by Rose Pressey
“What the heck?” I groaned.
The clock read six-thirty. I hadn’t heard my guest yet. I hoped to be up and moving before he was. Yummy blackberry muffins for breakfast might redeem his terrible first impression of my place.
I grabbed the phone from my nightstand. The urge to throw the thing across the room just to shut it up was strong, but I pushed it back. Operating an inn probably wasn’t the right profession for someone who wasn’t a morning person. But I guessed the profession had picked me, and not the other way around.
“Hello,” I said into the phone. My voice cracked a little—the tell-tale sign that I’d just woken up. My Aunt Janey always said it was tacky to answer the phone and allow the person to hear you croak into the receiver. But how did you avoid something like that? Not answer the phone?
“What is wrong with you? Why didn’t you call and tell me?” It was Claire Ann.
“I knew you’d find out soon enough. I’m sure it's all over town by now. Heck, probably news made it all the way to Tennessee by now.”
“This is not a laughing matter,” she said.
“Who’s laughing? I’m serious.” I leaned back in bed.
“So am I. You should have called me. I would have come over right away.”
“And done what? Helped my guest unpack?”
“About your guest… Maybe I didn’t make such a good suggestion after all. Now that I think about it, I’m not sure I like the idea of you staying in a house with strangers.”
“I’m fine. Besides, it’s a little late for that thought now, don’t you think? I guess you heard this from Sheriff Kent?”
“He’s worried about you, you know. He’s crushing on you, too.”
“What? What makes you say that? He’s crushing on someone he thinks murdered someone?”
“He does not think that and you know it. Stop being silly.”
“What makes you think he is interested in me?” I folded my hands behind my head.
“I can see it in his eyes. They light up when he mentions your name.”
“It’s probably frustration lighting them up, not fondness.”
“If you say so, but I know these things.”
“Since when did you become so intuitive? Look, he was friends with Ross, and I don’t think I trust anyone who was friends with him. Even if they are the law.”
“Ex-friends. He’s not friends with him anymore. And I say that’s because of the way Ross treated you. Kent is probably glad that Ross left you. That gives Kent a chance to be with you.”
“Let’s change the subject.”
“Fine. Back to the main reason that I called. Who the hell attacked you?”
“Let's change the subject.” I sounded like a parrot.
“No way! We just changed the subject.”
“If I knew who did it, I would have told the police, silly. I don’t know.”
“Well, you’ve got the whole town freaked out. But don’t tell anyone that I told you this.”
“Please. If I know an ounce of news, everyone will know you told me. Who else would give me the scoop? I don’t have any other friends in town.”
“Point taken. Anyway, talk is that you made the story up to throw them off your tracks. That no one attacked you at all.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Why am I not surprised? That sounds like a direct quote. Who said that?”
She didn’t answer.
“I know someone said that,” I pushed.
She paused again, then finally she answered. “Nick Franklin.”
“Well, I should have guessed that one. He is the biggest gossip. He needs to stick to giving those awful haircuts. So do you think Kent thinks that?”
“No, I don’t think he thinks that at all.”
“It just makes me so mad. Kent couldn’t think I’d murder anyone, could he? Plus, I wouldn’t have any reason to. He knows that.”
“I wish everyone else knew that,” Claire Ann said.
“They make me so angry. I could have a reason to do something to the—.”
“Let’s change the subject,” Claire Ann said.
Was she hiding something from me? Not telling me something? She didn’t usually want to change the subject—I was the one always asking for that.
“So tell me about your guest,” she said.
“He’s a bit strange.”
“Maybe I shouldn't have talked you into this.”
“You didn’t talk me into it. I wanted to. Plus, what else am I going to do?” I turned onto my side. “Speaking of guest, I need to get the continental breakfast out there. I thought I heard steps; he may be awake.”
“I didn’t think you were doing breakfast.”
“Just muffins or doughnuts. It can’t hurt, right? I need all the help I can get with this guest. He already thinks I’m crazy. I don’t want to give him any other reason to think that. I’ll see you at work, okay?”
She paused. Was there something she didn’t want to tell me? She definitely had a secret. I could read her like a book.
“Is there something else going on?” I asked.
“No, no, nothing.” She paused again. “I’ll see you at work, Rae. Be careful.”
In our neck of the woods when someone told you to be careful, it was like saying ‘take care’ or ‘have a great day.’ But for me, I think she really meant the words.
“Yeah, I’ll see you.” I hung up the phone still feeling something was off. Claire Ann always told me everything. She had a hard time keeping anything from me. I’d forgotten to ask about her date. She wouldn’t get off that easy, though. I’d ask later.
I rolled off the bed and put on my old tattered pink bathrobe. I shuffled into my fuzzy bunny slippers and staggered across the room to the closet. With sleep still in my eyes, I stumbled into the bathroom.
A night of tossing and turning had left my hair a tangled mess. If nothing else, I could scare the killer away. Worry had kept me awake. It was downright insane of me to think I could run a hotel. What had I been thinking? I sighed and slumped my shoulders at the thought.
A few minutes later, I emerged feeling somewhat awake. I’d slipped into my green Capri pants, white tank top and slipped on my sandals. As I dabbed on a bit of lip gloss and mascara, my mind wandered to Claire Ann. What was it she wasn’t telling me? Claire Ann was a great friend. She’d always been honest. I’d never known her to keep any secrets from me.
I slid out into the kitchen. As I pulled the lid off the container I stored the blackberry muffins in, a noise sounded from the front room. Voices wafted in from the front porch. I set the container down and ventured into the hallway. When I reached the end, I noticed the front door ajar. Oh, Lord. Had the killer come back? Was Mr. Littlefield okay? I didn’t want to call out to him. What if the killer was hiding? I needed to be quiet. I eased over to the door, trying to keep my sandals from squeaking as I inched across the hardwood.
Mr. Littlefield stood on the sidewalk in front of the house talking to a man I’d never seen. What was with all the strangers all of a sudden? I held my hand above my eyes to shield them from the rising sun. The brightness made it difficult to look at the men for long. The stranger wore a suit, which wasn’t the typical attire for Honeysuckle, unless it was a wedding or funeral. Funeral. My stomach twisted at the word. It would be Nancy’s funeral soon.
Only a couple of cars passed as I watched the men. No one moved along the sidewalk yet. The only sound was their voices and birds chirping. As the cars drove by, they slowed down to watch the men, but Mr. Littlefield and the stranger stopped talking and glared in return. When the cars were out of sight, they began talking again. Very strange. Mr. Littlefield gestured with his hands. Both men stood rigid with their eyes narrowed and fists tight at their sides. If they started punching, I wouldn’t know what to do first. I didn’t want to have to dial 911, not this soon. I’d met my emergency dialing quota for the year already. After a minute, the stranger stormed off, climbed in his car and slammed the doo
r.
Great. All I needed was for my bossy neighbor to hear. She’d be furious I brought strangers around—loud ones. Although she already hated me, so how much worse could it get? She probably hated everyone. Not a lovely disposition.
Mr. Littlefield spun around. I slipped to the side, then hurried around the edge of the room back into the hallway. I slid back into the kitchen and let out a deep breath while pretending to fold a towel that didn’t need folding. I hoped I hadn’t been caught red-handed.
When the screen door slammed shut, I called out. “Mr. Littlefield, is that you? I have muffins, fruit and juice for breakfast.”
“I don’t have time for breakfast,” he huffed.
What! My first guest and I didn’t get to play proper hostess? This sucked. I wanted a do-over.
“I need to stay another night,” he called from the parlor.
I made my way down the hall and into the living room. Did I have guilty written all over my face? Did he know I’d spied on him? Probably not or he wouldn’t stay another night. Although there wasn’t any place else for him to stay if he wanted to be in Honeysuckle. And why was he in Honeysuckle, anyway? He’d said he was just passing through. People passing through didn’t normally stay more than one night. Honeysuckle wasn’t a tourist destination. Not yet, anyway.
“Sure. I’m happy to have you.” I smiled so hard my cheeks hurt. I plastered the biggest hotel hostess smile on my face. I wanted so badly to ask him why he was staying. “Will it be one more night?” Maybe that would get some kind of answer out of him.
“I’m not sure,” he mumbled as he headed back up the steps.
I stood there for a minute, not sure if he was coming back down. Just as I turned to head back into the kitchen, his footsteps descended the steps again. I looked up.
“Here’s the money for the night. It’s all there, the exact amount.” He shoved it towards me. “Unless you raised the cost overnight?”
I shook my head. “No, of course not.”
“Fine. I’ll return later this evening.”
Uh-oh. I hadn’t thought about the key situation. Perhaps Claire Ann could come over until I got off work. I’d have to figure out the specifics some other time. Handing out keys to strangers wasn’t an option. Not in light of recent circumstances. I wondered how other innkeepers did it? Maybe I’d find a copy of Running a Hotel for Dummies.
Mr. Littlefield handed me the cash and I stuffed it into my pocket without counting it. “Thank you.”
Not bad. I’d made a hundred and fifty-five dollars in two days. Three months of torture at the store wouldn’t yield that much. Okay, not that much, I exaggerated, but I’d have to spend a lot of hours standing on my feet to make it. Of course, Mr. Littlefield was probably the only guest I’d have for a long time, so I didn’t want to get too excited.
Mr. Littlefield descended the front porch steps, then made his way through the gate to his car. Yes, I watched him leave. So I was nosy. I wanted to know where he was headed. As I stood there, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. I glanced to my left and saw Judy snooping by the fence, her face partially hidden by a large hedge. She watched Mr. Littlefield drive off, too. Great. She’d tell everyone about the strange man leaving my house so early in the morning. No matter I had the hotel sign. She’d tell everyone I was running a house of ill repute. Yes, Judy was a thorn in my side already.
She must have felt eyes on her because she looked over at the window and noticed me watching her. I smiled and waved. She frowned, glared at me, then turned on her heel and trekked back across her yard. Oh yeah, she’d discuss me all right. She was probably plotting her story already. Claire Ann would tell me what she said around town about me later. I’d get an earful.
Since no one else would eat my muffins, I scarfed one down, then tidied up the kitchen. Yes, I was still bitter about the continental breakfast thing. So what if the muffins were a little dry, he didn’t know that.
As I sat at the table, I tapped my fingertips against the wood. Sun streamed in through the window, splashing across the tiled floor. Dust motes floated through the air. I didn’t have to work until tomorrow, so I wanted to take full advantage of my day off. I wouldn’t let a little thing like being chased and discovering a murder slow me down. I had to live my life—the heroines in mystery novels did.
So many things, so little time. I decided the living room would be next. It would be a great gather place for guests. Well, if I ever had guests who were friendly enough to gather. I walked into the room to plan my strategy. Brushing past the ugly sofa, I knew the room needed a coffee table. Something to make the space cozier.
As I studied the room, my cell phone rang.
“Hello?”
“I have something for you,” Claire Ann said.
“A warrant for my arrest?” I asked.
“What?” She chuckled. “No. I’ll let the hunky sheriff handle that. If you’ll be home for a bit, I’ll bring it over.”
“I’ll be home, but aren’t you going to tell me what it is?”
“You’ll see when I get there.” She hung up the phone.
The fact that Claire Ann didn’t want to tell me over the phone what it was wasn’t a good sign. Maybe I shouldn’t answer the door.
Chapter Ninteen
While I waited, I decided to make my chalkboard menu sign for the kitchen. It would be an easy trash-to-treasure project—and inexpensive, too. Mrs. Mathers had an outdated picture on the wall in the hallway—one of many I’d found. It was an outdoor scene of deer drinking from a tree-lined lake with a few other critters lurking about. I took it off the wall, taped the frame with painter’s tape, then painted the chalkboard paint right on top of the glass. No need to remove the print. The gold frame I spray-painted cream. When it dried, I’d hang it beside the refrigerator.
Just as I put the chalkboard paint away, the roar of a vehicle sounded from the driveway.
I walked to the front door with apprehension in my stomach. What Claire Ann was up to, I had no idea—I prayed it wasn’t going to knock me for another loop. I’d had enough surprises in the past few days.
When I stepped onto the porch and looked toward the driveway, I spotted Claire Ann. She sat next to her father in his red monster-sized Ford truck. In the bed of the F-150 set a large sofa. My eyes widened. The cushions were large. The entire thing was covered in a toffee and cream-colored checked pattern. Very much my style. What was Claire Ann up to?
“My mother had this extra sofa she said you can use until you buy the one you really want.” Claire Ann smiled. Her cheeks were flush from perspiration. I could tell she was excited.
“That’s incredibly generous,” I said as I stepped off the porch. “Why would she get rid of it?” I rounded the side of the house to the driveway. Claire Ann’s father had stepped out from the truck.
“Hi, Raelynn.” He tipped his hat.
“Hi there. How are you?” I smiled.
“Doing great, doing great.” He wiped his brow with a bandana he pulled from his shirt pocket.
“It’s in great shape.” I looked to Claire Ann. “Not that I’m surprised. Everything your mother owns is nice.” I touched the arm of my new gift.
“The woman is meticulous.”
“She didn’t have to do that.”
“She knows that.” Claire Ann said, hopping down from the truck and closing the door.
After struggling to get the sofa inside—or at least Claire Ann and I struggled with our end—Claire Ann’s father took off, leaving us to chat. I still couldn’t believe the ugly sofa was out of the room. Claire Ann’s father hauled it off with him. Good riddance. I’d make a couple of toss pillows for the black chair until I found a replacement. The sofa looked great in its new spot.
“I see you’ve been working around the place.”
I smiled. “Yes, I have. I’m kind of having fun making new things out of old junk.”
Claire Ann walked over to the side window, staring out at my neighbor’s yard. �
�Have the police been back there again?”
“Um, yeah, a little. I think they’re all done now, though.” I fluffed the cushion on the new sofa.
“Do you think they found any good leads? Any more clues as to what happened?”
“Are you asking just because you’re curious or is this the reporter in you?”
She gave a sheepish grin. “Just because I’m curious. Of course, I’ll be writing about it in the paper.”
“Why do I feel as if I have to watch what I say around you?”
She laughed. “I don’t misquote.” She shook her head while keeping her attention on Judy’s yard.
I sat on the sofa, bouncing to test out the cushions. “You know I’ll tell you anything I learn.”
“I know you will.”
“I guess they have a list of suspects,” I said.
“I’m sure they do.”
It really hit me then that they probably had me on the list. As if I was a criminal. As if she read my mind, Claire Ann walked over and sat beside me.
She patted my arm. “Don’t worry, they’ll find the killer in no time at all. I don’t think they seriously suspect you. Heck, like I said, Margaret has a temper from what I’ve heard. There’s no telling who killed Nancy.”
“I hope you’re right, but should I call a lawyer?” My hands trembled.
“What? No, they haven’t arrested you. You know Kent doesn’t really suspect you.”
I nodded and wiped the tears from under my eyes. I didn’t like the idea of being a suspect in any crime. Or “person of interest” or whatever they called it.
“Who do you think killed Nancy?” I asked.
“Honestly, I don’t know. I guess I’d say her husband. It’s usually someone close to the person like that.”
“But why in the world was she in my back yard? She doesn’t live close to here.”
“Is there any reason why she’d come to see you?” Claire Ann asked.
I shook my head. “I can’t think of anything. I saw her at the store the other day. She was friendly, but we barely knew each other.”
“I’m sure Kent will get to the bottom of it. Listen, I have to work. I’ll call and check on you in a bit.” She squeezed me in a hug.
