by Sandra Balzo
‘Oh, for God’s sake. You’d put fables to shame.’ Daisy got a cup out of the cabinet and poured herself some freshly brewed coffee. ‘I spent the night – quite enjoyably, I might add – in Boozer’s room here above the garage.’
AnnaLise’s mouth dropped open and both Phyllis and Nicole whirled toward Daisy; Mama with a spoon of eggs in her hand, and Nicole holding the pan she’d just removed from the oven.
‘Oh,’ Phyllis said. Then: ‘Well, next time let me know. I was worried.’
Nicole beamed and held out the sheet pan. ‘Bacon?’
Fortified with caffeine, AnnaLise helped Phyllis and Nicole set out a buffet on the sideboard in the dining room. In the kitchen her mother downed a breakfast more suited to a burly farmhand than a five-foot-nothing woman.
It was just past 8 a.m. and none of the other guests were down yet. Probably not surprising, given the holiday weekend and the fact most of them were still up and probably ‘cavorting’ after she’d gone to bed.
Before AnnaLise sat down for breakfast herself, she prepared a solid, on-duty plate of scrambled eggs, bacon (two wiggly, two crisp) and toast for Officer Fearon.
Getting closer to him, she realized the man was on his cellphone. ‘The Sutherton Inn? Did she … yes, sir. I’ll see you then.’
‘Are you finally getting relief?’ AnnaLise asked.
‘Yes, ma’am, but not for another couple hours, so I’m truly grateful for this.’ Fearon gestured toward the plate as he slipped the phone back into his pocket.
‘It’s the least we can do, given the circumstances we’ve dragged you into out here.’ AnnaLise handed him the napkin-wrapped silverware and waited until he’d set it on the table next to him before passing him the plate.
‘Mama’s in the kitchen?’ Fearon asked, surveying it.
‘She is,’ AnnaLise said. ‘But how could you tell?’
He pointed. ‘Cream cheese in the eggs. The woman does know how to cook.’
Not to mention add fat and calories, AnnaLise thought. But that was the least of her worries right now. ‘It was very good of Mama to pitch in,’ she said, calculatingly, ‘what with Dickens Hart’s chef going missing and all.’
‘Oh, you can rest easy on that front, ma’am,’ Fearon said, spreading butter on his toast. ‘Your chef’s not missing.’
‘She’s not?’ AnnaLise felt like her head was a pressure cooker lid without a safety valve.
‘No, ma’am. Chef Debbie, as I believe y’all call her, was staying at—’ He took a bite of the toast mid-sentence and, as a well-reared child of the South, chewed it with his mouth closed. And, therefore, silently.
‘The inn, right?’ AnnaLise prompted, taking an educated, eavesdropping-driven guess.
Fearon swallowed. ‘As I said, I fear the answer to that line of inquiry is that she was.’ He impaled a piece of bacon – wiggly – on his fork. ‘Got on the road early yesterday. More’s the pity, but we’ve got an alert out for her.’
AnnaLise felt her facial features head due south. Yesterday was Thanksgiving, with Dickens killed some time the night before. How ‘early’ could Debbie have departed? ‘You mentioned an “alert,” meaning she’s a suspect?’
Fearon stopped chewing, seeming to realize he shouldn’t be talking – with or without food in his mouth – about the case. ‘More a person of interest, ma’am. But that’s the final thing I can say. Coy will be here in a couple of hours and I’m sure he’ll tell you what he sees fit.’
AnnaLise was sure of that, too. Unfortunately, what Coy ‘saw fit’ was unlikely to match up with what AnnaLise wanted to know.
Returning to the dining room, AnnaLise found Joy at the table. A volcanic mountain of eggs formed an island on her plate, with bacon and toast lining the near shores. ‘If loving you is wrong, I don’t want to be right,’ she sang to the cream-cheesy scramble.
‘Thank you, Barbara Mandrell.’
‘Only one of many singers to cover it and probably not the most notable, the latter crown belonging to the incomparable Luther Ingram. But Barbara and Luther do stand on the shoulders of everybody from Rod Stewart to Tom Jones. Interestingly,’ Joy finally looked up from her plate, ‘Al Green is the one who didn’t record the song, though it’s often attributed to him.’
‘We have to call Sheree.’
A confused, out-of-context of the conversation look. ‘Sheree thinks Al Green sang it?’
‘No. Apparently she was renting a room to Chef Debbie.’
‘I thought we agreed we weren’t going to call her that.’ Joy put down her fork. ‘But as a development, it is interesting.’
‘I thought so, too.’ AnnaLise cherry-picked a piece of bacon off her friend’s plate. ‘Officer Fearon said Debbie left the inn early yesterday, but he wouldn’t say any more. That’s why—’
‘Gary Fearon?’
‘I don’t know his first name, but—’
‘It’s Gary and he’s a good guy.’
AnnaLise cocked her head. ‘You’ve had dealings with Sutherton’s finest since moving back?’
Joy drained her orange juice glass. ‘Gary and I have gone out a couple times. Want me to ask about the chef?’
‘Tempting, but I’d hate to get him in trouble with Coy.’ AnnaLise had her phone out. ‘That’s why I thought we could call Sheree at the inn.’
‘Call?’ Joy said, standing up. ‘Let’s just go over there.’
‘I haven’t had my breakfast yet,’ AnnaLise protested. ‘Besides, is it all right to leave?’
Joy was pulling a leather jacket off the back of her chair. ‘Have you been arrested?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Then don’t be such a weenie in a free country. Let’s go.’ Shrugging into her coat, she was already at the door.
AnnaLise Griggs snagged a triangle of toast from Joy Tamarack’s now abandoned plate before retrieving her own jacket from the foyer closet and trailing after her.
TWENTY-TWO
‘For God’s sake,’ Joy said, ‘what are you worried about? Gary Fearon hopping into his cruiser to chase us down?’
They were in Joy’s car – a silver BMW – driving to the Sutherton Inn. AnnaLise twisted back around in her seat to face forward again. ‘I guess not, but Coy said he wanted everybody to stay put.’
‘Always the good girl.’ Joy got a look at AnnaLise’s face. ‘OK, not always. But I assume Coy was referring to the out-of-towners. He certainly knows where to find the rest of us if he needs to.’
‘True.’
They turned right off the road onto a gravel brick-lined driveway. Dating back to 1916, the Sutherton Inn had been built by a wealthy cotton broker from Charlotte as a mountain retreat so he and his family could escape the sauna of city summers.
The inn was one of the few structures at the south end of the lake that was actually on the water. Other than Sal’s Taproom, the rest of Main Street’s businesses were on the opposite side, in order to preserve the view of the lake and the beach itself.
‘Looks like Sheree’s here,’ AnnaLise said as they pulled up behind the white pick-up truck belonging to the inn’s current owner.
Check-out time was 11 a.m. and check-in not until 4 p.m. Given that it was barely nine, Sheree would likely be supervising the morning part of the bed-and-breakfast experience.
Getting out of Joy’s car, both women climbed the steps to the front porch. When AnnaLise tapped on the door, Joy rolled her eyes and inserted an old-fashioned key into the matching period’s lock above the knob. ‘I live here, remember?’
Joy’s annual girls-getaway had always taken place at the inn and now, despite owning the hotel spa at the top of the mountain, she continued to keep a room here at its base.
‘Doesn’t it get expensive?’ AnnaLise asked as they stepped into the lobby. ‘I mean, you’ve been back in Sutherton full time for three months now; don’t you think it’s time you found a place of your own?’
‘Says the woman who’s sponging off her mother.’
&nbs
p; Trying to maintain at least a shred of dignity, AnnaLise said, ‘I noticed James’ car wasn’t outside.’
Joy grinned. ‘Wondering if the chef as a Bimbette pulled a coup and took off with that handsome author under Sheree’s jilted nose?’
Besides being handsome, James Duende was also a legendary biographer, one so successful AnnaLise had been astonished when Dickens Hart chose her to write his memoirs over the more experienced author. That was, of course, before she found out she was Dickens Hart’s daughter. Nepotism begins at home.
‘It hadn’t occurred to me,’ AnnaLise said quite honestly. ‘Though if Debbie tried, it might explain her sudden disappearance.’ Sheree Pepper had set her sights on James the moment the man had registered at the inn, and she didn’t take kindly to competition.
Joy laughed. ‘I’m going to run up to my room. You find our friend the femme fatale.’
‘Will do,’ AnnaLise said as Joy, not waiting for an answer, took the steps up to the second floor, two at a time.
The physical trainer smoked and drank. Not to mention she was pushing forty and therefore a dozen years older than AnnaLise. Yet Joy made the younger woman feel like a lump of protoplasm that so far hadn’t evolved limbs.
To the left of the lobby was a parlor. To the right, the dining room where the clatter of dishes and murmured conversations signaled breakfast was indeed still in progress, though perhaps winding down for the day.
AnnaLise went to the arched entrance of the dining room and looked in. A long table was set with white linen, breakfast served family-style at 8 a.m. for social types. Before or after that, guests could wander in and help themselves to a continental menu at the sideboard or simply have a tray delivered to their rooms.
A man and women were seated at one end of the table, evidently the last of the morning’s guests to eat. Both had newspapers blocking their faces.
‘Why, AnnaLise Griggs, as I live and breathe,’ said Sheree Pepper, appearing from the kitchen with a pot of coffee. ‘Whenever did they let you out?’
Sheree was a tall, buxom redhead. Today she was wearing pencil jeans and a V-neck sweater, a fact not lost on the male guest. As Sheree refilled the cup in front of him, he lowered the paper to improve his vector of leer.
‘Mmm. Thank you,’ he said, but didn’t reach for the coffee.
‘AnnaLise, why don’t you step into the parlor?’ Sheree said. ‘Let me just finish with these good folks and I’ll be right with you.’
AnnaLise crossed the foyer into her favorite room in the inn. The parlor walls were clear yellow, the main furnishings a floral sofa and cherry-red armchairs. In the corner was a maple secretary with writing implements, stationery and a black wire rotary tower of postcards.
AnnaLise sank into one of the chairs. Joy was right. Getting away from Hart’s Head had been a good idea. AnnaLise only hoped she wouldn’t feel the same when – or if – it became hers.
‘So,’ Sheree said, sweeping in and taking possession of both the room and the sofa, tucking her legs underneath her. ‘Did you hear that Roy Smoaks is back?’
‘I did,’ AnnaLise said. ‘In fact, we ran into Bobby driving him home from the airport.’
‘I don’t know what our friend Bobby is thinking having him there,’ Sheree said, wagging her head back and forth. ‘At least Kathleen has the good sense to be conveniently “away” during his stay.’
‘You talking about Chief Roy?’ Joy barged in, still wearing jeans but having exchanged her shirt for a tunic-length sweater. ‘You can add Chuck to the list of the lucky.’
AnnaLise cocked her head. ‘Why?’
‘That’s right,’ Joy said, taking the other red chair like it was a deer blind and she was the hunter in waiting. ‘You were living in Wisconsin when Chuck had the audacity to take over the post of chief from Roy’s son Rance.’
‘I did hear the Smoaks didn’t take it well.’
‘That’s putting it rather mildly, to my way of thinking,’ said Sheree. ‘I was honestly worried for Chuck.’
AnnaLise felt her eyes go round. ‘Afraid that they’d hurt him?’
Sheree shrugged. ‘It was the only thing they didn’t try in order to oust him from office.’
‘But things blew over?’
‘Eventually. Chuck took office, Roy retired to Florida and Rance became a drunk. Or more of a drunk.’ Sheree seemed to have lost interest in the subject. ‘Now, for the real dirt. What’s going on at the big house?’
‘We wanted to ask you about this chef,’ Joy said. ‘She was staying here?’
Sheree nodded, tucking her leg again. ‘Arrived on Tuesday, was going to depart on Monday.’
‘What happened?’ AnnaLise asked.
‘I was hoping you might be able to tell me,’ Sheree said. ‘Yesterday morning about seven, I’m starting breakfast and Ms Dobyns pops into the kitchen just spitting mad. She—’
‘Her last name is Dobyns?’ AnnaLise was glancing around for something to write on. She hopped up and filched a piece of stationery and pen from the writing table. ‘How do you spell that?’
‘D-O-B-Y-N-S, I think,’ Sheree said.
Joy was looking impatient. ‘What was Debbie Dobyns pissed about?’
‘My guest told me she’d gotten a call saying her services were no longer needed.’
‘Did you believe her?’ AnnaLise asked.
‘To be honest?’ Sheree leaned forward. ‘I didn’t give a rat’s behind why she was leaving. My rooms are booked for a minimum of three nights, guaranteed. Your chef could stay or not, but either way, the room would be paid for. And since the fault was hers, I could – and perfectly legally – rent it back out.’
‘Did you tell her that?’ Joy asked.
‘I did.’ Sheree raised her right hand, palm out. ‘And before you go asking me what Debbie said, I’ll tell you.’
They waited, if not patiently.
‘She reminded me that the room was on Dickens Hart’s credit card so that was just fine with her. Then, off she went.’
AnnaLise felt her own forehead wrinkle. ‘But wasn’t Debbie from Las Vegas? How’d she get a short-notice flight on a holiday weekend? And from what airport?’
‘You’d have to ask her that,’ Sheree said. ‘She might have driven to Winston-Salem, or Charlotte. Hell, as mad as she was, I wouldn’t be surprised if your Debbie drove herself all the way home to the other city that never sleeps.’
Joy cut AnnaLise a pointed look. ‘Could have been an act – the anger, I mean.’
AnnaLise nodded. ‘Sheree, did Debbie say who called her?’
‘She surely did not. I assumed it was Hart, given the crack about him being stuck with the room bill.’
‘And the call – from whomever – was to her cellphone?’ AnnaLise was trying to conjure up the number on the slip of paper she’d briefly seen on Hart’s dresser, but to no avail.
‘Had to be. We didn’t receive any calls on the landlines here last night.’
‘Did the police ask you for Debbie’s cellphone number?’
‘They asked, certainly, for all the good it did them. The reservation was in her name but, like I said, the charge card and contact information were Hart’s.’
A bell jangled, Sheree popping up immediately. ‘Sorry, but duty calls. Come over for margaritas this week, assuming they don’t just clap the lot of ya’ll in jail.’
‘I’ll come if she can’t,’ Joy, getting up, called after her while glancing at AnnaLise.
‘Thank you, friend,’ AnnaLise said, following Joy into the front hall.
Joy opened the door. ‘No problema.’
AnnaLise stepped out first. ‘How are the police going to track down this woman? No address, no phone number, no credit information.’
‘Do you remember the phone number you saw?’
AnnaLise shook her head. ‘Just the seven-oh-two area code, and Las Vegas is a big place.’
‘Then it seems that Debbie Dobyns done disappeared.’ Joy started down the porch steps.
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br /> ‘Cute,’ AnnaLise said, following her. ‘The alliteration, I mean.’
Reaching the BMW, AnnaLise got in the passenger side. As Joy slid onto the driver’s seat, AnnaLise saw her slip something into the side pocket of the door.
‘What was that?’ AnnaLise asked.
‘Protection,’ Joy said, starting the car.
Geez, was everybody planning on getting lucky this weekend? So much so that her friend had to get condoms or similar from her room at the inn? ‘What kind of protection?’
Joy hefted a snub-nosed revolver. ‘The Smith and Wesson kind.’
TWENTY-THREE
‘Are you going to carry that gun into the house?’ AnnaLise Griggs whispered harshly as she and Joy Tamarack exited the car at Hart’s Head. ‘Isn’t it bad enough that somebody shot out the window? We have to have guns inside, too?’
Joy stopped and frowned. ‘To your first point: no, I planned to leave the revolver in the car, so my BMW can cover the other vehicles’ asses. Hell, yes, I’m taking it in the house.’ Joy now engaged her friend’s eyes directly. ‘As to your second point, though, I thought that big ol’ owl broke the glass.’
Too late, AnnaLise realized only she and Boozer knew about the bullet he’d found. And, as of last night, Charity. ‘I’ll tell you later,’ she said, noting a second marked cruiser parked beside Fearon’s. ‘But for now, get rid of that gun before Coy sees it.’
‘I have a permit to carry a concealed weapon.’
‘Well, then, “conceal” it somewhere, OK?’ AnnaLise was holding up her hands, like she was warding off a demon.
‘Sure,’ Joy reached around and tucked it into a holster under her long sweater. ‘Why do you think I changed clothes?’
‘I’m surprised you even had that much sense. I don’t know why you—’
Joy turned. ‘For God’s sake, AnnaLise. You were a police reporter. You know bad things happen. Your father and my ex-husband was murdered in there two nights ago. You should be glad my snubbie and I will be in the next bedroom down the hall from yours.’
‘Just so you don’t shoot me through the wall accidentally.’
