The Ghost and Mrs. Mewer (A Paws and Claws Mystery Book 2) (6 page)

Lillian was what my mother would have called a femme fatale. I put her near fifty even though she appeared younger. I had met a lot of well-heeled women like her in my days as a fund-raiser. Blonde tresses curled just below her shoulders in a breezy, just-rolled-out-of-bed style that had been carefully cut by a clever hairdresser. The blonde probably hid the beginnings of gray, but it didn’t hide gentle laugh wrinkles around her eyes. The sleeves of her oversized white shirt were rolled up, exposing tanned arms that sported gold bangles. A sweet Yorkshire terrier sat in the chair next to her, behaving better than some of the children I’d seen in restaurants. A rhinestone-encrusted collar circled the little dog’s neck. At least I hoped they were rhinestones. Large bejeweled rings enhanced Lillian’s fingers.

Except for dark mascara and eyeliner, her makeup seemed nonexistent. A clear gloss shimmered on her lips.

Altogether, a look calculated to appear casual and devil-may-care but, in reality, carefully planned.

I whispered to Oma. “You told Dave we don’t have any wealthy guests right now.”

Oma blinked at me. “So I did. I forgot all about Lillian’s jewelry. Let’s get that bolt on the door. Maybe you can take over the morning walk-through to make sure all is in order? And when you have finished that, could you go to the hardware store, Shutter Dogs? Have them make a set of master keys for you, and pick up a deadbolt lock for the back door.”

“I’d be happy to.”

After breakfast, armed with an old-fashioned clipboard, I toured the public hallways and rooms of the inn, starting from the far end of the cat wing. I paused in the library to be sure it was tidy and had been cleaned during the night, eyed the floor in the dining area, and peeked out on the terrace. The day had warmed a bit and diners had flocked to the outdoor tables for breakfast in the sunshine, overlooking the lake.

Down by the water, Lillian strolled with GloryB, who raced happily along the shoreline. Watching her, Lillian massaged her hip as though it was sore.

Back inside, I stopped in the old lobby, where the foyer must have been when the inn was a private residence many decades ago. I examined the grand staircase, which had clearly been vacuumed, and chuckled at the fabulous life-sized mummies and scaredy-cats. Tall candelabra held black candles, with faux flames that flickered even in daylight. I did a 180-degree turn and stepped out on the front porch.

It ran across the front of the original building. Every single rocking chair was occupied. Dogs and cats lounged happily while their people lingered over mugs of hot tea and coffee. Before them, the pedestrian zone was coming to life.

Gingersnap already occupied her favorite spot on the porch. I reached down to stroke her soft red head.

Her tail swished across the floor.

I returned indoors to the sitting room, also known as the Dogwood Room, because the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked Dogwood Lake. I ran a finger across the fireplace mantel. Clean as a whistle under the faux spiderwebs. The night housekeeper was doing a great job.

The lights on two black five-armed candelabra flickered. In between them, the large painting of Dogwood Lake had been replaced by a mirror with a chipped black frame that revealed flecks of platinum underneath. The mirror itself was crackled with the patina of age, the silver missing in spots, leaving a haunting dark gray underneath.

Oma had embraced the season with gusto. It was fun, even if the mirror was a bit on the creepy side.

Twinkletoes lay upside down in a sunbeam.

I paused and joined her at the window, thinking of Mallory. How could she have drowned in so little water? Why hadn’t she pulled herself out? I knew nothing about her, yet she haunted me as I walked through the inn. Her life had come to such an abrupt end. She was planning to be married, for heaven’s sake! Her family must be devastated. Mark must be crushed. Especially after being so miffed with her last night. If we knew we would never have another chance, we’d all probably be a lot nicer to one another, especially our loved ones. I forced myself to focus on my job and move on.

Trixie accompanied me through the inn and around the grounds off-leash. She paused to greet GloryB. They sniffed each other politely.

Meanwhile, I introduced myself to Lillian.

She wore a broad-brimmed straw hat and held her hand out to me. “I heard you were coming. Your grandmother is so pleased that you moved to Wagtail. I hear you lived in the Washington, D.C., area like me.”

“Arlington.”

“I know you won’t miss the traffic. I love it out here with the birds and the chipmunks. It’s so peaceful. And GloryB is having the time of her life.”

“How did she get such a cute name?”

“My husband and her breeder came up with it. Her sister is a fancy show dog. They intended to breed GloryB, but my husband talked them into letting us buy her.”

GloryB scampered back to us, sat down, and stared at Lillian, who laughed.

“She’s such a bossy little girl. I believe she’s ready to move on. Excuse me.” Lillian walked on, with GloryB running ahead.

Trixie roamed but never lost sight of me—a relief after last night’s chase. I called her as a test. She perked her ears and ran to me, planting her bottom on the ground before I could ask her to sit. I rewarded her with a crunchy three-calorie blueberry treat.

We returned through the reception area.

Zelda had shed the dark glasses. She crooked her finger at me and shuttled me over to the tiny inn gift shop. “Officer Dave is here,” she whispered. “They’re going to think I killed Mallory!”

Chill bumps rose on my arms. Oh no. Not Zelda! “What happened?”

“I’m in so much trouble. I don’t remember a lot about last night, but I’m pretty sure I said some choice threatening things to Mallory.” She must have seen the horror in my eyes because she hastened to add, “Well, she was being a real pest. Felix invited me to go to Hair of the Dog with the Apparition Apprehenders. We were having a great time”—a wisp of a smile crossed her mouth—“I think Felix really likes me, and then a couple hours later, Mallory waltzed in and acted like she owned Felix. I’d had a couple of drinks by then, and my tongue might have been a little bit loosened up.”

I relaxed. “Oh, Zelda. That was stupid.”

“Hey, I didn’t know someone was going to kill her! The cops must suspect us. Why else would Dave be here to see Felix?” Her eyes darted wildly about the room.

“You think Felix is a suspect?”

“He walked us home,” she said glumly.

“Us?”

“Felix and Mallory dropped me off at my house first, and then Felix walked her over to Mark’s place.”

“Zelda.” I wrapped a reassuring arm around her. “Then you have nothing to worry about. Even if someone did kill Mallory, you have an alibi. Felix!” Of course, he had a serious problem, but I didn’t mention that. “It’s not as though you were the last person to be with her.”

Her top lip slid inward, and she chewed on it. “Yeah, you would think so, wouldn’t you? Except I was snockered and didn’t trust her, so I might have just happened to sneak out and follow them.”

“Zelda!”

“Well, it seemed logical at the time. If they were, you know, sleeping together, I didn’t want to be chasing him.”

“Did he stay at Mark’s?”

“No. He kissed her on the cheek and left.” She turned huge eyes toward me. “But I didn’t kill her.” Her hand shook when she briefly covered her mouth.

“Of course you didn’t. Where did you go?”

“Home.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “But I can’t prove it.”

“Maybe you won’t need to.” I hugged her and tried to be upbeat, but I was worried for her.

Zelda went back to work.

I collected my purse and a set of master keys, snapped a leash on Trixie’s collar as a precaution, and walked along the pedestrian zone. I stopped by the front porch and asked Gingersnap if she wanted to come with us. She was far too busy kissing two little girls who were giggling and hugging her.

The merchants had outdone themselves with Howloween decorations. In addition to pumpkins and cornstalks, they had added cute Halloween signs like
Watch Out for Flying Bats
and
Black Cat Society Meeting Here
. Store windows featured witches, ghosts, and ghastly goblins. Animatronic skeletons at Pawsitively Decadent stopped their dance and seemed to peer at us! Trixie yelped in alarm and backed away.

I located Shutter Dogs just around a corner on a side street. The hardware store must have been a home once. It was painted a fresh gray with white trim. The merchandise had overflowed to the sidewalk, including colorful wagons that looked like toys but were clearly useful around Wagtail. The front door was set back between two glass showcase windows. A ghost holding a pitchfork ogled customers on one side, while a zombie with a chainsaw glared out of the other.

I found someone who could duplicate the keys and shopped around while he replicated them. Upstairs I discovered an amazing assortment of cat, dog, and horse hooks and drawer pulls that forced me to dawdle and admire. I made note of the lamps that featured all sorts of creatures, like ceramic bunnies and bronze horses, thinking I would have to stop by again when I had actually unpacked and found that I needed a lamp.

To my complete surprise, I discovered a rack labeled
Shutter Dogs
mounted on a wall. I had no idea that was the name of the metal scrolls that held shutters open. Trixie pulled me along to the rear of the store, where they stocked a large assortment of food and treats for cats and dogs. “Your nose always finds the food, doesn’t it?”

Not that I faulted her for that. I was a little bit too fond of food myself, and I had never starved like she had.

Trixie gently pawed at a package of bat-shaped cookies made in Wagtail. I acquiesced and picked up one of the cellophane bags. “But you can’t eat one until we pay for them.”

She jumped up, placing her tiny front paws on my knees and cocking her head.

“Good try, sweetie. You still have to wait.”

Back on the first floor, I collected the keys and waited in line to pay for them, the treats, and the bolt lock.

The woman first in line at the counter must have clipped up her long blonde hair in a hurry. The barrette had gone askew. Her tresses hung lopsided and tousled as though they hadn’t been brushed. A fashionable sleeveless white dress clung to her thin frame. More appropriate for summer than fall, it appeared oddly out of place in the hardware store, as though she were heading to a cocktail party. The snazzy high heels had to be designer, and a hefty gold bracelet of linked horse snaffle bits hung on her thin wrist.

I edged to the side for a better look at her face. “Clementine?”

Her fingers, busy in a quilted leather Chanel wallet, froze. She winced. Sucking in a deep breath, she turned toward me. Her entire frame appeared to sag with relief. “Holly! Uh, just a sec.”

She paid for three cans of cat food in quarters and dimes, thanked the clerk, and took her bag before stepping aside and reaching out for a hug. “Gosh, it’s good to see you. I’d heard you were moving to town.”

We had played together as children when I came to stay with my grandmother during summer vacations. Clementine had grown up with all the luxuries of wealth. Her father was well known as the richest man in Wagtail. They bred beagles and horses on a gentleman’s farm just outside of town. But horse-crazed Clementine had never played the princess. She mucked out stalls, was always present when a horse gave birth, and could handle just about anything on the farm.

She winced at the sound of a crash in the back of the store. “I’ve got it,” she yelled to the cashier as two young boys dashed by her. She reached out and grabbed the collars on their shirts. They squealed but she reeled them in. “Say hello to Holly.”

“Hello, Holly.” They choked out the words with complete disinterest and wriggled out of her grasp to pet Trixie.

“Where’s your sister?” she asked them.

The boys looked at each other. They appeared to be twins and a handful of trouble.

“I’m so sorry. The D-I-V-O-R-C-E”—she spelled the word—“has been hard on all of us, and I’m afraid I’ve been too indulgent.” Speaking to the children, she added, “I thought we weren’t going to act like wild monkeys anymore.”

They giggled and ran down the aisle.

“I’m sure they’re very sweet. How’s your dad?”

“Off to a major dog show with Babylicious and her last litter. He’s convinced that Baby is a star. I think your grandmother’s Great Dane, Dolce, is at the show, too.”

She winced at the sound of another crash. “If you’ll excuse me, I believe we have a mess to clean up in the back. We’ll have to get together for lunch sometime.”

“I’d like that.” I watched as she rounded up her little boys and hustled them toward a girl about the same age. Triplets? Her daughter was trying to rebuild a pyramid display out of cans that were rolling on the floor. She carried a stuffed dog, old and threadbare in spots, that looked exactly like one Clementine had had when we were kids.

Clementine set the boys to work picking up cans and did her best to restore the display.

A tall, seriously good-looking man roamed past their aisle, distracting me. Short hair the color of coffee beans had outgrown its cut just enough to be charmingly ruffled. He wore the haven’t-shaved-in-a-couple-of-days look. Boots, jeans, T-shirt, green army jacket—he could have walked out of an ad for cowboys.

He pretended to study some bins of nails, but it appeared to me that he was actually watching Clementine and her children.

Clementine spotted him, too. Her eyes widened in fear. She wasted no time grabbing the hands of the two boys. “Emily, let’s go.” She dodged out the other end of the aisle and through the store to the entrance, where she beat a hasty exit.

The good-looking guy ambled toward the front and exited the store a beat behind her.

I set my items on a display rack and dashed outside with Trixie to see if Clementine needed help. Holding the boys’ hands, she ran as well as anyone could in those shoes. Her daughter raced ahead of her.

The man pretended to window-shop. When Clementine and her troop turned the corner, he picked up his pace. Trixie and I did, too.

By the time we reached the corner, they had all vanished. I paused and listened for any sound of distress. If the guy had nabbed them, surely he wouldn’t be able to keep those two boys quiet.

A pebble shot toward us on the sidewalk. Trixie sniffed it, but I looked in the direction from which it had come.

A darling one-story shingled house was set back a bit on a heavily landscaped lot. The sign near the sidewalk identified it as Pampered Pet Portraits. A large show window at the front of the house displayed stunning paintings of animals. Trixie and I strolled toward it.

“Don’t come over here.” It was little more than a frantic hiss.

“Clementine?” I peered behind a row of manicured boxwoods.

Clementine crouched with her children, holding a hand over each of her sons’ mouths. “Is he gone?”

“I think so.”

“Make sure.”

I casually returned to the sidewalk and gazed around. If he was hiding, I didn’t think
he’d
toss a pebble my way.

We doubled back, and I pretended to admire the portraits in the window. “I don’t see him, but he could be hiding.”

“Ouch!” Clementine stood up. “What did I tell you about biting?” She grabbed the boys’ hands. “Thanks, Holly.” Her eyes canvassed the area so fast that it made me dizzy.

“Clementine, do you need help? Maybe you should come to the inn.”

“No, no! We’re good, thanks.” She took off down the street with her three children.

“That was strange, wasn’t it?” I asked Trixie as we walked back to the store. I didn’t know what Trixie was thinking, but I pondered what I had seen. If the man had been her husband, surely the children would have run to their dad. Was her ex the type who would hire someone to spy on her?

I would have to ask Oma if she knew anything about Clementine’s domestic problems when I returned to the inn. I paid for my purchases and stepped outside, keeping an eye out for the mysterious man.

It dawned on me that Hair of the Dog wasn’t too far away. It wouldn’t hurt to nose around a little bit for Zelda’s sake. “C’mon, Trixie. Let’s ask a few questions.”

Trixie wagged her agreement and happily sniffed everything her nose could reach on the way to the pub. Located in a Tudor-style building with outdoor tables in the front, the pub was a source of aggravation for some townspeople who hated the noise when it closed at two in the morning. We stepped inside. It took a minute for my eyes to adjust to the dim light.

A chalkboard advertised Bewitching Brews, Spooky Spirits, and Monster Burgers.

The woman behind the bar pushed back hair the color of Kahlúa. She tilted her head at me. “What can I get you, Holly Miller?”

I didn’t remember her from my recent visit. It seemed like I would have. She had a girl-next-door face and a don’t-mess-with-me attitude. She wasn’t much taller than me, but she oozed energy. “Do I know you?”

“You do now.” She stuck out her hand. “Val Kowalchuk. Everybody knows
you
. Up until this morning, your arrival back in Wagtail was the hot news in town. Guess they’re still talking about you, but in a slightly different way now”—her voice dropped to a whisper—“since you found the body.” She slapped the bar. “What will you have?”

It was probably the height of impoliteness to barge into a bar for information without ordering anything. “How about a sparkling water for me and plain water for Trixie?”

“Sure thing.” Val slid a frosty glass toward me and poured water into it. She pulled a small stainless steel dog bowl from under the bar and filled it with cold water.

I lowered it to the floor for Trixie, who lapped at it.

“So, Val,” I said casually in a hushed voice, “were you here last night at closing?” I gulped the refreshing water, more thirsty than I’d thought.

Val squinted at me. “You’re the third person today to ask me that. I’m here every night at closing. Comes with the territory.” She took a breath. “Our girl Mallory was very big on Zombie Brains. They’re sweet, so they go down easy, but they pack a wallop. We make ’em small for that reason. But I have a strict policy about cutting people off when we think they’ve had too much to drink. Mallory was what I’d call giddy. Not stumbling, not slurring words, just talking loud and being silly.”

“What was she talking about?”

“I didn’t pay much attention. Men and ghosts, I think. But then, all the ghost guys were here. Mark, Grayson, the whole gang of them. Mr. Luciano bailed early but the rest of them closed the place down.” She leaned her elbows on the bar. “I’ll say this, though. She was flirting with every single one of them. I’d say she left the whole lot of them in confusion about who might go home with her, if you know what I mean.”

I knew exactly what she meant. “Was Eva here?”

Val smiled. “Is she great or what?”

“Was she upset about Mallory?”

Val raised an eyebrow, and I knew I’d phrased my question wrong. “No. But there was something going on. Eva kept an eye on Mallory, for sure.”

“So who else came in here asking questions?”

“Started with Officer Dave, then Doc, and now you. Is Mallory a friend of yours?”

I shook my head. “Barely knew her. I just feel terrible. She was all alone in a strange place and something really awful happened.”

Val’s eyes widened. “I know what you mean. Everybody is asking how she could have drowned in shallow water like that. Of course, I have a vested interest in hoping she didn’t drown because she was loaded. I just bought this place. Don’t need that kind of reputation.” She leaned toward me again. “Is it true that she was wearing a ghost costume?”

I nodded. “Did she ever come in here before?”

“Oh sure. She was a talky sort. Had all kinds of plans to marry Mark. Rumor had it that she wanted to move in with him but he put the kibosh on that and sent her packing.”

“So she didn’t live in Wagtail?”

“Far as I know, she came up now and then to try to win over Mark but he wasn’t interested. This is what I want to know. She left here at two in the morning wearing a nice dress with chunky jewelry. One of those bib necklaces that are so popular. Why did she change into a ghost costume in the middle of the night? Why would she do that? Was there a party somewhere in town? I must be getting old, because when I close the bar, I go upstairs and fall into bed. The last thing in the world I would do is put on a Halloween costume and run around.”

I laughed at her reference to being old, because Val was probably in her mid-thirties. If memory served, though, Hair of the Dog was open for lunch, so she probably didn’t get much sleep. I pulled out my wallet and paid. “Val, if you hear anything, give me a call, okay?”

She smiled. “Sure thing. We girls have to stick together.” And then she was off, tending to something in the kitchen.

Trixie and I walked home, enjoying the beautiful fall day—only to find chaos in Oma’s office.

We sidled past the little cluster of people crowding the room. Wearing his uniform and appearing quite official, Dave leaned against Oma’s desk, his arms resolutely crossed over his chest. Rose appeared worried. Her fingers were curled into tight balls. Mr. Luciano was speaking with her.

To my utter dismay, Aunt Birdie showed up. I had to give her credit for dressing well. She wore a narrow black pencil skirt with a red top and a matching shawl-collar sweater belted at the waist. A prominent red and silver necklace hung on her neck, and silver earrings peeked out from under her black hair.

Birdie sniffed and nodded in cool recognition when I said hello. She headed straight for Mr. Luciano and Rose.

Three other people whom I didn’t know mingled in the room.

“What’s going on?” I whispered to Oma.

“I am so relieved that you have returned. Would you mind helping Shelley put together a little buffet lunch for us in the office?” Oma wrung her hands. “My first big problem as interim mayor—whether to call off the ghost walk because of Mallory’s death. It’s such a popular tradition. And it’s only two days to October thirty-first. The visitors who are here came for our Howloween events.”

“Call it off? Because she was murdered?”

“Holly! Not so loud. This is what I need to determine. Most Wagtail residents live off tourism one way or another. Howloween is always a big draw.” Oma lowered her voice to the tiniest whisper. “After all the news about the recent murders, we’re having to put our best paws forward to recover.”

I had been there during that time and understood how the murders might have discouraged tourists. Before then, residents like Zelda hadn’t even bothered to lock their doors.

Oma clapped her hands. “Will everyone please take a seat?”

I slipped out quietly to help Shelley. As usual, she already had everything under control.

“Today’s lunch special is pulled pork. If you could set up these chafing dishes and drinks on the buffet in your grandmother’s office, that would be a huge help. I’ll be along shortly with the food.”

I pushed the cart to Oma’s office, glad to have an excuse to listen to the discussion.

One of the men was saying, “I don’t think there’s a thing to worry about. Mallory was probably soused. It wouldn’t be the first time in history that a drunk fell into water and drowned.”

“Officer Dave?” asked Oma.

“The police are still searching the area as we speak. They’re going through the Wagtail Springs Hotel as well. It will take some time.”

“The hotel? Don’t tell me we have to cancel the costume gala!” Rose’s voice escalated to a shrill pitch. “What are you searching for?”

Dave took a deep breath. “Evidence.”

“You don’t think this was a tragic accident?” asked Oma.

I held my breath, thinking of Zelda.

Dave seemed uncomfortable. “
I
”—he placed such emphasis on the word that I wondered if he might be alone in this opinion—“don’t believe so.”

Oh no.

Rose gasped. “Dave Quinlan, you better be wrong. Wagtail can’t take another murder so soon after the previous ones!”

One of the men whom I didn’t know chimed in. “I’m speaking for all the merchants when I say that we will ruin the reputation of Wagtail if we cancel the ghost walk. People came here from great distances and at quite some personal expense. They expect to be entertained.”

Another man spoke up. “I’d like to point out that the merchants spent a lot of money in advertising and inventory and special events for Howloween.”

The first man spoke again, quite angrily. “Are we going to cancel everything? I don’t see why we should single out the ghost walk.”

Shelley rolled in a cart with food, and we arranged it on the buffet while the others gazed at Rose.

She ticked items off on her fingers as she spoke. “There’s the apple bobbing relay to see if dogs or their owners can bob faster. Canine and feline trick-or-treating at homes throughout Wagtail. Hayrides, the cemetery celebration, dog and cat costume parades and contests, Howloween portraits, the cornfield maze for dogs, the ghostly feather agility games for cats, and the grand costume gala at the hotel—not to mention the unofficial contests and specials being held by individual stores and businesses.”

A costume gala at a deserted hotel? Had I heard that correctly?

The merchant shook his head. “We can’t call everything off. They don’t do that in other towns. Can you imagine any big city that would cancel everything because one person died? It might be different if we had a madman on the loose, but”—he glared at Dave—“what we’ve got on our hands is the very sad drowning of a drunken young woman. I say we sweep it under the rug as quickly as we can.”

My eyes met Shelley’s. She appeared as horrified as I felt.

“Let’s not make light of this,” said Oma. “Mallory’s death is a terrible tragedy.”

Luciano cleared his throat. “Look, I’m as upset about this as everyone else, but I’m footing the bill for an entire TV crew. What are we talking about realistically? Will we be able to get inside the hotel tonight to shoot the show?”

“I still don’t understand.” Rose frowned at Dave. “Didn’t she drown in the gazebo? Why are you searching the hotel?”

“It’s just a precaution. Some people reported seeing . . . someone . . . in the Wagtail Springs Hotel last night.”

“Who?” demanded Rose.

Dave exhaled. With a sheepish expression, he said, “Becca Wraith.”

The merchant snickered. “A ghost? What are you expecting to find? Ghost fingerprints?”

The other man exclaimed, “Oh, for cryin’ out loud! My wife says she saw Becca Wraith’s black panther walking along the street last night. People have gone Howloween crazy. They’re seeing ghosts everywhere.”