by Emily James
“What kind of dogs did you say you had?” my mom shouted over the racket issuing from Velma and Toby in the laundry room.
Her lips had already pursed into a knot shape. My mom hated having to raise her voice. For any reason.
I hurried to the laundry room. I’d finally figured out that my dogs tended to quiet down as soon as introductions were made and they decided the interloper into their home wasn’t a threat.
I led them out of the room by their collars, and my mom actually stepped back.
It felt like my ability to form sentences disintegrated. My mom never retreated from anything. My parents had denied me a dog growing up, claiming our family was too busy to be fair to a dog. Maybe that was a cover. Maybe my mom didn’t want me figuring out that she was actually afraid of dogs.
“Nicole Elizabeth.” She pressed a hand to her throat. “Those are not dogs. What were you thinking? No one will rent you an apartment.”
Since I’d gotten Velma and Toby, I’d learned to ignore the questions people tended to ask when they saw them. Do you have a saddle for that thing? What do you feed it? I’d even had one woman—who I hope at least thought I couldn’t hear her—ask her husband why anyone would want dogs that big.
I’d never had anyone suggest they weren’t dogs though. I’d started to ask her what they were, but she looked legitimately concerned. “I don’t need an apartment. Uncle Stan left me this house along with Sugarwood.”
“Not here, obviously. When you come back to DC. What are you going to do with those things then?”
I tried counting backward from 100 by sevens in my head, but it wasn’t challenging enough to calm me down. Telling her I wasn’t moving back to DC would only start a fight on her first day here. “Why don’t you bring your bags up to the guest room while I take the dogs outside for a minute.”
Thankfully, my mom must have been as unwilling to argue on our first day together as I was. She gave a wide berth to the dogs and headed up the stairs.
“Second door on the left,” I called after her.
I released Velma and Toby, and they trotted to the door, tails wagging and ears perked. How anyone couldn’t love them was beyond me.
We’d just left the steps when my phone rang. My yard was an invisible minefield of cell phone dead zones, so I let the dogs run around and stayed put where I had a signal.
The caller ID read Sunburnt Arms. With my mom upstairs, this time it had to be Mandy.
Hopefully she hadn’t said something to get herself arrested or I’d end up as her lawyer after all.
“The police had me make a list of everyone who would have had access to The Sunburnt Arms,” Mandy said. She’d skipped the hello, and her voice had a breathless quality to it. “Guests and employees. They think if someone was murdered, it was someone who was already here. Which makes sense. A murderer wouldn’t have hauled someone into my bed-and-breakfast to kill them when they could have done it outside.”
The good friend part of me knew I should tell her to slow down and take a breath before she hyperventilated from a combination of excitement at having an investigation play out in front of her and fear over what it’d mean for her business. The part of me that was more curious than a toddler asking why won out.
I didn’t want to think about what that said about my strength of character. “Is anyone unaccounted for?”
“Two people!” There was a soft thump on the other end of the line, as if she’d realized how loud she was talking and clamped her hand over her mouth for a second so the police didn’t hear her. “Two people,” she said more softly. “My night clerk and one of the guests—the woman who was supposed to check in to that room yesterday evening. Do you think one is the victim and one is the murderer?”
The excitement drained from her voice on the last question. I could guess what she was thinking. Should she hope that her night clerk was dead or a killer? Neither was a good option. In the former case, she’d have to grieve him. In the latter, she’d have to deal with the guilt of having hired someone who could harm another human being.
I peeked in my front window. My mom still hadn’t made her appearance. She was probably snooping. “That seems like the likeliest conclusion. The police will have a better idea as soon as they test the blood for whether it belonged to a man or a woman.”
“The police say I can’t even stay here. They told me to go to a hotel or stay with family, but…”
But Mandy wouldn’t want to do either. She and her sister were in an ongoing argument over The Sunburnt Arms. Her sister thought Mandy should sell the place and retire, but Mandy loved working and loved interacting with the guests. And it was her last real connection to her dead husband.
Even I couldn’t imagine any way her sister wouldn’t use this as further ammunition. It’d only make Mandy more miserable right now to have her sister pushing her to sell.
Going to a hotel or one of the other bed-and-breakfasts that were starting to open up in anticipation of the tourist season would only spread rumors faster. This town couldn’t keep a secret if national security depended on it. The news would spread eventually, but if Mandy could keep it quiet at least until she reopened, it might mitigate the damage to her business.
With my mom visiting, Mandy would never ask to stay with me. She might accept if I offered, though. I wouldn’t tell her that the only other bed was mine. I didn’t mind sleeping on the couch for a couple of nights. “Why don’t you come stay with me?”
The gush of air on the other end sounded distinctly like relief. “You’re sure? I don’t want to get in the way of your time with your mom. I can be quiet, though. I’ll stay in my room and read most of the day.”
“This is what friends are for.”
Now I had to figure out a way to explain this to my mom that wouldn’t sound like I’d invited Mandy to stay with us so she couldn’t interrogate me about my future.
4
A text came in from Mark as my mom and I were headed out to the car to meet him for lunch the next day.
My mom insists on coming too.
Considering all the ways this visit had already gone sideways, Mrs. Cavanaugh wanting to meet my mom at the same time as my mom met Mark seemed like a small blip.
Only your mom? I texted back.
Dad has the flu.
Mark’s dad had the diplomatic people skills you’d expect from a man whose life’s work had been running a funeral home. He’d have made a great buffer.
Not that I expected either mom to be anything other than polite, but if I’d learned anything since meeting Mark’s mom a couple of months ago, it was that she had as many strong opinions about the future and well-being of her sons as my mom did about me. I also knew their ideas couldn’t have been more different.
If I was honest with myself, I was more worried about my mom meeting Mark’s mom than I was about my mom meeting Mark. He got an instant seal of approval thanks to the MD after his name. If we got married, they’d probably be more proud of having him as a son-in-law than they were of having me as their daughter.
I parked my car in the parking lot for The Burnt Toast Café. Mark and I had decided last night that it was the best choice. My mom’s aversion to fried food crossed A Salt & Battery off the list.
The Burnt Toast Café also had a slightly classier feel to it, despite the questionable choice of placing a giant smiling piece of toast on a rotating pole above the sign. It wasn’t so bad when his burnt face was facing you, but the paint job from behind made him look a lot like a bare bottom. According to Mark, Mr. Dobson, the owner, designed the rotating piece of toast himself and refused to give him up even after he married a lovely Italian woman who overhauled the whole interior.
I sent up a quick prayer of thanks that, as my mom and I entered, Mr. Toast’s face was toward us.
The inside, where Mr. Dobson gave Mrs. Dobson more leeway, resembled a Venetian street café. The entire left wall bore a life-like mural that made you feel as if you were actually sitting in the
Piazza San Marco in Venice, looking out at the canals.
Along the other wall stood the display cases full of cannoli, zeppole, panettone, and a whole host of other Italian delicacies I didn’t know the names of. The menu gave customers the option of ordering from Mr. Dobson’s hearty all-day breakfast (complete with Sugarwood maple syrup, I’d proudly told my mom) or Mrs. Dobson’s baked treats and specialty coffees. If you wanted a decent cup of coffee in Fair Haven, this was the only place to get it.
Mark and his mom waited for us at one of the round wrought-iron tables.
We’d barely managed introductions when my phone vibrated in my pocket. I peeked at the display.
The number was my house phone.
We’d left Mandy alone there with my dogs since she said she’d love their company while she spent the day reading the new mystery I recommended to her. Normally I wouldn’t have answered my phone when I was out with someone else, but I had visions of how much trouble I knew Velma could get in to in a mere fifteen minutes. Visions of my mom’s unmentionables ending up as chew toys flashed through my mind.
I held up the phone. “I have to take this real quick. It’s my other house guest.” I stepped away from the table and slid a finger across the screen. “Is everything okay?”
“I started reading the book you gave me,” Mandy said. “And the main character runs an inn. She lost bookings because she had to call police about a break-in.”
I cringed. I’d suggested the book because I thought Mandy would relate to the main character, but I’d forgotten the part about the lost bookings.
Mandy was still talking. “I got to worrying about how much more a murder would hurt my business, so I called in to the machine at The Sunburnt Arms. All three of the bookings I’d called to tell that I couldn’t give them the full nights they’d requested canceled their bookings.”
It was one of those times when there didn’t seem to be anything I could do to make her feel better other than listen. I couldn’t promise her she wouldn’t lose even more business over this. “I’m really sorry.”
“You’re a lawyer. How long do police usually cordon off a scene?”
“It depends.” I could feel my mom’s gaze digging disapproving holes in my back at how long I’d already been away from the table. I rolled my shoulders, but the sensation wouldn’t ease. “They have to be thorough. Once they release the scene, anything they miss is inadmissible in court.”
Mandy huffed. “I do want them to catch whoever did this, even if it is my night clerk.”
“It shouldn’t be more than another couple of days.”
I couldn’t see Mandy nod, but I could imagine it.
I ended the call, turned off my ringer, and settled in at the table. Mark must have ordered for me, because the waitress had left a cappuccino at my place.
The glance Mark shot me said the end is near.
As soon as I tuned in to the conversation happening between his mom and mine, I knew why. They were already in the middle of a deep debate over the merits of small town versus big city living.
“Especially once they have children,” Mrs. Cavanaugh was saying. “A small town like Fair Haven is safer than living in a metropolis like DC or New York.”
A muscle at the corner of my mom’s eye twitched. Most people would never have seen it. I’d often wondered whether my mom was born with supernatural control over her expressions or whether she’d developed it over years working as a criminal defense attorney. That twitch meant she was about to drill a hole in Mrs. Cavanaugh’s argument large enough to allow a snow plow through.
My mom gave her coffee cup a single stir. “Nicole only had one person try to kill her back in DC. She’s had four people attempt it here. That seems less safe to me.”
Mrs. Cavanaugh jerked in her seat like my mom had stabbed her hand with a fork.
I sucked in air along with my ill-timed swig of cappuccino, and liquid rushed down the wrong way. Hard coughs shook my chest.
This was bad. Mark and I hadn’t exactly been forthcoming about how many times I’d nearly died since coming to Fair Haven.
My mom pursed her lips at me as if I’d swallowed my coffee on purpose, and Mrs. Cavanaugh swiveled in her seat to face Mark.
She gave him a wait-until-your-father-hears-about-this glare. “Four times? You told me the poisoning by Shawn White was the only time.”
If my lungs weren’t burning and my mom wasn’t watching and I wasn’t afraid that look would turn on me next, it might have been funny to see her looking at her thirty-six-year-old son that way.
My phone vibrated in my pocket. I ignored it. Now was not the time to draw even more attention to myself.
Mark’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “I didn’t actually say that. You assumed and I didn’t clarify.”
The phone in my pocket stopped, then vibrated again. Clearly whoever was calling me wasn’t going to give up until I answered.
I rose to my feet and made a vague motion that I hoped implied I was going to the counter to ask for a glass of water to help with my coughing fit. I headed in that direction and slid my phone from my pocket as it shimmied again.
“Hello?”
“So I’m sitting outside The Sunburnt Arms,” Mandy said.
A hand tapped my shoulder. “Excuse me?” a vaguely familiar man’s voice said.
I asked Mandy to wait a second and turned around. Tim, one of Mandy’s other staff members, stood behind me. I knew his shift normally covered the weekends, but obviously, he couldn’t work with The Sunburnt Arms closed down.
He’d been the unfortunate one I lured away from the front desk when I needed to…borrow the guest register while investigating my Uncle Stan’s murder. Hopefully he didn’t remember that incident.
He smiled as if he only peripherally recognized me and pointed at the paper napkin holder on the counter behind me. I moved out of his way, but waited until he went back to the table he shared with another man about his age before moving my cell back to my ear.
“Have they released the scene already?” I asked.
Mandy made a negative mmm-umm sound. “I just thought I should come keep an eye on things from a distance.”
Geez. It’s like she was trying to get herself arrested on some charge related to this case. “You probably shouldn’t be there.”
“I know. I’m not going inside, but is there any way to make sure they’re not planting evidence?”
What in the world? “You know the members of the Fair Haven PD. You can’t really think one of them would plant evidence.”
A grumble this time. “Maybe not most of them, but the new chief brought Grady Scherwin back again. When he was a kid, he used to shoplift candy bars from The Four Finger convenience store, and in high school he ran around with Jason Wood, and look where Jason ended up.”
Jason Wood, in part thanks to me, was in prison for possession of illegal drugs with intent to distribute and operating an illegal still. Scherwin had gone on to be a police officer, so clearly somewhere along the line their paths had diverged.
“You said Chief McTavish is there?”
“Yes.”
“Then even if Scherwin wanted to tamper with evidence, for whatever reason, he couldn’t. Chief McTavish is an honest man.”
The praise felt worse coming out than the coffee had going down the wrong way. But it was true. Chief McTavish had been sent to Fair Haven to make sure the corruption of the last chief began and ended with him.
The back of my neck prickled, and I had that feeling you get when someone is watching you. I glanced over my shoulder. My mom gave a pointed look at my phone.
I couldn’t avoid going back forever.
Directly across from where I stood at the counter, the man with Tim stole a French toast stick from Tim’s plate and grinned. They looked blissfully happy compared to our table. If I had the power of invisibility, I might sneak away and sit with them. I loved both our moms, but I liked it a lot better when it was Mark and me alone.
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“Chief McTavish might be the most ethical man in town,” Mandy said, “but he looks sick enough to die right now. Scherwin could probably sneak a prostitute into my bed-and-breakfast without McTavish noticing.”
I wasn’t going anywhere near that comment. “Go back to my place, Mandy. There’s nothing you can do sitting there and watching police go in and out of yours.”
“I guess you’re right.”
I disconnected the call and scurried back to our table.
As soon as I dropped into my chair, my phone buzz-blipped again, the shortened signal letting me know I had a text.
I wanted to lean my head back, but the chair stopped at my shoulder blades. What had Mandy thought up this time?
I peeked at the screen out of the corner of my eye, making sure not to let my mom catch me.
The text came from Mark. They’ve moved on to debating where our children will get the best education.
I used my pinky finger to furtively tap a reply. You’d think they’d want to plan our wedding first. Or at least wait until we’re engaged.
I think they’d be happy if we eloped as long as we quickly provided grandchildren. They’ll be picking names next. My mom will want a family middle name—hers if it’s a girl.
Mark shot me a half wink.
I bit my lip to keep from smiling. Mine will want a hyphenated last name. Fitzhenry-Dawes-Cavanaugh…she’ll have to have a family first name. She won’t have room for a middle name.
Victoria Fitzhenry-Dawes-Cavanaugh. Still a mouthful. Have to call her Vicki.
No! Nikki and Vicki. I can’t stand it if we rhyme like those people who dress their kids identically.
Mark laughed out loud.
Both of our moms stopped talking. Red painted Mark’s neck, and I hunched down in my seat.
“I’m not sure what’s funny,” Mrs. Cavanaugh said.
My mom leaned slightly toward Mrs. Cavanaugh. “They’re texting notes to each other.”
