other side to grab her. Feeling something furry on the back of her leg, she screamed, but then realizing it was only the dog, she frowned at the grinning animal.
“Stop that or you’ll make me pee my pants!”
As she threw open the doors, Buster rushed in ahead of her, and Beth pointed the flashlight down the stairwell of the cellar, which smelled like hundred-year-old onions, despite the fact that none had been kept there for years.
Wrinkling her nose in disgust, she took her first faltering step. “I can do this! I can do this!” Think of that woman from Tomb Raider, who ventured into scary places and kicked everyone’s butt. The wooden step creaked, and she halted in midstep, her heart pounding loudly in her ears. She was tempted to flee—so much for Tomb Raider—but knew she couldn’t. Her aunts were counting on her to get that loan.
Where would Ivy and Iris live if she lost their house? Where would she?
Directing the narrow beam of light into the darkened room, she scanned the area, hoping she wouldn’t discover a nest of spiders, or worse, rats hovering on the hand-hewn beams overhead. If there was one thing she hated worse than spiders, it was rats—big black ugly rats with skinny pink tails and gnawing sharp teeth.
Suddenly something scurried across her foot and she jumped back, nearly losing her balance. The flashlight flew out of her hand and dropped to the earthen floor with a thud. “Oh hell!” In its beam she saw the small, hideous face of a rodent, its whiskers twitching and tiny feet pawing at the metal stick. “Shoo!” She clapped her hands loudly to scare it off, hoping upon hope that it was the only one she would find.
The hell with Lara Croft; Beth was no Indiana Jones!
The inn’s cellar had a rather nefarious reputation. It was rumored that a man named Lyle McMurtry had been murdered in it over fifty years ago. To make matters worse, the alleged victim had once been engaged to Beth’s great-aunt Iris, which made the eccentric old woman and her sister suspect to the residents of Mediocrity. Everyone in town knew that Iris and Ivy were inseparable; where one went, the other followed.
Did that include murdering former fiancés?
A chill went through Beth, but she shook off the ridiculous notion that her aunts might be murderers and that McMurtry’s ghost might be lurking about. Picking up the flashlight, she continued her surveillance.
Row upon row of her aunts’ preserves, pickles and canned goods lined the rickety old shelves that were nailed to the walls of the room. A vintage 1950s rusted lawn mower and other assorted gardening utensils hugged one corner, and crates and boxes of every size and shape imaginable were stacked six feet high, making Beth aware of the fire hazard they presented.
The ancient dwelling, though up to fire code, would go up like a tinderbox if those cartons ignited. She made a mental note to discard them as soon as she could make the arrangements.
Grabbing a jar of damson plum jam off the shelf, she dusted it on the leg of her jeans, calling out to the dog, but he refused to come. “Buster, Buster, where are you?” She didn’t intend to spend one more minute than necessary in the bowels of the Ordinary. “Let’s go, boy. I’ve got a treat for you.” But still the dog refused to heed the command.
Cursing softly beneath her breath, Beth moved cautiously toward the other end of the cellar, directing the shaft of light to reveal an old wooden work-table. There, resting on top was a small metal camp shovel. She searched her memory, finally remembering where she had seen the tool before. It had been the day her aunts had been arrested for shoplifting from Herb Meyer’s Hardware Store.
On a whim Aunt Ivy had secreted the shovel beneath her coat to see if she could get away with stealing it. She hadn’t. And it had taken all of Beth’s persuasive powers and a promise to buy all of her gardening implements from Meyer’s Hardware, even though they were twice as expensive as Builder’s World, before the man agreed to drop the charges.
Guiding the beam of light to her right, she discovered Buster frantically clawing the earthen floor. “Stop that, you naughty dog!” Concerned the inquisitive pooch might accidentally expose and damage some old water pipes—a repair she could hardly afford—she moved closer to investigate.
“What’re you doing, Buster? I told you we have to leave. Now!” Flashing the light on the dog’s find, she gasped when she saw what looked to be a large, dirt-encrusted bone and stared in openmouthed horror as Buster’s digging produced more skeletal remains. She inched closer, unable to take her eyes off the ghastly discovery.
“We don’t think you should show Mr. Pickens the cellar, dear. It’s so cold and musty down there. We think it would be best if you just ignored it completely.”
Her aunts’ emphatic insistence that Beth avoid the cellar came flooding back and she started to get a really bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. It might have been the four scones slathered with strawberry jam that she’d eaten that morning, but she didn’t think so. She clasped her churning stomach, feeling as if she was going to throw up or faint—she couldn’t decide which—and inhaled deeply.
Why had her aunts advised her to avoid the cellar?
It was pitch-black. The flashlight, waving up and down because her hand shook so badly, didn’t shed much light or meaning as to what exactly she was looking at. Or maybe it was the fact that she didn’t want to believe what she was looking at. She grasped it tightly with both hands to steady it, and herself.
What were those bones doing in her cellar? And who had put them there?
Her aunts were the only ones who ever ventured into the bowels of the Two Sisters Ordinary on a regular basis. They were fond of canning applesauce, putting up jams and jellies, and they stored the canned goods in the cellar, where the temperature was cooler.
“Iris is trying to raise the dead.”
“Lyle McMurtry.” Beth whispered the name, then shook her head. The possibility was just too ridiculous to consider.
Or was it?
CHAPTER TWO
BETH CONTINUED to gape at the bones, and what she was thinking was…well, unthinkable.
Iris and Ivy had been acting stranger than usual of late, if that was possible. The old ladies had a reputation for eccentric behavior, and for being a bit off their rockers. She couldn’t deny that they were both somewhat addled.
Shivers of foreboding tripped down her spine as she tried to decide what to do about the bones. After a few moments, Beth came to a decision: They had to be reburied. If anyone else found them, it would reflect very badly on her aunts.
But what if they’re guilty?
What if Iris had done away with Lyle McMurtry and then had enlisted the aid of her sister to bury the poor guy in the cellar, as everyone suspected? As hideous as that thought was, it had to be considered.
If she reburied the bones, she’d be an accessory after the fact. Hiding evidence was a crime, not to mention immoral. But what other choice did she have? The old ladies were already suspects. Sheriff Murdock had made no secret that he thought they were responsible for McMurtry’s disappearance. And she was responsible for them. They’d always been there for her; she couldn’t abandon them now.
Picking up the
