Havoc at Wildwood Manor: Firefly Junction Cozy Mystery, #7

By London Lovett

What starts out as a long weekend off for Sunni Taylor quickly devolves into something more sinister. When Lana needs help with a family reunion at Wildwood Manor, Sunni lends a hand. Before the event gets underway, Camille Luxley, an unexpected guest, shows up to throw a wrench into Florence Davenport's precisely planned weekend. A glamorous celebrity, a second wife and a busy body mother-in-law prove to be the ingredients for disaster.

When Camille is found dead, the scattered clues point in every direction. Sunni finds herself in the midst of a murder mystery, all the while dealing with her own personal turmoil—turmoil that stems from the wild, incredible secret she must keep. She's determined to find the killer without any help from Detective Jackson or the police.

 

Book 7 of the Firefly Junction Cozy Mystery series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wild Fox Press
• Release date: Jan 6, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393168614

Book preview

Chapter 1

Tada! There is nothing more satisfying than pressing send on my weekly story. And it's only Thursday. This one is pretty good . . . I think. Now I've got the rest of the week off," I said as I spun around from my seat at the kitchen table. Edward had been looming and hovering and doing all his usual ghostly stunts just moments before but now he'd vanished. Talking to oneself was one of the embarrassing hazards of having a ghost as a roommate, an especially arrogant one who never felt the need to let me know he was leaving the room. If I had a dollar for every time a family member or friend caught me talking to myself, I could buy myself a trip to Hawaii. It was a wonder that my sisters hadn't considered sending me to therapy with the amount of times they'd happened upon me having an argument or lecturing an empty room or front stoop.

My laptop pinged with a new email. It was from the Logan County Registrar of Vital Statistics. Ah ha, here we go, I said out loud just in case Edward was present but not visible. There was no British drawl in return, so I could only assume (assume being the key word) that he had left the kitchen entirely.

There were so many times I'd wanted to let Lana, Emily, Raine and even Jax know that a dead Englishman, who was one part charming and one big part scoundrel, was haunting the Cider Ridge Inn, but I kept my secret to myself. I was determined to find out why Edward Beckett was stuck between worlds. While I was no expert on the spirit world (unlike my best friend Raine who considered herself an expert but somehow managed to miss the existence of my very real spirit) I was certain that once I uncovered the reason for Edward's inability to move on, he would find his door or opening or special invite and leave the inn for good. At first, I'd been convinced that it was heartbreak that kept him behind. I thought he was pining for Bonnie Ross, the woman whose husband built the inn. Edward had gotten himself killed because of her, but he insisted it wasn't a broken heart. When he suddenly remembered that she'd told him she was with child before he slipped away into death, I knew we'd stumbled onto something big. My theory was that Edward was stuck in this world until he discovered what happened to his line of descendants. Bonnie had given birth to Edward's son, James Henry Milton, in 1817, just months after Edward's death. My research had gone as far as Mary Virginia Milton, Edward's granddaughter born in 1842, in Ohio. Now I hoped to learn more. I glanced back toward the hearth, Edward's favorite lounging spot, but still no sign of him.

I shrugged and turned back to the computer. Sometimes it was easier to do the research without him leaning over my shoulder like a nosy bird. I lowered my hand to the laptop and tapped open the email.

---

Dear Miss Taylor,

We received your request regarding Mary Virginia Milton born March of 1842 in our county. Attached is the only document I could find in our records. I hope this helps your research.

Regards,

Emerett Hopkins, Registrar Manager

---

I clicked open the attachment. A grainy photo popped open on screen. It was a marriage certificate dated June 7, 1865. Clement R. Jones married Mary Virginia Milton in Logan County, Ohio. I sat back. Woo hoo, another branch of the Beckett family tree, I cheered and shut the laptop.

I surveyed the kitchen. Are you around? Got another piece of information for you. There was no answer. There was also, I suddenly realized, no dogs. Newman and Redford normally hung out in the kitchen while I worked. Something told me, if I found the dogs, I'd find the ghost.

I strolled down the hallway and heard the click clack of paws on the front stoop. My plan to head out the front door was interrupted by Ursula's yell.

I told ya to measure that space, you dumbbell. Now we've got the wrong sink, Ursula complained. The words wrong sink made me wince. It would be just another headache in a long parade of headaches during my massive restoration of the Cider Ridge Inn. My contractors, Ursula and Henry Rice, had decided to tackle the downstairs powder room off the library. It seemed like a simple and nice project for the hot summer months. Only, because of some plumbing issues and fixtures needing to be relocated, it had turned out to be a much larger project than expected. (That seemed to happen a lot in my money pit inn.)

I nearly decided to ignore Ursula's loud whining but then that would mean having to hear it later. It wasn't as if I could ignore the problems. I reached the powder room. Henry practically filled the space all on his own, but his thin, tiny and very bossy sister managed to sidle past him to scowl down at the open space where the sink was supposed to fit. The white porcelain pedestal sink, shiny and new and waiting for its forever home, was sitting in the center of the small room.

What's happening? I asked with a cringe.

Ursula spun around, small hands on non-existent hips, and shook her head. This moron thought he measured the space, but if he did he must have been using metric or some other form of measurement because the sink is too big.

Henry peered at me over his shoulder. I sometimes marveled at the amount of scolding and lectures he took from his sister. He rarely fought back. He was pretty good at letting it bounce off him, but this morning he looked contrite and a little helpless. I needed to step in and save him.

It's not a big deal, I said. I've got the receipt. I'm sure we can return this one and get one that fits better.

I tore away from the scene before Ursula could complain about the inconvenience of it all. I'd done my best to come to Henry's defense. Now it was up to him. I occasionally wondered if Henry sometimes messed up on purpose because he liked to rankle Ursula. They were siblings, after all. But then, who would want to subject themselves to one of Ursula's rants for the fun of it?

A thud hit the outside wall. I quickly determined the source to be a tennis ball. Unless Newman had figured out how to throw the ball hard enough to ricochet it off the house, I'd apparently found my ghost.

I pushed open the screen and shut the front door so I could talk to Edward without Henry and Ursula hearing. Edward, who was easily annoyed and especially when my contractors were working, had teased Ursula several times, once enough to scare her from the house for a few weeks. Like so many people who knew the history of the Cider Ridge Inn, I knew she was convinced the place was haunted. But Ursula had decided to power through her fear and continue work at the inn. I was relieved because as irritating as the two siblings could be, they did great work at a reasonable price.

Edward threw the ball. For an incorporeal being, he had a great arm. The yellow fuzzy ball flew over the front yard and bounced off a tree. I could hear it hit Newman's teeth as the dog flew up and caught it on the return.

So this is where you were hiding out. I stood next to him under the shade of the portico.

I'm hardly hiding, he said. I'm standing right here, in the wide open, at the door to my cage, he said glumly. The front stoop of the inn was the final edge of Edward's small world. He was unable to leave the stoop and, for that matter, the inn. Look at all that glorious sunshine. And the grass, those tender shoots swaying in the breeze like dancers.

I gazed out at the scenery. A wet spring had given way to a lush green summer. The fields and hills surrounding the inn looked like an endless shamrock green carpet. The sunlight glanced off the white trunks of the birch trees, and pillowy mounds of pink and purple rhododendrons dotted the landscape.

If I were alive, Edward said without pulling his gaze from the scenery. I would be trotting down that road on my horse, breathing in every scent nature had to offer. The sun on my shoulders and back— His face dropped. How I miss the feel of the sun.

His melancholy tone tugged at my chest. I always felt helpless when he was in this kind of mood. There was absolutely nothing I could do to help him. I could never help him feel the sun or smell the grass. But I might be able to help him find eternal peace.

I came out here to let you know that I received some information on your granddaughter, Mary Virginia.

Edward's reaction was slow and muted. He was still lost in his dreams of the mortal life he left behind. My granddaughter, he said wistfully. The little girl I never got to hold.

All right, Edward Beckett, this pity party is starting to drag me down, and I'm just about to start a long weekend of relaxation.

He scoffed, something he had down to an art. "I suppose you'll be spending it with that man." He switched off the pensive mood and flicked right on his more commonly seen sardonic mood.

I straightened out the belt on my shorts. Why, yes I am. He has two days off as well, and we're going to spend them together. If that doesn't meet with your approval, too bad.

Right then, my phone rang from somewhere inside the house. I'd opened most of the downstairs windows to let the summer breeze flow through and clear out dust and dog smells.

"I'll bet it's that man, I said with a smirk. Darn it, I'll bet my phone is still in the kitchen."

I rushed inside and the screen door shut on another nugget of Edward's unsolicited advice. In my day, a woman racing to talk to a man would show her to be desperate, he called as I stepped into the entry. His admonition, one I'd heard more than once in high school from my mom, didn't stop my race to the phone. But I did slow my pace to a fast walk.

I slowed my breathing not wanting to sound breathless and as Edward said, desperate. But it was a wasted effort. The call was from Lana.

Hello, I said on an air puff.

Were you running? she asked.

No, just walking quickly.

Ahh, she said in that annoying older sister tone. I can tell by the fast breathing you were expecting Brady.

Fine, yes. You don't actually think I'd race to the phone to answer a call from my sister. I walked to the cabinet to get a glass.

Well, glad to know I'm not a priority. Only today, I really need to be at the top of your list. Lana's tone had turned from mocking to pleading. Raine is sick in bed, and I've got a big event to set up at Wildwood Manor in Smithville.

Smithville? I asked. Why over there? The town of Smithville was one town past Birch Highlands. It was a small town with a lot of older mansions, some of which had been turned into hotels and inns.

I'm in charge of a family reunion. The first group arrives today, including the matriarch of the family. I'm helping them set up for the long weekend. I haven't finished the centerpieces. Are you busy? She added that special older sister pleading tone.

I sighed heavily into the phone to let her know this was a big deal but that I would help. I did have plans with my very spectacular boyfriend, who happened to have the day off too. In fact, I stayed up late last night to finish my work, so I could have the day free. Only now, it seems, it's not free.

She ignored my plight. I'll pay you, of course. Hurry over. I need to finish a few things before we drive over to Wildwood Manor to set up.

I grunted into the phone to let her know I was doing this begrudgingly. I guess it wouldn't hurt for me to see Wildwood Manor. Maybe I can get a few ideas for the Cider Ridge Inn. But you are going to owe me big time on this.

Sure, sure, big time. Now hang up so you can get over here. See you soon.

Chapter 2

Istepped into Lana's house, and a flowery scent drifted to my nose.

Is that you, Sunni? Lana called from the kitchen.

You better hope so since I just walked inside. I reached the kitchen. It might be a little late to find out that a complete stranger just entered your living room.

Lana's long maple wood work table was overflowing with cut flowers, pink hydrangea, white roses, yellow peonies and feathery ferns. Eight silver Mercury glass bowls sat in a straight line down the center of the table. Lana was placing blocks of florist Styrofoam into the bowls. She didn't look up from her task. Start sorting the flowers for each centerpiece. Four hydrangea, three roses, three peonies and six stems of fern. But don't put them into the foam blocks. You're terrible at arranging flowers.

That's nice gratitude for me giving up my day with the fabulous Detective Jackson. I began sorting flowers. But you're right. I'm not great at arranging them, which is why my big sister is going to kindly do all the flowers for the Cider Ridge Inn once it is open for guests.

If that ever happens, she quipped as she pressed the last green block of foam into a shiny bowl.

I placed three rose stems down with a dramatic flourish. If you're going to be ornery, then I can just walk out that—

She shuffled quickly over and gave my cheek a big sister pinch. I'm just teasing you. The inn is coming along nicely. How is the powder room project? She picked up the hydrangeas and began arranging them in the first bowl.

Henry forgot to measure the space, so I bought the wrong size pedestal sink. I continued on to the pile of lime green fern and gently pulled the stems apart.

Between Henry's forgetfulness and eating everything in your fridge and Ursula's constant harping, I'd say you deserve some kind of medal for patience.

I'm not the only one, I said. I'd been so absorbed in my job of pulling apart frail ferns, the words had just fallen from my lips. It wasn't the first time that I'd said something that had to do with my ghost, the entity that no one else knew existed but me, the dogs and the inn.

Lana looked up with bunched brows. Who else? Brady? Is he really there enough to be bothered by them? Never mind. Forget I asked. I've stood in the same room with those two for just a five minute visit, and I left with a tick in my cheek.

I checked my phone in between freeing ferns from the pile. I'd sent Jackson a text to call me but still no word.

The first of eight centerpieces was finished. Lana was a wizard with flower arranging. She lifted it and we both stopped to admire the arrangement before returning to our respective jobs.

Did you say this was for a reunion? These flowers remind me of a summer wedding. I instantly regretted my critique. My sister was a perfectionist. She could drive herself crazy with details. It was one of the reasons her party business was so successful. There was never a bloom out of place or a goodie bag short at her events.

Lana looked stricken as she