Inn Keeping With Murder

by Lynn Bohart

  As Blair described the book, Martha crossed out of the room. Mickey and Minnie followed close behind as if it was a game. As Martha passed me, I noticed that she was wearing two different colored shoes—a brown one and a navy blue one. I watched her out of the corner of my eye as I finished with the wine. She went down the hall and behind the front desk, where she stooped over and rifled through the shelves. Then she turned and looked through the boxes of fudge and scone mixes for sale on the baker’s rack behind the desk. I finally called out to her.

  “Martha, do you need some help?”

  “What? No,” she said, turning abruptly. “You guys just keep talking. I’m not really interested in discussing books today. I need to use the restroom.”

  She left the front desk and went down the hallway, which wraps around to the back where the public bathroom is. The dogs came back to the living room, and I exchanged a curious glance with the rest of the girls as I passed out the wine and then sat down to take part in the discussion. A few minutes later, we saw Martha cross in front of the living room and into the dining room, where we could hear the rattle of the drawer pulls in the buffet. I excused myself and joined her.

  “Martha, are you looking for something?”

  She straightened up with a surprised look, her cashmere cardigan slightly askew.

  “No. Of course not. I…I just feel restless, that’s all,” she said, wringing her hands. “You guys go ahead. I just…want to wander around. If that’s okay.”

  I nodded. “Of course it’s okay. How are you feeling?”

  “I’m fine,” she said, dropping her hands to her side. “Can’t a girl be restless?”

  “Sure. Sorry,” I replied. “Let me know if you need anything.”

  I returned to a roomful of quizzical looks. But we went on with our conversation, while Martha went into the kitchen. As Rudy made the case for a book set in the New South, we were interrupted occasionally by the sound of cupboards being opened and closed. When Martha came back out to the reception desk, I finally couldn’t stand it anymore and interrupted Rudy.

  “What is going on with her?” I whispered.

  Blair and Rudy got up and peeked around the corner and down the hallway.

  “I don’t know,” Rudy said, shaking her head before coming back in. “I’ve never seen her so distracted. It’s like an alien being has inhabited her body.”

  “No, I think you’re wrong there.” Blair turned back with a devilish smile. “I don’t think anyone has inhabited that body for a long time.”

  “Humph.” Rudy snorted, settling back into the throw pillows on the sofa. “Just because you’re like the Energizer Bunny, ready anytime, anywhere.”

  Blair laughed. “Hey, sex is good exercise. You play golf, Doe plays tennis, and I…”

  “We all know what you do, Blair,” I said, cutting her off. “But, let’s get back to the book list.”

  I kept an ear out for Martha as we resumed our book discussion. But just as it was my turn to make a suggestion, my maintenance man, José, appeared through the dining room window to fix a string of holiday lights. He was setting up the ladder on the back deck, wearing a baggy sweatshirt and tight jeans stretched over his very tight…well, you get the picture. As he reached for the lights, his sweatshirt lifted up, revealing his well-toned torso. Suddenly the ladies were ill-prepared to continue their discussion.

  So we left the book list behind and arranged ourselves around the dining room table, which offered a better view, anyway. I headed into the kitchen again to get the peach cobbler and met Martha coming out licking her fingers. I frowned, thinking she’d stuck her finger into my cobbler, but it looked intact when I got to the counter. I put a single birthday candle into the center for Blair, grabbed a serving spoon and headed back to the table.

  The dining room table stood parallel to the window. Blair and Martha had grabbed seats facing the window, while Doe sat at one end. I was already set up at the other end, leaving Rudy to sit with her back to José. The table was decorated with my favorite poinsettia tablecloth, candy cane trim dishes, and my heirloom sterling silver flatware. A lovely cut glass dish sat in the middle of the table, filled with pine boughs and a thick cinnamon candle.

  Martha seemed back to her old self as I lit the candle on the cobbler, and we sang to Blair. When I served up the dessert, Martha even commented on the view, by which I mean, José. She received a good round of chuckles as everyone dug into their dessert. I excused myself to grab the coffee pot and came back just as Blair swallowed a bite of cobbler and made a joke about José hanging his holiday balls. Everyone broke out in laughter. Martha had just landed a second spoonful of the cobbler in her mouth, when I moved in to fill her coffee cup. She suddenly gagged and pitched forward, landing face down in her dessert, splattering a good portion of it onto my crisp linen tablecloth.

  I was so startled that I jumped back with a cry of alarm, tripping on Minnie who had followed me around the table. The little dog screeched and scampered off, while I tipped backwards, pouring scalding coffee into Blair’s lap. She came straight out of her chair, catching the edge of the table with the large belt buckle accenting her tight black slacks. The table lifted off the floor, sending everything cascading towards Rudy.

  I barely grabbed the lit candle from the middle of the holiday arrangement before it slid across the table. Rudy caught the dish, taking the full force of its water in her face and tilting backwards in her chair, smashing into the turn-of-the-century buffet that sat behind her, under the window. Before it was over, I’d lost several of my favorite holiday dishes, a beautiful floral arrangement, a set of demitasse cups and saucers from the buffet, and a perfectly good peach cobbler—not to mention Martha.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Once everything in the room had stopped moving and the shrieks died down, we turned to Martha, now lying motionless on the floor. I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. No-nonsense Rudy hurried around and knelt down to take her pulse. She put up a hand to keep us quiet and then searched around Martha’s wrist with her fingertips. She got very quiet to listen for Martha’s pulse and then bent down, putting her ear to Martha’s lips. With a solemn shake of her head, she gave us the bad news.

  Tears sprang to my eyes. I reported the incident to the 911 operator, and then since there wasn’t any reason to stay on the phone, they let me go. After I hung up, I called over to the bakery to alert April.

  While we waited for the ambulance, Rudy slumped into a chair, picking at the blob of gooey peach cobbler and pine needles that clung to her shirt, while Doe consoled Blair. I just stood and stared at Martha, willing her to stop playing games and get up. But of course, she didn’t. As my own tears threatened to reduce me to rubble, I took a deep breath and glanced around the room, forcing myself to take stock of the situation.

  The tablecloth had been pulled sideways off the table. There were broken demitasse glasses scattered across the carpet, along with broken dessert dishes, glasses and silverware. And just in front of the buffet table was a congealed puddle of melted red wax from the candle I had let slip from my fingers when Rudy had determined Martha was dead. As my eyes surveyed the damage, a horrified cry escaped my lips.

  Mickey and Minnie were licking up the dessert around Martha’s face.

  “Mickey! Minnie! Get away from there!” I yelled.

  “Mickey! Minnie!” I heard an echo from the other room.

  It was Ahab. He liked the sound of the dogs’ names and would often mimic me when I scolded them.

  I shooed the little canines back and quickly called my daytime manager, Crystal, who had just returned to the front desk from the laundry. She got the dogs to follow her to my apartment, her eyes as big as dinner plates as she spied Martha lying on the floor.

  The inn sits only a few minutes from downtown Mercer Island, so the ambulance pulled into the drive with its siren blaring before we’d even processed what had just happened. A patrol car followed. This set off Ahab again, who had the uncanny ability to dupl
icate a range of sound effects. It was normally quite entertaining. Right now, however, having him merrily scream his siren song from the other room was enough to set my teeth on edge.

  Minutes later, there was an entire group of emergency personnel parading through the inn. They found Martha’s body lying on her side just in front of the table. An EMT knelt down to check her vitals, while another one rolled in a gurney. All any of us could do was stand back and watch.

  When Crystal returned, I asked her to run interference with any of the guests who might appear. Meanwhile, the EMTs examined Martha. April arrived just as a young police officer approached me.

  “Are you the owner of the inn?”

  I nodded, a sob fighting to get out.

  “I’m very sorry for your loss, but I need to ask you some questions. What time did this happen?” He whipped out a small notebook.

  “About ten to fifteen minutes ago,” I said with a tight throat. “We were in the middle of our book club meeting.”

  “That would make it about two o’clock,” the officer said, checking his watch. “Does that sound about right?”

  “Yes, that’s about right.” I was watching the ambulance workers lift Martha onto a stretcher, wishing I could rush over and fix the buttons on her sweater—to let her be seen the way she normally would. “We had just come into the dining room for dessert.”

  “Is this the dessert?” The young officer was pointing to the squished cobbler on the floor, now disengaged from Martha’s face.

  “Yes, that’s it.”

  “Did any of the rest of you eat it?”

  “We all did.”

  All the girls nodded in agreement.

  “Are any of you feeling ill?”

  “No, we’re all fine,” I said, looking around the room. “Martha had a heart condition. She was on medication. You’ll probably find it in her purse.”

  “Maybe someone could get her purse for us,” the officer said, writing something down.

  Libby had heard the sirens and had come downstairs with a load of dirty linen in her arms. She stood in the background staring at Martha, her face so pale I thought briefly she was one of the ghosts. Libby was tall and thin, with a long neck and big hands, reminding me of a female Ichabod Crane. I approached her and put a hand on her wrist.

  “Libby, can you get Martha’s purse from the front closet?”

  She nodded silently, turned on her heel and left for the entryway. The EMTs gently covered Martha with a blanket and wheeled her out. We all just stood and stared after them.

  “Does she have any next-of-kin that you know of?” the officer asked me.

  “Um…just a daughter who lives in England. I’ll get her number.”

  I hurried to the office and retrieved Emily’s phone number and gave it to him, along with her purse. He thanked me and followed the rest of the emergency personnel out the door.

  After they’d all gone, April met me in the breakfast room and gave me a hug. “You okay, Julia?”

  “Yeah,” I said without much conviction. “I…just can’t believe it.”

  “Houston, we have a problem,” Ahab squawked.

  We both turned around and saw Ahab bouncing around in his cage. The sirens and activity had clearly upset him.

  “Go ahead, make my day,” he squawked, bouncing up and down.

  I walked over and talked in a quiet voice to him.

  “It’s alright, Ahab. It’s all over now.”

  His little beady eyes watched me and then he ruffled his feathers and seemed to settle down. As I stood gazing at him, April squeezed my arm, bringing me back to this life.

  “Let me finish up over in the bakery, and then I’ll come back and help you clean up,” she said.

  The girls had retired to the living room, and so I took the opportunity to approach the only guest who had appeared. It was a small elderly gentleman named Mr. Stillwater, all bent over, hovering uncertainly behind Crystal at the foot of the stairs. He was in town for a funeral and had been quite specific on the subject of funerals when he’d arrived. He hated them, fearing his own demise now that he was an octogenarian. I explained to him what had happened, adding that it was probably a heart attack that had taken Martha. It couldn’t have been encouraging under the circumstances, but he pushed his glasses up his nose, expressed his condolences and hobbled back to his room.

  José had also come inside when he’d heard the sirens, and I asked him to help Libby begin cleaning up. I found Rudy, Blair and Doe sitting and staring silently at the floor in the living room. Well, what could one say after all of that?

  I joined them by slumping onto an ottoman.

  “I feel drained,” Doe muttered under her breath. “We’ve lost two friends in less than a year.”

  “People come and go so quickly around here,” I said quietly, staring into the fireplace.

  “Julia!” Rudy warned.

  I looked up. “Sorry.”

  Rudy didn’t like it when I quoted the Wizard of Oz. But sometimes it just seemed to fit so perfectly.

  “You don’t think they’re connected, do you? Like some weird curse or something?” Blair said with her eyes wide. She was sitting on the sofa, her hands shredding a tissue in her lap.

  “No, Blair,” Rudy said. “Let’s acknowledge Martha’s death for what it was—an odd coincidence.”

  “Let’s face it,” Rudy began, drumming her fingers on the arm of the leather chair. “Martha was in her early seventies and suffered from things like high blood pressure and arthritis. And she had open heart surgery a few years ago.”

  “But she maintained a rigid diet and exercise program,” Blair said, countering Rudy’s assessment. “She looked completely healthy when she got here today.”

  “She may have looked fine,” I said. “But I think we can all agree that she wasn’t acting like herself. Did you notice she was wearing two different colored shoes? Maybe something was wrong.” I took a deep sigh. “She said something really strange to me a couple of weeks ago.”

  They all stopped sniffling and looked up at me with frozen expressions.

  “She came by to talk about finally selling me that big drop-leaf table. You know I’ve wanted it forever. She said she was thinking of re-doing her den and didn’t think she’d keep the table.” I paused, picturing Martha in my mind that day. “On her way out the door, she stopped and asked me if I thought taking something that wasn’t yours was a sin if it was for the greater good. Then she asked me about the last time I went to confession.”

  “What did you say?” Doe said with the hint of a smile on her lips.

  “That I haven’t been to confession in years,” I said, returning the smile. “I told Martha that the last time I went to confession was when Graham got remarried, and I’d thought seriously about puncturing the tires on Kitty’s car.”

  The girls chuckled.

  “Martha laughed at that, too,” I said, remembering. “When I asked her why she wanted to know, she just kind of blew me off.”

  “You think she needed to confess something?” Doe asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “I can’t imagine Martha taking something that wasn’t hers,” Blair said. “I wonder what she meant.”

  I shrugged. “That’s all she said.”

  “Well, I guess we’ll never know,” Doe said, getting up. “Will you call Emily, Julia?”

  Emily was Martha’s daughter, who lived in London.

  “Yes,” I said, sighing. “There really isn’t any other immediate family, I suppose.” I stood up as the rest of them got ready to leave. “Are you guys up for planning another memorial service?”

  They looked at me with blank expressions.

  “Of course,” Rudy finally replied.

  “Yes,” Doe said. “Tell Emily we’ll do whatever she wants us to do.”

  The girls gathered their purses and coats and promised to come over Saturday morning to begin plans for the service. Then they each gave me a hug. Doe was the last to g
o. As we stood on the big veranda, watching Rudy pull up the drive in her vintage BMW, Doe put an arm around my shoulder.

  “It’s not your fault, Julia. It was just Martha’s time. We’ll all get there soon enough.”

  She gave my shoulders a squeeze and then descended the steps and climbed into her big Mercedes, leaving me to wonder why Martha’s time had come so suddenly, and just when she happened to be eating my peach cobbler.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Once everyone had left, Libby, José and I began to clean up the dining room, allowing Crystal to return to the front desk. Since every moment of inaction threatened to reduce me to tears, the work acted as a diversion. April finished up whatever she was doing in the bakery and joined us. It was a good thing, too, because Libby was moving as if her feet were encased in cement. I finally asked her if she was feeling ill.

  “No,” she said, “I’m fine. I just feel badly, that’s all. Mrs. Denton was very nice.”

  “Yes, she was,” I said, a quick tear forming.

  Libby’s sentiments surprised me. She had come to work for me two years earlier after having lost all of her savings when the market crashed. As a retired obstetrics nurse, she was a disciplined worker, with one good-for-nothing son who had a gambling problem and lived in Las Vegas, of all places. I realized that while Libby was more comfortable living her life in the background, she was still affected by the comings and goings of the people around her. It made me resolve to find ways to include her more often in conversations and special events at the inn.

  “Martha thought very highly of you,” I said, patting her wrist. “She made special mention of that time you helped her get that gravy spot out of her jacket.”

  You would have thought I’d just told her that her own mother had died. Her hand flew to her mouth, and she ran from the room. I was left standing with my mouth open as if I’d just missed my cue on stage. April looked over at me, her hazel eyes dancing.