~ ~ ~
Monday, October 31 ~ Halloween
“Vicki,” a man called out behind me.
I looked over my costumed shoulder at my jack-of-all-trades handyman, Kent. He retired from being an airplane mechanic and moved here from California, seeking something to do to pass the time. Lucky for me, he passed much of it by keeping my Inn in perfect working order, from the generators outside to the faucets and fireplaces inside. In his late forties, his beard and mustache were still bright red, although his hair had faded to grayish brown.
As I was heading toward the front door of the Inn, at his call, I stepped back toward the counter. “Yes?”
“I need to have you open the safe for a guest.”
“Sure.” He didn’t mean the small hotel-type safes in the closets of each of the Who-Dun-Him Inn detective-themed rooms, which the guests could access quite easily. Rather, he was referring to the giant-sized safe that was installed during the polygamist years when the mansion was first built. It had a regular safe door on one side and a hidden escape hatch on the other that only opened from the inside. It hadn’t been opened in years, since no one of late needed to hide from the authorities. I was not even sure the escape hatch door could still open. Occasionally, however, guests would have items large enough to require the big safe.
It had been two days since I talked to Robert and threw a rock at Gene’s car so I had plenty of time to regain strict control of my emotions. I needed that much time. Liz felt better today and went to work, while I checked lots of items off on my to-do list around the Inn. We’d just eaten dinner and it was time to trick-or-treat.
Dressed in my Halloween costume, I met Kent at the large, semicircular, solid wood, check-in counter, nestled between the kitchen wall and the back of the mansion. A guest couple followed him. Don and Lisa Barton from Ohio were in their fifties. They both had jovial smiles carried a little sedentary spread around their middles. Don hefted a large box with ease, and Lisa looked like she was probably the neighborhood grandma that all the kids wanted to be around.
My kid was no different. When Zach spotted them, he grinned and came running. “Are you going trick-or-treating, too?”
They looked down at my son, dressed in his Dalmatian costume, and smiled. “No, sweetie,” Lisa said. “But we do have some candy to put in your bag.”
Zach was dressed as one of the 101 Dalmatians with a goodie bag hanging from his neck. He pulled the top of the bag out with his paw/glove, and Lisa dropped in a few Tootsie Rolls.
“What do you say?” I prompted.
“Arf!” Zach beamed. “That’s Dalmatian for thanks.”
The couple looked at me and smiled. She teased, “Do villains get treats?”
It was a good question, since I was dressed as Cruella De Vil. “No, thanks.”
Don started humming the Cruella De Vil song from the Disney movie and Zach snickered.
Lisa said, “We got lots of shopping done today and want to ship some stuff home, but can’t until tomorrow. And this is just too big for our room safe. I understand you have a large safe down here.”
“Bring your box and follow me.” I led the way into the kitchen, where the safe was built into a false wall. After spinning the combination, I swung open the large, heavy door.
“Wow,” said Don. “That ought to be secure enough.”
“Never had anything taken out of it since the mansion was built in the 1800s.”
Don positioned the box, and the picture on the outside suggested there was some sort of BBQ grill inside. He stepped back and said, “Thanks.”
“Mom, can we go yet?” Zach called from the kitchen door.
I closed the door and spun the lock. “Sorry. He’s pretty excited.”
“We understand,” he said. “We have four sons and they were all just as eager to trick-or-treat as your boy.”
They headed toward the main staircase, passing Cielo, who was coming down the stairs.
Cielo was the Italian beauty married to Kent. She kept my Inn clean, dust-free, and stocked with clean towels and bedding. She also covered for me at the desk. Blessed with Sophia Loren curves, she spoke with a slight accent.
“Ciao, Vicki. Kent and I will stay while you go out for candy.” She pointed toward the front door and spoke ominously, “I saw your Grandma’s car pulling up. And your sister’s, too.”
I laughed. “Thanks for the warning.”
Sure enough, a few minutes later, Grandma and Liz came in. Grandma looked decidedly perkier than Liz, who seemed droopy after a day at the law firm. It was a place where she normally loved to ply her trade as an attorney-at-law. I was still worried about her. As far as I knew, she hadn’t heard about my confrontation with Gene in town, and I wasn’t prepared to enlighten her.
“Oh, good,” Zach said, giving them each a hug, “We can go trick-or-treating now.”
Liz held him tightly and kissed his forehead. “Hey, bug, I’m going to bed. I’m so tired, I can hardly stand.”
“Hard day at work?” Grandma asked, sporting her karate outfit with a black belt I was pretty sure she hadn’t earned.
“Just trying to get caught up.” Liz turned to Zach. “Will you forgive me if I don’t go tonight?”
He nodded. “You can go to bed, Aunt Liz. Grandma will go.”
“Grandma has a date,” announced our grandmother.
“Oh, really,” I said. “Who with? Old Man Myers?”
“No. With a much younger man.” She looked up. “And here he is now.”
I was surprised to see Lonny entering the Inn. He greeted us.
“You expect us to believe you’re dating Lonny?” Liz managed to lift an eyebrow. “Wearing that getup? And why are you wearing a black belt?”
“It’s a free country and it’s Halloween. I can pretty much wear whatever I want.” She turned to Lonny and pulled him in for a friendly hug.
“Are you ready to go, Zach?” Lonny asked. He was dressed as a bird in a cage. I’m not sure how he managed it, but he was wearing a bird costume over his coat. The entire cage was constructed around him.
I started to laugh. “How did you even fit that thing into your vehicle?”
He looked injured, but I knew he was faking it. “This is going to win the costume contest.”
“I have no doubt.” I reached through the bars of the cage and squeezed his arm. “You look good. I just have one question.”
“What?”
“Polly want a cracker?”
He shook his head and turned to my grandmother. “When are you going to let me join you in karate class?”
“You want to go with me?” Grandma looked delighted.
“Sure. Why not?” Lonny asked. “I want to learn how to kick some butt, too.”
“It’s on Wednesday nights. So not until next week.”
My son said, “Better go buy your butt-kicking costume.”
“Zach!” I protested.
“My butt-kicking costume is pronounced Gi in Japanese,” Grandma corrected.
Liz hugged Lonny before turning to us all. “Have fun.”
“You’re not going?” Lonny asked.
Liz shook her head and simply said, “Not tonight.”
“See you later, then.” Lonny turned to us. “Hey, Cruella, looking good.” He started humming the Disney song, too.
“Thanks,” I said, rolling my eyes.
Outside, it was only forty-five degrees, so I was glad we all wore costumes that allowed for coats underneath.
As we climbed in Lonny’s older model Ford truck, Zach said, “Mom, can we go to Germy’s house to trick-or-treat?”
“A puppy won’t fit in your bag, Zach.”
“I know, but I could just hold one. For a minute.”
“Oh, sweetie, we can go over there, but I’m serious about a puppy. I can’t have one here. Not with all the guests coming and going, and having to house train it.”
“Mom.” Zach looked up at me seriously. “I will house train the puppy. I will
feed it. I will take care of it. You don’t have to do anything. I promise.”
I looked down at my adorable seven-year-old son, freckles spraying his cheeks, his brown eyes hopeful. Those he got from me, while the determined chin came straight from Robert. I didn’t know how much longer before I would cave to adorable son pressure. “And we need to get to Paul’s neighborhood to trick-or-treat with the girls.”
“Mom—” he began.
“No puppies,” I said softly.
Disappointed, he half pouted. “Okay. Come on, Charlie,” he called to his imaginary dog to jump up on the seat with him.
I sighed. I wasn’t cut out to play the tough parent, and was about to cave when Lonny nudged me. “He’ll be okay.”
I looked at my friend. “You think?”
He nodded. “Be strong.”
I laughed. “Thanks.”
His smile was as hopeful as Zach’s smile had been. But he didn’t ask for another date—or a puppy.
Chapter Six
Thursday, November 3
IT ALWAYS AMAZED ME HOW one small thing could change everything that followed.
Three days after Halloween, one of those small things happened.
Thursday morning started off nicely enough. It was a cold day, but not bitterly so. The wind blew the last of the colored leaves from the trees, and they swirled around gently from time to time. There was no trace of snow on the ground, only a covering of light frost.
Most of my guests had checked out over the weekend, except for the Bartons from Ohio, who stayed until Tuesday. The next guests wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow afternoon, a couple from Denmark with their two adorable, red-cheeked, preteen girls who were spending the day at Horse Feathers Ranch down the mountain from us, riding horses.
I sat in my favorite place in the Inn—the window seat in what used to be the Ladies’ Parlor and was now Perry Mason’s Law Library. The window seat was deeply recessed with cushions. I wrapped myself in my soft Sunbonnet Sue quilt, sipping hot chocolate as I watched the leaves swirl and move with the breeze. Again, it reminded me of a more colorful version of the feather in the Forrest Gump movie intro.
I was melancholy this morning, missing Robert, his warmth, his sense of humor, his gentle caring for everyone. He died exactly two years ago today.
I felt a little overwhelmed by having two men now vying for my attention. And the furious anger that spurred me to pick up a rock last Saturday had thankfully faded to a dull ache. I was mourning not only my lost husband, but also my sister’s. I knew marriages failed every day, but I was heartbroken to see my sister’s amongst them.
And I was still grateful she hadn’t heard about my rock-throwing assault.
Liz came downstairs around nine. She certainly looked much better than she did a few days ago. She found me in the window seat and leaned against one of the many bookcases. “You look comfy and cozy, snuggled in your little quilt. Isn’t that the pattern Grandma made for us when we were twelve?”
“Uh-huh. For our hope chests,” I said.
Liz shrugged. “My hopes have changed somewhat.”
“I think you’re right to leave him.”
She stared at me for a long moment, then smiled. “Oh, you do, do you?”
I stuck my tongue out. “Just trying to help distract you.”
Liz pushed off the bookcase. “Oh, immature one, I came in to tell you I can’t go to the cemetery with you, after all. Claire Daybell called and wants to meet with me today. I’m so sorry.”
“So you’re really going to work here in Silver City?”
“The commute to Salt Lake City is just too far, especially now that I’ve moved out of Gene’s Park City house.”
“Have you already given notice?”
“Not yet, but I will as soon as I have a new job. Claire Daybell is the senior partner of Daybell, Murray and Moore. I want to make a good impression.”
“It’s okay. I understand. And good luck. They’ll snatch you up in a second.”
Liz took my hand and held it for a moment. “So sorry I can’t go with you today.”
She knew how much I needed her. I was feeling quite vulnerable emotionally, and we could always sense each other’s feelings when we got into that state. It was the whole twin connection that non-twins could never imagine.
“How about Zach?”
“Paul is bringing him over later. I need some time alone first. I’m taking flowers to Robert’s grave. I was there on Saturday, so I’m hoping I don’t cry too much and upset Zach. Just in case I do, I need a little time to center myself so I can be there for him.”
An hour later, I pushed through the same creaking gate into the old cemetery, and walked the way I went before. Past my grandparents. Past Fanny Felter. Past a tall Jones headstone, with a foot sticking out from behind it.
I jumped before I realized it was a leftover decoration from Halloween and laughed at my skittishness. What kind of weirdo decorates real graves for Halloween, anyway?
I passed the gravestone, looked back, and sucked in a chilly breath of air.
It wasn’t a Halloween decoration. It wasn’t just a foot. It was an entire body.
A real dead body.
Stumbling backward, I dropped the flowers I brought for Robert’s grave, stifled a scream, and yanked out my cell phone, fumbling with it and nearly dropping it.
Having collapsed onto the ground, I scrambled back up and punched in the number for Paul’s cell phone.
“Hi, Vicki. What’s up?”
“Paul, oh, my gosh, oh, my gosh. He’s lying there. I think he’s dead.”
Now that was pretty stupid. The man was obviously deader than a doornail, his limbs twisted in an unnatural position and his face half blown away. I had to restrain my gag reflex. “He’s definitely dead. Very dead. Deader than a doornail.”
“What are you talking about? Is Grandma handing out her medicinal-purposes-only cold medicine again?”
I started to cry.
“Vicki, where are you?” His voice became quiet and he talked to me as if I were a little girl.
“I’m at the old cemetery. I came to put flowers on Robert’s grave. But there’s a body here on top of the ground.”
He swore. “Stay right there and I’ll be with you in five minutes.”
“Don’t hang up!”
“Okay, I won’t. I won’t.”
“There’s a piece of paper tucked into his coat. The wind is fluttering it.” For the first time, I got a good look at the man’s coat and groaned. “Oh, no… I’m going to be sick.”
“What’s going on now, Vicki?”
“I think he’s wearing the coat Liz gave him last Christmas. I think it’s Gene.”
~ ~ ~
I did get sick. Behind another gravestone. I only hoped Matilda Barrister, 1898-1946 would forgive me.
It took Paul four minutes to arrive. Another two for DeWayne to show up. And a good fifteen for my deputy friends from Park City.
Deputy Mary Beth Shannon, a very nice lady sheriff with the Summit County Sheriff’s Department, who spent time at my Inn during last month’s crisis, shook her head at me. “Lordy, child, you’ve gotta quit finding bodies like this.”
Her partner, Lt. Joe Josephson, didn’t smile, but went straight to work.
I found out soon enough that Deputy Shannon’s job was to question me. She was really good, too. It took me another five minutes before I figured out she’d gone from idle chit-chat to delving for the details of finding the body.
I told her everything. From talking to Robert and deciding to move on with my life, to being ready for new adventures…everything.
“New adventures?” She sounded surprised.
“I certainly didn’t mean this!” I motioned toward the body of my sister’s husband, now surrounded by hovering authority figures. I put my head in my hands. “Oh, my gosh, what will Liz do now?”
“Liz is your sister?”
“Yes. He’s her husband.”
Sh
e looked over toward the body. “How can you tell who it is with his face half gone?”
“It’s the jacket. It looks exactly like the one that Liz gave him. And he’s probably wearing his wedding ring. It’s a huge gold thing with a big diamond set down in it so you don’t notice it as much, but it’s really huge. Does he have it on?”
“Joe, is he wearing a wedding ring?” she called out to her partner. “Gold with a huge diamond?”
A moment later, Joe nodded. “Huge is about right.”
“It’s Gene. I just know it is. Who’s going to call my sister? I’m not going to be the one to tell her Gene is dead.” I knew I was rambling, but dead bodies seemed to have that effect on me.
“What’s his name?”
“Gene Eklund.”
“I understand the Eklund family is very wealthy.”
“Yes,” I said. “His family comes from Salt Lake and Park City and they have millions. Not that any of it can help him now.”
She patted my arm. “Don’t worry,” she spoke in a slow, warm Texas drawl, “y’all won’t have to say a thing to your sister about the murder. I’ll tell her. Or your brother will.”
I leaned my head back and rested against the—shooting upright, I suddenly realized I was sitting here among gravestones, leaning back against a stranger’s stone. “I can’t sit here.”
“I guess you’re feeling better, after all.” She stood and helped me up.
I could hear the sheriffs calling back and forth to each other, as well as to Paul and DeWayne.
Silver City hadn’t hosted a murder for over a hundred years, not since a mining dispute in 1887. That is, until last month, when one of my guests at the Inn was killed.
And now, here was a second body. And not just any body—but the body of my twin’s estranged husband. “Who killed him?” I whispered.
“No one.”
I looked at her. “He didn’t shoot his own face off. That’s too awful.”
She shrugged. “They found a suicide note. I heard the guys talking about it while you were being sick.”
I glanced over again. That must have been the paper I noticed stuffed in his coat.
And then I saw what I didn’t notice before: a gun resting near his hand, as if he really did shoot himself and it fell onto the ground when he could no longer hold it.
Heather Horrocks - Who-Dun-Him Inn 02 - Inn the Doghouse Page 6
