Bed and Breakfast and Murder

by Patti Larsen

  Oh, Fee.

  Half a block from the station I finally jerked my hand out of Dad’s and stopped, crossing my arms over my chest and scowling at him because I was in a bad mood already. And being mad at my father for interfering where he wasn’t needed, well, that was about right when I finally shook off the daughter complex and regained my independent streak cultivated from a decade outside his influence.

  Dad tsked his frustration at me, obviously not happy with my shift in attitude, frowning in return. “What?”

  My jaw dropped. “What?” I closed the gap and punched him in the arm. “What was that?”

  “That,” he growled at me, “was your father rescuing you from being arrested for murder. Because when I heard you were being questioned and hadn’t asked for a lawyer,” his jaw jumped as he ground the rest out from between clenched teeth, “and realized you’d lost your freaking little mind somewhere between New York and Reading,” he exhaled through both nostrils like a bull, “I had to come and save you from yourself.”

  Toby turned me in, obviously. “I didn’t kill anyone,” I said. “And I had this under control.” Except he was right and I was an idiot but no way—no way—was I telling my dad as much.

  “You’re just lucky he’s too damned arrogant to reach outside his Curtis County jurisdiction and bring the state troopers in.” Dad turned and kept walking, forcing me to either run to catch up or lose what he had to say. I chose the former, frustrated and angry I had to it but doing it anyway. “Idiot California cop and his damned West coast attitude.”

  “So, you don’t like Crew, is that what you’re trying to say?” It was an old reflex, came from being raised by a hard headed and by the book kind of man like Dad. Jokes seemed to diffuse what backtalk just made worse. But he wasn’t buying what I was selling today.

  “Just don’t say anything else to him from now on,” Dad said. “Fee.” He stopped again, drew a deep breath and nodded to me, sunlight shining on the silver in his precision cut hair, emotions clearly settling and a bit of concern showing past his granite-like stare. Sure sign Dad was really worried. “We both know you didn’t kill Pete Wilkins. But you also know from being my kid just how fast things can go to hell if you say the wrong thing at the wrong time to the wrong person.”

  “I know.” I hugged myself a little, found I was shaking suddenly. “I’m sorry, Dad. I just didn’t know what to do. The last thing I expected was to wake up to a dead body this morning.”

  Dad shrugged. “Welcome home, kid.”

  He walked on again, slower this time.

  “Who were those people?” I glanced behind me the block and a half to the sheriff’s office, wondering about the woman in the sunglasses, the angry young man now that I was safe. Damned curiosity seemed to have come back in full force now that I was home. In New York I’d managed to quash my natural need to know things in favor of just getting along. But for some reason this town had woken that instinct all over again. Dad could blame himself, if it came to that. Came by it honestly and all.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Dad said, also typical. “Let’s just get you home and get your guests sorted.”

  Maybe it was a sign of weakness, but when Dad offered his hand again I took it and was grateful for the quiet rest of the walk we shared all the way to my front door.

  He didn’t linger, not when Daisy came flying out the entry and threw herself into my arms, sobbing. I hugged her, turned her physically around to see my father leaving, already halfway across the street while my old best friend incoherently wept on my shoulder. It took a good minute to get her calmed down to the point I could shove her away and shake her a little.

  “Daisy,” I said. “It’s okay.”

  “It’s not.” She wailed her denial. “I’m a traitor.”

  So she’d finally figured that out, had she? Her weeping guilt was her saving grace. “I didn’t kill anyone,” I said, leading her inside. “So you didn’t do anything wrong.” I sighed, letting go of my irritation with her, as always. She’d never stayed in my bad books for long, no matter what happened. Because she never did anything out of malice, just innocent enthusiasm. Wished I had more of that myself. “Crew would have found out about my connection somehow. Best probably to get it out now before he could say I tried to hide it.”

  She hiccupped around her retreating tears, blinking at me, lower lip trembling as her big eyes shone with every single thing in her truly caring heart. “Really? I thought I sent you to the big house.” Daisy let out one more sob before clutching me in a giant hug. “Are you okay?” She pushed me away this time, looking me up and down in frantic concern. “Did they hurt you? Did he torture you?” Her voice lowered, conspiracy in her tone.

  What did she think happened, exactly? “He just asked me some questions. It’s okay. Thanks for taking care of things while I was out.” I looked down the hall toward the kitchen. “How many guests did we lose?” Olivia’s edict or not, I was likely looking at a big loss of revenue this week. Once word got out, guests would be abandoning Petunia’s like rats jumping from a burning ship.

  “Not a one.” Daisy seemed pleased to be able to offer some good news. “In fact, we’ve had calls to see if we have openings. Everyone loves a good murder.” She winced then. “Sorry, too soon?”

  I couldn’t help the little bark of a laugh that escaped. Just strung too tight to care anyway. “Not soon enough.”

  “Oh, Fiona dear, there you are.” Just what I needed. I pasted a smile over the desire to exhale in irritation as Peggy hurried into the foyer, Cookie dangling from the crook of her arm. The little dog’s perky green hair bow bounced on the top of her tiny head. Petunia offered a single woof of greeting which Cookie met with utter silence, as always.

  Peggy didn’t seem to notice I wasn’t really in the mood to talk about what happened because she hugged me one armed, Cookie’s little tongue finding my cheek a moment, the strong scent of peppermints and old wool making my nose twitch before Peggy let me go. The thin but strong hand that grasped my arm shook, her face pinched with concern and I relented as she went on.

  “I was so worried about you,” Peggy said, “and Daisy couldn’t tell me much about where you’d gone or what happened.”

  I patted her hand, feeling myself release of some of the tension I’d clung to the last few hours. “It’s going to be okay,” I said. “I’m pretty sure it was a tragic accident that killed Mr. Wilkins.”

  “Oh, how dreadful,” Peggy said. “But I don’t care about that wretched man, dear.” She obviously knew Pete Wilkins, then. I guess I wasn’t the only one he’d rubbed the wrong way. No idea why that made me feel better, thinking maybe the whole town hated him. Better than finding the patriarch of Reading drowned in my koi pond. “I was worried about you.” She touched my cheek with that same shaking hand, eyes watering. “Iris and I were old friends, Fiona. If she were here she’d be knocking that fool sheriff’s head for even considering you were responsible.”

  From what I remembered about Grandmother Iris, Peggy was right. Made me chuckle this time and that felt good.

  “You get yourself sorted,” Peggy said. “I know you must have so much to do. But once you find the time, I insist you come for tea. I have some things for you I know your grandmother would have loved for you to keep.”

  Peggy left on her own accord, waving as she went, and my estimation of her skyrocketed. Nosy, maybe. But she cared, that much was apparent. And I would love to learn more about Grandmother Iris. After this was over.

  And after I found out if I still owned Petunia’s or not. Or if my father was a murderer.

  ***

  Chapter Ten

  With those glum thoughts chasing me out of the foyer I slumped my way into the kitchen through the swinging door and into the darkly judging domain of the two older ladies who stared at me like they were utterly positive I’d done the deed. Mary and Betty didn’t whisper, didn’t speak, just watched as I crossed the space to the back door, silently accusing me of murder while m
y skin crawled.

  Faithful to the B&B and old friends of Grandmother Iris or not, I was firing their asses the second I got through this mess.

  The sunlight outside felt offensive, grumbling disillusionment and frustration tugging at me about as much as my need to return to the scene of the crime. What was it they said about the guilty hanging around the very place they committed their act of criminal disobedience? And yet, unless I’d sleepwalked my way onto the wrong side of the law, either someone pushed Pete Wilkins or the big idiot slipped and fell and continued with his untimely and poorly placed death to plague me from his grave.

  I really had to track down and talk to a lawyer that wasn’t Ryan Richards. While I hated that Dad was right, I needed someone to walk me through how to proceed from here, not only with Crew and his ideas about the death of Pete Wilkins, but to find out if in fact the paperwork was authentic. Because despite the truth I’d only been running this place a short time it already felt like home. Even the scent of the flowers that did their best to cheer me up with their summery softness reminded me of childhood. Mind you, I hadn’t been allowed to lounge around here or anything. Grandmother Iris expected hard work from her granddaughter if I ever showed up at the B&B. But digging in the dirt to plant new bulbs or learning to make biscuits while she showed me her favorite recipe or even being taught how to dust high shelves without taking down all the nick knacks became summer memories I still found nostalgically appealing.

  I never expected her to will Petunia’s to me. And though when Mom called to tell me and gave me the exit from New York and Ryan I needed, I never looked back. So there was no way I was giving up this chance at a new start. Not when that new start was still as fresh as the memory of my grandmother’s death.

  Daisy hovered next to me when I came to a halt at the edge of the police tape, glaring at Robert who threw me a saucy wink before leering at my old best friend. Right, he’d had a crush on her since he was a stringy little psycho who liked to torture girls and push them in puddles. No biases or anything.

  “Robert,” she gushed, one hand on her bare chest where the third button of her shirt strained to hold things together. “I’m so glad you’re still here.”

  Was she serious? While Peggy had impressed me, Daisy was rapidly falling off my pedestal of people I thought I knew better than to have any kind of compassion or inclination toward my disgusting cousin. My heart plummeted as I stared into the koi pond and realized the scrap of red fabric still hung from the biggest boy’s lips. Fat Benny seemed unfazed by the bit of whatever it was he trailed around with him. A clue or not, I really needed to make sure Crew knew about it. No way was I risking him accusing me of hiding evidence.

  “Anything you need, Daisy,” Robert said in a tone that made me want to throw up all over his cowboy boots. Seriously, where did he think he was wearing jeans and boots instead of the rest of his standard uniform? The Wild West? And the tilt to his hat, that was an attempt at cowboy confidence that just made him look pathetic. God, that mustache.

  Gross.

  Never mind Crew set the precedent. It looked good on him. On Robert? Shudder.

  Daisy glanced at me before leaning closer to my deputy cousin. “I hear the sheriff thinks it was an accident.”

  Robert puffed up, chest out, just managing to hide the beginnings of his beer bulge, preening like the idiot peacock he was and Daisy lapped it up. Any second now she’d be purring. And I’d be contaminating the crime scene with the contents of my stomach. A huge feat considering I hadn’t had anything to eat since Mom’s chocolate cake last night.

  Hard not to roll my eyes. At least she was a distraction. He completely ignored me while I sidled sideways toward the pond, his attention totally focused on Daisy. There had to be proof here this was an accident. I could see it all, really. How Pete poked around after dark, slipped on the fresh mud I’d turned at the edge of the pond for the new flowers I planted, hit his head on the rock then rolled, unconscious, into the water. Simple, right? And the clear answer. Although why he was here remained a mystery. Surely he could have waited two more days. Especially if his ownership of this place was authentic. Whatever brought him here, that was part of the mystery I couldn’t shake or let go.

  Petunia chuffed softly, but not at my feet as usual. I turned toward her, frowning then. Wait, I’d totally forgotten. She’d woken me up in the middle of the night, hadn’t she? Barked at something. Did she wake up when Pete died? Was she trying to warn me he was there or even alert me he had fallen? The idea I’d gone back to sleep while the man drowned finally triggered my compassion, paperwork or no paperwork. No one deserved to die alone like that.

  But there was still that odd mark in the ground a few feet from where it looked like he slipped. A round indentation with a strange impression on the bottom about an inch deep, perfect ridges left behind. What made that particular marking? Maybe a tourist dropped something and I didn’t notice and this had nothing at all to do with the murder. Just like the agonizingly tempting piece of red cloth that Fat Benny trailed from the corner of his fishy lips as he lazily slid by.

  Something pattered against my leg and I finally turned, found Petunia digging about five feet away. Far enough from the crime scene I wasn’t worried Crew would be pissed, but seriously. Not a good idea. I huffed an irritated breath and went to her, to stop her. And stared down as she sat abruptly, smiling up at me in her pug way with her tongue hanging out, corkscrew tail wiggling. But I wasn’t looking at her any longer. Far more interesting was the corner of what looked like a small, metal box she’d uncovered in the middle of the next flower bed.

  The instant my brain told me I should turn this find in to the authorities my mind rejected the idea so abruptly I gasped.

  “Something wrong, Fanny?” I had caught Robert’s attention, and he didn’t seem happy about it, though the smile on Daisy’s face was far more strained than I expected for someone who seemed content to flirt with the vile creature. His body swayed as if about to take a step closer when I smiled and shook my head, forgetting for once how much I hated that nickname, one foot casually kicking at some dirt, not sure if I covered the box’s peeking edge or not.

  “Just wondering how long this is going to clutter up my garden.” Rather rude, but he expected nothing less and it had the desired effect. Robert smirked at me, shrugged, settled back into his stay put stance.

  “It’ll take as long as it takes.” He winked at Daisy once more.

  Petunia turned and I knew immediately she planned to start digging again. Knowing the desperation in my voice had to be apparent, I did my best to smile through it. “Daisy,” I bent and grabbed the pug around her substantial chest, all twenty-five pounds of her dead weight sliding through my arms. “Can you please take Petunia inside?”

  “Of course!” She dodged for the dog, hefting her much more kindly than I had, cradling her almost like a toddler with an arm around her chest and one hand supporting her rear. The pug grunted at me, front paws flinging dirt as she swung them at me before swiping Daisy’s cheek with her tongue. “Let’s get you a snack and a drink, young lady. Robert.” She nodded to him before retreating. I made sure he was watching her go before risking a glance down and scooping a bit more dirt with the heel of my sneaker to be sure the corner of the mystery box was hidden before stepping firmly on the spot to finish the job. And looked up just in time as Robert returned his attention from Daisy’s retreating sway of a walk to me.

  “Nice to see you’re a valuable member of the team,” I said as I strode past. “Great job guarding the fish, Booby.”

  The snarl he fired after me was so worth it. Because, of course I had a childhood tit-for-tat to throw at him. And, hopefully, enough distraction he wouldn’t notice the footprint I’d left in the flowerbed. Like that useless excuse would notice a clue if it stuck to him like a leech. I knew, as I crossed to the house, I really should have just turned in the box. Was fairly confident it had nothing to do with the murder, so what hurt would it do? But I
did love a good mystery. Knowing Crew he’d hang onto it for ages and I’d never get it back. Convinced myself then and there the fact it was buried in the garden didn’t mean it had anything to do with Pete Wilkins or his death. If anything, it was a private matter between me and Grandmother Iris. Consoled my guilt with the assurance if there did turn out to be evidence proving murder, I’d naturally give it to Crew.

  After I had a chance to dig up that box and find out what the old lady thought was so important she had to hide it underground.

  ***

  Chapter Eleven

  The kitchen’s air of gloom had lifted when I entered the house, Mary and Betty both absent for once. And the minute I entered Daisy rushed to me, Petunia gobbling at the chunks of kibble and cheese in her giant bowl. I winced, knowing I’d suffer the lactose consequences later, but didn’t comment, not when my old bestie flung her arms around my neck and hugged me.

  “I hope that at least made up for it a bit,” she said, shuddering as she pulled back. “He’s a creep, but you seemed to want to have a look around.” Wait, what? Daisy bit her lower lip, as hang dog as I’d ever seen her. A honey blonde curl escaped from the pretty pink band she used to hold her hair back today, matching her bright blouse perfectly. “Did I do okay?”

  I couldn’t help the grin that broke over my face and, on impulse, hugged her back. She squeaked in surprise but embraced me with gusto as I giggled in her ear.

  “I thought you’d lost your good taste and your mind there for a minute,” I said. “Robert, of all people.”

  She snorted, adorably of course. “Can I just say ew? Like, ew to the ewiest.” We laughed together for a moment before she sobered. “I feel so bad, Fee.” Daisy sank to a stool, one that Betty usually occupied, the older woman’s large backside barely supported though my best friend’s tiny one fit it perfectly. “I know I’m a flake a lot of the time and that people think I’m stupid.” I chewed on the inside of my cheek in guilt because yeah, I was one of them. “I don’t always think before I talk and there are things I don’t understand sometimes.” She seemed close to tears while the utter genuineness of her made me want to cry with her for being so hard on her. Sure, she’d dumped more than she should have to Crew, but so what? He was going to find out anyway. I was a horrible, horrible person for thinking badly of her. “But I’m really sorry and I promise I’ll try harder.”