by Rose Pressey
“You're sure you’re okay? You want to let me take a look at those scratches?”
What a tempting offer. “No, no. Physically I’m fine. I don’t know about mentally. It’s been a crazy week. Getting this house. Finding the body and now this? Not sure how much more I can handle.”
“Please continue your account.”
He’d taken his little pad of paper and pen out at this point. “As I made my way down the road, a gloved hand reached around and grabbed me.” I demonstrated.
“Did you see the person before they grabbed you?”
“No.”
“Then what happened?” He scribbled on the paper.
“He dragged me into the woods. I struggled, then fell to the ground. I wiggled around a bit and got loose.”
He looked up from his notepad. I blushed. Did I just say wiggled?
“Go ahead.”
“Well I got free, and I ran like a madwoman, barely looking back until I got home. Then I called you. Well, called 911.”
“I sent someone over there as you heard. Hopefully they’ll found something. I don’t know if this is related to the murder, but as you know, we don’t have a lot of crime in Honeysuckle. Well, except for the drugs, of course. But that’s more on the outskirts of town.” He gestured with his pen.
“Drugs? I didn’t know there was that problem here.” My eyes widened.
He didn’t answer my question. “It may have been an attempted mugging.”
“They didn’t know me then, because they’d know I don’t have any money to take.”
He looked down and his voice lowered. “Or it could have been an attempted rape.”
His face seemed redder. I didn’t know what to say, and I definitely didn’t want to think of such a crime.
“Whatever they wanted, I’ll find them.” His voice seemed angry. He stood. “You stay here and lock up; I’m going over to the fairgrounds to look around. I’ll be back to check on you.”
I smiled. “So this means you really believe I didn’t have anything to do with the murder? There’s a killer out there. What if it’s a serial killer?”
“I doubt there’s a serial killer in Honeysuckle, but unfortunately it doesn’t matter what I think. I’m just the sheriff, that doesn't mean much in Honeysuckle. What the townspeople believe and want is what goes. The mayor wants be re-elected so, if the population of Honeysuckle think you’re guilty... well, I’ll just say I’d better find the real killer, that’s all. But I will warn everyone that labeling you as a murderer is defamatory. And I won’t tolerate it.”
I gulped. Looked as if I’d be spending the rest of my days in prison unless he did. Orange was not my color and I’d never looked good in a jumpsuit. Made my short legs look even shorter. A loud rap on the door made me jump. My nerves were on edge. Kent looked at me and held his finger up to his mouth, then pulled out his gun. He motioned for me to step back. Adrenaline rushed through me seeing him in action.
Kent inched toward the door, arm held up with gun in hand. Was it wrong of me to feel attracted to him at this time? I didn’t want to be, relationships were bad news for me. Like I had a sex hex on me or something. Or was that a sexless hex? Whatever. Not to mention my life was in danger. He inched closer to the door, with his back against the wall.
“Who is it?” he demanded.
“Um, Norm Littlefield. I saw the sign out front says you have vacancies? I can go somewhere else if you don’t.”
I frowned at Kent.
He shook his head. “No way.”
I knew he wanted to send this man away, but I needed the money. But my first customer this late at night? Just like a scene out of a scary movie. All we needed was a thunderstorm. I supposed he was traveling around and needed a place. Maybe he got sleepy and wanted to rest for the night.
“I need the money.” I brushed past Kent and his gun. “Put that away.”
“You were just attacked. I’m not sure you should be letting in strangers,” Kent whispered as he held the door shut.
“It was a coincidence, I’m sure. Besides I have the police in my living room. I’m sure everything will be fine.”
Kent pushed his way in front of me. He put the chain across the lock, then spoke in a steady tone. “I’m Sheriff Kent Klein of the Honeysuckle Police. I don’t want you to be alarmed when I open the door with a gun in my hand.”
What the heck? The review I’d get on TripAdvisor flashed through my mind. Assaults guests with police brutality. “Are you kidding me? You did not just do that.”
“Do you want to be safe or sorry?” Kent asked.
I sighed. “I’d rather be safe. I think.”
Kent shook his head. “Girl, what am I going to do with you?”
I declined to answer his question. He inched open the door. His arm was held out with the gun pointed toward the man. Or, I assumed it was a man considering he said his name was Norm with a deep voice—but you never knew. I was at the side and couldn’t see straight out onto the porch. The poor guy. He’d probably need to change his underwear.
“Put your hands up.” Kent demanded.
Chapter Sixteen
“What kind of crazy place is this?” Mr. Littlefield asked.
“Just do it or you’re going to jail.” Kent turned, then went out onto the porch.
“Is it safe?” I asked.
Just as I stepped forward, they entered. The man’s face looked pale against the rest of his olive skin. Kent probably took ten years off the poor fool’s life.
“I am so sorry.” How was I going to explain this to him? He’d think Honeysuckle was a hotbed of crime. Should I tell him I was attacked? Probably should leave out the murder in the hotel brochure, too.
“I thought I heard something earlier. So I called the police. Turned out to be a cat.” I chuckled. “Sorry about that.”
“A little on edge around here, huh?” He looked from me to Kent.
“So you need a room for the night?” I smiled.
With trembling hands he placed his suitcase on the floor and he nodded. “Yes, I do. I didn’t think there were any places in Honeysuckle. I’ve been coming through here for several years and always had to stay the next town over. Then tonight I saw your sign lit up, and I was exhausted so thought I'd give it a shot.” He glanced around the room.
“I just opened up.”
He didn’t need to know he was my first customer. I wanted him to think I knew what I was doing. Kent eyed the man. Mr. Littlefield returned the stare down.
“I need to see your identification.”
Shouldn’t I be the one asking for that?
Mr. Littlefield looked from me to Kent, then handed over his driver’s license.
Kent examined the photo, then looked at Mr. Littlefield again. After a few seconds, he handed the card back.
“Can I talk to you for a second?” Kent asked me. “In private.” He tilted his head toward the front porch as he stuck his gun back in its holster.
I eyed him for a minute. Kent was ruining my first impression with my first customer. Wasn’t holding the man at gunpoint enough? No amount of chocolates on his pillow would make up for that.
“Can you have a seat for just a moment, Mr. Littlefield?” Bonus points for me remembering his name. “You can sit here on the sofa and I’ll be right back to show you to your room.” I patted the cushion.
No secret that I was learning this hotel stuff as I went. Winging it—the story of my life. I stepped out onto the porch behind Kent. I smiled at Mr. Littlefield as I shut the door, leaving him to question my sanity. He didn’t smile back; instead he had a confused scowl across his face.
“What is wrong with you?” I asked.
“What’s wrong with me? You called the police tonight. What is wrong with you?” He crossed his arms across his chest, flexing his forearms.
“You knew I was trying to run a business. Did it occur to you that I’d have a customer knocking on my door?”
“No, as a matter of fact, it did
n’t.” He frowned.
“That’s not very nice,” I said.
“I’m sorry, Rae.” He stepped closer.
Not only did my stomach tingle, but unmentionable spots did, too. How could I stay mad at him? Focus. New hotel customer… killer on the loose… and attacker. Not to mention, men were a pain in the butt. I needed to focus.
“I worry about you, Rae. Ever since you moved to town, you just looked like you needed someone to take care of you. Pardon me for saying this, but Ross sure as heck never was going to do it. I know we’ve never really had a chance to get to know each other, but I’d like to...”
He stood just beyond the porch light. I couldn’t see his face or read his expression, but I knew he was studying his boots. If I’d been able to see well, I’d swear that he was blushing. He’d like to what? Was he going to finish the sentence? A long silence hung in the air. I didn’t know what to say.
Finally, I asked, “Why do you think I need protecting? I’m a little woman who needs the big strong man to protect me? I had the big strong man, remember? And look what that got me.” I crossed my arms across my chest this time.
“That’s not what I meant. Ross was never strong—not mentally. I think you need protection from people like Ross. Maybe you’re not the best judge of character, is all I’m saying, so letting strangers stay in your home may not be such a good idea.”
“Well, if you can think of some other way for me to make money in this town, legally, of course…” I swear if he said the Booby Patch…
Kent frowned. “That’s not funny.”
“It wasn’t meant to be humorous. Now if you’re finished, I need to get back to my guest.” I gestured toward the door.
“Call me if you need anything, please.” Kent placed his hand gently on my arm. My body tingled. “I’m headed over to the fairgrounds. I’ll call you as soon as we find out anything.” He handed me his card. I didn’t bother to tell him that he’d already given me a card. I thought I had about six now. I still hadn’t called. He let go of my arm. I watched as he stepped off the porch, walked down the path, through the gate and to his cruiser. He looked back as he closed the door. From the overhead light, his eyes looked sad.
As I watched him drive off, the hairs on my arms stood up. A strange feeling that someone was watching my every move enveloped me. As I stepped toward the door, something in the bushes moved. I leapt toward the door and lunged through it.
Mr. Littlefield jumped in his seat and clutched his chest. “What the hell?”
I slammed the door and locked it. “I’m so sorry,” I said.
“Are you sure everything is all right?” His voice wavered. “I can just stay at the hotel in the next town. I’m wide awake now anyway.”
“No, no. Don’t be silly, it’s fine. That darn cat again.” I chuckled.
As I looked at him, I wished for Kent to be back. Maybe I did need protection. What was I thinking inviting strangers into my home? But here I was with a stranger…in my living room. And I’d been attacked an hour ago. I so needed a shower and a cookie. Maybe two cookies.
“Let me just get some information from you,” I said, walking over to my three-dollar newly painted desk. I handed him the paper to fill out—I’d made some forms on the computer. An old laptop was one of the few things, other than my grandmother’s necklace, I’d gotten from the divorce.
“I’ll just need to see your driver’s license.” I felt weird asking that after Kent had demanded to see it, but it had to be done. After all, he was a complete stranger. “Oh, and it’ll be seventy-five dollars for the night. I forgot to tell you earlier with the...well, you know.” I’d better stop talking before I dug a deeper hole for myself.
He handed me his identification, then reached in his other pocket. Mr. Littlefield patted his pants. “I can’t find my wallet.”
“Oh, no. When did you have it last?”
“I had it in my car. I’m a little nervous now.”
“Well, I’m surprised you haven’t forgotten your own name with all the hijinks going on around here, huh?” I laughed and fidgeted with my hands.
He didn’t laugh, or even smile for that matter. “Yes, I guess so. I’ll go look in the car.”
This was so awkward. I was trying to laugh and this strange man was probably fearful for his life. He was handsome, I noticed, in a strange way. Olive skin, short dark hair and chestnut eyes. He wore a blue polo and khakis with brown loafers. The pants were crisp and wrinkle-free and so was the shirt, but his shoes were covered in mud. I wondered what he was doing coming through Honeysuckle. I debated whether to ask or not. It was considered small talk, right? Should I really let this stranger stay in my home? I couldn’t be suspicious of everyone though, right?
After a couple minutes, he returned with wallet in hand. As he filled out the form, I got up enough nerve for the small talk and asked. “So what brings you to Honeysuckle?”
“Just passing through,” he said and shoved the paper back at me. He pulled out his wallet, retrieved cash and shoved it at me.
“Four twenties. Let me get you some change, then I’ll show you the room.”
“Don’t bother, keep the change. I’d like to go to my room. I think I’ve had enough excitement for the day.”
“Sure, no problem. Thank you,” I said, and stuffed the money in the drawer of my little desk. I’d bought a little safe to store any money in. Wishful thinking, because I wasn’t sure I’d even have customers, but now look at me. Just call me Ms. Innkeeper.
I didn’t want to keep him waiting any longer though, so I headed toward the steps. “Follow me, please. It’s just up the steps.” I pointed.
As he walked behind me, I keep thinking of what Kent said. My heart rate increased and it wasn’t just from climbing the stairs. My attacker crossed my mind. Then I thought of the man behind me. He did have mud on his shoes. Chills went down my arms again. He was following close. Too close.
Chapter Seventeen
I hurried my steps until we finally reached the top, then rushed over to the room. I unlocked the door and stepped to the side. He brushed past. I wanted him out from behind me.
“If you need anything, please, just let me know,” I stuttered.
I didn’t sound like a confident innkeeper. But after all, it was my first time. I was an innkeeper virgin.
“I’ll make sure to do that,” he snapped and closed the door in my face. I would have thought that rude any other time, but right now I was glad to be away from him.
Trailing down the stairs, I still didn’t know what I’d gotten myself into. If Claire Ann told me to jump off a building, would I do it? Well, there was that time she told me to enter the talent contest with her. She knew I couldn’t sing or dance, but I did it anyway. With a thousand-dollar prize, she should’ve known we wouldn’t win. I hadn’t expected any customers, so I hadn’t bought much at the store. But I’d set out a snack and some juice for him in the morning. My idea of continental breakfast. Better than a Ramada any day.
Once back downstairs, I was thankful my room was on the first floor. It was creepy enough to sleep in a house with a stranger. I didn’t need him right across the hall from me. I hadn’t even adjusted to being in the house myself yet. Everything was still new and foreign to me. I wondered if I’d ever get used to it and if I’d ever really believe it was mine.
Mr. Littlefield’s footsteps echoed across the floor upstairs. I paused to listen, then they stopped. He must have gone to bed. I slipped into my room and latched the little lock at the top. If he wanted to get me while I slept, he’d have to tear the door down. At least that would wake me and give me time to call the police—my third 911 call. Although Kent would just say ‘I told you so.’ It was a chance I was willing to take, though.
As much as the place didn’t feel like home, I was in love with it already. I wanted it to be my home. But affording it was a different story. The only way to make that happen was to have guests. I’d have to keep reminding myself of that. The house
was beautiful and with my decorating it would be better. Sharing a house so beautiful with others would be great. I could show off my hard work.
Dirt still covered my clothes and hands. My first guest had seen me looking like a mud wrestler. My appearance probably only confirmed for Mr. Littlefield I was only one buckle short of being secured in a little white coat. Heck, he probably thought the whole town was bonkers. Not good for tourism. I wanted to turn this town around. I’d have to in order to get guests in the hotel. As I contemplated, I slipped into the shower. We needed a lively downtown and I’d try my best to make that happen. The vision of a little café and antique shop popped in my head again. Why was I thinking this? Could I really find a way to bring the town together? No way. They hated me.
My mind wandered at the possibilities while the hot water ran over my tight muscles. Thankfully I wasn’t injured in my escape—just a few scratches. I could have broken a bone or something. If only I could have broken a bone or two on the creep who attacked me. As I turned the water off, the sound of footsteps echoed across the floor again. I held my breath and listened. Steps again. Were they in the hall? What the heck was Mr. Littlefield doing walking around? Had I locked the door? It couldn’t hurt to check again. I slipped on my pajamas and eased over to the door.
The door was locked, but I had another dilemma again. To open the door or not? I didn’t really have anything worth stealing if someone did break in, so maybe I’d just stay put. Mr. Littlefield probably needed a drink of water. I had to stop my anxiety if I was going to have guests. If I didn’t, I’d be out of business before I started. The steps had stopped. Maybe the sound was pipes. Did pipes make noises that sounded like footsteps? Sure, they had to, right? I left the door shut.
I eased into bed and tried to forget about the stranger just above my bedroom. Instead of envisioning him stuffing me into his trunk and burying me in the woods, I focused on decorating. That always eased my mind. Happy thoughts. At some point I drifted off to sleep, then woke to the birds chirping, the sun beaming through the edges of the shades and my cell phone ringing off the hook.
