by Tim Myers
Alex said heavily, “I guess you’ll be leaving us now.”
“Why do you say that?”
He stammered, “I just assumed, you know, with Peter coming here and all...”
Elise said softly, “I’m staying, Alex.”
“What about Peter?”
“What about him?” Elise asked pointedly. “I’ve decided to stay, unless you don’t want me here.”
“No, that’s not it at all. You can work at Hatteras West as long as you want.”
He couldn’t believe it!
Was there a chance Elise was staying at Hatteras West to be close to him? He fought the urge to tell her he’d broken up with Sandra. On the heels of her decision to stay, it might look as if he was pressing her.
No, Alex would bide his time and wait for the right moment to come along.
Though its beacon was dark, the light of a full moon gave the lighthouse lens a soft, gentle glow above them. As a fleeting cloud passed over the moon, the lighthouse seemed to wink at him, offering its approval.
And now a peek at Reservations for Murder, book 2 in the Lighthouse Inn mysteries by Tim Myers.
Reservations for Murder
By Tim Myers
Chapter 1
“Alex, we need to talk.”
Alex Winston looked up from the pile of bills he’d been wading through to find The Hatteras West Inn’s housekeeper, Elise Danton, standing by his desk. He’d seen that determined look in her eyes before. “Can it wait, Elise? I really need to go through these bills this morning.” Though they’d uncovered a handful of gems a few months earlier on the property, there hadn’t been enough from the sale to do everything Alex wanted to with Hatteras West. Emma Sturbridge, his resident gem expert, hadn’t yet been able to locate the vein where they’d originated, and Alex was beginning to wonder if she ever would.
Most of the money from the sale of the emeralds had gone into the reconstruction of the Main Keeper’s Quarters, a building that had burned to the ground earlier. Alex’s inn was a near replica of the Cape Hatteras Lighthouse and its outer buildings, with one major exception. Instead of being close to the ocean, his lighthouse was deep in the foothills of the North Carolina mountains.
And Alex was determined to return the place to all its former glory.
“Alex,” Elise said, “you know you can do those later. I’ve already taken care of the urgent ones. We’ve got an inn full of people, and the fair starts in two hours.” She frowned slightly. “That’s what I need to talk to you about.”
Alex said firmly, “Elise, I know you’re not happy, but I’m not going back on my word. I made a promise to Shantara Robinson that she could tie her Golden Days Fair in with the Lighthouse Lighting, and I won’t disappoint her. I’m sorry.” The Lighthouse Lighting was the annual county-approved testing of the tower’s beacon. People gathered from seven counties to see it, and it had always been one of the high points of Alex’s tenure as the innkeeper at The Hatteras West Inn.
“Alex, we agreed that in order to stay in business, we need to start attracting a wealthier clientele. The fair defeats that entirely.”
“But Shantara was desperate when Lucius Crane reneged on his offer to use his farm for the fair. There was no place else she could hold it on such short notice.”
Elise paced around the room. “I know how much friendship means to you, Alex, but you’ve got to think of your inn first. I shouldn’t have to remind you how close you came to losing Hatteras West before.”
Alex shook his head. “Believe me, I know that better than anyone. Don’t worry. The fair will tie in perfectly with our lighting ceremony. I wouldn’t be surprised if we attract more guests because of it.” He added softly, “Elise, everything’s going to be fine.”
At that moment, there was a scream just outside Alex’s office.
Alex and Elise bolted out the front door together to find Marilynn Baxter, one of the exhibiting potters, pale and quivering on the front porch.
“What’s wrong?” Alex asked, searching for some reason, any reason for the woman to have screamed so fiercely.
“I saw a snake,” she said shakily, her finger pointing to the small copse of trees that stood between the inn and Bear Rocks, a granite formation close to the inn that sported the oddest shapes and forms in twelve counties.
“It’s all right now,” Elise said, scanning the ground near them. “Whatever it was is long gone.”
Craig Monroe, the other half of the husband-and-wife pottery team participating in the fair, came rushing up to them. “What happened, Marilynn? I heard you scream! Are you all right?”
Suddenly conscious of all of the attention, Marilynn said curtly, “I saw a snake, Craig, a big one.”
“It was probably just a garter snake,” Alex said, trying to ease some of the tension.
“It doesn’t matter what kind it was,” Marilynn snapped. “I hate all snakes! They are absolutely vile creatures!”
Craig put an arm around his wife. “You’re okay now. Let’s go finish setting up, Marilynn. There aren’t any snakes around our exhibit.”
“There’d better not be,” Marilynn hissed as her husband led her back to the temporary fairground. Craig Monroe offered a silent shrug of apology to Alex as they walked away.
As Alex and Elise started back inside, she paused and said good-naturedly, “If I can’t get you to change your mind about this fair, we should at least see what we’ve let ourselves in for. Are you interested in walking around the displays before Shantara opens the gates? Things were so crazy last night, I didn’t even have a chance to see them setting up their booths.”
Though Alex knew Elise wasn’t thrilled about having the Golden Days Fair at Hatteras West, he realized that she would never let anyone else know how she truly felt. The offer of a tour was her concession to making the best of what she considered a bad situation.
“Sounds good to me,” Alex agreed as they reversed directions.
The two of them gave the pottery area a wide berth as they started their tour.
Bill Yadkin, one of the two blacksmiths working the fair, already had a hearty fire going in his portable forge. The big, fierce-looking young man stared intently at the coals as they burned. Rachel Seabock, a traditional woodworker who used only the hand tools she’d inherited from her great-grandfather, hovered near the young blacksmith. Though Rachel was a decade older than Bill, it was obvious from the look in her eyes that there was more than just friendship between the blacksmith and the woodworker.
Alex thought about skipping past them, but Elise forged on before he could steer her to another exhibit. She said, “That fire feels good this morning,” as she warmed her hands near the coals.
Yadkin smiled. “We’ll see how you feel around noon when the day starts to heat up.”
“No thanks,” Elise said. “What’s in the fire?” she asked, pointing to the center of the forge. Alex looked into the burning coals and saw a foot-long tapered shaft of metal glowing a dull orange.
“I’m making another stake for Rachel’s canopy. Somebody walked off with the last one.”
Rachel said proudly, “Bill’s building up quite a clientele. His business is really taking off.”
“You don’t have to sell me every minute of the day, Rachel,” Yadkin said shortly.
“I wasn’t... I didn’t mean . . .” Rachel said, looking flustered. After a deep breath, she continued. “I’d better take Jenny that rocking chair she ordered before the fair gets into gear today,” Rachel said. “I swear, I never thought a weaver would be one of my best customers,” she added with a shrug before hurrying off.
After she was gone, Alex said, “Rachel’s a big fan of yours, isn’t she?”
Yadkin shrugged. “Yeah, too much, sometimes,” he grumbled as he moved the glowing shaft around with a long set of tongs.
As Yadkin started to pull the steel from the fire, he warned, “You’d better move.”
Alex and Elise took a few steps back as the young black
smith pulled the glowing rod from the fire. In a practiced motion, he began pounding the steel with a scarred and worn hammer on the broad, flat top of his anvil. The anvil seemed to sing with each strike, and in moments the shaft’s tip was tapered to a point. Yadkin studied it a moment, then plunged the steel back into the fire for another heat.
“That’s fascinating,” Elise said after he was done. “It’s like alchemy.”
“I guess,” Yadkin said with a shrug.
Alex asked, “How did you learn to do that?”
“My dad had his own forge when I was growing up. It was a hobby for him, but it’s the only thing I know how to do.” The young blacksmith was a great deal more eloquent with his hands than with his words.
Alex looked at some of the pieces on the display table in front of the blacksmith’s booth. “That’s an interesting swoop,” he said as he fingered a delicate curlicue on the end of a fireplace shovel.
“It’s my trademark,” Bill said heatedly, “no matter what Jefferson Lee says. I hear he’s been making pieces using it just to spite me!”
“You don’t get along with the other blacksmith?” Alex asked gently.
“He’s not a blacksmith,” Yadkin said with a snort of derision. “He’s a showboat and a bully, but he’s not a blacksmith. Not in my book, anyway.”
Yadkin’s tongs dove back into the fire as he pulled the tapered shaft out again. He laid the metal across a wedge protruding from the top of his anvil, and with a quick strike, he separated the spike from the body of the iron. Another flurry of strikes, and the butt end was bent at a ninety-degree angle. After a rapid dunk in the bucket of water beside his forge, the spike was done. It was beautiful, even with its simple form and function.
“I’ve got to get this to Rachel,” he said, dismissing them in an instant.
As Alex and Elise moved on, she whispered, “He’s an interesting fellow, isn’t he?”
“Rachel seems to think so,” Alex answered. “You know, I never would have put those two together.”
“Love has a mind of its own sometimes,” she said as they approached the next exhibition spot.
Jenny Harris, an attractive blonde in her early thirties, was working at her loom, weaving an intricate pattern of yarns into what looked like a shawl. As she worked, a clamor of bracelets and necklaces tinkled like wind chimes. Jenny obviously made all of her own clothes, using material laced with splashes of colors and designs unique to her work. Alex noticed that
Jenny’s feet worked the pedals of the loom in a constantly shifting yet graceful dance as she shot a threaded block back and forth across the top. She stopped the second she saw them approach.
“Hi Alex, it’s so good to see you again,” Jenny said as she abandoned the loom for a moment and stood.
Alex explained, “Things have been crazy at the inn lately.” Elise coughed gently beside him.
He added, “Jenny, this is Elise Danton. Elise, I’d like you to meet Jenny Harris. She’s an old friend.”
Jenny laughed. “I was a great deal more than that not so long ago.” Jenny gave Elise her brightest smile as she said, “Pleased to meet you.”
Elise said, “I’ve got to admit, I’ve always been fascinated by weaving. Could you give me a quick lesson?”
Jenny said, “Absolutely, I’d be delighted.”
As Jenny sat back down on her portable bench at the loom, she pointed to different parts of the setup as she explained, “This is the reed. These are harnesses and heddles. See the threads of yarn going through?” She held up the wooden spool. “This is called a shuttle. It rides back and forth like so. The foot pedals control the raising and lowering of the warp, that’s these long strands of yarn here, and the shuttle bobbin carries yarn across for the weft.” As she slid the shuttle back and forth in easy, practiced motions, the shafts rose and fell in a graceful dance at the touch of her foot pressure. As Jenny pulled the main frame back to her, she said, “The beater comes back to snug things up, and you’re ready for another row.”
Elise nodded. “Wow, it seems really complicated.”
Jenny smiled and said, “It’s not as hard as it looks. It’s like most things; you get the hang of it after you do it long enough.”
Elise jogged Alex’s elbow as she said, “Thank you for the lesson. It was nice meeting you, Jenny.”
“Thanks for stopping by. Don’t let Alex work you too hard. I’ve heard he can be hard on his maids.”
Elise was more than just the maid at The Hatteras West Inn; she was actually better qualified to run the inn than Alex was, but she just smiled and nodded in response.
Alex said, “She’s the one keeping me busy,” and he turned to go.
“Don’t be a stranger, Alex,” Jenny said as he and Elise walked away.
Alex was glad to see Jenny in such a chipper mood. They’d only gone out a handful of times before their relationship lost its steam. Sandra Beckett, an attorney in town, had been his main on-again-off-again girlfriend for much of the past couple of years, but he’d ended their relationship soon after Elise came to Hatteras West. It had startled him to discover that Sandra was much nicer as a friend than she’d ever been as a girlfriend. Unfortunately, the one woman Alex was interested in dating was his “maid”—and she was engaged to someone else.
Shantara Robinson hurried up to them and grabbed Alex’s arm. “Alex, have you seen Jefferson Lee? He should be getting ready for the fair, but I can’t find him anywhere.”
As Elise moved back toward the inn, she said, “If you two will excuse me, I’ve got rooms to clean.” She added softly, “Good luck, Shantara.”
“Thanks,” she said as Elise departed. When the maid was gone, Shantara said, “Alex, I like that woman.”
“It’s been a godsend having her at Hatteras West,” Alex agreed.
Shantara looked over at the empty blacksmith’s space and said plaintively, “Where could Jefferson be, Alex? It’s just like him to disappear right before we open the gates.”
“Take it easy, Shantara, we’ll find him. At least you’ve got one blacksmith here and working.”
Shantara frowned. “As much as I like Bill Yadkin, Jefferson Lee’s the real draw. I can’t run my fair without him.”
Alex said, “Don’t worry, he’ll turn up. Are you managing to enjoy any of this? You did a great job putting the fair together.”
Shantara smiled. “I’ll enjoy it more after it’s over. Right now, all I want to do is survive the experience. Alex, I really appreciate you letting me move everything out here at the last minute.”
“Hey, what are friends for? Now, let’s go find your wayward blacksmith,” Alex said. “I’m sure he’s around here somewhere.”
As they started their search, there was another scream a thousand yards away.
It was getting to be a trend Alex could learn to live without.
