Inspector Specter (23 page)

“Detective Ferry said he'd gotten the thirty thousand dollars legally,” Paul said. I guess he figured that just because I couldn't talk to him right now didn't mean he couldn't dive in. That's Paul. Though I was grateful that he was contributing to the investigation instead of competing with the local power company. “There are only a few ways that is a plausible scenario.”

“Maybe we shouldn't stimulate Oliver quite so much right now,” I suggested to Tammy Coburn. “I think he needs to get some sleep.”

“Oh, of course!” Tammy said. She looked horrified that she'd done something “wrong,” and leaned back. I'd have to explain later that I wasn't trying to criticize her behavior. This is the life of an innkeeper.

“He could have inherited the money,” Paul went on. I'm not sure if he was talking to anyone but himself. “He could have won it, in the lottery, perhaps. He could have had a side business, a legitimate one. Or . . .”

“What?” I said, pretending to talk to Oliver, who was annoyed that the train was no longer going back and forth on the floor next to him. He pulled himself up on the armchair near the spot where we were sitting and reached a hand out toward the train, trying to figure how to grab it.

“It's possible there's another way Ferry got thirty thousand dollars, especially if he was in need of it, if he'd fallen into debt, perhaps.” Paul's goatee-stroking was reaching a fever pitch.

“Is it something I need to research?” Maxie asked. “I could borrow Melissa's laptop . . .”

“Forget it,” Liss pretended to tell Oliver. It wasn't that we didn't want to let the guests know there were ghosts in the room—we are billed as a haunted guesthouse, after all—but I didn't want to bring all my guests into my sideline as an investigator. Besides, it was more that repeating each line of a conversation can be tedious, time consuming and, in this instance, a little too close to smearing a man's reputation in public.

Oliver moved a foot toward the train and caught himself on the chair. Too scary.

“It wouldn't be a matter of public record,” Paul said. “There would be no paper trail without access to all sorts of accounts we don't have.”

“What is it?” Again, me cooing at Ollie. You get good at it after a while.

“I'm not prepared to say yet,” Paul said. “It's possible the information would be embarrassing to the detective, and I would not want to be the cause of that.” Unexpectedly, he turned toward Mom. “Loretta, I think we need more information out of Detective Ferry, and he appears to become agitated when it's Alison doing the asking. Would you mind going over there tomorrow morning?”

I thought that was a touch insulting, but I didn't want to say anything. I just humphed, but nobody seemed to notice.

“I'll go along with her,” Dad told Paul. “For backup.”

Mom was watching the conversation but not reacting. Clearly, she didn't think she'd need backup but was just as happy to have Dad along for the ride. She nodded imperceptibly, drawing on a lifetime of interacting with ghosts and making sure no one (for a long time, including me) could tell.

“Good,” Paul said. “I'll send you a message with the questions I need answered.” He pointed to his head to indicate this would be a Ghostergram (a Ghosternet message aimed at one spirit) to Dad.

“I think he wants to walk,” Tammy said, pointing at Oliver.

“Stop him, Liss,” I warned. Melissa pulled Oliver, who looked surprised and irritated, onto her lap. Tammy seemed shocked, so I turned to her. “His mom's coming back tomorrow,” I said. “Don't want her to miss his first steps.”

“How would she know?” Stephanie asked.

That stopped me. It was a good question. “Okay, let him walk if he wants to,” I said to Liss. She did nothing, but Oliver pulled himself back up to a standing position and eyed the train again. His left foot was definitely in on the plan, but his right hadn't necessarily gotten the memo yet. He pivoted.

The guests gathered around. They weren't all parents, but they all had some family; it was a decent bet each of them had probably, at some time or another, seen a child take his or her first step. So you'd think they wouldn't find this moment quite so magical.

But even Maxie was paying rapt attention. Paul ceased going on about clues or stratagems for the moment. He was watching, too.

But once Oliver, until now focused on the amazing train toy that he just
had
to have, noticed the volume level in the room drop to a whisper, he looked up to investigate. There were so many eyes focused on him that he must have found it completely overwhelming. He leaned forward, then back, fell on his diaper and started to cry.

“Aw . . .” Melissa said, and she reached over to give Ollie a hug. “I think he's more tired than he knows.” He sobbed on her shoulder for a moment, then regressed to sniffling, which indicated he probably was on his way to sleep. Liss has an unerring instinct for kids; someday she'll probably be a great teacher or a great mom, or both. Assuming she decides not to take over the world. While being a mom and a teacher.

Paul watched Melissa carry Oliver in the direction of his crib, hitched his shoulders and looked back down at me. “So Lieutenant McElone had been in the bungalow recently. What does that tell us?”

“Time for ice cream,” I said to the guests. That was also intended to inform Paul that I was tired and didn't want to talk about this anymore tonight. “Who's interested?”

Nobody, as it turned out. Stephanie and Rita headed up to their room, thanking me for a lovely evening I had not attended. Joe and Bonnie begged off, saying they wanted to go for a walk on the beach now that the temperature had moderated somewhat. Tammy and Don had plans to drive all the way to Vineland, about a two-hour trip, to go to the last drive-in theater in New Jersey. There was, they said, a midnight show. I began to think they did not sleep.

Mom, however, did sleep. “I think I'm going to hit the road,” she said once the Coburns had left. “It seems I have somewhere to go in the morning, and I'm not as young as I used to be.”

“But you're still younger now than you'll be tomorrow,” Dad reminded her. He thought, for reasons that defy logic, that he was being encouraging.

My mother shot him a look, saw he was innocent and smiled. They have the kind of marriage that has truly prevailed over every possible obstacle, even the biggest one. They left together, talking about their plans to come back to welcome Jeannie and Tony back tomorrow.

When Melissa returned from putting Ollie to bed, we were alone in the room with our two resident ghosts. And I was fading fast.

“Alison,” Paul began.

I held up a hand. “Not tonight, Paul. I don't have anything left. Tomorrow morning, I promise. Early.” And I started toward the staircase to go to bed without even putting the karaoke machine away. It could wait.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Maxie's body tense as if she'd heard a noise outside. “Boo-yah!” she shouted, and blasted her way across the room to the outside wall. She was gone in no time.

“Boo-yah?” Paul repeated. He shook his head in confusion.

But it confirmed a suspicion I'd been having for some time now. “So that's what she's been doing,” I said.

Melissa looked at me, grinning; at worst she's on my level and usually ahead of me. “You think so?”

“I'd bet on it.”

Paul scrutinized us carefully, his eyes showing a total lack of understanding. “You've discovered where Maxie has been rushing out to every day and night?” he asked.

“I think so,” I said. “But I'll have to confirm it, of course. I'll do that tomorrow, too.” And I turned back toward the staircase.

“Alison!” Paul called after me. “Aren't you going to tell me?”

I turned back and gave him an eyebrow raise. “Are you going to tell me where Detective Ferry got the money?”

Paul thought but shook his head. “I don't think that would be appropriate without asking the detective first,” he said.

“Then you'll have to wait,” I said, and didn't stop on my way to bed.

*   *   *

I did in fact sleep like a rock that night, then woke early, in time to straighten up and get the coffee and tea going before the guests started straggling in. Even in the early morning, the air-conditioning was necessary, but it was more for the humidity than the temperature at this time of the day.

Rita came in first, sans Stephanie for the first time since I'd met her. She said her wife was still sleeping, so she'd come down for coffee and to sit quietly in the den for a while. I provided her with the coffee, and she availed herself of the ice I'd put out and sat with a cool drink. But it was soon obvious that she had come down to talk to me without Stephanie present, so I made myself an iced coffee and asked her if she'd been enjoying her vacation so far. This was an appropriate question because one, I'm an innkeeper, and two, Rita and Stephanie were leaving the next day, but I asked knowing it was an avenue toward whatever she
really
wanted to discuss, so I was ready for her response.

“The house is lovely, and I really adore the town,” she said. “But I have to admit, even with all the talk in the brochure, the ghost stuff really sort of . . .”

“Scares you?” I said. “That's not unusual. But I can assure you, the ghosts in this house are incredibly friendly and no threat to anyone.” As long as you didn't catch Maxie when she was grouchy.

Rita sipped her drink and scanned the ceiling. “It's not here. I feel perfectly safe inside the house, believe me, Alison. But what I saw out on the beach—”

I had prepared for this, especially since I now had an idea of what she'd seen. “What you saw was a hat,” I told Rita. “There might have been a ghost under it, but it was a hat. I'm thinking if there was a spirit, he was holding it up as a signal to someone else, and that's why you saw it. Otherwise, you'd never have had the chance to notice it.”

“So I'm not going to see ghosts all the time now?” Rita's eyes were wide.

“Definitely not. It was a random incident. It's no different from the ghost shows you see every day here in the guesthouse. You're not developing a supernatural ability. You saw a hat. All that says is you're more observant than most of the people on the beach that day.”

Rita sank back in the easy chair, smiling. “Really?” she asked.

Paul rose up through the floor and watched me for a moment. “Really,” I told Rita, without turning my head toward him.

Rita looked happier than I'd seen her since she arrived. “Thank you, Alison. You're a really good hostess.”

I never know how to react to that sort of thing, so I thanked Rita, picked up my iced coffee and headed out to the deck, knowing Paul would follow. I leaned on the railing, looking out at the ocean, and without looking at him, said, “What?”

“I'm trying to think of a way to solve Lieutenant McElone's disappearance and Detective Ferry's murder without you having to meet Buster Hockney,” he said.

“That would be the goal. And?”

“And so far, I haven't come up with one.”

“That's a huge help, Paul. Good morning to you, too.”

He floated out to a spot in the air directly in front of me so I'd be forced to look at him. “I believe the lieutenant is in a good deal of danger,” he said. “The amount of time she's been missing is troublesome. We need to act quickly.”

“Nobody understands that better than I do, Paul. But whenever you say, ‘we need to act,' what you mean is that
I
need to act, and that's dangerous and scary.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw that Melissa was awake and getting herself a cup of coffee. She sometimes prefers it hot, even in weather like this. Of course, she was indoors, where there was air-conditioning.

“If I could think of another way—” Paul began.

My phone rang, so I dug it out of my pocket. Seeing that the caller was Malcolm Kidder, I answered. “I'm hoping there's good news, Malcolm,” I said.

His voice did not reward me; he sounded weary and tense. “I've been up all night, Alison. I still haven't heard anything. Someone broke into the house when I was out yesterday and tossed the place, but they didn't find what they wanted. I'm worried.”

I closed my eyes; the problem was closing in around me. “I am, too,” I said. “I'm thinking I might have to do something stupid.”

“What's that?”

“I might have to go see Buster Hockney.” I opened my eyes. Paul, not looking happy, nodded his head.

Malcolm absorbed that information. “I don't think that's a great idea,” he said.

“Neither do I. Do you have a better one? I'm open to suggestion.”

“Maybe,” Malcolm said. “Can I come over? I think we can figure something out.”

I looked at Paul. “Of course you can come over here, Malcolm,” I said for the ghost's benefit. Paul looked impressed. “You know where I am?”

“I have GPS. I'll be there in twenty minutes.” We hung up.

I told Paul what Malcolm had said. “I hope his idea can get us closer,” Paul told me. “Anything that keeps us—you—away from Buster Hockney—”

My phone rang again. This time, I recognized only the local exchange. There was no name on the Caller ID, so it was someone who hadn't called me before or whom I hadn't stored on the phone. Maybe Martin Ferry had learned to use a cell phone. Weirder things have happened. Believe me.

I pushed the talk button. “Hello?”

The voice was male and a little tentative. “Is this Alison Kerby?” Good phone calls never start that way.

“Who is calling, please?”

“My name is Thomas McElone,” he said. “I'm calling because I haven't heard from Anita since yesterday, and I'm concerned.”