Paul did his goatee stroke, his best Sherlockian move. “You need to establish a list of possible suspects,” he said. “If Mrs. Malone didn’t kill Big Bob, and we’re assuming she didn’t—”
“Damn right,” Maxie said.
“Then we have to determine who had a motive, the opportunity, and the ability to do so. What do we have so far, Alison?” He turned to me with those piercing blue eyes, the only parts of his body that seemed solid most of the time.
“We have Little Bob, who apparently had some kind of argument with Big Bob just before he vanished.” I turned to Maxie. “They were apparently arguing about you. Any ideas?”
She pursed her lips. “None. Little Bob never said anything to me.”
I went back to counting suspects. “We have Wilson Meyers, who vanished right before Big Bob died. Did you know him, Maxie?”
Maxie made a wavering motion with her hand: Sort of yes, sort of no. “I’d seen him a couple of times. I mean, I didn’t hang around with this crowd very long, just a couple of months. But Wilson was sort of the sidekick, you know? A mouse. You only knew he was there when somebody else talked to him. Not invisible, but sort of in the baseboards, looking for crumbs. And then once in a while he’d blow up over something. I think he was using.”
“Swell,” I told her. “A violent drug user. We need to find Wilson, don’t we, Paul?”
He was looking out the window. “What?”
“Wilson Meyers,” I reminded him, and he seemed to focus again.
“I don’t know if that helps or not,” Paul grumbled. “Besides Wilson and Little Bob, we have the other biker, Rocco Palenty, who doesn’t have a motive, so far as I can tell. It’s possible—and I’m sorry, Maxie, but I just said ‘possible’—that Big Bob was involved in something bad, and the people he worked with had a grudge.”
Maxie nodded slowly. “It’s possible. I hadn’t seen him for a while before all this happened. I don’t know what was going on.”
“What about Luther?” Paul asked me.
“Luther?” I repeated. “Luther’s our client. He asked for the investigation, and he doesn’t have a motive.” Besides, he was a pretty good kisser.
Maxie shook her head. “Not Luther,” she said. “He loved Big Bob.”
“I agree in theory,” Paul said. “But aside from Kitty, whom I’m dismissing on principle, I’m not eliminating any suspects until I have proof that they didn’t murder Big Bob. I’m only saying don’t assume anything.”
I’d come up here to rest and escape, I remembered. Melissa and Steven were just home from the movies, I saw out my window (that man was relentless in his quest to be the fun parent), and she’d be full of questions. He’d be full of something else. “I’m going downstairs,” I said. “If there’s another way I can mess up today, feel free to call me.”
And just as I said “call me,” my cell phone rang. The caller ID indicated I was being contacted by “FIND DEADBEATS,” so I came close to not answering until I realized who was calling. I hit the button.
“Ms. Kerby, this is Tim Feldner at Able Collection Service.”
“Shouldn’t that be ‘AAAAAAble Collection Service,’ Tim?” I wasn’t really in a state of mind to be polite. If my mother were here, she’d be appalled but contain her horror and tell herself that I, being perfect, must have a very good reason for acting so rudely. I did, but it wasn’t Feldner’s fault.
“That’s very amusing,” he answered atonally. “Yeah, I’ve never heard that one before. I have information about your Julia MacKenzie. Do you want it, or not?”
I glanced up at Paul, who had flipped over onto his back and was letting his arms hang down, as if he was lying on a beam. When Maxie, who was pouting in the corner, wasn’t around, I would try to find out what exactly was sapping Paul of his—pardon the expression—spirit.
“Yeah, I want it,” I told Feldner. “Fire away.” That sounded very PI-like, I thought.
“It isn’t much,” he answered, and I thought I heard something scratching, like he was rubbing his pencil on his head. It was better not to picture this stuff. “I found the records of her living in Gilford Park, and her job in Freehold. After that, there is a speeding ticket in Harbor Haven—she went fifty-three in a thirty-five-mile zone—and continued employment at CableCom until the beginning of this year. Then, nothing.”
I hadn’t even heard anything worth taking a note on yet. “What do you mean, nothing?” I asked.
“I mean, nothing,” Feldner said. “The rent checks stop at the place in Gilford Park. The bank account at Wells Fargo is closed. Even the speeding ticket was paid last November, and no further violations are recorded. No checking account, no residence established, no employment registered, no legal name change, and, weirdest of all, no credit-card bills. She doesn’t actually have a credit history. Who is this woman—Mata Hari?”
Once again, I looked at Paul, considering what I could ask him about his lost love. He was lying on his back and had not actually blinked in about two minutes. He seemed to be a hopeless case, or at least so upset about my lack of progress that pushing him any harder might be dangerous, or at best cruel.
“I don’t know,” I told Feldner. “Something’s certainly not right about it.”
“You’re damn straight,” the collection man answered. “I’m glad I’m not really looking for this woman. Either she’s actually vanished off the face of the earth or she very seriously doesn’t want to be found.”
This day just kept getting better and better. I decided to go downstairs. The people down there either loved me, paid me, or were my ex-husband. And they were all alive. A real advantage.
It was too hot to cook, as if I would anyway, and too hot to eat anything that was, you know, hot. So, over sub sandwiches that evening, I asked Melissa whether she’d be happier going to day camp for the month of August. “Cleaning up around here and hanging with all the seniors and your mother must get really boring after a while,” I suggested.
My daughter looked at me as if I had suggested sending her to Abu Ghraib on vacation. “What are you talking about?” she asked. “I don’t want to go to day camp. None of my friends are going, and besides, I like it here with my parents.” She was savvy enough not to overemphasize that last word—a crafty one, my daughter.
“Well, after Monday, it’s just going to be you and me with the guests in the house again,” I told her. “Dad’s going to find another place to stay.”
“What?” Melissa said, heading in the direction of full wail. “Dad’s leaving?”
Steven, about four inches into his foot-long everything sub, twitched his eye and shook his head. “I’m sorry—what did you just say?” he asked.
“I have more guests booked,” I explained. “I’m going to need the room you’re staying in now. You’ll have to find a hotel or something.” I was savvy enough not to overemphasize the “or something,” too. With any luck at all, he’d take this as an opportunity to head back to California and patch things up with the Silicone Queen.
“Thanks for the advance warning,” he snapped.
Oops. Had I forgotten to mention this to him before? Monday was, after all, five whole days away. “I’m sorry about the short notice,” I told him, trying to save face. “I honestly thought I’d mentioned it before.”
My ex sighed. “Maybe you did,” he said. “You know how I get when I’m working on a project. And this idea of small investors getting a piece of the pie is exactly the kind of thing that occupies my mind.” He took a hefty bite of his sub, chewed aggressively, then had almost swallowed everything in his mouth when he said, “Isn’t there some arrangement we can make here?”
He couldn’t be asking what it sounded like he was asking. “Like what?” I prodded.
“Well,” Steven looked at Melissa, then seemed to choose his words carefully. “Maybe we could share.”
Okay, so he could be asking what it sounded like he was asking. Even Melissa raised her eyebrows at that suggestion.
> “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I said calmly.
“Dad could stay in my room,” Liss suggested. “I could sleep on the floor, or in your room until we have another vacancy.” She’d learned how to talk like a real innkeeper since we’d started getting paying guests.
Steven, regaining his diplomatic face, shook his head. “No, Mom’s right, Lissie,” he said. “I need to find a hotel for a while, and then maybe an apartment here in town.” He made sure to maintain eye contact with me when he added, “I think I’ll be here in Harbor Haven for a while.”
Lucy Simone stuck her head in from the den, just opening the swinging door enough to be seen. “Excuse me?” she called. “May I come in for a moment?”
I stood up, always anxious to help a guest. “Sure, Lucy,” I said. “What can I do for you?”
Lucy walked into the kitchen and pretended to “notice” Steven at the table. Her mouth might’ve wanted to talk to me, but Melissa and I were irrelevant to her eyes. “I just wanted to clarify—about that laptop computer flying by the library? I think I saw it again just now heading up the stairs to the second floor, but it was going really fast, so I can’t be sure.” I’d alerted Melissa to my lie about the laptop, but the fact that she was sitting next to me here in the kitchen was going to really damage my ability to use it in this case.
I had also spoken to each of the Senior Plus guests—as I always do—about not mentioning any ghostly happenings around the house to anyone outside of their own tour. The tour company wants spooky things to happen, but I’m not crazy about the reputation the guesthouse has around Harbor Haven, or the added burden on Melissa for being “Ghost Girl,” which frankly is more of a worry to me than it seems to be to my daughter.
But this was an eyewitness incident; no matter what I’d said to Maxie, she did sometimes need the computer (often at my request), and there was very little she could do to conceal my old, bulky laptop other than putting on a small tent as clothing. Maybe I would ask her about that when she was in a better mood. But there was nothing to be done about it now; I’d have to try and defuse the situation as quickly as possible.
“I doubt that’s what you really were seeing…” I began, but Lucy wasn’t looking at me. She’d never taken her eyes off Steven.
He stood, taking advantage of the attention. “I think I can help you,” he said to Lucy, gesturing toward the door. “You say you saw something fly by the door? Can you show me where?”
Lucy giggled. No, seriously.
Steven led her out the door, and as it swung back and forth, I could hear Lucy say, “It was the freakiest thing!” as Steven laughed his charming laugh.
I wondered what he’d tell her, since I didn’t think he knew about the ghosts. Unless…
“Liss,” I asked my daughter, “have you said anything to Dad about Paul and Maxie?”
Melissa looked up from her turkey sub with a slightly alarmed expression. “No!” she said with great force. “I know I’m not supposed to. But if Dad’s going to live here…”
“Dad’s not going to live here,” I told her. “Get that out of your head. I’m very happy that you and he are getting along so well, and that you’re able to spend time together this summer, but no. I’m not letting him come back, we’re not getting married again, and he’s not living in this house, ever. Is that clear?”
No one can look at you with pity better than a ten-year-old girl. And among ten-year-old girls, mine is considered the gold standard at this activity. Other ten-year-old girls come to her for “looking at your parents with pity” lessons. This wasn’t necessarily the pinnacle of her work in the area, but it was certainly in her top ten attempts.
“I meant, if he’s going to live here in Harbor Haven,” Melissa said.
“Oh.” If I had felt any smaller, I could have squeezed between two boards in the kitchen floor and vanished.
“Anyway, if he is going to live here, he’s going to hear the rumors about the house,” Melissa continued, as if I hadn’t just been reduced to a quivering mass of stupidity. “What are we going to tell him then?”
“Let’s see if that time comes first,” I said. “But for right now, let’s just ignore the fact that Paul and Maxie are here when Dad’s around, okay? And you’ve been doing a really good job of keeping him out of the house when the spook shows are on, so let’s keep that going. Think you can do that?”
“Sure,” Melissa said. “He goes pretty much wherever I suggest.”
I remembered what that was like, and hoped that The Swine wouldn’t disappoint his daughter the way he had his wife. “Okay,” I said. “Now, do you have any idea what’s been bothering Paul?”
She widened her eyes in recognition. “No!” she said. “I thought you would know. He’s been floating around like a bath toy all day.” Once again I gave my daughter credit for being more perceptive than I am. “I know he asked you to do something for him. Do you think it’s about that?”
“Maybe,” I said. Before she could ask, I added, “He wants me to find somebody for him, someone he knew when he was alive. And it’s been harder to do than I expected. I hope he’s not getting like this because I’m letting him down.” My roast-beef sub was suddenly less appetizing than a minute ago—was I being arrogant in trying to find Julia without Paul’s help, and causing him the ghost equivalent of pain in the process?
“So you’re trying to help Luther and Maxie find out who killed her ex-husband, and you’re trying to find an old friend of Paul’s?” Melissa asked. “Isn’t that a lot to do all at once?”
I nodded. “I’m worried I can’t do it all myself.”
Melissa tilted her head in an expression that said, “Well…?” Then she said, “You know what you do whenever you feel overwhelmed. Who do you always call?”
Jeannie.
I sighed. “Not sure I can do that this time. It’s a ghost thing.”
My daughter smiled with her wise-beyond-her-years demeanor. “You’ll find a way,” she said. “Or Jeannie will figure a way that it’s not a ghost thing. She’s really good at that.”
Steven pushed the swinging door open and walked back into the kitchen, grinning. “I think I actually convinced her there was a real person carrying a laptop whom she didn’t see because of the way the light hit the computer casing,” he said, sitting down and picking up his sandwich. “There are days I believe I can talk anybody into anything.” He took a big bite and chewed thoughtfully. After he managed to clear his mouth again, he looked at me and asked, “Now, what was that all about?”
Luckily, I’d had time to think. “There’s no point in trying to keep it from you, Steven,” I said with my best sincere voice. “You can’t have been in town even a few days and not heard the rumors about this house.”
The Swine does many attitudes well, but coy is not one of them. “Rumors?” he asked. Melissa stifled a laugh.
I nodded with great solemnity. “I hadn’t been back here long enough when I bought the house, or I might have held off,” I said. “But it’s relatively common knowledge around Harbor Haven that this place is haunted.”
Melissa’s eyes showed no change, but she scratched her nose, which is something she does when she’s nervous. She was clearly wondering if I was going to let Steven in on the truth about Paul and Maxie.
My ex laughed. “Haunted?” he said. “People really believe in haunted houses?”
I saw an opening, a way to make things easier, even in spite of what I’d said to Liss only a few minutes before. “Can you believe it? But then I discovered that there are people who want to take a vacation in a haunted house, so I’ve been playing it up to some of the guests.” I told him about the Senior Plus Tours, excluding the fact that the ghosts involved were actual ghosts. No sense telling The Swine everything. He hadn’t done so for me, after all. “So we do some spook shows twice a day now—all fake, of course, with flying objects and stuff—but that’s just for the Senior Plus guests,” I explained. “Lucy’s not part of the tour, so sh
e isn’t in on the gag. And I guess something happened in front of her that wasn’t supposed to.”
Steven’s face had gone from amused to enthralled as I’d told him my sordid tale, and now he was positively jubilant in his demeanor. “That’s amazing, Alison!” he gushed. “You took a business challenge and turned it into an asset. I’m so proud of you!” Really, his pride in me made me feel so vindicated (that’s sarcasm, ladies and gentlemen)! He walked over and embraced me, which I endured without reciprocation. I just let him hug me, smiled neutrally, and took a bite of my sub. “Did I also hear that a TV show shot here a few months ago?” he asked. “Was that about the ‘ghosts,’ too?”
That comment about the TV show was kind of out of nowhere, and my suspicious nature tickled the back of my throat. “No, that was just an accident,” I said. “The house they were going to use burned down, so they stayed here for a few weeks. It was no big deal.”
Steven had a way of looking at me that made me think he didn’t believe me. But he shrugged it off and asked, “How can I help?”
Help? When we were married, he’d never so much as volunteered to help me with the dinner dishes, so this question had caught me sort of off guard. “Help,” I said, thinking. “Well, one of the more difficult things is seeing to it that Lucy is out of the house when we’re putting on one of the spectral spectaculars. And she seems to find you fascinating. Think you could keep her occupied for a short period twice a day?”
The Swine smiled, then a thought seemed to occur to him, and he looked at our daughter. “That’s what you’ve been doing with me, isn’t it, you little minx?” he asked her.
Melissa grinned and looked away from him. Perhaps she was a little minx, after all. “I guess so,” she drawled at him.
Steven gave her a big hug and laughed. “It’s okay, honey,” he said. “You were helping Mom. You did the right thing.” Then he turned to me. “All right, Alison,” he said, although I could tell he wanted to say “Ally.” “I’ll help out with Lucy.”
Haunted Guest House Mystery 03-Old Haunts Page 16