A Fright to the Death

by Dawn Eastman

  “I’m so sorry, Jessica.”

  She sniffled. “It’s not like we were close. Just the opposite, in fact.” She turned to me. “Who could have done this?”

  “We’ll do our best to figure it out and the police will investigate as soon as we can get in touch with them.” I didn’t want to point out to her that as long as the storm continued, we would all be stuck in the hotel with a murderer; she had probably already concluded as much. I thought that Mac and I would have just as much work keeping everyone calm as we would investigating the murder.

  9

  After an uncomfortable night listening to the howling wind, snow lashing the windows, and Vi’s snoring, by Friday morning I felt cranky and tired. The frigid air chilled me through my thin sleep shirt as I climbed out of bed in the dark. A quick flick of the light switch confirmed that the power had not been restored.

  I fumbled with a pack of matches and lit a candle.

  Vi sat up in her bed as I shivered and hopelessly examined my suitcase full of shorts and T-shirts. I had planned for a Mexican vacation, not a blizzard in Michigan.

  “Look in the closet, Clyde,” Vi said through a yawn. “I brought lots of sweaters. Knitters get pretty competitive so we all bring our best stuff.”

  “Thanks, Vi,” I said.

  I slid the closet door open. The candle flickered as I held it up to better examine the sweaters. Assaulted by the bright, multihued choices, I flipped through the hangers until I found a muted purple cardigan that looked soft and warm.

  “That color will be perfect for you,” Mom said from the bed. “It will show off both colors of your eyes and complement your dark hair.”

  “I’m just interested in being warm, Mom.”

  “It never hurts to look nice while you’re getting comfortable,” Mom sniffed.

  I tossed the sweater on over a T-shirt and my one pair of jeans, told the ladies I’d see them later, and slipped out into the hallway.

  The candle cast jumping shadows on the walls as I walked down the staircase. I got a tingly feeling along my spine remembering Vi’s ghost story. I’m embarrassed to admit how many times I glanced over my shoulder. I wanted to run down the hall toward the lounge, but didn’t want the candle to blow out.

  Mac and I had planned to meet in the lounge at seven a.m. to avoid the knitters, but we hadn’t planned on it being so dark. Their first workshop wasn’t until nine and they were meeting at eight for breakfast. At least the sun would be up by then.

  After my spooky trek from upstairs, I found Mac huddled by the fire with a pot of tea all ready for me. His small notebook was open and he flipped it shut when I approached. He was wearing a thick, dark blue cardigan with no buttons and loose strings hanging off of it. When I got closer I saw the smiling snow couple that had been knitted into the front. Neither of us had packed for winter in a cold, drafty castle. I assumed one of the knitters had taken pity on him.

  I sat next to him and kissed him in spite of the snowman.

  “Nice sweater.” I tried to swallow the giggle.

  “I think it brings out my eyes.” He wiggled his eyebrows to demonstrate.

  “Oh, it’s definitely you,” I said. “I assume it’s a loan from Mavis?”

  “How did you know?” He pretended to be shocked.

  “A hunch.” I smiled. “Plus, I’m psychic.”

  Mac’s slow grin spread. “So I hear.”

  “I’ll have to keep my eye on her.”

  “Now that I have this sweater, you might have to keep an eye on all of them.”

  I laughed and kissed him again.

  “How did you get this?” I asked as I lifted the pot of tea and poured a cup.

  “I have connections.” He smiled. “The gas stove still works if you light it with a match.”

  I sipped the tea and pulled Aunt Vi’s sweater closer around my shoulders.

  “What’s the plan for the day?”

  His smile faded and was replaced by his cop face. “Ideally, the power comes back on, the phones are reconnected, and the police arrive to take over. But I’m not holding out much hope.”

  I could tell there was more, and waited.

  “I don’t see how we can leave now,” he said. “Even if the power comes back on and the roads are miraculously cleared, we’re witnesses. I wouldn’t let us leave if I was in charge of the investigation, and right now I guess we are in charge.”

  I felt another little thrill at the thought of investigating a case with Mac, even though we’d miss our time alone in Mexico. Crystal Haven had unfortunately seen several murders in the last nine months and Mac and I had found ourselves, if not on opposite sides, at least on different teams. He viewed me as a civilian until I returned to the police force, but both situations had been too close to home for me to sit back and wait for the murderer to be caught. Now, we were both unofficial investigators.

  “So, we start building a timeline and questioning people about their whereabouts?” I asked.

  He nodded. “Maybe not everyone. I’d rather not start a panic by telling them we think it’s murder, but we might not be able to avoid it. I made a list of the people that weren’t with us in the dining room. Remember, Clarissa came in, talked to a few people and left. That was the last we saw of her. Lots of people stayed in that room.”

  I stared into the fire, and pictured the dining room. “Isabel left shortly after Clarissa. Jessica was in and out of the room. René and his assistant weren’t in the dining room the whole time. The maintenance guy and the housekeeper were presumably doing their work elsewhere.”

  Mac poured more tea into my cup. “The only staff member in the clear is Wally. He was in the dining room the entire time we were, and then he stayed with the group when the power went out.”

  “He left to get flashlights,” I said. “But that wasn’t long enough to get upstairs and kill Clarissa.”

  He opened his notebook and read from his list. “We need to talk to Isabel, Jessica, Linda, the chef and his assistant, maintenance, and housekeeping. There’s only one entrance to that turret room, maybe one of them saw something if they were in the hallway.”

  “I think your friend with the lipstick left for a little while.”

  He glanced up at me. “She did?”

  “I saw her get up and go into the kitchen, but I didn’t notice when she came back.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe I shouldn’t make assumptions about who was there.”

  “We know our table stayed in the dining room.”

  I sat back and wrapped my fingers around my teacup.

  “Yes, but I didn’t suspect our mothers or your aunt.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Aunt Vi should never be assumed innocent.”

  “Innocent of what?” Vi said from the doorway.

  “Of murder, Vi,” I said to my tea.

  “Oh, very funny.” She hustled to where we sat and pulled up a chair to get closer to the fire. “Are you making a list of suspects? I think that maintenance guy is kind of sketchy.”

  She leaned over to look at Mac’s list.

  “Nice sweater,” she said.

  Mac held her gaze. He was even better at a stare-off than she was.

  “We were just talking about who was in the dining room the whole time and then also in the lounge after the power went out,” I said to break up the tension.

  Vi nodded. “Wally was there the whole time. He hovered with that water pitcher all through dinner. I’ve never been so well hydrated in my life!” She took Mac’s notebook and examined his list. “The only guests I saw leave were Isabel and Mavis. But I can’t believe one of the workshop gals would have done it. Frankly, knitting is what keeps us from killing anyone. It’s like therapy.” Vi shook her head. “It had to be the maintenance guy. Maybe that’s why the power went out in the first place. He was busy
killing Clarissa and wasn’t dealing with the generator the way he should have.”

  “That’s a huge leap, Ms. Greer,” Mac said. “The last thing we need is for everyone to jump to conclusions.”

  “We need more information then,” Vi said. She flipped pages in Mac’s notebook. Mac’s fingers clenched. I took it from her and handed it back to Mac.

  “It wouldn’t hurt to start asking people what they saw,” I said. “The longer we wait, the more likely they’ll forget, or talk about it enough that no one will remember what they actually saw that night.”

  “You can start during breakfast,” Vi said. “You should talk to Isabel before she gets involved with her workshop.”

  10

  The knitters straggled into the dining room looking somewhat unraveled. With no hot water for showers, no electricity for curling irons or hair dryers, and a distinct chill in the air, it looked like we were in for a very long weekend. I noticed, however, that every one of them was wearing a warm, cozy-looking sweater or shawl. Fortunately, René had managed to create a lovely breakfast without electricity. At least the gas stove allowed for a hot meal. He told us he and Emmett had moved all of the perishables out into the snow until the power came back on for the refrigerator.

  The gang piled their plates with eggs, toast, potatoes, and fresh fruit. Only orange juice and tea were offered since the coffeemaker was electric. I saw Mac approach Isabel across the room. She wore a different stunning scarf and apparently needed no electricity to make her hair look perfect. Her smile was dazzling until he spoke and gestured in my direction. She nodded and followed him to our table.

  “Hello again, Clyde.” She touched my shoulder as she passed to sit across the small table from me.

  “Isabel.” I sipped my tea. I was still annoyed at the way she kept looking at Mac.

  “We’re asking everyone about their movements last night during dinner and after the power went out,” Mac began.

  “I feel like I need an alibi,” she said and laughed.

  “It’s just routine in a case like this,” I said.

  Isabel pursed her lips. “Routine to question people in an accidental death?”

  I let out a gust of air and glanced at Mac. He nodded and tilted his head toward Isabel. There was no way we were going to be able to keep this a secret.

  “We think that Clarissa was killed,” I said quietly.

  Isabel sat back in her chair and held my gaze. “I’m surprised it’s taken this long.”

  “We heard you had a history . . .”

  Isabel made a hissing noise that sounded like an irritated cat. “That’s an understatement—but before you jump to any conclusions, Clarissa plowed through her life leaving decimation in her wake. It would be harder to find someone who didn’t want to kill her.”

  “We’ve heard that as well,” Mac said. “So, last night?”

  She sat up straight and clasped her hands on the table. “I went to my room with a headache just after dinner started. I wanted to be sure everyone was settled and then I went to take some medicine and lie down for a few minutes.” She stopped and took a deep breath. “The next thing I knew, I woke up and the lights were out in my room. I felt a bit disoriented, but was sure I’d left the lights on after I took the medicine and lay down.”

  “What time was it when you woke up?” Mac asked.

  “I don’t know.” She pointed to her wrist. “It was so dark I couldn’t make out the hands on my watch. But I went out into the hall and sort of stumbled along until I found the stairs. I heard voices coming from the lounge and saw lights at the end of the hallway, so I went there.” She shrugged. “It must have been just after everyone had arrived, because Wally was explaining that the power would be back on soon. I waited with everyone else until Jessica entered with the candles and then we heard Linda screaming and went upstairs to see what was wrong.”

  “Did you see anyone in the hallway on your way to your room?” I asked.

  She thought for a moment and then slowly shook her head. She didn’t look at either of us. “I don’t think so. Only the maid. She was finishing in my room just as I arrived.”

  “Did you see where she went after your room?” Mac asked.

  Isabel shook her head and her earrings swung gently. “I was so focused on getting to my medicine, I didn’t pay any attention.”

  Mac thanked her and she walked to the group of workshoppers that had gathered by the door.

  Isabel led the knitters into the lounge where the fire was lit, and we stopped Mavis on her way out of the dining room.

  Mac explained what we needed and her face lit up.

  “Oh, I’d be honored to help you, Detective McKenzie. Your mother has told us all about you.” She batted her eyelashes at him. “That sweater looks wonderful on you.” She tugged on a loose string. “Maybe I’ll finish it this weekend and you can keep it.”

  Mac gave her a tight smile and gestured toward the table. We sat and Mavis gazed at Mac while producing tiny scissors to snip the loose strings. I worried she planned to finish the sweater with Mac still in it. He cast a pleading glance in my direction.

  “I noticed that you went into the kitchen during dinner last night,” I said.

  Mavis tore her gaze from Mac to look at me. She nodded. “Yes, I went to find that handsome chef fellow. His food was just divine and I wanted to compliment him and find out what else was on the menu for the weekend.”

  Mavis rummaged in her voluminous purse and pulled out a large sewing needle. She began weaving the loose ends into the sweater. “But I couldn’t find him. His assistant was there, looking rather sullen at having to do all the desserts on his own. I went through the back door of the kitchen to see if the chef was there, but still didn’t find him. Then I remembered my blood pressure medication and went up to my room to get it. I had just come back into the dining room when the lights went out.”

  “Did you see anyone on your way to your room?”

  “No.” Mavis slowly shook her head. “I didn’t see a soul. But I thought I heard someone in Violet’s room. I’m right between Violet and Lucille.”

  Mac and I looked at each other and I raised an eyebrow. Who would have been in that room?

  “What, exactly, did you hear?” I said.

  “Just a couple of thumps. I guess it could have been anything—even that white cat that keeps jumping out at people.”

  Mavis’s mouth pulled downward into a frown. “I can’t say I liked Clarissa at all. We had a bit of . . . history, but it always makes me very sad when a young life is wasted.” She dabbed at a tear in the corner of her eye. Before I had a chance to react to what she had said, she spotted another loose string and went after it. Mac held up his hand to stop her.

  “Okay, thank you,” Mac said. “We appreciate your help. Let us know if you think of anything else.” He stood up and backed away from her.

  I thought it was one of his fastest interviews on record and suspected he regretted accepting her offer of a warm sweater.

  “I wish I could have been more helpful,” Mavis said. She lunged for another string, but I stepped between them and walked her to the door.

  11

  Mavis reluctantly left, casting an adoring glance toward Mac on her way out of the dining room. Mac kept his eyes on his notebook. Once the room was empty, we decided to try to catch the kitchen staff while they were still cleaning up from breakfast.

  Mac walked into the kitchen and came out with the chef. René wore white from head to toe including one of those tall hats—not quite Chef Boyardee, but not subtle, either.

  He sat and nodded at us. “I’m sorry your vacation has been ruined. I heard you were on your way out of this winter weather,” he said. “But from a selfish standpoint, I’m glad you’re here. I don’t know what we would have done if you hadn’t taken charge.”

  His accent was less
pronounced than it had been the day before, or maybe I was getting used to it.

  I grimaced and nodded. “We’ll do our best to figure out what happened.”

  “How can I help?” He spread his hands out, palms up.

  “Can you remember what you were doing last evening during dinner and afterward when the lights went out?” I asked.

  René took a deep breath. “Of course. Obviously, I was short staffed due to the weather.” He waved his arm in the direction of the windows, which showed a bright white sky and piles of snow. “Jessica sent most of the staff home yesterday when the weather started to get bad. They all have families to get home to, so she took volunteers.”

  “And you volunteered?” Mac asked.

  René turned pink. “Actually, I live here. Jessica and I are engaged. First, she fell in love with my cooking, then she fell in love with me.” He grinned. “The family quarters are fairly spacious, so I stay with her most nights. I have a small apartment in town, but I haven’t seen it in a week.”

  Mac sat back in his chair. “So, who volunteered to stay?”

  “Well, Emmett is a single guy and he practically lives here anyway,” René said. “He’s a good worker and he wants his own restaurant someday. Kirk is also single and his boss had to get home to his wife. We had one housekeeper stay—there are only three of them and I think they drew straws.”

  “Where does the staff sleep in a situation like this?” I asked, thinking of my own rooming situation.

  “We have a couple of small rooms in the basement that we use for emergencies. They were originally for the servants when the house was built. Staying there for a night or two is one thing. I can’t imagine living there.” He wrinkled his nose.

  “Back to last night,” Mac said. “Can you tell us where you were?”

  “Right, sorry. Emmett and I made dinner. Fortunately, with this knitter convention, I knew ahead of time how many people I would be feeding for the weekend, so I’d purchased enough food to last. But, as you know, we still decided to limit choices to be sure the food would stretch and we wouldn’t end up serving grilled cheese sandwiches by the end of the weekend.”