I glanced over at the one-way mirror that revealed how the dinner was progressing. The actors were performing wonderfully, and the guests—two German couples traveling together, a family from New York with three teenage boys, and three young Arizona families with a couple of babies who were having a family reunion on the third floor—seemed to be enjoying themselves.
Everything in the dining room—from the built-in china cabinet my great-whatever-grandfather designed for his favorite first wife to the large, formal, cherrywood dining table that could expand to seat fifteen or twenty—was original, except for the large, faux antique mirror hanging on the wall between the dining room and kitchen. I had to pay big bucks to get a mirror that looked antique but worked like those used in police stations; but I needed it so I could keep tabs on the mysteries and know when to orchestrate the actors as well as the meal.
For the moment, I was relaxing. We had just served the main course and wouldn’t go in again for twenty minutes.
“Want a taste?” David asked, holding out a tiny bowl.
I turned back to see him looking oh-so-incredibly-adorable and sexy in his jeans and T-shirt, covered by what must have been one of Liz’s frilly aprons. Chocolate brown with pink polkadots, and a pink ruffle. “It takes a very secure man to wear an apron like that.”
“I believe I’ve heard you comment on my extreme manliness before. I must be getting to you.”
“I thought about buying you a duct tape apron for Christmas, but now I’m leaning toward florals if only to tone down your extreme machismo.”
“The thoughtfulness of that gift is amazing.”
I laughed and stepped closer to the mini ramekin bowl he held out. Whatever the creamy stuff was underneath the crusty, brown shell looked and smelled heavenly. “What is it?”
“Crème Brûlée,” he said, giving it a shiver-inducing, full French accent. “Do you know what that translates into, mon ami?”
I intended to look up mon ami as soon as I got a chance. What exactly was he saying in that yummy French accent? “Does it mean delicious?”
“Close enough.” He laughed as he handed me the tiny bowl. “Sit and eat a little.”
Taking a spoonful, I tasted it. “Oh, my gosh. I think that’s the yummiest thing I’ve ever eaten.”
David smiled. “Glad you approve.”
Just then, I heard voices in the foyer. I caught David’s eye. “I’ll be right back to finish that. Don’t let anyone touch it!”
Out in the lobby, I found Grandma and her newest beau, owner of murder weapons and victim of bruised ribs, Herbert Norris.
“Sweetie,” Grandma said as she hugged me. “I brought Herbert. You remember him, don’t you?”
“Of course,” I said, greeting him. “But what are you doing here tonight?”
“We thought we’d stop by for some of David’s fine cooking.”
“Grandma, I have a mystery going on. It’s already begun. I can seat you in the kitchen, though.”
She turned to Herbert. “Don’t you just love mystery dinners?” Without waiting for him to answer, she turned back to me. “I am so glad your Inn is going well, honey. We were thinking we might join your guests. We promise not to be any trouble at all.”
I sighed. Letting Grandma mingle with the guests probably guaranteed some sort of problem, but what else could I do? “No karate yells.”
“You have my promise. Cross my heart, sweetheart.”
“And you won’t be part of the mystery, just spectators.”
She smiled. “Agreed.”
~ ~ ~
Saturday, November 12
The next day, after looking up mon ami, I learned that David was calling me my friend. It sounded so much more romantic than that. But friend was actually good.
Many of the Inn’s guests went further up to ski at Snow Haven, an ever popular destination for visitors. They could ski the slopes all day, and come back to hot cocoa and Chocolate Quip Cookies in the parlor over a game of Clue.
Judging by the ominous clouds hovering overhead, there would be new snow before the day was over. I could have listened to the weather report, but Henley got it wrong so often, I should have been keeping track on the calendar how many days I was more accurate than he.
Zach spent the night with his friend, Germy, to play with the puppies. I planned to check his backpack when he got home to make sure no puppies had “accidentally” climbed in.
I’m not sure how I let Liz talk me into wearing the identical peasant dress and boots she bought for us on one of her makes-me-feel-better shopping sprees this week. Complete with identical, stylish jackets. But we did, and I knew I’d be getting more of the “Which-twin-are-you?” questions. Even that seemed okay today.
When she-who-must-sleep-in finally finished dressing in her matching outfit, we would be off to Park City to do some Main Street walking, which we both loved. The shops are so quaint and unique that just walking past and through them is really fun. Silver City has some of the same charm, but on a much smaller scale. Today, we planned a trip into the big city, relatively speaking.
So far, this Saturday was proving to be a calm, relaxing one.
Sitting on my wonderful window seat in the library, I saw Paul drive up in his police car, but didn’t think too much about it.
Silly me.
A frowning Paul climbed out of his car and I called out to him from the library as he entered. “Hi, Paul. What’s up?”
He came into Perry Mason’s Law Library, circumventing the bookcases, before he studied me. He wasn’t smiling. “Liz, I need to ask you some questions.”
Since we were wearing clothes hand-picked by Liz, of course, he assumed I was she. I didn’t correct him. Instead, my heart increased its pace as the worry for my sister, now one of the prime suspects in Gene’s death despite her innocence, overwhelmed me. “What sort of questions?”
“Some sheriff’s deputies gave me the courtesy of coming up before they did. They’re going to ask you some questions about your marriage to Gene, the millions you’re inheriting, and the girl who is pregnant with his baby. Liz, you’re in a lot of trouble. I asked the deputies if I could question you in my office first at the police station, and they said yes.”
I was ready to tell him which twin I was then , but as soon as I realized Liz would be taken to the same police building complex that housed the jail cells, I had a stupid moment that I can only say was motivated by having watched Disney’s The Parent Trap at the anniversary party. I would claim to be Liz! After all, I looked just like Liz. From the boots to the dress to the haircut and style, no one could tell us apart, besides our mother, Stephanie, DeWayne, and sometimes, Grandma. As long as DeWayne stayed away, Paul couldn’t tell. Not today. Not with the haircut.
Paul’s brow furrowed and he looked sorrowful. “I’m sorry it’s gotta be this way, sis. But you need to come with me.”
“Hi, Paul, what’s up?” Liz popped her head into the room. She’d finally pried the mattress off her back and was all dressed. “Where are you guys going?”
“Hi, Vicki.” Paul said to her, still frowning at me. “Liz and I are going down to my office for some questions. We won’t be long.”
Liz folded her arms. “First of all, you’ve once again gotten us wrong. I’m Liz. Vicki is just playing our caught-a-fish game with you. Right, Vicki?”
I actually wasn’t sure what I was doing; but I was about to admit that, too, until Paul said, “Okay, what are you girls up to now?”
Liz’s voice was cool as she repeated my question. “What questions?”
“About Gene. Deputies have some things they want to ask. They’re letting me ask first. Out of professional courtesy.”
Liz shrugged. “Okay, let’s go.”
He looked at her, his frown deepening. “Which of you is really Liz?”
“I am,” we both said.
He huffed angrily. “You girls haven’t grown up at all, have you? This isn’t funny. It’s very serious. It could end up
being jail-time serious. So, Vicki, you stay here. Liz, you come with me. Right now.”
He motioned toward the door. Both of us stepped that way.
He put down his hands. “I’m giving you two minutes. I’ll wait for you in the squad car. Two minutes,” he emphasized before leaving the Inn, and letting in a blast of cool air. “Pull your heads out and send out Liz.”
Liz hissed at me, “What are you doing?”
“I don’t know,” I hissed back. “Paul is ticking me off. And so are the stupid deputies who think you might have anything to do with Gene’s death.”
“Look, I’m an attorney. I can hold my own with Paul. If it goes any further than him, I’ll need to hire an attorney. But I happen to know some of the best in the state, so I’ll be okay.” She shrugged. “Let me go with him. Let’s humor him.”
“Okay, you can go,” I said, but I pulled out my cell phone and texted Cielo to ask if she would pick up Zach after school. She immediately answered that, “si,” she would. Then I stuck my phone in Liz’s pocket. “And I’m going with you.”
“Vicki, I’m going to ask you again. What are you doing?”
What was I doing? I had no idea, really. It wasn’t so much of a plan as it was an act of desperation. “I don’t know, but our two minutes are up. Let’s not keep the big, bad policeman waiting.”
Liz snorted a laugh and slipped on the jacket she was holding. I pulled my jacket off the hook on which it hung and put it on.
We walked outside to find Paul standing beside his aforementioned squad car. When he saw us both, he scowled, but opened the front passenger door. I went to climb in, but Liz pulled me back. “Oh, no, you don’t. I’m going.”
Paul smiled for the first time, but it wasn’t a good smile. It was the smile I recognized throughout our childhood just before he pulled some prank on us. Like tying us up and telling us he was considering whether or not to burn us at the stake. I didn’t like seeing that familiar, angry gleam in his eye. He raised an eyebrow and said, calmly, “It really won’t matter if we don’t know which one is Liz, because we’d prefer to chat with both of you. I’m sure the deputies will agree with me.”
Me? The authorities wanted to chat with me? About Gene’s death? A zing of dread shot up my spine.
“But how will you know what to grill us on?” asked Liz, “if you don’t know who is who?”
“Oh, that’s easy enough,” Paul said breezily, shutting the front door and opening the back, while motioning for us to climb in. “I know from previous experience that you’ll both crack.”
After we got in, he leaned over until we could see his face. He gave that smile again, and added, “Under torture.”
We buckled our seatbelts. I stared at Liz and the absurdity of what I was doing hit us both before we started to laugh.
That did not improve Paul’s mood. Neither did the first flakes of snow that fell as he drove us down Porter Mountain.
Chapter Eleven
I’M NOT QUITE SURE HOW we went from the back seat of Paul’s squad car to his office, and then much worse places, but I’m pretty sure it had something to do with Paul’s annoying, big brotherly, you-will-do-what-I-say-because-I’m-the-police-chief attitude. And maybe my smart mouth was, for some inexplicable reason, saying not-so-smart things. Okay, dumb things. I admit it.
I’m not sure why I claimed to be Liz. Paul wanted to keep Liz out of jail. Murder was a serious charge. And here I was, acting like a brat. But I couldn’t stand to let Liz be taken away and possibly sent to jail. I needed to be with her.
Liz didn’t exactly keep her cool, either. Soon enough, we found ourselves in the doghouse.
After thirty minutes of increasing volume and anger, Paul had apparently reached his limit. He slammed his hands down on his desk with a resounding smack, making Liz and I both jump. He narrowed his eyes at us and forced his voice to a lower volume. “That’s it. This is not kindergarten. It’s not one of your stupid twin games. And I’ve tried to be nice to you, to protect you from what might be coming. But do you appreciate that? No. You want to play games. Well, here’s where this game will take you. Do not pass Go. Do not collect two-hundred dollars. You are going directly to jail.”
“We haven’t done anything wrong,” Liz said. “We could sue your butt.”
He smiled that smile again. “Well, let me give you something to sue me for, then. Stand up.”
He led us from his Silver City Police Department office. After last month’s homicide, the city decided to increase the police department budget high enough to hire a third officer and a secretary.
We passed the secretary’s desk—a petite woman named Vonda—down the hall to the small city jail. Luckily, she was the only one in the office. DeWayne and the new guy were elsewhere. Especially DeWayne, since he could tell us apart. But, the further this game went, the more I started to wish DeWayne would show up and end it. Then I remembered Paul’s annoying attitude and I got mad all over again.
The Silver City jail consisted of one large room divided into three small, side-by-side cells with bars across the fronts of each. They were empty except for a woman sitting on the concrete bench in the third cell. The bench was covered with cushions and she had a blanket wrapped around her.
I guessed she must have been in her sixties. She was dressed in shabby clothes that had surely seen far better—and far cleaner—days.
She looked up at our approach and smiled. “Howdy, girls. Good of you to drop in.” Then she looked from Liz to me and back before she frowned. “I must have drunk a lot more last night than I thought I did!”
Paul took the time to greet the woman, calling her Annie, then opened the door to the woman’s cell and motioned us in. “Last chance,” he warned us.
And, because I was royally ticked off at him, I walked into the jail cell. Liz followed behind me.
I know. Dumb, dumber, dumbest.
The sound of the barred door clanging shut was quite disturbing. I exchanged glances with Liz. I could tell she was even angrier than I, as she shook her head.
“This is your last chance. You’d better start talking or I’ll leave you in here for a while.”
“You think your threats intimidate us? Think again. We’ll take the jail time.”
“Fine, stew in here for awhile. When you’ve had a long enough time-out, maybe you’ll be ready to talk. I’m trying to save your butt, you know, Liz. This is serious and you’re acting like a two-year-old child. You both are. And you leave me no other option.” Paul slammed the door to the cell shut and locked it. “So maybe if I treat you like two-year-old children and give you a time-out, I’ll get some results. Remember, you both made me do this.”
“Oh, boy, have we heard that before. Mom, they made me do it! Maybe we should get Mom in here and let her give you a time-out.”
He stormed away.
Liz drew in a deep breath. “Vicki, what are you doing?”
“Getting us in trouble, apparently.”
“Yeah. Why don’t you just let me answer his questions?’
I leaned back against the bars. What was I doing? “I just didn’t want you to come in all by yourself.”
“You’re not helping.”
“I guess not.”
Liz turned her attention to the woman in the cell with us. “What are you in for?”
The older woman shook her head. “I got drunk.”
“DUI?”
“No. I don’t have a car. I was just walking, but I got cold and went into some of the stores in town to get warm and the owners didn’t appreciate it. They called the police and, well, here I am.”
Liz and I studied the cell. It was the size of a small bedroom, all concrete, with the concrete bench built in. I looked at the bench. There was no way I would sit on that.
But Liz sat beside the woman without hesitation. “Do you need an attorney?”
“Boy, do I ever, but I can’t afford one.”
Liz smiled. “You can now. I’m an attorney. If I don’t
lose my license for being arrested, that is.”
Surely, our own brother wouldn’t list this as an official arrest. I hoped.
The woman eyed Liz. “What kind of attorney can’t even keep herself out of jail?”
Liz started laughing. “You’ve got a point there.” She stuck out her hand. “My name is Liz Eklund.”
The woman hesitantly put out her hand and let Liz shake it. “They call me Annie.”
“Well, Annie, it’s good to meet you.”
“They’ll let us have our phone call soon,” Liz said, “and then we’ll get you bailed out with us.”
It always amazed me to watch Liz in action. That is why she became an attorney—to help those in need. She didn’t want the money, after all, and she volunteered much of her time. She tried to act so tough, but on rare occasions, she wasn’t as smart as me. She had just stated her name. What if Paul was videotaping us?
The woman looked at me. “And what’s your name?”
“Liz Eklund,” I said.
The woman laughed. “Sure you’re an attorney, lady. I’m not so drunk that I’m seeing double yet. You’re making fun of an old woman.”
“Actually, no,” I said. “We just don’t want the police to know who is who. One of us is Vicki Butler and the other is Liz Eklund.”
The woman shrugged. “I’ll just call you Red-One and Red-Two.”
“Won’t be the first time,” Liz said.
The door clanged open and Vonda appeared. A petite and perky lady, Paul’s secretary made over-fifty look good. She worked out religiously and looked fabulous, her hair in a short, spiky, always stylish cut. She’d been married to her high school sweetheart, now the coach of the local high school, for twenty-five years.
“Hi, Vonda,” Liz said. “When do we get to make our phone call?”
“Don’t think you’ll need to make one,” the woman said. “There’s a police officer here to pick you up.”
What? Did Paul create his own scenario and now intended to show up as our rescuer? After he stuck us in jail? I immediately saw I was wrong when DeWayne came into the room with a big grin while shaking his head. “When will you girls stop getting into trouble?”
Heather Horrocks - Who-Dun-Him Inn 02 - Inn the Doghouse Page 13
