Green with Envy

by N. L. Cameron

  I couldn’t stop smiling. “Great. I want to get a nice big one, just like Aunt Beatrice used to have. She’s got an amazing sketch in her notebook of it all decorated in the corner of the dining room. The inn must have been a real social hub in those days. I’ve been reading her journals trying to figure out what went wrong with her in the last days of her life.”

  He climbed down and wiped the sweat off his forehead. He rested an elbow on the ladder’s step. “It’s really not a good idea for you to investigate something like that on your own.”

  “Well, who’s gonna do it for me? Somebody’s got to do it, and no one else is even asking the right questions.”

  He shook his head. “It could be dangerous.”

  I perked up my ears. “Which part—trying to find out who threatened me, or reading my aunt’s journals?”

  “Either one.”

  “I’ve tried getting just about anybody to investigate with me, but the only person who’s even remotely interested is Eliza.”

  He turned away. “I’m just saying.”

  Just then, my phone rang. I dug it out of my pocket and pressed it to my ear. “Hello.”

  “Babe! How are ya?”

  I had to grin when I heard the throaty voice on the other end. Good old Abbie. She was my best friend—my other best friend—the best friend who didn’t screw Tim behind my back. She supported me in moving out of the city to take over the inn. She was the only person who said it was a good idea.

  I wandered into my own rooms and shut the door. This was my chance to vent all my pent-up frustrations on a friendly ear. “Hey. I’m good. How’s life in the Big Apple?”

  “I asked you first,” she shot back. “Go on. Spill it. How’s life on the land?”

  “Crazy, actually. I’m up to my ears in it.”

  “In what?”

  “Oh, not a whole lot. Just a bunch of hateful employees, someone threatening me to leave town if I know what’s good for me, planting poisonous snakes in my shower, a sheriff’s deputy who thinks he’s God’s gift to womankind, a zany hairdresser who wants to be my best friend—stop me when you’ve had enough.” Dead silence answered me from the other end of the phone. “Please say something, babe. I can’t live without you right now.”

  She whistled through her teeth. “Holy smokes. That’s deep.”

  I gazed out the window at the lake in the distance. “You want to know the worst part? I haven’t done any of the things I set out to do. This place isn’t my home yet, and no one in this town seems to want me around.”

  “What about the hairdresser?”

  “Oh, her. She’s different. I would probably have left by now if it wasn’t for her.”

  “Well, you’ve been there a matter of days. It’s a close-knit community. It stands to reason you’re gonna take a while settling in. Don’t you think?”

  “I guess you’re right.”

  “So, tell me what’s going on with you. What are you doing to keep yourself busy?”

  “Besides running the inn? Just decorating for Christmas. I just got the handyman to help me put up the lights, and tomorrow we’re shopping for the big tree.”

  “Oh! That’ll make you happy. You always loved Christmas.”

  “I just wish there was some way I could reach out to the town, you know? I wish there was some way I could win them over.”

  “What were you thinking?”

  “I wasn’t thinking anything until you called, but now that you mention it, I was thinking I could throw a big holiday dinner. I’ve been reading my aunt’s old journals. The inn used to host a big Christmas dinner, and all the townspeople were invited. It used to be the big event of the year. I’d like to do something like that.”

  “Sounds right up your alley.”

  I sat bolt upright. “You know what? It is. Thanks. Great idea.”

  She laughed out loud. “You gonna invite me, too?”

  “Sure. Do you want to make the drive across the country?”

  “No. I’m just joking, but it sounds like you have your hands full. I’ll let you get back to it. You call me if you ever need a shoulder to cry on.”

  “Thanks. I really needed to hear your voice right now.”

  I put the phone down feeling lighter than I’d felt since I first pulled into the driveway. Someone out there still thought about me and cared enough to call me in my hour of need.

  Just the idea of throwing a big holiday dinner for the town made me feel better. I would plan the menu, the decorations—everything. Christmas was my favorite holiday. This party gave it a new luster. This would be the perfect way to bridge the gap between me and the town.

  I grabbed a piece of paper and started scribbling notes as fast as they came into my head. I was the proprietor of the Barrell Inn. I could go all out to make this the greatest Christmas party ever.

  Chapter 9

  Eliza, Levi, and I wandered between stacks of Christmas trees in the lot in town. We inspected each tree in turn until we picked out three we liked best. Then came the long process of deciding which one to buy.

  “I like a tree with one bare spot,” Levi told me. “You put that spot against the wall so not so much space gets taken up in the room.”

  “That’s a good idea. We’ll need all the space we can get for all the buffet tables and the bandstand.”

  “What are you talking about?” Eliza asked. “What buffet tables and bandstand?”

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you. I decided to host a big Christmas dinner party at the inn and invite all the townspeople. You know, as a kind of peace offering so we get to know each other better.”

  Levi made a sour face. “What do you want to go and do a thing like that for? It sounds like a lot of work for not much return.”

  I couldn’t help teasing him. “A lot of work for the handyman, you mean?”

  Eliza squeezed my arm. “I think it’s a great idea. Let’s go back to the inn after this. You and I can plan all the decorations and send out the invitations. I want to help.”

  I beamed at her. “Thanks. I was hoping you’d say that. I knew I couldn’t count on any help from Clark Kent for a job like this.”

  Levi groaned and turned away. “I thought we came here to pick out a tree, not polish our nails.”

  I glanced down at my hands. “Are we polishing our nails? I hadn’t noticed.”

  Eliza slipped her hand through my elbow. “Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain. It’s you and me, baby—Thelma and Louise.”

  I had to laugh. “Just don’t go shooting anybody. I have enough to worry about with danger hidden around every corner.”

  Levi pointed across the parking lot. “There. There it is. It’s the most perfect Christmas tree in the world.”

  I followed his arm. Standing there in a corner of the parking lot, forlorn and neglected, stood a tree. Its conical boughs pointed straight up at the sky. It swooped down low to graceful branches spreading around the base. I sucked the air between my teeth. He was right. It was perfect.

  I paid for the tree, and Levi strapped it to the roof of my car. We drove back to the inn, and while Levi nailed up a wooden stand and put up the tree in the dining room, Eliza and I retreated to my room.

  I took out my computer and printer. “I found the invitations I want on the Internet. I just need help formulating the text.”

  “That’s easy.” Eliza faced the view over the lake. She extended her arms on either side and recited. “You are cordially invited to a Grand Christmas Dinner Party at the Barrell Inn, to be held….” She paused. “Add whatever date and time you picked out. That’s all you have to say.”

  I typed as fast as I could and entered the text into the invitations. I turned the computer to face her. “What do you think?”

  She peered at the fancy italic writing. “That’s perfect.”

  I dug through my drawers. “I’ve got some expensive parchment paper. What do you think of this?”

  She caressed the paper between two fingers. “
It’s exquisite. You really went all out on this party, didn’t you?”

  I bent over my printer. “I had this from before, but I think it will work. I just hope the machine can handle the paper.”

  I ran a test invitation. It printed perfectly, so I ran off the rest. “Will you drop these off in town when you go home?”

  She grabbed the stack out of my hand. “I’ll do it right now. I told you I want to help. You’re not taking all the credit for this party alone.”

  She hurried out of the inn. Now that that job was done, I settled down on the couch with Aunt Beatrice’s journal. I kept a bookmark at the later sections where her handwriting changed and she got paranoid about someone coming after her, but I liked the earlier parts, too.

  I turned back to her first days at the inn. I read and reread all her struggles getting the inn off the ground. I could relate. I was in the same boat. Maybe I could learn something from her trials to help me get through the next few weeks.

  She wrote about hiring her first employees, how some worked out and some had to be sent away. She wrote about the maid who robbed her of five thousand dollars and went on the run to Mexico. Aunt Beatrice never got the money back. She struggled for years to make up for the loss.

  A few people not so happy about the change in ownership seemed a small problem compared to that. If these first rough days were the worst I had to deal with running this inn, I would be grateful for an easy time.

  I found myself studying her fine penmanship. They really taught people how to write back then. Too bad they don’t do it anymore. One more time, I flipped back and forth between that early script and the crazy scrawl of the later years.

  There must have been something wrong with Beatrice. What could make a person change so drastically? She lost the love of her life and her best friend in the space of a few short years. What if she was right and someone really was after her? What if someone like Camille wanted the inn enough to take drastic action?

  I couldn’t stop my mind working. If anything happened to Beatrice, it should have showed up in the police report on her death. I didn’t hold out much hope for this town’s police reports, but how incompetent could a sheriff and his deputy really be? Surely Sheriff Mills wouldn’t let his deputy botch a report on a dead body, no matter how natural the causes appeared.

  I made up my mind to talk to Sheriff Mills again, this time in private. If he knew enough not to let Rufus do any real investigating, he must understand enough to keep track on reports like that.

  Once I started thinking about investigating Beatrice’s death, a thousand questions popped into my head. Why didn’t I think of them before? First of all, which of these mysterious employees found Beatrice’s body? Her body should have been transferred to the medical examiner for an autopsy. Was it?

  I fished out the will and the death certificate, but I couldn’t find any mention of an autopsy. That’s strange. They couldn’t have found her dead and just left it at that. Even a po-dunk town like Heather’s Forge must have protocols in situations like this.

  I got that old determined feeling in my bones again. Someone had to find the answers, and that someone had to be me. I grabbed my handbag and my car keys, bolted for the parking lot, and fired up my old red beater.

  I pulled up in front of the police station, but when I tried to enter it, I found the door locked. Now that really was strange. I’m sure Sheriff Mills and his glorious deputy weren’t investigating anything more complicated than a jelly donut.

  I wouldn’t quit once I started, though. I pulled out my phone and let my fingers do the walking. I should have done that in the privacy of my own room, but there I was, sitting behind my steering wheel in front of the NightHawks bar instead.

  It took me a lot longer than I expected to find even one hit on the Internet related to Heather’s Forge. Backwater towns like this just don’t make the front page—or any page, for that matter. At last I found it.

  Heather’s Forge News. Ms. Beatrice Garrett, owner and sole proprietor of the Barrell Inn, Lake Ashfield, was found dead yesterday morning in the parlor room of her inn. An overturned tea cup lay at her side but no signs of foul play. The authorities believe she died of a massive cardiac arrest that struck without warning. Nathaniel Rowe, the Barrell Inn’s gardener, spoke to the press about finding his employer dead. “It’s just such a shock, you know? One minute, you’re walking down the hall. The next, you’re staring at a dead body on the floor.”

  So, Nathaniel found Beatrice’s body but that proved nothing. Anybody could have gotten to her in the parlor. Even if they could have, that doesn’t mean they did. So, she died of a massive heart attack and hit the floor. End of story.

  I just couldn’t leave it alone, though. The more I read, the more this situation didn’t sit right with me. I was missing something. I just needed to do a little more digging to find it.

  I scrolled a little farther down the page. Doctor Wendell Brock conducted a medical examination of the deceased and determined the cause of death.

  That gave me some place to start. At least someone in this town was qualified to determine if Beatrice really died of natural causes. A little more searching on the Internet and I found the address of Dr. Brock’s office. To my surprise, it was right in front of me, right upstairs from the NightHawks bar.

  I peered up at the darkened windows. What would make a doctor put his office up there? On second thought, it did sort of make sense. The practice wouldn’t be open during the same hours as the bar. The two groups of patrons wouldn’t come to the building at the same time.

  This funny old town got curiouser and curiouser, the more I learned about it. How long would I have to live in this town before I uncovered all its hidden secrets? Did Beatrice ever learn them all? Maybe that’s why someone wanted her dead. Maybe she found out something someone didn’t want her to know.

  Was it Conrad Mills? Was it Glenda Garner? Was it Glenda’s nephew Nathaniel Rowe? It could have been any one of dozens of people. Some of those people I would never know. Someone could have stopped by off the interstate, killed Beatrice, and vanished before anybody knew they were in town. Maybe that was why my ledger didn’t make sense. Maybe someone tampered with it.

  Now there I went, flying off the handle again. No one said anything about anybody killing Beatrice. That stuff only happened in detective shows. It could never happen to me.

  While I sat there staring up at the bar building, a shadow passed in front of the window on the upper floor. That must be Dr. Brock. I had to talk to him.

  Chapter 10

  I ran up the stairs two at a time and burst into the doctor’s office all out of breath. He sat all alone behind a big oak desk and peered up at me over his spectacles. “I’m sorry, but I only accept new patients by appointment.”

  “I’m not a new patient,” I explained. “I want to talk to you about a medical examination you performed on Beatrice Garrett.”

  He frowned. “I don’t know that name.”

  “She was the owner of the Barrell Inn. She was found dead in her parlor. You said she died of a massive heart attack.”

  His face brightened. “Ah, yes. Now I remember. I don’t do many examinations, so I remember them all in great detail. I just never remember the people’s names. That’s all.” He let out a high, tinkling laugh. It rippled over the walls and trickled to a silence. “Now what can I tell you about her?”

  “How certain are you that she died of cardiac arrest?”

  “Oh, very certain.” He got up and paced around the room with his hands clasped behind his back. “I don’t know how much you understand about autopsies, but the very first thing you have to do—apart from giving a physical description of the body—is to remove all the organs, examine them, weigh them, and conduct a chemical analysis on them.”

  “Yes, I understand that. Did you find something unusual in her heart?”

  “I didn’t have to find it. It was obvious to the naked eye. Her coronary artery exploded. It killed her
instantly. That’s all the autopsy I had to perform. Once I found that, I skipped the rest.”

  Now my spider sense really went on alert. “You stopped the autopsy there?”

  “Of course. I’m a busy man. I determined the cause of death. That’s all I had to do.”

  “But how do you know she really had a heart attack? How do you know something else didn’t cause the heart attack?”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know, but you didn’t even look. Did you examine her heart to find the blockage that caused her coronary artery to rupture like that?”

  He frowned. “Why should I look for that?”

  “Isn’t it unusual for a coronary artery to rupture during cardiac arrest? I always thought the blockage itself killed the person, not some gaping hole in the side of their heart.”

  He pursed his lips. “Young lady, I am the medical professional here. I have been in private practice long enough to know what kills people.”

  “You didn’t answer my question. You didn’t look for the blockage, did you?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Did you know her handwriting changed in the weeks before her death? She thought someone was after her.”

  He shook his head and clucked his tongue. “Classic signs of the onset of dementia. No cause for concern.”

  “Every other sign in her life shows her active and competent right up until the end. How do you explain that in a person supposedly suffering the onset of dementia?”

  He brought his hands around to clasp them in front of him. “My dear young lady, you’re obviously some distraught relation of hers. You’ll soon find out the aging process plays many tricks on our loved ones. Modern medicine makes no claim to understand them all.”

  I glared at him. “I’m not so distraught that I can’t understand basic biological processes. Something caused Beatrice’s heart to rupture like that. She was not suffering the onset of dementia. She was honestly concerned for her own safety, and if she was right, someone got to her before she could do anything about it.”