Mountain Ice (David Dean Mysteries)

"Tell you what," Fred said. "How's about I cook up those muffins and stuff. You can take the evening off and play decoder."

"And chase off all the guests with your cooking?" Dean said. "I'll volunteer. You can clean up after me."

Cynthia gave them both a cautious look but after explaining in detail what needed to be done, she agreed to let the surrogate cooking team give it a try. She retired to the rear quarters, leaving the two chefs to battle it out. After a few false starts, things began to move along pretty well as the evening proceeded.

The front door was in continual motion with guests coming and going, amid laughter and boisterous conversation. Edith passed by, dressed in civies, her beloved white dress temporarily put aside. She held Donnie by the hand. When they returned later, Donald Ryland was with them, chatting amicably with both of them. Just as batch number three of muffins was ready, Effie stuck her head in the kitchen, looking over her shoulder, even more nervously than usual.

"I'm not sure I should tell you this," she said. "Claire thinks I'm a silly goose about it." Dean waited, up to his elbows in flour. When he didn't say anything, Effie continued. "I got up last night. I couldn't sleep. I kept thinking I could hear an alarm clock." Dean bit his lip, assuming the little woman was about to complain about Gladys Turnbull's late night writing, but she had other concerns. "I think I saw a ghost, in the hall! She was dressed in white...."

Dean smiled. "I believe it might have been Edith," he said. "She seems to fancy that dress of your great-aunt Annie and I think she may have been up and about last night."

Effie looked somewhat perplexed, but not satisfied. "I spoke to Mrs. Shipton about it. She said she thought Bird Song held spirits, too. She didn't say anything about wandering around last night. And Miss Turnbull, the author, when I told her, said she feels things, too." She smiled. "Oh, I guess I'm just being foolish like Claire says. It probably was Edith Shipton in her white dress." Then she added, "But it looked like a real ghost. You don't suppose Annie is trying to contact us, do you?"

Mick, the ice climber, interrupted them before Dean could think up a proper reply. He announced to Dean he had answered the door and a customer was waiting. Dean brushed off a white cloud of flour and greeted a well-dressed, good-looking man in his late forties standing in the hall.

"I'd like a room," he said with a smile.