“Maybe I am.”
“He’s a really nice guy, but he doesn’t really seem like your type…”
“Oh yeah, and what’s my type?”
His voice grew faint and husky. “Me… And only me.”
Chapter Thirty-One
_____________
T wo days later, Peter had been released from the hospital and Jack and Juniper stood inside the passage that led into the neighbor’s carriage house, where Jack was putting on a sliding barrel bolt and Juniper was doing her best to explain Lulu’s story—how she’d owned but been tricked into selling the Doctors House and of course how Kaitlyn was her daughter.
“So Frank was guilty too?” He said, drilling the plate in place.
Juniper waited for the loud whir of the drill to stop. “Well no, not like Helen, but he admitted that she blackmailed him twenty two years ago and I think he turned a blind eye after that.”
He paused and turned to me. “What did Helen blackmail him with and why?”
“According to Helen, who is trying to cut a deal, she caught Frank in bed with Lulu one night, which ultimately resulted in Kaitlyn.”
“Lulu and Frank were having an affair?” Jack asked, holding my gaze for a beat.
“No. Helen was drugging Lulu so that she would see ghosts in order to convince her to sell the house. She began to sleep at Helen’s house at least once a week. While she was unconscious, Frank decided to hop into bed with her and raped her and Helen caught him.”
“When she began to experience morning sickness, Helen devised a plan. She told Peter that she’d caught Lulu seducing Frank and that he admitted they’d slept together once before. She convinced him that it was because of her mental problems and that she’d gone off her meds so she didn’t remember and that it would be best for everyone if Frank and her raised Kaitlyn as their own. Peter reluctantly agreed.”
Jack looked confused. “What about Lulu? She must have known she had a baby.”
They paused while he drilled the other fastener in place. When he was done, Juniper continued on with the story. “Helen paid off the hospital staff and told Lulu the baby died. Helen had been wearing a fake belly so everyone thought she was pregnant too and that she delivered Kaitlyn. After that, Lulu really did start to have mental issues, whether it was the side effects from the drugs or losing the baby.”
“Who wouldn’t have? What a screwed up, twisted thing to do to a person.” Jack commented.
“I know. Peter had her committed for a month but eventually he felt bad and had her released and, from then on, Helen said he doted on her completely, letting his business fall to the side. That’s why they were having money issues.”
Jack nodded his head, sighing. “That’s too bad. Hey, I found the wires for the sound system in here,” he said, shifting on his side and peering into the hole.
“The what?”
“The sound system. You know, it’s how she played the music.” He pointed at the wire. “Hand me that flashlight.”
Juniper knelt down, reached inside the bag, and pulled out the larger flashlight.
“You look so… manly,” Juniper told him.
He smiled at her. “What?”
Juniper grinned. “I dunno. You’ve got all these tools, and it’s very sexy.” As soon as Juniper said the word, she bit back a giggle.
“Good to know,” he said. “I’ll be sure to work with tools, I mean flashlights more often.” He straightened and walked down the hall—the one that led to the dead end.
“Where are you going?” Juniper asked. “Are we done putting the lock on this door?”
“Yes,” he clarified. “I just want to see where this wire leads to.” They walked for a minute until they came to the end of the hall. It was the same dead end that the detective and Juniper had first found. “That doesn’t make any sense? It must lead somewhere.” He frowned and climbed the ladder until he could push on the roof. Sure enough it moved and light crept in. “Voila. We found the control for the sound system.” The dials stared him in the face. He pushed the hatch all the way open. “And another exit,” he said, climbing all the way out. “The gardens on the hill.”
“Well, I guess we know how she was able to get around.”
An hour later, they were served pints at the Pub in the next town over. Jack sipped his craft brew, “So, how did you know all those details?”
“Well, some of it Helen rhymed off while she was pointing a gun at me, and some of it the police told me.”
“Why would the police tell you anything?”
“I guess I’m making friends here.”
“I bet it was that Detective Lumos guy. You better be careful. I think he’s got his eye on you.”
“Why should I be careful?” Juniper smiled and chewed flirtatiously on her lip, all innocent like. “I’m teasing. It was because Lulu insisted I be there when they questioned her and they told her a lot of it. Oh, and they found our missing book—guess what was inside?”
“What?”
They paused while the waitress returned to offer refills and dropped off the appetizers. There was no point spreading the gossip further; Lulu was going to have enough to live with. When she was gone Juniper continued on with the story. “Kaitlyn’s real birth certificate—Peter had hidden it inside the book with a note—I guess he had a feeling he might need it someday. He showed it to Kaitlyn and we think she was planning to confront Helen with it when she killed her. She must have told Pearl about it—or at least told her there was something important inside that book.”
Just then the door opened and in walked Pike.
“Well what’s the emergency?” She asked, squishing into the booth beside Juniper. “Why did you need me to meet you here ASAP?”
“Take your coat off, order a drink—all in due time,” Juniper said, motioning for the server to bring another beer. “Where were you, anyway?”
“Visiting Lulu,” she said, stealing a sip of my beer.
“Junie’s been filling me in. What a crazy town this is,” Jack teased.
“Tell me about it.” She dropped her purse on the floor and it landed with a thud. “What’s going on in this town? It used to be so dull and monotonous and… safe. I don’t understand. There was a complete soap opera happening under my nose or rather in my shop.”
“How is Lulu doing?” Juniper asked.
“She’s doing better. They’re running some tests to see what sort of long-term effects the drugs Helen was giving her might have had. The things she told me were crazy though. I understand now why Peter was always hovering and calling her and checking up on her. I thought he was controlling, but he was simply worried about her.”
“Is she going to be alright, do you think?” Jack asked.
“I think she’ll bounce back and I’ll be there when she does.”
“Well if she doesn’t bounce back and you need a place to run your business out of, you could move into the Inn.”
“What?”
“Jack and I discussed it and we turned down the real estate offer. We’re thinking that maybe this time we’re gonna stick around.”
“You’re going to open an Inn at the Doctors House.”
“Yes, only we won’t call it that anymore. We’ve settled on the Gothic Haunt.”
She looked down as if only just noticing that Jack and Juniper were holding hands.
“And this thing between you to… it’s back on.”
Juniper nodded.
“I love it!” Pike shouted, practically spraying her beer on Juniper. “And I’m no expert, but this Inn is going to make so much money. I mean aside from the Caravan, the closest motel or bed-and-breakfast is thirty minutes away. Everyone is always complaining when there’s a wedding or a function that there’s nowhere for out-of-towners to stay.”
“Sooo… would you want to move your cafe in? We could make room,” Juniper asked again pinching her arm.
“That’s a sweet offer, but I’m good across the road. Lulu is staying wheth
er she likes it or not. I do have another idea though.” She eyed the room dangerously.
“Go on,” Juniper said, knowing exactly where she was heading.
“What about one of these?”
“A pub?” Juniper asked.
“Yeah, we don’t have anything like this in town and I’ve heard it suggested a few times now at the town meetings but no one has the space.”
“I think you’re right,” Juniper said. “Which is what Jack, and I were thinking, too if you didn’t want to move in.”
“But not a full restaurant like this one, because we don’t want that sort of hassle,” Jack clarified.
“No,” Juniper agreed. “We were thinking more of a taproom, somewhere for the guests to have a drink and a light bite to eat.”
“How about tapas,” said Pike.
“I love tapas,” Juniper agreed. “Of course, if you refuse to partner with us then you may have to teach me to cook or maybe I’ll buy a cookbook. Do they still sell those?”
Pike laughed. “That reminds me, I brought you guys a house warming gift. Well, it’s not from me… it’s from Lulu.”
“Seriously?”
She refused to meet my eyes, but she held out a book that looked to be a hundred years old.
“What in the world is this?”
“Victoria’s Diary.”
“And you’re giving it to me because…?”
“Lulu said it needs to stay with the house. I think she still believes that Victoria really does haunt the place. It might be neat to read it.”
Juniper frowned, thinking it over. “I guess it would be interesting. Let’s just hope I don’t start seeing any ghosts.”
Thanks for reading Cookies, Corpses & the Deadly Haunt by Rachael Stapleton. What sort of trouble will Juniper, Jack and Pike find next? Sign up for my newsletter at www.RachaelStapleton.com for your chance to get an advanced reader copy of the next early release.
Keep reading for a sneak peek at the second book in the Penning Trouble mystery series: Murder, She Slopes. Due December 2017.
PENNING TROUBLE MYSTERIES
Murder, She Slopes
It's the week before Christmas and Investigative Journalist Penelope Trubble has reluctantly agreed to investigate the Treetop Adventures Resort & Spa in the hopes of exonerating her ex-boyfriend for putting his new bride on ice. But with so many suspicious characters lurking in the trees, Penelope's being strangled by clues, Christmas lights, conjecture, and catastrophe. Christmas in the Laurentian Mountains may seem magical but Penny's still a little frosty with her ex, and even though he doesn't seem like a cold-blooded killer, helping an ex is still a slippery slope and things are going downhill fast. Let's hope Penelope doesn't get strung up for murder?
Prologue
_____________
T he snow sparkled under the lamplight and felt good beneath Holly’s cross-country skis. Today’s sun had melted the surface just enough to give grip, and she quickly found her rhythm. She spread her arms and opened her chest to the slope of the trail, savoring the blissful swish of each turn. Night skiing was such an adrenalin rush. She pumped her arms, propelling her body forward with her ski poles as she lengthened her stride, gliding past the foot of the first of the three slopes, where the gradient leveled a little. She stopped and looked back to admire her tracks and saw the section of the chalet under construction. White twinkling lights illuminated the seemingly endless rows of snow dusted evergreens. These trails were the only good part of this lousy resort, she thought. They could have gone to the finest resort in Whistler or—better yet —Switzerland for Christmas. Private hot tubs, room service, gourmet cuisine. Swish. Swish. No luxury accommodations here—only putrid outhouses and tiny boxes in trees with rock-hard mattresses. What the hell was merry about cooking on a propane stovetop?
As she neared the final trail—the one that would take her back to her tree house—she saw a solitary figure lurking. What do you know—one of the other poor souls trapped in this icebox. Swish. Swish. A hand waved to her, beckoning. No way she was getting sucked into yet another social hour. Swish. Swish.
Time to turn in, she decided, and then she felt the sharp and sudden pain in her shins. Her body lurched, thrown forward on her skis and slammed to the ground. Get up! she told herself. But her legs were tangled. Move! she commanded. The pain was excruciating. She stabbed her ski pole into the ground and tried to stand, to no avail. So, she clawed, loosening the rope from around her legs. She was almost free when she felt something hard hit her in the head.
Icy cold darkness.
Chapter One
_____________
I ’d just settled into the corner of my friend Rebel’s cozy couch with a peppermint candy cane protein bar and a glass of wine when my cellphone buzzed. Nice try, reality, but you’re not welcome here. It was December 21st and I was officially on holidays. I took my first sip and flipped through the Christmas movies on the Netflix menu, blissfully ignoring the outside world. Was it me or did this wine taste better than usual? I took another sip. I mean, it was the expensive bottle that I’d saved for a ‘special occasion’ and if eight pm on a Thursday night didn’t qualify as a special occasion what in the hell did?
My phone buzzed again. I wished whoever it was would buzz off. I glanced at the display—my ex-boyfriend, Lucas Vallerand. The display actually read jerk face, but that was just a lovable nickname. Or, was it? It buzzed again. Oh lord, what did he want now?
Did you get my messages?
I set my wine aside and typed back. Yes, of course I did—I’m ignoring them. Stop making this weird.
Oh, how rude of me. I’d forgotten to be pleasant.
Ps. Merry Christmas.
After the shopping, the gift wrapping, and the article that I’d written today, the last thing I wanted to do was deal with him. I mean, we’d broken up in July and the guy had gotten married less than a month later. If there was an award for fastest emotional recovery post-breakup, hands down he’d win. He hardly deserved my attention during the holidays, let alone my Netflix and chill hour. Time to turn that busy brain off.
The sudden piercing of Rebel’s home telephone put a swift end to that idea. Just who in the hell was trying to get a hold of me now? Only my dad and the magazine I worked for—and the spy network of Bohemian Lake—had this number. I sprinted to the kitchen and picked up the receiver. “Hello. This had better be Santa.”
“Pen, is that you?” asked a familiar voice. Jerk face—ahem…I mean Lucas.
I closed my eyes and felt my shoulders sag as I reached for the holiday baking tin. Rebel and I had attended a cookie exchange before she left for her family Christmas. Thankfully she forgot them. “Of course it’s me,” I replied, picking up a reindeer shortbread cookie with sprinkles. “The butler is obviously much too busy blocking your texts to answer the phone.”
Lucas didn’t laugh at my joke, which was odd enough, but when he also didn’t slam me back with a witty retort, I began to worry. The only sound that came over the phone line was his raspy breathing. My dog—well, technically, our dog that I currently had custody of—licked my hand and nudged it as if to say she knew who was calling.
“What’s up?” I asked impatiently. Guinness nudged me again with her head. I patted it. Then I heard what sounded like a muffled sob over the line. Good God! I had never heard Lucas cry, not even when we’d ended our four-year relationship. What was wrong with him? Did he regret his impulsive Vegas wedding after all? I sure as hell hoped so—not that I’d take him back.
“Lucas?” I prompted anxiously.
“My wife,” he said. He drew a deep, ragged breath.
“Actually I’m your ex-girlfriend—wrong woman, buddy. Don’t drink and dial.”
I was about to hang up when he cried out. “No, Pen, listen—my wife… she’s dead, my God, she’s dead.”
My mind flip-flopped over the news. I sat down on the kitchen bench. “Holly?” I asked stupidly as if he collected wives. Guinness attempted to place
her gigantic paws on my lap. I fed her the last bite of my cookie and shooed her back.
Holly Biltch was an up-and-coming actress, almost as outdoorsy as Lucas. She was beautiful: tall, with flowing blond hair. She also happened to be the man-eater who’d stolen him away from me. I could see through her phony little act but she’d blinded Lucas.
“They think I did it!” He wasn’t holding back now. His sobs were deep and guttural.
“Did what?” I asked in my calmest voice; meanwhile, my stomach tightened with dread. “Where in the heck are you?”
“A resort located in the Laurentian Mountains. I’m about a 35-minute drive from Mont-Tremblant.”
“Was there an accident?”
“You could say that. They searched my room, took my clothes for lab tests. They even took my fingerprints. I was told to stay here at the resort! Please say you’ll come. I need you.”
“Holy, silent night, Lucas. It’s the week before Christmas. What do you need me for? Call my dad—he’s the private investigator. I’m a journalist now, remember?”
“C’mon, Pen. You know your dad hates me now.”
I smiled to myself. I couldn’t help it. My dad always had my back. Then I took another sip of my wine. “Listen, Lucas, baby, I wish I could help but, frankly, I’m on holidays and I also hate you right now, so good luck, Merry Christmas, Happy New Year and how about I’ll talk to you never?” I hung up the phone and felt a sort of peace and satisfaction that I hadn’t felt since the eighth grade when I’d punched a school bully in the jaw. Sure, it was petty and not my finest moment but, damn, it felt good to release some of that pent-up anger. Of course it was useless.
Sixteen hours later, I’d rearranged my schedule, cancelled my holiday plans for that weekend and was sitting in first class on the Via Rail train approaching Montreal. My head as clouded as the sky outside my window. Now, let’s get one thing straight, I’m no pushover. I’m a Taurus and we’re stubborn by nature, so his well-placed sobs had not, in fact, convinced me to get involved. In my opinion, he’d made his bed and he could cry himself to sleep in it—like we all do. Ba-dum-ching. Unfortunately, we Taurus folk are also fiercely loyal and all it took was one hysterical call from his teary-eyed mother and I was packing my wool socks, shortbread cookies and earmuffs. I mean, what am I, heartless? She lives around the corner from me in the Bohemian Retirement Community and couldn’t go to her son for obvious reasons. It had been a low blow for Lucas to involve her but what else was new?
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