It was nearing dinner time and the lights of Windy Pines were glowing in the windows of the little shops and homes down the hill. Normally Klarinda enjoyed being up here and having a view of the small town, but tonight she shivered, wishing she could relocate the inn and nestle it down there in the midst of the village instead of being perched partway up this mountain, alone.
“Are you all set?” she asked the tiny pup, scooping her up and turning to go back inside, when something caught her attention. She tucked Pumpernickel inside her coat and began stumbling through the snow to where Christopher’s car was parked, wanting to be sure her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her. As she thought she’d seen, there were tracks plunged through the deep snow, connecting Christopher’s car to the side of the inn. Someone had trekked from the door off the kitchen, around the side of the inn, to his car.
His driver’s side window was partially cleared off as well. She reached out her hand to open the car door and discovered that it was unlocked. The car was empty inside, except that the duffle bag Christopher had arrived with was now resting on the passenger seat.
Klarinda looked around at the gusting, frigid parking lot, confused. If Christopher had wanted to put his duffle bag in his car, why wouldn’t he have gone out the front door? And why would he want to put anything in the car, when he’d probably be stuck at the inn for at least another night? She examined the tracks again. They looked quite big, and quite new, but were already refilling with snow. Klarinda peered a little closer at the footprints, realizing that the person who made the path had taken that exact same return path back to the kitchen.
“Well, obviously,” she told herself, “or they’d still be out here.” But why go to all that trouble when you could walk out the front door and get to the vehicle by going through just a couple of inches of snow, instead of nearly two feet of it?
She was considering unzipping the duffle bag and taking a look inside, when Pumpernickel shivered and let out a tiny whimper. “Let’s get out of here,” she agreed, closing the car door and trudging back to the inn.
On her way back, she did her best to kick snow into the shallow tracks she’d made in the plowed part of the parking lot. When she got to the front door of the inn, she looked back at her footprints. With the snow continuing to fall and blow, the evidence of her having investigated Christopher’s car was rapidly disappearing.
Chapter 16
“I’m so glad I have a load of clothes down here,” Klarinda told Myrtle, as she pulled a pile of jeans, sweatshirts, and pajamas from the dryer, “because I don’t ever want to go back into my apartment.”
“Way to find a silver lining,” laughed Myrtle, balancing on a stepladder, reaching for an old electric fan that was up on one of the shelves in the basement.
“I never thought I’d say this, but it’s a good thing we don’t have air conditioning here at the inn.”
“That’s right,” said Myrtle. “These fans are coming in handy.”
“Please be careful,” said Klarinda. “I really can’t handle much more today.”
“I’m being careful,” Myrtle assured her, stretching. Her hand had just closed on the fan when a spider raced across her knuckles. She screamed and grabbed the shelf, yanking it forward with a jolt, and jumping back just in time to avoid being crushed beneath it.
Klarinda dropped her laundry into the basket in front of the dryer and ran to Myrtle’s side.
“I’m fine! I’m fine. I’m okay. I’m fine,” Myrtle gasped, trying to reassure both Klarinda and herself that she really was alright.
“You just about gave me a heart attack,” said Klarinda.
Myrtle laughed weakly. “Me too. I just about gave myself a heart attack.” She dusted herself off and shook her head. “Look at this mess I’ve made,” she said.
“Oh, please, Myrtle. This pile of garbage is the least of our worries.”
“I’ll clean it up,” Myrtle said. “We’re going to need some help getting this shelf set back up, though.”
“We don’t need half this junk, and we certainly don’t need to worry about cleaning it up tonight. This is all stuff left here from the Petermans’. Most of it’s mildew-covered and moldy and should have been thrown away a long time ago. Like this, for instance,” said Klarinda, holding up a rickety chalet style birdhouse. “Or this,” she said, about an open cardboard box of plastic forks, filled with mouse droppings. “Or whatever’s in here,” she said, opening a plain cardboard box that had been up on the top of the metal shelf, but that now lay on its side on the basement floor. Inside was something made of paper. Stacks and stacks of… envelopes.
Klarinda froze, a shiver of recognition running down her spine. Plain white envelopes. She opened the flaps of the box wider and discovered matching cards with an elegant embossment. She pulled one of the cards from the box. “Funny,” she said to Myrtle, “but these cards seem to be popping up everywhere lately.”
“Haven’t you ever seen those before?” asked Myrtle.
“Not before yesterday when all our guests showed up with them.”
Myrtle cocked her head to the side, confused. “They used to use those all the time here. As thank you notes, as invitations, just for general correspondence. I forgot about those cards, but Ellen Peterman was real big on them. Are you telling me that the guests from that academy all showed up with these same cards?”
“That’s what I’m telling you,” said Klarinda.
“I don’t get it,” said Myrtle. “Could they have all been invited here by the Petermans? Many years ago?”
“And they’re all just arriving now?” asked Klarinda.
Myrtle shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said.
“We’ll figure it out,” Klarinda said, going back to her pile of laundry and changing from her wet, snow-cuffed jeans into a warm, dry pair. “But for now, let’s not mention that we found these. Let’s close the box back up, put them in the corner, and pretend we never found them.”
“Okay,” said Myrtle, doing as she was told, “but why so secretive?”
“I’m not sure why,” Klarinda admitted, “but I just don’t think we should talk about it.”
“Fair enough,” said Myrtle.
“And the shelf,” said Klarinda. “We’ll deal with it later. For now, I’d rather have you upstairs by me. I think we should stick together. Pierre, too.”
“You’re giving me the willies,” Myrtle said, laughing nervously and shivering a little.
“Sorry,” said Klarinda. “Call me paranoid. But would you mind getting Pierre and having him hang out with us? We could all play a game to make the time go by a little faster. At some point the police will have to show up again. Until then, I’d rather us be in one place where we can keep an eye on each other.”
“I’ll get him,” Myrtle agreed.
“I’ll be in the parlor with our guests,” said Klarinda. “Well, hopefully, anyway,” she added, silently praying that Christopher’s bout of food poisoning hadn’t turned out to be deadly.
Chapter 17
“You’re still alive,” Benji said to Christopher. Was Klarinda imagining things, or did Benji look a little surprised?
“I’m still alive,” he agreed, then moaned and turned over and pulled a quilt over his head. He had taken over the sofa in the parlor.
“Since our dining room’s closed and we’re all looking for something to do…” Klarinda said.
“We are?” asked Pierre.
“I thought we could play a game or two of Skip-Bo,” Klarinda continued. “It’s the perfect game for five players.”
“Are the police ever coming back, or what’s happening here?” asked Christopher.
“I just heard from Deputy Franklin, and he said that the coroner and hopefully some officers should be here by nine o’clock.”
“Yay! The coroner’s coming,” said Benji, in a sarcastic singsong.
“Is that Officer Wells coming back?” asked Christopher, queasily sitting up.
“I’m not sure whic
h officers are coming,” said Klarinda. “Why do you ask?”
“Just asking,” he said. “Actually, I was thinking of putting some chains on my tires and heading out of here. No offense, Klarinda, but I’ve had about as much as I can take of this vacation. My Subaru’s got four wheel drive. It’s tougher than it looks. But if I’m going to put the chains on, I might need some help.”
“Why does it have to be Officer Wells?” asked Benji.
“It doesn’t,” said Christopher.
“I don’t know which officers will be here,” said Klarinda. “We could request for him to come out here if you’d like.”
“No, don’t do that,” Christopher said quickly. “I don’t want to be a pain in the ass.”
“How are you planning to leave? Aren’t all the roads closed?” asked Benji.
“They might be closed to the general public,” said Christopher, “but you can bet some vehicles are still using them.”
Pierre set his bottle of beer down on one of the crocheted doilies that Klarinda had provided for the guests to use as coasters. “Are we going to play this game, or can I go back to my apartment and watch the rest of Survivor?”
“Why watch it when you can live it?” asked Benji.
“Give me those cards,” Myrtle instructed, holding out her hand. She shuffled them and dealt out twenty cards to herself and the four people sitting around her.
“I don’t know how to play this,” said Pierre, shaking his head at the cards and looking anything but pleased to be there.
“You’ll catch right on,” Klarinda promised.
“At least you got a Christmas tree, but it still doesn’t feel very festive around here,” said Benji.
“Gee. You think?” said Christopher.
“We ought to play some Christmas music,” said Benji. “I pictured this place having Christmas music playing all the time.”
“We used to have a radio in here, but it broke,” said Klarinda. “Why don’t you sing that song you were singing last night,” she suggested to Christopher. “The one about the snow angels and candy canes?”
“What song?” asked Benji.
“I’d had a little to drink last night,” said Christopher. “I’m not in the mood to sing right now.”
“Go ahead, sing it,” Myrtle said to Christopher.
“I’m not feeling up to it,” said Christopher.
“Then I’ll sing it,” said Myrtle. “Now, how did it go?”
“I don’t remember,” said Christopher. “I was just making it up. It was just some dumb song.”
“It was good,” Myrtle insisted. She cleared her throat, and gave it a try: “Mistletoe Manor, up on the hill… Spreading good cheer and spreading good will… Snow angels on the lawn and candy canes on the tree… Mistletoe Manor, book a room for me!”
Klarinda applauded.
“You didn’t make that up,” Pierre said to Christopher.
“I think I did,” he said. “Are we going to play this game or what?”
“That’s the old Mistletoe Manor commercial. From about ten or twelve years ago.”
“Oh. Is it?” asked Christopher.
Pierre nodded. “It sure is.”
“I guess I heard it before and it got stuck in my head,” said Christopher.
Just then Klarinda and the others heard the front door of the inn open, immediately followed by the sound of men’s voices.
“Hello? Anybody here?” asked a gruff voice.
“We’re in here,” said Klarinda, going to meet them. She closed the pocket doors after herself, figuring Myrtle, Pierre, and her guests could use a break from the ongoing drama.
Deputy Franklin and the sheriff stood in the front hallway of the inn. “I’m Sheriff Carter,” said the older man, holding out his hand to Klarinda. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“I’m so glad you’re here,” said Klarinda, shaking his hand. “I’m Klarinda Snow, innkeeper. Hello again, Deputy Franklin.”
“Hello,” he said, just as the door opened again and the coroner stepped inside.
“Hello again, Klarinda,” said the coroner.
“It’s a relief to see you,” she said. “I’ll show you to… umm… the accident.” She led the men down the hallway and to the right, and then gestured toward her apartment. There was no way she was going back in there. All three men disappeared inside, and she returned to the parlor to check on her guests.
“Everyone okay in here?” she asked.
“We’re fine,” said Myrtle.
“Where’s Christopher?” asked Klarinda.
“His stomach was acting up again,” said Pierre.
“I think we ought to ask those policemen to take us down the mountain so we can check in at a real hotel,” said Benji. “I don’t see any point in staying here another night.”
“I’m perfectly content to stay in my own apartment,” said Pierre.
“Me too,” said Myrtle.
Klarinda sighed. She had no idea what her plan was. She certainly didn’t intend to sleep in her apartment. Ever again, perhaps. And now that Christopher had taken over the sofa in here… She wasn’t sure what she was going to do. Benji’s plan didn’t sound half bad. She shoved the quilt to the side and sat down on the sofa, and immediately shot back up.
“What’s the matter?” asked Myrtle.
“It’s wet,” she said, pressing her palm against the cushion, to make sure she wasn’t imagining things.
“Did he spill his hot chocolate on it?” asked Benji.
“No. It’s wet, but it doesn’t look like it’s stained. It’s just wet with… water,” said Klarinda, sliding over to a dry spot.
“Would you mind coming in here?” asked Deputy Franklin, appearing in the doorway between the front hall and the parlor.
“Me?” asked Klarinda, jumping up.
“Yes,” he said, turning and walking away.
She scrambled along after him, all the way back to her apartment. The sheriff and the coroner were in the doorway to her bedroom.
“You want me to go back in there?” she asked, over the sound of whirring fans.
“Why are the windows open?” asked the sheriff.
“Myrtle must have opened them a crack. The guy from the restoration company told us we needed to dry everything out as quickly as possible, to reduce long-term damage to the inn.”
The sheriff nodded. “With all these open windows, you’ll be lucky if the pipes back here don’t freeze and give you even more problems.”
“I didn’t realize…” Klarinda said, but was interrupted by the sheriff again.
“Can you explain this?” he asked, pointing to a clean strip of wood floor in the midst of a puddle of dried blood.
“I’m not sure what that is. I’d really rather not come back in here,” she said, trying not to look at Lannie’s body.
“It looks like there was a rope, or a belt, or something of that nature attached to the foot of the bed, but that whatever it was has been removed, leaving an outline,” said the sheriff, pointing to the foot of the bed, directly beneath where the bathtub had plunged through the ceiling.
“I didn’t see anything like that,” said Klarinda. “Then again, I didn’t stick around in here. As soon as I saw what had happened, I ran out of here and haven’t come back since.” She looked up through the open ceiling, at the medicine cabinet and cheery striped curtains in the yellow guestroom’s bathroom. It was rather surreal to be able to simply see it all like this. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, fighting back against the chill in the room and the nightmarish reality of it all.
“Are you cold?” asked Deputy Franklin.
“Yes, of course,” she said.
“Who did you say opened these windows and put the fans in here?” the sheriff asked.
“Myrtle put them in here earlier today. We were trying to dry out the ceiling.”
“Why would there have been something tied to your bed?” asked Deputy Franklin.
“Are you
into the kinkier lifestyle?” asked the sheriff. “Not that I’m judging you. I’m just asking.”
“No,” said Klarinda, her cheeks growing hot. “I have no idea why anything would have been tied to the bed.”
“What was this guest doing in your room, way back here in the corner of your apartment, anyway?” asked the sheriff.
“She was looking for her dog. She came in here at the exact moment the floor collapsed.”
“What was her dog doing in here?”
“I don’t know. It just ended up in here, I guess,” said Klarinda.
“Don’t you normally keep your apartment locked?” asked the deputy.
“Well, sometimes. Not always. I’m often running in and out of here throughout the day, and with just seven guestrooms here at the inn, I don’t usually worry too much about security.”
“Interesting,” said the sheriff. “Do you mind if we look around a little?”
“I don’t mind,” said Klarinda, “but am I in trouble? I feel like you’re acting as though you’re suspicious of me.”
“Should we be?” asked Deputy Franklin.
“No! Of course not,” said Klarinda.
The sheriff was already nosing around on Klarinda’s dresser, opening her jewelry box and the small lidded basket that held her hair clips. Next he began opening the drawers of her dresser.
“Is this really necessary?” she asked, watching in dismay as he picked up a handful of her underwear and looked underneath them. “I can assure you, Sheriff Carter, there’s nothing of any importance in there.”
“Seeing as how five people have died at this inn in the past twenty-four hours, I’d say that we have reason to be concerned,” said the sheriff.
“I concur,” said the coroner.
“If you’re so concerned, why have you all left us here alone with a dead body all day? We could have used your help a lot earlier than this. It’s been a long, frightening day for my guests and me.”
“Guests?” asked the sheriff, pausing from his treasure hunt. “Isn’t there only one guest left? I saw Officer Wells’s notes. The only guest he mentioned was some nerdy little lady named Brittany. Apparently she was rude as hell, but he determined she wasn’t capable of hurting a fly. He said all she wanted to do was talk about how she was going to give this place a bad review on something or another called Yelp. And then he said she bragged about how smart she was and told him that cops have notoriously low IQs. She said it right to his face!”
Murder at Mistletoe Manor: A Mystery Novella Page 8
