Maple Syrup Mysteries Box Set 2: Books 4-6

by Emily James

  I waited for her to head up the stairs and then beelined for the janitor’s closet under the stairs that I was a little too familiar with from my earlier stay here.

  It wasn’t anything like it had been that time. The police had pulled everything out, probably looking for potential murder weapons.

  Next to the vacuum rested a bucket with cloths and furniture polish. The front desk would have been dusted for prints, which meant it’d need polishing, and that would put me directly next to Tim with a quiet job.

  By the time I returned, Tim had printed something out and had papers spread across the front desk. It looked like the employee schedule.

  I sprayed polish on to my rag. “Could you lift those for me for just a second?” I dangled the cloth in front of him.

  Tim shifted them to the side. “Sure thing. It’s going to take me a while to figure this out anyway.”

  I swirled the cloth in a circular motion along the desktop. Perhaps I wouldn’t need to find a clever way to ease in to talking about what had happened. “You’re trying to fill the staffing holes until Mandy can hire someone new?”

  Tim slashed a blue highlighter along days on the print out, marking the spaces that needed to be filled. “Susan”—he inclined his head toward the kitchen—“is willing to take a few shifts up front as long as they don’t conflict with when she needs to be prepping food, but Becky won’t take night shifts, so I’m trying to move Mandy and me around.”

  Becky wouldn’t take night shifts. That meant she wouldn’t have been at The Sunburnt Arms at all when Vilsack was attacked since we knew that had to have happened sometime after Mandy went to her private rooms around 4:00 pm and before she came back down to work in the morning. I filed that information away so that I wouldn’t waste time asking her questions about that night. I could focus on what she might have known about Vilsack personally instead.

  Right now, the important thing was that Tim seemed more frustrated by the scheduling difficulties than he was upset over losing a co-worker.

  I slowed my circles down, hopefully not enough that Tim would notice but enough so that I’d have time to keep talking. “I’m so sorry for your loss. It must be hard.”

  “Not much of a loss,” Tim said around the highlighter cap clamped between his lips. His next highlighter mark was slower. He looked up at me and spit the cap out. “To me personally, I mean. I didn’t really know Bruce. I only saw him for a couple of minutes when he’d come and I’d leave.”

  I moved to cleaning along the edges. Tim’s explanation might be true, but it seemed a bit callous. I’d worked with people who I barely knew and I’d still feel some sadness if they died, especially if they might have been murdered. Of course, that made the assumption that Vilsack was nice. He might not have been.

  I ground my teeth together. This could go two ways. I could ask him if he’d been working that day, or I could try to find out more about Vilsack. Mandy could answer the former, and I didn’t want to risk Tim closing down because it sounded like I thought he needed to account for where he was.

  “That’s too bad that you didn’t know each other better. From the sounds of it, he was a nice guy.”

  The muscles in Tim’s neck tensed. Then he shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.” He held up the sheets. “Look, I really have to get this done. Mandy wants it finished right away.”

  He didn’t turn his back on me, but with the way he swiveled his chair away, he might as well have.

  I quickly finished cleaning off the front desk and headed back for the vacuum. Tim could be telling the truth. He might not have known Vilsack, and he might want to focus, but his cavalier attitude felt a little too forced.

  It was something my parents coached their clients on before they took the stand. The prosecution was sure to notice if a defendant seemed like they were trying to make themselves seem nice or make themselves seem like they had no motive.

  I couldn’t push now, but I’d make a note of it for later.

  I rushed through the vacuuming and hurried up the stairs. The niggling feeling that I’d pushed Tim too hard, too fast clung onto my back, making the climb seem steep rather than easy. I hadn’t. The opening had been there and I took it. But I couldn’t help second-guessing myself and thinking how my mom would react when we swapped information later. She’d probably be full of advice on how I could have handled it better.

  I shoved the thoughts away. Losing my confidence now wouldn’t do any good. I still had to talk to Becky. This time, though, I’d convince her to let me work alongside her. That way, I wouldn’t feel any need to rush. Based on our small interaction earlier, she was shy enough that, if I rushed her, I’d spook her.

  She wasn’t in the room where Mandy found Vilsack’s blood. I couldn’t blame her. I wouldn’t have wanted to start there, either.

  The door to the room my mom had stayed in was open. This room boasted one of the floor-to-ceiling vaulted windows that looked out along the water. I knew from when I’d booked that it cost more than the other rooms because of the view.

  Becky had her back to the door, using a long-handled squeegee to wash the window. Smart. That was much easier to carry upstairs than a ladder, and you wouldn’t risk falling off of anything while you tried to reach the high spots.

  She stayed with her back to me even when I’d almost reached her. She must not have heard me.

  Given how she flinched earlier, I didn’t want to startle her by touching her again.

  “Becky?”

  She spun around and swung the handle in an arc straight for me.

  I screeched and dropped to my knees, covering my head with my arms. My heart felt like it was pounding right behind my eardrums.

  From a distance, I heard Becky calling my name and apologizing, but it was like she was doing it through a pane of glass. My memories became more real than the present. All I could hear clearly, all I could think about, were flames reaching out for my skin, a gun pointed at my face, hands around my neck, so many lifeless eyes and faces that they all folded together.

  My chest hurt, and I couldn’t get a full breath.

  A cold hand slipped into one of mine, and it felt real, too.

  “Focus on my hand.” Becky was down on the floor beside me now. “Whatever you’re seeing isn’t real. I’m real. You’re in a room at The Sunburnt Arms, and whoever’s trying to hurt you isn’t here.”

  Focus. On her.

  I listened to her repeating the words and concentrated on her grip on my hand until those things blocked out the memories.

  Uncomfortable warmth seared up my neck and burnt my ears and cheeks. I crept up off the floor and sat on the edge of the bed. Becky let go of my hand and settled a respectful distance away.

  How could I even explain to her why I’d reacted the way I did? She hadn’t meant to actually attack me. My rational mind knew it.

  But I hadn’t been able to help it. Mark and my therapist had both been concerned that I hadn’t dealt with what I’d been through, that I’d only shoved it down as deep as I could and tried to pretend it hadn’t happened. I’d always had trouble sleeping, but lately it’d reached the point of insomnia, and I found myself checking my doors and windows multiple times at night before I could sleep. I’d even started bringing Toby into my room at night, despite his snoring.

  Becky shifted positions, and the bed squeaked underneath her. “I really am sorry. I’m a little extra jumpy with…with what happened here.” Her voice shuddered. “I didn’t mean to, well, you know.” She pointed at the long-handled squeegee now lying on the floor next to the window.

  “It’s not your fault.” My face still felt sweaty. I ran a finger along my upper lip. At the very least, I owed her an explanation so that she didn’t continue to blame herself. “People have tried to hurt me in the past. When you swung at me…” I didn’t even know how to explain what happened to me.

  She tucked her hair behind both ears this time, first the right, then the left, where the scar crawled. Her fingers brushed a
gainst it as she did. “I know. You don’t have to explain anything to me.”

  My first thought was that she was humoring me, trying to make me feel less embarrassed. But maybe she did understand. She seemed to know immediately what I was going through and how to help me. She basically walked me through a grounding exercise like my former therapist in DC had taught me to deal with my anxiety.

  Common ground, the little voice in my head that sounded like my mother said. You can get her to open up to you about the case if you start with common ground.

  I imagined flicking a tiny devil version of my mother off my shoulder. I didn’t need her in my head as well as downstairs. One was enough.

  And even I had lines I wouldn’t cross.

  The silence reached an awkward length. I could have filled it with questions about her jumpiness due to the murder. She’d practically thrown the door and a window open for me. I should do it. I just couldn’t. My mind wasn’t clear yet, and my heart wasn’t in it.

  I got to my feet. After a little time passed, maybe I could force myself back on track. “Is there something I can help with up here?”

  Becky shook her head. “I can handle it. I think you should go downstairs and get something to drink. Juice helps. It picks your blood sugar back up.”

  Then she went back to the squeegee.

  I tottered downstairs and into the kitchen. Susan didn’t give anyone a chance to ask why I was there. She shoved a dish cloth into my hands and ushered me toward a sink full of dishes.

  My mom looked up at me from where she was, quite literally, scrubbing the floor. Her expression said did you learn anything?

  She might have given me that look regardless of my demeanor. Hopefully. The last thing I wanted to do was explain to my mom that I’d had some sort of panic attack flashback. I didn’t even know what to call it. My parents already thought I was weak without giving them more proof.

  I shook my head and turned my back to her.

  I passed the rest of the day helping sterilize the kitchen. Susan and Mandy must have already been talking about Vilsack before I barged in because they picked it back up almost immediately.

  It fell into a cycle of Mandy coming up with a theory—maybe he got caught trying to steal from the AWOL guest, maybe he was secretly working for the police investigating the guest, maybe he went into the bathroom for something and slipped.

  I froze with the last wet dish midway between myself and my mom, who’d finished with the floor and now helped me dry. Our gazes met. Her wide-eyed look told me she was thinking the same thing I was.

  “Why would he have been in that room, do you think, Mandy?” my mom asked. “Shouldn’t he have been at the front desk?”

  Mandy sniffed. “He should have, yes. He’s on the front desk, so he’d have no reason to be up in the rooms. Becky and I are the ones who clean and prep the rooms for new guests.”

  “He would have gone up if the guest called him, though,” Susan said. “He always took good care of the guests.”

  And then she was off on an almost too-complimentary description of how Vilsack always took extra time with the guests and how he loved her cooking, and on and on until I almost tuned her out.

  I didn’t, as much as I wanted to, because she’d made one good point. The first time I’d stayed here, I’d tricked Tim into leaving the front desk by telling him my bathroom tap wasn’t working. Someone might have lured Vilsack up to the room the same way. That didn’t tell us who, but the missing guest seemed our most likely suspect.

  By the time we were done with the kitchen and breakfast room, Becky had finished upstairs, and Tim had not only fixed the schedule but also put a job listing in the local paper and confirmed with the incoming crop of guests that their rooms were ready and waiting.

  Mandy decided it was finally safe to send everyone home.

  My mom and I were almost to my car when Becky skittered out of the front door and down the porch steps. “Nicole, wait.”

  I waved my mom ahead of me.

  Becky pressed a slip of lined paper into my hand. I unfolded it. She’d written a time, date, and address on it.

  “It’s a support group,” Becky whispered, even though my mom had shut the car door and everyone else was still inside. “For people like us. Who’ve had things happen to them.”

  My therapist had recommended I join a PTSD support group a couple of times. This must be the one.

  Becky twisted a bracelet around on her wrist. “If you don’t want to go alone the first time, I know I didn’t, we can go together. I work afternoons at Dad’s Hardware Store. We could meet there at 5:30.”

  I’d refused my therapist’s suggestion to join a group because I knew what my parents would think. We didn’t share our private problems with strangers. That’s not what we do. And strong people shouldn’t need others to help them deal with their problems.

  When I told all that to Mark, he’d said that strong people were the ones who were brave enough to ask for help when they needed it.

  Maybe it was time to finally listen to him. “I’ll be there at 5:30 on Thursday night.”

  Hopefully my mom had come up with something better from her time spent with Mandy and Susan because, right now, we might be the worst consultants in police history.

  8

  I’d just settled in to the couch with my laptop, cup of coffee, and dogs the next morning when my cell phone rang. I stared at it through nearly ten seconds of ring tone. But I couldn’t let it go to voice mail. My mom was out on a run, and if she got lost, I’d have to go find her.

  Mandy’s name was the one on the screen. I couldn’t really find a reason not to answer that wouldn’t leave me feeling guilty afterward, so I slid a finger across the display.

  “Nicole.” My name came through in a half hiss-half whisper. “She’s here.”

  An email appeared in my inbox from Mark. The subject line said Good Morning, Beautiful. I tore my gaze away from the screen so I could pay attention to Mandy. It wasn’t easy.

  “She who?” I asked and took a long sip of my coffee. It was too early in the morning for this, and that was saying something, because I’d always been an early riser.

  “Alice Benjamin. The missing guest.”

  I nearly spit my coffee into my laptop screen. I set my laptop and coffee to the side.

  Velma perked up her ears and tilted her head in an expression I’d have sworn said I don’t know the Heimlich, but I can lick your face if you think it’d help.

  I cleared my airway. I needed to say something, but for the first time in longer than I could remember, my mind went completely blank.

  “What do I do?” Mandy said. “I left her at the front desk and now I’m hiding in the closet under the stairs.”

  It was a good thing I’d set the coffee aside. I might have spilled it in my lap. “Why are you hiding under the stairs?”

  Mandy gave an exasperated you-should-know-this-already wheeze. “She could be a murderer. If she thinks I know, she might kill me, too.”

  Oh good Lord. “If she came back, she’s not likely the killer, but you should hang up with me and call the police.”

  “Aren’t you with the police now?”

  Technically, I guess I was. “Fine. Hang up with me, and I’ll send someone over.”

  The pause on Mandy’s end was long enough that I almost thought she’d done as I asked and I missed it. “Can I stay in the closet until they come?” she finally said. “I’m really not cut out for this. It’s more fun to read about it than to live it.”

  She had that right. And given how many times people I’d thought wouldn’t try to hurt me had tried to kill me, I was in no position to throw stones. I wasn’t even in a position to throw marshmallows. “It’s probably smart to stay put. I’ll let the police know where to find you.”

  Mandy thanked me and disconnected. As soon as Erik—who now had a weaker voice than someone with laryngitis—had someone on the way to Mandy, I called my mom and asked her to meet me down at
the station once she finished her run.

  I reached the station at the same time as the cruiser bringing Alice Benjamin.

  The woman was in her early forties, with short cropped hair and a lean runner’s build. She had maybe an inch or two in height on me.

  Elise held out an arm in the universal this-way gesture, but Alice stopped outside the front door. “Can’t you even tell me why I’m here? I got to town like twenty minutes ago. Do you have some sort of strange laws about speeding? Because that’s the only thing I’ve had time to do here.”

  I hung back. Chief McTavish had made my role clear, and Elise was a capable officer.

  She moved a little closer to Alice, making it clear in a gentle way that she needed to comply. “I know this is confusing, and I apologize for any inconvenience this is causing you. If you’ll just come with me, we’ll explain everything.”

  Alice gave a dramatic shrug and marched in the door, dragging her rolling luggage bag behind her.

  First impression—she didn’t strike me as someone who’d killed a man only a few days ago. What I’d told Mandy was true. If she had, I couldn’t come up with a reason for her to return to The Sunburnt Arms. Unless she hoped it would make her seem less guilty. That was a possibility I couldn’t discount yet, but it was an awfully daring move on her part if it turned out to be true.

  Erik waited in the lobby. He’d aged ten years since I saw him two days ago. His nose was Rudolph-red, and he looked like he should be wrapped up in a blanket, with a thermometer sticking out of his mouth, rather than here, trying to coherently interview a potential murder suspect.

  Elise’s thank-goodness-you’re-here smile confirmed it. Erik should not have still been trying to work.

  Alice Benjamin looked at him like he might have swine flu or some other equally virulent strain. She declined to shake his hand.

  She tucked her jacket around her as if it would protect her from his germs. “It’s not personal, Sergeant. I’m a biologist. I understand what that illness is doing to your body and how easily you could transfer it to me.”