The Ghost and Mrs. Mewer (A Paws and Claws Mystery Book 2) (21 page)

Lillian was as sweet as could be. “Now don’t fuss about me. I just took a little spill is all. I seem to be doing that a lot lately.”

I cast a dirty look at Aunt Birdie, who turned away.

When everyone had calmed down, Mr. Luciano asked Eva if she’d had a chance to analyze the EVPs from the hotel.

One cameraman turned in her direction, and the other focused on Brian, who scooted to the edge of his seat.

I hoped he wasn’t gearing up for another outburst like the one yesterday.

Eva cleared her throat. “While almost anything can be achieved these days through technology, I’m unable to find any evidence of tampering with the recording. EVPs can be a little bit tricky, because the sounds are so full of static that they’re often unrecognizable as words until the words are imputed and the power of suggestion comes into play.”

Eva paused for a moment. “You will be happy to know that in my years of listening to EVPs, these are the most remarkable ones I have ever heard. There is no doubt that a child’s voice is saying,
‘I’m gonna get you
.
’
”

A cheer went up among the ghost hunters. Mr. Luciano applauded and grinned.

When the noise subsided, Eva continued. “Unless the recorder picked up a child’s voice from another location”—she lifted her forefinger as though suggesting caution—“which is possible, what with baby monitors and the like, I cannot explain away this particular EVP.”

The guys high-fived and the dogs danced among their feet, joining in the excitement.

They settled down to discuss their plan to return to the hotel that night to see if they could catch more EVPs or even contact the child.

“Birdie,” said Mr. Luciano, “are you aware of any children who died at the Wagtail Springs Hotel? Mark’s research hasn’t turned up anything involving children.”

Birdie sat up straight, clearly proud to be considered an authority. “I don’t know of any child ghosts at the hotel, but I’ll go through some of my books to see if I can find any mention of children dying there.”

“And finally,” said Mr. Luciano, “we thank you, Birdie, for a fascinating night at your home. Our ghost hunters caught images of your flying books on tape. Perhaps the most startling moments were when Birdie channeled her deceased relatives and told us what they had to say. It’s not every day that we meet a psychic medium.”

Birdie blushed. “Now, now. I’m not anything special. The ghosts just live in my house, and I talk with them.”

“Eva, what’s your take on the haunting of Birdie’s house?” asked Mr. Luciano.

“With all due respect to Birdie, of course, I cannot enter her mind to hear and see what she perceives as a ghost.”

“That’s right,” said Birdie. “
You
can’t see or hear them.”

Eva smiled. “There are several theories that may apply. Automatism certainly comes to mind. It’s an altered state of mind, not unlike sleepwalking. People enter a spontaneous fugue in which they can spirit write or speak to spirits. Most likely, however, the thoughts and drawings actually stem from their own memories and thoughts.”

Birdie snorted. “They do
not
!”

“Another popular theory, which has been scientifically verified, is the presence of low frequency vibrations. The human ear only captures certain sounds but there are other sounds around us, caused by weather, movement, all sorts of things. Not everyone is affected but some people, like Birdie perhaps, are more in tune with them and they tend to hear or see things that are actually caused by the low frequency vibrations.”

“Maybe ghosts are the source of these low frequency vibrations!” Birdie was miffed.

“And lastly, I have to say that I saw some definite apophenia.”

“I do
not
have apophenia!” declared Birdie. “What is that?”

“It’s when we attribute significance to insignificant or unrelated things. Like last night when the book fell off the table, for instance. You said Elmer must have thrown it. Then the wind blew and the curtain billowed. You claimed Elmer was walking around the room and had made the curtain move. Later on, you tripped in the dark and claimed Elmer was at fault. The truth of course, is that there was simply no connection between any of those events. The book sliding off the table, I’ll grant you was odd, but I am confident there is a slope or some underlying low frequency vibration that caused it to fall. The curtain blew because of the wind, not because of Elmer. And you tripped because it was dark and the floors in your lovely old house are uneven.”

“Why, never in my entire life have I heard such a load of hogwash! The only true thing you said was that you can’t see or hear what I see and hear. So there!”

“Miss Dupuy, do you have gas in your house?” asked Eva.

“Yes, of course. I only cook with gas. I don’t know how anyone can stand electric stoves.”

“You might want to have your house checked for low levels of carbon monoxide. It’s been known to induce hallucinations.”

“Were you raised up in a barn, child? No one has ever insulted me like that, except, of course, for my only livin’ relative, Holly Miller.”

Me? What did I do now?

Thankfully, Mr. Luciano wrapped things up. When he finished, Felix raised the shoe that had seen better days before Casper gnawed on it. Holding it in the air, he asked, “Uh, who does this belong to?”

Most of the guys glanced at him, but no one claimed the shoe. “Huh.” Felix lowered his arm and examined the moccasin. Casper tried to take it from him. “I’ll make you a deal. If no one comes looking for the shoe by tomorrow, you can have it. Okay?”

Casper didn’t seem pleased by the bargain, but what choice did he have?

“Uh, Felix, if you and Casper don’t mind, maybe I should stash that in the lost and found box at the reception desk.”

“Oh, sure!” Felix handed the moccasin to me.

Casper’s sad expression reminded me that I had to find a replacement for the toy dinosaur that Gingersnap and Trixie had de-stuffed. I retrieved my wallet and a leash and paused on my way out to place the shoe in our lost and found box and let Oma know where I was going.

Trixie and I took the walkway through the grassy green center of the pedestrian area. Little pumpkins still lined the meandering path. Toward the middle, we cut over to the stores on the right. But before we hit the sidewalk, I caught a glimpse of Parker Colby up to no good.

There wasn’t a place to hide and spy on him. I pretended to walk in the opposite direction, but quickly paused to admire a store window display. Why hadn’t Dave gotten rid of this creep yet? I knew he was busy with the murder investigation, but there were laws against stalking. It was time Dave took some action.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Clementine and her children leave a store. Parker ambled along behind them. Once again, Eva’s words echoed in my head.
Two can play this game.

I hurried toward him. “Parker! Parker, hi!”

He kept going.

I tried again. “Par . . . ker!”

By now everyone was looking at me. Everyone except Parker. I could see the tension in his shoulders. He finally turned toward me. I rushed up to him and started babbling to give Clementine time to get away.

“Hi! I thought you didn’t hear me. Isn’t it a glorious day? How is your search for office space coming?”

Parker stared at me blankly. Aha! Caught him.

He recovered, though. “Very well, thanks.” He pointed in Clementine’s direction. “I’m just on my way to an appointment.”

“We’ll walk with you.” I grinned at him and hoped he would think I was flirting. “Where are you headed?”

But before he could answer, I heard a sweet little voice shout, “Trixie!”

Clementine’s daughter, Emily, ran toward us. Trixie tugged at her leash, wagging her tail.

Emily dropped her stuffed dog and wrapped her little arms around Trixie, who licked Emily’s face.

It would have been a heartwarming scene if big mama bear Clementine weren’t standing a few yards away shooting daggers at me with her eyes.

“Emily! Come this instant. Emily!” shouted Clementine.

I bent over to Emily. “Honey, I think your mom wants you. Maybe you can play with Trixie later on.”

“Emily, right now.” Clementine’s voice held a no-nonsense note that even I recognized.

Emily stood up. “Bye-bye, Trixie.” She ran back to her mother, who hustled her children around the corner and out of sight.

All I had to do was engage Parker for a few more minutes. “Have you rented a place, then?” I picked up Lassie, the stuffed dog Emily had forgotten in her haste.

“Not yet. Excuse me, but I have to hurry.”

I stepped in front of him. “Nonsense. You’re in Wagtail. Life moves at a different pace in the mountains. Don’t you think that’s one of the nicest things about it? I moved here from Washington, D.C. Everyone was always in such a rush. It’s nice to be laid-back, you know?”

“Still, I shouldn’t be late . . .”

“Of course not. Don’t let me keep you. Was it this way you were going?” I strolled on, straining to think of things to keep asking him to slow him down. “So have you signed a lease? What’s the name of your magazine?”

“I really have to go. Excuse me.” Parker bounded off and turned in the direction Clementine had gone.

Trixie and I dashed after him. We slowed at the corner and I peered around it. Parker stood in the middle of the street, his hands on his hips.

They’d lost him. Yay! Feeling pretty darned good about myself, I gazed around at the stores.

The dark storefront of Putting on the Dog looked like a gaping hole among the cheerful show windows. I was surprised no one had grabbed it. Puppy Love was a much smaller store, but I popped in, hoping they might have a dinosaur toy. They didn’t, but the lovely clerk sent me to Pounce & Fetch.

The second we walked in the door, Trixie went into wagging overdrive. She wriggled from her nose to her tail.

I asked if they had a Halloween black cat toy for dogs, but they didn’t. Trixie wasn’t too upset about it, though. She snuffled her way through an aisle of amazing cat toys. I made a mental note to bring Twinkletoes with me one day. She would love the remote control mice, catnip toys, and incredible cat trees to climb. I picked up a crinkle tunnel for her.

Trixie led me to the selection of balls—from tiny ones no bigger than a golf ball all the way to special soccer balls made with creases so dogs could pick them up. Trixie kept going, though. In the stuffed animal aisle, she zeroed in on a squeaking fuzzy yellow duck. It was a little too big for her, but I didn’t care. She loved it and carried it around the store as I searched for a dinosaur. And there it was—a green stegosaurus with triangular purple spikes on its back. Just like the one Trixie and Gingersnap had destroyed.

I took my items to the register and paid for them.

Pointing at Emily’s stuffed dog, the clerk asked, “Shall I add the other doggy to the bag too, so you don’t have so much to juggle?”

“Great idea. Thanks.” Armed with our bag of goodies, Trixie and I left the store and bumped into a very weary-looking Dave. His haggard appearance softened my resolve to let him have it about Parker Colby.

“How about I buy you a cup of coffee?” I asked.

His face brightened briefly. “You have information for me?”

“Come on.” I bought two pumpkin spice lattes, a big box of Frankenstein brownies with green faces, big white eyes, teeth, and screws in their necks, and a bat cookie for Trixie.

Dave led the way to a bench on the path in the green. He popped off the top of his coffee and swigged half of it.

“Don’t you ever stop to eat and drink?”

“Maybe you haven’t heard. There was a murder in town.”

I ignored his sarcasm. “Does that mean it’s officially a murder now?” My pulse quickened, and not from the coffee.

He grunted unhappily. “Murder, no. Drowning, yes. Doc was dead on. The official autopsy report is back. Cause of death was drowning. She had a bruise on the back of her head and another on her back. Not inconsistent with a fall. No sign of strangulation. No scratch marks. Nothing of interest under the nails.”

“You’re not buying it.”

“Are you?”

“I want to. The ghost hunters are all so nice. I really want to think that they’re innocent.” I sighed. “Did you know that Mark and Eva were engaged and Mallory came between them?”

Dave sat back against the bench. “Yeah. Sure gives both of them motive, doesn’t it?” He bit into his brownie.

I felt like a traitor. “Mark seems nice. I’m still not sure why he didn’t report Mallory missing.”

“He was at the inn with Eva until early in the morning.”

“Then he could have killed Mallory on his way home! I can’t quite figure out why Mallory was staying with Mark if they weren’t a couple.”

Trixie cocked her head at me as though she was wondering if she would ever get a bite of her cookie. I broke off a piece for her.

“You still seeing that guy Ben?”

That was a major change of topic. “No. We broke up. We’re done.”

“I have it on good authority that he’s staying with you.”

“Well, yeah, but he’s in the guest room . . . Oh, I get it. Mark told you she was staying there but they weren’t involved?”

“Apparently it was her habit to arrive unannounced. This time he agreed to let her stay because she had signed on to play the role of Becca Wraith in the ghost walk. He called around to find another place for her to bunk, but all the rooms were booked for Howloween.”

“But that doesn’t make sense. I’m not sure I believe him. Mallory was dreaming of their wedding. She wanted to be married right away. A girl doesn’t usually do that unless there’s some flame to the fire.”

“Maybe
dreaming
is the right word. Sometimes one person is more involved than the other. People have been known to be delusional and not give up on someone whom they loved.”

I’d forgotten about his rotten experience with his last girlfriend. “Did you give up?”

“This isn’t about me. Focus, Holly. Anything else?”

“How about Parker Colby?”

Dave drew back and looked at me. “What does he have to do with Mallory?”

“You tell me. Didn’t Oma complain to you about him stalking Clementine?”

“Oh, that. Yeah. I’ll have another talk with him.”

“How can you be so calm about it?”

“He checked out okay. Clementine hasn’t said a word to me about him. Are you sure she’s upset?”

“She’s running from him, Dave!”

“Okay, okay.”

The sound of rustling leaves drew our attention. It was Trixie, digging in them frantically. She turned over a piece of broken pumpkin and continued to dig.

“What is that?” asked Dave.

“Just pumpkin. When I came through here the other night one had broken. I guess that’s a leftover piece.”

“I hate it when kids do that. They come to Wagtail for Howloween because it’s fun and all decked out but then they go and vandalize the things that make it special. Hey, she found something else.”

Dave rose and picked up a small item.

Trixie didn’t take her eyes off it when he brushed off the leaves and dirt.

“A penknife. Pretty nice one, too.”

I watched him turn it over. “Aren’t you going to fingerprint it?”

A red flush crept up his neck to his ears. “Aw, Holly. You’ve been in the city too long. Some guy probably sat at this bench, and it fell out of his pocket. Besides, Mallory wasn’t stabbed.”

“Well sure,” I said sarcastically, “because her killer dropped his knife.”

Dave dutifully pulled a plastic bag out of his pocket and slipped the red knife inside. “You do realize that almost every male resident of Wagtail owns one of these? This isn’t going to be a clue.” He held the bag between his hands and stared at the knife. “I wish it was. I could use some help with this case.”

He sat down beside me again.

“So you’ll talk to Parker? Can’t you just run him out of town or something?” I knew what he was thinking – that he had a bigger problem on his hands with Mallory’s death. “How can you be so sure that Parker didn’t kill Mallory?”

Dave picked up his brownie with a napkin and ate the rest of it instead of answering me. “We don’t live in the wild West, Holly. I’m on top of it. You’re as pushy as your grandmother.”

“Thank you.”

He suppressed a grin. “There has to be something I’m overlooking.”

Trixie’s lips brushed my fingers when she tried to nibble the cookie that I held in my hand.

I broke off another piece for her. “We know that Brian and Eva were outside of the inn that night.”

“It always comes back to the same people, doesn’t it? Brian and Eva, Felix and Zelda, and Mark.”

“You can’t be serious about Zelda?”

Dave took a deep breath. “Just doing my job, Holly. Please. I’m getting enough flak from Rose and Doc and their crowd. They’re fighting me tooth and nail on this. Don’t you start on me, too.” He stood up. “Thanks for the snack. If you learn anything else, let me know.” He turned to leave.

“Hey, Dave?”

He paused and looked back at me.

“Do you know where Mark lives?”

He grinned at me, and I suspected I was in his good graces again. “Over on Elm, on the west side of town. It’s a white Cape Cod with the brightest blue door you ever saw. You can’t miss it.” Dave left, ambling along the path lined with pumpkins.

I wanted to believe Doc. There was only one problem—I didn’t. From the beginning, I had thought someone had a hand in Mallory’s death.

I watched Trixie dig in the leaves, tossing them every which way. Mallory’s death was driving a wedge between generations in this town. The older folks sided with Doc and his belief that Mallory’s death had been an accident, while the younger crowd suspected foul play.

I stretched and stood up. Well, no one could be upset with me for walking Trixie, could they?

We struck out for Hair of the Dog. At the tables in front of the bar, I checked my watch. At a leisurely pace, we walked the six blocks to the pedestrian zone, crossed it in the most logical location and walked the couple of blocks to Zelda’s house.

The ancient home suited Zelda. A short stacked stone fence surround the property. Carved pumpkins sat atop it, flanking the walkway to the house. Ivy climbed the walls. Stone covered the first story, and dark, weathered wood clad the upstairs. Diamond pane glass accented the dormer windows. Out front a sign announced her pet psychic business. A black cat sat on the front stoop, eyeing us warily.

Zelda had capitalized on the natural gingerbread appearance of her home by placing a black kettle near the front door, along with witches’ brooms and old black boots. A collection of witches’ hats hung on a coatrack. Spiderwebs draped the doorway, and skulls lay about helter-skelter.

I checked my watch. Twenty minutes. On to Mark’s place. Elm Street was only two blocks down. It was a typical Wagtail street with lots of trees, tidy yards, and an odd combination of house styles, reflecting the years they had been built. Three blocks later, the bright blue front door of a Cape Cod indicated that we had arrived. I checked my watch again. A mere twelve minutes from Zelda’s house.

Trixie and I headed back to the inn. Another fifteen minutes. By my calculations, Felix would have been back at the inn just before three in the morning. And that didn’t even count the amount of time Mallory would have needed to change into the Becca Wraith costume. Of course, it was largely useless information, because no one had noted the exact time of Felix’s return to the inn. Still, had he drowned Mallory, he would have returned much later and might have been seen by Eva or Brian, both of whom would have surely mentioned something by now.