The Howliday Inn

by Zoey Kane

  “Mother,” Claire scolded, casting glances around. “I thought our mission was to be as discreet as possible.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t see that coming.” She shook her head in worry. “Do you think the saloon heard that?”

  “I’ll let you know… Be right back.” Claire took off running, pulling her scarf off her head. She slid into Kilgory’s with a big smile. “Hello,” she said to some patrons looking her way. She sidled up to the bar, observing the people there. No one seemed to have noticed anything. They were chattering away with the bartender, someone other than Susie. The entertainment worked on setting up their instruments, and there was a hum of conversation around the dance floor. Seeing a platter of snacks on the counter, Claire stabbed two green olives with a toothpick and was about to turn to leave.

  “Anything we can get for you?” asked the bartender.

  She lifted her two green olives on the toothpick. “No. That’s all I wanted,” and then she left.

  The bartender chuckled and said, “Return in an hour. We’ll have maraschino cherries.”

  “For sure!” Claire smiled around the olive-kabob. Off she went out the door.

  “We weren’t heard,” she reported as she threw the toothpick to the ground.

  “Think we can squeeze through there?” Zoey asked, pointing to a narrow opening between the two-by-fours.

  “Yeah,” Claire said. “Simple.” To show her mother, she went first. She maneuvered a long and slender leg between the slats, then bent over to follow her body through. The only thing that touched the barrier was her sleek dark hair. She stood up once inside and said, “See?”

  “You do realize you’re twenty-five,” Zoey said to her from the alleyway, “at the peak of flexibility and strength, yes?”

  “You look great, Mom.” Claire rubbed her hands together in anticipation. “You can do this.”

  Zoey took in a hesitant deep breath. She lifted a leg and pushed it through the opening. It was a little tight, but a success. She bent over and readied herself to push her body through next, just as her daughter had shown. Sucking in her stomach, she gave it a go. Then she got utterly stuck. She released her stomach and nearly shed a tear. “I also forgot how slim you are,” Zoey eeped. She reached a hand for some help, wiggling her fingers. “Pull me?” she begged. A cramp was forming in her thigh. Haunting memories of their recent cruise, namely, being stuck in a child’s life vest, flashed through her mind.

  Claire grabbed her mother’s hand and yanked. No luck. “It’s okay, Mom. Just a sec.” Putting a boot up against the wall for leverage, she pulled again, grunting.

  Zoey felt her shoulder budge about a centimeter. “I knew I shouldn’t have had that a la mode.”

  “C’mon, Mom. We can do this. Try.”

  “Try?” Zoey asked. “How would you like me to do that, being in the position that I’m in.”

  “Suck in. Squeeze those cheeks!”

  Zoey huffed. “I’m squeezing everything but my earlobes.”

  Now it was Claire’s turn to huff. “Well, it’s not working.” She released her mom’s hand.

  “Okay, okay. Instead of pulling, try pushing me back out,” Zoey thought. “Then I can pry a couple of those boards loose, and won’t get into such a predicament—”

  A hard push blasted into Zoey, taking her by complete surprise. She fell to the ground with boards tumbling down with her. On her back in the alley, she scooted a two-by-four off her stomach and breathed, “Claire, that was way too hard. You’re grounded for a month.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Claire said, hovering over her with a shocked expression. “I really don’t think I pushed that hard. Those old boards must have just suddenly decided to give way.”

  “Just help me up. Can you do that, dear daughter?”

  Claire did and they gave each other a big hug.

  Actually happy that the doorway was completely clear now, the Kanes hefted the gigantic duffle bag into the empty, dusty store. Claire sneezed. “I hate dust… and cobwebs!”

  Zoey quickly unzipped the bag and pulled out the metal detector wand. “If we’re right, daughter, we are in for a big surprise.” She switched it on. It came to life with a long beep. Self-conscious, they cast looks at the dark doorway and windows. No one in sight.

  Claire dug through the bag and pulled out a headlamp. She strapped it around her mother’s forehead, adjusting it snuggly. “After getting trapped in the doorway, even my forehead is feeling claustrophobic.”

  “Do you want me to use it instead?” Claire asked, ready to take it off.

  “Actually, I think it’d be wise if neither of us used a flashlight… just yet anyway. The moon is bright, doing a sufficient enough job of lighting our way.”

  Claire snapped the headpiece off.

  “Owuuuh.” Zoey slapped a hand to her head. “I think my right eyebrow might be missing.”

  “Sorry again, Mom,” Claire said, giggling, and she kissed the top of Zoey’s head.

  The Kanes got busy walking along the wall together, Zoey using the metal detector wand the whole way. They soon discovered a section of wall that protruded four feet into the decrepit store. It also seemed to be the same spot where the mural would be on the other side, in the saloon.

  The wand didn’t beep. Their hearts were sinking. Zoey shook the wand and its series of red lights flickered back to life. All of a sudden the detector beeped wildly loud. Zoey jumped in surprise and turned it off.

  Claire hurried out of there to check things out at the saloon. She slid inside, and taking on a nonchalant demeanor, she approached the bar. Stabbing a couple cherries with a toothpick, she observed the scene. Once again, everyone seemed undisturbed. The only thing at all different was the attendance of the guy in the aluminum cone hat, sitting at a booth against the wall.

  The bartender said, “Hi, Claire” wiping the bar with a rag. An eyebrow raised at Claire’s obsession with the garnish bowls.

  “Hi again,” she said. “Just waiting for my mom. We’ll eat later. Got to go.”

  “No problem.” He grinned and continued wiping the bar.

  Claire returned to her mother, excitement in her eyes. “Nobody seemed to notice anything, yet.” She threw down her toothpick.

  “You know,” her mom said, sounding deflated, “the metal detector could have gone off because of metal plumbing pipes.”

  “Mother,” Claire said, cocking her head. “This isn’t like you. You’re eternally optimistic. Maybe it is just plumbing. But maybe it isn’t. Maybe they’re silver coins. A whole lot of them.”

  “I’m just wanting to be realistic,” Zoey said.

  Claire didn’t like seeing this side of her mom. She had enough logic and reason for the both of them. “We aren’t going to know unless we open up that wall where the detector went off. The hammer and crowbar should work best. Our only trouble is, that will cause a lot of noise.”

  “True,” Zoey said. “I haven’t thought things through this far.”

  “How ’bout you go over to Kilgory’s this time, Mom. Get the music started. Take whatever time you’ll need. I’ll be fine.”

  “Okay. I’ll do it,” she said. “After things get going, I’ll be right back.”

  As Zoey entered the saloon, she said “Hi” to everyone with a smile.

  “Your daughter was looking for you, Zoey,” the bartender announced as he was making an orange-cream soda.

  “Okay, thanks.” The pretty mom danced over to the musicians. “Are we going to have any of your talent for dancing tonight?”

  “Strike ‘er up, Merv,” the singer said. “This lady wants to dance.”

  They started playing, showing off. The drummer’s sticks rolled along his drum set with great skill, finally crashing the cymbal.

  “Wow,” Zoey said. “I see you have a good drummer.”

  “Yes,” said the singer. “We actually have Gene, the world’s best drummer.” Gene looked like a regular guy in jeans and a white T-shirt.

  “Oh, ye
s? Is he as good as Gene Krupa? Can he make those drums sing, sing, sing?” Zoey was talking to Merv but smiling at the drummer.

  “It just so happens I can,” Gene replied.

  “I got the saxophone,” Merv said.

  The drum solo started, and people began forming a crowd. Zoey clapped her hands. It was great. Then when it was over, people cheered with exuberance, throwing out a couple of howls.

  The music picked up, and the fast dancing began. The dollar tips were going into the jar next to the guitarist.

  When Zoey returned to the abandoned store, Claire had already taken out a big hole in the wall and was sitting on a crate, the hammer and crowbar on the ground at her feet.

  “What should we use now?” Zoey asked. “The saw?”

  “No need.” Claire spoke quietly, shaking her head

  “It was a waste of time, huh?” Zoey stepped closer.

  “Well, I did find something interesting over here, but it’s not silver.” Claire picked up a flashlight and stuck it into the four-foot protruded area of the wall that she’d opened up with her tools. It lit up a few wooden kegs. “The metal detector must’ve picked up their metal spouts,” she said.

  The words Silverhouse Malt were stamped across them.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  “Malt,” Claire said in a lightbulb moment. She blinked, turning to her mother. “Just like the words etched in the cabin.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t see lives Shoub,” Zoey said, as if immediately tossing the thought aside.

  “Silverhouse,” Claire said. “That’s what the word was. Silverhouse. The R must’ve been mistaken for a B. And the extra E maybe faded or molded over in time. This is what the etching was referring to. Silverhouse Malt.”

  “That is interesting.” Zoey’s eyes sparkled with sudden interest in the dark. “Quick, turn the spout on one of those.”

  Claire stuck an arm through the splintery shards of broken wood. It was hard, but with a little extra strength, the spout budged. Out poured some dark thick liquid that smelled terribly rancid. She closed it back up again. “Oh, gross.”

  “I don’t think we’ve hit a dead end,” Zoey said, emphatic. “There’re several kegs holed up in there. Five of them might be those ‘barrels’ we’re looking for. We need to try more.”

  Hearing music reverberating through the wall from the saloon, the ladies worked hard at breaking through and prying off more wood from the secret compartment. In a matter of minutes, a small pile of dusty debris had gathered beside them.

  The sound of a nearby howl made the Kanes freeze in fear. In the light of the moon cast through the windows, they peered across to the open door, feeling vulnerable. Someone or some thing could enter at any moment. On high alert, the sound of their own heartbeat was unnerving. A series of sounds from the alleyway could have been anything, really. Was that wind rustling some trash? Or a footstep? Did someone’s leather boot creak, or was it a stacked cardboard box teetering? Every little thing was suspect. Hiding came to mind, but where? It was an empty store. The debris couldn’t cover them. Escaping wasn’t an option. The windows were old, thick, paned, with no way of sliding them open.

  Claire’s breath shook. She whispered, “What should we do?”

  Zoey’s eyes stayed fixed on the shadowy doorway. “Pick your weapon.” Her own hand slid over to the hammer.

  Claire’s eyes searched, and instead of the saw she chose the cold crowbar. She picked it up, her hand shaking. She whispered, “Maybe it’s just a friendly face from the community.”

  “You mean like that first day on the boardwalk?” Zoey remembered. “They only became friendly with us outsiders because we got close to Lowe, on the promise that we’d help them. Does this look like we’re helping them?”

  “You’re right,” Claire said, sure that whoever would stumble upon their secret dealings in the dark would see them as an enemy. They had been tearing up their property… looking for money. “But we weren’t going to keep the money for ourselves.”

  “They won’t believe that.”

  There was a sudden skittering in the alleyway that couldn’t be explained away. Someone was definitely coming. They’d stumble upon the ATV and, subsequently, the doorless entry. Gripping their weapons, they slowly stood together.

  In scampered Ranger with a small howl. The ladies sighed in relief. His tail wagged, and he hurried over to the Kanes, who embraced him. “Good boy,” Zoey said softly. “But what are you doing out here? You’re supposed to be in the hotel.”

  “I feel better with him here,” Claire said. “We can use his sharp teeth in a moment of danger.” She kissed his muzzle.

  At the sound of someone accidentally scuffling over fallen boxes, the ladies again resumed their attention on the doorway. The shadow of a man appeared, stretched along the alley’s wall facing them.

  Clifford entered.

  “Clifford?” the ladies said. Out of all the people it could have been, his presence was not threatening. They again sighed in relief.

  “I be… I be hurt,” he uttered as he staggered over. His skinny old body was dressed in nothing but his boxer shorts, like the first night they’d met him, and he slowly reached for the floor before taking a seat in the dust near them. The moonlight illuminated some bruising on his face.

  “Oh, Clifford. You poor dear,” Zoey said. Suddenly, the excitement over possible treasure and the threat of eminent danger didn’t matter. “We need to get you home. Now. I can get you some ice from the saloon and we can hurry back on the ATV.”

  Instead of answering, he looked in Zoey’s brown eyes with his green ones, sorrowful. “I be sorry,” he said.

  “Sorry?” Zoey asked.

  His lips trembled. “I be…”

  Interrupting them, in stepped a man they recognized immediately.

  “Jaaack, what are you doing here?” Zoey asked.

  Ranger barked at him, saliva dripping from his teeth.

  “That money is mine,” Jack said calmly. “And don’t suddenly take pity on Clifford here. He attacked me. I merely defended myself. I should tie them both up. Ranger, like him, has unfortunately reverted to the wild.”

  The Kanes looked back at Clifford. He shook his head no.

  “How did you know we were here?” Claire asked, still holding her crowbar tight.

  “I followed the dogs here,” he spoke of Clifford and Ranger. “I told them to tell me where you were, and they obliged.”

  “But we didn’t tell them where we were going.”

  Clifford pointed to his nose. Zoey said, “They could sniff us out.”

  “Well, what do you want?” Claire said, clenching her crowbar. “Here we are.”

  “I wanted to get you all together for a meeting,” he said. Pale moonlight cast across his sweaty face, his gray-blue eyes dark like storm clouds. “First, I have a confession to make, and I’m sure you ladies already know, since that paperwork you dropped off revealed my identity. So I’m here to clear the air, for one. I’m a Tilford. Grandson to Blaine Tilford himself. That’s right.”

  The ladies stayed quiet, letting him continue.

  “You see,” he said, “legend has it around here that he was the first werewolf in Rottenwood, but he wasn’t. There’s no such thing as werewolves.” He said that with a glare at Clifford. Although Claire agreed with him, she felt compassion for the old lupine, hating that Jack rubbed that in. “But Grandpa Tilford was a bit of a rebel. With the help of a friend, he held up a bank and made out with more than he knew what to do with. On his way up this mountain, he took a detour at Stiles Logging camp. What was meant to be a pit stop became more than that to him.

  “You see, he’d not only been a bank robber, but a bootlegger, too. Grandpa Tilford set up shop somewhere in this discreet community to be under the radar. He needed the cops, the media and the bank to forget about him. He told my dad, who told me—just three years ago—of his secrets.

  “Oly thinks his uncle beat Grandpa Tilford in a fight and that’s why he
took off.” He lightly chuckled. “Wrong. Nobody could beat Grandpa in a fight. Grandpa left to reconcile with his estranged wife and be a father again to my dad. He found them, but unfortunately never had the chance to return to Rottenwood. He was shot to death during a fight.” Jack’s voice drooped in reverence. “Anyway,” he brightened back up a bit, “I was hoping to edge myself into this community here and find the silver myself, since I’m the rightful heir.”

  “Rightful heir?” Claire repeated, narrowing her dark brown eyes at him. “Of stolen money?”

  “It’s mine, all right?” he said with a flaring temper. He wiped his glistening forehead with a flannel sleeve. “Anyway, I couldn’t ever find the coins. I must’ve done more than a hundred handyman jobs ‘round here, and in all my snooping around and breaking—and then fixing—things, I couldn’t find anything. I started to lose hope, until I came upon one silver dollar by the mill. It was flashing up at me from the bottom of a hollowed-out stump. As luck would have it, this happened the same morning I spotted that clue etched inside of the cabin. Those letters. I knew it was a message from Grandpa. I just didn’t know what.”

  The ladies relaxed their weapons, listening. Zoey smiled. “And you wanted us to solve it and tell you.”

  “Yes.” He walked in a wide circle around them, on the side opposite of Clifford and Ranger. He lightly kicked at a piece broken board. “Looks like you did. It’s in there?” He pointed at the broken-open secret compartment.

  “We haven’t found anything yet,” Claire said, telling the truth. “It’s just some old stinky beer.”

  Jack sat on his haunches and peered in. “Stonehouse Malt,” he read. “Nice work, ladies. You two really are great detectives, you know that?”

  “How’d you know we’d be looking for it tonight?” Zoey asked, perplexed.

  “I didn’t.” Still on his haunches, he turned to face them. “Like I said, I only wanted a meeting with you, and the inn said you’d been out for the evening. You see, with all those questions you had for me this morning, I got to thinking… they think I’m guilty of the murders.”