Mission Inn-possible 01 - Vanilla Vendetta

by Rosie A. Point

  “The police are on their way,” Gamma said, from the kitchen door.

  “Are you hurt, Peggy?” I asked. “Did you fall down the stairs?”

  “No. I’m fine. I ran down the stairs, but I—well, I was so afraid at the bottom, I just—I passed out.” Peggy lurched up, and a few of the watching guests gave cries of alarm or shock.

  “All right, everyone,” Gamma said, “back into the dining room, please. The police are on their way, and if there is an intruder, they will surely be caught. Peggy needs some space.”

  I guided Mrs. Ball to a waiting chair—stiff-backed and antique positioned next to one of the tables in the passage—and helped her into it. She cast her gaze upward to the landing. “I don’t know who it was. They had a mask on. I didn’t get a chance to see them properly. They had a knife!”

  My stomach jolted.

  Turner?

  No. Not Kyle. It couldn’t be. My ex-husband was an NSIB agent. He wouldn’t break into the wrong room. If he was in Gossip, he’d be in and out of the inn without any of the guests realizing it. And that meant the murderer had returned to the scene of the crime. Or the thief.

  “It’s all right.” I patted her on the shoulder. “I’m sure the police will catch whoever broke in.” I searched the landing as well, training my ears for the slightest sound. I was ready—caught in that state of awareness I had been trained for.

  But I doubted whoever had broken into Peggy’s room would come down here.

  They’d surely heard the commotion and screams from the guests. If they’d been planning anything, they would’ve rushed out already. Peggy’s instinct to run had been a wise one.

  The wail of sirens approaching the inn drew the tension from my shoulders. Gamma hovered in the kitchen door, Lauren wan and swaying on the spot behind her.

  My grandmother’s expression said one thing, and one thing only. It was time to get serious.

  Neither I nor the Gossip Inn could afford another murder.

  14

  “Suspect list,” I said, and dropped my notepad onto my grandmother’s bedside table.

  The sun had set hours ago, dinner was done, and most of the guests had retired to their bedrooms. All except for Bella Rodriguez.

  “What do we have, dear?” Gamma asked, as she pulled on a pair of black leather gloves and removed a matching balaclava from her dresser drawer.

  It was quite a sight—she was petite and such a sweetheart, and her bedroom was decorated in flowers with an antique half-poster bed.

  “The main suspects for Pete’s death are, Peggy Ball,” I said, listing them off. “She could easily have faked the break-in herself and collapsed at the base of the stairs.”

  “Of course.”

  “Harley Davidson,” I said, tapping a pen next to the woman’s name.

  “It’s a crime her parents named her Harley, don’t you think?”

  “A crime,” I agreed. “But she’s a suspect in Pete’s death too. She’s been clinging to Bella ever since it happened, has been acting strangely, and she was out early in the morning on the day of his murder. Could she have been sourcing poison?”

  “A tenuous connection at best,” Gamma said. “Do you have anything that’s more solid?”

  “Bella Rodriguez,” I continued. “She’s been acting strangely, having shadowy conversations with strangers, she smokes, though not the same brand of cigarettes as the one I found in the museum. She was also absent at lunch today when Peggy was allegedly attacked.”

  “Exactly the reason we’re following her tonight.” Gamma stuffed her balaclava into the back pocket of her jeans then rose. “Are you ready, dear?”

  “I don’t have a balaclava,” I said. “Regrettably.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that. Follow me.” Gamma had mischief written all over her face. She led us out into the passage then looked both ways twice before heading down two flights of stairs and into the entry-hall.

  I knew better than to ask silly questions, so I followed her through the kitchen and out of its side door into the inn’s lush gardens. The moon hung bright and blue-white in the sky, and the trees cast long shadows in the grass.

  Gamma wiggled her silver eyebrows at me then beckoned, hurrying around the side of the inn, her sneakers stepping lightly on the path.

  How curious.

  We crept through the garden and to the back of the inn until Gamma pulled up short and cast out a hand. “Here,” she breathed. “Wait a moment.” She fiddled with her shirt and something clinked softly in the dark. Gamma bent and I caught sight of the luminescent mushrooms that had been painted on the door to the Shroom Shed.

  We were going into the basement? What was this about?

  Gamma opened the door then hurried down the steps. “Close them behind you,” she hissed.

  I did as she’d asked then followed her into the mushroom-scented gloom.

  “What on earth is going—?”

  The bulb clicked on and light flared in the tiny space under the inn. Gamma stood beneath it, grinning at me. “You’ll see,” she said. “I promise, you’re going to like it, dear.”

  Gamma hurried to the far door I’d noticed when I’d collected mushrooms the day before and took out a silver key. She inserted it. The latch clicked. “Hurry up, Charlotte,” she whispered. “And be quiet too.”

  You’d swear I’m not a spy.

  I stepped into another room crowded with darkness. A beat passed, and I held my breath, anticipation stewing in my stomach.

  Gamma locked the door, carefully, and then… “Lights,” she said.

  Fluorescents flickered on all up and down the massive room in front of us. My jaw dropped. I’d seen some pretty shocking things in my time, but this took the first place prize.

  “What do you think?” Gamma asked, spreading her arms, her expression painted with glee.

  Metal racks lined the walls and the rest of the space—what looked like the entirety of the underside of the inn—was packed full of steel shelves. To my left, three mannequins had been positioned, outfitted in stealth-wear and armor. The racks on the walls held weapons of every kind, rifles, shotguns, automatic weapons, and even a… katana? Yes, definitely, a katana. And the center shelves brimmed with everything from grenades to boxes of what I assumed were more weapons, ammunition or spy equipment.

  “Everything is meticulously categorized,” Gamma said. “So I’m going to need you to sign out every item you take.”

  “How do you have all of this?” I asked. “Surely this isn’t—”

  “Oh, it’s all mine. None of it belongs to the NSIB. I’ve been sourcing it over the years. Just in case. You never know when it might come in handy.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard that about RPGs,” I said, eying the massive cone-shaped end of the bazooka attached to the wall. “When on earth will you need that?”

  “I’ve always had a fascination with weaponry. Just be glad I didn’t go through with my purchase of the German Panzer tank I found online.”

  “Online?”

  “Dark web,” Gamma said.

  I slapped a hand to my forehead and held it there. “You’re meant to be retired, Georgina.”

  “And you’re my granddaughter,” she replied. “I won’t take a lecture from someone whose diapers I had to change.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Grab what you need and let’s head out!” Gamma was far too enthusiastic. It was as if she’d been waiting for an opportunity to holster that Glock and strap on a utility belt armed with… was that a grenade?

  Oh Lord, help us.

  Then again, how could I blame her? I’d been in Gossip for nearly a week and I was on the brink of mental collapse.

  I grabbed a modest amount of equipment—night-vision goggles, a balaclava, a pair of gloves, and a Taser—then went through the elaborate process of signing everything out on Gamma’s handwritten register.

  “I’m hoping to go digital sometime soon,” Gamma said, proudly. “But I’m having trouble sour
cing the right components, and I’m terrible with computers. I was hoping you could help me, dear. It’s not like I can bring an IT technician down here.”

  “Sure,” I said. “Sure. That sounds like a good idea. Let’s get even more illegal with this weapons cache.”

  “It’s for self-defense,” Gamma replied, sagely. “I never know when one of my old collars is going to catch up with me. Think of it this way, if that low-life Kyle Turner ever does find you, you’ll have everything you need to get rid of him. And the body.”

  “Oh boy,” I said, as I hung the night-vision goggles around my neck on a strap. I had to blow past it, though. We had more important matters to worry about. “So, how are we going to find Bella?”

  “My sources tell me she’s at the Hungry Steer.”

  “By sources, do you mean Lauren and her husband?” I asked.

  “Correct.”

  Lauren had told me she had a date night with her hubby—who was finally back from his business trip tonight.

  “And I’m assuming you’re not going to materialize an Aston Martin or Batmobile out of the floor?” I scanned the concrete between the rows of shelves, dubiously.

  “No,” Gamma laughed. “But I do have an SUV waiting upstairs.” She winked, and I resigned myself to let this one slide. Heavens knew, if Smulder found out about my grandmother’s secret stash, the NSIB would sweep down on the Gossip Inn in a blaze of confiscating glory. After I was gone and Kyle was under lock and key, of course.

  “Let’s go, dear. We don’t want to lose our target.” And with that, she swept out of the secret armament and back toward the Shroom Shed.

  “We’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy,” I whispered, not that there was anyone to hear me. I hurried after my armed up spy grandmother out toward her blacked-out SUV. Poor Bella Rodriguez wouldn’t know what had hit her.

  BELLA DROVE a Kia that had seen better days—a bump in its rear fender, and one of the taillights wasn’t working—but she was easy to tail through Gossip, particularly since the town was alive with night-life. Apparently, everybody who was anybody was at the Hungry Steer or attending the other bars along the street.

  For small-town folk, the Gossipers sure knew how to party. It was a stark contrast to the night I’d arrived, when everything had been so silent, and I’d assumed the whole town was full of people who wouldn’t know fun if it hit them in the face.

  Though, my idea of fun—tailing a suspect or hunting down a war criminal—likely varied from theirs.

  “Where on earth is she going?” Gamma asked, slowing the SUV and keeping two cars between us and Bella.

  It was a Friday night, so we had, thankfully, a bit of cover due to the busy restaurants. We drove past quaint stores and boutiques, the same salon I’d passed on the way in, and a pizzeria, brimming with customers ordering their favorite toppings.

  My gaze wandered, assessing danger and also just appreciating how sweet it all looked. The center aisle with its trees, the wrought-iron lamp posts, and decorative benches were all a far cry from what I was used to in the big city.

  “She’s turning,” Gamma said.

  The Kia’s indicator had come on, and Bella drove into a side street. I wasn’t familiar with the town, but this one was lined with clapboard homes and identical mailboxes. The further we went along, though, the bushier the surrounds became.

  “Interesting.” Gamma drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. “She’s heading to the lookout point, right next to the swimming hole.”

  “There’s a lookout point?” I asked.

  “Yes, but there’s not really anything to look out on except the swimming hole,” Gamma replied. “It’s not a cliff or anything. Most people who come here at this time of night are teenagers looking to snog.”

  “Snog?”

  “Sorry, dear, that means kiss. French kiss. With the—”

  “All right, that’s enough of that,” I said, cutting her off before she got too graphic for my tastes. “Do you think she has a lover?”

  “I have no idea. But the good news is, she won’t care that we’re parked close by. She’ll just assume we’re a couple of teenagers looking to—”

  “Georgina!”

  “Fine, fine. Good heavens, you’re old-fashioned.” Gamma steered the car into the parking area that overlooked the swimming hole. Two lights sat on the stone wall that overlooked the path winding down toward the swimming hole’s gated entrance.

  Only two other cars were parked out front, a few spaces between them. One was a silver Mercedes with a young woman seated inside, snacking on what looked to be marshmallows, and the other was the beat-up Kia, further down.

  Thankfully, Gamma’s windows were tinted.

  “Surely, she’ll recognize your car?” I asked.

  “No one’s seen this car, and if they have, they’ve never seen me driving it,” Gamma replied, simply. “Or did you forget I was the most decorated agent in the NSIB?”

  “Sorry.” My cheeks heated. I’d grown used to being around civilians.

  “No need to apologize, Charlotte.” Gamma watched the cars, and I leaned over and kept my eye out on them too.

  “She looks jumpy,” I said.

  Bella had gotten out of her car and perched on the hood, her arms folded and her cardigan pulled close, even though it was actually a warm night. She tapped her feet repeatedly.

  “Definitely. What is she doing here?” Gamma murmured. “My contact told me that she was at the restaurant with Harley. Why didn’t she leave with her?”

  I held back on pointing out that Gamma might as well have said Lauren instead of ‘contact.’

  The woman in the Mercedes started her car and reversed out then drove away, leaving just us and Bella in the quiet.

  Our suspect glanced over a few times, her heels tapping faster and faster. Just when I was sure she would lurch off the hood of the car and stride over to confront us, a figure appeared near the fencing of the swimming hole, walking out of the trees.

  “What on earth?”

  Gamma shook her head and lifted her night vision goggles. “Male, Caucasian, looks like he hasn’t had a shower in about a week, piercing in his right ear.”

  The man walked over to the hood of Bella’s car, and I brought my cellphone up, immediately. I snapped picture after picture of the side of the man’s face. He wore a baseball cap, but he hadn’t pulled it low enough, and I caught a few of his profile, the light just good enough.

  “Got him,” I said, keeping my phone out. I hit record.

  Bella and the man got off the car and walked away together, disappearing beneath the trees. Minutes passed, and I cut off the recording. “I think I know what we have to do next.”

  “What?”

  “I’m going to send this image to Smulder,” I said. “If he can identify the guy, we might have a new lead.”

  “Hmm, but that would mean involving NSIB. And they would not want you to be sticking your neck out for this.” Gamma started the SUV and slammed it into reverse. She drove us back onto the dirt track leaving Bella and the strange man to their covert meeting.

  The long ride back to the inn was silent, and I used the time to consider and reconsider. “I’m sending the picture.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “If we don’t figure this out,” I replied, “I get the feeling that things are going to get a whole lot worse. I can’t afford to be investigated. My cover is good, but if the detectives here pry too much, they might blow this wide open. And I know that Kyle will be looking out for me. Searching online.” I forced myself not to shudder.

  It was amazing that a man I had loved and trusted so dearly once could bring out that reaction in me now.

  “It’s your choice, dear,” Gamma said. “Just make sure you understand the consequences of your actions before you do this. It might cause more harm than good.”

  “I know.” And I forwarded the images to Smulder with a request for identification. They couldn’t really expect me to lay low whi
le my life was on the line. Not when I’d been trained to handle life or death situations.

  15

  Two days had passed since I’d snapped those pictures of the new suspect and sent them off, and I still hadn’t heard a peep from Smulder. Either he was furious or… well, yeah, that was about the beginning and end of it. He was probably just angry.

  The Gossip Inn had been under scrutiny too—a few detectives had come back to speak to Peggy after the alleged break-in—but other than that, everything had progressed at the small town’s usual pace.

  I stretched out on the bed in the guestroom twiddling my toes on top of the covers.

  Cocoa Puff the kitty cat swatted them, and I chuckled. I couldn’t help it. I’d always wanted a cat growing up, and I’d never had one. It seemed Gamma’s cat had taken a liking to me. He spent most nights napping at the end of my bed, and this morning, I’d woken with him on my stomach.

  “Careful,” I said, as he hooked me with a claw.

  He purred at me and carefully withdrew his paw. I rewarded the kitty with a bright smile. Was it silly that I’d relaxed so much here?

  I rolled onto my side and peered out of my open window at the fading light over the treetops in the inn’s back yard. The purple hour had come, and the scent of Lauren’s cooking from earlier still drifted through the inn.

  In another life, I might have dropped off to sleep with a smile.

  I heaved a sigh and grabbed my cellphone off the bedside table. “Come on, Smulder. Call me back.”

  The phone buzzed in my hand, and I nearly dropped it. Cocoa Puff offered me a yellow-eyed blink of concern.

  “I’m fine,” I said, then answered the call. “Hello?”

  “Smith.” Agent Smulder’s tone was about as happy as a stormy wave crashing into the side of a lighthouse. “You know what I’m going to say to you.”

  “Let me guess,” I replied, walking away from the window and pacing across my room. I caught a glimpse of myself in the dressing table mirror and grimaced at my puffy pink dress. “You want me to stand down. You’re furious with me for getting involved and sending those pictures. You’re ready to tell the Special Agent in Charge and have my butt hauled out of Gossip and into the dark.”