“Oh, she’s . . . where’s?” the woman said.

Jessica quickly introduced the woman as her mother, Linda Garrett.

“Mom, what’s wrong?” Jessica stepped forward and hugged her.

“It’s Clarissa.” Linda took a shaky breath. “She’s dead.”

Her hands shook and caused the flame to bounce and flicker. Jessica gasped.

An uproar of shocked dismay rose from the stairs where the rest of the guests congregated.

“Let me take that, Mrs. Garrett,” Mac said. “I’m a police officer. Can I help?”

“Police?” She scanned Mac’s face and handed him the lantern. “Yes, please. I . . . can’t believe it.” She stared, openmouthed, at Mac and swayed a bit. Jessica put an arm out to steady her.

Mac turned to Wally. “Take everyone back downstairs to the lounge, please. Then gather the rest of the staff and wait for us there.”

Wally nodded and turned toward the group to begin his crowd control.

“What happened?” Jessica said. She sniffled and rubbed her eyes.

“I went up to check on Clarissa and to bring her a lamp.” Linda pointed to the lamp Mac held. “She didn’t answer the door, but it was unlocked, so I went in.” She took a shaky breath. “I know she likes to take a bath in the evening and thought she might be in the bathtub and couldn’t hear me.”

We waited while Linda gulped air and dabbed at her eyes with the hem of her sweater. She took a steadying breath and continued. “It was pitch dark in her room and I had to walk carefully.” She turned to Jessica. “You know how she is with her shoes. A person could turn an ankle walking through her minefield of shoes.”

Jessica nodded and gave her a small, encouraging, if watery, smile.

“I knocked on the bathroom door, and it swung open. I could see she wasn’t in the tub.” Linda looked at Mac. “It’s a large claw-foot tub and takes up most of the room. Then I saw her on the floor. She was still dressed—she must have slipped and hit her head.”

Linda stopped and stared past us, back in the moment.

“She wasn’t breathing.” She turned and buried her face on Jessica’s shoulder.

Mac placed a hand gently on Linda’s arm. “I need to go secure the scene.”

“I’ll come with you,” I said. I felt a rush of adrenaline at the thought of investigating a mysterious death. A sharp moment of guilt stabbed at my conscience. A young woman was dead. I was getting worse than Aunt Vi.

Mac started to say something and then nodded.

“Mrs. Garrett? Are you able to come back to her room and show us?” Mac asked.

She nodded and clutched Jessica’s hand as we walked to the end of the hall. The lantern cast grotesque bouncing shadows on the walls. The climb up was steep and winding and reminded me of the previous November, when I had climbed a different twisting staircase while investigating a murder, not knowing what I would find at the top. That remembered sense of dread sobered any Vi-like excitement I had been feeling.

We reached a small landing at the top of the stairs. Mrs. Garrett pushed the door open and a white streak tore out of the opening. I flashed onto Vi’s ghost story just as the streak let out a very feline yowl. I watched it race down the staircase and out of sight.

“Oh! That cat is always jumping out when you least expect it,” Linda said, her hand clutching her chest.

We stepped into the room. Weak light from the lantern cast flickering shadows on the furniture. My shoulders felt tight and my ears strained for any sound. Mac clicked on the large flashlight he’d taken from Wally and the spooky feeling began to dissipate.

When we got to the bathroom door, Jessica hesitated, took a deep breath, and then nodded to us to proceed.

Inside, it was just as Mrs. Garrett had described. The claw-foot tub stood in the middle of a partly circular room that would have been lovely on a sunny day. The old-fashioned cabinet and pedestal sink lined up along the wall, and a toilet hid behind a half wall in the corner.

Clarissa lay on the floor between the tub and the sink. Her right leg was bent at an awkward angle and her eyes were closed. In the weak light from the flashlight and lamp, a dark glistening stain spread from underneath her head. She was completely still. I knelt down next to her and shone the flashlight on her face. Mrs. Garrett gasped and I heard her move into the other room. Jessica followed.

“Mac,” I said quietly, “look.” I pointed to Clarissa’s neck. The faint bruises barely showed in the flashlight’s glow, but they were there. I put a thumb on her eyelid and lifted. The whites of her eyes were pink.

“I don’t think this was an accident,” I said.

Mac let out a gust of air.

“Strangled,” he said. “Whoever hit her in the head made sure they finished the job.”

I cleared my mind, as Neila had instructed, reached out, and touched Clarissa’s shoulder. I hoped I would get a sense of who might have harmed her, but all I felt was a surge of rage and fear. A wave of nausea spread and I felt dizzy. I pulled my hand away and took a deep breath.

Mac knelt down next to me, his arm over my shoulders. “Are you okay?”

I didn’t want to tell him I was experimenting with psychic solutions. “I’m fine . . . it’s just . . . she looks like she’s sleeping.”

I put a finger under Clarissa’s jaw along her neck to check for a pulse, but we both knew I wouldn’t find one.

8

We regrouped in the bedroom. Mac asked Jessica when she thought the power would be back on.

“It should have come on by now.” Jessica held her hands out and shrugged. “The generator works very well and can usually supply power for a couple of days. I don’t know why it hasn’t kicked in.” She put a shaky hand to her lips. “I had planned to go find our maintenance man after I dropped off the candles in the lounge.”

Mac paced in front of the bathroom door. “Okay, we’ll need to call the local police and see what they want us to do.”

“I thought you were a police officer,” Linda said.

Mac stopped moving.

“Yes, we both are,” he said, and gestured toward me. “But Clyde is on leave and I’m out of my jurisdiction. If the local police can get here, they’ll be in charge.”

“I doubt anyone can get through tonight,” Jessica said. “The snow is still coming down and when René arrived this afternoon just before dinner, he said he almost didn’t make it.”

“Surely we don’t need to call in more police,” Linda said. “We can make arrangements with a funeral home. . . .”

Mac held up his hand. “I’m afraid it’s more complicated than that.”

“Because it was an accidental death?” Jessica said.

Mac and I exchanged a glance and I could tell he thought it would be best not to upset Mrs. Garrett further.

“Police need to be notified whenever someone unexpectedly dies,” I said.

Mac pulled out his cell phone and dialed. He looked at it again, and sighed.

“I don’t have service. Clyde, is yours working?”

Mine was the same—no service.

“There’s only one cell tower near here and reception can be spotty,” Jessica said. “We have a landline tucked under the front desk.”

“Let’s go try the landline,” Mac said.

We trooped down the circular stairs. Mrs. Garrett had begun crying again, but it was more of a slow leak than a flood.

“Maybe you can take your mom to her room and get her some tea or . . . something?” I said to Jessica.

She nodded. “I’ll meet you downstairs.” She put an arm around Linda. “C’mon, Mom, let’s go.”

Jessica took the lamp and led her mother off a side hallway that I assumed led to the family’s living area. Mac and I went to the front desk and found the phone. Mac dialed 911 and listened. He clicked the button on the phone and tried again. He groaned.