The Ghost and Mrs. Mewer (A Paws and Claws Mystery Book 2) (25 page)

In case I was wrong about that, I knelt on the floor again, just to be sure the shoe hadn’t slid under the desk or been overlooked. It wasn’t there.

“Who would steal a shoe from a lost and found box?”

Trixie knew, of course. She had smelled the scent on the box. But she wasn’t telling. Where was Zelda when I needed to read Trixie’s mind?

I hit the button to lock the doors. From now on at least I would know who came in or out. Suddenly, I wasn’t quite so sleepy anymore. I pulled the box out from under the counter and took everything out. There was no question about it—the shoe was gone. But why? To be on the safe side, I made an inventory of the contents before putting them all back into the box.

Casper had picked up the shoe somewhere. Most likely he found it inside the inn. Felix would have noticed Casper carrying it around if he had discovered it outside. It had been a quality shoe of soft leather. Casper had left some scratches on it, but the shoe hadn’t been wet. Of course, it could have dried in the days since Mallory’s death. Didn’t leather become stiff after being wet? Would Casper’s chewing have softened it up? The leather had still been supple.

If the shoe had been worn by the killer, then he probably was staying at the inn.

Nonsense. I was being silly and leaping to conclusions. One of the ghost hunters had probably griped about his missing shoe, and when Felix said it was in the lost and found box, he ran back to the inn to retrieve it.

There were serious flaws in my logic. Why not pick it up when he returned? Why take it back to the haunted hotel with him? Ugh. There must be some logical and perfectly innocent reason that someone barged in at midnight to swipe that shoe.

I wondered what size the shoe had been. Why hadn’t I paid attention? Such an obvious detail.

At one in the morning, Mr. Luciano, Lillian Elsner, and GloryB returned from the ghost hunt and rang the bell to enter. I pressed the button under the desk and the door slid open.

“How’s it going over there?” I asked.

“No sign of any child ghosts. They’re all a bit disappointed,” Lillian said.

“I’m exhausted.” Mr. Luciano wiped his brow. “Ah, to be younger again and think nothing of carousing in the wee hours.”

“It’s amazing how many people are still milling about in the pedestrian zone.” Lillian smiled at Mr. Luciano. “We considered stopping for a nightcap, but”—she clasped a hand just below her neck—“we changed our minds.”

I thought I could read her mind. “Aunt Birdie?”

“Goodness, but she can be a pest,” Lillian said, laughing. “I believe she thinks I’m chasing our dear Mr. Luciano! Isn’t that cute? We met here at the inn for the first time a few days ago. We’re becoming good friends but nothing more.”

“Your aunt is a lovely woman but a bit possessive,” said Mr. Luciano in a very dignified and polite way.

A bit obsessive, too, if you asked me. “Perhaps
I
could offer you a nightcap? Birdie’s not here, so I think you’ll be safe from her claws.”

“That would be delightful. Thank you, Holly.” Mr. Luciano peeled off his jacket and helped Lillian with hers.

Lillian pushed her hair into place. “I don’t think it’s a typical nightcap, but the ghost hunters have talked about it so much that I’m itching to try a Zombie Brain. Would that be too much trouble?”

“No trouble at all,” I assured her. “Mr. Luciano?”

He laughed. “Make it two.”

They settled on the love seat, and I dared to leave them alone while I dashed to the kitchen. A quick call to Hair of the Dog and I had Val’s super easy recipe. When I poured the Rose’s Sweet Lime on top of the Bailey’s, it sank through the Bailey’s in small greenish clouds. Definitely spooky—and a little bit repulsive.

I set the small glasses on a silver tray and added a plate with a few of the pumpkin whoopie pies in case they wanted a little nosh.

When I returned, I overheard Lillian talking.

“—I never expected to love Wagtail so much.” She took the drink and napkin I held out on a tray. “Thank you, Holly.” She sipped her drink. “Oh, it’s strong!” Taking a breath, she continued. “I lost my husband a few years ago. It was a bigger adjustment than I could have imagined. I didn’t realize how much our lives revolved around his career.”

“That would have been Congressman Elsner?” asked Mr. Luciano. At her nod, he smiled. “A virtuous man.”

Lillian threw her head back and laughed with glee. “You should be a politician. Such a delicate way of putting it. I loved the man, but he was draconian. Rigid and punctilious. Heaven forbid a hair be out of place. My gracious, but he was fussy.” She flipped back a tendril of hair. “Now that I have no need to live near Washington anymore, I’ve been looking for a place where I can be myself. Be a little more relaxed.” She leaned forward and spoke in a stage whisper, “Wear a T-shirt and get dirty in a garden!”

When we stopped laughing she said, “Mark’s parents raved about Wagtail. I thought it would be a nice little vacation for GloryB and me. But now I think I might want to buy a cabin in the woods. It’s just so relaxing here.”

“You knew Mark before you came here?” I asked.

“Oh sure. Since his I-will-not-wear-clothes days when he ran around buck naked.”

Mr. Luciano grinned. “I hope that wasn’t recently.”

“I think he was about two or three,” she assured him.

“Did you have a chance to visit with Mark before”—I stopped short of saying the ugly truth,
before the murder
—“before he got so busy with the ghost hunting?”

“I did. I had a couple of lovely dinners with Mark and Grayson. The only damper on this trip has been the death of that poor young woman Mallory. I warned Mark about her. I knew she was trouble. It breaks my heart to think that Mark is under suspicion.”

“Indeed,” said Mr. Luciano. “He’s a fine young man. I hope things will blossom between Mark and Eva. If I’m not mistaken, I believe I’ve seen a twinkle in his eyes when he looks at her.”

Mr. Luciano and Lillian headed off to bed, leaving me to take care of paperwork in the office and contemplate Mark. Everything seemed to point at him. His involvement with Eva was especially concerning. We all thought Mallory had a lot of nerve taking credit for his book. But what if he did the research, and she wrote the book? Had he given her credit? We probably had a copy. If I knew Oma, she would have purchased it.

I scrambled to my feet and hurried to the inn library. Yesterday’s newspaper lay on the hardwood floor, shredded. Assorted books had been knocked from the shelves, the pages clawed.

Trixie had been with me the whole time. Gingersnap had retired to bed with Oma. Casper was out hunting ghosts with Felix. But this mystery wasn’t quite as difficult to solve. Two furry rascals had the run of the inn. While I’d been working, they had been, too.

“Twinkletoes!” I called softly.

Trixie made a mad dash for Eva’s room. She’d left her door ajar. I knocked out of habit, pushed the door open, and switched on the chandelier overhead. Mrs. Mewer and Twinkletoes sat on the bed looking as innocent as little kittens. A telltale shred of a page clung to one of Mrs. Mewer’s claws. I closed the door so they wouldn’t attack any more books.

There was no point in scolding them. But Twinkletoes’s new friend had taught her a very irritating trick.

I returned to the library, cleaned up the newspaper, and reshelved the books. Only three had to be replaced. Oddly enough, one of them was
Haunting Horrors of Wagtail
. No mention of Mallory on the cover. I flipped it open to the title page. Only Mark’s name was listed. The copyright was in Mark’s name, too. I read the dedication. No mention of Mallory whatsoever—not even thanks for her assistance.

I started back to the registration desk with the damaged books in my arms. As I passed the front door, someone knocked eagerly and peered inside.

I unlocked the door. “Brian. Hi!”

He rubbed his arms as he lumbered in. “Brrr. It’s cold out there! Thanks for letting me in, Holly.”

“Are you through for the night?”

“Uh, not completely. I just came to get some, um, batteries for the recorder.”

“Lillian said you’re not picking up children’s voices tonight.”

“It’s a bummer. But sometimes we don’t hear the voices and sounds until we play them back. So far no running feet, though. Nothing exciting like that.” He headed upstairs.

I put on a pot of coffee in the private kitchen and poured myself a mug to stay awake. Assuming Brian had left, I locked the front door. Trixie turned her head to look up the stairs. I didn’t see anyone, but she wagged her tail as though she anticipated someone’s imminent arrival.

“Come on, Trixie,” I called. There wasn’t a good place to conceal myself. I did a one hundred and eighty degree turn and reentered the private kitchen. I scooped up Trixie so she wouldn’t give me away. With the door cracked just enough to see, I peered out.

Brian stole down the stairs, glanced around, and headed for the library carrying a purse.

When I thought it was safe, I followed him. On the other side of the library, he opened the door to Eva’s room and disappeared inside.

It was a tough call. Confront him or let him carry out his plans? If he had killed Mallory, he could be violent, and I could be in serious danger.

I opted to return to the kitchen and wait until I saw him pass by in the other direction.

Seconds later, he unlocked the front door and left. If he was carrying batteries, I didn’t see them. They could have been in a pocket, I supposed.

I stepped out on the front porch into the night air. Brian jogged along the empty sidewalk.

For a long moment, I considered what to do. It wasn’t right to snoop in a guest room. But what if Brian had put something dangerous in that bag? There was no question that his behavior had been highly suspicious. I returned to the lobby and locked the front door securely behind me.

With some trepidation, I opened the door to Eva’s room. The cats lounged on her bed.

I spotted the purse right away. The handle stuck out from under the dressing table, as though Brian wanted it to be discovered.

Taking a deep breath, I pulled it out from underneath the furniture. It was an Hermès Birkin bag—the signature purse of outrageously wealthy women who could plop down cash for a handbag that cost as much as a car. I had seen plenty of them at my old job as a fund-raiser but had never actually held one. It was made of exquisite light blue leather with gold hardware on the front.

I opened it with caution, leaning back in case something fizzed out of it. Nothing happened. I peered inside. It was empty. The interior was oddly stiff. A colorful mosaic that melded into strange hues covered the bottom. Surely this was not how a pricey handbag was supposed to look inside.

I stifled a gasp. One sniff and I knew the truth—it was Clementine’s handbag.

There was no mistaking the smell of crayons. What were the odds that there would be two expensive Birkin bags in Wagtail in which someone had melted crayons? Zero to none, that’s what.

Clementine had given the bag to Mallory. I wanted to imagine there was a good reason for Brian stashing it in Eva’s room. I could only come to one conclusion, though. He must have taken it from Mallory and wanted to frame Eva for Mallory’s death. That would explain the presence of Mallory’s necklace in Eva’s room, too.

I jogged to the registration desk and phoned Dave.

He sounded groggy. “I’ll be right there.”

Ten minutes later, Dave stood in the lobby with me, examining the purse.

By four in the morning, Clementine had confirmed that it was, indeed, the handbag she had given to Mallory, and with Brian’s permission, Dave was searching his room.

Oma, Mr. Luciano, and Lillian had awakened and joined the crowd of ghost hunters downstairs. I ran around answering questions and offering hot cider. Oma rustled up some platters of cheese and crackers, as well as cookies.

Eva glared at Brian, whose face had turned crimson as the fall leaves. “Why?” she demanded. “Why would you do this to me?”

He squinted at her. “Are you kidding? Do you not know how mean you are to me? You act like I’m a big, dumb galumph. My teachers used to treat me that way, like I was the stupidest blockhead of a kid they’d ever encountered. This is payback, baby! You run around so cocky and full of yourself with your nose pointing up in the air.
This is how Brian manifested a ghost out of thin air and bamboozled the public.
” He held up his hands and gestured in a prissy manner when he mimicked her.

Eva held a hand to her throat and swallowed hard. If Brian wanted comeuppance, he’d just achieved it.

Dave ambled down the stairs carrying a laptop and a cell phone. “I’d like you to come with me, Brian, so I can ask you some questions.”

“About what? All I did was play a few innocent and harmless pranks to make Eva think Mallory was haunting her. Nobody got hurt.”

“Did you find the other shoe?” I asked.

“No. But there are a few photographs of Mallory on your phone and computer that I’d like to talk about.”

“That’s not against the law.”

“Some of the images are disturbing.”

I gasped. “Are they kind of warped?” I glanced at Eva. “The image in the mirror!”

“My personal favorite.” Brian took a bow. “Heard you both saw that one. It was pretty spooky, huh?”

“Where was the projector?” asked Mark.

Brian shook his head. “I’m not giving away all my secrets.” But the way his glance flashed over to the decorative mummies gave me a clue. Trixie had sniffed around the base of them. I should have paid more attention to what her nose found interesting.

“The recording of a ghost saying Eva’s name?” Mark asked.

“Also me. Pretty convincing, eh?”

“The light in Eva’s room the first night you were here?” I asked.

“Guilty. But none of that was illegal. Just harmless fun.”

He was admitting everything.

“Where did you get the jewelry and the purse?”

Brian grinned as if he was proud of himself. “From Mark’s house, the day we went over to express our sympathy. I dropped them out a window and collected them later. No biggie. I was just borrowing them.”

Dave calmly said, “I’d like to talk with you further back at the station, okay?”

“Wait!” I cried. “Did you try to break into the kitchen door on the lake side of the inn?”

Brian’s brow wrinkled. “Nope. Had nothing to do with that. Sure, I’ll go with you.” He sneered at Eva. “Because
I
haven’t done anything wrong.
I
have a clear conscience.”

The moment Dave and Brian left, chatter filled the inn. To a person, everyone speculated about Brian killing Mallory. Only the dogs and cats seemed bored.

Eventually everyone straggled up to bed, except for Ben and me. I thought about Brian and Mallory while we cleaned up.

Mallory must have gone to Clementine’s house while the ghost hunters were eating dinner. I thought back but didn’t recall Mallory carrying a handbag when I saw her at the bonfire. She probably dropped the purse off at Mark’s house. Then she joined the ghost hunters for drinks at Hair of the Dog and walked home with Zelda and Felix. At that point, for some unknown reason, she changed into her Becca Wraith ghost outfit. Had Brian sneaked out to Mark’s house? Mark wouldn’t have known, because he was here at the inn with Eva.

I stopped in the middle of washing a pot. A shudder ran down my spine as I considered how cleverly Brian had stolen the handbag and the necklace and planted them in Eva’s room. Maybe he wasn’t as dumb as Eva thought.

Ben brought the last tray into the kitchen.

“Will Brian’s admissions be enough to charge him with murder?” I asked.

“Not a chance. They probably have enough for petty larceny, but that’s all.”

“Those purses have price tags in the five-digit range.”

“What kind of idiot would pay that much for a handbag?”

“That’s not the question.”

“Okay”—he shrugged—“grand larceny. But I didn’t hear anything that tied him to Mallory’s murder.”

Neither had I. Someone must have seen or heard something helpful that night. I stopped in my tracks. But someone had. Clementine had seen someone running with an odd gait. And that merchant from town said his wife saw the ghost of the black panther.

Well, that didn’t help at all!

Ben went up to bed. I held down the fort until Frankenstein showed up at the glass doors of the reception area. My breath caught for a moment, but Shelley, dressed as a cheerleader, arrived right behind him. I buzzed them in, and Frankenstein took off his head long enough for me to realize he was the cook.

Halloween Day had officially arrived.

I was thrilled when Zelda showed up to replace me dressed as a cat. She had drawn whiskers on her face, accented her eyes with makeup, and wore ears and a tail.

I stumbled upstairs to my apartment, brushed my teeth, pulled on a nightshirt, and fell into bed thinking that I would never volunteer for another all-nighter. I dozed off with Trixie at my feet.

*   *   *

At one in the afternoon I returned to the living. No hot tea or chocolate croissants awaited me in the kitchen. I had missed breakfast, too. A shame. I had come to enjoy them.

While I showered, I considered what costume would be most comfortable to wear during the day. I had a witch costume planned for the gala in the evening. In which box might I have packed my costume for Dorothy from
The Wizard of Oz
?

I threw on my bathrobe and rummaged through boxes. Twinkletoes jumped into them and Mrs. Mewer stretched up to peer in at her. They made it into a game and chased each other.

The costume turned up in the fourth box and was surprisingly unwrinkled. I’d had the sense to pack shoes together but had to dig down to find the ruby slippers, which were pumps covered with red sequins. Even the bows just above the toes glowed with sequins. Trixie sniffed around the box.

“You’re a terrier, but not exactly Toto.” I cupped my hands around her ears and kissed her forehead. There was no rule that said Dorothy didn’t have a thing for Tootsie Rolls. I slid the costume over Trixie’s head. She seemed quite comfortable in it.

I pulled on my own white blouse and slipped the blue and white gingham pinafore dress over it. I braided my hair and tied it with matching gingham ribbons. White socks, the fabulous ruby slippers, and I was ready to go.

Trouble loomed before I made it all the way downstairs. Dave strolled in the front door of the inn, looking grim. There was no mistaking his police uniform for a costume.

I smiled at him anyway. “Good morning!”

“Living in a different time zone, Holly? It’s afternoon.”

Uh-oh. He seemed a little bit grumpy. “What’s going on? How’s Brian?”

“Brian will probably be back soon. I’m looking for Mark.”

I glanced around the sitting room and the dining area. “Try Eva’s room.”

“Thanks.”

I grabbed his arm. “You’re not going to tell me why?”

Dave looked dead tired. He shrugged. “You can tag along,
Dorothy
.”

Eva answered the door in a trim pink suit, pillbox hat, and white gloves. Jackie Kennedy for sure.

“Afternoon, Eva. Is Mark here?” asked Dave.

Eva’s eyes widened with fear, and she backed up. “Mark?”

He strolled toward us barefoot, wearing a Sugar Maple Inn bathrobe and a towel around his neck. His hair stood at odd angles, as though he had just towel dried it. “Hi, Dave. Holly.”

“Mark, do you own a penknife?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you describe it?”

“Sure. It’s one of those Swiss models with all kinds of cool stuff on it. Did somebody find it? I’ve been looking everywhere for that thing.” His eyes narrowed. “My name isn’t on it. How would you know it belonged to me?

Dave ignored his question. “When is the last time you saw it?”

“I had it when Grayson got here. We went over to Wraith Hollow and hiked up the mountain. I took it with me then. After that I couldn’t find it. Turned the house upside down looking for that thing.”

“Did Grayson use it?”

“I don’t think so.”

Dave focused on Mark intensely. “Why would Mallory’s fingerprints be on it?”