The Howliday Inn

by Zoey Kane

Then he said, “I overheard a hotel guest saying you two are talented detectives. I looked you up after breakfast. So far you have a 100% success rate of solving mysteries. I must add, somewhat paranormal mysteries. We should compare notes.”

  “Then you know I’m Zoey and this is my daughter Claire.”

  He nodded. “Of course.”

  “Regarding our paranormal mysteries,” Claire said, “we find they mostly have to do with ordinary people. Or maybe not.”

  “Call us at the inn,” Zoey suggested. “We can talk a little better there. I’d like to know what brings you to this place.”

  He said, energized, “My ATV. I would love that.”

  “Okay,” affirmed Zoey, taking interest in his nerdishness. “Talk to you later.” She and Claire left him to himself to peer into a few more structures before returning to their horses.

  “How’d it go?” asked Jack when they were ready to leave.

  “It was rather interesting to see this historical spot,” Zoey said. “We found a fascinating carving in one of the cabins. We wonder what it means.” She took either Ivan or Lance’s reins and mounted, as did Claire.

  “Yeah, I was going to mention it.” Jack got back on the sweet ol’ lead horse, Pepper, to head home. “But I figured it’d be more fun for you to find it yourself. Which you did.”

  “Yes, but we still don’t know what it means. Do you?” Zoey asked turning her horse toward the ranch.

  “Don’t know. You’re the detectives.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Let me know if you find out.”

  When Jack dropped them back at the inn, he offered, “I recognize experienced equestrians. If you two ever want to go riding, you don’t need to wait on me or ask. Just go saddle up Lance and Ivan on your own. He added, "I presume you won’t have any trouble saddling up.”

  “She won’t,” Claire spoke of her mother.

  “Good. If you figure out that carving you found, let me in on it, okay?”

  “Will do. Thank you again, Jack,” said Zoey. “Your horses are wonderful. It was an excellent ride to that abandoned logger camp.”

  “Anytime.” The green Jeep drove off.

  “You know,” Claire said, entering the revolving lobby door, we never did tell Jack we met Stewart behind a cabin, Mom.”

  “It occurred to me, but I was going with the flow. We’ve got some solving to do. You know, the etching in the cabin.” Zoey could hardly wait for the late two-thirty lunch to have a “think” meeting with Claire.

  After partaking of breaded catfish, mashed potatoes, coleslaw, cornbread, and finishing up with cherry cobbler, the two lounged across their suite’s L-shaped sofa, one at either end. Claire stared at her phone screen, at the letters TLAM SUOHBEVLIS. She sounded it out as written, “T-lom Soobevles. No, doesn’t make sense.”

  Zoey had the letters written on a small notepad she was studying for herself. “No, that doesn’t make sense. Maybe it’s like one of those word puzzles, where you have to move around the letters to form an anagram.”

  “Two words, because of the space between them?” Claire’s eyebrow arched.

  “Could beeee.” Zoey tapped her pencil. “Let’s try it.”

  After a mere minute’s thought, they called out, “Malt!” Sharing amused laughs, the mother and daughter continued, their spirits higher.

  “Aha,” Zoey sprang up in her seat. She said, “MALT LIVES SHOUB.”

  “Nice.” Claire chuckled. “Now all we have to figure out is what a shoub is.”

  Leaning over in excitement, Zoey tossed some hair back over a shoulder. “There was this one girl, during my junior year at West Beverly High, a Susan Shoub. She was a terrible gossip. She told the captain of the football team that I had an STD.”

  Claire’s brows both went up in interest. “That is terrible.”

  “Well, I was in the running for prom queen, and so she wanted to get rid of her competition.

  “So what’d you do?” Claire’s big brown eyes widened.

  “I went to the doctor, got myself tested—I knew it would come back negative—and then showed Johnny Berry, and he asked me to prom.” She had a faraway, dreamy gaze.

  “Wow, that’s smart thinking.” Claire sat up taller on the sofa. “I guess you got Susan Shoub back. You got the crown and the captain of the football team.”

  “Oh, no, no, no. Johnny was the chess club president.”

  With her tongue lightly between her teeth, Claire smiled in amusement. “Didn’t see that one coming.”

  “You should have seen Johnny. He had hair like Leif Garrett and a smile like Davy Jones.”

  Distracted, Claire pulled up her phone’s browser and quickly typed. After a moment’s searching, she said, “So he looked like… Farrah Fawcett.”

  Zoey playfully tossed a couch pillow at her daughter’s head, messing her dark hair.

  “Nice shot,” Claire complimented. “Okay, okay. Back to being serious. Malt Lives Shoub, huh? This was etched in wood, not texted; there’s no room for error or autocorrect, so why the lives instead of loves?”

  “So that’s what you think it is?” Zoey asked, putting her pencil against her chin. “A love note?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Claire said, turning off her phone and setting it on the coffee table. “Other than saying, ‘Malt wuz here,’ I’m sure a secret love note was the next best thing. Maybe he was just a bad speller.”

  “Well, I’m going to think about it some more. Maybe it’ll start to make sense once we learn of the history surrounding this strange area.”

  “Hmm,” Claire simply said, pulling her bare feet up under her. “Not everything is a mystery, Mom.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Zoey waved the comment away. “What’s the relation between the old buildings on Rottenwood Road and Stiles Logging, anyway?”

  Claire replied, stretching her French-pedicured toes, “I would say it was a work-related community of people in the logging business. Just like miners’ villages, this was for loggers. And as such, it probably had a general store and a couple of other businesses follow them here, like a saloon and barber shop.”

  A call came in from the elevator, and Claire jumped up to answer it. “It’s Joseph with our orange spice tea.”

  She pushed the button to let him in. He rattled in a small serving trolley, which had a tea service on it and a plate of cookies. “That looks so good,” Zoey remarked, sitting up taller in her seat.

  “It does. But you should see what’s going on down in the lobby, Miss Kanes!” Joseph was bursting to reveal the hot news. “There’s a whole lot of state police down there investigating Mr. Martin’s death. He was found killed!”

  FIVE

  “Whaaat?” they both said, astonished.

  “Definitely! I’m thinking ol’ Clifford will be ruled out, even though he escaped his werewolf confinement, the utility room, and went out for a little more howling.”

  “Why’s that?” Claire asked, her brow wrinkled.

  “Well, Mr. Martin was found over in Rottenwood, and I overheard the trooper say he died from animal bites to his throat. Clifford isn’t actually an animal, so I’m sure he’s in the clear.”

  “An animal attack? Horrible,” Zoey exclaimed, remembering how some goat was recently attacked. She went for her purse while Claire slipped on her shoes. “Here’s another twenty,” she told him, handing over the bill. “Keep us updated on anything you hear further, anything you might hear of this nature whatsoever.”

  “You got that. I will.” He set the tray on the coffee table and started rolling the trolley out.

  The Kanes shot a glance at each other, and then rushed the elevator before the door swished closed, pushing themselves around the trolley for space.

  “Couldn’t stand it, huh?” Joseph teased. “Want to do some of your own detecting.”

  “You got us pegged, for sure,” answered Zoey. “But we still want you to keep us in the know.”

  “Joseph, your private spy at the ready!” He saluted with a big smile.


  Once they unpacked themselves from the elevator, Claire worked her way as close as she could toward a man taking fingerprints from the utility room doorknob. Remembering what Joseph said, she wondered why they were bothering collecting evidence on Clifford, anyway, of all people.

  “Are you finding anything interesting?” Claire asked the forensic guy.

  The doorknob was sufficiently powdered, and he’d just finished with applying the fingerprint lifting tape.

  “No,” he answered with distraction. Then he looked up a second through his heavy, black-framed glasses and softened. “Everything appears to be normal in every way.”

  “You mean, Clifford didn’t scratch, chew or tear his way out of this door?”

  “Not at all.”

  She dared to ask one more question, “Is there evidence of any exit elsewhere in that closet other than the door here?”

  “Nothing,” he replied. “What department are you with?”

  “I’m Claire Kane, Private Inquisitor. Where was Dean found dead?”

  “Out in the woods, at Rottenwood Road’s old loggers’ mill.”

  “We were just there this…” Claire hesitated, surprised. “Did it look like murder to you?”

  The man started packing away tools into a small duffle bag, a Sheriff Department logo on it. “I’ve been called to check fingerprints here. Other officers are investigating that scene, so I can’t speak for them.”

  “Thanks for your help, anyway,” Zoey cut in, pulling her daughter into the lobby for privacy.

  “What, Mom?” Claire asked with a little embarrassment, adjusting the now twisted sleeve of her rose-colored top.

  Zoey’s eyes were big and bright, her long thick lashes blinking with excitement. “Let’s hurry and see what’s going on out there.”

  “Where? Oh, out at the mill?” Claire rubbed the back of her slender neck, then smoothed her dark ponytail in thought. “I don’t want to get that much in the middle of police procedure. Let’s let them deal with it.”

  “If there’s yellow tape, I’ll be a good girl and stay behind it. Come on.” Zoey headed for the lobby’s revolving door entry.

  Claire reluctantly smiled inside, knowing there was never a dull moment with her mother around. “You’re a bad influence on me, you know that?” she said more to herself as she hurried to catch up, smiling.

  *

  The ladies parked their Lexus a respectful distance from the scene, and quickly hiked to the camp. It was now late afternoon. The sun had lowered, allowing for a cool breeze to pass through the trees. Several officers were working. Surprisingly, Stewart—whom they were to call Stewart—was there. Since there wasn’t any yellow Crime Scene tape yet, the Kanes approached the young man being questioned by a couple of officers.

  “As I said,” Stewart repeated. “I found his body behind that old stump over there.” He pointed. His hat was off, revealing a bit of a prematurely receding hairline. “Before that, I didn’t see or hear anything. I’m just the messenger.”

  “And what time was it, again, that you arrived?”

  “I arrived actually at the same time these ladies here did.” He seemed relieved by their sudden presence. “What time would you say that was? I was thinking around eleven-thirty?”

  Claire, as punctual as they come, was always aware of the time. “Jack picked us up at ten o’clock. I would say, following the brief tour of his place and his horses, it was approximately eleven-thirty.”

  The officers, apparently having just had a long and repetitive interrogation with Stewart, were now fully interested in the Kanes. “You were here, too?” one asked.

  “Yes,” Zoey said, “and I guess we left and missed all the excitement… Not that we’d want to see such a thing. Do you have any idea what Mr. Martin was doing way out here?”

  “Not yet, ma’am,” the officer responded.

  A hand clapped on Zoey’s shoulder from behind, startling her. She turned to see Jack smiling, even at a time like this. “Hello, ladies!” he said, his plaid shirt showing underarm sweat stains. “I saw police cars driving over here.”

  “Hello,” the ladies replied. Zoey slyly stepped aside so she didn’t have to be a victim of a bad case of B.O.

  Jack turned his attention to the men. “Officers, these two ladies are guests up at Moonshadow Inn. I had breakfast with them this morning. They’re the best of the best to hang with. Listen to them. Heck, let them help you, even. This is Zoey Kane and her daughter, Claire Kane, notable sleuths.”

  Zoey didn’t remember telling him that bit of info. Even so, she wiped some strawberry blond hair off her forehead and gave a modest smile.

  “Really?” One of the officers raised his brows at them. “How many murders have you solved?”

  Zoey spread her fingers, counting. “Let’s see: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight…” She paused in thought.

  Claire cut in, “Let’s just say a lot. I’ve lost count, myself.” She smiled.

  Jack excused himself and went to talk to the state police.

  “I’m Chief Goldman of Lanternwood County.” The larger man with a goatee reached out and shook the Kanes' hands. “We can use detectives like you on the case. We work with the troopers when it comes to murders. But why don’t you come take a look at the body? Let’s see what you think.”

  Claire didn’t expect that. She put her hands on her hips, standing taller. “Sure!”

  Often underestimated, Zoey was also pleased with his unquestioning confidence in them. She knew police don’t like citizen interference. She gave a nonchalant, “That would be fine. However, I usually discover whodunit, not so much the science of how. So it’ll be good to hear what your forensics guys come up with.”

  As they stepped toward a bloody body, the chief assured, “I will, indeed, from the state police department’s troopers I’ve called in.” He pointed at one of them.

  What was discovered was hard to look at—a chewed out throat. A couple of flies were already buzzing around.

  Claire squatted closer, eyeing Mr. Martin’s hand. Something fuzzy was under a couple fingernails. “What is that there under his fingers?”

  The trooper said, “We retrieved some samples for testing, but it looks like dog hair.”

  “You will let us know what forensics says about that, Chief?” Zoey asked.

  “You got it, Ms. Kane.” He tipped his hat. “Glad to.”

  Claire stood back up and asked, “Does anybody know why Mr. Martin was out and around this side of ‘town’?”

  “We were told his dog had gone missing. He was looking for it.”

  Jack, with his hands in his pockets, interjected with excitement, “You know, one of the Eggers’ goats was brutally killed, eaten by what was certainly a wolf. Looks like the same thing here. Don’t know what’s gotten into the wolves, to have attacked a human. Since I’ve lived here, I’ve never seen any wolf packs this close. They’re more to the other side of the mountain. Maybe full moons are having a real effect on them.”

  “Or maybe,” Zoey told her daughter on the way back to the inn, “it’s not a wolf at fault, but one of the werewolf wannabes…”

  “You think?” Claire asked, an image of Mr. Martin’s bloody fingernails flashing into her mind. “Why would there be wolf fur at the crime scene?”

  Her mother shrugged. “I can’t explain that. Just call it a hunch. I’m sure the cult had something against Mr. Martin. His hotel is the reason for all the annoying tourists entering their private dwelling. Think that over…”

  Claire shook her head. “I say it’s an animal attack unless something else suddenly points otherwise.”

  “Okay, dear.” Zoey smiled as they pulled up to their massively beautiful retreat. Guests were pouring out the front doors, a few with fishing poles, some in hiking gear, and others in swimwear. Despite all the ruckus surrounding Mr. Martin’s death, it appeared to be business as usual. She parked in the side lot rather than bothering the valet. A couple of cyclists whizzed by wit
h their small water backpacks, one ringing their bell.

  The Kanes exited their car and walked the paved lot side by side. They paused to take in their surroundings. Things had been so busy since their arrival the previous night, they'd barely had a moment to explore. Behind the grand hotel glittered a calm river where kids could be heard splashing and yelling in excitement. To the left, in the distance, was a rolling stretch of green, golf carts zooming and tiny flags snapping in the light wind. Claire spotted the older gentleman who’d chased Clifford the night before in Bermuda shorts.

  “I wonder…” Zoey said, “how many of these people here do what we did this morning.”

  “What?” Claire asked, opening her door. “Tease the lupines?”

  “Yes.” Zoey’s eyes went to slits in thought, bright sunshine illuminating the peek of brown.

  A family with several kids approached a nearby van. One in a baseball cap, maybe eight years old, whined, “I wanna see a werewolf, Daaaad. Pleeeease.”

  Interested in what the dad would say, Claire nudged her mom to listen, too.

  The dad said, strapping a toddler in his car seat, “Maybe after lunch. Hurry and get inside.”

  “Yes!” The boy jumped, taking the maybe as a yes. “Can we throw some eggs at them, too?”

  Claire looked at her mom. “I guess that answers your question.”

  Zoey draped an arm around her daughter’s shoulders, standing side-to-side with her. “Don’t underestimate Scooby.”

  SIX

  Upon the ladies entering the hotel, the only other sound than the guests’ chatter was the front desk’s phone ringing and ringing. Joseph slid on over to it, in his usual red uniform, his shiny shoes squeaking to a stop. That was a relief to Claire, because the business side of her had the urge to answer it herself. To her surprise, Joseph called “Miss Kane!” looking in her direction. “It’s for you!”

  Zoey gave her daughter a “Heck if I know” look, and hurried with her over to the phone.

  “Hello?” Claire answered.

  “Hi, Claire?”

  “Yes?”

  “This is Stewart. I thought you and your mom might like to know that tonight ‘the village of the damned’ is holding a meeting at their church at 8:30. I can’t be there myself. I’m going to be checking out the spot where the body of Mr. Martin was found with my paranormal-sensing equipment.”