“There aren’t any leaks,” I said. “As for mice, we’ll deal with that when the storm clears. Meanwhile, how are the Jepsens?”
Danielle didn’t even look at me. “The younger girls are eating. Granny is trying to convince them they’re not too old to pitch a blanket fort in the reading room. If it works, that should keep them busy for the rest of the morning. Maybe into the afternoon.”
“Then here’s hoping it works.”
“It’ll work. I found a bag of cookies in the pantry to sweeten the deal.”
“The adults?” I asked.
“Emily and Jeremy Jepsen are having breakfast on the back porch. I guess they’re determined to make the best of things. Catherine is with her older daughter in the parlor. I figured she could use a drink, but it’s too early for whiskey and she didn’t want a mimosa. But I did manage to get her to take a French 75.”
“That should keep her calm while we get the last guest suite set up for her,” I said. “We can’t ask her to sleep in here.”
Danielle nodded in agreement, finally turning to look at me. “Check it first. If it reeks, see what you can do about airing it out.”
“In this storm?” I asked. “The humidity is gonna make the sheets damp.”
“True, but it’s going to do that in all of the rooms. Better slightly damp sheets than the smell of mice pee. Heck, it might help to keep her cool tonight.”
“It might not be mice,” Ashley blurted out.
“What did you say?” Danielle turned to Ash with hopeful eyes. “You think it’s something else?”
I braced myself instinctively. “Ash says the smell reminds her of hemlock. She smelled some at the poison gardens.”
“Well, I read about it on a placard. You can only smell it when you crush the stems, and the gardeners wouldn’t.”
Danielle stared at Ashley like she’d sprouted a second head. “Enchantingly morbid research trips aside, in the Keys, mice are the more likely explanation. And unless you’ve got a crack detective in your back pocket, that’s the explanation we have solutions for.”
“Something is off about this, Dani,” I said in as gentle a voice as I could manage.
“That’s because dead people don’t belong inside the Paradise.” Danielle pointed at the floor for emphasis. “This is supposed to be a happy place. Where happy people make happy memories and dead bodies don’t just keep falling out of the sky!”
The room went silent, and for a few seconds, the tension in the air was thicker than the humidity. Danielle and I held each other’s gaze. Neither advancing, but neither backing down.
“I… think I’ll go help Andrew,” Ashley said. Then there was the sound of the door opening and closing behind her.
“Danielle, you can’t deny this is suspicious,” I said.
“I can and I do!” She shook her head. “And I can’t believe you’re doing this again with Nicholas Lloyd still nosing around. Poison, for goodness’ sake? How melodramatic!”
“Ash isn’t melodramatic.”
“For all we know, it was a heart attack,” Danielle said through gritted teeth. “They happen every day.”
“They do. But if it wasn’t a heart attack… Dani, that might mean one of the other guests is in trouble—”
“Don’t say it!”
“It might mean one of them killed Harold Jepsen.”
Danielle shook her head. “Would you listen to yourself? Do you hear what you’re saying? There’s only us and the Jepsen family in the house. Who would have poisoned him?”
“…Okay, I don’t have an answer for that.”
“Exactly, because it’s ridiculous!” Danielle closed her eyes for a second as if to steady herself. When she opened them again, she smiled in a way that gave me chills. “Let’s… let’s just check the other guest suite and make sure it’s nice for Mrs. Jepsen, okay? Please?”
The firmness in Danielle’s voice didn’t leave any room for argument. Forget being my sister. At that moment, she was 100% my boss… and she was telling me to stand down.
“Sure, Danielle,” I said, smiling back.
There was no point in arguing with her. Besides, if it were a choice between me being right and my sister being right, I’d choose her version of events every time.
Her version didn’t leave us trapped in the Paradise for days on end with a murderer.
Chapter Five
Danielle and I left the Jepsen’s room. She locked it with the master keycard, then paused and passed it to me.
“You should talk to Catherine Jepsen,” she said. “If she needs something from the room, get it for her?”
I nodded and tucked the key into my pocket. “Standard operating procedure for when a guest room is suddenly unavailable, I remember. Should I get her another key too?”
“And another cocktail if she wants one,” Danielle said. “I would, but I should start on lunch and maybe do some dinner prep too.”
“Dani, we’re in a storm and there’s been a… situation. The Jepsens won’t hold it against you if they don’t get a gourmet dinner tonight.”
“I’ll hold it against me. Besides, it’s not much extra trouble. Just a few onions to cut by hand that I would have tossed in the food processor.” Danielle chewed her bottom lip nervously. “It’s tomorrow that’s the problem. I should probably cook and preserve what I can now. Anything that’s not frozen won’t last through the storm.”
“If it’s going to be days, even the frozen stuff might not stand a chance,” I said.
“Yeah… I was mostly being optimistic.” Danielle sighed. “I didn’t splurge too much. I figured they’d eat dinner at Bastian’s a few times. They always do.”
I winced. “That still sounds like an expensive hit.”
Danielle shrugged. “One more for the pile. Still, I think I’ll front load the seafood.”
When I first got to the Paradise, it had surprised me that my eternally sentimental sister used plastic keys for the locks at her hotel. Then she compared the cost of re-coding a piece of plastic versus having the locks changed every time a guest “lost” their key.
It took a million little decisions like that to keep the bed and breakfast afloat. With Andrew busy at the law firm—when he wasn’t busy battening down the hatches—that left Danielle to make all of them. Add an infant, a full inn, and a days-long storm, and we had the perfect recipe for a meltdown.
We’re all stuck together until the storm breaks, so there’s nothing to do but try to help her through it.
“Is there anything else I can do,” I asked.
Danielle almost cracked a smile. “Oh, I’m sure I’ll find something before you check in with me again. But it helps that you asked.”
We started down the staircase, me to find Catherine Jepsen and Dani to rearrange her menu for the week in hopes of salvaging the most expensive ingredients in the fridge. Halfway down the staircase, we met Emily Jepsen.
She glanced up at us with sheepish blue eyes and smiled. “Hello there. Don’t mind me. I just figured I’d change into something a little less presentable and a little more comfortable. It doesn’t look like that sky is going to clear anytime soon.”
I felt Danielle tense beside me, so I put on my best customer service voice.
“Unfortunately, that’s what it looks like,” I said. “But we’ve got a bar, a wine cellar, and enough books in the reading room to keep you busy until Christmas.”
“Then I’d better put on my satin pajamas and lay claim to a spot before all the good ones are taken.” Emily turned to go, but then hesitated. “By the way, I hope the other maid isn’t feeling too bad. What with Harold… you know…”
Danielle threw a look of mingled confusion and accusation at me. “You must mean Ashley. If she let her emotions get away from her in front of you, I apologize for her lack of professionalism.”
I twisted my lips to the side to keep quiet and gave silent thanks Emily had turned her back to me. Sure, I knew my sister’s main priority was to keep t
he peace with the guests, and salvage whatever good reviews we could from this tragedy, but did she have to throw my friend under the bus so easily?
“It was Harold who was unprofessional. And considering we’re guests, that’s saying something.” Emily paused and glanced over the staircase. When she spoke again, she kept her voice soft. “After Jeremy went down, I couldn’t sleep, so I crept down to the reading room thinking to snag a trashy novel to tide me over. I saw her and Harold through the door, and he was at least two sheets gone if you know what I mean. Harold must have gotten a little fresh because I heard her say if he didn’t let up, she’d do worse than slap his hand.”
Danielle’s mouth fell open in horror. “I… My gosh, that’s terrible.”
“Isn’t it?” Emily put her hand on Danielle’s arm. “I hate to speak ill of the dead, but Harold could be a real jerk when he got too far into a bottle. I’m so sorry the maid got the worst of it.”
“Her name’s Ashley,” I blurted out, suddenly defensive on her behalf.
That seemed to snap my sister out of her temporary shock. She closed her mouth and lifted her chin, settling into her customer service persona.
“Can you tell me what happened after that, Mrs. Jepsen?” Danielle asked.
“The maid—Ashley—stormed off and out the front door I think,” Emily said. “After that, I figured there had to be an ebook on my phone I’d been putting off. Harold was still down there with his glass when I left.”
“I’m sure she didn’t mean anything by it. Ashley has no problem standing up for herself, but when it comes to physical violence, she wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“Oh, of course not,” Emily said. “Although with poisons as a hobby, I guess she wouldn’t really have to. I prefer roses myself. Poisonous plants give me the heebie jeebies.”
Danielle took one of Emily Jepsen’s hands in hers. “Mrs. Jepsen, I’m so sorry you had to see such an ugly scene. Let me assure you my family and I will do everything we can to help you and your family through this difficult time. Is there anything I can get you while you change?”
Emily looked up at the ceiling as if to consider Danielle’s question and then smiled shyly. “You know, I could kill for a toasted peanut butter and banana sandwich and some soy or almond milk to go with.”
“It will be waiting for you in the parlor.” Danielle kept her customer service smile firmly fixed to her face until Emily Jepsen had disappeared down the hall. Then she turned to me. “Tell Ashely to stay out of sight of the Jepsen family. All of them.”
“She didn’t do anything wrong.”
Danielle lowered her voice. “There’s a dead man in my master guest suite, and his sister-in-law saw Ashley threaten him before he dropped dead. Keep. Her. Away. From the Jepsens.”
“Ashley wouldn’t hurt anyone,” I insisted.
Danielle shushed me ang glanced over her shoulder. She grabbed me by the wrist and dragged me to the sitting room. Like the second-floor patio and the reading room, the door to the sitting room had a glass panel in the center. Danielle positioned our bodies so she could see if anyone else came down the hall.
“Nobody is accusing Ashley of anything—”
“You could have fooled me.”
“And I would like to keep that way. For goodness sake, Laura! She was going on and on about poison gardens and hemlock.”
“Ashley isn’t the scary goth in the night,” I said. “She’s just a little eccentric. You know, darkly whimsical.”
“It was weird, Laura. And it doesn’t matter if you or I think so. Our guests thought it was weird!” Danielle paused and took a deep breath. “Right now, all I know is that a staff member was in the inn after hours and had a verbal altercation with a guest. That would be a bad look without anything else. Which is exactly why the operating procedures say don’t do it.”
“Why are you talking about her like she’s a new hire? This is Ash. She’s been my best friend for years.”
“Your best friend, Laura. I met Ashley for the first time two weeks ago. To me, she is a new hire. Actually no, I would have asked to see a new employee’s resume instead of just taking someone else’s referral. And I wouldn’t have put someone who’s spent the last few years doing remote work in the room with VIPs.”
A pang of guilt trickled through my chest at Danielle’s comments. The last one, at least, was dead on. She never would have let Ashley serve dinner if I hadn’t said she had experience with demanding clients.
The dinner seemed to go so well, Harold Jepsen’s annoyance aside. How had it turned so sour after we’d all gone to bed?
“You don’t seriously think—” I began.
Danielle cut me off before I could finish the question, shifting firmly to her boss voice. “I think the fewer questions we ask and the fewer answers we know, the better. For everyone’s sake. I’m going downstairs to make that sandwich for Emily Jepsen. You should check in with Catherine.”
“What about Ashley?” I asked.
“I’ll talk to Ashley.” Danielle opened the door and stormed through it before I could say another word.
For a while, I stood there fuming. Danielle may not have known Ashley, but I did. As well as I knew myself. I didn’t know what happened between her and Harold Jepsen. I didn’t know how he died. But I knew, deep in my bones, that she would never kill anyone.
And I had until the storm broke to prove it.
Chapter Six
There was no way Danielle or Andrew would approve of me investigating Harold Jepsen’s death. Andy would say I should leave it to the professionals, and remind me of all the trouble Charlie Porter’s death had almost gotten me into. Danielle would remind me of Nicholas Lloyd and everything that would happen if I somehow proved that Harold Jepsen had been murdered on her property.
The local Paraiso gossip could excuse one murder as bad luck. But a second murder at the Paradise Bed and Breakfast? The gossip alone would doom the business.
Or worse, it would attract customers obsessed with death. That wasn’t the crowd Danielle and Andrew were going for. It wasn’t the kind of clientele they could build a legacy for Benjamin on.
If I was going to do this, nobody could know. Not my family and certainly not the Jepsens. It had to stay secret until I discovered something.
I figured I should start with the person who saw Harold Jepsen last. As far as I knew, that was his wife Catherine. And since Danielle had already asked me to check on her, I could ask questions without drawing too much suspicion.
Catherine Jepsen and her younger daughters were in the front parlor. The girls had changed into jean shorts and oversized t-shirts. They sat next to one another at the piano, each plunking out the notes to a popular Broadway show tune with tentative fingers. Catherine wore cream wide-legged linen lounging pants and a matching broderie anglaise tunic. She had tucked her bare feet beneath a cushion on the couch, leaving a pair of designer wedges abandoned on the carpet beside her. Three bowls of Danielle’s oatmeal and warm fruit compote lay half-eaten on the coffee table next to a half-full champagne flute.
Mrs. Jepsen looked up at me and smiled when I walked into the room, a tight, thin smile coming to her plump lips.
As I approached, the bags under her eyes started to peak out from beneath her concealer.
“I don’t know if you remember me, Mrs. Jepsen, but my name is—”
“Laura, the owner’s sister.” She leaned forward and grabbed her champagne flute. “I wish I could say good morning, but it seems inappropriate given the circumstances.”
“Actually, that’s one of the things I need to speak to you about. But first, can I get you anything? A snack? Maybe another drink?”
Catherine nodded enthusiastically and passed me her glass. “I shouldn’t, but I will. As for the snack, I don’t usually eat between meals. Which probably sounds funny considering I’m on my second drink before lunch.”
“First and a half,” I said with a smile as I moved to the side bar. “And like you said, the circ
umstances are a little… different.”
Granny and Danielle were better bartenders than I was, but fortunately a French 75 wasn’t complicated. Mix gin, lemon juice, and simple syrup in a shaker full of ice. Shake and strain into a champagne flute, then top with champagne.
Personally, I would have gone for the mimosa or tried to talk Danielle into making me a Bellini. Dry champagne cocktails were too bitter for my tastes.
Catherine Jepsen nodded when I passed her the refreshed cocktail. “My father always said the best way to pass the time is with a drink in your hand and a story on your lips. Come to think of it, he’d suggest spending the first hours after a family member passed the same way.”
“Under the circumstances, we’re going to have to ask you to sleep in one of the other guest rooms, Mrs. Jepsen.” I said as gently as I could manage. “There’s an empty suite downstairs. Or I could ask your older daughter to switch if you wanted to be closer to your younger girls.”
She shook her head. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. I moved my suitcase into the girls’ room last night, and I’m perfectly happy to stay there until we can go home.”
“Oh… I’m sorry.”
If Catherine Jepsen hadn’t slept in the room with her husband, then she might not have been the last one to see him before he died.
Catherine’s smile weakened and her eyes filled with tears. She looked away, setting the glass down and sniffling softly. “It wasn’t the first time. Only the last, and to be honest, I’d just as soon never set foot in that room again. So whatever you need to do, it’s fine with me.”
I nodded and tried to think of a way to phrase my next question delicately.
There wasn’t one. If Catherine Jepsen didn’t want to think about the room or her husband, this was my only real chance to ask her anything.
“I don’t mean to be indelicate, Mrs. Jepsen, but we found your husband’s toiletry bag near him. Could he have been looking for medication?”
Catherine’s green eyes darted to her daughters. Once she was sure they were too busy sorting out a melody to pay attention to us, she shrugged her shoulders and took another sip of her cocktail.
A Dead And Stormy Night Page 3
