The Ghost of Grey Fox Inn (7 page)

“Check it out!” George said with a grin. “Southern barbecue!”

Sure enough, a plate heaping with sweet-smelling pulled pork, blocks of corn bread, and green beans was waiting for me at my place. George dove right in, but I hesitated. There's nothing like waiting for a crime to happen to make me lose my appetite.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

I looked up from my half-eaten peach pie à la mode to see Reggie, a handsome young man with a shaved head and coppery-brown skin, standing at the main table, tapping a spoon against his champagne glass. “Can I have your attention, please?” he was saying. He continued until the chatter around the dining room died down. “Thank you,” he said with a smile. He cleared his throat. “For those of you I haven't met, my name is Reggie Banks, and I'm Parker's best man. I know that I'm supposed to make my big speech at
the reception tomorrow, but for a wedding like this one”—he gestured to the room, filled to the brim with guests—“let's just say that I needed a little rehearsing for that, too.” The audience all chuckled appreciatively.

My eyes flitted over to Bess, who was watching Reggie with obvious interest. She noticed me looking at her and silently mouthed
Wow
, her eyebrows waggling. I chuckled to myself. Leave it to Bess to set her sights on one of the most gorgeous guys in the room.

“Parker and I met when we were barely out of diapers,” Reggie continued. “And we've been making trouble together ever since. Throughout the years, Parker grew to be much more than just the boy next door—he became my best friend.”

There was a chorus of
aww
s around the room.

“Parker always loved to one-up me when it came to kindnesses—whether it was climbing up that tree to get my model airplane, because he knew I was afraid of heights; or helping me get elected class president in high school; or even convincing me
to ask that pretty girl out to senior prom. I never thought I'd be able to get you back, man—but when I introduced you to a girl named Charlotte at the historical society, I knew I had done it.”

A wave of appreciative laughter, and some scattered applause, broke out. Charlotte blushed, and next to her, I saw Piper dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.

“So, on this momentous day, I'd like to raise my glass to you, Parker Hill”—everyone else raised their glasses in unison—“and say this: Buddy, we're even.”

The room thundered with applause as the bridal party emptied their glasses, and Parker stood to pull Reggie into a brotherly embrace. I glanced over at George and spied her sniffling. “Why, Georgia Fayne,” I said with a grin. “Are you crying?”

George looked at me in horror at the use of her real name and quickly rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. “Course not!” she grumbled. “Just got a little pepper in there . . .”

Now that the speech was over, the guests got up to wander around the room and mingle. George and
I made our way through the crowd up to the main table, where Bess and Charlotte were chatting. “It was a lovely dinner,” I told the bride.

“Do you think so?” Charlotte replied.

“Absolutely!” George said. “Especially the barbecue.”

Just then a waiter approached the table with a small box wrapped in yellow paper and tied up with a bow. “Excuse me, miss,” he said to Charlotte. “But this gift was left for you on the table up front.”

Charlotte looked perplexed. “But the guests know to bring gifts to the reception tomorrow, not tonight. Who left it?”

The waiter shrugged and turned away to clear the table. Charlotte sighed. “Well, I suppose I'll just have to bring it back to the inn with me.”

“Oh, why don't you open it now, sis?” Piper said, coming up from behind. “It's just one gift.” Some of the bridesmaids spoke up in agreement.

“Fine, fine,” Charlotte said, throwing her hands up in defeat. She loosed the ribbon from the box and tore through the paper. But when she pried open the flaps
of the box and put her hand inside, I saw all the color drain from her face. “Oh my God,” she cried, dropping the box onto the table as if it held a snake.

I leaped forward and looked into the box myself. My heart hammering, I grabbed a napkin and used it to reach inside and pull out a small hunting knife, its silver blade glinting sharply in the overhead lights. Tied onto the handle with a yellow ribbon was a message written in block letters.

It read:
It should have been me.

“WHAT IS THAT?” A VOICE
rang out, and within seconds Parker had run up to the table and grabbed the knife from my hands. He glanced at the threatening note, and his face twisted in shock and confusion. “This came as a gift? Who would do such a thing?”

“I don't know yet,” I said, keeping my voice calm. The last thing I needed was for this to cause a major scene at the rehearsal dinner. “But Parker, I need you to put the knife down. The fewer people who touch it, the better.” I immediately thought to dust the knife for
fingerprints, but between Charlotte's prints and now Parker's, the chances of getting a clean fingerprint off the weapon were slim.

While George and Bess shuttled Charlotte off to the ladies' room to console her, I took the opportunity to inspect the evidence. The box had been beautifully wrapped; the paper was thick and expensive, and the bow had been tied expertly. The fact that the paper was yellow was also suspect; it seemed all too possible that the culprit was the same person who'd switched the flowers. There was something else, too—a faint aroma coming off the box. It was a pleasant scent, a little citrusy. Maybe the culprit used a cleaning solution to wipe any identifying marks from the knife before placing it in the box?

And what about the message?
It should have been me.
It seemed to suggest envy as a motive for disrupting the wedding—which made Tucker and Alicia prime suspects. Both had reasons to feel angry about Parker and Charlotte's run of good luck. They were both staying at the Grey Fox Inn, too, so they would
have had ample opportunity to commit some of the nighttime terrors that had frightened all the guests last night. I wrinkled my nose in annoyance—I still hadn't figured out exactly how the culprit had been sneaking in and out of locked rooms. Oh well, one problem at a time! I made a note to myself to try and interrogate Tucker and Alicia further whenever I got the chance.

I turned the knife over with the napkin, being careful not to touch it, and sighed. The knife posed more questions than it answered. But one thing was for certain—the person behind all these stunts was far from finished. They were determined to ruin this wedding.

I found George and Bess with Charlotte in the ladies' room, and things didn't look good. Charlotte was leaning against the wall of sinks, and her face was wet with tears, mascara running down her cheeks in long black streaks. George and Bess whirled when the door opened, eyes wide, but they relaxed when they saw it was me.

“Oh, Nancy,” Charlotte moaned, her voice trembling with sobs. “My wedding is doomed! I knew it was all too good to be true—someone like Parker falling for a boring bookworm like me. I was so naive!” She stopped to blow her nose in a tissue. “I knew something would get in the way, I just never thought it would be something like this!”

I moved next to her and laid a hand on her shoulder. “This has nothing to do with you being naive, or not being a good match with your fiancé,” I said. “And none of it is your fault. Someone has some kind of grudge against you or Parker, and this is their way of expressing it. We just need to figure out who it is and stop them before tomorrow night.”

Bess nodded. “Nancy's right, Char. There's no way we're going to let some chump mess up your big day. But . . .” Bess bit her lip, looking uncomfortable. “Do you know anyone who might feel that way? Someone who wishes they were the one getting married instead of you two?”

Charlotte wiped her eyes dry with a paper towel and
sniffed. “There are probably dozens of girls who wish they were marrying Parker instead of me—I mean, he's a local celebrity. But I can't think of anyone in particular. And as far as somebody wishing they were in Parker's shoes . . .” She shrugged. “I have no idea. I'm just a nearsighted history buff who would rather organize my book collection than spend a night out on the town. I don't exactly have a ton of experience with guys fighting over me.”

George crossed her arms and suddenly looked fierce. “Listen here, Charlotte,” she said sternly. “Don't ever sell yourself short like that! Any guy worth his salt would much rather end up with a girl with a brain and some passion than just another pretty face. And I bet that if you asked Parker, he'd say the same thing. I bet he'd say he's lucky to have someone like you.”

Bess was beaming at George, a little teary-eyed herself. “George!” she exclaimed. “That is like . . . the sweetest thing you've ever said.”

Charlotte managed a smile. “Thanks, George,” she said quietly.

Outside the door, the sound of conversations had gotten louder. Something was going on back in the dining room. I turned back to the girls. “Listen, I think you two should just take Charlotte back to the inn—dinner is over anyway, and people will be leaving soon. The last thing Charlotte needs is to have to answer a bunch of questions about what happened. I'll grab the knife and the box and get it out of here before too many people can see it. Okay?”

Everyone agreed—Bess and George led Charlotte out a side door to the car, and I made my way back into the dining room, promising them that I'd explain the situation to Parker and hitch a ride back with someone.

Unfortunately, it was clear from the moment I got back in the room that it was already too late to conceal the knife from the other guests. Mrs. Hill was standing over the open gift box, gesticulating wildly, while Mr. Hill and Parker looked on. “Mother, please,” Parker was saying. “You're making a scene.”

“And why shouldn't I?” Mrs. Hill spluttered. “It's
been one thing after another since this whole thing began. Do you have any idea the kind of bad luck that comes from receiving a knife for a wedding gift?”

Mr. Hill tried to interrupt her tirade. “Now, Bonnie—” he said.

“It represents a broken relationship,” Mrs. Hill went on, steamrolling her husband into silence. “A love that is destined to end.” She punctuated this with a finger whipped across her neck in a slicing motion.

Parker winced. “It's just someone's idea of a stupid joke,” he said. “It doesn't mean anything.”

But it was clear that all these pranks were getting to him, and to the other guests as well. People were shuffling awkwardly to their feet and gathering their things, murmuring apologies before heading toward the door. Stupid joke or not, a dark cloud had settled over this wedding, and it wasn't going away until the person responsible was stopped.

I worked my way through the crowd over to Parker, who was sitting at the bridal table, his head in his hands. I put my hand on his shoulder and he looked
up at me, his eyes glistening. “You're the detective. Tell me, why is this happening?” he asked. “Charlotte and I love each other. Why would anyone want to stop us from being together?”

“I have a few ideas,” I replied, thinking of Tucker and Alicia, “but I still have some investigating to do. For now, though, you can't allow this person to get to you. By the end of tomorrow, you and Charlotte will be married, and there's nothing they can do to keep that from happening.”

I felt someone's presence behind me and turned to find Piper and Morgan standing there, their faces creased with worry. “I just wanted to see if Charlotte was okay,” Piper said, her eyes darting around the room. “I didn't see her leave.”

“She went back to the inn with Bess and George,” I told her. “She's going to be fine, I promise.”