I carried the tray to my room and put it on the table in front of the window seat. I didn’t want it to get cold, but I needed to call Corrigan.
His hearty voice always gave me a shot of energy.
“Hey, Kelly, good to hear from you. I assume this means you made it okay.”
“Yep. I’ve already reconnected with the Silver Sentinels and made it over to Redwood Heights. Quite the place.”
“It’s not the usual kind of place I purchase, but I heard some foreign investors were going to buy it and modernize it. I couldn’t let that happen. Too much history there.”
“I met Margaret Hensley.” I stopped and waited for his response.
After a couple of seconds, he said, “She’s an old friend of mine. The manager at the Heights asked for a leave of absence. Margaret wanted to get away for a while. She’s dealing with . . . some problems.”
I wondered what kind of problems. Something that made her especially curt?
“New York City to Mendocino might have been a bit too much of a planetary leap for her,” Corrigan said.
That helped to explain the alienating attitude.
“I’ll begin the inventory tomorrow.”
“There’s something else you need to know.” Corrigan’s deep sigh carried over the phone. “We’ve had a few pieces of jewelry stolen from some of the guest rooms.”
“Oh, my gosh. Do you have any idea how the thief got in?”
“We’re not sure. We called the police in, of course, but they found nothing. It hasn’t been going on for very long and happens during the day. I want you to keep your eyes and ears open for anything unusual.”
“Of course.”
We talked about a few business details and said good night. I had just finished dinner when Helen called.
“Kelly, Deputy Sheriff Stanton’s here. He has questions about what happened at the Heights.”
“Okay. I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.” I put the dishes on the tray and headed for the multipurpose room.
The deputy, a tall, heavyset man, waited there.
“Deputy Sheriff Stanton,” I said, “nice to see you again.”
“Same here Ms. Jackson. I heard you got back today.”
“What can I do for you, Deputy Sheriff?”
“I need to talk to you about what happened at the Heights today.”
“Before you start, Bill, would you like some coffee?” Helen asked.
“Sure. The usual would be great.”
Easy use of first names and the usual. Interesting.
“Kelly, anything for you?”
I put the tray on the counter. “No, I’m fine after the great meal you fixed.”
The deputy accepted the coffee Helen handed him. “A woman staying at Redwood Heights called and reported an attack. She says someone might have tried to kill her. Said you were there.”
“I was there, but I didn’t see what happened.” I filled him in with what I knew.
“Margaret Hensley’s convinced Mrs. Porter tripped and fell. But the woman was adamant about feeling two hands at her back and being shoved.”
“She didn’t say anything to us about the hands.”
“Okay. Thanks. Good to have you back.”
I left Helen and the deputy sheriff talking and walked back to my room. Sylvia hadn’t said anything about feeling someone’s hands. Was she embellishing her story? Making it more believable? Or had someone really tried to hurt her . . . or to kill her?
Chapter 4
I woke before my alarm sounded the next morning and took a long stretch. My stiff muscles appreciated the movement. Days of driving and lack of normal activity had taken their toll. I punched the button down on the alarm and pulled the comforter up around my chin and sighed with pleasure. I was in my new home.
Excitement then spurred me out of bed. Slipping into my clothes and my black sheepskin slippers, I headed for the kitchen. The gleaming giant coffeemaker greeted me. I got it started and looked in the refrigerator. Helen’s thoughtfulness showed. She’d stocked it with gleaming red apples, goat cheese, sparkling water, and milk. A note on the counter said bagels were in the freezer.
I grabbed a small bottle of water. While the coffee brewed, I went into the living room and peeked around the blinds. At six thirty in the morning, the night had only begun to recede, so I left the window covered. I sat on the bench seat and relished the thought of the day to come—my first full day as manager of Redwood Cove B & B. Not even the thought of working with Margaret Hensley dampened my spirits.
After pouring a cup of coffee, I took a quick shower and applied light makeup. I had only unpacked a couple of boxes of essentials last night. Black jeans, a green turtleneck, and a black company fleece vest provided my outfit for the day. I tidied the work folders I’d reviewed and put the Redwood Heights pamphlet on top of them. I’d enjoyed learning its history and that of its owners, the Brandons.
I shut the suite door and walked down the hall toward the workroom. The well-remembered smells of freshly baked pastries greeted me. As I entered the area, my eyes showed me what my nose already knew. Cooling racks held a variety of muffins and croissants.
“Good morning. How did you sleep?” Helen asked as she pulled strawberries out of the refrigerator.
“Like a cowboy after a long day riding fence.” I stretched. “It’s surprising how tiring just sitting and driving can be.”
“It sounds like you slept well.” Helen laughed. “But I’m not sure what that phrase means.”
“One of the ranch chores involves riding the perimeter to check the fence for any breaks and repairing them. Those are long days in the saddle.”
“I bet you’re glad to have the trip behind you.”
“Definitely.”
Tommy burst into the room, Fred at his heels. He raced to the counter and jumped on a stool.
“Good morning, Miss Kelly.”
Helen put a bowl of cereal piled high with blueberries, strawberries, and bananas in front of him and poured creamy milk on top. A breakfast sundae. She placed a stainless steel dog dish in the corner, and Fred got down to the business of eating his breakfast.
“Hi, Tommy, how are you today?” I asked.
“Great!” He shoveled a spoonful of cereal into his mouth. “Miss Kelly, you said horses had individual bits. I read about it last night. There are lots of types of bits. I learned about snaffles, curbs, pelhams—”
“Tommy, eat your breakfast,” his mom said.
“Okay. Then there’s the hackamore, which has no bit.”
I laughed. “Very impressive, Tommy.”
He hadn’t changed since I’d seen him last. He was still the same walking, talking encyclopedia. By now, he might know more about bits than I did.
“Whoa, cowboy,” Helen said. “It’s time for you to finish eating and get to school.”
“Okay, Mom.” His shoulders drooped a little, but then he straightened up. “I have science club after school. We’re building a rocket!”
“Sounds like fun,” I said.
“Yeah, it is.” He finished his last bite of cereal, gave Fred a hug, and grabbed his backpack.
“Tommy, remember you need to be home by five.”
“Okay, Mom.” He turned to me. “See you later, Miss Kelly.”
“Bye, Tommy.”
He stopped at the door. “Oh, and our core class gets to go on a field trip today to watch whales.”
“Okay, Son. Now scoot.”
Off he went.
Fred sauntered over to his bed and flopped down with a grunt.
“The science club seems to have him excited.”
“Yes, he really enjoys it, and he’s finally made some friends.”
“How’s his Asperger’s?”
“They did some testing, and it’s still considered a mild case.”
“Great news.” I stood. “Right now, I’d better get to Redwood Heights.”
Helen nodded toward some baskets. “As soon as I finish t
hose, I’ll be going there myself. They’re late morning snacks for the whale watching group.”
“See you later.”
I walked back to my room, thinking about Tommy. He’d had a hard time here. Having Asperger’s and being the new kid in a tight-knit community had been very difficult. It sounded as if things were changing for the better.
I put my fog-permed hair into a clip, taming my Orphan Annie look, and slipped on my down parka. I’d been fooled before by thinking all of California was warm and sunny. The cold, moist ocean air on the northern coast cut right through you.
Walking to the mansion was exhilarating. The ocean crashed and boomed to my left. I inhaled the salty air. The large building loomed ahead, the towering redwoods surrounding it even more impressive than yesterday as I approached on foot. Impressive and somewhat oppressive.
I entered through the front door and walked into the main entryway, where Sylvia had fallen. Spying a coatrack behind the reception desk, I slipped out of my jacket and hung it up. Continuing down the hallway, I peeked in Hensley’s office. She was sitting behind her massive desk, a row of neat stacks of papers in front of her.
“Good morning,” I said.
She looked at me over the top of red-rimmed reading glasses. “Hello,” she replied.
“Where would you like me to start the inventory?”
“In the parlor, but first I’d like to show you the safe where the keys are kept for the cabinets and the carriage house.”
Hensley gave me the combination and showed me how to work it, explaining there were two keys for each door. A key for the cabinet housing the guest room keys was in there as well.
She handed me two keys. “These will get you started.” The carriage house key was a large, metal skeleton key. The new, smaller one unlocked a cabinet in the parlor.
“About yesterday”—Hensley paused—“I feel we got off on the wrong foot. That Porter woman pushes me to my limits.”
The phone rang, and Hensley punched a button. “Yes?” She listened for a couple of seconds. “I see. Call me later in the day to let me know how you’re doing.” She hung up and looked at me. “I need you to go with the guests today . . .” She stopped as her gaze drifted to the manager logo on my fleece. She cleared her throat. “How would you like to go with the whale watching tour?”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“Tina Smith, the staff member you met yesterday, was scheduled to escort the group. She’s ill.” Hensley frowned. “Not for the first time, I might add.”
“Sounds like fun. I’d be happy to do it.” Whale watching and growing up in Wyoming didn’t exactly go together. This would be a new experience.
“The tour leaves in fifteen minutes. The group meets out front.” She handed me a list of names. “Claude Baxter, a local chef we hire part-time, will meet you there. He grew up in the area and assists with some of our tours, as well as preparing special meals for our guests. He’ll help during the whale watching and then preside over a gourmet lunch we’ve arranged for our guests. I always send two people so if there’s a problem one can deal with it while the other one stays with the group. It’s a lot of staff for only twelve people, but this is a luxury resort and catering to our clients’ needs is a priority.”
I retrieved my jacket and joined the guests in the driveway as three massive black Cadillac Escalades rolled up. Sylvia Porter mingled with the group.
I approached her. “Mrs. Porter, how are you feeling today?”
“Much better,” she said, sniffing.
A tall, lanky man stepped out of the first vehicle and addressed the group. “I’m Ben,” his soft voice drawled. “I’ll be one of your guides today. There’ll be four people to a vehicle.”
The drivers of the other two SUVs joined him.
Sylvia and I were at the front of the line. Ben opened the door to his vehicle and said, “Right this way.”
Sylvia and I climbed into the backseat, and two other guests seated themselves in the middle seats.
“Our first stop is about fifteen minutes from here. We’ll put out late morning snacks and hot beverages for you while you scan for whales.” He pulled out and headed for the ocean.
I started to ask Sylvia how her stay was going but thought better of it, considering what had happened.
“What made you choose to come to Redwood Heights?” I decided was a safer question.
“The guests,” she answered promptly. “I noticed a number of celebrities had stayed here, and the town is known to attract them. It was a chance to be among the rich and famous.”
That was why she was here? She was a celebrity chaser?
Sylvia shot me a quick glance. “Thank you for helping yesterday.” She fiddled with one of the buttons on her navy wool jacket. “I know you didn’t find anybody.” She paused. “I saved a long time for this vacation.” She looked out the window. “I had time to think about what happened. Maybe I did just stumble.”
Oh. This was a different take on the situation.
“I’m an administrative secretary at Preston Insurance Company based in Kansas City. I’ve dreamed of coming here for ages. It’s been everything I’d hoped for.” She pulled out her camera and began to show me pictures. She prattled on as she identified a couple of movie stars and a television host. It was going to be a long morning.
Ben began his tour guide spiel, interrupting our conversation. “Excuse me, folks, but I’d like to tell you a little about whale watching as we drive to our first stop. These are gray whales moving north to Canada and Alaska. You’ll often see their backs as they surface as well as plumes of spray as they spout. Occasionally, they’ll spyhop by jumping straight up or breach by coming out of the water and doing a roll.”
The vehicle stopped on a high bluff overlooking the ocean. Ben turned to us. “There’s a path along the cliff. I’ll give you binoculars. We’ll be setting up some food on those tables.” He pointed to a picnic area. “Please watch your step and don’t go too close to the edge. We’ll leave in about an hour to go to another viewing area.”
He opened the doors and handed each of us a binoculars case with a long strap. Small clusters of people were at various points along the headland. The guests left to join them. Ben opened the back of the Cadillac, and I spied Helen’s baskets.
I reached in to help him unload. “I didn’t have a chance to tell you this before, but I work for Resorts International. I’m Kelly Jackson, manager of Redwood Cove Bed-and-Breakfast.”
He pulled out a box with thermoses. “Nice to meet you.”
I helped him remove the rest of the supplies as the other two vehicles arrived. A stocky man walked over wearing a fleece with REDWOOD HEIGHTS embroidered on the front.
He thrust his hand in my direction. “I’m Claude Baxter.”
“Kelly Jackson,” I said, as we shook hands.
“Glad to meet you.”
The three guides, Claude, and I set the baskets on the tables.
“Thanks for your help,” Ben said. “We won’t take the food out until we see a guest headed back in this direction.”
“I’ll come back and help with the setting up when you’re ready.” I headed off to try to spot a whale for some whale watching of my own.
As I approached the groups of people, I heard a collective “Ahh . . .” followed by an “Ohh . . .” I pulled my binoculars out and looked at the ocean. Several long, glistening whale backs glided through the water. A large spout sprayed from one of the whales, the iridescent rainbow dissipating in the wind. I tingled with excitement. I’d never seen anything like this before.
One of the whales breached, showing his belly and landing with a gigantic splash on his back. The show continued with occasional intermissions when all we saw was the constant motion of the ocean. Then suddenly we’d see them again. A flip of a gigantic tail would elicit another round of admiration from the watchers.
A group was gathered around a man in the olive green uniform of the California Department of Fish and G
ame. A class of school kids was off to the side. An arm shot up and waved energetically in my direction. Tommy emerged from the group and stood at its edge.
Five people stood behind the children—figures I knew well. The Silver Sentinels had come to see the show. Ivan and Rudy wore cream-colored cable-knit heavy sweaters, identical except in size, given Rudy’s slight frame. Ivan towered over his brother. His thick shaggy hair contrasted with Rudy’s neatly trimmed mustache and beard. The brothers’ dark wool watch caps were pulled down over their ears. Mary and Gertie wore beanies, red and green respectively, their white hair glistening in the sun. The Professor sported a tweed cap today. I joined them.
The crashing waves and the coastal wind gave Ivan’s voice no competition. “We come see whales. See many when out in fishing boat. My Nadia docked right now. Can only see from land. When fixed, we all go out together. Yah. Fun.”
I was standing next to Rudy, and he smiled and said, “It might be a while before that happens, so we’ve been enjoying them from the land.”
The Professor stepped close and spoke in my ear. “We’ve heard the warden many times, but we never grow tired of listening to him. It’s fascinating what the large mammals can do.”
Gertie and Mary approached and commandeered my other ear.
“We’ve seen two spyhops so far,” Mary said.
“And there was a breach a few minutes ago,” Gertie added.
I increased the volume of my voice to be heard over the sound of the ocean. “I’m really enjoying watching them. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
I spied a member from our group heading back to the vehicles. “I’ve got to get back to work.”
“We’ll see you at the party tonight,” Gertie said.
“I’m looking forward to it.”
A tall, blond woman from our group turned and headed back toward the vehicles, and I followed. The guides had most of the boxes unpacked. I reached for the last one and unloaded chocolate and raspberry croissants.
The rest of the tour group arrived and helped themselves to the pastries.
Sylvia came over to me. “Kelly, as much as I’m enjoying myself, I’d like to go back to the Heights.” Her shoulders drooped. “The bruises from my fall are starting to hurt more.”
Murder at the Mansion Page 3
