The Ghost and Mrs. Mewer (A Paws and Claws Mystery Book 2) (10 page)

I staggered backward. Trixie quit barking to wag her tail and jump on the man.

He lifted off his mask. “Gotcha!”

I slid down the wall to the cold stone landing, my heart pounding. “I hate you, Holmes Richardson.”

In spite of my current feelings, his laugh was music to my ears. Holmes had been part of my summertime trio when I was growing up. Along with my cousin, Josh, we had worked at the Sugar Maple Inn every summer as kids. Truth be told, I’d never quite outgrown the crush I had on the first boy who ever kissed me. But Holmes lived in Chicago now and was engaged to be married. Still, one good look at his crooked grin, and I was hooked all over again.

He ruffled his sandy hair with the snakes. “Ugh. That mask is hot.”

“Please tell me the snakes aren’t real.”

He laughed again and shook one hand, causing the snakes to dance. “Naw, they’re pieces of plastic attached to gloves. Amazing how lifelike they seem from a distance.”

Trixie barked at him and jumped up to examine the snakes more closely.

He offered me his hand to help me up.

“I’m not touching that!”

He grinned at me and slid the glove off. “When did you turn into such a city slicker? What happened to the girl who ran through the woods without a care and chased her cousin with a live crawdad?”

I scooped Trixie’s orange toy off the ground, grasped Holmes’s hand, and stood up. I dusted myself off, laughing. “I’d forgotten about that! Too many years in the city, I guess.”

He tried the door. “Aw, rats. We’re locked out.” He took my lantern. “Well, come on then. Heard you were the one who found Mallory last night.” He bent his head forward. “I didn’t really know her, but Mark’s a good guy. I feel terrible for him.”

“Everyone has said very nice things about him.”
Not so much about her, though.
I didn’t say it out loud. But it did strike me as odd. Usually people only said flattering things about people who had died.

We rounded the hotel to the pedestrian zone. Orange lights that looked like flames burned in the street lamps, casting an eerie aura over Wagtail.

“There they are!” cried Oma. She, Rose, and Doc appeared to be waiting for us.

“That was a very nice performance,” she whispered when she hugged me. She reached her arms out. “Holmes! I’m so happy to see you!”

Rose, Holmes’s grandmother, still wore her witch outfit. She marched over to him and hissed, “What are you doing out here with the mask and snake gloves? Tuck them away so no one will notice! Quick!”

Holmes had no place to put them. He removed his jacket and draped it over them. “Better?”

Rose wasn’t fooling me. Holmes could do no wrong in her eyes. “Why didn’t you leave them there?” she demanded.

“We got locked out.”

Rose’s eyes narrowed. “Did you see anything weird in the hotel?”

“No! Why would you even ask that?” I asked.

“Because the police felt it necessary to search the hotel. Not to mention that it
is
a bit of a coincidence that Mallory died exactly where Obadiah did. I’m relieved that the hotel wasn’t involved. The big gala will be there, and I don’t need Dave throwing up any obstacles.”

Doc smiled at her. “Rose, don’t worry so much. I told you nothing untoward happened there. The death of that poor young woman has us all on edge.”

“The hotel surprised me inside. I thought it was run-down,” I whispered to Rose.

“Parts of it are. A good portion has been completely renovated. People keep buying it, but it’s cursed.”

“The renovations cost more than they expected, and they run out of money?” I could imagine how expensive it would be to refurbish an entire hotel, even a small one.

“No, it’s the curse. All the owners go broke,” said Doc. “Hiram cursed it.”

I sucked in a deep breath. Rose believed in curses and ghosts and things that went bump in the night. “Oh, right,” I chuckled. I wasn’t sure, though, if Doc believed that. Was there anyone in this town who didn’t believe in ghosts and curses?

A few of the ghost-walking participants still lingered. Rose and Holmes answered their questions about Obadiah and Becca. Evidently, visitors didn’t believe the story could be true.

Felix, Casper, and Brian made their way over to us.

“Cool story!” said Felix. “Sad—but most ghost stories are. I can just imagine every one of their ghosts roaming the hotel and trying to set things right.”

“We lost you,” said Brian. “I couldn’t find you in that crowd.”

I scrambled for a response. They evidently didn’t realize that I had played the part of Becca. “There
were
a lot of people.”

Brian stared at the dark inn. “I can’t wait to get inside. This is going to be terrific. Hey, Holly, wanna come with us tonight?”

“I think I’ll pass. It’s probably not good to have too many unbelievers present.”

Brian locked his eyes on mine. “Scared? I’ll protect you.”

“Thanks, I’m sure you would.”

“Knock it off, Brian. She clearly has a boyfriend.” Felix cocked his head toward Holmes. “Sorry, Brian has a thing for you.”

Like a schoolboy, Brian slammed his friend in the arm.

“Oh.” If he thought Holmes and I were an item, maybe that was a good thing. It might discourage his interest. “Thanks for inviting me, Brian.” Time to change the subject. “So you’ll be hunting for the ghosts of Becca, Hiram, and Obadiah?”

Felix closed his eyes and muttered, “Oh man. I hate snakes.”

I tried to be upbeat for his sake, even though I shared his aversion. “Ghost snakes,” I teased. “They can’t bite. And if they could, I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t have any venom.”

Felix laughed and nodded. “I hope not. With any luck we’ll see Becca. I think I’d rather deal with a panther than snakes, ghostly
or
real.”

“Will you be taping the rattling sounds in room three?”

“Absolutely. It’s amazing how many people in Wagtail have told us they heard them. Some have seen Obadiah or Hiram, but it seems like everyone has seen Becca or Dr. Wraith.”

“Is Eva going with you tonight?”

Brian pointed his nose up in the air and mimicked her. “I must observe the Apparition Apprehenders at all times lest they use subterfuge to perpetrate a hoax.”

Even Oma laughed.

“We better head back to the inn to get our stuff. It’s getting close to our witching hour.” Felix waved as they ambled away.

Officer Dave leaned against a street lamp watching them. He strolled over to us, his hands in his pockets. “Evening, Liesel, Rose, Doc. That went very well, I think.”

“Yes, I am quite pleased,” said Oma. “And our careful timing seems to be working, too. People are heading for the center of town. They’ll be going to restaurants and bars for dessert and drinks. The merchants will be very happy.”

“Dave,” I said, “could I have a word with you somewhere private later on tonight?”

Oma raised an eyebrow at me. Quite loudly she announced, “Rose, aren’t we due at the Blue Boar?”

I wanted to crawl into a hole. “Maybe you could come by the inn whenever it’s convenient?”

If Holmes had the same reaction as Oma, he didn’t show it and gladly walked back to the inn with Trixie and me.

It was silent as a tomb when we entered the Sugar Maple Inn. With the TV crew and the Apparition Apprehenders out for the night, it felt as though the place belonged just to us.

Twinkletoes raced down the stairs, mewing nonstop.

I swung her up into my arms. “Too quiet for you? I think you like all the attention the guests give you.”

Holmes built a fire in the sitting room to take off the chill, and Twinkletoes stretched out to her full length in front of it. We found a bottle of white wine and leftover roast beef in the fridge of the private kitchen. Holmes and I worked side by side making sandwiches with a touch of horseradish. While I popped one in the panini maker to heat it, Holmes hit the refrigerator again.

“I miss rooting through this fridge to find good stuff,” said Holmes. “Most of the time my refrigerator only has leftover takeout and stale bread in it.”

“Did you learn nothing from Oma? Never keep bread in the refrigerator. Something about the cool temperature crystallizing the starch makes it stale.”

“That explains a lot.”

“Either eat it or freeze it.”

“Yes, ma’am. Hey, I found something that looks like pumpkin cake with cream cheese frosting. This is definitely on our menu tonight. And there’s a salad with shrimp and avocados. Nice appetizer.” He brought them to the island. “You have it made living here. I hadn’t thought about the food angle.”

“When are
you
coming back to Wagtail for good, Mr. I-have-to-visit-every-month?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m proud of you, Holly. It’s a big step to leave your job and your life in D.C. to move back here. How’s that guy you were dating?”

“Don’t know. Haven’t heard a peep from him since I moved. That ought to tell me something, huh?” I slid the second sandwich into the panini maker.

“You deserve someone who loves you. I’m surprised he didn’t load up and move here himself.”

“Move? Are you kidding? He couldn’t even bring himself to call me. For all he knows, I slid off the side of the mountain into a ravine.”

Holmes leaned against the counter. Trixie stretched up and placed her front paws on his thighs. He massaged her ears gently. “I wish I had a dog. You know what I miss the most? We get a lot of snow in Chicago, but I always loved walking through Wagtail at night in the snow. It’s so clean and quiet and magical. Like walking in a snow globe.” He snorted. “That sounded stupid, didn’t it?”

I shook my head. “No. It didn’t. There
is
something special about Wagtail. It’s quaint and intimate. I hardly knew my neighbors in Arlington. We passed each other once in a while, but everyone was always in a hurry to go someplace. Life is more relaxed here.”

“It would be hard to give up my job.”

“You could develop the land that your family owns.”

His head snapped up. I spied an eager glint in his eyes. “Every time I come to Wagtail I wonder if . . . What am I saying? I can’t see my fiancée living here. She’s not the type. It’s complicated.”

“What do you mean?” I held my breath, hoping against hope that his relationship was cruising to a swift demise. Not that I would ever wish him ill. But I wouldn’t mind if Holmes were officially available again.

“Aw, nothing. She’s just a city girl. Is that ready yet?”

“Load up the tray. I’ll bring the wineglasses and Trixie’s dinner.” What else could I say? Maybe I could weasel more out of him later.

We settled by the fire. I tore a piece of roast beef into tiny pieces for Twinkletoes and offered Trixie a bowl of cheesy chunky chicken that I had nuked to take the chill off. It looked like chunks of chicken with carrots, barley, and tiny bits of cheddar cheese and apples.

She wolfed it as fast as she could and trained her eyes on me.

I accommodated her with a little piece of roast beef.

“So what happened with your job back in D.C.?” asked Holmes. “You never told me why you quit. You were a fund-raiser, right?”

“Have you ever heard of Ron Koontz?”

“Nope.” Holmes bit into his sandwich.

“I guess he didn’t make the headlines everywhere. Ron set up a Ponzi scheme and stole millions from people. Retirement funds, college funds, family fortunes. I knew about him because some of our donors were impacted.”

“That must have been rough on them.”

“It’s kind of a double whammy. Not only do they lose their money, but they feel, well, kind of stupid for being taken in. Anyway, my boss had been working with an anonymous donor for a while.”

“Anonymous? I thought most people liked to be recognized for their generosity.”

“You’d be surprised. A lot of philanthropists keep a low profile. My boss kept the name close to his vest, which was fine. But one day, a communication crossed my desk with a big old
RK
as the signature. All kinds of red flags jumped up in my head, so I did a little sleuthing and, sure enough, Mr. Anonymous was none other than Ron Koontz of the Ponzi scheme.”

Holmes set down his sandwich and stared at me. “He stole so much money that he
gave
it away? That’s so twisted!”

“No kidding. So I confronted my boss, who made it clear that he wasn’t going to do a thing about it, so I quit. He would have fired me anyway. It was a huge ethical problem. I felt that the people who received the money should know it was tainted.”

“Exactly. And the people who lost their money through his fraud deserved to have it back!”

“I might have, uh, dropped a hint with someone a little higher than my boss.”

“Good for you.”

“They had to know! It could have put the whole company in jeopardy. Koontz was quite a character. Now that he and his coconspirators are in the pokey you’d think the saga would have ended, but they planned ahead and bought a bunch of rare collectors’ items. His wife had most of them stashed at their house, but they can’t find some diamonds. They’re called ghost diamonds because they’ve been missing and sold underground for so long that no one knows for sure if they’re real or fictional. Can you imagine? They’re supposed to be worth a few million dollars. If they exist!”