Little Moments

by K. J. Emrick

  The question is… is one of those things murder? That remains to be seen.

  Stephanie’s time is going to be up this morning. Kevin’s delayed bringing her to a judge as long as he can. This morning would tell the tale, one way or the other. If Thornton did the murder, Stephanie doesn’t deserve to be where she is. Then again, if she did do it, she deserves everything she gets. One of those two deserves to go to prison for a long, long time.

  My instincts can usually point me in the right direction in these mysteries. This time, I’m not getting a good read either way. My Inn’s at stake. I need to be sure.

  Staring up at the ceiling, the lamp on the bedside table the only light in the room, I wait for the world to come into focus. My arm reaches out to the other side of the bed. It was empty. James wasn’t here, of course. The doctors had been alarmed at the extent of his injuries and insisted he needed to stay overnight. For a wonder, James didn’t argue it. I was going to threaten to tie him down to the hospital bed if he did. Besides two broken ribs, his liver was bruised, and his coughing had started bringing up blood. He was going to get the chance to put his thoughts together that he’d been wanting, lying right there in hospital.

  Still don’t know what happened to him, but I am starting to understand just how bad these past four weeks have been for him. Poor guy.

  My hand fumbled for the unicorn necklace lying against my chest under my oversized nightshirt. I never take Jess’s gift off. It reminds me to never give up, and also that death isn’t the end. It’s just another part of life.

  A movement over in the corner of the room caught my attention. I rolled over onto my side, expecting to see Jess’s ghost sitting there. There’s plenty of spirits walking the halls of this Inn, and each and every one of them knows to keep themselves out of my personal living space. The exception is Jess, and from time to time the ghost of my husband, Richard. They get to visit me here when they get lonely. But just them, and not the others.

  This ghost isn’t Jess, and it’s not Richard either. This is a ghost who has no sense of personal space, and who only appears when she has bad news to tell. Since no one else in the Pine Lake Inn can see ghosts, that means I’m the lucky one who gets to listen to her sorrows.

  It’s hard for me to be too upset about it, considering Mabel McGowan was killed by her husband in the 1930s, and that she only wants to help whenever she does show herself, I suppose I can cut her some slack.

  She’s just a shadowy form, sitting there in a long dress that covers her from neck to ankles, but with piercing hazel eyes that fade in and out of my vision whenever I move. Getting up from the bed she’s there, she’s gone, and she’s there again.

  “G’day, Mabel. I don’t suppose this is a social call?” I stand up, and stretch, my sleep shirt sliding down one shoulder. Mabel’s eyes sparkle and fade, almost like she’s giving me a wink. “So, not just a friendly drop in, then. Got some warning for me? Some news from the great beyond?”

  Her eyes widen, and she tilts her head to the doorway that leads to the attached bathroom. I take two steps that way, and her ghost disappears entirely. She was there and then simply gone, like a heat mirage. I can feel that she’s gone, too. Like a storm had just passed me by overhead. She’s telling me to look in the other room.

  Mabel doesn’t speak much. She’s more of a woman of letters. Inside the bathroom I switch on the light and stand myself in front of the mirror. My hair’s a mess from sleep and I definitely think I’m going to need some makeup on that face today. Not why I’m looking at the glass, though.

  With a deep breath, I blow warm air across the mirror, fogging it up and revealing the message Mabel McGowan has left for me in the looping cursive of her ghostly finger. Not sure how that works but then again, I’ve never understood much about how ghosts do anything. Pure spirit, mental echo, the chained soul of those once alive… I mean, what is a ghost, really? Lachlan Halliburton can change his face and clothes like he’s wearing a disguise. Jess can switch outfits as the mood suits her. I’ve had ghosts call me on the phone before. So, sure. Why shouldn’t a ghost be able to write on my bathroom mirror?

  Cursive is rather a lost artform in today’s world of texting and Facebook statuses. The older generation—which I guess I am now—can read it easy enough. So I know what this says, I just don’t know what it means.

  Consider love above all else.

  Well, that’s clear as dirt then, isn’t it?

  Mabel must’ve seen the murder happen. She must have been wandering around up here when Jackson got stabbed in the back, so she knows who the killer is. So why didn’t she just write the name on the mirror? Consider love? Did she mean Stephanie really did do it, because she loved Jackson but he didn’t love her back?

  Or maybe the message had nothing to do with the murder at all. Maybe there’s something else going on that I’ve yet to find out about. Wonderful thought, that is.

  The sun is only just coming up now, so I figure I’ve got time for a quick shower, giving me a few minutes to think about everything and still not come up with any real answers. Rushing out of the shower dripping wet I towel off and throw on a white button-up shirt and dress slacks over my undies. I should be able to find Thornton still in his room just down the hall, before he leaves for the day, and catch him off guard. Should make it easier to get him to agree to a trip down to the station that way. Time to head out.

  Right outside my door I practically run through a man standing there, with a deep frown directed right at me.

  “Lachlan!” I hiss at him, trying to keep my voice down but angry enough to spit. “If I’d been rushing any more I’d’ve gone straight through you! What are you doing?”

  Lachlan’s face is nearly as red as his hair as he bends closer from his waist and shakes a finger in my face, and then at the door to my room.

  “What? What are you on about? Lachlan, I don’t have time for this. You know what’s going on. You know I need to get this murder solved if I’m going to save the Inn’s reputation. You want to be out of a home, do you? Or maybe have this place shut down so you’ve got no one to talk to? Do you?”

  He fists his hands on his hips, and then blinks. When he does his face shifts, the features morphing from his to the shadowy and indistinct face of Mabel McGowen, right down to her piercing eyes. Then he blinks again, changing his face back to his own. His finger shakes at me. His finger shakes at my rooms.

  “Oh, for the love of… are you upset at me because Mabel was in there and you’re not allowed in?” He nods firmly, and if he wasn’t incorporeal, I would’ve taken him by his shoulders and given him a good shake. “Lachlan, none of you are allowed in there, but at least Mabel doesn’t run around interrupting me when she knows I’m busy. All of you have a home here at the Pine Lake Inn for as long as you want but my room is off limits. Just get over it!”

  He starts to mime something to me that I’m sure would’ve put my blood pressure up over the top, but I ignore him completely, walking past and swatting my arm through him, dissipating him into a sparkly mist that fizzles out of view behind me. I swear. Some days I think what this place needs is a good exorcism.

  Nah. I wouldn’t do that to Lachlan… well maybe to him, but not to my other ghost friends.

  Down the hall, across from where Jackson Fillmore died, I knock at Thornton Dunfosse’s room. When there’s no answer, I knock again. “Thornton? Are you there?”

  Still no answer. He must have gotten up and gone out before me. Good to know our tax dollars are paying for such dedicated civil servants. Even if they might be killers who are abusing their position. All that stuff from his financials is going to let my Kevin nail Thornton to the wall.

  Assuming I can find him.

  He must be heading downstairs already, for breakfast. Early start and all that, now that he has to shoulder the whole show himself. Funny, that. Seems that Jackson Fillmore getting killed was Thornton Dunfosse’s good fortune. Interesting detail to add into the facts mounting up agains
t him.

  Looking back at the empty hallway from the top of the stairs leading down, I find myself thinking that it was a good thing the Tassie government paid to rent out the entire top floor of the Inn. No one else will come up here to see what’s wrong. If we can keep everything quiet for just a bit longer then Kevin can make an arrest, and then the story will be how we helped out the government, instead of how we got one of their people killed.

  There are a few guests moving about now. I nod to the ones just coming out of their rooms, probably heading down to the dining room just like Thornton had. I’m sure I’ll find him down there in the dining room, and that’s good because I’ll be able to smooth talk him over a nice cup of coffee. Tell him how my son has questions of a purely innocent nature that he needs Thornton to stop by for. Yes. That should work.

  “Oh, hey, Dell?”

  This time it’s a living, breathing person keeping me from reaching the kitchen. Danni Fairfield’s at her place behind the registration desk for her dayshift. She’s frantically waving me over, and it’s not like I can ignore her. I’m the boss after all. Kind of need to make myself available to my employees when they need me.

  From the way Danni’s tugging on that braid of hers, I have a feeling this isn’t about her work here at the Inn, though.

  Casting my eyes back toward the entryway to the dining room for just a second, I lean over on the wide counter of the desk. “What’s up, Danni?”

  “Er, I just wanted to tell you, about yesterday…” She takes her time, even though I get the feeling she’s been thinking about this all night. “Sorry I got spooked when you told me the name of Suzanna Martin’s ex. Harry Kewell. It just, er, threw me off.”

  “Hmm? Why’s that?”

  She looks both ways again, then leans in even closer to me and whispers, “Because it’s the same bloke that was dating Melanie Abrams.”

  “Melanie from the Rum Runners Café?” I was surprised, to say the least. Melanie had waited on my table just yesterday, and yes, she told me about moving back here to get away from a guy who was bothering her and her daughter, and yes, I thought it was odd that both Melanie and Suzanna both had that sort of man troubles.

  But this meant…

  “I know,” Danni says to me. “It’s a bit of a daft situation that those two got tangled up with the same guy. He’s no good, that Harry Kewell, but they all had mutual friends and that’s how they met. You can guess how these things go.”

  “They were dating the same man? But… I think Suzanna said Harry was here, in Lakeshore.”

  Danni nods her head. “I went and had a chat with Melanie last night. We’ve been friends forever, so I know some of the things Harry put her through. Leaving her at the side of the road, taking money from her bank account, posting mean things from her social media… worse than that, too. I tell ya, Dell, she should’ve left him long before she did. But now, if Harry’s back in town for Melanie, or Suzanna either, it’s bad news for both of them.”

  I had to agree. I didn’t know the bloke, but any man who drives away two women to the point they never want to see him again… think that says something pretty obvious about him. “So, did Melanie have that cute girl of hers with Harry?”

  “Yeah, he’s the father. Sucks, but it’s the truth. He left her right after she gave birth, is the way she told me. Thought he wanted nothing to do with her. Now she’s got to worry about him being in Lakeshore. Can’t believe he came all this way to harass his ex-girlfriends.” She waited for a guest to step through the lobby and head up the stairs. “The bloke’s trouble, Dell. Real trouble.”

  “Okay. Well, I’ve got to talk to my son about another matter this morning.” The murder case had to take top priority, but that didn’t mean I would turn my back on a neighbor in trouble. “I’ll tell him what you said about Harry Kewell, too. Lakeshore’s a small place. I’m sure it won’t take him long to find this bloke. He’ll set him to rights and send him packing, I’m sure.”

  “Thanks, Dell. Knew I could count on you. Say, can you ask Rosie to send me out some dry toast? Got kind of an upset stomach.”

  “You okay?” I ask her. “There’s a summer bug going around.”

  “No, it’s not that. Long night, is all. After I left Melanie’s last night I kind of, um, finally convinced Janus to step out with me to the Thirsty Roo. We sort of closed the place down.”

  “Really? You and Janus? Oh, that’s grand. I’m glad you finally dragged him out of his shell a bit.”

  “Yeah, well, it was worth it. We had some fun. ‘Fraid I didn’t get much sleep, though. Kind of put my stomach off.”

  “Poor girl,” I laugh, because I’d been there before. All nighters were fun until the next morning. But she and Janus finally had a date, and that’s just fantastic. “I’ll bring you some toast and grapefruit juice. That’ll help. You have to tell me everything, but later, okay? I’ve got someone I need to catch.”

  Literally.

  “Thanks, Dell,” she tells me, her cheeks flushing red with her memories of her date.

  I really was glad to hear about her and Janus, but the rest of what she had to tell me was troubling, to say the least. The trouble with Harry Kewell and his two ex-girlfriends put something else on my to-do list for today, as if I didn’t have enough there already. I’d only been talking to Danni for five minutes or so but I was already worried that when I got into the dining room Thornton would be gone and then we’d have to wait for half a day or more to get him again.

  But there he was, at a table over in the corner, reading the morning news off a tablet and drinking a cuppa and dabbing a cloth at his mustache, his half-eaten breakfast plate pushed aside. His suit today is blue, but it’s just as creased as the one he wore yesterday, and just as tight at his neck. He was alone, of course, since the rest of the people he’d checked in with were either dead or in jail.

  In my opinion, that was exactly where he belonged.

  With a big smile on my face I went over to sit down with him, much to his surprise. “So glad I caught you, Thornton. I wanted to ask how the preparations for the Royal Hobart Regatta are going.”

  “Fairly well,” is what he says, in a voice as dry as the toast I’m supposed to be getting for Danni. It drops to a near whisper for what he says next. “Of course, it would be easier if I didn’t have to make excuses for why the Parliamentary Secretary isn’t there. You know. If he hadn’t been murdered, here in your Inn?”

  I have to clench my jaw to keep from saying the first thing that comes to mind. Jackson Fillmore ending up dead had nothing to do with him being here at my Inn. He would’ve been dead wherever he was because Thornton and Stephanie were always with him, and one of them killed him.

  Now it was going to be up to my son to figure out which one. He just needed a little help from his mother.

  “Right,” I say, making sure to keep my voice relaxed and casual. “So I wanted to catch you before you set out for the day. My son’s down at the station and he’s got some forms to finish off before he brings Stephanie to the magistrate. Needs your signature on a few things.”

  He regards me for a long moment, sipping from his cup. Then he shrugs and checks his watch. “I’ve got time before I start my schedule. I appreciate that son of yours keeping all this under wraps. Whatever I can do to help put Stephanie away for good, I’m at his service. Tell him I can be down in half an hour. I trust that works for him?”

  “I’m sure it will. We’re not expecting the magistrate to be available until later this morning, maybe even the afternoon. Gives him plenty of time to cross the t’s and dot the i’s. How was the breakfast this morning? Did Rosie outdo herself as usual?”

  “The food here is just aces. The service could use some work, however. Your kitchen partner did everything she could to stay away from me this morning. Rather rude of her, really.” Thornton uses his cloth napkin again to wipe at his perfectly clean mustache. “You should have a talk to her.”

  By ‘kitchen partner’ he mean
s Rosie, of course. I wasn’t about to scold my best friend for treating this piece of dung exactly how he deserved. It wasn’t just that he was a suspect in a murder. It had everything to do with what we’d found out last night, too. The man had a lot to answer for. Guilty of murder or not, he was still not a good guy.

  “Say, I’ve got an idea,” I tell him. Actually, it’s the same idea I had on the way down the stairs. Didn’t come up with it just now, but he doesn’t need to know that. “Why don’t I drive you down to the station? Least I can do to help you out after everything that’s happened.”

  “I agree,” he says, standing up and dropping his napkin on his plate. “It is the least you can do. I’ll meet you out in the car park in ten minutes.”

  When he walks away it’s everything I can do not to make a certain hand gesture involving my two fingers. Wouldn’t exactly be proper in my own establishment. More like something you’d see someone do at a football game. Not me, you understand. Other people. I’m too much of a lady for that.

  No. Really. Don’t laugh it off til ya know me.

  For now, I make my way through the tables toward the door to the kitchen. Not as many people here this morning as there was when I was here yesterday, but it’s early yet. I like seeing this place full to capacity, with guests and neighbors from Lakeshore and people I’ve never seen before sitting and eating Rosie’s cooking. Means we’ve really built something here. Something that I sincerely hope this murder of a government official won’t take away from me.

  I find Rosie in the kitchen, bustling about while her cooking staff does their best to dodge out of her way. It looks like chaos at first but if you watch them long enough you realize that they’re actually moving like cogs in a well-oiled machine. Chopped veggies are stirring in a flat pan by the same cook who reaches over to deftly catch a spatula Rosie has just knocked off a counter. As Rosie adds more chopped onion to the lamb shakshouka, she hands spice bottles to another cook before she even asks for them. As Rosie dances about joyfully after tasting a simmering broth from a pan on the stove, she bumps a rack of dishes, and the first cook spins to catch a plate and puts it back in place and then continues the spin around, back to his veggies.