Bottled Up Read online

  Bottled Up

  A Pine Lake Inn Cozy Mystery Book 8

  K. J. Emrick

  First published in Australia by South Coast Publishing, September 2018. Copyright K.J. Emrick (2012-19)

  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and locations portrayed in this book and the names herein are fictitious. Any similarity to or identification with the locations, names, characters or history of any person, product or entity is entirely coincidental and unintentional.

  - From a Declaration of Principles jointly adopted by a Committee of the American Bar Association and a Committee of Publishers and Associations.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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  All information is generalized, presented for informational purposes only and presented "as is" without warranty or guarantee of any kind.

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  Contents

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  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Glossary of Australian Slang

  More Info

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

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  Chapter 1

  “Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree, eating all the gumdrops he can see…”

  That’s a tune my mom used to sing to me when I was just knee high to a dingo. I know, it’s a bit cliché and all that. I’m the owner of an Inn at the ends of civilization in Tasmania, and I’m singing this iconic Australian song for all the world to hear, but it soothes me sometimes when I get anxious over things.

  Right now you’re probably thinking, the great Dell Powers gets anxious? Of course I do. I’m not Super Woman.

  I kind of miss mom, tell you the truth. That woman was a rock. She raised me from a rug rat and taught me to be the strong, independent woman I am today. I went to Uni and chased the dream of being the proprietor of my own Inn for a long time until I could make it a reality. So here I am, standing in the Pine Lake Inn and singing children’s songs. I run the business side of things here, and my best friend Rosie Ryan handles the restaurant and menus and organizing special events. We’re a good team, she and I.

  And really, I like the life I have. I’ve got this place, which is the finest Inn anyone could ask for this side of Hobart. I’ve got good friends all around me here in the tiny town of Lakeshore. I’ve got the love of my two children, and both of them are doing well in their lives. My son Kevin is the senior sergeant here now and he’s going to get married soon… or so I hope. His girlfriend Ellie’s got a baby on the way. Might be time to tie that knot.

  My daughter Carly… well, let’s just say she’s following her own path. I suppose if she’s happy, then I’ll be happy for her.

  I’ve got my health, and my looks to boot. Been told I’ve got the body of a twenty-year-old, although not recently and not often but I’ll take the compliment when I can get it. Just about five foot seven, or so, cute bangs in my long auburn hair, curves still in all the right places despite a few more years on me than I had back in Uni. A woman cares about those things, even if they tell you that they don’t.

  So. Good job, good friends, health and kids and seemingly all that anyone could ever want out of life.

  Doesn’t mean there’s never a moment of worry.

  So, back to singing.

  “Stop, kookaburra, stop, kookaburra, leave some there for me…”

  I’ve got a passable singing voice, I like to think, although I’ll never make it on The X Factor. I’m certainly not as good as Lakeshore’s most famous has-been, Alfonse Calico. A few decades back, he’d been one half of the ARIA award-winning duo, Commonwealth. Those guys went straight to the top of the charts with their one song, In The Clouds, and now he lives right here in Lakeshore with the rest of us simple folk. I suppose calling him a has-been isn’t quite right anymore. He’s been kickstarting his career of late. New album, a tour, the whole shebang. Might be nice to have Lakeshore be famous for something other than weird incidents of death and mystery.

  Because when I call me and my neighbors ‘simple folks’ I do it with a little twist to my lip. There’s nothing simple about our town. Or the people who live here, either. Can’t even say my Inn’s all that normal.

  The foyer of the Pine Lake Inn is wide and spacious, with the dining room off that way and the common room for the guests off the other side over there. Got it decorated and spruced up to make a welcoming first impression for all of my guests. The painting of dearly departed Lieutenant Governor David Collins is proudly hung on the wall, now that we’ve solved a few issues with its placement. This is where I do all the day-to-day business stuff. Except for my rooms upstairs, it’s where I spend most of my time.

  I’ve been standing at the check-in counter at the back of the foyer for over an hour now, tidying things up ahead of the vacation I’m about to take. That, incidentally, is where my stress is coming from today. I’ve been singing like no one was around to hear me, but I haven’t been alone.

  Over in the corner of the room, standing in the shadows past the big fireplace, Lachlan Halliburton smiles. Then he gives me a wink.

  “I know it’s a kid’s song,” I tell him. Closing out the computer spreadsheet program I was working on, I spear him with a glance. “I don’t care. You can’t tell me they didn’t have kid’s songs back in the 1800s. I’m betting you hum a few yourself, from time to time?”

  Ghosts come from every day and age. Even the 1800s, like Lachlan.

  He tapped a finger thoughtfully against his chin as he thought about my question. Every ghost is different. Most of them don’t talk, although a few of the ones I know have learned to use the telephone to communicate. Yes, I know more than one. Quite a group of spirits we have haunting the Pine Lake Inn. Some of them can even manage a whispery word or two in the dark.

  Lachlan’s got his own way of communicating.

  With a snap of his fingers Lachlan spins on his heels, arms out wide, all the way ‘round. When he comes around again he’s dressed not in his usual white shirt and brown trousers and leather suspenders, but in a white baker’s smock over rough gray cotton clothes. A puffy white hat is set jauntily atop his red hair. In his hands he held a basket of muffins.

  Not a bad trick. Kind of wish I could change out my wardrobe, in an instant, whenever I wanted. He
doesn’t talk much, but he gets his point across. In his day Lachlan was a con man who specialized in using disguises to fool people. Personally, I think he would have made a fine actor. Maybe if he’d chosen that as a career, instead of thief, he wouldn’t have been murdered.

  Then again, he wouldn’t have ended up as a ghost in this Inn, either. I think I’d be sad if I never got the chance to know him.

  Lachlan lifts the basket of muffins up again. He was trying to answer my question about his childhood nursery rhymes. He was using charades because that’s how he does things… oh, I get it now.

  “You’re the muffin man! That the song you used to sing back when you were a kid?”

  He nods and does a little jig.

  I laugh at his antics in spite of myself. “Well yes, I do know the muffin man. He lives on Drury Lane.”

  Lachlan throws the basket up and it disappears completely, muffins and all, while he applauds my guess. Then his clothes fade back to his usual attire and he leans himself against the wall once more. Ghosts can be so moody in their afterlife.

  Here’s part of the not-so-normal that just about fills our little town to the brim. At the Pine Lake Inn, not all of the guests can be found in the sixteen rooms on the two floors upstairs. Some of them are long term residents like Lachlan here. They’re ghosts, trapped in this place until they can move on, or hanging around for the fun of it like my good friend and constant annoyance, Lachlan Halliburton. He was here at the Inn long before I took over. We actually solved his murder and resolved any lingering issues that were keeping him tethered to the plane of the living. He should have moved on.

  That’s the way it works on television, anyway. I’m finding out that real life is a lot more complicated. Sometimes, the ghosts don’t want to leave. Lachlan pops up just about every day to mock me with gentle humor and occasionally, to save my life.

  I know that sounds weird, but I’m in mortal danger more often than you might think. A lot more than a forty-something year old businesswoman like myself should be, I can tell you that. Just part of life when you live in Lakeshore, and you can see the dead.

  For the moment, I’m going to set all of that aside, and go on a little vacation.

  “Well, Lachlan, I’m going to finish singing my little song and by that time my friend should be here to pick me up. She and I will be gone all weekend. You’re going to watch over the Inn like we talked about, right? You and Jess and the others?”

  Standing up straight, his face very serious, he flicks me a sharp salute worthy of the Australian Defence Organisation.

  There’s a few verses to the kookaburra song, one or two that most folks don’t know. I start in on the next one as I grab my coat up from where I left it on the counter. “Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree, counting all the monkeys he can see…” Lachlan rolls his eyes, but I don’t care. I sing the next part even louder. “Stop, kookaburra, stop, kookaburra, that’s not a monkey—”

  “It’s me!” someone finishes for me.

  I’m practically doing somersaults on my way to meet her at the open front door. It’s been years and years since I’ve seen Jasmine Faraday. She was one of my best mates at Uni, but like a lot of others from that time in my life we just drifted apart. Just like my other friend Jess and I had. Jess was another friend from University who came to have a stay here at the Pine Lake Inn a few years back and ended up staying forever as a ghost. Sad story, that. The little wooden unicorn necklace I wear all the time is a constant reminder of her death.

  Well, that’s not going to be the case this time around with Jasmine. We’re leaving on our planned road trip right after I get my bags loaded up in the boot of her car. It’s just a few days and it’s not that far away, but a girl’s got to be prepared. Unless Jasmine has changed a lot since the last time I saw her, then as I recall she likes to drive very fast. We should be to our hotel in Blue Laguna in no time flat.

  Just from looking at her standing here I can see my friend hasn’t changed. It’s been decades since Uni but for some people, like Jasmine, time stands still. Her hair is just as long and as naturally golden blonde as it ever was, and her cupid’s bow mouth and a softly dimpled chin are just like I remember them. Maybe a few more pounds around the midsection but then again who doesn’t? The long blue dress she’s wearing under that matching leather jacket hides her beauty queen figure. It’s a perfect outfit for a day in the latter part of May, at the end of Autumn, especially when it’s been such a warm one here in the wonderful world of Tassie. The winds from Antarctica haven’t come out to play yet. Jasmine’s actually from Queensland, up north where the weather’s warmer all year round. Glad to see she’s dressed for the weather.

  I like to think I haven’t changed all that much myself, even though I know at this point I’m sort of fooling myself. Maybe my girlish figure isn’t so girlish anymore, but my boyfriend certainly doesn’t complain. Not that I’m jealous. Not at all. I’m still cute, I’m still pretty, and my jeans and t-shirt still hug the curves the way they were meant to.

  Ahem. Well, time moves on, as I’m fond to say. Just more so for some than others.

  Throwing my arms around Jasmine, we embrace like the long-lost friends we are, laughing and looking forward to a little time away from everything. There’s been a lot going on in my own life, I can tell you that, and Jasmine sure sounded like she needed a break from whatever was dogging her own heels. This weekend away was going to be good for both of us.

  “Oh, it’s been too long,” she says to me when we’re finally just standing there, all laughed out but still excited. “I had a real time of it getting to your little town here but once I found your Inn and I heard you singing, I knew I was in the right place. I haven’t heard Kookaburra in forever! Not since I was a kid, anyway.”

  “That’s because the rights to it got bought up by that company, remember?” I found myself shaking my head in disbelief, same as always when I remember this story. “They snapped up the rights for a few thousand dollars in the 1990s, and then sued Men at Work for using a bit of it in their song, Down Under. Copyright trolls, looking to make a quick buck. I probably owe them a five-cent piece for singing it just now.”

  “You’ll have plenty of time for singing on the drive out to Hobart.”

  “Blue Laguna Beach,” I agreed, “here we come!”

  “What about Rosie?” she asked me. “Any luck in getting Rosie to join us?”

  “Afraid not. She’s got her twins home sick with this flu that’s been going around. She managed to catch a touch of it herself.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad. Well. Just us two, then.”

  Like I said before, Rosie’s my very best friend from back in my University days, but we all used to pal around back then. Me, Rosie, Jess, Jasmine. A few others, too. We had the best times growing up and finding out all about ourselves, the way twenty-somethings always do without ever realizing it.

  Time moves on, like I said.

  “Know what we should do?” Jasmine offers. “We should stop by her house and visit for a bit before we go. We’ve got time.”

  “Sure we do. That sounds like a grand idea. I know it was hard for her to stay home today and leave the cooking to our kitchen staff. She loves that kitchen. Loves her children more, though, like any good mom. Wait until you meet her two young ones. You’ll just fall in love with them.”

  “So what are we waiting for?” she asks with barely contained excitement. “Let’s get this trip started!”

  “Hold on, I have to leave a message for our night clerk. Danni will be here in an hour. She’s covering for me while we’re gone this weekend. She doesn’t usually work on Fridays or Saturdays but I’m giving her a little extra money in her paycheck this week to reward her for it.”

  I’m as excited as Jasmine is, to be sure, but there’s still these practical things to think about, like making sure everyone knows what they need to do until I get back. Things have been busy here for months, especially since our little flyspeck of a town keeps m
aking the news over and over, for better or for worse.

  Murder. Mystery. Mayhem. That’s the life here in Lakeshore. We’ve got three great lakes perfect for boating and fishing, kilometers worth of walking trails, great local shops, and we’re right in the shadow of Hartz Mountain National Park. Plenty of reasons for tourists to love us. Still, what people seem to come here for most is a chance to be in the middle of all the weird.

  Not to mention all the tales of ghost sightings here at the Inn. Everyone loves a good ghost story. Some of those stories have even been true. The rest have been, let’s say, embellished by internet hoax sites.

  Know that old saying about how no press is bad press? Well there’s some truth to that.

  Just a little bit.

  Lachlan gives me a funny look as I move around the counter again. It’s like he thinks I’m abandoning him. “Don’t worry,” I say. “I’ll be back soon.”

  Jasmine blinks at me. “What was that?” she asks.

  Oh, snap. I said that out loud. “Er. I mean, I’ll just be a minute.”

  “Okay.”

  Good. At least I won’t have to explain why I’m talking to shadows. Quickly, I write out a few final instructions for Danni. She hasn’t been with us very long, but she’s proven to be a quick study. She’ll be fine for a few days so long as she follows these few instructions. The first one on the list is to call me if anything strange comes up.

  I’m not going to bother writing down what would constitute “strange” at the Pine Lake Inn. She’ll know.

  Lachlan turns away and fades through the wall, going wherever the ghosts of the Inn go to when they aren’t just hanging about. I’m the only one around who can see them, and talk to them, but that doesn’t mean they don’t make themselves known to the guests when they feel like being mischievous. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to explain away knocking on the walls at night as the pipes settling. Sometimes the excuses work, sometimes they don’t.