by Mae Fox
“One of the older ladies?” he asked.
“The tall one.”
“Heart attack?”
“Maybe. Or a food allergy. Her friend said she was allergic to peanuts.”
He took out his notebook and scribbled something on it. “Was your staff aware of this allergy?”
Julie crossed her arms and stared him down. “Of course we were.” Of course Hannah was.
“Let me know what you find out.” After the officer was finished taking pictures, Frost walked around the room looking for heaven only knew what. He used his pen to pull the curtain away from the window and peer out. Her office overlooked the back garden; though, whenever she was in the office, she didn’t have much time for admiring the view. “When you first came in here, was there a window open?”
“No.”
He let the curtain fall back into place. “Is it possible that the culprit came in through the hallway?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Do you keep your office door locked?”
“Not ordinarily,” she said. “Only when I’m leaving the inn.”
“Did you leave the inn today?” he asked, still poking around the room, peering under things and behind things, never once looking at her while he spoke.
“No.”
“So, it’s feasible that any one of your guests or staff could have come in here and done this.”
“Why do I feel like I’m the one being charged here?”
This time Frost looked at her, his smile genuinely apologetic. “It’s been a long day, Miss Ellis.”
“Tell me about it,” she muttered.
“What was that?” he asked.
“I said, I’m sorry to hear that.”
He smiled as if he knew that wasn’t what she’d said at all. “We’ll write up the report. In the meantime, you can feel free to clean this up.”
She nodded.
“And one more thing, Miss Ellis.”
Julie turned to face him.
“You should lock your office door whether you’re here or not.”
“Locking a door in Straussberg!” Shirley exclaimed. “Why, whoever heard of such a thing?”
“It seems to be my only recourse now,” Julie said. Though, with the journal missing and her office a mess, it seemed a bit like closing the barn door after the horses had gotten out.
After leaving her office, Julie had walked to the tearoom to see if Shirley was still at the inn. She should have gone home long ago, but Julie was glad she’d remained for a while longer.
“I don’t like it either,” Julie added. She’d lived in places where people had to lock their doors at all times, but Straussberg had a different vibe. A small, country town feel. An everyone-knows-everyone kind of place. She hated the fact that it seemed to be changing right before her eyes.
“Of course, back in the day …,” Shirley was saying.
Julie nodded politely. Time spent with Shirley was entertaining, to be sure, but she wouldn’t classify it as relaxing. She tried her best to keep track of Shirley’s colorful storytelling, but her mind kept wandering.
Perhaps whoever ransacked her office wasn’t trying to find the journal. What if that person was merely trying to scare her? What if the art thieves who swore their revenge on her had finally caught up with her?
That made more sense than any of her other theories. Though the thought sent her heart sinking to her toes.
With as many tourists as had been in and out of the inn lately, it could have been anyone. Most had been gawkers, not registered guests. And there had been a lot of them. That narrowed the potential vandal down to … well, almost anyone in town.
Julie’s phone buzzed in her pocket. “Excuse me,” she said to Shirley, checking the screen before answering. She did not recognize the number.
“Julie dear, it’s Sadie Davidson.”
“Sadie! Good to hear from you. How is Joyce?”
“Well, they have her stabilized, but they’re going to keep her overnight to make sure she’s OK. Personally, I think she’s fine. She’s sitting up in the bed, flirting shamelessly with the male nurses. I suspect she’ll be right as rain by tomorrow.”
Relief flooded through Julie. “I’m so glad to hear that. Have they determined what caused her collapse?”
“It was just as I suspected. Somehow she got ahold of some peanuts. We’re lucky it didn’t kill her right off.”
ELEVEN
Julie had no more than hung up with Sadie and closed the door behind Shirley when she spotted Carrie meandering around near the tearoom.
“I thought you were going to bed,” Julie said, bypassing a normal greeting.
Carrie jumped as if she hadn’t been expecting Julie to say anything to her—or as if she hadn’t noticed Julie at all. The petite girl bumped into the wall, nearly knocking a painting onto the floor.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, pushing her glasses up on her nose and straightening the picture. It was more crooked when she was finished fixing it than it had been before she began.
“What are you doing down here?” Julie asked, her suspicions rising.
Carrie’s eyes grew wide. “I thought I forgot something in the tearoom.”
“Really? What was it? I’ll help you look,” Julie said with as much care and concern as she could muster.
“Uh, my handkerchief.”
Julie blinked. Did anyone under the age of seventy carry a handkerchief anymore? “Unfortunately, it looks like Shirley has already closed up for the night. You’ll have to ask her in the morning.”
Carrie nodded and pushed at her sleeves. “OK. Good night then.” She turned on her heel to leave.
“Is there something you’d like to tell me?” Julie asked.
Carrie paused for a moment and then slowly shook her head. “No.” Without another word she crept up the steps as quietly as she’d come.
Julie stood in the foyer and watched her leave, a jillion thoughts zinging through her head. Carrie seemed the least likely of the guests to commit a heinous crime. Julie doubted the petite blonde even had enough strength to wield the overlarge candlestick that had been used to knock Alice over the head. But her bizarre behavior … always creeping around … so jumpy when spoken to. …
Was Carrie even in the room when Alice was murdered? Julie couldn’t remember if Carrie had been there or not. The girl was just so quiet, as if she wanted everyone to forget she existed.
But had she been there?
Julie thought back to the minutes before the power went out and promptly blew out an irritated breath. That was the problem. She simply couldn’t remember. Of course, at the time, she hadn’t been concerned about real murders. She hadn’t been watching everyone with suspicious eyes. Her attention had been focused on making sure the murder part of the mystery went off without a hitch and on gearing up for a weekend of solving a fake murder … not a real murder.
Julie rolled her shoulders, trying to ease some of the kinks out of her neck and back. On a whim, she started toward the back of the inn, where Hannah’s room was located. The power had gone off right before the dessert service. Had Carrie been in the room at the time?
She lightly rapped on Hannah’s door.
“It’s open,” came the soft reply.
Julie opened the door and found Hannah propped up on the bed as if she’d been expecting her friend to drop by.
“You’re up late,” Julie said.
Hannah shrugged. “Too much excitement, I guess, but I need to turn in soon. Morning comes quickly around here. Did you hear from Sadie?”
Julie nodded. “It was peanuts, but Joyce is going to be fine.”
Hannah’s eyes widened. “I’ll clean out the pantry tomorrow. I don’t know how it happened—maybe some type of cross-contamination.”
Or purposeful contamination, Julie thought. “I’m sure it was just an unfortunate accident.”
“Still.” Hannah was clearly distraught over the incident.
Julie suspected H
annah would throw out the remaining ingredients from the evening meal and offer to pay for it herself if need be.
“I need you to think back for a moment,” Julie said. “Do you remember seeing Carrie at the dining table Friday night?”
“Of course.”
“OK. But was she there when you served the entrée?”
“Yes. Well, I’m pretty sure.” Hannah frowned as she tried to recall. “I mean, I took her a plate. She had to have been there. You don’t think—?”
“I don’t know.” Julie perched on the edge of Hannah’s small bed. “The problem is, I can’t remember that specific detail.”
“Even if she wasn’t at the table, that doesn’t mean she killed Alice.” Hannah sat up a little taller. “Also, if she hadn’t been there, don’t you think someone would have mentioned it?”
“You’re right.” Julie ran her hand through her hair, an unthinking gesture she often did when she was frustrated.
“Although, she does have an amazing ability to go unnoticed,” Hannah said.
Julie was going to be so glad when this weekend was over. In less than twenty-four hours, crime solved or not, the police had to at least let the guests leave town. That time couldn’t come soon enough.
Julie pushed up from the bed and smiled at her friend. “Get some sleep. I’ll see you at breakfast.”
Hannah murmured her goodnight as Julie let herself out of the room.
She heard the lock click into place as she started down the hall.
Julie made her way through the kitchen, resisting the urge to grab a snack. True, dinner had been a complete fiasco. She’d eaten only about half of her meal before Joyce collapsed. And after that, her appetite had done a swift disappearing act—until now. But hungry or not, eating this late was not good for the thighs, no matter how tasty that last piece of cinnamon cake looked.
She walked toward the front of the inn for one last check before she headed upstairs.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Gah!” Julie whirled around, hand pressed to her chest. “Carrie!” she gasped. “I thought you went to bed.”
Carrie shook her head and stared at the scuffed toes of her ugly brown shoes. “I just needed some time to …” She glanced off to the side, seeming to look at nothing as she bit her lip. “I need to tell you something.”
Julie could hardly miss the ominous tone in Carrie’s words. “All right. What is it?”
“Can we talk somewhere private?”
“How about we take a walk?” Julie suggested. She couldn’t bear the thought of sitting across from Carrie and watching her shrink under her gaze.
Carrie nodded, and the two of them made their way to the back door in silence.
The night breeze had turned cool, and Carrie pulled her too-big sweater a little tighter around her. Julie wished she’d taken the time to put on something with sleeves. Instead, she rubbed the goose bumps on her arms and led the way to the garden path.
The air was filled with the perfume of sweet violets and hyacinths. Julie inhaled the soothing scents and waited for Carrie to begin, bracing herself for whatever was to come.
Finally, the girl drew in a deep breath and said, “I know where the book is.”
Julie stopped dead in her tracks.
Carrie continued to walk on, stumbling a bit as the path grew uneven. She paused when she realized she’d left Julie behind.
Julie forced her feet into motion. “You mean the Civil War journal?”
Carrie nodded.
“You know where it is—right this very moment?”
“Well, I know where it was.”
“OK … that’s good news. I think.” Julie motioned to a small wooden bench. “Why don’t you start at the beginning?”
Carrie took a seat and seemed to mull over her words as if deciding on the best place to start. “Fr-Friday night at dinner, I had to go to the bathroom.”
“Was this before or after Alice—?”
“Before.” Carrie ducked her head and twisted her hands in her lap. “I had just finished my entrée, and I thought I should go before we started dessert. I was pretty sure I could get to the bathroom and back before the ‘big moment’ in the mystery play.”
The big moment that never happened.
“So, I slipped out and went to the restroom that’s down the hall from your office. I was washing my hands when the power went off.” She gave a delicate shudder. “It was unnerving to be in such a closed space with it so dark, so I dried my hands as quickly as possible and stepped out into the hall. I figured the mystery had begun, and I wanted to get back to my seat before the lights came back on. Unfortunately, the hallway was as dark as the bathroom.”
Julie nodded encouragingly, though inside she was praying that Carrie didn’t confess to the murder right there on the garden bench.
“So, I’m standing there in the hall,” Carrie said, “and I see someone coming toward me.” She paused, furrowing her brows. “He held a flashlight in one hand and the book in the other.”
“He?” Julie asked. “You’re saying it was a man?”
“I think so.” She wrinkled her nose in uncertainty. “The light flashed in my eyes, and it was hard to see.”
Of course. Julie tried not to let her frustration show. But she suspected whoever Carrie saw holding the light and the book was also responsible for the power outage. How else would they have known that a flashlight would be needed?
“All right. So you think it was a man,” Julie said. “What about the book?”
“It was definitely the journal you showed us.”
“Are you absolutely sure?” Julie asked. “It was dark. You’re not even certain if a man or woman was holding it.”
“I’m sure.” Carrie untwisted her fingers, seeming to grow a little more relaxed as she continued her story. “I think I surprised him as much as he surprised me. But I knew he wasn’t supposed to have the book.”
“Even though you couldn’t see his face?”
“It wasn’t his book,” Carrie said.
“True enough.”
“But when I said as much, he jeered at me.”
Jeered? Julie frowned.
“So I took it from him. The lights came back on, and he ran away before I could get a good look at him. I put the book in the game cabinet and went back into the dining room.”
“Why did you hide the book in the game cabinet?”
Carrie began to fidget again. “I don’t know. I figured the evening was about to start. I could always go back and get it later and return it to you then.”
Julie shook her head. “OK. You went back into the dining room. What happened next?”
“That was when Susan started screaming,” Carrie said.
“So, the journal is in the game cabinet?” It took every ounce of Julie’s willpower not to spring off the bench and go look.
Carrie shook her head sadly. “I went back for it the next morning, but it was gone.”
Deflated, Julie slumped back on the bench. “Why did you wait so long to go back for it?”
“It was late by the time the police left.” Carrie shrugged. “I’ve been … working a lot lately and needed some rest. I figured it was safe enough, hidden in the cabinet, so I went on to bed.”
Julie didn’t miss the small pause before the word “working.” She asked, “What kind of work do you do?”
“This and that.” Carrie jumped to her feet like Jack springing from his box. “I guess I should go to bed now. That’s all I wanted to tell you. Good night.” She started to leave, but Julie stopped her.
“Why didn’t you tell me this before now?” Julie asked, struggling to keep her anger at bay.
“I wasn’t sure how you would take it.”
“And you have absolutely no guess as to who the mystery person in the hallway might have been? Not even an inkling?”
Carrie shook her head, but Julie got the impression the girl was still holding something back.
�
��I’m glad you told me,” Julie said, giving Carrie a reassuring smile. “Do you think the thief saw you put the journal in the game cabinet?”
“No.” Carrie pushed at her sleeves again. “I was all alone when I stashed it.”
Julie sighed with defeat. Given the number of visitors we’ve had meandering through the inn this weekend, anyone could have the journal now.
After Carrie went upstairs for the third time that evening, Julie promptly checked the game cabinet.
The old cabinet sat outside the dining room near the first-floor sitting room. Board games, decks of cards, dominos, and more were stacked inside. The purpose of the cabinet was to encourage guests to enjoy one another’s company and also add to the homey atmosphere that Millie had created. After all, man could not live by quilting alone.
But Julie hadn’t seen too many guests play with the games during their stay. Most times, they preferred to be out touring the town, quilting, or visiting with resident storyteller Shirley.
As quietly as she could, Julie removed all the games from the cabinet and set them neatly to the side, perusing through boxes as she went, to see if by some strange deed, the journal had ended up inside one of them. But the effort proved useless. The book simply wasn’t there.
With a sigh, she began the arduous task of putting everything back inside, fitting the boxes together in the small space like a jigsaw puzzle. The fact was, any tourist or guest with a dishonest bent could have happened by during all the commotion over the last three days and taken the book. The list of possible thieves was a mile long.
If the culprit was one of the visitors, then there wasn’t a single thing she could do.
But if it was one of the guests …
Julie stood and started climbing the stairs toward her room on the third floor. She found the second floor quiet except for the gentle snores of one of her guests. If she had to guess, she’d say Kenneth. He looked like a snorer.
The third floor was even quieter. She wasn’t sure if it was because Carrie had gone to sleep already or because she was just being her normal wallflower self.
Once inside her room, Julie rolled the tension from her neck and changed into her pajamas. It seemed like a lifetime ago since she’d dressed for the day. So much had happened since the morning.
