Inn Keeping With Murder

by Lynn Bohart

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Detective Franks called for a forensics officer to dust for fingerprints and take pictures of everything, including the graffiti. There were no broken locks or windows, raising all sorts of question as to how the intruders got in. He forwarded everything to Detective Abrams, who was off for the day, and then spent a good forty minutes interviewing José and then April. But the only piece of evidence they found was a can of black spray paint that had rolled behind a desk.

  Once the forensics people were gone and a police van had picked up what was left of Martha’s table, I went back over to the carriage barn to begin cleaning up and taking inventory. José stayed to help, and we called in Crystal who was off for the day. April worked to clean up her office, while Libby remained at the inn. Anything we weren’t able to salvage was hauled to a big dumpster we had out back.

  Around noon, Detective Franks called to say that they had gone to Martha’s home to look for anything out of the ordinary. He must have agreed with me about the hidden drawer in the table. While they were there, Sybil came over and confirmed that everything looked the way it should. I had no doubt Sybil could have inventoried Martha’s house down to the flatware.

  The inn was normally full this time of year, but while we worked in the carriage barn, Mrs. Devonshire and Mr. Stillwater both checked out early. I suppose even the potential thrill of seeing a ghost would be overwhelmed by the real danger of encountering a murderer. That left only one guest, Ms. Jenkins, who was scheduled to leave on Tuesday.

  By three o’clock, we’d completed the bulk of the work and were all exhausted. Libby said she would stay on duty until five o’clock to make up for her sick day, but I let Crystal go, while José and I locked up.

  “I don’t know anything about that graffiti, Ms. Applegate,” José said to me, his dark liquid eyes betraying his anxiety. “Besides, it’s not really graf…”

  “I know,” I replied. I put a hand on his arm. “Don’t worry, José. This is all going to work itself out.”

  “No, Ms. Applegate,” he said. “What I meant was I’m not sure it’s even gang graffiti. Have your detectives check it out. I don’t think that tag means anything.”

  He nodded and left. April had offered to make us lunch, so I walked back to my apartment to clean up. I changed clothes and then grabbed my mother’s cell phone on the way out the door again. I’m not sure why. I just thought keeping her close to me under the circumstances might be a good idea.

  When I joined April in the kitchen, she had things laid out for sandwiches. As we each made a sandwich, I asked how she was doing.

  “I don’t know,” she said, squeezing the bread in her hand hard enough to leave fingerprints. “I’ve never been through anything like this before.”

  “But something else is bothering you.”

  She sat down and looked at me. “I’m not a psychic, Julia. You know that. I don’t hear voices or see things. I get feelings, impressions. So why didn’t I feel anything last night? It was my space that was broken into.”

  The first glimmer of fear I’d ever seen flashed in her eyes.

  “Someone was in my space, my space, and I didn’t feel a thing.”

  “Maybe you’re too close to it,” I said.

  April just stared at the bread in her hands and then finally finished making her sandwich.

  “Maybe,” she said under her breath.

  “Look, April, this has all of us upset. But we’ve got to keep our heads.”

  “I know,” she said. “I know.” She took a deep breath and then looked at me. “I’m so sorry about all of your antiques, Julia. And what in the world was that thing spray painted on the wall?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

  “Do you think it was a gang? Something to do with José?”

  I shrugged. “No. Not José at least. And he says it’s not even a gang tag. But, why would a gang break in and damage a bunch of antiques on Mercer Island, anyway?”

  “Maybe it was meant as some kind of message to José. We don’t really know much about his background.”

  Now I was staring at my sandwich. “I don’t want to think about that. This is where I have to have a little faith.”

  We each took a bite and ate for a moment. As I wiped my mouth with a napkin, I asked her, “By the way, why were you even here this morning? You weren’t supposed to come in. It was your day off.”

  She glanced up and then away.

  “I just had some things to take care of. You know me, even when I’m not here, I’m thinking of here, so I might as well be here.”

  “Okay,” I said a little confused. “Look, ignoring the graffiti for the moment, I’ve been trying to figure out why Martha’s table was smashed. Out of all the pieces of furniture in there, that one piece was completely destroyed. Why? By the way, I found a drawer pull when I was standing there with Detective Franks. I think the table may have had a hidden drawer. If so, perhaps there was something —”

  April stood up, nearly knocking her chair over.

  “Oh my God.” She wiped her hands on a paper towel. “You need to come back to the bakery with me, right now!”

  “Hunh? Why?” I muttered.

  “I have to show you something.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  I dropped my sandwich and followed April out the kitchen door. Considering the events over the past few days, I held my breath as we crossed the drive into the bakery. Rather than going to her office though, she went to a horizontal coat rack mounted on the wall next to one of the counters. Three commercial aprons hung there, along with the denim one I’d given her when she first opened the bakery. She grabbed the denim apron off its hook and reached into the large pocket that stretched across the lower third of the apron, stenciled with her name. She pulled out a small binder.

  “What’s that?”

  She paused and looked around as if someone might be listening.

  “Let’s go into my office.”

  My anxiety ratcheted up a notch as I followed her into the small enclosure.

  “April, what’s going on?”

  She closed the door before speaking.

  “Mr. Garth gave this to me yesterday evening when he was getting ready to leave. He said that he’d found this when he was setting up Martha’s table and didn’t know whether it was valuable or not.”

  She handed me the thin volume. It was a 5x7” three-ring binder, probably sold at any office supply store, except it had a purple paisley cover. Inside, the loose leaf pages were divided into a series of columns, which were filled in with a bunch of letters and numbers. There was nothing to identify who owned it. I frowned.

  “What do you think it is?”

  “I don’t know,” April said. “I didn’t really look at it. I was busy and just dropped it into my apron.”

  “Why didn’t you tell the police?”

  She stepped over to the small conference table and sat down.

  “Because I forgot about it until you mentioned the secret drawer just now. I guess I was so focused on my own office that it just didn’t occur to me.” She looked up at me. “Do you think this is what they were looking for?”

  I came to the table and sat across from her, looking suspiciously at the notebook and reading the entries. Across the top of the columns were capital letters that appeared to be abbreviations for something. Down the left hand side were initials and numbers, like RC/19 and TR/18.

  “I have no idea,” I said. “I don’t know what it is.”

  She furrowed her brow and leaned into me. “Think about it, Julia. Whoever broke in seemed to be looking through tables with drawers. And then they rummaged through desk drawers and bookshelves. Doesn’t it make sense that they were looking for a book?”

  I glanced up at her, feeling my heart rate pick up a notch. “I guess so. They were certainly looking for something.”

  “I think they were looking for this book,” she said, pointing a finger at the book.

  I l
ooked at the book again. “Martha’s mother originally owned that table. This could have been hers, or maybe it belonged to Robert.” I lifted my eyebrows. “Do you have a hunch?”

  “No,” April shook her head. “Nothing like that. But I don’t think it could have been her mother’s. The notebook is too modern. But I suppose it could have been Robert’s, although paisley doesn’t seem too much like him. Maybe it’s some political information someone wants to get hold of. Do you think we should give it to the police?”

  “Probably,” I said. “But I’d sure like to know what it is first. Whoever broke in could have just as easily have been kids hyped up on drugs and finally just smashed the table because they couldn’t find any money. Maybe that’s why they left the graffiti—because they were angry.” I sat tapping the book, my mind racing. “I think we should wait and show it to the girls later tonight. See what they think.”

  “But shouldn’t we just give it to the police?” April said. “That way it’s out of our hands.”

  I kept tapping my thumb on the book, stalling for time. There was a big part of me that knew I needed to hand it over to the police. But a bigger part of me wanted to know what the book was first.

  “Look,” I said. “Angela is coming over soon to leave Lucy with me. I’ll show it to her and ask her what she thinks.”

  “So, what do we do with it now?” April was clearly scared to have it in her possession. “If this little book is worth killing for, I’m not really comfortable having it around.”

  “Why don’t we put it in a box and address it to Graham,” I said. “No one will bother a box addressed to the Governor. That will give us time to figure this out.”

  April’s eyes lit up. “Good thinking. I’ll get a box.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  April found a small box in the back of the bakery, and we slipped the book inside. I folded over the flaps and took the box back to the inn, thinking I’d tape it up and address it to Graham when I got to my apartment.

  We normally locked the front door at five o’clock, so I was heading for the front door, when a familiar, “Yoo hoo!” broke the silence.

  “Julia,” Sybil drawled, coming through the door. “I came to get a few toys for the dogs. But first, how are you doing? Was anything stolen after all? Do the police know who broke in? Do you need any help cleaning up?”

  She moved into the foyer like a steam engine, forcing me back to the registration desk, where I had to put a hand up before she bowled me over.

  “Too many questions all at once, Sybil. I’m doing fine. Nothing appears to have been stolen. And, no, the police don’t know who did it.”

  She slouched against the counter. If the horse I rode out in Sammamish could look like people, then he had a twin. Sybil had a long face with a wide mouth, large teeth and a broad forehead. To top things off, she wore her hair in some sort of top knot. All she was missing was the bit in her mouth, which right now I felt like supplying. Her husband was the president of a local bank in the area and was gone much of the time, leaving Sybil with entirely too much time on her hands. She’d tried several times to join our book club, but all the spots had been filled. Now, with Ellen and Martha both gone, I scrambled to think of an excuse if she asked again. But she was already on to different topics.

  “So, Julia,” she said, pursing those big lips, making me think she was about to whinny. “Do you really think someone tried to poison Senator Pesante and killed Martha instead?”

  I set the box on the corner of the registration desk and sat down on the stool.

  “Look Sybil,” I said with all the patience I could muster. “I don’t know who was trying to kill who…whom…whatever.” I shook my head. “And frankly, murder is just too horrible for me to contemplate right now. I have to deal with the break in at the warehouse and the fact that someone was also at Martha’s home the other night when José and I picked up her table.”

  You would have thought I’d started a fire.

  “Oh, my stars!” she squealed, interrupting me. “I know. I saw the police over there this morning and so I walked over. When I told them I took care of Martha’s place when she was gone, they asked me to help identify anything that might be missing. But everything looked normal,” she said proudly. “Who do you think it was?”

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “I never saw his face. But José thinks it might have been someone who knew the house was empty.”

  “And now your place was been broken into, too,” she said with false sympathy.

  “Yes. I just wish they hadn’t destroyed so many of my antiques,” I said wistfully. “They ruined some really beautiful pieces, not to mention the table I bought from Martha. I’d promised Emily I was going to keep it.”

  “I’m truly sorry, Julia,” she said, frowning. “You love your antiques. How could anyone be soooo cruel? I mean, if they didn’t steal anything, why would they do that?”

  “I don’t know.” I sighed. “It seemed like they were looking for something.”

  “Oh for heaven’s sake, what in the world would you be hiding in your antique shop?” she snorted.

  “I wasn’t hiding anything,” I shot her an angry look. “That’s the point.”

  I glanced at the box sitting on the end of the counter. Sybil ignored me.

  “The police said it could be a gang thing,” she said, continuing unabated. “I didn’t know we had any gangs on Mercer Island. I’m going to tell Henry we have to add security. You know, he didn’t want me to get Pepsi. He said Chihuahuas aren’t really dogs at all. But now I bet he’ll be glad we have her.”

  I didn’t like Henry any better than I liked Sybil. But now that I knew he had been against getting Pepsi, I decided I should get to know him better.

  “How are the puppies, by the way?” I asked, hoping to change the subject.

  “Oh, I…uh…they’re fine. You know how they love to play with Pepsi. That’s why I thought I’d get a couple of toys.”

  “Okay, give me a second and I’ll grab a couple.”

  I went to the cupboard in the kitchen and grabbed a couple of the loudest squeaker toys I could find, hoping against hope that they would drive Sybil nuts. When I came back to the registration desk, she was perched on the stool behind the counter, drumming her fingers. The box with the ledger sat right next to her.

  “Julia,” she said, slipping off the stool. “You don’t think they’re connected, do you? Your breakin and the person lurking around Martha’s? Well, of course, they must be. I wonder what’s going on. I…”

  I stuck the squeaker toys in her face and said, “Here you go. These are their favorites.”

  “Oh, that’ll be fine,” she said. “But Julia, I don’t think you’re sufficiently concerned about this. These people could be targeting the entire neighborhood.”

  As if a light bulb had just gone off in her big head, she quickly stepped back to the other side of the counter.

  “I’d better go,” she said nervously.

  “I’m sure you’re perfectly safe, Sybil. You have Henry, and…”

  “And Pepsi,” she said quickly. “Pepsi is an excellent watch dog, you know. She could wake the dead when she gets going, I tell you. Your two little dogs are pretty good, too.”

  She referred to Mickey and Minnie like they were smaller and less robust than her Chihuahua. I admit that my Dachshunds don’t weigh more than ten pounds each, but with their long snouts and sharp teeth, they could pulverize her little Taco dog.

  “By the way, Sybil,” I said, changing the subject, “I’m checking with everyone who has a key to the inn. Has yours ever been out of your possession? Anyone ever ask to borrow it?”

  She thought for a moment and then whipped out her jailor-size ring of keys again. “No. As you can see, I have your key right here next to Corinne’s.”

  Corinne was another neighbor, and from the looks of it, Sybil had keys to most of the homes on Mercer Island.

  “Where do you keep them?”

  “On
a hook in my kitchen,” she said happily. “That way I always know where to find them. And since I’m home most of the time, I don’t see how anyone could have gotten them. Oh,” she held out her big hand, “and I’ll need to get Martha’s back.”

  “Oh, yes,” I said, “I’m sorry. Hold on.”

  I quickly ducked into the office and grabbed my key ring from the desk drawer and removed the one she’d loaned me to Martha’s house.

  “Here you go,” I said, handing it over. “So, back to my key. No one has asked to borrow it, have they?”

  She shook her head, and I couldn’t help but picture a bridle slapping against her jowls.

  “Of course not. I would have told you,” she said.

  “Okay, thanks,” I said. “I’m just trying to figure out how someone might have gotten into the inn, if in fact that’s what happened.”

  “What a scary thought,” her eyes stretched into large marbles again. “Do you think someone actually broke in and poisoned the fudge? Oh, my stars, a murderer sneaking around the neighborhood, too.”

  She took a deep breath, and I could see that she was beginning to hyperventilate. I reached over for the box with the ledger in it.

  “Listen, I’ve got a ton of stuff to do.”

  Sybil spied the box. One flap had popped up.

  “What’s this?” she asked, pulling it over and glancing inside.

  I quickly drew the box to the far edge of the counter. “It’s just … um… something Graham wanted me to send him.”

  “I have to stop at the post office myself tomorrow,” she offered brightly. “I’d be glad to drop it off for you. You have enough on your mind.”

  “Thanks, but I’ve got it,” I said, as I began to usher her out the door. “I have a few other things to mail, so I’ll just take it all tomorrow morning on my way to the shelter.”

  “All righty, then. You look exhausted, Julia. You need to get some rest. I know you don’t like pills, but a couple of Advil PM would do wonders for you tonight. I’ll bring the puppies back tomorrow morning. Or if you want, I can always keep them for a couple of days in case you need a longer break.”