Victor waved his hand in the air. “I doubt it, but if he did I suppose he will confess to me.”
Esther had been sitting over by the table with her crystal ball in front of her. The cats must’ve followed me into the hallway because they were now both sitting in her lap. She was petting and cooing to them.
She eyed her crystal ball and softly said, “Don’t think that you’re the only one who can talk to Jed. You might be surprised at who else has psychic abilities.”
Victor jerked his head in her direction. “I’m not worried about you wannabes. I know I’m the only real psychic and so does everyone else.”
He glanced out the window and I followed his gaze and saw a swirl of pink. Anita Pendragon? I’d have thought the murder would have scared her off. Especially if she was the killer. But apparently the chance of getting a story scoop that could be made into a movie was too enticing.
I also noticed the window was open again, even though Flora and I had been making sure we kept them closed. Did Anita have a cohort inside that left it open so that she could overhear our conversations? For all I knew she was taping everything we said.
“So no one is leaving then?” Myron asked.
They all shook their heads.
Myron glanced at me and I smiled. This was good. Now that Myron knew that the guests weren’t scared off, maybe he’d curtail any thoughts about canceling the loan. I didn’t need to mention the cancellation I’d already gotten. That was probably a fluke.
“The only thing that would get us to leave is if the real ghost was here trying to kill off another one of us.” Gail frowned down into her mug, apparently reading something she didn’t like in the tea leaves.
Millie had come down the hall and was standing next to me. Mom was right behind her. “Good thing that so far he doesn’t seem interested in killing anyone.”
Another candlestick fell off the mantle and we all looked at it suspiciously. Even the cats seemed distrustful of the fallen object.
Gail picked it up and put it back. “Weird.”
I could practically see thoughts of hauntings whirling in Myron’s head. Luckily there had been no other signs of a ghost—like eerie moans or lights flickering. At least I had that on my side.
Victor stared at the candlestick. “Say, is anything in here an item that belonged to Jed? I can speak to the departed more easily if I am holding one of their objects, you know. Preferably something he favored.”
I looked around the room. Most of the belongings had come with the sale. I glanced at Millie.
“Not anything in here. These things belonged to my family,” she said.
Victor looked disappointed. Myron was staring at him with a mixture of dread and suspicion.
“So, Myron. You’re probably in a hurry, I know how busy you are. I’ll walk with you to the west wing to get your notebook and pen. You can see how nicely Ed is progressing with the work.” I quickly ushered him down the hall. The less time Myron spent in the guesthouse the better as you never knew when the next weird thing was going to happen.
Myron’s notepad and pen were right where he’d left them in the ballroom. Ed didn’t appear to be keen on seeing Myron again, muttering something about Myron leaving them on purpose so he could have an excuse to come back and see me. I hoped he wasn’t going to start leaving things around just so he could stop by. He’d been here enough in the past week already.
I tried to ignore Ed’s mutterings as I shoved the pen and notepad into Myron’s hand and then rushed him out the front door before anyone could say anything that might make him even more nervous about the financial situation at the guesthouse. I wanted him to leave on a high note thinking things weren’t so bad. If the current guests weren’t considering defecting from the guesthouse and staying at the Smugglers Cove Inn down the road, then it wouldn’t harm future guests and therefore my loan.
When I returned to the kitchen Millie and Mom were getting ready to leave.
“We gotta run, Josie. It’s bingo night tonight. I think you can handle the clean-up.” Mom gestured to the countertop now littered with food scraps, dirty bowls and utensils. “The frittata is in the oven, don’t forget to cover it when you reheat it tomorrow otherwise it will be too dry.”
“Yep, no problem.” I wondered if I could get Flora to do the dishes. Probably not. I’d heard her vacuuming upstairs earlier and I was sure she’d claim to be exhausted.
I set to work cleaning up, periodically checking the dish in the oven. I’d had a little bit of a problem with burning baked goods a few weeks ago and was extra cautious with cooking time as a result.
The clean-up gave me time to think. If these incidents were not due to a ghost—and I was sure they weren’t because there was no such thing as ghosts—then
