by Sarah Fox
“Stay away from me!” she fumed.
Before Brad had a chance to say anything in response, she spun on her heel and disappeared into the manor, almost slamming the door behind her. Still agitated, Brad ran a hand through his thinning dark hair.
I didn’t want him to catch me gawking, so I quickly set off along the pathway. I couldn’t help but wonder what was going on between Brad and the young woman. It wasn’t any of my business, but I was curious by nature and couldn’t stop a list of possibilities from scrolling through my mind. I brought those thoughts to an abrupt halt when I reached the front of the manor.
Although I’d glimpsed the hotel while driving past on a few occasions, I’d never been inside, or even this close. Built in the first half of the twentieth century by a wealthy man named Edwin Vallencourt, the manor was originally a private mansion. According to local stories, Vallencourt had entertained other wealthy and sometimes famous figures and had thrown legendary parties at his extravagant home. After his death, his heirs had been unable to afford to keep the massive property and it had changed hands several times over the years.
Almost a decade ago, Brad Honeywell and his wife, Gemma, had purchased the property and restored the manor to its former glory before opening it as a hotel. It was the fanciest and most expensive place to stay in the small town of Shady Creek, Vermont, and I was almost as eager to get a look inside as I was to meet Linnea Bliss.
A short flight of wide stone steps led up to the elegant double doors. When I stepped into the spacious lobby, I had to pause on the threshold to take in the beautiful sight before me. A crystal chandelier hung from the high ceiling, but it was almost unnecessary at the moment, with all the daylight streaming in through the large windows. I couldn’t spot a speck of dirt on the white marble floors, and the tasteful antique furnishings allowed me to feel as though I’d momentarily stepped back in time, until I noticed the computer on the reception desk.
On my left and next to a leafy potted plant was a settee so gorgeous that I wished I could have it for my own, even though it probably would have looked out of place in the cozy little apartment I called home. It had a beautifully carved crest and legs, and was upholstered with cream fabric. It likely cost more than all my furniture put together.
When I first entered the lobby, the reception desk to my right was unmanned, but as the door drifted shut, Brad Honeywell strode toward me. I experienced a brief moment of apprehension until he directed a welcoming smile my way. Most likely he was unaware that I’d witnessed him arguing with someone minutes earlier.
“Good morning and welcome to Shady Creek Manor,” Brad said. “It’s Sadie, isn’t it?”
“That’s right,” I replied. “I’m here to meet with Linnea Bliss and her assistant.”
“Yes, of course,” a woman’s voice chimed in. Gemma Honeywell entered the lobby through an arched doorway that appeared to lead to a sitting room. She wore a light gray pantsuit with a silk blouse, and her curly fair hair was tied back in a fancy twist. “We’re all very excited to have such a famous author staying here at the manor.”
“And I’m excited to meet her,” I said.
Gemma introduced herself, since we’d never officially met, and told me she’d call Marcie Kent, Linnea’s assistant, and let her know that I’d arrived.
I took the opportunity to try out the beautiful settee. I half expected it to be uncomfortable because of its formal appearance, but that wasn’t the case. Perhaps it wasn’t quite as comfy as my couch, but it was still a nice place to sit.
While I waited, Gemma had a hushed conversation on the phone behind the reception desk. I twisted one of the rings on my right hand, butterflies circling around each other in my stomach. Gemma was still on the phone when a woman in jeans and a flannel shirt with rolled up sleeves appeared in the lobby. She had cropped brown hair and carried a toolbox. I’d seen her at my pub and around town a few times. If I remembered correctly, her name was Jan and she had her own plumbing business.
As soon as Brad spotted her, he hurried out from behind the reception desk.
“Problem all fixed?” he asked.
“As good as new,” Jan replied.
“Excellent. I’ll write you a check.” Brad ushered her down a hallway that led toward the back of the manor.
Gemma hung up the phone and smiled at me. “Ms. Kent asked that you meet her and Ms. Bliss in the parlor for tea. I’ll show you the way.”
Thanking her, I followed her through the archway into the sitting room. Although, parlor seemed like a much more suitable term. The room was bigger than my whole apartment and it reminded me of sitting rooms I’d seen in British movies featuring grand estates from days gone by. The rugs alone probably cost a fortune, never mind the ornate furnishings. The artwork on the walls might not have been created by the grand masters, but each piece was still gorgeous.
A marble fireplace was the focal point along one wall, while the opposite wall featured a row of arched windows, currently shaded with sheer curtains to filter out some of the bright sunlight. At the far end of the room, four chairs sat tucked beneath a round table covered in a white cloth.
Gemma nodded at the table. “If you’d like to take a seat, I’ll be serving tea shortly.”
“Thank you,” I managed to say, even though most of my attention was taken up by my beautiful surroundings.
As distracted as I was, I tried to collect myself. I didn’t want to seem scatterbrained when Linnea arrived. That didn’t take long. I hadn’t yet had a chance to pull out a chair from the table when footsteps drew my gaze to the doorway.
I recognized Linnea Bliss right away. I’d seen her picture many times online and on the dust jackets of her best-selling romantic suspense novels. She was in her late fifties, slightly plump, with gray streaks in her brown hair. Her warm smile put me immediately at ease.
“You must be Sadie Coleman.” She offered me her hand. “Such a pleasure to meet you.”
“You as well.” I smiled as I shook her hand.
The woman who’d come into the room behind Linnea stepped forward.
“And this is my assistant, Marcie Kent,” Linnea said. “I know the two of you have spoken on the phone.”
I’d talked to Marcie a few times as we’d arranged for Linnea to come to Shady Creek to give a talk and sign books at my literary-themed pub. I’d never seen her picture before, though, and I had to catch myself quickly to mask my surprise at the fact that she was the woman I’d seen arguing with Brad behind the hotel.
We exchanged pleasantries and the three of us settled at the table, Gemma appearing a moment later with a tea cart. She set a teapot and cups on the table along with cream and sugar and a tiered plate that held scones and little cakes.
“I’m so happy you decided to come to Shady Creek,” I said to Linnea once Gemma had left.
“It was Marcie’s idea,” Linnea said. “And since the book I’m currently writing is set in Vermont, I thought it would be a great way to soak in the local atmosphere and add authenticity to my writing.”
“I can’t wait to read it.” I tried to keep my excitement at least somewhat under control, but there was still a good deal of enthusiasm behind my words. “I’ve read and loved everything you’ve written.”
“Thank you, dear. That’s a lovely thing to say.”
“It’s the absolute truth,” I assured her before turning to Marcie. “Have you been to Shady Creek before?”
Since it was Marcie’s idea to add the town to the end of Linnea’s latest book tour, I was curious if she had a connection to the area. Although Shady Creek was a small town, it was popular with tourists, especially during leaf-peeping season, and I wondered if she’d vacationed here in the past.
Her reply quickly dispelled that idea. “I haven’t, but I read about the town and Edwin Vallencourt while doing some research for Linnea. It sounded like such a nice pl
ace and I knew Linnea was hoping to make a trip to Vermont before she finished writing her book.”
“I’m so glad you chose Shady Creek for your visit, and The Inkwell,” I said to both of them.
Linnea added strawberry jam to a scone. “I can’t wait to get a look at your pub. It sounds so charming and the pictures I saw online are delightful.”
“Thank you,” I said, my smile probably outshining the sun.
As we drank our tea and snacked on the delicious cakes and scones, we chatted about the upcoming event at The Inkwell, going over some final details. We’d nearly covered everything when approaching footsteps drew our attention to the doorway. My surprise probably showed on my face when I realized that Eleanor Grimes was hurrying toward us, her expression determined and her eyes fixed on Linnea.
Eleanor ran the Shady Creek Museum and didn’t exactly have the sweetest disposition. When I’d moved to town ten months ago, she’d had her eye on the beautiful old gristmill that housed the local pub, hoping the town would buy it so she could move her beloved museum into the space. She hadn’t been happy when I’d purchased the building and business. I’d never actually spoken with her, but she’d sent an icy glare my way on more than one occasion.
“Ms. Bliss,” Eleanor said as she approached, “I wonder if I could trouble you for a moment of your time. I’d like to speak to you about a cause very dear to my heart.”
“This is Eleanor Grimes,” I said by way of introduction. “She’s in charge of the local museum.”
Eleanor didn’t so much as glance my way. Her bony hands clutched a book to her chest. I couldn’t see much of the cover, but it didn’t appear to be one of Linnea’s novels.
She continued on as if I hadn’t spoken. “One writer to another, I’m sure you’ll understand—”
“Eleanor!” Gemma rushed into the room. When she reached our table, she lowered her voice, although we could all still hear her clearly. “I asked you to please not interrupt Ms. Bliss.”
“Donations are vital to the continued operation of the Shady Creek Museum. Our history is the backbone of our community and—”
“Yes, yes.” Gemma forced a smile that wasn’t far off from a grimace. “But Ms. Bliss doesn’t want to hear about that right now.”
She put an arm around Eleanor’s thin shoulders and attempted to turn her away from the table.
Eleanor resisted and addressed Linnea again. “I brought you a copy of my book.” She placed the volume on the table next to Linnea’s plate.
I glanced at the cover. It was titled Shady Creek: A History and Eleanor’s name was printed near the bottom in fancy script. I’d heard that she’d recently self-published a book about the town, but I hadn’t seen a copy of it before today.
Marcie spoke up. “I’ve read that.”
I’d never seen Eleanor smile before, but she did now.
“Have you?” She sounded ridiculously pleased. “Then I’m sure you appreciate—”
“In chapter nine you state that Edwin Vallencourt amassed his fortune through wholly legitimate business dealings and that the rumors about him earning money from shadier ventures are completely baseless.”
Eleanor stood up straighter. “That’s right.”
“But in actual fact, there’s plenty of documentation to back up those rumors,” Marcie said, sounding a bit like a know-it-all. “Vallencourt had his fingers in several less-than-honorable pies and was heavily involved in bootlegging during prohibition.”
The remains of Eleanor’s smile slipped away. She pursed her thin lips and her eyes hardened. “Those are all lies!”
“Historical facts, actually,” Marcie countered, her cool demeanor a sharp contrast to Eleanor’s growing fury.
“How dare you come to our town and spout such filth about one of Shady Creek’s most revered citizens from the past! I’ll have you know that—”
“Eleanor!” Gemma cut her off sharply, her forced smile long gone. “I apologize for the interruption,” she said to us before turning Eleanor around and herding her from the room.
“Sorry,” Marcie said to me and Linnea, although she didn’t sound all that contrite. “It drives me crazy when people spread factual errors.”
Linnea poured more tea into Marcie’s cup. “There’s no real harm done, dear.”
I realized that my fingers had a painfully tight grip on the napkin lying across my lap. I hadn’t expected such tension when I’d arrived for tea. Marcie and Linnea appeared to have already put the encounter behind them, so I tried to do the same. That wasn’t easy when Eleanor’s indignant protests could still be heard off in the distance. Eventually, however, her voice died away and we were left in peace.
Chapter Two
Fortunately, we met with no further interruptions and drew our meeting to a close shortly after we’d finished off the pot of tea. Aside from the one brief disturbance, our conversation had gone smoothly and pleasantly. I’d enjoyed spending time with Linnea, and Marcie as well, and I was now looking forward to the author’s visit to The Inkwell more than ever. Plenty of townsfolk had expressed interest in hearing the author speak, and I knew many people planned to show up at the event the next day. The members of The Inkwell’s romance book club would be in the audience and had told me they intended to show up as early as possible so they could claim the best seats.
Now that I’d met Linnea, I didn’t have a single doubt that she’d be a hit with her fans. She was charming, engaging, and full of colorful stories. There wouldn’t be one bored person in the audience. I was still a tiny bit nervous, simply because I desperately wanted the event to go off without a hitch, but mostly I was excited.
After saying goodbye in the lobby, Linnea and Marcie had gone up to their rooms, taking the broad, curving staircase to the next floor. Instead of heading for my car, I stopped in the lobby and glanced at the reception desk. There was no one behind it at the moment. I could hear voices in the distance but there was no one around to stop me from venturing deeper into the manor.
I wasn’t planning to explore the entire hotel, even though I desperately wanted to. Getting a look at the lobby and parlor had only made me all the more eager to check out the rest of the place. I didn’t want to annoy anyone, however, so I exercised restraint and bypassed the staircase. I wasn’t going to leave without a little exploration, though.
Following a wide hallway that led toward the back of the hotel, I walked as quietly as possible in my high heels. An arched doorway to my right led to a dining room, where about a dozen hotel guests were sitting down to an early lunch. A few feet farther along, arched double doors stood open on my left. I was hoping I’d found the ballroom and I soon discovered that I had. The room I peeked into was large enough to host dozens of dancing couples with plenty of space to spare. The polished parquet floors gleamed in the sunlight that poured into the room through the numerous tall windows that lined the wall across from me. Two sets of French doors also let in streams of daylight and one set stood open, leading out onto a large patio.
The ballroom was empty at the moment, so I crept inside for a better look. An enormous crystal chandelier hung from the ornate plaster ceiling high above me. It was turned off at the moment, but I could imagine what it would look like lit up at night, each one of the dangling crystals sparkling and glittering. The rest of the light fixtures were wall sconces designed to look like old-fashioned gas lamps. At one end of the room, a balcony overlooked the dance floor and beneath it was a small stage, likely where live music would be played on the night of the May Day masquerade.
I hadn’t yet lived in Vermont for a full year—I’d moved to town during the summer—so I hadn’t experienced Shady Creek’s annual masquerade before. I’d heard it was not to be missed and I’d already purchased my ticket. I didn’t have a mask yet, or a dress for that matter, and I made a mental note to address those issues soon.
Movement o
utside the windows caught my eye and I realized that someone was out on the patio. When he turned so his profile was lit up by the sun, I crossed the ballroom to the open French doors.
“Hi, Judson,” I greeted.
“Hey, Sadie,” he said with a smile. “What brings you here?”
Judson was a regular patron at The Inkwell and was employed as the manor’s gardener. He was in his mid-thirties and single, from what I’d heard. He wasn’t, however, short on female attention. It was easy to see why so many women found him attractive. His eyes and his wavy hair were both the color of milk chocolate and he had a lean and well-toned physique from all his gardening work. I’d spoken to him several times at the pub and I found him to be a pleasant, easygoing guy.
“I had a meeting with Linnea Bliss and her assistant,” I said in answer to his question.
“The famous author? She’ll be at the pub tomorrow, right?”
“That’s right. I’m hoping she’ll be a hit.”
“She probably will be. She seems nice.”
“You’ve met her?”
“She stopped to talk to me this morning,” he said. “She was out for a walk and I was weeding the flower beds out front. Some guests pretend I’m invisible and others look down their noses at me, but not her.”
“She does seem nice,” I agreed.
I watched as he grabbed a hose with a nozzle attachment and watered the colorful flowers growing in large stone pots on the patio.
“The gardens look amazing,” I said. “You’ve done great work.”
“Thanks. The Honeywells want everything to look even more immaculate than usual with the masquerade coming up. Hopefully they’ll be as impressed as you are.”
“I’m sure they will be.”
