I peered up at him in question, waiting for him to finish.
"He's dead," he whispered.
A shadow loomed in the glow from the outside lights. "Now you're even beating me to the scene," Detective Jackson's familiar deep voice drawled from behind.
Jamie straightened and spotted the shiny badge on Jackson's belt. "They certainly have sent a lot of people out to an accidental fall," Jamie said brusquely.
Jackson nodded. "We like to be thorough. If you don't mind, I'd like to borrow Miss Taylor for a moment." He took hold of my elbow and moved me along. "Bluebird, why are you always around when people end up dead?"
I stopped and pulled my arm free from his grasp. "Maybe I'm just a really good journalist." I squeezed a grin at him.
"Or maybe you're just drawn to trouble." He motioned for me to follow him.
Three medics were huddled around the last few steps on the staircase, the infamous stairs where Lauren Grace met her tragic end. Blood smears stained the floral wallpaper lining the walls along the staircase. Dark stains marred the oak banister as well. It seemed it had been quite a violent tumble.
One of Kenneth's black leather loafers was sitting on the second from the top step. The other one was still on his foot. From my vantage point, with the shield of medics surrounding him, I could only see his trousers and feet. His legs were splayed at odd angles as if he had died quickly from a blow to the head and then bounced down the rest of the stairs like a rag doll.
A medic, a young woman with tattoos on her neck, heard us approach. "Detective Jackson, we need you to second our opinion that the victim is deceased." She stood up, revealing the rest of the grisly scene.
Kenneth Applegate's head was in a pool of blood. His mouth was open wide as if he'd been frightened before falling, but that was probably just the natural reaction of someone who had passed the point of no return in a fall down a flight of stairs. Blood coated his beard and glued his hair to his forehead. He must have sustained a violent blow to the head on his way down.
Detective Jackson pulled on a glove and performed the unpleasant task of feeling for a pulse. Although he wasn't the last word, a doctor was required for that, he had the authority to call the coroner to the scene. He removed the glove he was wearing and dropped it into the biological waste container the medics had carried inside. He nodded to let me know he was dead and pulled out his phone to call the coroner.
A tiny voice squeaked behind me. "Psst, Miss Taylor."
I turned around to find Kitty Bloomfield hiding behind the edge of the doorway. It seemed, rather than hiding from the tragic sight on her staircase, she was trying to avoid seeing what was going on. I couldn't blame her. Death was never something anyone was anxious to see, and poor Mr. Applegate had had a terrible and messy accident.
Kitty's pinkish-blonde pile of curls was drooping down the side of her head and several hairpins were sticking out. She was pale white with worry. I could only imagine the terror and confusion in her home when this all took place.
I walked over and immediately grabbed hold of her shaky hands. "How are you doing, Kitty?"
"Not so good. I don't understand how it happened but then I suppose it wasn't the first time someone fell and died on those stairs."
I creased my brow in question.
"Lauren Grace," she whispered. "Which brings me to something important." She looked past me to Detective Jackson. He was checking out the banister and stairs. "I noticed you were friendly with that nice looking policeman. He's not in uniform. Is he a detective?"
"Yes, I'm sure he was called only because the accident resulted in death."
She pulled out a linen, embroidered handkerchief from the pocket of her sweater and wiped her brow. "Yes. But I should talk to him."
"Yes, of course. Did you witness Mr. Applegate's fall?"
She shook her head and one of the dangling hairpins came loose. I pulled it the rest of the way out and handed it to her. She quickly jammed it right back into her pile of curls. "I didn't witness it. I don't believe there was anyone with Mr. Applegate when he fell, but Wilma pulled me aside a few minutes ago. She's quite shaken." She looked past me again to Detective Jackson. "She really should talk to the detective. I don't want to mess things up by trying to retell what she heard."
Jackson just happened to glance our way. I waved him over. He said something to the medics and joined Kitty and me at the doorway.
"Detective Jackson, this is Kitty Bloomfield. She owns the Dandelion Inn." I turned to Kitty. "Kitty, this is Detective Jackson."
She smiled demurely up at him. "Oh my, you're tall."
"Kitty, you mentioned something about Wilma," I reminded her before she floated off in a school girl blush-worthy daydream.
"Yes," she cleared her throat. "Detective Jackson, I think you should come have a talk with my housekeeper. She's quite shaken about something she heard just before Mr. Applegate fell."
"Of course. Can you lead me to her?" Jackson asked.
"Right this way."
We followed Kitty into the dining room. Lauren Grace, with her ethereal smile, gazed down at the room from her gilt frame over the mantel. Both Wilma and Lucy, the chef, were sitting at the table, clutching glasses of water and seemingly consoling each other.
"Wilma, this is Detective Jackson," Kitty said as we entered. "Why don't you tell him what you told me."
Wilma looked at Lucy. They both exchanged nods. Wilma turned back to us. "It wasn't just me. Turns out Lucy was in this room and heard the same thing I heard from the parlor." She stared up at Detective Jackson. "That man didn't just fall," Wilma said. "Someone or something pushed him."
Chapter 20
After a shocking revelation by two members of the staff and apparent witnesses, the tragic scene took on a whole new slant. Detective Jackson made the decision to not ask any questions while the two women sat together in the dining room and instead opted for a private conversation with each before talking to the other guests. Being mid-week and off season, aside from Kitty and her two live-in staff members, the only other people in the house were the APPS visitors. Jackson asked them to gather in the sitting room at the opposite end of the house, so he could talk with them. But the coroner's arrival had stalled the interviews.
Jackson had gone off to talk with the coroner while I helped a very shaken Kitty prepare a tray of coffee. It seemed it would be a long night. Angela and Barbara had both asked for theirs to be laced with whiskey. I couldn't blame either of them. Their ghost adventure had turned into a true horror movie. Especially if Wilma and Lucy's assertions that Kenneth was pushed were correct.
Since Kitty and I were the only people in the kitchen, I decided to ask a few questions to clarify the night's events. "Kitty, where were the other guests when the accident happened?"
"Let me think back. It seems so long ago already." She dug her copper scoop into the coffee can. Her hands were trembling enough to dislodge some of the coffee onto the tile floor. It fell and spread out like tiny brown bugs. "Oh dear, I'm afraid this has been too overwhelming for me."
I reached for the coffee scoop before she spilled the rest of it. I patted her arm. "You sit over there on the chef's stool, and I'll make the coffee."
I led her to Lucy's leather topped stool positioned right in front of a desk with recipe notes and ingredient lists. I returned to my coffee making task.
I was about to prod Kitty along on my question when she started her response. "The guests, Mr. Applegate included, had gone to their rooms after dinner and dessert. They planned to rest and then meet downstairs in the parlor for a late evening excursion through the house. They were hoping Lauren Grace would make an appearance."
"So everyone was in their room when the accident happened?" I was still calling it an accident since nothing definitive had been decided yet. The word murder would only upset Kitty more. The whole thing was not just a terrible tragedy but a calamity for her business.
"As far as I know." She rubbed her hands together as if
they were cold. "I was outside, in the carriage house, ironing linens when I heard Lucy scream. I rushed inside and found Lucy on the phone calling for paramedics." Kitty rubbed her forehead and paused to collect herself.
I crouched down with a wet paper towel and wiped the coffee grounds from the floor. Something occurred to me as I stood.
"Kitty, I don't want to upset you more, but if I could ask one more thing."
"Yes?"
"Kenneth had fallen across the bottom steps. How did everyone get downstairs?"
"When I arrived at the stairs, the guests were gathered at the top, staring down at the horrible scene below. Angela was screaming, and the men were trying to keep her from falling or slipping on the—blood." Her face blanched white at the word. I quickly got her a cup of water.
She took only a few sips and handed it back to me. "Anyhow, Lucy gave them directions to the servant stairs." Kitty tottered a second as she got up from the stool. She walked over to the butler's pantry and opened the door. "The servant stairs come out through the pantry."
I walked over and glanced inside. Just past the last set of shelves was a narrow door.
"For insurance purposes, I never allow guests to use that stairwell. It's dark and narrow. But tonight was an exception."
We stepped out from the pantry and found Detective Jackson just walking into the kitchen. "Miss Taylor, there you are. I'm going to interview Miss Acevado and Miss Knowles separately, and I need your assistance."
"I'm feeling a bit better, Sunni," Kitty said. "I'll finish the coffee."
"If you're sure," I said.
"Yes, I'm fine."
I followed Jackson out to the dining room. Wilma had stayed in the room waiting for her interview. Lucy had gone in to see that the guests were doing all right in the parlor.
Jackson lowered his voice. "There weren't any female officers on duty, and I thought the women would be more comfortable with you in the room."
"Absolutely."
Wilma was sitting on the settee at the side of the room with her head resting back and her eyes closed. I hopped up on tiptoes to whisper. He pushed his long hair back and I got a slight whiff of his very pleasant aftershave. "What did the coroner say?"
"He says everything indicates death from head trauma. Now we just need to find out whether or not the fall was an accident or intentional."
I landed back on my heels. "Did you say 'we'?" I asked enthusiastically.
"Actually, I meant the law enforcement team, but I suppose one industrious journalist can be part of that 'we'. Why were you here anyhow?"
"I'm doing a story on the Applegate Society. Or at least I was."
"Always on top of the story before it even happens," he quipped. "Let's go see if this was just an accident. Although something tells me, since you're involved, it's not going to be that simple."
"Not sure how to take that," I muttered behind him as we approached Wilma.
"Miss Knowles," Jackson said in a low, smooth voice that would catch even a sleeping woman's attention. (It certainly caught mine.) Wilma had an old fashioned name, but she looked anything except out of date. She had a diamond stud in her nose and a pair of silver skull earrings. Her face gained instant color when she saw who was standing over her.
"I'm sorry. I dozed off." She smoothed her hair back and sat up straighter on the settee. "Are you ready for my statement?"
"Yes, if you don't mind." Jackson swung two chairs around from a nearby table and motioned for me to sit. Wilma smiled weakly at me.
"I've asked Miss Taylor to join us," Jackson said. "She is a journalist for the Junction Times, but your statement is not for the paper." He shot me an admonishing glance to make sure I understood. Which I did. I was hardly the type of journalist to parse out wild accusations and rumors.
"I'm just trying to assess what happened here tonight," Jackson continued. "First, can you tell me where you were and what you were doing when Mr. Applegate fell?"
It was only the first question and Wilma was already fidgeting with the hem on her shirt. "I was in the parlor dusting the furniture."
"Seems a little late for housecleaning chores," Jackson said.
She lowered her voice, even though we were alone in the room. "Kitty Bloomfield is obsessive about dust and cleanliness. The guests had spent some time in there after dinner. I knew Kitty would lecture me if I didn't have the room spotless in the morning. I have to work hard here, but my room and food are free and she pays well. She can't help herself about the dust. She likes the place spotless."
"So you were alone in the parlor dusting furniture?" he asked.
"Yes. Just me and my dust cloth." She flashed him an unnecessary smile. I wondered how many of those the man received in an average day.
"What happened next?" Jackson wasn't taking notes. For the time being, it was just an accidental fall.
"I was polishing the brass sconces on the wall when I heard some footsteps coming from upstairs. A few seconds later, I heard a man say 'no, please'. It was quiet, and I almost thought I'd imagined it. Then his voice grew louder, more agitated. He said—" Wilma lifted her eyes to remember the exact words. "'No, don't. Get away. Go away.’ Then there was a series of thumping sounds and some terrible cracking noises and a groan. A few seconds later, Lucy was screaming."
"Did you hear anyone answer him or threaten him as he pleaded to be left alone?"
She chewed her bottom lip in thought. "Hmm, not that I can remember. I just heard him."
"What did you do then?"
"I raced out to see if I could help." She shrugged her shoulders weakly. "There was nothing to do. Anyone who’s ever watched one of those doctor or emergency room shows could see the man was dead."
"Thank you for your time. Did you say Miss Acevado was with the guests in the parlor?"
"I'll go check for you," I said. The coroner's team had set up several white screens, like something a photographer might use, to keep the scene from view. A gurney sat halfway through the entryway, waiting to carry off Mr. Applegate. Wilma's retell of the events before his fall were certainly distressing. It seemed as if he was almost fighting someone off at the top of the stairs.
Lucy was helping Kitty pass out coffees when I reached the parlor. Angela spotted me and nearly spilled her coffee. "What is happening? Where is Detective Jackson? I need to know what is going on." Her face was pinched and red and her eyes swollen. Barbara sat quiet and still as a statue in one of the upholstered chairs near the window. She stared out into the darkness as if lost. This had to be a heartbreaking shock for the woman. It was so clear to see that she simply adored the man. In fact, one might even say she was as obsessed with Kenneth as he was obsessed with the ghost of Lauren Grace.
"I think Detective Jackson will be talking to you shortly," I said. "Miss Acevado, you're needed in the dining room."
"Right." Lucy handed a cup of coffee to Rex. He looked considerably less upset than his female counterparts. Of course, he wasn't a sibling or an adoring fan, so that made some sense. Jamie also didn't look too put out by it all. He'd set up his laptop and a few of his ghost detection devices on the roll top desk in the corner of the room.
Lucy and I walked back through to the dining room. "Detective Jackson wants to ask you a few questions. He's asked me to sit in on the interviews with women because there are no female officers on site."
"I'm sure that's protocol," Lucy said. She didn't seem to mind me sitting in.
Jackson was recording a few notes on his phone as we stepped into the room. He slipped his phone back into his pocket and motioned for Lucy to sit on the settee.
"It's been a long night so I'll get straight to it, Miss Acevado, if you don't mind."
"Not at all," Lucy said and settled back. She was much calmer than Wilma.
"Where were you when Mr. Applegate fell?"
"Why, I was right here in this room. I was putting serving dishes back in the buffet. Kitty likes things to be stacked neatly, so it takes me some time to do it just
right."
"Yes, I'm gathering that Miss Bloomfield is very particular about her inn," Jackson said.
Lucy sighed loudly. "I'm sure it hasn't really set in for her yet. The staircase—it's such a mess."
"Right." Jackson was taken aback by her mention of the mess on the stairs, but his reaction was subtle enough that Lucy didn't notice or bother to apologize for the crass remark. "We have special crews that can help with that," he added. "Back to those final moments. You were here stacking dishes. What happened next?"
"I was humming to myself, a habit I can never seem to kick," she said with a chuckle. "Anyhow, over the sound of my hums, I heard a man say 'no don't, get away, go away'. Just a second or two later, I heard several loud thuds. My mind told me I was hearing a body thumping down the stairs, but I refused to believe it. I took a deep breath and raced out to see what had happened. Mr. Applegate's limp body was splayed on the bottom steps with his head covered in blood. I pulled out my phone to call for a paramedic." She fingered the collar of her shirt. "But I could tell he was gone. He wasn't moving at all."
"Was there anyone else there? On the stairs?"
"No, not until I screamed." She patted her chest. "I'm not usually prone to hysterics, but it was such a frightening scene."
Jackson nodded. "Yes, most people would have had the same reaction. Thanks for your statement. You can join the others in the parlor."
Lucy seemed disappointed to be dismissed so quickly. She walked out. Jackson pulled out his phone and made a call. "Hey, Everett, it's Jackson. Get some evidence bags out of the car. This just got moved from accidental death to possible murder."
Chapter 21
Following the same protocol, Jackson asked me to sit down with him when he briefly interviewed Angela on her whereabouts during the crucial moments before and after the fall. She was reasonably shaken and was only just starting to calm herself down from the shock of it. She'd remained in the parlor while everyone else had cleared out to the dining room.
Murder at the Inn Page 10