“This isn’t so much about solving the crime as chronicling the mystery and suggesting possible scenarios.” He tilted his head as he studied her. “It should be good publicity for the B and B,” he said by way of enticement.
But he’d been talking about doing a book on Little Mary for several years. Did he really have to come and talk to her right now? The day after she’d slept with a total stranger? Make her worry that he might have heard the news? Make her wonder if he found what she’d done as pathetic as she did?
Mr. Taylor had returned earlier. Eve had watched him come in. But he didn’t look at her or acknowledge her. He’d walked right past her and marched up the stairs. Then he’d gone out again shortly after—without his bags. Since checkout was at noon and it was after two, she could only assume that he planned on staying another night.
She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that, whether she should do anything to enforce her request that he leave or just pretend, like he seemed to be doing, that last night had never happened. Their encounter was probably so meaningless to him that he didn’t care whether he ran into her every time he passed through the lobby.
“The B and B is doing better these days,” she told Ted. “The tea I’m offering is generating some interest. We’re getting groups of Red Hat Society ladies, and we’ve had an increase in couples ever since we started advertising in bridal magazines.”
“I’m glad to hear it, but advertising is expensive, and this will be free. If this book takes off, you could get a steady stream of visitors, curious to see whether this place really is haunted. That’s how it worked after Unsolved Mysteries aired, didn’t it?”
“For a while.” She supposed she should be grateful to him for taking an interest—on behalf of her and the town. She would have been if she didn’t already have so much on her mind.
“So...shall we get started?” he asked.
She sat back. “Of course. Ask away.”
“Why don’t we go over the basics, just to make sure I’ve got them straight?”
“You should know the basics. The whole town does.”
“I’m aware that Mary Hatfield was six when she was found strangled in the basement in December of 1871. Her birth and death are engraved on her headstone in the cemetery next door. But you lived here when you were little, too. I’m actually hoping you’ll tell me what that was like.”
“We were only here for a few years, until the first round of renovations were completed. Then my parents bought the property where we live today, and we moved out there.”
“I remember when that happened. We were still in grade school. But you didn’t move because of Mary’s ghost....”
“No, my parents wanted a regular family life, where they could be off work sometimes—and we could have some privacy as a family.”
“Are you glad they did that?”
She nodded. “I am. I love this place, and I did even then. But...it would’ve been difficult facing guests constantly with no break. And making sure three little kids were behaving perfectly at all times was too tall an order for any mother.”
“Can you tell me about some of your earliest memories of this place?”
“I remember the musty smell of it more than anything else. And I remember playing with the old stuff in the attic. Dressing up in the clothes I found in various trunks, taking my Barbie dolls up there, that sort of thing. Being in that space made me a bit uneasy, even back then, but it was the perfect size for a child and the only place I wouldn’t be bothered by my brothers. I could play for hours.”
“What about the basement?”
She shivered. “I never played here. But I remember my brothers locking me in once, just to frighten me.”
“That was where Mary’s body was found.”
“Yes. So you can imagine how terrified I was. They called through the door, telling me that her ghost was going to get me, and I was absolutely convinced they were right.”
“How’d you get out?”
“My mother heard me screaming and came to the rescue.”
A faint smile curved his lips. “I bet she was angry.”
“She was.”
“What happened to your brothers?”
“They were put on restriction.” She shook her head at the memory. They’d found her terror so funny.
Ted made a few quick notes. “Okay, so Mary’s parents built this place—and it wasn’t ever renovated until your parents took over. Is that correct?”
“It is.”
“How old was Mary when John and Harriett moved in?”
“She wasn’t born yet. But even after she was, she didn’t have any older brothers to torment her. She was an only child.”
“After her death, rumors circulated—and persisted—that her father might have killed her. Since he also discovered the body, and it was nearly Christmas, I always think of it as the nineteenth-century JonBenét Ramsey case.”
“Was there any evidence to suggest he did the deed?”
“Not really. He was known to have a violent temper and knocked her mother around a bit. He also didn’t seem to grieve much. But not all men show their pain.”
She’d left the doors to the parlor open. She almost always did that, so her staff would feel free to approach her, if necessary. But today it meant that when Brent Taylor came through the front door, returning for the second time, she happened to see him. He saw her, too, and paused as if he had something to say, so she stood up and hurried over.
“You’re late for checkout, but I can take care of that now, if you’re ready.”
His gaze shifted to Ted before coming back to her. “Would you mind if I stayed one more night?”
Couldn’t anything go her way? “A Room with a View has no openings?”
He frowned as if recognizing the disappointment in her voice. “I was just over there. They’re booked.”
Of course they would be—despite their cheesy decorations. Full occupancy seemed to come so easy for them. But they also spent a great deal more on advertising. They always had more to spend.
She wanted to refuse but Ted was looking on, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to come up with a good excuse for turning away business. Ted and the rest of her friends had been privy to her financial difficulties in the past few years. “That’s fine, I guess.”
“Thanks. Do you know a good place for dinner?”
“Just Like Mom’s has delicious home-style food, if you like that sort of thing. It’s down the street.”
He hesitated briefly. Then he took her elbow and pulled her close so he could whisper in her ear. “I could’ve handled this morning at your place a lot better. I’m sorry,” he said, then headed up the stairs to his room.
“What was that all about?” Ted asked.
Eve shut the doors in spite of her usual policy and resumed her seat. “Nothing. He’s just a...a patron.”
“Do all patrons whisper in your ear like that? It looked sort of intimate.”
“It wasn’t.” She considered admitting what she’d done, as she had with her parents, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. These days, Ted