Murder Mansion

by M K Scott

  “Shingles. Someone’s flew off in the thunderstorm and I needed to nail them back on.” He winked at her, proving their momentary tenseness had left.

  Her eyes rolled upward as she tried to imagine anyone taken in by such a flimsy excuse. Her brother might be many things, but an inventive liar he wasn’t. One hand rested on her hip as she considered the scenario. “Seriously, you mean she believed you’d crawl up on someone’s wet roof with an iron hammer in a thunderstorm?”

  Her brother’s silence served as an answer. “Dodged a major bullet there. Your kids would have been idiots.”

  Her brother made a rude gesture with his hand she chose to ignore. Even though she hated asking, she still wanted to know. “What did you find out about Thomas?”

  “Enough to know you’re better off without him. He’s stuck in a dead-end job, which he whines about daily and he’s bald. Not the cool, deliberate type of bald, but the fringe around the head like someone’s uncle.”

  The news cheered her. Did that make her a petty person? She wasn’t sure. “I guess I lucked out being left at the altar.”

  “Yeah, you did. Your only issue was not seeing it until now.” Daniel crammed his handkerchief in his pocket and strode back into the kitchen.

  Didn’t see it until now. The words flashed through her mind like on a chasing light marquee, the kind the stores and churches employ hoping to catch the attention of motorists. Thomas didn’t leave her because she was too bossy or too tall. The man exemplified jerk. At any time, he could have told her, but he didn’t have the backbone to do so. A weight she hadn’t known she’d been carrying suddenly lifted. Donna continued painting in a better mood.

  The slam of the back door indicated her brother had tromped out to his truck for some reason. The easy camaraderie they shared painting the walls disappeared along with his presence. Uneasiness moved into her shoulders she tried to shake off. Seriously, no way she could run a B and B if this creeping apprehension afflicted her every time she was alone in the place. The slender window beside the door displayed a narrow image of her brother standing by his truck with his phone in his hand. He waved at someone and then his lips moved.

  Of course, Daniel was outside talking to the neighbors. The same people who managed to look through her had time to chitchat with her brother. Well, except for Herman, who always had a gossipy tidbit to share even if no truth went into the making of it. Perception could be her problem. Daniel assumed everyone was friendly and would like him. It worked out that way, except for the angry server at The Good Egg. Every now and then, he’d bump into someone who remembered someone else with a similar name or face.

  It had happened to her more than once. On the other hand, she cared for darling elderly ladies who often confused her with their daughters whom they adored. It could work either way. Assured her brother wasn’t leaving, she picked up her paint pan and headed into the room she labeled morning parlor/chapel. More than a half dozen floor-to-ceiling windows faced east. The sunlight flooded through the bare windows highlighting the dust on the wooden floors. The window treatments went with the house to keep nosy neighbors from peeking in. Logic would dictate the owner couldn’t use the drapes in the next house because the possibility of buying a house with the same size and number of windows would be slim. Whoever owned the place decided they needed the curtains more than she did.

  However, it made it easier to paint. The real estate agent could have taken them down because they were horrid. They did things like that. It was the opposite of fluffing where they trotted in items they thought would make the place look homey or chic. She’d heard some good real estate fluffers charged in the thousands. Donna shook her head in disbelief as she strode toward one window. The wood and glass windows possessed a wavy quality that hinted at the original glass. Restoration people would go crazy about it. Her lips twisted as she placed her hand against the glass. Cold. Exactly what she expected. At least there wasn’t frost inside. Not exactly double paned, but thicker than the glass currently available.

  From her angle, she could see a woman at the end of the sidewalk gesturing to someone. The porch support blocked her view, but she’d bet it was her brother. The blonde sported a fur coat, despite the current sentiment against such coats. Apparently, no one told her animal hair belonged on the animal. Of course, the ardent anti-fur supporters never had issues with wearing leather belts or shoes. A woman talking to her brother wasn’t new. Still, she glanced at the sidewalk leading up to a brick saltbox house and she knew who the woman was.

  Daniel must be talking to the former stripper who had married the doctor. How wonderful! Donna clapped her hands in excitement. According to Herman, the blonde was hosting a party when someone had snuck into Donna’s house and murdered her unwanted houseguest. Just maybe this woman could give her some info. While waiting for her guests, she would have noticed a man lurking nearby.

  Her hand was on the front doorknob twisting it open before even thinking through her actions. The door swung open with a creak, allowing in cold air and enlarging her field of vision. Her brother Daniel stood about two feet from the blonde.

  The woman turned with a finger wave as she headed for her house before Donna even had a chance to talk to her. The blonde’s feet stepped over one another, exaggerating her swaying prance, the type of walk she’d expect from a stripper. Daniel said something to Donna as she kept her eyes on the woman. The prancing stopped once she realized her male audience wasn’t paying attention and morphed into a slow, straight walk similar to a tired shopper wearing shoes that pinched.

  Daniel shouldered his way past her, talking while he did so. “Show’s over, sis.”

  “Yeah, I see. Did you get something from the truck?” Her hand, still on the knob, pulled the door shut.

  He held up a paint-spattered bit of plastic. “Yeah, the straight edge I needed.” He grinned before pivoting and heading for the kitchen.

  “Seriously, you’re going to play that game with me.” A few jogging steps caught up with her brother’s long-legged strides. “C’mon what did you learn from my lovely neighbor?” Donna postured similar to the neighbor and batted her eyelashes.

  “Ah, you must mean Bambi.” Daniel smirked at her, fitting the pad to the plastic edger form. He pressed the edger into the paint tray, scraping off the excess before cutting around the cabinets.

  “Not Crystal, Desiree, or Dee Light?” Her glance went over the kitchen at the blue tape outlining the ceiling, cabinets and doorframes. Good thing she had palmed the room off on Daniel.

  “She could have changed her name to go upscale with the neighborhood and all. Bambi sounds a bit cutesy. Buffy would have worked better.” The wall Daniel faced muffled his voice.

  “Okay, makes sense. What did Bambi tell you?”

  Her brother snorted. “Not much. Nothing really. Just a woman who needs a whole lot of attention.”

  Donna fisted her hands on her hips. “Here’s my big opportunity to find out what happened on the night a man was murdered in my house. She could have seen the man who snuck in here and all you do is discuss the weather?”

  The smooth paint line Daniel made stopped as her brother gave her a disbelieving look over one shoulder. “How should I have phrased it? Oh, by the way, did you possibly spot a murder suspect entering the vacant house next door?”

  “Vacant, there’s no reason to call it vacant. It makes it sound too much like derelict.” She placed two fingers up to her mouth, considering the issue. “It wouldn’t be too weird to say something. You know everyone is talking about it.”

  “Hmmm, maybe.” Daniel went back to edging around the cabinets. The broad splash of primer hid the scrape marks and covered the gouges. By the time the entire room was done, it would look totally clean and new.

  The foyer wasn’t getting itself painted. Donna pivoted, but her brother’s words froze her in place.

  “For someone who had men stuffing dollars in her G-string, she struck me wrong.”

  A game buzzer we
nt off somewhere in her brain. Not the type that sounded similar to an electronic fart, but the cheery type signaling she had something right. She turned slowly, facing her brother who held up the edger in mid-thought, another trait they shared.

  “Why?” Her brief side view had allowed her only to see the big hair, an expensive coat and stylish boots.

  “Hmm, yeah, now that I mentioned it, it’s hard to explain. She had that huge coat, which prevented me from seeing her rack.”

  “Sister—female here.” She waved her hand and pointed back to herself with her thumb. “You know I tend to think of women as being more than a few body parts.”

  “Me too, but you’re the one who told me she was a former stripper. I wanted to see what got her moved into the good life. Great hair. Face wasn’t that great, prominent nose with small eyes.”

  “Yeah, but as you demonstrated men seldom look at a stripper’s face.” Her regret about missing a chance to talk to Bambi deepened, though there was a good chance the woman wouldn’t have talked to her. She might feel the female neighbors were against her, which could be true. She didn’t care. Bambi might have information she needed to solve the crime.

  “The way she called out to me and engaged me in conversation struck me as needy. Strippers on the whole have an arrogant attitude.”

  Arrogant? “I thought they’d be super friendly. Wasn’t that the entire idea behind men going to strip clubs?”

  His shoulders went up with a shrug. “Yeah. You’d think that, but if they seemed too accommodating there’d be no reason to charge big bucks for lap dances.”

  Her brother ignored her disgusted gagging sound and continued talking.

  “Bambi waved at me when I was walking back to the house. She initiated contact, not me.”

  Typical. Women were flagging her brother down all the time. Besides having a great profile and a fit form, he had the warmth factor of the boy next door. People automatically sensed he’d help without expecting anything in return. Most women preferred a handsome man helping them than an ordinary fellow. It made for a better retelling.

  “That sounds like an everyday occurrence in the world of Daniel.” She wrinkled her nose, making her brother laugh. “What did she ask you?”

  “Nothing really. Made some inane comment about the weather. Asked me when I was moving in. If there would an open house allowing the neighbors to peek at the restoration?

  Did the man even listen to himself talk? She held her hand up similar to a cop stopping traffic. “Stop.

  What did you tell her?”

  “Nothing really, since neither one of us knows when the place will be done. Months, I think I said a couple of months.”

  Yeah, that sounded about right. A lot could happen in a couple of months.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The rumble of the overhead PA system bleated about a sale. Most of the distorted words Donna couldn’t make out, but she did understand the first word, Sale. Apparently, the other shoppers had no such translation problems as they maneuvered their shopping buggies through the narrow aisles road rally style. She glanced at the departing mob, wondering if she should join the max exodus.

  Probably a markdown on athletic shoes that lit up when they hit the ground or a gallon can of jelly belly bears, not anything she’d need for camping out at the inn. The jelly belly bears might not be so bad, though.

  Her hand rested on a twin-size air mattress. A smiling child clutching a teddy bear decorated the advertising placard on it, which announced it supported up to 220 pounds. Well, she definitely came in under that, but the thought of her own pillow-top queen bed, decorated with a purple paisley comforter and numerous pillows, mocked her. The lavender 500-count sheets managed to be soft and luxurious when she slipped into bed each night. Nothing in her home came under the label of roughing it. Why should the inn be any different?

  A few yards down was a king-sized air mattress with a pillow top advertising itself as the apex of airbeds. It would only be a short time. No reason not to move her real bed, if she planned to stay at the inn. First things first, her hands gripped the oversized box and tugged. A few items beside it moved, but not the box. Someone had crammed the mattress into a too-small spot. Another hefty pull moved it a couple of inches forward, but no more. Two red-vested male employees strolled past her without offering any assistance.

  Her lips twisted in disgust. Seriously, it had come to that. The dreadful in-between years between hot babe and frail senior likely to file a lawsuit after falling. Her breath pushed out with a long sigh as she placed one foot on the bottom shelf for leverage and used her weight to pull the stubborn box forward.

  “You need help, ma’am?” A skinny, teenage male stood at the end of the aisle, regarding her.

  Donna inhaled as she silently counted to ten. Not sure what was worse, that she needed help or that the boy called her ma’am as if she were some friend’s elderly relative. Stay calm. Her initial desire to shout Of course I need help! she channeled into a resigned “Yes.”

  The employee reached for the box, lifting it into her cart. “Thanks,” she mumbled with an apologetic smile as she steered the buggy toward the bedding section.

  She should have shown more appreciation to the young man. He certainly did more than his fellow workers did. Her back straight, shoulders back, she peeked at a full-length mirror as she moved in front of it. Not too bad, not the old woman she felt like when she fought with the mattress box. Another look confirmed the capable woman who usually stared out from her bathroom mirror still existed. Shake it off.

  In the linen aisle, she tossed in a cabbage rose sheet set. The price caused her to grimace a little. The store had the nerve to call itself a discount store. All the same, she might as well go with 500-count because she could use it later for a guest bed. Nothing worse than cheap sheets on a bed when engaging in a weekend getaway. She ought to know, she had stayed in enough inns before coming up with the idea of her own.

  Patched sheets in an expensive, historic hotel in Cincinnati, cold breakfast in Lexington better suited to a motor lodge and cheap soap that stripped her body of its natural moisture in Savannah. The offenses of what not to do made up a sizable list, convincing her that she’d be able to do a much better job on her own. Her buggy cleared an end cap topped with an orange clearance sign. An asymmetrical-shaped clear bowl caught her eye.

  It could work filled with assorted teas, gourmet chocolate mixes and a few instant coffees nestled on a Butler stand tucked into a hall self-serve refreshment station. The machine that served individual cups might be more convenient, but not very attractive. Besides, coffee ran about forty dollars a pound when purchasing it in personal units. Expensive, lukewarm coffee in a paper cup was not the image she wanted for her bed and breakfast either. Classic elegance in china teacups with perfectly steeped tea would serve her better. Small fridges stocked with soda and bottled water would be on each floor.

  Plug-in air fresheners joined the air mattress and sheets. Since she turned on the electric, the subzero fridge would work. The thought of a small fridge in her room that would keep her in one place appealed. Certainly better than roaming the dark halls pocketed with empty rooms perfect for a secret rendezvous or a murderer on a return visit. Her lips thinned as she considered the possibility of unwanted visitors. In the end, wandering the house was exactly her whole purpose in staying, that and catching any unwelcome visitors. Jasper, her dog, would go too. It would be difficult to get past the animal who barked when the wind changed directions. Besides, he’d be good company, especially since no one else knew about her plans.

  Her trek through the store came to a standstill as her buggy bumped to a stop. The small shove she gave had no effect. Her hands gripped the handle bar a little harder as she examined the recalcitrant device. A sticky patch left over from a gum-chewing child or adult could be the issue. The two front wheels pointed out at opposite angles, explaining the unplanned halt. Weird. The cart wasn’t that way when she started since she tried t
o avoid the lame and the thumping carts that had the rubber off one wheel roller. Her grip dropped from the handle as she moved toward the front of the buggy and kicked the wheels into place. The cart gave a tiny jump and then rolled forward a few inches. Her shoulders relaxed after conquering that obstacle. The cart stopping could be the universe giving her a jab for either her plan to camp out in the inn or the fact she wasn’t telling anyone.

  After a careful examination of the three open lines out of the dozen or more that served the store, she opted for the one with only one other customer in it. The other two boasted weary women pushing rounded baskets with enough food to feed dozens of children, which might explain their tired demeanors. Good decision on her part, until the woman in front of her asked specifically for unfiltered cigarettes. The clerk’s confused expression didn’t bode well as she scurried off to wherever they hid the coffin nails.

  Great. Maybe the other lines would be better, but the image of the bulging carts discouraged her from shifting lanes. Unfiltered cigarettes. Seriously, did the woman want to die faster? Perhaps she was unaware how smoking affected the body. Plenty of stage four lung cancer patients ended up in her hospital. The gasping individuals had oxygen leads taped to their noses since their own lungs failed to do the job properly. Her hand paused in the air, preventing her from tapping the woman on the shoulder.

  The smoker wouldn’t thank her. Might even think she was a nosy busybody. Her hand landed on the nearby magazine stand offering almost every variety of celebrity gossip available along with a few other tabloids. One magazine that promised the secret to dropping twenty pounds in two weeks also featured a decadent chocolate cake on the cover. Did no one else see the cover as counterintuitive besides her? A glossy photo of a celebrity couple caught her eye along with its bold headline.

  “She’s getting married again,” she muttered in surprise, grabbing the attention of the woman in front of her.

  The dark-haired woman swung around, glanced at the magazine display. “Yeah, that woman goes through husbands the way I do gum.”