Crowned and Moldering

For big jobs, I’d found the steamer method worked best. My father had invested in a heavy steamer that rolled and swiveled around on casters and had a large stainless-steel plate that was lightweight and easy to use, even for an eight-year-old. The heating element and the hot water were contained inside a fully insulated tank, so Dad never had to worry that I might accidentally burn myself.

One secret I’d learned early on was to start steaming at the bottom of the wall and work my way up. This was because as you steamed the wallpaper, water would drip down the walls and onto the floor. If you started at the top, you’d wind up kneeling in mushy, gluey paper when you reached the bottom of the wall. It also helped to stuff old towels along the floor edges.

Once you were finished, it was smart to apply a primer before painting the wall; even if you couldn’t see it, there always seemed to be some residual glue left on the wall, and the primer helped conceal it.

Because of the mind-numbing nature of wallpaper removal, my guys and I always took turns so that no one got stuck doing the entire job him – or herself. We were each assigned a separate room on a separate day, and that way we shared the pain. I was all about equal opportunity on every level.

When Emily arrived home at six o’clock, I was still working. The guys had all gone home, but I was there, all alone, completely wrapped up in the job.

“Sha

“What?” I flinched a little, which told me how zoned out I’d been. And since zoning out had been my purpose all along, I figured I’d succeeded. “Hey, Emily.”

“You’re still working?”

I stared at the wall and the progress I’d made, then back at her. “I guess I am. But I’ll clean up and get out of your way.” I climbed down the ladder, picking curly pieces of wallpaper slivers off my shirt and tossing them into the large trash bag nearby.

She gazed around the room. “You’ve gotten so much done.”

“Yeah, I just decided to go for it.”

With a smile, she said, “You look tired.”

“What every girl wants to hear,” I said, and laughed. “But, yeah, I really am tired. And a

She set her purse and a small grocery bag that held a pretty bouquet of flowers on the utility table we’d set up near the foyer archway. “Who or what has a

I waved the question away. “You don’t know him and it’s not worth talking about.”

“Of course it is. Come and have a glass of wine with me.”

I hesitated, then said, “Well, I can hardly refuse an offer of wine.”

She walked into the butler’s pantry. “Oh, the boys pulled out the sink.”

I unplugged the steamer and began to clean up the crimped and twisted bits of old wallpaper. “You can still use the main one, right?”

“Oh yes. It’s not a problem. They’re just moving ahead so quickly.”

“I wish it was quicker, for your sake.”

Emily Rose, despite being ten years older than me, was one of my dearest friends and a member of my i

Her new tea shop, along with many of her new friends in town, had sustained her through the hardest days. Emily had lived in the apartment over the shop until recently, when, out of the blue, she decided to buy this old house. Now I couldn’t wait to complete the job and have her finally feel settled.

I joined her in the big unfinished kitchen as she pulled a bottle of chardo

She handed me a glass. “Now take a sip or two and then tell me why you’re a

I must’ve been ready to talk, because once I started, I couldn’t seem to stop. I told her all about finding Lily’s bones and how the discovery affected Sean. I gave her a brief history of my high school years and how kind Lily had been to me. I told her—ranted, really—about Dismal Dain and his historically imbecilic advice to students. I gave a quickie recap of my Career Day successes and my delight in having been chosen to construct the new high school parking lot. By my second glass of wine, I was compelled to mention Whitney’s idiocy, on general principle. By that point Emily was laughing, and I suppose I was, too. Even though there was very little that was fu

My light mood faded quickly and I sighed. “It was so frustrating for Sean to realize that poor Lily never left town. She was lying dead and alone in the lighthouse mansion all this time. It’s sad and creepy.”

“I’m so sorry for Sean,” Emily said.

“Me, too. He’s spent so many years searching for his sister and waiting for her to return. He was simply shattered by the news.”

Emily took a sip of wine, then asked in a gentle tone, “But don’t you think, Sha

It was hard to admit she was right. “I suppose so. That doesn’t mean I’ll stop bugging Eric to find the killer.”

“Is it possible that she wasn’t murdered?” she asked cautiously. “Perhaps it was an accident.”

“It’s conceivable, but how did she get inside the dumbwaiter?”

Emily thought for a moment. “Was she hiding from someone?”

“Maybe. But where did her clothes disappear to? And what about that awful mattress? Was she living there? Escaping from her parents for a while? Was she with someone?”

“There are too many questions,” Emily admitted.

“And not enough answers, as usual.”

“At least Eric is asking your advice this time. That must feel good.”

“It does,” I said, feeling a glow that probably had more to do with the wine than with Eric’s approval. “Although it’s sad that he wouldn’t arrest Dismal Dain when I suggested it. So I guess that means he won’t be hiring me as an expert consultant anytime soon.”

Emily chuckled. “Dismal Dain sounds like a dreadful person.”

“He is that.”

Emily got up and poured glasses of water for us both, and we changed the subject to other things, namely Mrs. Rawley’s ghost, who was relatively quiet these days.

“Unless Augustus stops by,” Emily said. “Then she starts swinging on the chandeliers.”

Augustus Peratti, or Gus, as I called him, since I’d known him forever, owned the best auto shop in town. He was a gorgeous, sexy Italian who’d been attracting women like bees to honey since the first grade. A few weeks ago, Gus had stopped by to see Emily, and Mrs. Rawley’s ghost went crazy. The chandelier began to swing and lights flashed on and off all over the house. Gus even lost consciousness for a few seconds, but quickly recovered. Several of us witnessed it with our own eyes and had no explanation for the phenomenon until Mrs. Rawley’s diary was recovered shortly afterward. In it, she confessed that she had been in love with Gus’s great-grandfather all those years ago, but her parents had forbidden her to marry him. She must’ve recognized him in Gus, because she went a little crazy when Gus walked into the house. Since then, she’d been as calm as could be.

The really odd aspect of the story was that Gus was supposed to bring Emily’s car to her tea shop that day, not to Emily’s new house. But somehow he’d been compelled to show up at the new place instead. Had the ghost actually conveyed that message to him clairvoyantly? We would never know.

“So the chandeliers still swing when he comes here?” I chuckled. “I shouldn’t be surprised. Gus has had that effect on women his whole life.”

Emily laughed and slapped my arm. “Very fu

“Are you sure he’s not coming by to visit you?”

“Oh no,” she protested. “He’s just being nice, and I couldn’t be happier. He really does seem to have a calming effect on her.”