by T B Audrey
“Right,” I said, tapping my finger on my chin. “A good description is what we need. I’m surprised he doesn’t go on and on about her beauty. He seems the type.”
“Maybe these aren’t all the letters,” Dave said mischievously.
I smiled back at him. I couldn’t believe he had stayed away from his work for so long. He hadn’t mentioned it once in the last hour.
“Maybe not,” I replied. “Let’s make a list. That’s what they always do in mystery novels. A list of suspects.”
Dave grabbed a pen from the desk and tossed it to me. He opened and closed several drawers before finding a blank pad of paper, which he pitched over to me as well. When he plopped down in the desk chair, my heart sunk.
“Don’t worry,” He said, grinning. “I’m not giving up on you now.”
He leaned back in the chair and propped his feet up on the desk. “List away.”
“Okay,” I said happily. “Well, we don’t know how old the papers are, so we have to assume that it’s someone who still lives in the house. There is no way we can play the game otherwise. Joanne?”
I looked to him for approval. He nodded thoughtfully. “Could’ve been.”
“Bianca,” I said aloud, writing her name down next.
Dave made a face. “I can’t imagine writing her love letters.”
“Well, they’re not from you,” I said. “I’m sure someone loves the woman.”
He nodded reluctantly. “I suppose so. Next?”
“Cicily,” I said, inking her name in below Bianca’s.
“Aha! Now there’s someone I could-"
I held up my hand. “Stop right there.”
He laughed. “That’s three. What other women live here?”
“There must be a maid or someone who cleans the rooms?”
“The ‘maid’ could be man,” Dave said. “Don’t be sexist.”
I sighed. “True. We will have to find out. We don’t know anything about the kitchen staff either. Or the staff in the stables.”
“I’m sure the horses had nothing to do with it.”
I groaned. “Really, Dave?”
“And with that,” he said, lowering his feet with bang. “It’s back to work.”
We went down to dinner at 7:30 p.m., walking hand-in-hand down the stairs. Dave stopped and sniffed the air halfway down. “Is that… lasagna?”
It was my turn to roll my eyes. Dave’s love of lasagna rivaled that of Garfield’s. He practically drug me down the rest of stairs to get to his beloved pasta dish, but Bianca intercepted us before we could reach the dining room, her expression vacant. “Everything okay with your room, Mr. and Mrs. Walker?”
“Everything is great,” I replied. I squeezed Dave’s hand and looked up at him.
He smiled back easily. It was good to see that familiar smile. It had been missing from his handsome face for too long.
“Wonderful, Bianca. We’ve got absolutely everything we need,” he added quickly, before she could ask. “Is that lasagna I smell?”
She smiled slightly. “Lavinia’s best dish, I think.”
Dave glanced at me, and I was surprised drool wasn’t dripping right out of his mouth. He tugged on my hand, trying to pull me into the dining room, but I paused.
“Lavinia?”
Bianca nodded, her hands clasped in front of her. “She’s our chef.”
“Does anyone else work in the kitchen?” I asked quickly.
“Yes, she has an assistant. A local boy named Matt,” Bianca replied, tilting her head to the side. It seemed to be a habit of hers.
I could tell Dave was itching to get away. His urge to please his stomach came before his urge to solve the mystery of the love letters.
“Bianca, would you like to join us for dinner?” I asked suddenly.
Bianca looked taken aback. She swallowed and wrung her hands, which looked painful considering all the rings she wore. “Oh, I couldn’t, Mrs. Walker.”
“You’re working?” I asked.
“Well, no. We never have check-in after 6:00 p.m.,” she said, glancing back at her empty desk. The poinsettias no longer sat on the table. I wondered briefly if they were a Valentine’s Day gift from someone.
“It’s just that we are very interested in the Bed and Breakfast. We would love for you to join us tonight and tell us all about it. Wouldn’t we, Dave?”
“Sure,” he replied without hesitation. “Of course.”
Bianca still looked unsure, but she agreed.
We sat at the long table on the right side of the room with Dave and I side-by-side and Bianca across from us. The surly waiter with shaggy hair, who introduced himself as Rob, served us all small salads as a starter.
“So, when did you start working at Samson’s Corner, Bianca?” I asked, picking through my salad and pulling out all the garlic-y croutons. Now that I had her here, I wasn’t sure what to ask her. I didn’t want to just come out with the letters and expose them to more scrutiny. They might belong to someone who would be embarrassed.
“Well, I just started working as the secretary two years ago,” Bianca said, not looking up from her salad. I noticed she was picking at it, too, only eating the plump little tomatoes and baby carrots. “Before that I-” A crash from the kitchen interrupted her. She started up out of her chair, but Cicily, who was passing by toward the kitchen, motioned for her to sit back down. “Just Matt again, I’m sure,” The young girl said with a frown.
Bianca gave her a sympathetic look and sank back down into her seat. She picked up her fork and continued eating.
I paused, not sure how to continue without sounding too nosy. Then it hit me. I’m a writer. “Bianca, I am going to be honest with you.”
She looked up from her salad, mildly interested.
“I’m a writer and I’m interested in doing an article on Samson’s Corner. It just seems like a fascinating place.”
“Oh.” She smiled knowingly. “Of course. You’re not the first. Well, I would be happy to give you any information you need.”
I nodded. “I should probably just talk to Joanne about the history of place if she has time. What I would like from you is to know more about the staff and what it’s like to work at a place like Samson’s Corner.”
“What would you like to know about the staff?”
“Who has been here the longest?” I asked, my heart beating quickly. The perfect ruse! I could ask almost any question I wanted now!
She lowered her thin eyebrows thoughtfully. “Lavinia has been here since we opened twenty years ago. Matt is new and only sixteen, so don’t bother asking him about anything.” She rolled her eyes. “The maid, Daphne, lives nearby and has been with us since we started as well.”
“So not all the staff lives in?” Dave asked. His salad plate was already cleaned and pushed to the side.
Bianca shook her head negatively. “Daphne has never lived in. She has a little cottage about fifteen minutes away. I took her check to her one time when she was sick. It’s a very quaint little place. Ideal, really. She only works in the mornings cleaning the rooms, so you won’t have met her. Matt, the kitchen assistant, lives with his family. He only works part-time. Everyone else lives here, though.”
Triumph! That marked the maid off our list.
“Even Rob and Cicily?” Dave asked.
“Yes,” she said. “They’re both from out of state and didn’t want to look for a place to stay. They take lower wages in exchange for room and board.”
Dave nodded thoughtfully, glancing at me.
“We were thinking about going for a ride tomorrow. Is the riding instructor good?” I asked.
Just then, Rob delivered three plates of steaming lasagna to our table. Dave’s eyes lit up and his fork was in the cheesy mess almost before it was out of Rob’s hands.
“John is excellent,” she replied. She smiled when she said his name, showing brace-straightened white teeth. I realized when I saw it that it was the first genuine smile I’d seen from her. “H
e is so good with the horses and the guests. Of course, the stables were only built last year, so he hasn’t been here long.”
Rob gave Bianca a knowing look and winked in my direction. She didn’t notice. “I would highly recommend a ride while you’re here,” she continued. “You can go on one of the trail rides or you can just take a lesson and ride around the ring if you want.”
“I think we’ll do that,” I said quickly before Dave could protest. I wanted to see exactly what it was about John that made Bianca look so bashful. Her cheeks had reddened slightly. The color suited her well, giving life to her pale face.
Dave consumed his lasagna with extreme speed and enjoyment, while Bianca I ate more reservedly. While we ate, she told me about a rather large and boisterous family who had stayed at Samson’s corner the week before and we laughed over their antics. It seemed the younger members of the family were fond of playing pranks and had managed to get one over on almost everyone once during their stay. She looked much younger when she laughed.
By the time dessert arrived, chocolate cheesecake, I was stuffed. I waved the dessert away, but Dave accepted. He offered me a bite of his off his fork, which I took reluctantly. The creamy cheesecake felt so smooth and tasted so luscious on my tongue, I almost reconsidered, but settled with just stealing another bite from his plate instead.
“Would it be possible for us to meet Lavinia and thank her for this wonderful meal?” I asked Bianca after Dave finished his last bite.
She nodded. “Of course.”
Instead of summoning Rob or Cicily, she went to fetch Lavinia herself, while Dave and I stayed at the table.
She came back with an older woman, probably in her fifties, following closely behind her. She had curly red hair with streaks of gray running through it and wore a white chef’s jacket over black pants. Her pants had a large patch of flour on the knee.
“Hello. I hope you enjoyed your meal,” she said, after Bianca introduced us. She smiled sweetly and nodded toward both us politely. Her voice, thick with a southern accent, was incredibly quiet.
She reminded me oddly of a mad scientist. Her hair stuck out at crazy angles and a brightly colored kerchief was knotted around her neck. She assessed us both quickly with slightly protuberant blue eyes, then turned her gaze to the floor.
Mad scientist or not, she was a genius in my book. Dave expressed his undying gratitude for her delicious food, and she smiled at the floor. “Thank you. That means so much. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
After she returned to kitchen, Bianca apologized. “She is very shy.”
“She is wonderful,” Dave said with conviction, running a hand over his stomach.
“Is she married?” I asked.
Bianca averted her gaze. “Yes, she was. I’m afraid Mr. Hanover passed away about ten years ago. He used to live here as well. He worked as a handyman of sorts. They came together. As a set, I guess you could say.” She laughed nervously.’
I glanced at Dave with a smile. That seemed to knock Lavinia out of the running as well.
Bianca looked suddenly ill, and I noticed the shaking in her hand when she reached up to push her hair behind her ear.
Dave noticed, too.
“Thank you for having dinner with us, Bianca,” he said. “You’ve given my wife a lot of great information.”
“Just let me know if you need anything more,” Bianca said. When we reached the top of the stairs, I looked back down. She had followed us out of the dining room and stood alone in the lobby, her hands over her face.
The next morning Dave already had his laptop open when I woke up. I groaned and rolled out of bed.
“Lazy, aren’t we?” Dave said, glancing at an imaginary watch on his wrist. “It’s almost nine.”
“We are on vacation,” I said. I gestured at his laptop. “But then, you seem to have forgotten that.”
He shrugged and began typing. I headed for the bathroom to put myself together. The only part of room 213 I had a problem with was the bathroom. I could hardly get dressed in the tiny room without knocking my elbows on a wall or counter. The luxurious bath, complete with jets and a comfortable headrest, took up almost all the space.
Luckily, an overhead spout had been installed for showers since the bath took ages to fill. I rinsed off quickly and dressed casually in jeans and a black t-shirt.
I went back into the bedroom and grabbed a fluffy, baby blue sweater out of my suitcase. I never bothered to fully unpack on vacations. It just didn’t make sense to me since I would only be there for a week.
“Have you already been down for breakfast?” I asked.
“No, can you grab me a muffin or something and some coffee?” He didn’t even turn to look at me. His shoulders were hunched uncomfortably forward in a familiar, depressing way. He always did that when he was stressed.
“Sure,” I replied. I slipped on my flats and headed downstairs.
The smell of eggs, bacon and sausage filled the air, but I went toward the cold section of the banquet table where the platters of muffins, doughnuts, biscuits and fruit were set out.
Guests milled about, some of them standing while they quickly consumed a doughnut and juice or another small meal, and others sitting at tables with heaping plates.
I picked up a plate and added several muffins, a doughnut, two biscuits and a side of mixed fruit. Then I went over to the beverage station, a small table full of coffee, tea, and juice that had been set up near the door.
Rob was there gathering up empty juice pitchers. “Good morning, Mrs. Walker.”
He smiled at me sweetly, but I saw a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “Not been standing on any more furniture, I hope?”
I frowned. “No, I haven’t.”
He laughed and tossed his hair back out of his face in a way that seemed contrived, like he had practiced it many times in front of the mirror. “Glad to hear it. Where is Mr. Walker?”
“Up in the room. I’m supposed to take up some food and coffee for him. I’ve just put us a bunch of stuff on this plate to carry up.”
“Oh, you can’t carry that and coffee. Not if you want a cup, too. Let me get you a tray.”
He finished gathering up the empty pitchers and coffee urns and carried them off toward the kitchen. A moment later he returned with a small silver tray. “Room service tray,” he explained, setting it on the table.
I sat the plate down while Rob filled a coffee mug almost to the brim. He smiled at me. “Cup for you, ma’am?”
I nodded and he poured a cup for me, as well. He set it on the tray and tossed a few sugar and creamer packets alongside the mugs. Then, he picked up the tray and gave it to me, his fingers brushing against mine as he handed it over.
“Thank you, Rob. Tell Cicily I said hello,” I said.
“Let’s go riding,” I suggested when Dave and I had finished breakfast. I had curled up on the bed to read the romance novel I’d taken from the library while I sipped my coffee and ate a blueberry muffin. Dave hadn’t taken his eyes off the computer screen, but he had managed to consume almost everything I had brought up on the tray.
Dave sighed and closed the laptop. “Okay. I need a break from this anyway.”
I rejoiced inwardly. I hadn’t thought I would be successful. I put on my riding boots and waited around while he changed.
Just as we were about to walk out the door, his cell phone rang. I jumped, startled. The sound of his ring tone always made me feel depressed. It was his work cell phone, and it only rang when there was a problem. A big problem.
Dave looked at me questioningly. “Take it. I’ll wait outside,” I said.
I went out and loitered in the hallway while he took the call.
Fifteen minutes later, Dave stuck his head out of the room and shrugged, mouthing, “I’m sorry.”
I nodded to let him know I understood and kissed him quickly on the cheek. I could hear someone chattering angrily on the other end of the phone. I gave him a sympathetic look and walked down the stairs
on my own.
Bianca was not at her desk, so I went outside and looked around. I assumed the stables were in the back, so I made my way around the house, folding my arms tightly across my stomach to ward off the cold. The temperature seemed to drop about 20 degrees in the shadow of the house. In the sun, though, it was quite mild for February.
Once I got to the back of the house, I saw a large stable in the distance with a dirt arena beside it. I could see a horse and rider making their way slowly around the ring. Little puffs of dust went up every time the horse’s hooves hit the ground.
I walked slowly over to the fence and leaned against it. The rider was an elderly lady, probably in her late sixties or early seventies. She looked absolutely ecstatic despite the fact that the horse was just plodding along with his head down.
The riding instructor stood in the middle of the arena, watching the horse’s progress. “Pull his head up, Margaret,” the instructor, a tall man with longish blonde hair and a weathered face, said.
Margaret giggled and pulled ineffectively on the reins. “Oh, but John, he’s such a good boy. I don’t mind if he keeps his head down.”
John approached her and took the horse by the reins, stopping him. “How about a break? I think Bullet might need to rest.”
“Well, I am getting a bit tired, too. Maybe another ride tomorrow?” she said, smiling at him as he helped ease her off the large chestnut gelding.
“Of course,” he said. She hobbled off toward the house and John started back toward the barn with Bullet, shaking his head.
I followed him in. He was just tying the horse up in front of a roomy stall. “Any more riding today?” I asked.
He jumped, then turned and smiled politely at me. “Yes, ma’am. I’d be happy to take you out on a ride. I have a trail ride scheduled for noon, if you want to wait for that, or you could just ride in the arena.”
“The arena is fine. Honestly, it’s been a while since I’ve been on one of these.” I patted Bullet on the shoulder. He smelled of hay and leather. I inhaled deeply. It was a good smell.
“Is that right? Well, the arena is just fine. You can ride Bullet or I can tack up one of the others for you.”
