Murder at Mistletoe Manor: A Mystery Novella

by Holly Tierney-Bedord

“That might not be a bad idea,” Klarinda agreed, setting a tray with hot cups of coffee in front of him and the other officers.

  “I’ve got to admit,” said one of the officers who’d already been out to the inn earlier in the evening, “I can see how one person could drown in a bathtub, but two at one time? That’s got to be a one in a million kind of thing.”

  “No kidding,” said his partner, who had just finished up interviewing Pierre, Myrtle, and the remaining guests, despite that all of them had been asleep when it happened.

  “Do you mind if you and I sit down for a more in-depth interview? It’s Klarinda, right?” said Deputy Franklin, his blue eyes piercing inquisitively into her own eyes.

  “Yes, Klarinda. I mean, yes, my name is Klarinda. And no, I don’t mind. Being interviewed. By you,” Klarinda stammered. You sound like an idiot, she screamed silently at herself. And a guilty idiot at that!

  Despite that they’d already had two other tragedies at the inn earlier in the evening, this was Deputy Franklin’s first visit to Mistletoe Manor. He’d been preoccupied with five car accidents of minor and major proportion, the looming threat of avalanches, and a burglary that had turned out to actually be a lack of communication, when a husband had told his neighbors they could stop by and borrow a box of Christmas lights from the garage, but he’d forgotten to mention the plan to his wife. At least these had been the excuses the other officers had given as to why the handsome deputy was an hour later than them getting to the inn, and why he hadn’t shown up previously.

  Klarinda recalled having seen Deputy Franklin’s face in the local paper when he moved to Windy Pines back in the fall. Since then she’d seen him around town several times, and once up close and personal at the Windy Pines Natural Foods Cooperative, but she hadn’t spoken to him before. She had, however, already decided that if things never came around with Todd Healy, she wouldn’t mind getting to know the single deputy a little better. Unfortunately, now was her big chance, but instead of sparks flying and the two of them exchanging witty banter, she was a bumbling, fumbling mess. Her lack of sleep and having a semi-destroyed inn weren’t helping her state of mind.

  “Should we sit down in here?” Klarinda asked, leading him to the parlor at the front of the inn.

  “This looks good,” he said, closing the double pocket doors after them. “Do you mind if I record our conversation?”

  At this, Klarinda stiffened a little. “I don’t mind. But, I’m not in any trouble, am I?”

  “No. Not at all,” said Deputy Franklin. “I just don’t want to miss anything important.”

  “Okay, then. I guess it’s fine,” she said. It didn’t feel fine, though. She immediately began thinking of every bad thing she’d ever done. Was she going to get in trouble for photocopying people’s credit cards? There were endless incriminating paper copies in her to-be-shredded pile. Did he know that she’d gotten an underage drinking ticket in high school? And what about that envelope of money? She swallowed. She supposed she’d better say something about that money.

  “Relax,” Deputy Franklin said, laughing. He reached out and squeezed her wrist for one electrifying second. “You’re not in trouble. I realize this has been a chaotic, exhausting, and very sad night.”

  “It has,” said Klarinda, nodding. “…been all three of those things.”

  “And, as unlikely as it is, Coroner Birkus doesn’t suspect foul play in any of the four deaths.”

  “Four deaths,” Klarinda repeated. “Here at Mistletoe Manor.” She rubbed her forehead. “I just realized that no one’s ever going to want to stay here again. People are going to think this place is cursed!”

  “I’m sure they won’t,” said Deputy Franklin. “Are you up for answering a few questions?”

  “Yes,” said Klarinda. “Please go ahead.”

  “Okay. Let’s focus on the drowning of guests Caroline Bradbury and Jacob Reese. When did you last see either of them alive?”

  “I saw them both when Tessa was killed by the falling armoire, just before eleven o’clock. They explained how they’d set her alcohol and cigarettes up on top of it, to keep them away from her, and that she must have crawled up there to get them. Then the officers showed up, and they were talking to Jacob and Caroline for a while. I guess that’s the last time I saw them.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Deputy Franklin. “Those two were trying to keep Tessa from drinking? I find that rather ironic. There are at least four empty bottles of wine in their room.”

  “Not to mention the whiskey,” Klarinda added.

  “That was the last time they were seen, though?” asked the deputy.

  “Yes. …But, wait! I just remembered that later I heard Lannie crying, so I got up to try to quiet her down, and at that time I noticed that she’d woken up Caroline and Jacob. I saw the light come on beneath Caroline’s door when I was standing in the hallway talking to Lannie. So, I didn’t actually see them, but they were in there, awake at that time. The lights were on, anyway.”

  “What time was that?”

  “I forget,” said Klarinda. “A little after one o’clock, I think.”

  “Okay. Let’s talk about when you found them.”

  Klarinda nodded, wincing a little.

  “Sorry. I can’t imagine how difficult this is for you.”

  “Thank you,” said Klarinda.

  “Do you recall whether the door to their room was locked?” he asked her.

  “It was. Well, then again, I’m not sure. You see, as soon as I saw the ceiling above my bed, I knew we were in big trouble. I grabbed a master key, and ran up there, and knocked on the door. When no one answered it, I used the key to let myself in. It’s possible it was unlocked already, but once you stick the key in the lock, turn it, and push the door open, you’d never know if it had been locked or not.”

  “Most visitors lock their doors, though. Right?” asked Deputy Franklin.

  “Usually, but most of these guests know each other, so they might not have.”

  “They know each other?” asked Deputy Franklin, looking interested.

  “Yes. All the guests but one went to the same boarding school. It was called… let me think… Mount Hemlock Academy.”

  “All but one of them?”

  “That’s right,” said Klarinda.

  “And which guest is the one who didn’t go to that school?”

  “The one named Benji,” said Klarinda, feeling a little as though she was throwing the orange haired girl under the bus.

  “Would you mind getting him for me?” asked Deputy Franklin.

  “Not at all,” said Klarinda. “But for the record, Benji’s a her.”

  “Oh. Okay. That works.”

  “I’ll be right back with her.”

  Chapter 12

  “I can’t believe my rotten luck. If I don’t make my flight, I’ll miss Tom’s holiday work party,” Lannie pouted. “And then what will happen?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Klarinda. “Would you like to set down your water glass for a moment so I can top it off?”

  Lannie ignored Klarinda, flailing her glass around to punctuate her complaining. “Well, let me tell you what’ll happen: He’ll probably get drunk in front of his boss, and throw himself at Geraldine Johnson, just like he did at last year’s holiday party, only this time I won’t be there to stop him. And then what?”

  “I really don’t know.”

  “Well, let me tell you: He’ll probably get his sorry ass fired! This horrid trip to Mistletoe Manor, the inn from hell, is going to cost my husband his job. With me here and him there, that means a hundred percent of his common sense isn’t even in the same state as his penis. I should have known better than to come here.”

  “You’re right about that,” said Benji, sliding her glass over to Klarinda.

  “Not to mention, it’s almost my birthday,” Lannie continued. “I swear, if I’m still stuck here, in these ‘luxury accommodations’ on my birthday, I might keel over and die. I mean,
not die. I guess that was the wrong thing to say. I’m just saying, I’m so over this terrible trip.”

  Klarinda nodded. “I do feel your pain, Lannie. Trust me. I do. But all roads in and out of Windy Pines are closed, so I don’t think you’re going to make that flight. So, for the last time, would you like that refill of water?”

  “Did you add lemons to it like I requested?” Lannie asked, eking out a snivelly little smile.

  “Yes,” said Klarinda.

  “Sure. I guess it’s the least you can do,” Lannie said, handing her glass to Klarinda.

  Lannie, Benji, and Christopher were sitting at the big table in front of the fireplace, having some lunch. Myrtle had gotten a nice, crackling fire going, and Pierre had made a bigger effort than usual, fixing the three remaining guests a delicious lasagna lunch, but there was no satisfying them. Even Christopher, who hadn’t stopped grazing from the complimentary bowls of peanuts and candy around the inn since he’d first arrived, had now lost his appetite. Seeing the two body bags getting carried out earlier in the day, coupled with being trapped in Windy Pines, seemed to be severely impacting the remaining surviving guests’ moods.

  “Would any of you care for dessert?” Klarinda tried.

  All three guests shook their heads.

  “Mercy me,” Myrtle said, bustling through the dining room. “I’ve got fans and dehumidifiers working their magic up in the yellow room, and in your apartment, Klarinda, but I think the problem is even bigger than we thought. That wet spot on your ceiling has spread all the way to the corners!”

  “Stay out of there,” Klarinda warned. “Undoubtedly, there’s going to be some structural damage. My main concern right now is keeping everyone who’s still here safe!”

  “I’ll be careful,” Myrtle assured her, disappearing into the kitchen.

  “I’m going upstairs to take a nap,” said Christopher, rising from his chair and exiting the dining room.

  “I’ve had enough socializing, too,” said Benji, a moment later, pushing her plate of lasagna away. She followed after Christopher.

  “On second thought, I’ll have some dessert,” Lannie decided. “I might as well try to find a little bit of happiness in this sea of misery.”

  “I’ll bring you a menu,” said Klarinda.

  “No, no. I’m too tired to make any decisions. Just bring me some cake. Any kind of cake. As long as it’s fresh, of course. I mean, you guys do have cake, right?”

  “Coming right up,” said Klarinda.

  A few moments later she returned to the dining room with an oversized slice of Pierre’s famous chocolate vanilla marble cake. She’d taken a couple extra minutes to plate it beautifully, centering it on a squiggle of fudge sauce and covering it in white chocolate shavings, doing her best to cheer up her most impossible remaining visitor. But now the room was empty.

  “Seriously?” she asked the empty room.

  She began clearing the table with one hand, still holding the cake in the other, when Lannie returned, coming from the direction of the parlor, yawning.

  “I just realized that there aren’t any televisions here! How do you function without TV?”

  “We’re trying to take people back to a better, more wholesome, more connected time,” said Klarinda.

  “Ha! That’s actually funny.”

  “Would you like this piece of cake?”

  “Naaa. I changed my mind. I don’t need cake. I guess I might as well take a nap, too,” said Lannie. “There’s nothing else to do in this sorry place.” She leaned over next to the chair she’d been seated in a moment earlier, to the quilted bag where Pumpernickel had been sleeping while she dined, and she screamed.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Klarinda, dropping both the cake and the armload of dishes she’d just cleared from the table.

  “Pumpernickel is missing! She’s been kidnapped! She’s gone! Are you listening to me? Someone’s stolen my little peanut butter cup!”

  “Maybe she just hopped out of her carrying case and went exploring?” Klarinda suggested.

  “Pumpernickel doesn’t explore. She’s a Yorkie-poo, not some scent trail crazed hound dog! My little Pumperbee sticks by my side!”

  “Weren’t you just in the parlor? Maybe she’s in there.”

  “I would have heard her tapping along beside me.”

  “I’m sure she’s around here someplace,” said Klarinda. She bent down and began picking up the broken bits of plates and glasses. “As soon as I’ve taken care of this mess, I’ll help you look for her.”

  “Thanks for nothing,” Lannie muttered. She sighed, looped the little dog’s pouch over her shoulder, and traipsed off to find her. “Here, Pumpernickel! Here little Pumpiepoo! Where’s my little Pumpernickel? Who’s a good girl?” she cooed, heading back to the parlor.

  Klarinda took her time picking up the sharp chunks of glass and china. The last thing she needed was one more person getting hurt. Even a scratch would be bad, considering everything else that her guests had endured at the inn in the past sixteen or so hours. She’d just wiped up the last of the splattered lasagna and cake, and could still hear Lannie’s obnoxious trill off in the distance imploring, “Will my teensy widdle baby pweese come out and see me?” and then, to Klarinda’s relief, “There you are, Pumpiepoo!” when a deep, guttural, creaking grunt overtook the inn. It was like the rumbling in the belly of a hungry monster.

  “What was that?” Klarinda whispered to herself.

  It happened again, and this time it was followed by the sound of crashing, and breaking, and what sounded like water splashing. Klarinda didn’t even know which way to run. The sound had seemed to come from every direction at once. At that moment, Pumpernickel came racing past, coming from the direction of the back hallway where the restrooms and Klarinda’s apartment were. The little dog raced toward the parlor, and did a lap through the dining room, hall, and back through the parlor, before Klarinda’s shock subsided and she sprang into action.

  “Is everyone okay?” she yelled.

  Myrtle and Pierre both came bursting into the dining room, through the swinging kitchen door. “What was that?” asked Pierre.

  “I was getting some firewood from the pile out back, and Pierre was taking out the trash, but we heard it all the way out there,” said Myrtle.

  “I’m afraid to find out,” Klarinda admitted. All three of them raced toward the stairs. Halfway up to the second floor they heard Benji and Christopher’s simultaneous screams, and saw the two of them standing just to the right of the top of the stairs, in the hallway that led to the yellow room.

  “What’s going on?” asked Klarinda.

  “The floor…” said Christopher, pointing and trailing off.

  “Is gone,” Benji added.

  Myrtle, Pierre, and Klarinda came up behind Christopher and Benji, looking through the space between them into the doorway of the little yellow guestroom. Four or five fans whirred and a dehumidifier hummed, and beyond it all, the open door to the bathroom revealed… nothing. Absolutely nothing. No clawfoot tub. No antique wooden vanity. No porcelain toilet. No black and white tiled floor. The floor and everything that had rested on it were all, simply… gone.

  “No!” Klarinda yelled, realizing what had happened. “Everyone, get downstairs, and get away from this part of the inn. Go to the parlor or the dining room. Stay on that side. Immediately!” And with that said, she raced back down the stairs and straight to her apartment, through its tiny living room, to her bedroom. And then she screamed. Of course everything from one floor up had to land somewhere, but it was still shocking to see it.

  The toilet lay broken in half on the floor. The antique vanity lay busted in pieces beside the bigger chunk of the toilet. And the clawfoot tub… Klarinda drew in a deep breath, trying to wrap her head around what she was seeing.

  The clawfoot tub had crushed her bed. And in the puddle of water, plaster, tiles, and debris, face down by the foot of the bed, lay Lannie, her blonde curls soaked in blood.


  Chapter 13

  “What I don’t understand,” Klarinda told the police officer, “is why there was water everywhere.”

  He nodded, dinging the little bell on her front counter. “That’s loud! I like little bells like this. You don’t see them much anymore.”

  “Thanks,” she said, setting it beneath the counter. “Back to the accident…”

  “Go on. I’m listening,” he said, reaching in his pocket for a tiny notebook.

  “When I say there was water everywhere, I mean everywhere,” said Klarinda. “I’m talking about gallons and gallons of water.”

  “Hmm. Yep, I can picture it,” he said. WATER EVERYWHERE!?!?!? he wrote in his little notepad.

  “Of course you can picture it. I just showed you what I’m talking about.”

  “Yup,” he said.

  Klarinda sighed and stole a glance toward the front window. She was hoping to see Deputy Franklin or the sheriff arriving, but there was no sign of activity out in the Mistletoe Manor parking lot. Just more snow coming down. This officer standing before her was some new guy she hadn’t seen yet, and he didn’t look like he was even old enough to shave.

  “I’m talking about the water everywhere in my bedroom, when the ceiling collapsed,” she added, since, despite having seen the scene of the accident, he seemed so confused.

  “Because it was a bathtub?” he asked, giving her a quizzical look.

  “Yes, but it should have been empty. They drained it. I thought they did, anyway. We were worried about something like this happening. The weight of it all, and the inn being so old. It was built in the 1880’s.”

  “Oh. Okay,” said the officer. 1880’s! STAGECOACH INN??!?? he scrawled on his page, trying to block his notes from Klarinda’s prying eyes with his other hand.

  “This was never a stagecoach inn. Not to my knowledge,” she told him. He drew a line through what he’d just written. “But when I went into my bedroom,” she continued, “and saw what had happened, the room was soaked. And not just from the water spraying everywhere from the pipe above.”