out laughing because the back of your white skirt had a big red blotch on it. Good enough?”
Oh my God! No one knew that story except my mother. I don’t think she’d ever even told my father, and I had never told Graham or any of my friends. Even now, my face burned with humiliation.
“Stop blushing,” the voice on the other end said as if she could see me. “Let’s move on. We have to talk and there’s not much time.”
Even though the inn was filled with ghosts, I found it absolutely unnerving that I might be talking to my deceased mother. Even Elizabeth didn’t actually talk to me.
“Okay, listen, I’m not in danger,” I said breathlessly. “Martha died—here in the inn. She was poisoned.”
“Poisoned? Who would want to poison Martha?”
“We don’t know. We’re trying to figure that out.”
“What do you mean, we?”
There was a crackling sound again.
“The girls and me,” I said, waiting for the crackling to stop. “We’re going to try to solve the mystery.”
“What?!” she croaked. “Julia, you have no idea how to do that. You read a lot of mystery novels, and you can usually figure out who the murderer is before the end of the book, I’ll give you that. But this is different. This is real life.”
Muffled voices whispered in the background, making me look around. Then I realized the voices were in the background on the phone.
“Um… she was poisoned with something from my pantry,” I said, a chill rippling down my back. “And I may be arrested for the crime.”
“You poisoned her?” the other voice said. “Oh, Julia, you’ve done some dumb things in your life, but …”
“No,” I said with a sigh. “I didn’t poison her. Someone else did. What are those other voices? Mom, are there other people there with you?”
Oh my God, I was talking to this person as if she really was my dead mother. I’ll admit most people would be skeptical that the inn was haunted, or that our resident ghost left messages for me sketched into the steam on my bathroom mirror. But having a ghost call you on a cell phone? Well, even I had trouble with that.
“No,” the voice said. “No one’s here.”
“But I hear other voices on the line,” I said.
“Maybe it’s a party line,” she replied.
I groaned. “Really, Mom? A party line?!”
“I was trying to make a joke—for heaven’s sake,” the voice replied with a snort.
“For heaven’s sake? Another joke, Mom?”
“Never mind,” she snapped. “Your sense of humor always was a little stunted. Okay, if you’re intent on doing this, then you’ll need my help,” the voice continued.
“What can you do for me? You’re dead,” I said.
“You’re kidding me, right? I can see things you can’t. Not everything, but I get impressions.”
“Then just tell me who did it. That would save me a lot of trouble.”
There was a loud sign on the other end of the line—wherever that was.
“I can’t. Since I’m connected to you by birth, I’m around you all of the time and my impressions about you are stronger than they are about other people.”
That was unsettling news.
“What do you mean you’re around me all the time?”
“Okay, not all the time. Often. I’m around you often. But I’m kind of new at this. I’m still learning how it all works.”
“Was that you who called me last night?”
“Yes. I was able to get the phone to ring, but I couldn’t make the connection.”
Story of my life, I thought.
The buzzing in my ears had stopped, although the whispering continued. It gave me the creeps.
“All right, tell me,” I said. “What should I do first?”
I thought this might be the question that would finally stump whoever this was and reveal them for what they were—a fraud.
“Call that philandering ex-husband of yours and let him know what’s going on before he hears it from someone else,” the woman said. “He’s a prick, but he can help in case you get into trouble. You know him. He likes to be the big savior, but if he thinks you’ve ignored him, he’s likely to leave you to your own devices—especially if he thinks you’ve embarrassed him. Don’t forget that time you decided to run for the school board and didn’t tell him first.”
All of a sudden, it hit me. I mean—it really hit me.
“Oh my God, you really are my mother!”
And then…
“And you’re calling me on your cell phone!?”
My mother chuckled on the other end. “Did you think I’d appear to you in a dream or something?”
I considered her question.
Given the spirits who inhabited the inn, I actually had thought that she might appear to me at some point. But I’d never thought I’d be talking to her again as if she’d never died. The display window on the phone said, “Out of area” again, making me laugh out loud.
“What are you laughing at?” she demanded. “I haven’t made a joke.”
“The phone says you’re calling from out of the area. Wherever you are, you’re about as far out of the area as you can get.”
“I’ll have to admit that’s funny. Now if you’re done acting like an idiot, let’s continue.”
If this wasn’t my mom, then whoever it was had her snarky personality down to a T.
“Okay, I think you’re right about talking to Graham,” I said, still smiling. “But then what?”
“Then look closely at the people around you. That’s why I called in the first place. There are some bad vibes nearby.”
“That’s it? That’s all you’ve got?”
“I told you, I get impressions. Just like April. Only in reverse. The impression I get is that someone close to you is not who they seem to be. That is all.”
The line went dead. No pun intended.
“What do you mean, that is all? Mom? Hello?”
There was silence on the other end. Even the whispers were gone. I shook the phone and put it back to my ear. Nothing.
“Damn!” I muttered. I didn’t even have a chance to tell her I missed her or ask about Martha. A sob bubbled up in my chest and I took a deep, cleansing breath, wondering at my own sanity. Had I really just talked to my mother? I leaned back in the chair, my heart racing. God, what a strange life I led. But whether that had been my dead mother or just my inner demons, the advice was good and I intended to follow it.
I immediately grabbed my own cell phone and dialed the governor’s mansion in Olympia. Graham knew about Martha’s death, but he may not have been told about the fudge and potential scandal that would erupt if I was arrested.
Second wife, Kitty, answered the phone.
“Um…just a minute, I’ll get him,” she said in a lazy monotone.
A minute later, he answered the phone. After apologizing for the late hour, I told him briefly what I knew about the fudge.
“I already know, Julia,” he said. “You forget that the Prosecuting Attorney used to work for me. He called me right away. I was going to call you in the morning.”
“Do you think that Senator Pesante could have been the target?”
If anyone knew the politics involved, it would be Graham.
“I don’t know anyone who would want to kill him, if that’s what you mean. He’s a bit of a lightning rod and is certainly not well-liked in Republican circles, but we typically don’t kill off the opposition.”
“Yes, but there are a lot of fringe people who don’t like the fact he’s trying to raise the minimum wage,” I said.
“But killing him wouldn’t stop that effort,” he replied in a rather patronizing tone. “If anything, it would garner support. The President and every other Democrat in this Washington and the other Washington wants the minimum wage raised. Personally, I doubt Pesante was the target. At least not for political reasons. You just need to sit back and relax, Julia.”
I sighed, knowing he was probably right.
“But thanks for giving me the heads up, anyway,” he said more gently. “I’ll let you know if I hear of anything at this end.”
I thanked him and we hung up.
Our divorce had been amicable, despite my jealousy of Kitty. I suppose no one is immune to the loss of prestige to a younger woman. But Graham and I had been lucky, because we’d had a good marriage. It had just run its course. We had kept up appearances for several years, mostly for Angela’s sake, but once she was out of college and on her own, there wasn’t any point. Now we maintained a distant yet comfortable relationship, something my mother could never understand. She thought I should have been bereft when Graham left. Instead, I had almost welcomed it. But as I contemplated the pain of losing Martha and the fear of an impending murder investigation, I silently wished I had someone like Graham by my side.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
It was almost 9:30 p.m. when April knocked on my apartment door, holding a plate with a large raspberry crème cupcake on it. No wonder I had trouble losing weight, I thought grimly.
“I come bearing gifts,” she said, smiling.
“Thanks. You think I need to beef up in case I go to the big house?”
She placed a hand on my shoulder. “You’re not going anywhere, Julia. We’re going to figure this out.”
“Well,” I said, eyeing the dessert. “I didn’t have dessert at the restaurant, so I suppose I could use a sugar fix. Do you want some tea?”
“Sure. And I’ll share this with you.”
I went to the kitchen and grabbed two forks and one of my favorite small porcelain plates. We brought everything to the mahogany pedestal table on the other side of the kitchen counter and sat down. While April cut the big cupcake in half, I went and got my list.
“Okay,” I said, coming back. “I’ve made a list of everyone who has a key to the inn and their contact information. I added the caterers and florists. And I got about halfway through a list of people I’ve given fudge to.”
“I talked to Erin, and she still has a key,” April added quickly. I had given April’s daughter a key the summer before while her condo was being remodeled.
“Wow, I’d completely forgotten that. I should get that back from her.”
I updated the list again.
“I also talked to Libby and Angela,” I said. “Libby swears that her key is with her all the time. You know, she wears them around her neck on a lanyard. I also called Angela. She keeps hers on her main key chain, which she keeps in her purse. And she keeps that in a locked drawer in her office.”
“And here’s mine,” April said, pulling it out of her pocket. The key to the inn was bright blue. “I never label my keys, so there’s no way anyone would know this is the key to the inn,” she said, holding it up. “It could be a key to anything. They’d have to stand there and try all of these keys, and there are a lot of them,” she cringed.
I laughed. “Yes, there are. I’ve always wondered why you carry so many on one key chain. What are they for, anyway?”
“The inn, the bakery.” She started peeling them off. “My car, the guest house, the church, the van, your apartment… my home,” she said with a sigh.
Her mood had suddenly changed as she stared at the key to her home.
“Okay, I’ve got it,” I said. “You okay?”
She perked up. “Sure. I always wear pants with a big enough pocket. Or, I use my fanny pack. I never leave them lying around.”
“Okay, then… check,” I said, putting a check next to April’s name. “You’re off the hook, and so are Angela and Libby.”
April was savoring a bit of cupcake, the pink frosting sliding off her lip. She rolled her eyes in delight.
“This is wonderful, if I do say so myself!”
“It’s new, isn’t it? You don’t usually have these,” I said, taking a bite. My taste buds exploded in sweet raspberry.
“I’ve been trying some new recipes,” she said.
“Well, I think you should definitely add it to the dessert case.”
“Maybe I will,” she said, swallowing a second big bite.
“Okay, back to priorities,” I said, licking my fingers.
“If you want, I’ll talk to Crystal and José,” April offered. “I don’t think they would ever do anything on purpose, but you never know who might have wheedled their way into their confidence or asked to borrow their key for some reason. We’ll have to check out José’s boyfriend, too.”
“That’s true,” I agreed, swallowing a last bite of cupcake.
“By the way, I mentioned it to Mr. Garth,” she said. “He said he doesn’t have a key to the inn, anymore. Just the carriage house. He says he gave it back to you when your
mother moved in.”
My eyebrows shot up. “That’s right. He never used it much, anyway. Come to think of it, that’s the key I gave to Blair. Okay, so we can remove him from the list, and of course we don’t know where Blair’s key is. So, let’s talk about the florists and Gwen.”
Gwen was our caterer of choice for all events at the inn, since we didn’t do catering ourselves. I explained to April that Gwen had actually stopped by to discuss the food for the reception before I’d even wrapped the box. And then the event was cancelled, so she hadn’t come back to the inn to set up.
“And the florists were here for such a short time,” I said, “They brought the arrangements in while I was standing right there and put them where I wanted them. I don’t know how they would have even seen the box since it was under the reception desk.”
“Okay,” April nodded, swallowing a last bite. “By the way, who selected the box of fudge you wrapped?”
“I did. Why?”
“I was just wondering if anyone had handed one to you. You know, as if they had just pulled it off the shelf, but in fact had pulled it out of their purse or something.”
“I see. No.” I shook my head, thinking back to that day. “I grabbed one off the shelf from behind the reception desk. Although, come to think of it, the Jenkins woman saw me do it. You know, she’s the one who checked in that day. I was chatting with her about the reception, and she asked about the fudge and who I was wrapping it for. Then she bought two boxes for herself. But several other people saw me wrapping it, too.”
“Maybe that’s something you should mention to that nice-looking Detective Franks.”
She smiled at me, and I looked at her in surprise.
“He’s not so nice-looking,” I said, feeling myself blush.
April just narrowed those hazel eyes at me.
“Right. And I’m your fairy godmother.”