Downright Dead Page 2

  “Did the TV come on?”

  “For a second.” She clicked the remote twice, but the screen stayed blank.

  Holly flipped the light switch off and on. Nothing.

  Tail between his legs, Rhett peeked around the kitchen door at them.

  Bless his heart. “Scared the daylights out of me too, Rhett,” Holly said.

  “Just for my nerves, tell me one more time that ghost is gone,” Nelda said with her hand still clutching her chest.

  Holly studied the milk-glass pendant light. Soot dotted the bottom of the glass. That can’t be good.

  She sniffed. If there was smoke in the air, the scent of gumbo had won out. “This isn’t a ghost problem. It’s an electrical problem.”

  Nelda wagged a finger at Holly. “I told you somethin’ was wrong with that thing.”

  “I hope it didn’t blow out the TV too.” Holly sighed. “An electrician after hours will cost a fortune. Maybe Mackie can fix it.”

  “If he can’t we’re gonna have eight folks sittin’ around in the dark tellin’ ghost stories instead of watchin’ one on TV.”

  “Just peachy.” Holly folded her arms and glared at the old light fixture. That repair wasn’t in the budget either. “First Jake cancels. Now this. Bad luck always comes in threes. What’s next?”

  “Shush.” Nelda pressed a finger across her lips. “Don’t ask. You might get it.”

  Holly’s phone buzzed again. Another unknown number. Couldn’t be Jake. That left two choices. Telemarketer or potential guest, and she couldn’t miss taking a reservation. “Hello.”

  “Holly Davis?” asked a smooth professional voice. Totally a telemarketer. Fifty-fifty chance and I lose. Just my luck and a good reason I should never gamble.

  “Yes,” Holly answered, her voice as flat as her mood.

  “I’m Sylvia Martin’s assistant, Megan Long,” said the woman on the line.

  “Sylvia Martin of Inquiring Minds?” Why would she be calling? Did they find out her ghost was gone? Cancel the show? The rash under Holly’s sweater resurrected and marched across her collarbone in an organized protest of each scenario. She ambled into the hallway for privacy.

  “Yes,” Morgan or Meagan or whatever her name was said, but all Holly could think about was bad luck comes in threes. The rat-a-tat of fingers on a keyboard sounded in the background. “I’m certain you’re getting ready for a viewing party, but Sylvia asked me to nail this down before you get a flood of reservations after the show.”

  Holly’s internal thermostat kicked up a few degrees. “Nail what down?”

  Rhett joined her and paced down the hall with her as though he sensed something wasn’t right.

  “She asked me to book Holly Grove for a follow-up, ASAP.”

  “Book Holly Grove? Follow-up?” Holly’s throat tightened as she spoke. “On what?”

  “Your ghost, of course.”

  Holly practically choked, then stood dead still. The one that’s gone. “My ghost?”

  Rhett sat in front of her. He cocked his head to the side as though he couldn’t believe what she’d said. She could hardly believe what she’d heard.

  “He was quite a hit with our test audience. They rated ‘The Ghost in the Grove’ best episode of the season,” Megan continued at an excited clip. “‘Return to The Ghost in the Grove’ will open Inquiring Minds’s next season.”

  “But . . .” Holly rubbed the back of her neck. What could she say? I don’t have a ghost anymore? Then go back to running just a B&B in the middle of nowhere and go broke. Not happening.

  “This is quite an opportunity for your establishment. Our viewership is up to three million and growing.”

  “I’m sure it is, but I’m renovating right now.” She pinched the bridge of her nose and plopped down on the bottom step of the staircase. “And after the show, I hope to be booked solid for a while. It’s just not a good time.” Ever.

  “We’ll work around the renovations and pay you for your trouble. I’ve booked your available rooms Wednesday through the weekend for the shoot as well as the formal rooms downstairs.”

  A riff from “Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)” rang out from Holly’s computer in the kitchen—her alert for online reservations. Holly launched herself from the steps. “No! You can’t.”

  Rhett’s nails tapped the wood planks as he trotted to her side.

  Oh, Rhett. This isn’t good.

  “Excuse me,” what’s-her-name said, but she’d surely understood no.

  Holly could live with the little lie that Holly Grove was still haunted, but she would never allow anyone to prove it wasn’t. “No offense, but I’m not interested in being on the show again.”

  “Sylvia will not take this well.” The assistant’s tone turned sour. Holly had firsthand experience with Sylvia and didn’t need round two. That woman was a force to be reckoned with.

  “Give her my apologies,” Holly said. And tell her to butter my biscuit and take a bite because that show ain’t gonna happen.

  “That won’t be necessary. Please hold for Sylvia Martin.”

  Oh, crapola.

  Almost instantly Sylvia said, “Holly, my dear friend.” She coated her pitch-perfect voice in enough artificial sweetness to clog the line.

  Gag me.

  “Sylvia.” Holly gushed. Not to be outdone, she faked it too. “Thank you so much for thinking about me and Holly Grove. It would have been so much fun to be on another episode of Inquiring Minds.”

  About as much fun as digging up her almost-ex for old times’ sake. “Unfortunately, as I told your charming assistant, we’re in the middle of renovations. Maybe another time?” Like next February 30.

  “Holly, dear, I’ve booked the rooms for the crew. I’ve contacted that incredible medium, Angel, to lead another séance. This is the time.”

  “Sylvia, dear, no offense, but I just can’t make that commitment right now.” Holly rubbed muscles knotting in her neck.

  “May I be perfectly honest?” Sylvia asked.

  If possible. “Always.”

  “I report on the strange, the unusual,” Sylvia said, repeating the promo line from her show. “I’m very good at what I do.”

  Modest too.

  “It’s not all real,” Sylvia said. “I report and the fans decide what’s real and what’s not.”

  Holly rolled her eyes. Most of it was questionable in her opinion, but Nelda and millions of others were true fans of the show.

  “The Ghost in the Grove is real,” Sylvia said emphatically. “I know it. You know it. And my viewers will know it after tonight, right?”

  “Right.” The word squeezed through her vocal cords an octave higher than the truth would allow. H-A-D a ghost. Nelda’s correction looped through Holly’s mind. “Tonight’s show can speak for itself. Why do another one on the same ghost?”

  “Because I can win.” Sylvia chopped each word with cool calculation.

  “Win what?”

  “I’m getting to that.”

  Lordy. The long way, especially for a New Yorker.

  “There’s this creeper, a debunker, who’s been trolling me ever since the debut season of Inquiring Minds.”

  “I’ve had a few trolls on my website.” Some of them had a creep factor that gave Holly chills. She wouldn’t wish trolling on even a frenemy. “Just ignore him and delete his posts.”

  “I’ve blocked him several times. He was a nobody. Now he’s got a huge following on his blog and YouTube channels. The little troll calls himself Tru, the truth teller.” Sylvia huffed.

  That does have a ring to it.

  “He’s questioning my credibility. My integrity.” An edge crept into Sylvia’s voice. “A few hours ago, I was promoting Inquiring Minds on a live radio show and that little troll had the nerve to call in.”

  Holly pitied the guy for taking on Sylvia live.

  “He said he could debunk any of my hauntings—anytime, anywhere.”

  Oh, crapola. “And you called Tru, the, um
, truth teller’s bluff?”

  “Of course. I challenged him to come to Holly Grove to attempt to debunk your ghost on my show because I know he can’t. The whole thing is going viral. My producers are loving it. The sponsors will love it. Plus, your ghost is going to silence him once and for all. That troll is going down.”

  Holly cringed. My ghost was real, but he’s gone—and I can’t tell her or anyone else ever. A twinge of guilt lolled about in her gut but so be it.

  “There’s just one teeny-tiny problem,” Holly said in a singsong voice. “Burl and I are, um, going through a rough patch. You know. Marital trouble. To tell you the truth, we’re not speaking right now.” A proper lie is always partly true, right? “He may not even show up if I want him to. He’s spiteful like that.”

  “No problem.” Sylvia said. “My undergrad is in theater. I’ll act as if he’s there even if he doesn’t show up.”

  “Wouldn’t that be lying?” And if she could actually act wouldn’t Sylvia be acting?

  “No. That would be great television.”

  “What if that’s not enough to convince the debunker?”

  “Holly, dear. Cameras fail. Hard drives crash. I wouldn’t be the first to lose footage.” Sylvia gave an exasperated sigh. “Believe me, nothing will air that makes me look bad.”

  “But without proof of the ghost, the debunker wins.”

  “I don’t have to prove there is a ghost at Holly Grove. The show tonight proves that. He has to debunk the ghost on the follow-up show and he won’t. I guarantee it. My career is on the line here.”

  “Mine too. I just can’t chance anything that might ruin the publicity Holly Grove will get after the show tonight.” Holly took a fortifying breath. “I’m sorry. I can’t do another show.”

  “There’s just one tiny problem, Holly,” Sylvia said.

  Is she mocking me?

  Papers rustled. “I’m looking over the contract and releases you signed with Inquiring Minds back on October 27.”

  Holly’s mouth went dry. She’d been so thrilled for the publicity, she’d barely read the darned things.

  “Section 6A,” Sylvia said. “It’s called an option. An option for us to follow up on the show or retake the episode within one hundred days of the original shoot. You know, in case there was significant public interest or something went wrong, which we know can happen, right?”

  Holly plopped back down on the steps. “And if I don’t allow the shoot?”

  “Legal tells me you’d owe the production cost of the shoot. Megan, can you draft an estimate of the flight costs for the crew, rental cars, labor, etcetera?”

  “I’ll have my lawyer call you.” Holly didn’t have a lawyer. Delta Ridge hadn’t had a lawyer since Bill Benoit retired, but they had a bail bondsman who’d lost his law license. At least he could read legalese. Holly closed her eyes and sighed. Proof positive. Bad luck does come in threes.

  “Holly, dear.” Sylvia’s words dripped with smugness. “There are only two choices here. Pay or play.”

  * * *

  “You better have a good reason for messin’ up that bed you made this mornin’.” Nelda’s brows creased over her brown eyes as she peeked in the bedroom door. “What’s the matter? You sick?”

  Holly sniffled and shook her head. “I’m so screwed, and it’s all my fault.”

  “Says who?” Nelda crossed the well-worn antique rug and propped a hip on the side of Holly’s four-poster bed. As the mattress sagged under Nelda’s weight, Rhett slid next to her.

  “This.” Holly waved the contract.

  “A piece of paper made you crawl up in bed and blubber like a baby?” Nelda cocked her head to the side. “Must be some humdinger of a piece of paper.”

  “It’s the contract I signed to have Holly Grove on Inquiring Minds back in October.”

  “And it’s making you cry three months later?”

  “I would have signed a deal with the devil to get publicity from Inquiring Minds back then.” She flung the contract across the bed. “Evidently I did.”

  “I’m guessing Miss Sylvia Martin is the devil.”

  “Pretty much.” Holly blew her nose, then wiped at her eyes. “There’s an option in there that forces me to agree to a follow-up show if they ask and Sylvia did. She called a while ago to schedule another show on my ghost.”

  Nelda scrunched up her brows. “The one you’ve been telling me is gone?”

  “And worse, she’s challenged some debunker to try to prove Holly Grove isn’t haunted on her show. I can’t tell her it’s not haunted anymore!” Holly fell back onto the bed and pressed her palms to her skull to ease her brewing headache.

  “Don’t option mean optional?”

  “Yeah. For Inquiring Minds.” Holly rubbed her temples. “Not for me.”

  “You sure ’bout that?”

  “As sure as I can get without hiring a lawyer. I called my old roommate, Sarah. She’s a lawyer in New Orleans now. Her free,” Holly drew quotation marks in the air. “Legal advice was to comply and buy her a drink next time I’m in the city.” Holly blew her nose again. “I even asked Purvis.”

  “That bail bondsman?”

  “He used to be a lawyer until he got disbarred.” She couldn’t remember why, but he was the closest thing Delta Ridge had to a lawyer. “He said the same thing and offered his bail services if things got ugly.”

  “What happens if you don’t do the show?”

  “Sylvia said I had to play or pay.” Holly held her hand up and rubbed her thumb across her fingers. “Paying is not happening. I can’t. Then they’ll sue and put a lien on Holly Grove.”

  Nelda shook her head. “There goes your credit, again.”

  “And maybe Holly Grove if reservations drop off.” Debt. Taxes. Nonstop maintenance. “I was so close to making Holly Grove a success, and now, I’m one stumble away from losing her. If I play and do the follow-up show, I could be exposed as a fraud.” Holly flopped her hands on the bed. “There goes my business and Holly Grove.” Pay or play. “I’m so screwed.”

  “You’re only screwed if you keep wallerin’ and blubberin’ in that bed. If you’re gonna get screwed, it outta be fun, right?”

  “Nelda!” Holly landed a teasing slap on Nelda’s arm. “I guess that means I’ve got to play this thing like a boss.”

  “Now you’re talkin’.” Nelda picked up Rhett and stood. “What you gonna do?”

  Holly eased off the high bed and slipped on her stilettos. The four inches of height always fortified her confidence. False confidence was better than none. “Whatever it takes.”

  “What ya got in mind?” Nelda asked, leaning in to Holly.

  “It may take an unholy alliance with the devil, aka Sylvia Martin. No matter what it takes, there will be a Ghost in the Grove if I have to manufacture one.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Three practice Sazeracs later, Holly ventured into the dark kitchen to check on Mackie’s progress repairing the electrical problem. “You sure you can get the power back on before the show starts?”

  From his perch on the ladder below the blown-out pendant light, his headlamp shined down on Holly like a stage light in the candlelit kitchen. “I’m sure I told you I’m not an electrician.”

  Mackie’s reddened face mapped years of alcohol abuse that couldn’t be erased by a few months of sobriety. He licked his lips and eyed her Sazerac like it was a sacred elixir.

  Poor Mackie. She not so subtly covered her lowball glass with her hand. Even though he’d insisted he had to get used to being around whiskey, or the demon as he’d called it, she wasn’t so sure about that plan.

  “I miss my old friend in the bottle, but not enough to go through gettin’ sober again,” Mackie said. “You’re lucky the breaker only blew out in the kitchen.”

  “Unlucky my only cable connection is in here.” She motioned toward the TV. If he couldn’t get the power back on, she’d miss the show because she couldn’t leave. The two confirmed reservations for toni
ght could ring the doorbell any minute. She’d have to call everyone else and tell them the party was off. Why had she been too cheap to pay for streaming cable to her tablet? Priorities. That’s why.

  “Yoo-hoo!” Miss Alice pushed through the kitchen door. She carried an ancient Samsonite suitcase, a knitting basket, and her dead husband’s doctor’s bag that went everywhere with her—just in case her nursing skills were required.

  Holly forced a smile for the ringleader of the Delta Ridge Bridge Society. The Deltas rented the parlor every Thursday morning for bridge. Miss Alice never knocked, and her orthopedic shoes made her footsteps practically silent. “You’re early.”

  “I need to settle in before dinner.” Miss Alice’s glasses dangled from a beaded chain around her neck as she surveyed the kitchen. “You do realize Inquiring Minds starts in an hour?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Holly said. “We’re having a little electrical, um . . .”

  “Snafu.” Mackie’s long gray ponytail swayed with each twist of his wrist as he worked on the light fixture.

  “Believe me. Compared to termites, this is small.” Miss Alice put her suitcase down near the kitchen door. “Today, I had sixty years of accumulation moved into some contraptions called pods, so the exterminator could tent and fumigate my house. I’ll be staying here for a week.”

  “Bless your heart.” And mine too. I love her but in small doses—not a week at a time.

  Holly took a big swig of her so-so Sazerac for comfort. Smoother. Maybe it was the top-shelf bourbon that made it go down easier. Or maybe her taste buds were getting a little loose.

  Nah. She’d only had a taste of each attempt.

  Miss Alice positioned her glasses on her nose. “Is that a Sazerac, dear?”

  “It’s supposed to be.” Holly lifted a shoulder. “But it doesn’t taste like the ones Grandma Rose used to make.”

  “Ah, her secret family recipe.”

  Holly swirled the Sazerac in her glass. “You mean lost family recipe if there ever was one.”

  “My father said there was an art to the Sazerac. He made one that tasted just like Rose’s. We often thought they had the same recipe, but we’ll never know. He carried that to the grave with him as well.”