Quaint homes flicked past, then we were in Main Street again, driving by the bustling salon, the General Store with its specials announced on cards in the windows, and a bakery with a line right out the door. The smells were amazing—from baked goods to the scent of water on grass as kids played in their front yards.
These were all the things I’d missed out on in the big city and on my missions overseas. I’d been so focused on protecting and serving, that I’d nearly forgotten what I had promised to protect. All of this.
And my ex-husband threatened that by his mere existence.
We took the long trail down to the swimming hole and had to park on the grass—the gravel parking lot was filled with cars. Kids and adults alike had gathered around the closed gates, holding towels and pool noodles, their flip flops dirtied by the sand.
“What’s going on?” Lauren asked, leaning over the steering wheel. “It should be open by now. It’s early, but still.”
We hurried over to the fence and spotted a police officer standing in front of it, his hands out to the waiting crowds. “Y’all need to calm down,” he said.
“Open the gates,” a man cried.
“I told you, I can’t open the gates. The swimming hole is closed today.”
A collective groan rose from the crowd. The folks joining at the back prodded and poked their way forward, asking questions.
“Officer, can you tell us why?” Gamma asked, in her commanding grandmotherly tone.
The police officer, a handsome young man with a shock of red hair and wrinkles around his eyes that suggested he smiled more than he frowned, cleared his throat. “It appears that someone has taken it upon themselves to dump trash into the swimming hole. Y’all are going to have to wait until it’s all cleaned up before you can do any swimming.”
“Not again. This happened like a week ago. Haven’t you cleaned it up already?”
“Sorry, ma’am,” the officer said, “but it seems the vandal is back.”
Gamma sighed. “How long will it take to clean it up?”
“Might be a few days, might be longer.”
More grousing and grumbling ensued.
Gamma, Lauren and I backed away.
“How strange,” Gamma said. “The first time this happened, we assumed it was just some kids playing a trick or the like, but now?”
“Who would do that kind of thing?” Lauren asked. “Why would they go out of their way to spoil everyone’s fun?”
I looked back at the closed gate to the swimming pool. What were the chances that Bella and her new criminal friend had been meeting here a few nights prior, and now, the swimming pool was off-limits? Slim to none. There had to be a reason for it, and I had a feeling it might have something to do with Pete. “When did you say the dumping first occurred?”
“Maybe a week back,” Gamma said. “Just before you arrived.”
“Was Pete here then? At the inn?”
“Why, yes, dear. The Balls arrived a week and a half ago.”
Intriguing. I was sure there was a connection, but as for what it was…“Let’s go back to the inn,” I said.
“Great idea,” Lauren said. “We can put the sprinklers on in the yard and run through them.”
“Right.” But I had no intention of doing that. It was time to put on my real snooping hat.
18
Gamma and Lauren had positioned themselves outside on lawn chairs with the sprinklers nearby, and two glasses of lemonade on a table between them. It was a nice idea, but I’d already put leisure aside in lieu of what had to be done.
My time would run out soon.
Suppressing a website or information online was like trying to chop off the heads of a mutant snake. The minute one was gone, another one would crop up, and those were resources NSIB couldn’t afford to spend on keeping me safe.
But the tabloids would soon lose interest in me once the real killer was caught. They’d be all about discovering the sordid past of the one who’d done it.
I took the steps two at a time and rushed down the long hallway, past pleasant pictures of Gossip during its inception, and a few of Gamma and her friends, and unlocked my bedroom. I rushed inside and shut the door behind me, then drew my curtains back and caught a view of the fountain and the greenhouse. Empty and idyllic, a beautiful view of the garden.
But who cared about that?
I hadn’t had the chance to buy a laptop yet, but my grandmother had lent me hers the night before when I’d decided to do research. Except I’d been so exhausted after work and the hair escapade, and the fear of having to leave Gamma behind, that I’d passed out.
I grabbed the laptop now and opened it up. I retreated to the bed and plonked down, my mind passing over the details.
Bella and her friend.
The swimming pool being closed.
Jessie’s cigarette being found in the museum section which had access to the inn and the kitchen.
And then there was Harley who had snuck back into the inn early on the morning of the murder. Where had she been?
Peggy, too, had to be a suspect as the spouse. She’d mentioned her jewelry box missing.
But I had to start with the victim. I’d been curious, but not quite determined to get involved as I was now. I opened my bedside table drawer and removed my notepad and pen.
“Here we go,” I murmured.
A meow and a scratching started up at my door, and I let Cocoa in, quickly, then returned to my notes and laptop. The kitty cat leaped onto my lap and tried his best to get in the way, but I shifted the laptop so I could still make out the screen.
I opened up my browser and typed in ‘Pete Ball’ then hit enter.
The results were instant.
Article after article about the break-out hospitality businessman, Mr. Pete Ball. Apparently, he’d been wealthy, as in multi-millionaire wealthy.
I noted that down: motivation… money? Inheritance?
A quick tap on the laptop’s touchpad brought up a recent article on the ‘Texan Business Insider’ website.
Texan Native Expands His Empire: Meet Mr. Pete Ball
It was a profile on Pete and what he’d achieved recently. A lot, if this list was to go by, and all in the hospitality industry. I scanned his accolades, my eyebrows rising—no wonder he’d been so short and snappy. He was practically business famous.
A line in the article caught my eye.
Mr. Ball’s expansions don’t stop there. He’s been scouting sites for new restaurants across the state, the most recent being in Gossip, Texas, a quaint small town with a quirky name.
“I’ve found some real estate that will really bring in customers on a hot summer day,” Mr. Ball told Texas Business Insider, over the phone. “Down there in Gossip, there aren’t that many quality restaurants, which is a pity because the town has so much potential. I’ve found an awesome lot next to the local swimming pool that will bring customers pouring in.”
Mr. Ball’s strategies are infamous in business circles. His aggression coupled with his preparation has seen him rise to the top of the ladder. He’s placed himself as one of the most successful men, nationally.
I reread a few of the lines.
Well, wasn’t that interesting?
I had a direct connection between the swimming hole and Pete, now. And perhaps even Mr. Grayson Tombs. He had been hanging around the inn after the murder as well, under the pretext of looking for Lauren in the kitchen.
“But what if he was there for more nefarious reasons. To cover his tracks?”
I noted it down. Pete was a restaurateur moving in on Tombs’ turf. Tombs a suspect?
It seemed I’d be paying another visit to the Hungry Steer. Mr. Grayson Tombs had already sparked my suspicion and my contempt—what type of man hit on a married woman for heaven’s sake?
If he’d thought I’d made him uncomfortable before, he had no idea what was coming his way.
19
Sunday afternoons at the Gossip Inn were as lazy
as lazy could get. The scary thing was I’d become accustomed to them. I no longer itched under the soles of my feet to hit the road and start doing something.
Now, it was my mind that wandered. I stood in the inn’s kitchen, helping Lauren clean the dishes after our roast lunch service. I hadn’t eaten a bite of it, though it was clearly sumptuous, and she’d followed it up with vanilla cupcakes again.
Gam and I had decided we would head over to the Hungry Steer this evening to take advantage of their barbeque buffet. That and to scope out the place and possibly question Mr. Tombs on what he thought of Pete.
“Are you ready to go?” Gamma bustled into the kitchen, wearing a pair of jeans and a silken blouse. She was in her seventies, but boy, she was spry and fit.
“Go? Now? I thought we were going tonight?”
“Oh, we are,” she replied. “But we’ve got a few things we have to do first.”
“Like what?” I asked.
Gamma loosed her sneaky grin at me. “Oh, you’ll see.” She disappeared through the kitchen door before I could ask her what she meant.
“Good luck,” Lauren said, twirling a finger through her red pigtail. “Usually, when she gets in one of these moods, it means she’s going to take you on the ride of your life. You do have your passport with you, right?”
“What? No?”
“I’m kidding.” Lauren giggled. “But she will take you on an adventure. She gets these days where she’s sort of… restless. I don’t know why.”
I had a hunch. It had everything to do with the secret armory in the inn’s basement. Gamma was like me at heart—she needed excitement. I was curious about what she had planned for the rest of the afternoon, so I hurried upstairs and changed into clothing that was comfortable. Sort of—jean shorts and a flowery blouse. They still weren’t what I’d usually have worn, but they were better than dresses covered in gamboling puppy dogs or smiling emojis.
Fifteen minutes later, I was downstairs and ready for whatever Gamma had planned. She beckoned, and I followed her out into the parking area, and we got into Gamma’s normal driving car—a Mini-Cooper.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“You’re too impatient, dear. You’ll see.”
“I’m used to knowing what’s going on and being the one who keeps the secrets.”
“Well, you’ll have to get used to it being the other way around, now.” Gamma started the engine and we were off, winding down the long road that led out of the inn’s grounds. Instead of cruising toward Gossip, we took a turn onto another mysterious road.
My curiosity was almost unbearable. I cast anxious glances over at Gamma, but she wore her secretive smile and didn’t say a word. We took a dirt road between scrub and trees and found our way to—
“The Gossip Cat Rescue Shelter,” Gamma announced.
The shelter was a squat building with a gabled roof and a friendly sign above its glass front door, marked with pink paw prints and cartoon cats. The parking spaces in front of it were pretty full, but we found a spot at the end of the lot and Gamma put the sea-green Mini-Cooper in park.
Strangely, I was relieved. I’d half-expected Gamma to take me on a mission. She had an adventurous spirit that had landed her in a lot of trouble back in the day. Whereas I tried to be more cautious.
Sheesh, as if that had worked out for me.
I followed Gamma into the shelter, and the doorbell tinkled merrily. The receptionist—who was as squat as the building and wearing a pair of thick tortoiseshell glasses and a paw-print covered uniform—looked up and beamed at us.
“Georgina,” she cried.
“Good morning, Kat!” Gamma hurried around to her side of the desk and gave her a hug and a kiss on either cheek.
“Are you ready yet?”
“Not yet! I still have to get the construction and renovation started, but I thought I’d show my new assistant the kitties,” Gamma said.
“Wonderful. By all means, go on through and take a look at them. A young man brought in a few babies this morning—almost newborn. It’s been quite challenging for our carers. The sooner you’re set up, the better.”
I gave Kat a warm smile then hurried after Gamma, who had already stepped through a back door. We traveled down a short hall that opened into a wider room full of cages. Each cage was equipped with comfy blankets, water, and kibble.
“These are the old cats. You can adopt from the shelter, but they need fosters to look after the younger kittens and some of those cats that aren’t ready for adoption yet. You’d be surprised by just how many stray cats there are around the town. There’s a huge thoroughfare.”
“That’s terrible,” I said.
“This is why you should always spay and neuter your animals. It makes me emotional, thinking about how many little animals die out in the wild because they don’t have the proper care.” Gamma opened the back door into a smaller room—it was populated by litter trays and little kitty pee pads, playthings, and then a netted off area where smaller kittens were kept in blankets. A young woman sat there, feeding them.
“Oh sweethearts,” Gamma said and bent to scratch behind the ears of a rambunctious tortoiseshell kitten who’d rolled out of its blankets to greet us. Its fur stood up in the center of its forehead, like a miniature Mohawk.
“Hello,” I said, as Gamma went off to talk to the woman feeding the newborns.
I bent and put out a hand. The other kittens meowed and played, but the spunky cat was more interested in bounding around me, purring. I sat down on the floor, and it leaped into my lap, scratching at the charm bracelet I’d put on this morning.
“She likes you,” the helper said. “That’s Harriet.”
“Harriet?” It wasn’t exactly a kitten name.
“Harriet the Spy,” the woman laughed. “Kat named her because she’s always trying to escape the room and because she likes to perch on the cat tree and stare at everyone beneath her. We figure she’s making mental notes about everyone’s movements.”
“Cute.” I liked her already. I picked up the spunky cat and she batted me on the nose, still purring. “You and I have something in common, Harriet,” I whispered.
I played with her for a while, and though she was adorable and I’d definitely warmed to the idea of owning a cat one day, it wasn’t possible now. I wouldn’t be sticking around in Gossip forever. Unless Kyle managed to hide from the NSIB until he was old and gray.
After Gamma was finished fawning over the kittens, we left the shelter and headed over to the Hungry Steer. Inside, we took our seats in Gamma’s favorite cushy booth. The trip to the shelter had been fun, and a little sad, but it didn’t help me solve anything to do with the case.
Hopefully, being in the bustling restaurant with its slightly cheesy décor would.
“I am starved,” Gamma said, paging through her menu.
“Me too. For food and for information.” I kept my shoulders relaxed but scanned the afternoon patrons of the restaurant. It was surprisingly empty. Or maybe, folks just preferred to eat here for dinner instead of lunch.
“Hmm, speaking of which.” Gamma leaned in. “If anyone would murder for money and power, it would definitely be Tombs. Rumor has it that Grayson once blackmailed a local restauranteur in an effort to get him to leave Gossip for good.”
“Did it work?”
“No,” Gamma replied. “But he wound up opening a pizzeria instead of a steakhouse. And Lauren’s sister, Josie, had some trouble with him at the bakery too. He tried to close them down on technicalities—building codes.”
“Is that why he’s interested in Lauren? Maybe he wants to poach her for his restaurant?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t be surprised. Lauren is an amazing chef,” Gamma said. “The best I’ve ever met in my life, and you know I’ve traveled around the world.”
“Right.” I paged idly through the menu without searching for a meal. It seemed Mr. Tombs had an interest in preventing competition in Gossip. After all, this quaint town di
d attract tourists passing through, or those who wanted to experience the small-town life for a day. Could it be that simple?
Was that why Tombs had come to the inn under the guise of speaking to Lauren? But how did that involve Bella? It didn’t at all. Then why was she stuck in my brain as a major suspect?
I frowned and rubbed the lines between my eyebrows.
The waiter came over and took our order—a cheeseburger and fries for me and a plate of enchiladas for Gamma with two sodas—and I sat back in the seat, my arms crossed.
“Don’t stress yourself out, dear,” Gamma said. “You’re so serious all the time. So tense.”
“I think you know why.”
“Of course, but worrying about what’s going to happen isn’t going to help. Trust me. I’ve got experience in these things and if you want to keep clarity of mind, you need to put those worries aside. Assess the situation to the best of your ability, of course, but remember that you don’t have to worry about it to make it right.”
I let the wisdom sink in. Gamma definitely had more experience than I did. She’d been in the NSIB for at least forty years longer than I had.
Old school rock music trickled through the speaker over our heads, and the interior of the cowboy-themed restaurant smelled of delicious food, from Mexican inspired treats to hamburgers and steaks. This was a good day, a nice town, and I did have to relax.
I sighed. “Thanks, Gam—Georgina.”
“You’re very welcome, sweet pea.” Gamma’s eyes widened and then returned to normal size, immediately. “Well, there’s a surprise.”
“What?”
She inclined her head. “Don’t turn around, dear, but Bella has just walked through the door. And she’s with her tattooed, criminal friend.”
20
“She’s sitting down with him at a table near the doorway,” Gamma said, under her breath, feigning fascination with her condensation-speckled soda glass.
Mission Inn-possible 01 - Vanilla Vendetta Page 9
