Murder Mansion Read online

  The Painted Lady Inn Mysteries

  Book One

  Murder Mansion

  By

  M. K. Scott

  Published by The Sleeping Dragon Press

  Copyright © 2015 M. K. Scott

  Kindle Edition

  This ebook is licensed for personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, Please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did purchase it, or was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Many thanks for respecting the hard work of this author. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author.

  All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Donna’s Secret Weapon: Macadamia Coconut Chocolate Chip Cookies

  Excerpt from Drop Dead Handsome

  Author Notes

  Chapter One

  A young officer tied yellow crime scene tape to the rusty metal railing leading up to the porch. Donna’s eyes narrowed as she considered the leaning rickety handrail. Definitely would have to go. Not only an eyesore, but also a legal liability if someone should stumble, grab the railing, which could snap off and send the would-be customer hurtling to the hard cement. Not good. Mental note to self, remove the liability suit waiting to happen. Whenever a banister wasn’t present, she made an effort to be more careful. With any luck, others would do so too.

  A few of her new neighbors stood bundled up in coats with their pajama legs and slippers peeking out the bottom. The weather was nippier than usual for Legacy, especially since the small city straddled the border between North and South Carolina.

  The other residents probably hid behind lace curtains watching the scene unfold, unwilling to chance the brisk winter morning air or the possibility of looking rude. Politeness served as a prerequisite in the restored Victorian neighborhood often masking people’s true intentions. It was the reason she had jumped on the foreclosed home. It would be the perfect place for her dream bed and breakfast.

  The front door swung open, drawing attention. A medic backed out of her front door, guiding a gurney. The second medic handled the back end. The series of steps leading away from the door made it difficult for the leading medic, a slender male. A couple of times, he lost his grip, bouncing the front end of the gurney down a few steps while the muscular woman on the back end chastised him.

  “Come on, Barney. Grab the bar and lift. Give the man some dignity.”

  The residents bold enough to venture out in the morning chill leaned toward one another and whispered. She wouldn’t be surprised if someone commented about the neighborhood going south. Not good. Time to establish her reputation and that of The Painted Lady Inn’s, before they both ended up with unsavory ones. Suck it up, Donna. Go do what you need to do. Damage control.

  Her lips lifted in a parody of a smile as she crunched across the frosted lawn. An elderly woman glanced up at her husband and took a step back. Seriously, did she look that bad? Okay, no makeup and her father’s old pea coat paired with a ball cap worked for her initial purpose of cataloging repairs, but was hardly appropriate for making a good first impression. Even still, the woman’s reaction didn’t make sense.

  “Hello. I bet you’re wondering what’s going on.” She held out her hand to the man since the woman’s pinched mouth and panicked eyes didn’t encourage neighborliness.

  He hesitated for a brief second before taking her hand and giving a brief, firm shake. “Stan Whitaker. Yes, I did wonder what was happening. The sirens interrupted our breakfast.”

  Ah yes, a complaint. Somehow, she had ruined their breakfast. Finding a dead man in her newly purchased home put her off her cereal too, especially considering there wasn’t one there yesterday when she did the walk through with the real estate agent. “Um, sorry about that. I came over early to start on the renovations.”

  The man’s bushy eyebrows lifted with the word renovation. Yeah, she knew the type. They didn’t think a woman could do anything besides cook and clean. Forever single, she had termed herself after being left at the altar at twenty-two. Telling people that she wasn’t getting married after her fiancé found someone he liked better was one of the hardest moments in her life. However, it gave her the opportunity to do many things most would consider man’s work, including renovating a neglected Victorian. Ignoring his attitude, she plowed on. “I wanted to get a rough feel for what I need to do first.”

  She nodded her head while considering ripping out walls as opposed to holding up paint chips and looking for mouse droppings. Her brother, Daniel, a construction supervisor, agreed to give his professional opinion and should be arriving any time now.

  A car door slammed. “Hey, Donna!” Her sibling’s voice cut across the chaos ensuing on her front lawn.

  Her hand went up to acknowledge the greeting. She wished Daniel didn’t have to yell everything, probably the natural result of working with power tools. “My brother,” she explained, noticing the frightened woman had no trouble peering around her for a look at her brother. Donna rolled her eyes. Geez, seriously. The octogenarian was checking out her brother in front of her husband. The animated look on the woman’s face demonstrated her brother’s attractiveness. “I’m Donna, if you couldn’t tell.”

  She forced out a little chuckle as if commenting on her brother calling her by name was humorous. It wasn’t. Knowing any chance at meaningful conversation disappeared with Daniel’s appearance, she spoke faster. Not only did the universe bless him with the wicked good looks of a fallen angel with blond hair and dark thick eyelashes all women envied, but also he had charisma. Women, men, children, even dogs loved him. As a sibling, it would be normal for her to hate him, but his constant concern for his older, single sister cancelled out the uncharitable emotion. Well, at least most of the time.

  Her new neighbor stepped forward with an avid expression, earning a dark look from her husband. Ignoring the interplay, Donna spoke Yankee fast. “Anyhow, in the upstairs room, the attic really, thinking about making that into a parlor, great view, found the dead man.”

  A backward glance revealed her brother about two feet away and a man in a sports coat clutching a cell phone to his ear, strolling behind him. Great. Who could that be? Don’t let it be the local news.

  “How do you know he was dead?” The woman managed to tear her eyes away from Daniel’s wide shoulders long enough to ask the question.

  She inhaled deeply. These people don’t know me. Be patient. I need their goodwill. “I’m a nurse. Have been for the last twenty-seven years.”

  The husband and wife looked at each other and smiled. The man met her eyes first. “A nurse would be handy as a neighbor. My Hilda has spells.”

  Oh great, another couple who expected free medical services, a common reaction when she announced her profession. At least it wasn’t as bad as the men who announced they’d like to play doctor. That nonsense ended about the time she turned forty.

  “Glad to help,” she offered, not really meaning it, knowing she’d be saddled with a hypochondriac all
hours of the day and night. Give a little to get what you want were her father’s famous words about getting along with others, but it always seemed like she gave a great deal and got very little in return.

  The scent of tobacco rode the air, causing her to pivot, searching the crowd for the offender. The man behind Daniel let out a puff of smoke as he returned her glance. At least he wasn’t polluting her inn with his vile smoke. Since her window of opportunity would slam shut in about thirty seconds, she blurted, “I was wondering if you knew the man. Why he might be in my house?”

  They shook their heads in unison, although the man replied, “Absentee owner. I heard he resided in another state. No one ever came around the last couple of years except for the real estate agent and the lawn service.”

  Lawn service. A possible lead, but there was little to do in the dead of winter. “Hey,” Daniel called out, turning all attention on him as he usually did. Well, at least she’d had seven years of having her parents’ sole attention before her baby brother showed up.

  “Oh,” she added, rushing her description. “Good-looking man with brown hair, expensive haircut. Preppy clothes, oxford shirt, khakis and windbreaker. Probably in his late thirties.”

  Odd that’s all he had on in the dead of winter. Plenty of people drove from a heated garage to their destination with almost no braving of the elements.

  Hilda looked away from Daniel briefly, her mouth partly open, ready to answer, when Stan did it for her. “Nope. Don’t know anyone like that.”

  Daniel nodded to the couple giving them an easy smile that had them beaming back like recently picked sweepstakes winners. Presenting his hand, he shook both of theirs. Hilda had no trouble shaking his hand. Donna stepped back, realizing her time was done, but she needed her brother, who engaged in chatter about the weather.

  Mr. Smoky eased up next to her. “I heard what you said about the dead man.”

  Her eyes cut to the man beside her. His skin, upon closer examination, appeared weathered and wrinkled, not at all the appearance of a reporter. Too old, too rough, not one of the pretty boys who ended up in front of the camera. His tweed coat sported wide lapels, indicating the man was no slave to fashion, or he was cheap, or possibly both.

  Surreal. Everything had shifted at some point in time to left of normal. It could have happened while she slept. The man puffed away on his cigarette, getting the last drag before he dropped it and ground it underneath his loafer. Good thing they were standing in the neighbor’s yard and not hers.

  She tried for the world-weary voice of a sexy 1940s silver screen siren. “Yeah, what about it?” The scratchy tone of her coffee-less voice grated. Somewhere, between finding a deceased trespasser and calling the police, she’d put down her hazelnut coffee.

  Her eyes remained on Daniel as he effortlessly charmed the older couple. Why couldn’t she do that? It would be a useful skill for running a bed and breakfast, but her practical nature saw small talk as a waste. She had considered making her brother a partner, but his wife Maria quickly put the kibosh on that plan.

  The man spoke, reminding him of her presence by her side. “You have a good eye. You remembered a great deal while only seeing the man briefly before you called the police.”

  Yeah. True, she tended to remember things. Was he complimenting her or accusing her? “When a dead stranger shows up in a newly purchased house, it makes a big impression.”

  “Understandable,” the man agreed, patting down his jacket. Finding a box-like bulge, he pulled out his cigarettes. “Do you mind?”

  “Yes.”

  Her quick answer stopped him in the middle of shaking out a new smoke. He pushed it back in with his index finger, replaced the pack and shrugged his shoulders. “Need to quit. Nasty habit.”

  Her top teeth rested on her bottom lip, keeping her from agreeing as much as she wanted to. She didn’t know who the man was. It would be rude behavior anyhow. As an innkeeper, she’d have to learn to hold her tongue. Critical B and B owners probably earned very few return customers.

  “Name’s Mark Taber, detective.”

  “I’m Donna—” She never got to finish her introduction before the man finished it for her.

  “Tollhouse, the owner, I know.”

  Her top teeth clamped down on her lip again. While she could use some lessons on the art of small talk and social etiquette, Detective Taber could benefit from an extensive four-year course. At one time, she played with the idea of naming the inn The Tollhouse Inn. Daniel discouraged her by pointing out most people didn’t associate the words Tollhouse and cookies together. Besides, customers might believe there was a hidden charge if the word toll appeared in the name.

  The detective reached back into his jacket, despite the significant look she gave him. His fingers withdrew a long narrow tablet instead of the dreaded smokes.

  “Ms. Tollhouse, can you run me through your day?”

  Naturally, he assumed she was single. Was it the man’s coat she wore or the ball cap? Did he think she was playing for the other team? Then it hit her. Oh yeah, Ms. The outdated term identified women whose marital status was uncertain or those who bristled when asked. Hard to say which one applied to her.

  She cleared her throat. “I left my coffee in the house. Could I go get it?” If she was going to recite her morning of feeding her dog, grabbing the paint chips and her short wait at Great Awakenings coffee shop, then she needed something to soothe her throat.

  “No.”

  No, really? It was her coffee. She was the one who had overpaid for the meager paper cup of the sweetened brew she used to jumpstart her day. “Why?”

  He furrowed his forehead, allowing his eyebrows to meet. Sure, he measured a few inches taller than she did, but definitely not a giant. If he thought to intimidate her, the man needed some work. She had the dubious privilege of working with numerous doctors who considered themselves gods, not to mention dozens of truly arrogant patients. Eyebrows in need of grooming did not do it.

  “It’s a crime scene.” He said the words slowly, enunciating them as if she were either deaf or stupid.

  Donna’s nose crinkled in response to his condescending tone. “I know that. I called 911 when I found the dead trespasser.” Someone might have considered her tone abrupt also. Her brother glanced at her, turning away from his enraptured audience and mouthed the words watch it.

  “Trespasser?” The detective pushed his jacket aside and placed his hand on his hip, exposing his holstered weapon.

  Was the move supposed to scare her? To prove he was a big bad cop who carried a gun? Somehow that made him better, smarter than her. Not happening. “That’s what you call somebody who is on your property without permission. The fact he’s dead just makes it more mysterious.”

  “Dead. Yeah, he’s dead all right. Murdered.”

  Hilda gasped and grabbed her husband’s arm at the detective’s overloud words. The tiny woman directed a baleful glance Donna’s way, acting like she had something to do with the dead man. Home values in the neighborhood immediately plummeted with Taber’s pronouncement. Everyone looked at her, including her brother.

  “Hey, I didn’t know he was murdered.” She held up her hands waist high, but dropped them when she realized it looked too much like she was surrendering. “I checked his pulse and called the police. There wasn’t any blood that I could see.”

  “That’s because…” The detective halted his words, noticing everyone’s intent stares. “Never mind. Forget about it.”

  Taber stopped talking, aware he’d given out too many clues. Plenty of serious crime drama watching had her adding them up and unraveling mysteries was the one thing she could do better than her brother. For one, the murderer would know how he or she had killed the man.

  Donna mentally retraced her steps through the house. She had opened the back door, plugged in the small radio she’d brought and tuned it to a top forty countdown. Not a recent one, but a prerecorded rerun of a previous countdown. The local oldies station
played it every Sunday, one of the highlights of her weekend.

  A small handheld recorder kept track of her comments as she moved through the house. Much more efficient than pen and paper. People tended to forget things when writing. Her coffee was in the other hand, the fragrant steam beckoning her, when she heard a sound.

  At the time, the possibility of mice had her regretting she hadn’t borrowed Daniel’s cat, Miss Faversham, although the overweight, spoiled cat would be more likely to hide behind her when confronted with a rodent. She’d crept up the stairs, certain she would see the mother of all rats waiting for her at the top. No rodent was going to take up residence in her house. However, coffee and recorder didn’t provide any suitable instrument to ward off a vicious rodent. At least she had on her pink steel-toed work boots. If she’d needed to, she could kick the dirty creature out the door, but she hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

  A creak of the wooden floor had the hairs on her neck standing, but as an inn owner, she’d have to be bold. Couldn’t have vermin on the premises. An open door greeted her as she reached the landing. She always closed every door, an OCD quirk. Her brother often teased her by leaving doors standing wide open to see if she’d shut them. She always did. For a second, she suspected her brother had sweet-talked the real estate agent into going into the house and leaving a bunch of doors ajar, but that possibility disappeared when she entered the room. The body stretched out on the floor stopped her inner diatribe against the agent and her brother. Possibly a homeless squatter sleeping off a drunk? Plenty of vacant houses served as impromptu shelter of the opportunist. Another reason the bank had allowed such a low closing bid, that and she was the only person to bid on it.

  Most people had looked at the peeling paint and leaning porch and envisioned dollars flying out the windows and up the crumbling chimneys. For one brief moment, her no-nonsense attitude fell away and she saw the realization of a dream. The building restored to its former grandeur with polished wood floors accented with floral oriental rugs. A tasteful mix of modern and antique furniture would create a welcoming atmosphere that would convey both luxury and coziness. Adorned in a fancy apron befitting a television cook, she’d serve a delicious gourmet breakfast to appreciative customers. She’d been perfecting her recipes for years. Usually the lucky recipients were herself and her co-workers, as she occasionally took muffins and pastries to work. Most assumed she picked them up on her way to work, even though she placed them on a crystal platter in the middle of the lounge table.