The Ghost and Mrs. Mewer (A Paws and Claws Mystery Book 2) (11 page)

Holmes moaned. “Guys like that are slick. I wouldn’t put it past them to have made up ghost diamonds to put investigators off the trail of something else. Hey, you forgot the best part of that story.”

“Huh?”

“That they fired your boss and offered you his job.” Holmes toasted me with his wineglass.

I smiled at the memory. Holmes had been in Wagtail with me when I received the good news. “That was icing on the cake, for sure. But you know, as much as I liked that job, I don’t think I’m going to miss it one bit.”

Footsteps approached in the hallway.

Trixie perked her ears. Twinkletoes turned her head. The four of us waited for the person to appear.

Dave walked right by us.

“Want a snack?” I called.

“You two look pretty cozy.” Dave gazed at us in surprise. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Don’t be silly. Are you off duty? Can you drink wine?” I asked.

“I think I’ll stick with water for now. It’s pretty quiet out in the pedestrian zone, but that can turn on me fast as people get loaded.”

I clambered to my feet, heated another sandwich in the panini maker, and brought it to the Dogwood Room with a tall glass, a bottle of ice-cold water, and extra plates, napkins, and forks.

Dave sat by the fire talking with Holmes. I handed him his sandwich and water.

“Thanks, Holly.” He poured water into the glass. “So what’s up?”

“I wanted to talk to you about Mallory’s death.”

Holmes sipped his wine. “What’s to talk about? I thought she drowned.”

“Doc Kilgore has pretty much put this to bed.” Dave’s lips mashed together. He spoke softly as though he didn’t want anyone to accidentally overhear. “I’ve always liked Doc. He’s a cut-and-dried kind of guy, and I appreciate that. He tells it like it is. But this time, I don’t agree with him.”

“I know Doc Kilgore has seen a lot of drowning victims over the years. He’s an old hand at this,” said Dave. “From what I understand, drownings are often tough calls if there aren’t any signs of a struggle to indicate the victim was attacked.”

“Attacked? I don’t get it. If there’s water in her lungs, she drowned. What’s difficult about that?” Holmes bit into his sandwich.

“Why was Mallory there in the middle of the night to begin with?” I asked.

“Wasn’t she drunk?” asked Holmes. “That’s what Grandma Rose said.”

Dave swallowed a bite of sandwich. “I saw Mallory at the bonfire. She was hanging all over that guy Felix. Then she joined the ghost hunters at Hair of the Dog. Val said Mallory put away some pretty powerful drinks. The ghost hunters finished up the night at Hair of the Dog. They closed it down at two in the morning. No one remembers Mallory being obnoxious or having trouble walking. I’m not saying she wasn’t intoxicated, but I’m not convinced she was falling down drunk, if you know what I mean.”

“Val told me Mallory drank quite a few Zombie Brains,” I added. “She didn’t watch her carefully, but Val didn’t think Mallory was staggering.”

“Oof! I’ve had those Zombie Brains. They’re potent! But not everyone shows it when they’ve had a lot to drink,” said Holmes. “I had a friend in college who could swill all night and didn’t even have the decency to sway when he walked.”

“Doc did say that Mallory fell and hit her head, so she might have been confused,” Dave pointed out.

“Okay, then answer this,” I said. “The bar closed at two. I found her around four twenty in the morning. Where was she for two hours in the middle of the night? And why was she dressed like the ghost of Becca Wraith?”

Holmes had stopped eating. “Hold everything. Are you two suggesting someone murdered Mallory?”

Dave raised his eyebrows and tilted his head.

“Oh, come on. Doc and the EMTs realized that she’d drowned. Wouldn’t they have been suspicious if they saw anything incriminating?” asked Holmes.

“Of course they would. Of
Holly
!”

I nearly slid out of my seat. “You’re not serious.” It came out in a whisper.

Dave rolled his eyes. “Cut them some slack. It was peculiar enough that Mallory was there, but you were with her in the middle of the night for no good reason.”

I jumped up. “I had a very good reason. Trixie and Twinkletoes were running loose. It’s not like I’m in the habit of sneaking around in the dark of night! Nor am I in the habit of having late-night rendezvous with strangers. I’d only just met Mallory. Did they think I was going to discuss wedding plans with her in the middle of the night?”

“Calm down, Holly. You’re not really a suspect,” said Holmes. “Is she?”

“Not in my book.”

“Thank you for believing in my character.” My entire body shook with indignation. I sat down, still breathing heavily.

“Don’t thank me. Thank your Aunt Birdie. She forced me to have coffee with her this morning, but she confessed her little scam to see how fast you would come to her aid.”

So much for my stellar character.

“The way I see it, you might have had time to drown her, and you were certainly wet enough to have done it yourself”—Dave shook his head—“but by all accounts, I honestly believe that you barely knew Mallory.”

Holmes met my eyes. “I suppose it’s not likely she stopped to visit a friend. If she was drunk, maybe she fell asleep somewhere or was unconscious after she hit her head.”

“She probably went back to Mark’s to change clothes. She was dressed in that Becca Wraith getup when I found her. She sure wasn’t wearing it at the bonfire.”

“How long would that take? Fifteen minutes?” asked Dave.

Holmes laughed. “None of the women I know can change clothes that fast.”

I punched him playfully. “Wasn’t she staying with Mark? I don’t know where he lives, but she would have had to walk home, change, and walk back. Why would she do that? Why didn’t she just go to bed? Why dress up as a ghost in the middle of the night? If she had done it earlier in the day I would have thought it was some kind of promotional thing. You know, wandering around town in the hope that a few people might see her.”

Dave set his water glass down. “Maybe she was supposed to meet up with someone who was playing the role of Hiram or Obadiah. It wouldn’t surprise me if you’re right about it being a promotional stunt. Luciano or Rose would know who she was supposed to meet if that’s the case. Or maybe someone was with her.”

I held my breath. Dave’s expression was grave. I had a bad feeling I knew who he meant. “Such as?” I asked as casually as I could.

“Aw, come on, Holly. You know as well as anybody that she left with two people—Zelda and Felix.”

“Zelda?” spouted Holmes. “Not a chance. Zelda wouldn’t kill a housefly.”

“That doesn’t change the facts, Holmes. I have to deal in facts. Cold, hard truths.”

“Where was Mark?” I asked. “Did he call anyone to report her missing?”

“He acted pretty surprised when I knocked on his door this morning.”

Holmes cut a piece of the cake. “I’m confused. Can’t you just declare a murder investigation?”

“We
are
investigating. We didn’t find anything of interest in the hotel. It doesn’t help, of course, that Doc is the medical examiner and doesn’t think anything criminal happened. He claims she might have gotten tangled in that gown she was wearing.”

“That’s not implausible,” I said. “It coiled around me when I was trying to pull her out of the water. But even if it did, it seems like she could have sat up or stood or done something to lift her head out of the water.”

Dave had stopped eating. While he was respected in the community, he had some issues with Wagtailites who remembered him as a cute little boy and didn’t give him the deference he deserved.

“They’re fighting you on this, aren’t they?” I helped myself to a piece of pumpkin cake, which I was certain I now deserved, if only to calm my frazzled nerves.

“Mallory’s death doesn’t pass the smell test for me. I could use your help, Holly. Not yours so much, Holmes. Somehow I don’t think you’ll hear about this back in Chicago. Holly, would you keep an ear to the ground? You’re liable to overhear the ghost hunters talking about Mark. Sounds like a few of them know him pretty well.”

“You think Mark killed Mallory?”

“Don’t go jumping to conclusions, but we always look at husbands and boyfriends first.”

“Then how about that Felix guy Mallory was hanging on that night?” asked Holmes. “Maybe he wanted more, and she refused.”

“Nooo,” I whined. “Not Felix. He’s far too nice.”

Holmes laughed at me. “What is it with you and nerdy guys? I thought women liked tall, rugged cowboy types.”

“That counts you out, doesn’t it?” I teased. “Sure, Dave. I’ll pass along anything that I hear.” But as I spoke, I couldn’t help wondering if he was really asking me to spy on Zelda.

*   *   *

When Holmes and Dave left, Trixie and I went up to bed. As usual, the TV was blaring in my quarters. But this time there was no sign of Twinkletoes. I turned off the TV and heard hissing. Hiram must have been on my mind, because the first thing I thought of was snakes.

I stopped cold. Did rattlers hiss? I thought they only rattled. Oh, what did I know about snakes? Less than nothing.

Trixie barked in my little dining room. The hissing grew stronger and more frequent. Staying a good distance away, I kneeled on the floor thinking this was exactly how a person could be bitten on the nose. Twinkletoes nestled by the hidden pet door, hissing at something that flicked through it.

A low rumbling sound spooked me. It morphed into a high-pitched yowl.

I stumbled to my feet in a hurry and grabbed Twinkletoes’s favorite toy—a stick attached to a string with a pompom hanging on the end. I wiggled the pompom in front of her to lure her away from the door. Jiggling the stick to make the pompom dance, I slowly backed up.

Twinkletoes couldn’t resist. She pounced on it and claimed her pompom, seizing it in her mouth and marching off with it, as proud as if she had caught a mouse.

Without warning, Mrs. Mewer flew through the door. That explained all the hissing. Clearly, Mrs. Mewer had found her way into the hidden stairway, an excellent and quiet hiding place, but Twinkletoes had prevented her from entering our apartment. The proverbial catfight!

At least Mrs. Mewer wasn’t lost. I glanced at the clock. Almost midnight. I hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, so I didn’t relish the notion of trekking over to the Wagtail Springs Hotel to tell Eva the good news. Maybe she had taken her cell phone. I called Casey at the reception desk for Eva’s number and dialed. Just my luck—Eva didn’t answer. Either the Wagtail Springs Hotel was one of Wagtail’s dead zones or they had turned off their phones so they wouldn’t disrupt the ghost hunt.

I rubbed my eyes, no doubt smearing my mascara. I had to tell Eva. She’d been so distraught. If I were in her shoes, I would want to know. There just wasn’t any way around it. I had to walk over and tell her. My glance fell on the overstuffed armchairs. I longed to sink into one and put up my feet. But that would be wrong, wrong, wrong. I collected Trixie’s leash and a jacket.

Mrs. Mewer watched me carefully but I was able to step on her leash so she couldn’t dash away from me. Picking it up, I cooed gently, “I’m going to take you back to your room, Mrs. Mewer. And in a few hours, Eva will be back for a long nap with you. How does that sound?”

She walked with me willingly, pausing now and then, as cats do, to sniff something of particular interest. At Eva’s door, I paused to pull out my newly minted master keys but found the door had been left open. Although I knew Eva was at the Wagtail Springs Hotel with the ghost hunters, I knocked anyway and called out her name. She didn’t answer, so I switched on a light.

Trixie accompanied Mrs. Mewer and me inside. I locked the cat door to the balcony and made sure Mrs. Mewer had food and water. Trixie made a beeline for Mrs. Mewer’s food dish.

“No, no, no. That’s not yours.” I snapped Trixie’s leash on her and removed the leash from Mrs. Mewer’s collar.

“Eva will be back in a few hours,” I told her. “You be good and stay here.”

She was probably worn out from her day on the lam in the inn. Chances were that she would eat and then take a long nap.

I locked the door behind us and tried the knob to be doubly sure Mrs. Mewer would be safe. As we walked though the inn, I pulled on my warm jacket.

We swung by the registration desk, where I updated Casey about Mrs. Mewer. In minutes, Trixie and I were out in the cold, strolling along the pedestrian zone, which wasn’t nearly as quiet as I had expected.

A number of restaurants were still doing a lively business. Music blared from one. Another was packed with quieter patrons sipping from large mugs. Dogs and cats lounged comfortably at their feet.

Trixie tugged at the leash to give a wide berth to a giant, leering pumpkin. I couldn’t blame her. Witches and vampires gazed at us as they went about their business.

At the end of the pedestrian zone, I paused to look up at the foreboding Wagtail Springs Hotel. I had expected some lights to be on. Why hadn’t I brought a flashlight? Would they all be upset with me if I walked inside and shouted? Probably.

Downstairs on the right, in the room allegedly cursed by the locking door and the sound of rattlesnakes, a white image shimmered briefly in the window. I blinked, and it was gone. Probably one of the ghost hunters.

A voice in the darkness said, “That was Becca Wraith. I saw her, too.”