“That’s sad,” I said. “She seems like a nice enough woman.” But you never know. Trust no one.
“She is.” Gamma finished off her muffin, dusting off her fingers into a napkin. “And we don’t have the day off.”
“We don’t?”
“Well, technically we do, dear, but there’s something I want to show you. Something that’s going to change my life in a huge way.”
“Color me intrigued.”
We finished our muffins, and I followed Gamma through the cozy Gossip Inn and out front. We crossed the green grass, passed the bush that was shaped like Santa Claus hunched over, and around the side. We passed the spot where I’d broken into the inn—gosh that felt like ages ago—and further down the back of the building until we reached the broken down wing of the museum.
Gamma stopped outside the side doors. They were scarred from the weather, and a few stray vines crept over the brick wall next to them. Spider webs had collected under the eaves.
“This is what you wanted to show me?” I peeked at the empty window frame next to the door. “The broken down section of the inn?”
“Exactly,” Gamma said, removing a key from her pocket. She took the steps two at a time, spry even in her seventies, and unlocked the doors. The latch thunked heavily in the silence. “Come on in.”
The inside wasn’t completely wrecked, but it was pretty dusty and messy. The portion of the old museum we were in housed nothing but items covered in sheets in a large hall that stretched quite far back. There were a few doors that led off it, here and there.
“This is going to be my next oasis.”
“Huh?”
Gamma laughed and tucked the key into her pocket. “This part of the museum was shut off from the inn when I bought it. The only way to access the inn from here is through that door at the far end of the hall, see?”
“Sure.” What did that have to do with anything? “Gamma—”
“Georgina,” she corrected. “You need to take your life here seriously, Charlotte. Remember that.”
I resisted the childish urge to pout. I didn’t want to believe that I’d be here much longer. As sweet as this inn was, it wasn’t my life. “So, what’s the deal with this place? What’s your grand plan?”
“I’m going to start fostering kittens,” she said.
I blinked. “Fostering them?”
“Yes, the Gossip Cat Rescue Shelter needs people to look after cats and kittens they find on the streets. Some of them need medical care, others just need someone to feed and look after them until they’re ready for their new homes, and I’m going to do it.”
“How?” I asked. “I’m no expert when it comes to cats, but don’t you need a pretty free schedule to do that? Kittens are babies. They need milk and care and—”
“Precisely,” Gamma said. “I’m going to have this part of the museum renovated. And then I’m going to hire people to help me.”
“But surely you won’t be making any money out of it?”
“No money at all,” Gamma said, happily. “That’s not what this is about. You know, dear, ever since your mother passed on, it’s been on my mind.”
“What has?”
“That I may never have any grandchildren of my own,” she said. “No offense, but you don’t seem like the type who settles down and pops out a few babies.”
“From what I’ve heard, the popping part is not so much popping, as it is terrible pain and screaming.”
“True,” Gamma said. “Very true. I want to be able to look after something again. And I adore cats. And you know what, dear? It just feels like the right thing to do.”
“Of course. It’s just a big project.” I walked to the window that was missing glass and tapped the sill. “You’re going to have to fork out a lot of cash for this.”
“Money isn’t a problem.” It never had been for Gamma. Her husband had been rich, and he’d left his life savings to her. Not that she hadn’t worked her butt off in her lifetime “What do you think?”
“Gam—Georgina, it hardly matters what I think. I’m not hanging around here for long. But for what it’s worth, I think it’s a good idea. Especially if it will make you ha—”
“Make me ha?”
I had spotted something on the floor. Just inside the window, wedged between the boards. I bent and extracted it.
“What’s that?” Gamma asked.
“A cigarette butt.” I held it aloft between my fingers tips. It was long and thin, though stubbed at the end, obviously. “Do you smoke?”
“The only thing I’ve smoked is a chicken. And that ended horribly.”
“Then what’s this?” I asked. “Someone must have been in here recently. It’s not faded with age or anything.”
“I haven’t had anyone else here.”
Could it be a clue? Gamma had mentioned that this section of the old museum did link up with the Gossip Inn. Was this how the killer had accessed the place? Perhaps, that was how they had gotten into the kitchen?
“Ooh, I see cogs turning.” Gamma pointed at me. “Are you thinking this is a clue?”
“Maybe.” It was something to be aware of, at least. I pocketed the cigarette butt for later analysis then reminded myself that, sheesh, I didn’t have a lab to send this off to anymore. As the ‘maid’ at the Gossip Inn, I wasn’t meant to have access to all the help law enforcement could provide.
“Come on, dear, let’s get back to the functional section of the inn,” Gamma said. “Before you start pocketing other potentially dangerous items.” She shooed me toward the exit, and I stepped out onto the creaking back porch.
The cigarette butt might’ve been completely innocent, but something told me it wasn’t, and that I should hang on to it. If the murderer was sloppy, I’d be able to help the cops catch them, and that would only make it safer for me to be in Gossip. Wouldn’t it?
7
Two days had passed since Pete’s drop-dead moment, and the detectives had finally cleared the inn’s kitchen to reopen. They had found no evidence of illegal substances or poison in the kitchen. And that told me one thing: it had been brought in to poison the guests.
Did that exclude the people at the Gossip Inn? Probably not. Who knew where they’d been before breakfast had been called. And whoever had done it, had to have known that Pete and Peggy would be served first. Did that mean they had specifically been targeting Pete? Or Peggy? Perhaps both of them.
Of course, none of this was my business. Technically.
But it still intrigued me. I had always been the type of person who pulled on threads.
“Charlie?”
I turned toward Lauren, the chef. She stood in front of the stove, frantically stirring a pot of sauce. “Yes?”
“Yeah, hi,” she said, “you’ve been staring out of the kitchen window for the past five minutes. And the tomatoes are starting to bruise.”
“Sorry. What do you need me to do?”
“The noodles. Take them off and drain them, please,” she said, gesturing to a bubbling pot on the stove.
I did as she’d asked, putting a little energy into it to make up for my lack of enthusiasm earlier. Lasagna was on the lunch menu today with a crisp olive, feta and lettuce salad on the side. And Lauren, bless her heart, had decided that it was a great idea to make more of the moist vanilla cupcakes from breakfast the other day.
“Everyone will want something sweet this afternoon,” Lauren said, as she stirred the batter in a massive silver bowl. “Trust me. It’s been a long week and folks are desperate for a little cupcake goodness.”
“You, uh, you don’t think they’ll be a freaked out because of what happened to Pete?”
Lauren paused, frowning. “Of course not,” she said, resuming her stirring. “The police have already proved that there was no poison in my kitchen. Of course, there wasn’t. My kitchen is spotless.” She dipped a spoon into the cupcake batter and tasted it. “Perfect.” She dropped the spoon into the sink on the way past then brou
ght out her cupcake trays.
“What can I help with?” I asked.
Lauren set the bowl down. “Put the lasagna in the oven and then you can take a break.”
“Thanks.” I grinned at her.
She was easy to work with and for. She’d been wonderful to me ever since I’d arrived. Then again, I was used to rubbing shoulders with people who were generally mistrustful of strangers. It was refreshing to hang out with people who didn’t have hidden agendas.
Or do they? You never know.
I layered the lasagna, tucked it into the oven, set the timer, and then dipped out of the back door that led from the kitchen to the lush grounds. It was a summery afternoon, with birds chirping in the trees and heat building underneath the bright blue sky. The only relief came from a breeze that rustled through the grass.
You shouldn’t get used to this town or the inn.
They would find my ex in Prague soon, and I would be done with this place. That was good. I wanted out. I wanted action and to live the life I’d chosen. Unlike Gamma, I wasn’t ready to retire yet. I was in the prime of my ‘spy’ life.
Still, the change of pace was nice.
I walked through the gardens, pausing next to the fountain—a statue of a woman holding a vase, pouring water into the bowl below. Her stone face stared down at me, an ever-present smile caught on her lips.
“Easy for you,” I whispered. “No one wants to know where you are.” And now, I’ve progressed from talking to cats to talking to actual statues.
A gentle noise drifted through the grounds—a hiccup caught just above the gentle flow of water from the fountain.
I followed it, adjusting the ties of my apron and brushing a hand through my short, ice-blonde hair as I went, checking for knots.
Another noise came, but it wasn’t a hiccup. It was a sob, drifting between the trees.
Someone was out in the garden, crying.
I tiptoed between the trees and found a little oasis at the back of the inn—a single stone bench, with a view of the stream that bordered the property. Sitting on that bench, in the dappled light cast by the canopy of tree branches, sat Peggy Ball, the grieving widow.
She clasped a handkerchief to her face, her hand trembling.
“Peggy?”
She jerked upright, her cheeks streaked with tears, and her mousy brown hair in disarray. “Oh, hello,” she said. “I thought… I could be alone here. Sorry. Did you want to take a smoke break?”
“No,” I said. “I don’t smoke.”
“Oh. All right.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss.” My heart did go out to her. Pete had seemed grumpy, but clearly, she’d loved him. She would have no reason to sit under the trees and cry otherwise. Would she? I was ever the cynic. And it was true that the spouse was usually the first person investigated in a case like this.
There was also that saying that ‘poison was the woman’s murder weapon.’
“Thank you,” she said. “I’ve been trying to handle it as best I can, but it’s tough. Especially with the police asking questions. You know, they think I had something to do with it.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” It was an invitation into a conversation, though, and I came forward and plopped down next to her.
“Thank you,” she said. “But I wish I could take it all back. I wish I could have him back.” She licked her lips. “You know, and it… well, it—”
I waited patiently for her to continue. Sometimes, silence was the best option when it came to interrogation.
“You’re new here, right?” Peggy asked.
“That’s right.” I gave her an encouraging smile. “I’m new. And I’m not really friends with anyone, so if you’re worried about me talking to other people then, well, I don’t have anyone to talk to.”
Peggy gave me a wan smile.
“Sometimes,” I said, “it’s better to get things out than keep things in. Most times, actually.” And then I let the chirping of birds and the gentle trickle of the creek do their work. It truly was beautiful out here, and I soaked in the ambiance even.
“I… I’m just upset because he’s gone. And today I discovered something was missing that was important to me.”
“Something missing?” I prompted.
“Yes. From my room. Someone stole my jewelry box. I know I haven’t lost it. I know exactly where I put it last night, and there was something important inside. And now the cops won’t believe that I—” she cut off and shifted. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”
“It’s all right,” I said. “You can tell me.”
“No. No, I really can’t. I don’t even know you,” Peggy said as if she’d come to her senses. “Thank you for being so kind, but this is a private matter. I think I’ll keep it to myself.” She rose and strode off between the trees, fussing with her handkerchief.
I stared after her in the half-gloom. A jewelry box stolen from her room. One that the police were interested in? Or had that been something else? Peggy’s words were as clear as mud pie.
Stay out of it. Smulder’s warning floated up. I didn’t heed it. Instead, I got up and headed back toward the inn’s kitchen, mulling it over.
8
The lasagna from lunch had to be the best thing I’d ever eaten. It was perfectly creamy, tangy, cheesy and absolutely over the top delicious. I feasted on two platefuls in the kitchen, standing over the sink and eying the dining guests through the porthole windows of the kitchen.
Gamma had sat at the kitchen table and ate her meal, occasionally paging through the local paper, The Gossip Rag. She paused every now and again to gasp or shake her head.
Lauren hadn’t eaten a bite of lasagna but had gulped down two cupcakes already, licking the frosting from the top first before eating the cakey bases.
“So much speculation,” Gamma said, quietly, turning another page in the paper.
I tore my focus from the guests—not because I worried they’d empty their plates before I could get to ‘em, but because I wanted to observe. One of them might’ve been the killer. A killer caught meant less attention on me.
Gossip wasn’t my favorite place to be, but it was a side better than the alternative—nothing but darkness and tinned beans until my ex was caught.
“What do you mean, Georgina?” Lauren asked, helping herself to a third cupcake. She gestured with it. “Have you tried these? They’re great if I do say so myself.”
“Everything you bake is great, dear,” Gamma said, licking a finger and turning another page. “And I was talking about the murder investigation.”
“What about it?” I asked. “Have they got any leads?”
“Not leads, per se, just a lot of speculation. And some of it’s about the inn.”
“Oh no.” Lauren nearly dropped her cupcake. “Oh, no, no. This won’t affect us, will it? What if people don’t want to stay here anymore?”
Gamma’s already wrinkly brow creased like a map that’d been left folded for too long. “People will always want to stay here. This is the best inn near Gossip. It’s the only inn for heaven’s sake.”
“But what are they saying?” I asked, between chews.
“That there’s a new assistant chef and maid at the inn,” Gamma replied, eying me. “And that she might have had something to do with it.”
“No.” Lauren’s gasp accurately reflected my internal landscape.
“Did they use my name?” I asked.
“No, not yet. Not yet.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. If Smulder found out about this, he’d flip the lid right off his already bubbling pot. Not yet. That meant that it would likely happen sometime in the future.
“Something has to be done,” Gamma said, pointedly. “The murderer has to be found. The longer this goes on…” she trailed off, but the implication was plain.
“What do you think will happen?” Lauren asked, and took a huge bite of the cupcake. A bit of frosting dropped onto her shirt. “Sorry, I’m a nervous eater
.” She shrugged, scooping it up.
“It’s just not good for the town,” Gamma said, by way of excuse. Because of course, we couldn’t tell Lauren anything. That would just endanger her and nobody wanted that. “Besides, it’s quite scary.”
“Yeah, spooky, isn’t it? What if he haunts the inn?” Lauren whispered.
“Haunts the inn?” I asked.
“Lauren’s very superstitious, dear,” Gamma said. “She’s sure that the ghost of her aunt Aggy is roaming around in the museum section.”
“I’m positive.” Lauren gestured with her half-eaten cupcake. “I’ve heard all types of noises coming from that section of the museum, for over a week now, and I know that it would be just like my auntie to come here and make my life miserable. She hated me, you know.”
“Why?”
“She always thought I had no real talent for cooking or baking,” Lauren continued, “I think she was jealous, really, that I found a lovely place to work and she was a maid to the end of her days. Not that there’s anything wrong with being a maid. Just that she had other ambitions.”
“Why would she suddenly start haunting the inn?” I asked.
“Oh, she died a week ago,” Lauren said. “And I didn’t go to the funeral.”
Gamma gasped. “Lauren, that’s not like you. You could’ve asked for time off if you needed to go.”
“No. I didn’t want to. She made her bed with me,” Lauren replied.
“Her coffin, you mean.”
Both Lauren and my Gamma gave me a stunned look.
“Sorry,” I said. “I’ve got a wicked sense of humor.” And I didn’t believe in ghosts for a second. There were much scarier things in the world. If Lauren had been hearing things in the old museum section of the inn, chances were, it had been someone alive and real.
What a coincidence that someone had been murdered, and that I had found a cigarette butt there, as well. The slender white tip was upstairs in my bedroom, tucked into a plastic baggie. Just in case. I couldn’t give it to the police without raising suspicions, and I certainly didn’t want any more attention from them directed my way.
Mission Inn-possible 01 - Vanilla Vendetta Page 4
