A Death on the Island

  A DEATH ON THE ISLAND

  SUNRISE ISLAND MYSTERIES: BOOK 2

  Blythe Baker

  Copyright © 2018 Blythe Baker

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Excepting brief review quotes, this book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the express written permission of the copyright holder. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, real events, locations, or organizations is purely coincidental.

  ______________________________

  Sunrise Island: where the days are lazy, the sea breezes are fresh … and the body count keeps rising.

  It’s only been a short while since Piper Lane took over a quaint little bed and breakfast on beautiful Sunrise Island. But the peace and relaxation she had hoped to find in island life seems doomed to be continually disrupted by the murderous activities of her neighbors. First there was the body found on the private beach attached to her B&B a few weeks ago. Piper and her grouchy, less-than-silent business partner, Page, have barely had time to catch their breaths after solving the crime and capturing the killer, when a new disaster breaks.

  That disaster’s name is Mrs. Harris. When the kooky old lady living in the attic of the B&B begins to run amok, rumor spreads that she’s responsible for a decades old murder right here on the island. But before Piper can ferret out the truth about Mrs. Harris or wonder how many B&B guests will be driven away by the frightening story, a fresh mystery arrives in the form of a mysterious blue envelope.

  This coveted invitation to a fancy dinner party hosted by the island’s richest and most infamous resident leads Piper into a night of terrors. When a shadowy killer strikes over dinner, it’s up to Piper to unmask the culprit before dessert. Caught in the middle of a crime spree and a vicious summer storm, a houseful of panicked dinner guests are frantic to escape. But it turns out, getting into this exclusive house party is a lot easier than getting out.

  ______________________________

  Want to receive free mystery ebooks and other goodies? CLICK HERE and join Blythe Baker’s newsletter for readers!

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Chapter 1

  The halls were lit by sconces along the wall, casting dim shadows into the pressing darkness. The wood floors, rotting and aged when my sister and I had bought the property only a few weeks ago, now looked brand new, as though they had been freshly cleaned. And looking around, I realized it was because they were brand new. A plush, ornate rug ran down the center of the hallway and around the corner. I followed it like a mouse in a maze.

  Thick, velvet curtains were drawn over the windows, but I could hear the storm outside. The rain lashing against the windows, the wind shaking the siding, sounding as if it could tear the roof off. The air felt clammy and thick, and I wondered whether the air conditioning had broken.

  I tried calling out for my sister, Page, or my niece, Blaire, but no sounds would come out. No matter how many times my mouth moved around the letters, I was mute. Then, out of nowhere, a woman brushed past me in the hallway.

  I stumbled to the side, my heart racing at her sudden appearance. Perhaps the noise from the storm had disguised her footsteps? However, as she breezed by without even a glance in my direction, I noticed her feet didn’t touch the floor. In fact, she didn’t seem to have feet at all. Her body was made of mist, solid at the top, but turning wispy and intangible the closer she came to the floor. I gasped, but again, no sound came out.

  “Mama? Papa?” she cried, her voice echoing around the empty hallway. Immediately I thought I recognized her voice, knew I’d heard it before, but I couldn’t place it. It felt like having a tune stuck in my head, but being unable to come up with the words.

  “Mama? Papa?” She continued calling their names, and despite the terrified hitch in my chest, I followed after her, my eyes rarely leaving the empty air below her legs where her feet should have been. Then, suddenly, she turned around, her eyes wide. It felt as though she was looking right at me. However, before I had the chance to even try to speak again, she took off running down the hallway in the opposite direction.

  I wanted to call after her, to stop her, tell her I meant her no harm. But I knew it was useless. Instead, I chased after her.

  Despite it being the middle of the night, she wore a ruffled, lacy green dress that fell to her ankles—the kind I’d only ever seen in old movies. It bustled out behind her as she ran, swirling around her so viciously I feared she’d become entangled in it and fall down the stairs. However, just as she reached the stairs, a piercing scream erupted from all around me. Even though her mouth remained firmly closed, I knew it was the girl’s scream. The sound washed over me from every direction, and I threw my hands to my ears and closed my eyes, trying to drown it out.

  When I finally opened my eyes, hesitantly removing my hands from my ears, she was gone, and I was staring up at the ceiling.

  Slowly, my heart rate returned to normal, and I realized I was actually lying in my bed.

  It had been a nightmare. I released a long-held breath and sat up, reaching for Jasper. When he and I had lived in Houston, I’d had a rule about not letting him sleep in my bed, but since moving to the old bed and breakfast, I’d become more lax. The truth was, reaching out to scratch the especially fluffy spot behind his ears wasn’t just for him, it was a creature comfort for me, as well. Too many nights I’d woken up unsure where I was. Or, if I did remember where I was, I awoke certain I was being stalked by a killer.

  We’d only been living in the house for a few weeks, but it had been long enough to discover my next-door neighbor’s live-in nurse was a murderer, which wasn’t exactly the welcome to Sunrise Island I’d been expecting. Now, despite Martin Little being a couple weeks dead and all open murder investigations being definitively closed by the island and mainland police, I was still on edge. So, I was willing to tolerate French Bulldog fur all over my cotton sheets in exchange for my own peace of mind.

  The old floor outside my door creaked, the sound growing louder as weight shifted from one foot to another, growing closer. I startled, pulling the sheets up over my shoulders and shrinking down in the mattress. I blinked hard, wondering if I was still dreaming. Wondering if I’d somehow found myself stuck between wakefulness and sleep. Page had suffered with sleep paralysis and night terrors as a kid, but luckily that gene had skipped me. Or had it? I took long, deep breaths, opened and closed my eyes, pinched my arm, but nothing changed. The sound continued to grow. My entire body went rigid, alert, the same way Jasper’s did when he saw a squirrel or a rabbit outside in the yard. Now, though, he was snoring softly, completely unaware of the danger I was sensing no more than ten feet away.

  The discovery that our neighbor had been a murderer had lead to an increased concern for my own safety, prompting me to store a crow bar under my bed. I pulled it out now and gripped it in my sweaty hands as the footsteps grew louder. A shiver ran down my spine, but no matter how scared I was, I refused to lie hidden and afraid in my bedroom. If I’d learned anything since living on Sunrise Island, it was that confronting things head on was the only way to solve them.

  I’d learned
that not only because of the murder investigations I’d been almost forced to solve myself due to the lack of interest or care shown by the local police force and the mainland police, but also when it came to my relationship with Page. My sister and I had always been close, but there were silences between us that we dared not speak of. Pains we were each carrying. For Page, it was her recent divorce. For me, it was the inadequacy I felt when I was around her. Since being on the island, though, we’d been working on our communication. Honestly, at times, talking to Page about my feelings could be as scary as an intruder in the house.

  I focused my thoughts on the task at hand and reached for the doorknob, hoping I’d have the element of surprise on whoever was lurking outside my door. By some miracle, my bedroom floor wasn’t as creaky as the rest of the second floor, so I made it across the room in relative silence. The knob was cold in my hand, so cold it almost felt wet. I took one deep breath, and, as quickly as possible, threw the door open and raised the crow bar above my head, ready to bring it down on whoever happened to be standing there.

  I screamed, even as I realized the figure outside my door was Mrs. Harris.

  Her wide milky eyes were fixed on me, almost as if she’d been watching me through the door the entire time. That, paired with her wild gray hair and long black sleeping gown, made me think of a ghost more than a woman.

  “Mrs. Harris?” I said, my voice coming out in startled huffs. “Is everything okay?”

  I lowered my makeshift weapon to my side and took a step towards her, arm outstretched. Immediately, the old woman curled away from me and slammed into the wall behind her.

  “Whoa, easy,” I said, keeping my voice soft, almost as if speaking to a spooked animal. “Everything is okay.”

  A flash of lightning briefly illuminated the hallway, followed by a boom of thunder that sounded as if it had rocked the foundation. Mrs. Harris trembled at the noise, looking up and down the hallway as though she were expecting someone to come running after her. I remembered the dream I’d just been having—the scared girl running down the hallway—but quickly pushed it from my mind to focus on the reality in front of me.

  “The storm upsets them,” she said, her lips barely moving, her words coming out in a garble.

  “Upsets who?” I asked.

  “The spirits,” she said, her eyes widening at the word.

  If I hadn’t known Mrs. Harris, her statement would have frightened me. However, she’d been talking about the old house’s spirits since the first day we’d moved in, and I’d never once encountered a single ghost.

  “I’m sure they’re fine,” I said, deciding not to argue with her about the ghosts. I moved towards her slowly, arm outstretched, palm up. “Can I help you back to your room?” I asked.

  Mrs. Harris lived in the apartment at the top of the house. Her family had owned the property since she was a little girl, and letting her remain on the premises had been a stipulation in the purchase. Page and Blaire were vehemently opposed to the old woman, but she was harmless enough. Mostly she seemed confused, her brain flitting back and forth between the past and the present. Though, as she’d proven the night she’d directed me to the clue that put the nail in Martin Little’s murderous coffin, she had her moments of lucidity. Without her help I never would have discovered the affair between Martin Little and his boss’s daughter, or the break up that caused him to murder her. I figured that alone warranted letting her remain in the house. Besides, the attic was tucked away in the back of the uppermost floor and the bed and breakfast guests would rarely encounter her. She hardly ever left her room.

  Except tonight, of course.

  I repeated the question, gesturing towards the narrow staircase that led to her room, but still she ignored me, instead darting her eyes around the hallway.

  Finally, I grabbed her arm to lead her back to the attic, and it seemed to awaken her. She clutched my wrist tightly with her other hand, so tightly, in fact, that I winced at the force of it.

  “A deadly tempest moves our way,” she said, her voice coming out in a harsh whisper.

  Despite the shiver that ran down my spine, I patted her hand to calm her. “No one is dying tonight,” I said. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

  Suddenly more calm, Mrs. Harris let me direct her to the stairs, and I watched as she shakily climbed the stairs to her room. I wondered how much longer she’d be able to navigate the steps. I didn’t know exactly how old Mrs. Harris was, but her age was significant. She wanted to remain in the house until she passed, but if she continued lurking in the hallways at all hours of the night and growing steadily more feeble, it was possible she’d need to be moved to a nursing home. The idea of a live-in nurse for the old woman crossed my mind, but then I remembered Martin Little, and I shuddered. Of course, I knew all live-in nurses weren’t murderers, but I didn’t really feel like taking the chance.

  When I got back to my room, Jasper had burrowed under the comforter, his little hump breathing deeply at the foot of the bed, and I wished I could be as carefree as he was.

  I walked to the window and pulled back the curtains. The rain had already stopped, the skies black and clear, stars dotting the sky. Relieved, I dropped the drapes and crawled back into bed. The storm had passed and Mrs. Harris would be back to her usual self by the morning. Everything would be back to normal soon enough.

  Chapter 2

  “Did you hear anything weird last night?” Page asked as she poured herself a bowl of plain bran cereal.

  “Weird like what?”

  She shrugged. “I’m not sure. I had a weird dream about noises in the hallway, but when I woke up it didn’t feel like a dream. You know me, I’m not great at remembering my dreams, but I remembered this one really well.”

  Page had been hard enough on Mrs. Harris since we’d moved in. She absolutely didn’t like the idea of the old woman living in the attic and she made sure I was made aware of this at every opportunity. I didn’t want her to find out about Mrs. Harris’ near break down the night before and give her even more ammo.

  “No, I didn’t hear anything,” I said, hiding my lie behind a loud slurp of coffee. “It was probably just the storm.”

  “It barely even drizzled last night,” she said. “It definitely didn’t classify as a storm.”

  “There was thunder and lightning!” I argued.

  Page turned to me, her head cocked to the side. “I’m the lightest sleeper ever. If there had been thunder and lightning, I would have woken up.”

  That was true. Even an abnormally high wind was enough to keep her up all night. Suddenly, I was doubting myself. Had everything the night before been a dream? Had Mrs. Harris even come down from the attic? I took another sip of my coffee and pushed the thoughts from my mind. Normalcy. That’s what I was striving for. No hallucinations or mysterious storms or ghostly dreams. Just normalcy.

  “I suppose you’re right,” I conceded. “I must have been dreaming.”

  Page nodded in agreement and headed for the dining room.

  “When are you and Blaire leaving?” I asked.

  She sighed. “On the morning ferry. We’ve gone over the schedule a thousand times. I swear, sometimes you’re a worse listener than Blaire.”

  My face reddened in embarrassment. The truth was, I knew the schedule backwards and forwards, but the thought of an entire week without Page and Blaire had me nervous. I’d lived by myself in Houston for years without an issue, but a few weeks in the bed and breakfast surrounded by family had spoiled me. I didn’t want to be alone in the huge house.

  “Sorry,” I muttered.

  Blaire bounded down the stairs fully dressed and made up, her hair arranged into the perfect messy bun.

  “Whoa, since when did you become a morning person?” I asked. Blaire rarely made it out of bed before mid-morning, and when she did, she would lay around the house in her pajamas with a perma-scowl on her face until well after lunch. Not only was she not a morning person, but in the morning, she was barely
a person at all. She reminded me more of a perpetually grouchy snapping turtle.

  Blaire shrugged, trying to act as though nothing was unusual, but Page laughed and said, “since her boyfriend said he would stop by in the morning to say goodbye before we leave.”

  “Mom,” Blaire groaned, sounding like a stereotypical teenager.

  Page winked at me, and I stifled a laugh.

  Blaire had been seeing Matthew since we’d bought bikes from him the first week we moved to the island. The bike stand was closed now, as it was only a temporary shop his family opened for a few days every summer. Now, he was working at the marina his parents owned, running the rental desk and answering phones. As far as rich islanders went, Matthew and his family were near the top of the hierarchy. Very wealthy, and very involved in the local goings-on.

  “I don’t see why Blaire doesn’t just go to school here on the island,” I said. “It seems like it would be easier. She wouldn’t need to wake up early to take the ferry every morning, and she could spend more time with her boyfriend.”

  “Matthew is home schooled,” Blaire called from the kitchen.

  “Plus,” Page said, lowering her voice so only I could hear her, “I want Page to have a life outside of the island. I want her to know that this place isn’t a prison. It isn’t Alcatraz. She is just a ferry ride away from civilization.”

  I nodded, understanding. Outside of Matthew, Blaire hadn’t taken too well to the island. She complained about the lack of things to do and the lack of people her age. If she and Matthew didn’t work out, she would be miserable. Giving her the opportunity to leave the island every day for school would keep her from coming down with a severe case of cabin fever.

  “And,” Page said, raising her voice so Blaire could hear her again, “we’re going to make a trip of it. We’re going to go clothes shopping and have a real girl’s trip.”