Murder in Marietta (A Trixie Montgomery Cozy Mystery Book 2)
Read Murder in Marietta (A Trixie Montgomery Cozy Mystery Book 2) Online
Authors: Deborah Malone
Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ, God forgave you.
Ephesians 4:32 (NIV)
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I would like to thank the director of the Marietta Museum of History, Dan Cox and his lovely wife, Connie for all their help with research on the museum.
Thanks go to all of the readers of
Death in Dahlonega
who have encouraged me to continue writing about Trixie, Dee Dee, and Nana. To all the book clubs who invited me to come share my writing journey and have invited me back for “Murder in Marietta.”
A special thank you goes to Beverly Nault for editing “Murder in Marietta.” Trixie and Dee Dee thank you, too.
Dedication
Murder in Marietta
is dedicated to my family and friends who continue to encourage me.
A special dedication to my readers – you keep me writing.
Content
CHAPTER ONE
Marietta, Georgia
I
flipped over a fresh page in my reporter’s notebook as my best friend, Dee Dee, dug into the most enormous slice of Chocolate Fetish mocha pie I’d ever seen. Dee Dee smacking loudly, I fought to keep a journalist’s objectivity while Doc Pennington, the director of the Marietta History Museum, recounted the most recent ghost sightings.
“Doc, what I really want to know is…” My tummy roiled considering the possibilities. “Have you personally seen the resident phantom?” All at once I hoped he’d say no, but from the excitement that grew in his expression, I knew he was about to confirm my worst fears.
“As a matter of fact, Trixie, may I call you Trixie?”
I nodded and he went on.
“Shortly after I became director of
the museum,
I heard rumors of ghosts. Until recently I didn’t give them any real credence.
Not
until unexplainable occurrences happened.” He waited while a young man refilled our tea glasses.
“Such as?” My voice quavered as I prompted Doc, once the waiter was out of earshot.
“Like when the door on the empty elevator opened and closed.” Doc rubbed the bridge of his nose underneath horn-rimmed bifocals. “Once I saw a lady adorned in period clothes from the Civil War Era. Another time a man dressed in uniform appeared. I thought I’d been around this history stuff too long and my imagination ran wild.”
I glanced at Dee Dee, my memories transporting me to a time when one of the neighborhood kids wore a sheet and jumped out at me in the inky darkness. I’ve never forgotten the feeling of my heart skipping a few beats. It was a long time before the kids stopped laughing about the embarrassing stain that spread across my corduroys. Since that fateful night the mention of ghosts stirs a cauldron of ugly feelings. When Harv, my editor at “Georgia by the Way,” gave me this assignment, I knew I’d have to deal with unresolved childhood fears. Until Doc began recounting the sightings, I didn’t realize how close to the surface they would rise.
I’d been at the magazine for less than a year, and trying to prove myself among the younger, more energetic reporters. So when Harv suggested I spend a night at the museum, I said yes. Doc was a good friend of Harv’s and had made the arrangements, so I couldn’t afford to mess things up with my unreasonable fears. I forced my thoughts back to the present as Doc continued.
“I decided to have a little fun and talk up the sightings. Word spread faster than a pat of butter on a hot biscuit. People flocked to the museum to meet the ghosts. PBS, TBS, CBS, TNN and “Haunted House” on the History Channel featured the story. The tale literally took on a life of its own as everyone tried to see a ghost. But when no one showed, they all said I was trying to get publicity.”
“Or that he was crazy,” Penny, his wife, hissed, patting his hand. “We were practically ostracized from the community. For a while they stopped bringing in school children for tours.”
“I understand why Harv wants to scoop with the big guys. I just wish he hadn’t asked me to jump in with him.” I’ve heard you can smell fear. I certainly hoped that wasn’t true in the case of ghosts.
“Honey.” Penny laid her hand on Doc’s arm, “tell them what’s happened lately.” The efficient waiter returned, cleared the table and refilled our tea glasses. Doc took his time as if weighing his next words.
“A few weeks ago, a couple of things happened that weren’t so benign. Before those incidents, most of the episodes were explainable. You know, malfunctioning elevator, creaky sounds emitted from an old building. Then the events changed.”
“Like what?” I took a long sip of cold sweet tea and swiped at my mouth with the cloth napkin. I was grateful my hand wasn’t as shaky as my nerves.
“We arrived one morning to find furniture rearranged in some of the displays. Another night, when I was working late, I smelled smoke. I followed the scent, and discovered a small trashcan on fire. I was alone in the museum, and it was after hours. We have a system that must be armed and disarmed when you enter or leave the lobby.”
“I set the alarm before I left,” his wife added.
“No one could arrive without me knowing.”
“The fire was bad enough, but artifacts began to disappear,” Penny said. “Gloria Hamilton’s purse was stolen. She’s one of our board members, and she jumped at the chance to use this occasion to make Doc look incompetent. She has her radar set on him.”
Her chin quivered, and I yearned to give her a hug. “Penny, it’s obvious why these events have you upset.” I laid a hand on the woman’s trembling arm. “What do you think is going on, Doc?”
“Beats me.” He rubbed his forehead. “I didn’t believe in ghosts before these incidents happened. Now, I’m not so sure. I haven’t figured out how a person entered without setting off the buzzer.”
The more Doc talked, the more I reconsidered job security. Was my bank balance worth risking a night in a crypt?
“During our discussions, Harv said he wanted you to stay overnight at the museum in hopes you’d encounter a ghost. It’s understandable if you choose not to spend the night.” Doc hesitated for a moment. “I wanted you to have the facts before you made your decision. I couldn’t live with myself if the uninvited visitors played havoc while you were there.”
“If your answer’s yes,” he went on, “Penny and I will be happy to set up a place to sleep. We’ll teach you to batten down the hatches before we leave.”
My stomach churned, but I played it cool. I knew if I revealed my fear, Dee Dee wouldn’t stay and I needed her support. No way was I going to stay in the museum by myself. “Harv’s expecting me to hang out with the ethereal residents, so I don’t expect I have a choice in the matter. Maybe we’ll discover a logical explanation for these strange occurrences. Coincidence, perhaps?” I looked around the table for confirmation. Silence.
“I’m warning you, Trix.” Dee Dee pointed her finger in my direction. “This is something we don’t need to get mixed up in.” She emitted a most un-lady like burp. “Excuse me,” she said as she covered her mouth with her napkin – a little late.
“Harv’s given me a job to accomplish, and as a reporter I must do my duty,” I said bravely, not mentioning the urgency added by the stack of unpaid bills on my kitchen counter at home.
“Oh, please, bury the martyr. You know you can’t resist an adventure.” Dee Dee’s observation touched closer to the truth than I wanted to admit, but I had her duped for now. I’d never shared my childhood experience and the underlying fears it had embedded deep within. I continued with the farce.
“Well, it’s a good thing I decided to follow through with our little
adventure
we experienced in Dahlonega.” This past fall, Dee Dee had tagged along while I worked on an assignment about Gold Rush Days. During our stay she became a person of interest in a murder case. I had no intention of letting my best friend in the whole world take the rap for a homicide she didn’t commit.
We decided to investigate on our own, and before the case was over we helped nab the real killers. But not before I injured my bad knee. The damaged joint required surgery, and now I walk with a little limp. I still need my cane for long treks. The surgeon explained a total replacement awaited me in the near future. More bills.
I looked across the table at Dee Dee, rubbed the offending joint, and emitted an awful groan, akin to a woman in labor.
“You win!” Dee Dee acquiesced. She donned a bemused smile.
With bellies full, we strolled back to the museum. I played the hurt knee card and walked slower than necessary, in hopes of postponing the inevitable. Doc and Penny helped us take our bags inside and showed us several available rooms we might choose to settle down in for the night.
The elevator opened into the lobby, directly in front of the visitor’s desk. A stained-glass sign above the desk was etched with the word “Marietta” in red. The dimly lit room and the musty smell of the old museum elicited thoughts of a ghost filled building. It didn’t help put me at ease.
To the right of the elevator a little gift shop overflowed with historic books and memorabilia. The first room Doc showed us was the Andrews’ Raider’s room. This room contained artifacts from the Civil War, also referred to as the War Between the States by southerners. He explained that James Andrews was a northern spy who stole the General, one of the South’s trains. The incident was referred to as The Great Locomotive Chase. The whole gang was eventually caught, and Andrews was hanged. I’d heard the story before, but enjoyed listening to Doc’s interpretation. Dee Dee and I eyed each other, and silently agreed this was not the room we wanted to sleep in.
We continued the tour through the music area, the fifties-era kitchen, and the quilt room. We chose the quilt room, with its beautiful creations hung on racks along the wall. Cozy and reassuring.
Doc showed us how to operate the security system, then he and Penny bade us goodbye. Dee Dee, her face a shade paler than a white camellia, stalled the couple by asking them numerous benign questions. I didn’t blame her. When they left, we’d be alone. Well, except for any nighttime visitors.
While we set up our make shift camp, I studied the quilts. I couldn’t even appreciate the tiny hand stitching in the antique hangings, while I imagined the ghosts of their crafters, peering at me from behind a rack.
Dee Dee, positioned on the floor, pulled out various snacks from her purse, which, more often than not, resembled a small carry on case.
“Come on Dee Dee.” I unfolded our sleeping bags and rolled them out. “Doc told us to make ourselves at home in the kitchenette. An expedition will be fun. We can snoop on the way.”
Dee Dee wasn’t taking the bait, so I threw out another morsel. “Isn’t this great? How often in a lifetime do you get a chance to spend the night in a museum and have free rein to roam as you please?” My pep talk wasn’t doing much to convince me either.
“Well, never is far too many times for me,” Dee Dee said.
“Aw, you’re a party pooper. Come on.” I grabbed her arm and encouraged her to get up. “You’ll agree with me later. When the cows come home, you’ll be glad you didn’t miss out on the fun.”
If Dee Dee only knew the battle that raged in my mind, maybe we could comfort each other. Why couldn’t I tell her about the fear that threatened to expose my facade of courage? We had shared so many things over the past year since I had moved back home to be close to Mama and Nana. Why couldn’t I share this?
“Yeah, sure.” Her enthusiasm was underwhelming.
We snooped around in earnest – or rather I did. Dee Dee stuck to me like a tick on a hound dog.
As we crept down the hallway, I imagined courageous pioneers who had walked before us on the highly polished floors. Artifacts covered the walls. Each chamber was designated a different era or given a certain theme, such as the room where Andrews’ Raiders had spent the night. I wondered if the ethereal spirits had dared bother them, and eyed a bayonet.
We hurried back to the cozy quilt room, where Dee Dee proceeded to rummage through her snacks. I eyed them with longing. She laughed, “Now who’s your best friend?”
“Why, you, of course.” I gave her a big hug. Yes, we joked, but I told the truth. We weren’t friends merely because she possessed all the food. Over the past year, after my divorce, no one supported me more than Dee Dee. I’ve strived to be as supportive in return. Gary, her husband of twenty years, had died of a sudden heart attack less than two years ago.
“I need to go to the bathroom,” she said. This used to be a nuisance for her, but I’d finally convinced her to visit her doctor. Now, like the leaky pipe ladies in the television ads, Dee Dee wore a patch invented for those who needed a little extra help. The change was nothing short of a miracle.
“You remember where the restroom is, right? The women’s is down the hall and to the left of the elevator.”
“If you think I’m going by myself, you’re not thinking clearly. No way am I traveling anywhere in this mausoleum without you.” She stood and waited for me. “Need a hand?” I raised mine; she grabbed and gave a good pull.
The dim hallway was a little disconcerting. We’d turned on a few lamps along the way, and shadows decorated the walls and floors. I sensed a chill in the air. But only in pockets that seemed to make no sense in relation to the air ducts.
I led the way. Dee Dee followed so close, I felt her hot breath on my neck. We slinked down the hall, through the 1950’s kitchen exhibit. Next, we entered the music room. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the piano or organ had played anonymously, like in “The Ghost and Mr. Chicken.”
I stopped quicker than a Southern girl could say, “
Well, bless her
heart.”
Dee Dee bumped into me. “Trix, what on earth are you doing?”
Mouth flapping open, I couldn’t bring myself to tell her about the cool breeze that ruffled my hair and the little shiver of fear that ran down my spine.
