by Liz Turner
“I’m still not sure what you meant by that,” Bessie said to Nicholas, who turned to Victoria desperately.
Victoria, shrugging, abandoned the poor man to his fate. “I’ll come back soon,” she said, leaving them with the menu. “As for you, Bessie, I saw Milly the other day, and she was telling me your class put up an absolutely fantastic play.” She said before parting.
Immediately, a distracted Bessie cheered up. “I wrote that play myself.”
“A brilliant job, too,” Nicholas said sincerely. “I especially loved the part where the mafia don is crying over his long-suffering wife.”
“Oh if only Margie Thompson hadn’t messed up her lines,” Bessie said. “But you were a champion, Nicholas, you supported me unflinchingly while I wrote.”
Five minutes later, the happy couple had placed their order of blueberry pancakes, maple syrup, and scrambled eggs with toast.
Smiling, humming to herself, Victoria called the order in, and moved to the counter. From the picture window of Cafe Spring Hopes, she saw mist descend from the Rocky Mountains and a soft, shimmering rainfall on the bright green meadows below them.
The door jangled, and Victoria’s smile grew brighter. Her twelve-year-old, Annie, and her son Byron, seventeen, wandered in, along with their aunt, Karen.
“Victoria! Get us all milkshakes, would you? I lost a bet with Annie about who could hold their breath longest.” Karen said, plonking herself on one of the stools.
“Annie cheated, she tickled Aunt Karen.” Byron laughed.
“I want mint chocolate, mom,” Anne said. “And I... Mrs. Bessie!” Anne skipped away to talk to her favorite teacher.
“Look at that. Not a hug for her mom.” Victoria said with a grin.
“Hey, if you put up a play with Anne as the lead, she’ll have plenty of hugs for you,” Karen smiled.
“What’s new?” Victoria asked Byron, as she created the milkshake.
“Byron’s dating a new girl,” Karen said, giving her nephew a little nudge with her elbow.
“Aunt Karen!” Byron turned a shade of strawberry.
“Well, go on then, tell your mom all about the dream girl.”
“Aunt Karen!” Byron turned even redder.
“I don’t know much myself.” Karen said, “I walked into the house today, and Byron was ushering some girl out the back door.”
“Byron!” Victoria looked at him.
“Mom, no, it’s not like that, she was just there to help me with my homework. Honestly.” Byron protested. “Aunt Karen’s got it all wrong.”
Aunt Karen, who had a mischievous smile on her face, took a sip of her milkshake.
“Honestly, Byron, this is really wrong. At your age, you should be focussing on studies and working hard for college, not...”
“You were about his age when you met Michael, weren’t you, Victoria?” Karen asked, before taking another sip of her shake.
Victoria gave her a sideways look. “Karen, something tells me I should be giving you a talking to, about doing mischief.”
“Me?” Karen pointed a finger at herself and made her eyes go wide. “I’m innocent!”
“About as innocent as a fox in a hen house,” Victoria said. “I know that look, Karen. Why so excited?”
“Our mayor was speaking to me about the Open Doors Festival,” Karen said. “He absolutely loved my idea of keeping cookies and a pot of tea in every venue for people to munch on, free of charge. It’s a little thing, but well within our budget, and I think it just adds to the hospitality so much! We’ve got the catering job, of course.”
“What’s the Open Doors festival?” Byron asked.
“A really unique idea,” Karen said. “You know I’d be the last person to say that I like our new mayor, but the man knows how to draw crowds, that’s for sure. He used to be a priest, I’m told. He’s still Catholic, but he’s given up the cloth now. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of the festival, Byron. Isn’t your school preparing a lot for it?”
“Yeah, I heard we’re doing a bunch of plays, and the school band is practicing, but I guess I was too busy to think about it.”
“Too busy thinking about someone to think about this, hmm?” Karen teased.
Victoria spoke to Byron, “It’s a festival celebrating the heritage of our town, darling. You know who founded our town, right?”
Byron shook his head.
“Jebediah Larch. He came here from England to build a better life for himself back in the 1800s.” Victoria said. “He and his brothers founded Larch Hot Springs. Jebediah Larch settled this place back in the late 1800's, you know. He was an unusually clever business man. He started the grocery store and began selling cheese and bread to the rich men who came here in winter. Amos, his brother, was an artist who spent all his time drawing the sunset. He was pretty good at it too; some of his paintings are in the Calgary Museum. But it was the third brother, Peter Larch, who created the famed Larch Locks. They sold all across Canada, and I hear the Prime Minister’s office has them installed too.”
“Oh, I remember those locks,” Byron said. “Granddad used to love them. He said every lock in our house was an antique.”
Victoria nodded, but her eyes were on Karen, who was still looking down at her milkshake. At the mention of their father’s name, Karen had flinched subtly, but distinctly. It had been two years since he had died to save them, and Victoria knew that Karen who had been far closer, still missed their daddy.
“The open door festival is Calum’s idea,” Victoria said. “Us residents will open up our houses to tourists, and give them tours of our favorite spots. A lot of people are excited about it.”
“He’s descendent of the Larches, right?” Byron asked.
“Yep,” Victoria said. When Larch Springs’ old mayor had died an untimely death in a shooting incident, the town had chosen a relatively young new mayor. Calum Larch was working hard to prove to the town that he was more than just the rich kid who had been elected because of daddy’s money.
“Then, at night, we’re organizing ghost tours,” Karen said as she finished off her drink. “That’s going to be exciting too.”
“Ghost tours aren’t my thing,” Victoria said. “But we’ll have handy mountain men like Corporal Jager giving them a brief tour around the hot springs and the many trails.”
“Sounds like fun,” Byron said. “Now if only the town can get through it without any more… incidents.”
“Byron!” Karen protested. “I don’t know what you mean by that.”
“Oh just that we’ve had three murders in town already.” Byron shrugged. “We’re not the kind of idyllic town the mayor is trying to pretend we are.”
“Larch Hot Springs is perfect as far as I’m concerned,” Karen said. “Now we may have had a few untoward incidents, but that’s human nature. You can’t prevent a crime. I’m sure this time it’ll be just fine, though.”
Unfortunately for them all, it wasn’t.
Please click here to read the rest of Murder At The Festival
Other Books by Liz Turner:
Clean Mystery & Suspense Romance Books:
Her Bodyguard - The SEAL
A SEAL To Watch Over Me
A SEAL's Redemption
Protected By A SEAL
A Father's Duty - A SEAL's Protection
SEAL's for Protection - 5 Book Box Set
