The Haunted Inn (A Lin Coffin Mystery Book 8)

by J A Whiting

  The officer at the corner was about to redirect the three women, when he saw Libby. With a nod, the man said, “Ms. Hartnett,” and then let them pass.

  “Why did he allow us through?” Viv asked with a raised eyebrow.

  “I’ve known Scott since he was a little boy,” Libby said.

  “But no one is supposed to come down this way,” Lin said. “Won’t he get into trouble for letting us walk down the road?”

  “No,” was all Libby said.

  When they reached the sidewalk in front of the Colonial home, Lin and Viv could see police photographers taking pictures of the scene and a few other officers moving around the grassy space behind the house looking for any evidence to the contrary that the woman on the bench experienced a natural death.

  A sheet covered the dead woman’s body.

  An older man in a suit noticed them standing beyond the white picket fence that enclosed the front yard and he headed over. He had broad shoulders, white hair, and brown eyes, and moved with an air of authority.

  “This is Detective Forrest.” Libby made introductions. “He is an old friend of mine.” She gestured to her relatives. “This is Carolin Coffin and this is Vivian Coffin. Kin of mine.”

  The detective shook their hands. “Nice to meet you.”

  “We’d like to just stand here quietly, if that’s okay with you,” Libby told the man.

  Detective Forrest said, “Stay as long as you need to. I’ll ask you to remain outside the fence. Please stay here on the sidewalk.” He gave quick nods to Lin and Viv and then he strode away to the rear of the home.

  Lin made eye contact with Libby. “He knows you?”

  “We’ve known each other for decades.” Libby’s eyes scanned the property.

  “I mean does he know you?” Lin persisted with her question.

  “He knows enough.” Libby’s voice carried a tone of urgency when she added, “See if you can pick up on anything. See if Maura appears to you.”

  The three stood without speaking, watching the investigators’ process the scene.

  With her mind awash in confusion, Lin waited for the chill to envelop her that always accompanied the ghosts. What was the need for her to be at the house? It seemed like this woman had simply passed away. Why was Libby so adamant that Lin try to see Maura’s spirit?

  Before Lin could clear her mind in order to be open and available to the ghost, other questions popped into her brain. Why did Maura Wells enter the backyard of this private home and settle down on the garden bench? What was she doing here? Where had she been before going into this garden?

  “Had you been in contact with Ms. Wells?” Lin asked.

  Libby looked at her cousin with a disappointed expression. “You don’t see anything? You don’t see her spirit?”

  “Nothing. Can you tell me what you know about the woman?”

  Libby let out a sigh. “Anton knew Maura professionally. She was a research historian and worked at a university in Chicago. Maura loved the island and spent many summer weeks here, but she hadn’t been back for about five years.”

  “Why did she stop coming?” Lin asked.

  The breeze rustled Libby’s silvery bangs. “Responsibilities, commitments. I hadn’t talked to Maura for a couple of years. I didn’t know her well, we met through Anton. We attended the same charity and fundraising events. We’d talk when we ran into one another.”

  “How did you know Ms. Wells had died?” Viv asked with a tone of unease. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her body.

  “Detective Forrest called me.”

  “Why?” Lin asked.

  “The reason isn’t important,” Libby said softly.

  Lin thought the reason for the detective’s call to Libby probably was important. “Can you tell us anything else that might be helpful?”

  “The only thing that would be helpful is if Maura appeared to you,” Libby said. “I’m sorry to have dragged you over here. Thank you for trying, Carolin.” The older woman turned and headed away down the sidewalk into town.

  “What was this all about?” Viv watched Libby leave. “Does Libby help the police sometimes? What happened to Maura Wells? Why is Libby so interested in the woman’s death? She sure didn’t tell us much.” Viv turned toward her cousin. “Lin?”

  Lin had her back to the house where Maura had died and was facing across the street. The air surrounding her was icy cold.

  Sebastian Coffin and his wife, Emily, stood shimmering on the opposite sidewalk. They both held Lin’s eyes.

  Feeling a new sensation of cold at her back, Lin glanced into the yard where the body had been found and had the impression of someone’s shadow moving quickly behind the bench Maura had been sitting on. It was gone in a flash. It had to be a ghost, but she knew it wasn’t Maura.

  Lin’s voice was soft when she said to her cousin, “It seems that Libby isn’t the only one who is interested in Maura Wells’s death.”

  3

  One of the innkeepers, Patricia Dellwood, welcomed Libby, island historian and friend, Anton Wilson, and Lin into the nearly two-hundred-year old inn. In the entryway, a beautiful staircase with a finely turned wooden bannister stood to the right. The bed and breakfast had ten guest rooms, some with fireplaces, and two with balconies. Two elegantly-furnished sitting rooms, both with fireplaces, welcomed guests to sit and relax with a glass of wine or sherry.

  “I just couldn’t believe it when the police told us that one of our guests had passed away,” Patricia told them as she led the three visitors to the second floor. “Ms. Wells seemed to be in fine health when I interacted with her.”

  The innkeeper unlocked one of the doors and opened it. “This was Ms. Wells’s room. The police told us they were finished with it so you’re free to go in and touch things. I’ll be downstairs if you need to ask me anything. Let me know when you’re done.”

  “The woman’s belongings have been removed already,” Lin said. “What are we looking for?”

  “Nothing in particular,” Libby said as she moved around the lovely room.

  A queen-sized bed was made up with luxurious white linens and a comforter and six fluffy pillows rested against the elegant headboard. A cherrywood desk sat near one wall, two plush chairs were placed by the window, and the bedside table held a small lamp and a vase of fresh flowers.

  “It’s such a beautiful room,” Lin said admiring the furnishings, the artwork, and the small touches that made the space so special.

  In his early seventies, Anton, with a thin and wiry build and intelligent eyes that took in every detail, opened the door to the private bath. “Really, Lin, we’re not here to write a review of the inn.”

  “Well, what are we here for? There isn’t anything left in here that belonged to Maura Wells. What are we hoping to discover?”

  “Just open yourself to what floats on the air, dear.” Libby opened and closed the desk drawers.

  Lin sat on the edge of the bed and ran her hand over the crisp linens. “It’s hard to believe this place used to be a factory.”

  Anton moved to check the closet. “The old silk factory. Some investors got the idea that the island’s climate would be suitable for mulberry bushes to grow here. Mulberry bushes are what the silkworm needs for nourishment. Over four thousand mulberry trees were planted in the Polpis area. Things went well for a time. The business even won a prestigious award at a show in New York City for the quality of their silk fabric.”

  “So what happened?” Lin asked. “The factory closed after only a few years, didn’t it?”

  Anton said, “It lasted eight or nine years before the business went under. The mulberry trees failed to thrive. The soil is too sandy here, the climate not ideal.”

  “How many people worked in the factory?” Lin asked.

  “I believe, that initially, twenty women were trained for the work. At its peak, there were as many as fifty women working at the silk production.” Anton knelt down and looked under the bed. “It was a very laborious
process. There were four spinning machines. They were about twelve feet long, and each one had five hundred bobbins. Each thread had to be wound from the cocoon onto a separate bobbin. The work was complicated.”

  “What did they make with the silk?”

  “Mostly men’s clothing items … silk coats, vests. Things like that,” Anton said. “In fact, an ancestor of yours was one of the three incorporators of the silk business.”

  “Really?” Lin asked. “Who was it?”

  “Bradford Coffin,” Anton said. “He was a businessman, an investor.”

  “He must have lost money when the factory went out of business,” Lin said.

  “It didn’t stop him from being successful.” Anton pushed himself up from kneeling position.

  “Did you find anything under there?”

  “Nothing. Not even a speck of dust.” Anton walked over to see what Libby was looking at, leaving Lin to her thoughts.

  Thinking that the beautiful inn had been once part of a silk factory seemed strange. Women had worked in the building extracting the thread and creating men’s fine clothing items with it. The island’s economy was faltering back then due to the deteriorating whaling industry and the population of Nantucket had dwindled. Lin thought about the working women of the factory, many whose husbands were probably whalers, out at sea for years at a time.

  The temperature around Lin turned cold and she shivered. Some movement at the door caught her eye and she thought she noticed a young woman wearing a long dress hurry past.

  Slipping off the bed, Lin walked to the doorway and glanced down the hall. No one was there. No footsteps could be heard.

  The room’s cool air seemed to get sucked out and away, and the temperature around Lin returned to normal.

  “What is it, Carolin?” Libby asked from across the room.

  “I thought I saw someone pass by the door.” Lin rubbed her hands over her arms to warm them.

  “And?” Anton asked.

  “Nothing. I was mistaken.”

  “Too bad,” Anton said with a sigh. “I hoped it was Maura. Shall we go then? Unfortunately, visiting Maura’s room has proved fruitless.”

  “Did you think you’d find something here that would explain Ms. Wells’s death?” Lin asked as they stepped into the hall and Libby shut the door to the room.

  “We hoped we’d find something,” Anton told her. “We hoped you might see Maura’s ghost.”

  “She must have crossed over,” Lin suggested.

  “Perhaps,” Libby said.

  “Did you know Maura well?” Lin asked Anton.

  “Not well. I didn’t care for the woman,” Anton sniffed. “I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, but Maura could be arrogant, dismissive of those whose ideas and research conflicted with her own.”

  “Then why are you so interested in her death?” Lin asked.

  Anton’s shoulders fell forward. “There was a note in Maura’s hand when she was found. The woman who owns the house and property where Maura was found picked it up and read it. She handed it over to the police.”

  “What did it say?” Little goosebumps formed over Lin’s skin. “Did Maura write the note?”

  “It seems she did not,” Libby said.

  “What was in the note?”

  Anton cleared his throat and replied, “It said … one down, two to go.”

  Lin’s heart began to race. “What does that mean?”

  Anton looked over his black eyeglass frames at Lin. “I assume it means two more people will die.”

  “But,” Lin had to swallow hard to remove the tension in her throat. “But, there were no wounds on Maura Wells’s body. She wasn’t shot or stabbed or strangled. She probably died of natural causes.” Lin looked from Anton to Libby. “Didn’t she?”

  “What about poison?” Anton suggested.

  “Poison? You think Ms. Wells was poisoned?” Lin’s eyes were wide.

  “Keep your voice down,” Anton said. “Let’s not alarm the guests.”

  Lin stepped closer to the man. “You think the poison came from this inn?”

  “No, we don’t,” Libby said. “But we do think Maura was poisoned.”

  “You think she was murdered? You think the note indicates that two more people will be murdered?” Lin felt dizzy and she leaned her back against the wall in the hallway.

  “Possibly,” Libby gave a quick nod.

  “I mentioned earlier that you were descended from one of the owners of the silk factory,” Anton said. “There were actually three equal partners who owned the business.”

  “Yes?” Lin asked. “What about it?”

  “On her father’s side, Maura was descended from one of the owners,” Libby said.

  “The note in Maura’s hand indicates three deaths will take place,” Anton’s face was serious.

  The meaning finally dawned on Lin and panic raced through her veins. “Three co-owners of the silk factory, so three deaths. Three descendants of the owners will die? Is that what the note might mean? Who was Maura Wells related to?”

  “Garrell Williams,” Libby said.

  “Thomas Samuelson was another founding owner,” Anton said.

  “And my ancestor, Bradford Coffin, was the third owner.” Lin’s voice was raspy. “I might be on this person’s hit list? And Viv, too?” She looked over to Libby with wide eyes. “Are you related to Bradford Coffin?”

  “I am.” Libby took in a long breath.

  “What is this guy doing?” Lin asked. “Whoever the first relative is he runs into, gets poisoned? Why did he wait for Maura to come back to the island? There must be other people who live here who are related to Garrell Williams. Why was Maura the victim?”

  “We don’t know,” Anton looked down at the floor.

  “There are other people who live on-island who are related to Bradford Coffin,” Lin spoke barely above a whisper. “How are we going to figure out who’s next?”

  Libby’s face was pale.

  “We’ll put our heads together,” Anton said with forced cheerfulness. “We’ll do some research. We’ll find the answers we need.”

  Lin appreciated Anton’s optimism, but all she felt was pessimism pulling her down. How would they be able to figure this out? There were too many variables, too many possible victims. “Are the police aware that the note might mean the descendants of the other two silk factory owners could be in danger?”

  “They know about our theory,” Libby said.

  Anton said, “In the meantime, you and Libby and Viv need to be cautious. Don’t put a drink down in a bar or a pub or anywhere. Keep your eyes on your food and drinks. Watch out for anyone who might try to tamper with your food or beverages. Stay alert. Don’t let your guard down.”

  Lin gave a slight nod.

  “Let’s go thank the innkeeper for allowing us access to the room.” Libby led the way to the staircase and down to the first floor.

  When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Libby and Anton went ahead to find the innkeeper, but Lin stood stock still. Icy air had enveloped her once again.

  Turning her head slowly and training her gaze up the stairs to the second floor landing, Lin saw the ghost … a young woman, in a long, blue dress with a high collar, her golden brown hair brushed up in a bun. The woman’s form shimmered as she looked down at Lin and made eye contact with her.

  A second later, the ghost began to fade, and she turned abruptly and swished away down the second floor hallway.

  Lin knew there was no reason to run up the stairs after her.

  The ghost was gone. For now.

  4

  Lin heaved the hydrangea bush into her arms and then placed it gently into the hole her landscaping partner, Leonard Reed, had dug. Once the bush was properly adjusted, the two landscapers filled in soil around the base of the plant.

  Nicky snoozed in the grass close to where the work was taking place.

  Sitting back on her feet, Lin wiped some sweat from her brow. “And there were t
hree businessmen who started the silk factory and I’m descended from one of them.”

  While they’d planted the row of ten hydrangeas in their new client’s yard, Lin had yammered at Leonard the entire time, telling him about the dead woman on Academy Hill, the inn that used to be a factory, and the ghost she’d seen upstairs at the inn.

  “That’s quite a story, Coffin,” Leonard said as he pulled the hose from the back of the house to water the new bushes. “I heard there was some commotion over on Gaylord Street the other day. Figured the woman had a heart attack or something.”

  “Maybe she did have a heart attack, but it was probably induced by her being poisoned.” Lin rubbed at the soreness in the small of her back. “That’s what Libby and Anton think anyway.”

  “Libby and Anton are usually on the ball about things so I’m inclined to believe their worries are legitimate,” Leonard said.

  “There was that note in the dead woman’s hand, too.” Lin gathered up some of the gardening tools. “One down, two to go. That’s what it said.”

  “Was the note handwritten or typed?”

  Lin looked at the tall, strong, sixty-something-year-old man. “I don’t know. I didn’t see it. Does it make a difference in some way?”

  “Not sure.” Leonard shrugged. “So this woman, Maura Wells, was related to one of the owners of the factory and that connection is the reason she was murdered?”

  “That’s what Libby thinks. I’m not sure I agree.”

  “The note could back up Libby’s thinking,” Leonard said. “The words two to go mean two more people will die and those victims might be related to the other two factory owners.”

  Lin nodded. “Am I on the list of possible victims? Is Viv? Or Libby?”

  “Or are all three of you on the list and the killer will go after the easiest one to get hold of?”

  “Thanks for putting it that way,” Lin scowled. “That makes me feel much better.”

  “You need to think like this nut, whoever it is, so you don’t become his victim,” Leonard explained. “Another thing to consider is why. Why is he killing relatives of the factory owners? What wrong is he avenging? Thinking about motive can help narrow down suspects. If we go by what’s written in the note, then only one person related to each man is supposed to die. Those factory owners must be responsible for a wrong committed against the killer’s long-ago relative. It’s revenge of some sort. An eye for an eye.”