by K. J. Emrick
Since then, she’s slowly come back to her old self, for the most part, but every now and again she gets into these funks. It’s as if the world’s come crashing down around her ears again. Remember all those little moments that make us who we are? Sometimes we have to decide how they mold us. Good, or bad. I’ve only just gotten my baby back. I don’t want her going off to be in some commune again, thinking she’ll find herself there. I know where Carly is. Not sure she does, some days.
My mind is so distracted by thoughts like that as I come out of the dining room that I almost run straight into our handyman. Unlike running through Lachlan, bumping into a living person is bound to leave a bruise or two.
George has been with the Pine Lake Inn from the very beginning. He’s a slight man with a full head of gray hair that makes him look older than he is. Not someone you’d expect to be able to do all the hard labor he does around here, but his arms have these whipcord tight muscles and I’ve seen him rolling boulders around the back lawn down by the lake, back when we were doing landscaping. Usually he’s pretty placid about things. Right now, he’s in a mood about something. Not a good mood either.
“Did ya see?” he demands before I can even ask what’s up. He pulls the newsboy cap off his head and scratches furiously at his scalp before slapping it back in place. “It’s gone. Had to get rid of it and we both know it should be right there on the wall where it belongs.”
I turn to look where he’s pointing, and now I understand what he’s so frustrated about. All around the room we have photos and paintings hanging on hooks, some showing the Inn through the years, some of Lakeshore from the past, some that are artist’s renditions of the Hartz peaks to the West or of the three lakes here in town. Right now, there’s a large open space on the wall next to the fireplace. The paneling is discolored, showing where a fairly large painting had hung until just yesterday.
That would be George’s coveted painting of Lieutenant Governor David Collins. He’s an important figure in the history of Tasmania, not unlike George Washington is for the States, but people have their opinions of him. History changes many a man’s story over time, when events are viewed through the different eyes of a new generation. To George, David Collins was the first administrator of our great country, a great man who helped make this country what it is.
To the people in the current cabinet, however, he’s someone who had an out-of-date view towards colonial expansion and the plight of the indigenous. That’s becoming a hot-button topic these days, and rather than spark a political debate with our special guests, I decided taking the painting down would be the safest bet.
Unfortunately, in making my guests happy, I appear to have made my handyman upset.
“George, it’s all right. David Collins will be fine hanging out in storage for a few days. We’ll put him back up just as soon as the Parliamentary Secretary and his people are gone.”
“Well, that’s just great,” George says, flustered and not bothering to hide it. “Guess we’ll just ignore our past for the sake of our futures, is that it? Well fine, then. I’ll just go water those flowers out front. At least we haven’t outlawed those!”
He stalks off through the front door in a huff. We usually leave it open in the nicer weather like this, or I’m sure he would have gotten great pleasure out of slamming it closed behind him. Poor George. I’ll have to find some way to make it up to him.
“Well, he’s in a snit,” Danni says from over at the front desk. She’s used to George’s moods, which have gotten more and more politically motivated over the years. “Hope he knows it isn’t personal?”
“I’m sure he does,” I tell her. “George is a good man. He’s just got a soft spot when it comes to David Collins. I think he’s a distant rellie, or something.”
“Well, isn’t that a case of the apple falling far from the tree?” she jokes. “So how was your lunch down at the Rum Runner? I ate there the other day and it wasn’t half bad.”
“The food was good, actually. My visit with Kevin got cut short. Police business, and such, but yeah. The food was good.”
“Glad to hear you say so. My friend Melanie works over there.”
“Melanie Abrams? What a coincidence. She’s the one who waited on me. I remember when she left town to make it on her own. I was kind of surprised that she came back.”
Danni nods, memories flashing in her eyes. “Yeah, we all were. She got involved with a guy, and it wasn’t good. A few times she called me crying and talking about how he’d hurt her. I kept telling her to dump him and come home. It took a few weeks, but it finally worked. She left him, but then she tried to make it as a single mom and well, you know how hard that can be. Now she’s back. Me and her hang out sometimes.”
“That’s good. She mentioned something about a breakup, but I didn’t want to pry. Said she didn’t have many friends either so I’m glad she has you. I had a best friend when I was about your age. I think every woman needs someone they can talk to when things get tough.”
“Too right,” she agrees.
Behind her, a woman with long dark hair appears from out of the shadows. She’s wearing an AC/DC t-shirt this time, the kind she used to wear in Uni. Jess’s ghost grins at me. Best friends forever, me and her, or at least for as long as she decides to stay on this side of the veil between life and death. She kisses her two fingers, nearly transparent as she stands there, and then blows me the kiss.
Then she disappears, leaving me with a little smile on my lips.
“So whatever happened to your friend?” Danni asks me. “The one you had for when times got tough?”
“Oh, she’s still around.”
I watch the shadows for a moment, before heading over to the stairs to the upper floors.
Chapter 3
At the end of the second floor—the top floor of the Inn—is my room. They’re the biggest accommodations at the Inn. The rest of the rooms are pretty standard, with a bed and a small connected bathroom, and a little extra space to move around. So, the first room down the hall from mine is nothing overly special, but it’s nice enough. It’s a good place to stay for awhile if you have nowhere else to go.
For now, that describes my daughter Carly pretty well. They say that home is where they have to take you in, no matter what. The Pine Lake Inn is her home for now. It always will be, whenever she needs it.
Of course, a mother’s job is to make sure their kids can stand on their own and not need a place to come back to. Somehow, I’ve got to prompt my daughter back into the world outside her comfortable little room.
Raising my hand, I knock on the door. When there’s no answer, I knock again.
“Go away, Mom.”
Well. At least I know she’s still alive in there, so that’s a good thing. “How’d you know it was me?”
“Because,” she tells me, her voice muffled. “I know your knock.”
Huh. I didn’t know I had a knock. “I was wondering if you might want to come hang out with me in my rooms for a bit? We could watch something on TV, maybe.”
“No, thank you.”
She doesn’t sound angry, and she doesn’t sound upset, necessarily. More like she’s distracted with something. Well. She’s got tons to think about, I suppose. Being in that commune really set her sideways for a while. She separated herself from everyone she knew to be there, and now she’s on the outside of everything looking in.
I frown, reminding myself not to make excuses for her. Carly’s a grown woman. Has been for years now, and she’s capable of taking responsibility for her own decisions. Her father’s death might’ve addled her when she was younger, but she’s got to choose to move past that. Kevin did. I know I’m not supposed to compare my children to each other, but Kevin’s got himself a good job, and he’s married to a wonderful woman, and now he’s got a kid of his own to take care of. On the other hand, Carly’s hiding in one of the rooms at her mother’s Inn and pretending the world outside has forgot all about her.
Maybe
it’s time for her mother to do a little pushing.
“How about we get you something to eat? I can bring it up here to your room, if you like. Rosie’s made some of her killer pikelets. Still wearing the proof on my shoe, matter of fact. What do you say?”
Okay, so that’s not so much pushing as it is pleading, but still. I wait, leaning up against her door, touching it with my fingertips and wishing I could fade through walls like my ghostly friends do. I don’t want to force myself on her. What I want is to give her space to come back to me on her own, because a lasting love is one that comes willingly.
So I count to ten. Then twenty. Then thirty… then I knock again. “Carly?”
“I’m fine, Mom. Rosie brought me up a plate earlier. I… I’m just not hungry.”
“Carly, listen to me—”
I stop talking, because from the corner of my eye I see that Parliamentary Secretary Jackson Fillmore and his two assistants have finished their meal and come upstairs.
Oh, snap.
They were heading for their rooms, but now they’re watching me talking to my daughter through a door like a loon. I’m not one to air my laundry in public. That’s not to say I don’t get thrust out into the public eye more than I’d like, but it’s not by choice.
So rather than continue to make a scene for the enjoyment of those three, I smile like this is just another normal day in the life of Dell Powers and give them a little wave. Then I turn on my heel and head straight for the door to my room.
They return the wave a little uncertainly, but then split off, thankfully, to their separate rooms. Didn’t they say they were on their way out? Something about making the arrangements for the upcoming Royal Hobart Regatta? Maybe Jackson wanted to change out of those wet pants first. Don’t blame him. Hard to make a good, professional presentation of yourself when you look like you’ve taken a leak without unzipping your trousers first.
Once I’m in my room, I close the door, and lean my back up against it. So far I’ve managed to do nothing but embarrass myself in front of the Parliamentary Secretary. Not a good way to get government business for the Inn, that’s for sure.
It’s fine, I tell myself. No worries. Jackson Fillmore and his assistants are only here for a few days. We’ve already got people waiting to check into their rooms soon as they’re available. The Inn is fine. Rosie’s still Rosie, which is to say she’s a force of nature pushing sunshine ahead of her and leaving mayhem in her wake. I’m still Dell Powers, all alone in the world except for my son the Senior Sergeant and my daughter who’s holed up in her room with no intention of ever coming out, ever. There’s still ghosts about. Things change, things stay the same, and I’m somewhere here in the middle.
That just about sums it up.
Oh, and all of Tasmania is packed with tourists for the Regatta. Lakeshore included. This is the oldest public holiday in Tasmania, and folks come from all over Australia and even from outside the country to watch the racing boats compete. There’s rides and vendors and all sorts of food. It’s a lot of fun for everyone and it brings in a lot of revenue, thus the open support from the government. Jackson Fillmore isn’t the most beloved figure in government these days, what with the scandals of him possibly embezzling public funds, but nobody’s going to care about that when the fun starts.
After a few more breaths to calm myself down I check my watch. I’m surprised to find that I’ve been standing here, holding up this door more or less, for twenty minutes. Wow. Where does the time go? Down the rabbit hole with all those worries my mind can’t shake, that’s where. I should put them all aside for now, and get on with the rest of this beautiful, summer day.
The point is there’s so many strange faces in Lakeshore this week, people I’ve never met before and will never meet again, that anything could happen. Jackson Fillmore and his two associates will remember this trip because of all the little moments like Rosie’s kitchen and me in the hall, but they’ll come back because in the end they’ll have a nice stay just like all my guests. Things can always change in an instant. After all—
A piercing scream from down the hall raises the hair at the back of my neck.
—this is Lakeshore.
Rushing out of my rooms again, my first thought is that something’s happened to Carly. That was a woman’s scream I’d heard. Was it her voice? I was too agitated to tell.
Then I was in the hallway, and I saw that Carly’s door was open, and she was standing right there. She looked fine, but she wasn’t looking in my direction… she was looking down the hall to where other people were standing.
I had to push my heart back down in my chest before I could focus but when I did, I saw that it was Jackson Fillmore’s two assistants who were crowded around the door to one of the rooms further down. The tall, bull-necked man whose name I still don’t know and the uptight woman, Stephanie. It was her who had screamed. She had her one hand covering her mouth, and the other was pointing into the open door of that room.
Which I now noticed was the room being used by Parliamentary Secretary for Regional Development, Jackson Fillmore.
Oh, snap. Please God, don’t let it be what I’m thinking…
“Mom?” Carly asks me gingerly. “What’s going on?”
She looks like she hasn’t slept much. Her thick black hair has grown out long again now that she’s away from that commune, and now it’s all flyaway. There are circles under her eyes. That oversized shirt she’s wearing is one of her pajama shirts. At least her door’s open, I suppose.
As glad as I am to see her out of her room for a change, my motherly instincts take right over. “Go back inside, honey. Wait for me in your room until I know what’s going on.”
She bites her lower lip, and starts to close her door, her eyes still glued to the other end of the hall. She’s been my daughter long enough to see bad things. Murder most foul, as they say. My Carly’s seen some of the worst sorts of murder. So have I.
A very bad feeling in the pit of my stomach is telling me that we’re about to see it again.
I hope I’m wrong, but as I get closer to the room and I see the look on Stephanie’s face, I know my instincts are right. Worse than that… I know that if these two are standing here, in front of Jackson Fillmore’s door, then the person in the room… the one who is dead… will be…
Stepping past the two of them, I look inside. The bed is off to the side, still made up from when my housecleaners came through this morning. Everything’s neat and tidy, in fact. Everything, except for Mister Jackson Fillmore, splayed out face down on the floor, his head turned our way. From the middle of his back a knife handle is sticking up to heaven, pinning him in his death. The knife has a heavy wooden handle, with engraved sides, and I’m willing to bet that if I looked closer, I’d find the words “Everheart Cutlery” embossed on the side of the laser-honed edge.
I’d know one of those knives anywhere. It’s one of a special set that we use in our dining room. I bought them not long after we first opened. The company’s out of business now and I’ve looked everywhere for replacements with no luck. That knife, the murder weapon, came from our dining room.
The world spun around me, and for a moment I couldn’t find my balance. Not because of the dead body. Although that’s never pleasant, I’ve seen dead men before. Seen them right here in my Inn as a matter of fact.
This time, however, the man lying dead on the floor is a politician. A known figure in the government. He was staying here at my Inn, and now he’s dead. Murdered under my roof. Worse than that, he was killed right down the hall from where I was standing. Once word of this gets out, the reputation I’ve carefully built up for my place over the years will be ruined.
There’s not a single thing about this that is okay.
“I just came in,” I heard Stephanie saying. Her voice is cracking on every other word. “I just came in and found him like that. Someone stabbed him. Someone killed Jackson!”
“Not so loud,” the other assistant says, loose
ning his tie. “We don’t need anyone else finding out. We have to… yes, we have to keep this quiet. We can’t have a scandal like this getting out until we can be sure we control the story.” His face is dark, and even though he’s trying to stay calm I can see the way his mustache is quivering.
“Keep it quiet?” Stephanie gasps incredulously. “Thornton, you can’t be serious. This is terrible. This is horrible. How can we keep this quiet?”
Well, at least now I know the guy’s name. I’m only half listening to them, though. Most of my attention is taken up by the scene in the room. There’s something wrong here. Something I can’t put my finger on.
“I’m telling you,” Thornton says, “nobody else can know about this. As of right now, nobody but the three of us can find out what’s happened here until we’re ready to release the information.”
“Mom?” Carly says, stepping up to Jackson Fillmore’s door with me to look inside. “Can I do anything to help?”
Thornton sighs heavily. “All right… as of now, nobody but the four of us finds out what’s happened here.”
I’m almost glad to hear him say that, although part of me knows it isn’t that simple. This is murder. You can’t just put a bag over your head and hope nobody notices that Parliamentary Secretary Jackson Fillmore is dead.
Which brings up a very repugnant notion that I’m surprised I didn’t think of previously.
“Stephanie, you said you just came in and found him here like this?”
The woman nods, one hand pressed to the side of her pale face. “Yes. We came up here to freshen up before we stepped out to Hobart—the whole watering of Jackson’s pants, as you recall, caused a bit of an issue for us. We were only in our rooms for a few minutes, I swear to you, and then we were supposed to meet up but when Jackson didn’t come to tell us it was time to go I came here and that’s when I saw him like this…”
She trails off as she finally stops for breath. She’s very upset, which is understandable under the circumstances, but I have to wonder if maybe she’s just a good actress.