Contents
Title Page
Book Description
Dedication
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Thank you!
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Books by Heather Horrocks
Excerpt: Murder is Misunderstood
Excerpt: Regally Blonde
Excerpt: The Princess Problem by Diane Darcy
Thanks again.
Snowed Inn
Who-Dun-Him Inn Cozy Mystery #1
Heather Horrocks
BOOK DESCRIPTION ~ SNOWED INN
Mystery buff Vicki Butler plans to kill someone this weekend.
Nothing personal, just business.
The killer grand opening weekend at her new Who-Dun-Him Inn is all fun and games— until an unplanned dead body appears. With a murderer on the loose, young, single mom Vicki is forced to keep her family, guests, and actors safe while searching for clues.
Her author guests, also the prime suspects, try their hand at solving this real-life whodunit, in the process hindering the investigation by local law enforcement officers. Things really go downhill when her twin, Liz, shows up, trailed by flamboyant Grandma Ross, who announces she’s seeking a boy toy among the suspects.
When both a younger local man and an out-of-town news hound start sniffing around the inn, and Vicki, she realizes she’s got more than just a murderer to worry about.
Can she solve the mystery before the killer strikes again? Or will this case of opening night jitters prove to be her undoing?
Dedicated to Diane Darcy, my partner in crime, who’s always game (ad exciteum) for discussing where to hide a body or a murder weapon, or plotting yet another book in a day (over fifty so far!), or doing lunch and a bookstore. You’re a great friend. These last couple of years have been quite an adventure, and I expect the next ones to be even more fantastic.
And to Mark, even though his eyes tend to glaze over when I’m talking (ad nauseum) about where to hide a body or a murder weapon or about the plot of yet another book.
Copyright © 2011 Heather Horrocks
www.BooksByHeatherHorrocks.com
Word Garden Press
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.
Cover
Cover Art Copyright © 2011 istockphoto.com / factoryonfire
All Rights Reserved
This includes the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions.
Work of Fiction
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Special eBook Edition
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only; it may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please use the Kindle enabled lending program or purchase a separate additional copy on any other format.
Previews
For previews of upcoming books by Heather Horrocks, to sign up for mailing list, to order personalized print copies, or for more information about the author, visit www.BooksByHeatherHorrocks.com
Chapter One
“Surprise, Vicki!” Grandma Naomi Ross flung her arms out wide enough that my twin sister, Liz Eklund, dodged with a quick step to the left. “I bet you didn’t expect us today, did you?”
“Uh,” I said, disoriented. When the doorbell rang, I expected to find Sharon, my cook for the evening, who was already an hour late. But, instead, it was Liz and Grandma standing on my porch, bundled against the October weather.
I looked behind them. I really, desperately needed my cook. An hour ago. This was my grand opening weekend and it had to go perfectly.
After a moment of silence, my sister raised an eyebrow. “I take it we’re not a pleasant surprise?”
“Of course you are,” I lied, pulling myself together and glancing behind them— still no sign of Sharon— as my anxiety level rose another notch. I tried to reassure myself. Sharon was very reliable. Surely, she’d show up soon. Or at least, call.
In the meantime, I tried to remember my manners. “Come on in.”
As they moved forward, I looked past them, dismayed. “It’s still snowing?”
Liz brushed flakes off her coat and nodded, but hurried to reassure me, “But not bad. Your guests shouldn’t have any problems getting up the mountain. There’s a sprinkling on the road, but we were able to drive right up.”
Grandma stepped inside, wrapped me in a snowy hug, and kissed my cheek. I let myself sink into the familiar, comforting embrace. “Congratulations, darling. You’ve done wonders for the old place. It’s good to see it open for business again.”
She gave me a nice, strong embrace. In darn good shape for a woman her age, Grandma was always well put together, with flattering makeup and an expensive hairstyle. She exercised more than I did.
As they hung their coats on the wall hooks closest to the entry, I closed the door behind them and followed Grandma into the Mayor’s Parlor. She sank down onto the Queen Anne loveseat that used to belong to Grandpa George and her when they ran the Ross Mansion Bed and Breakfast, before my parents bought it.
I looked around, thinking of all there still was to do. But surely, I could give my family five minutes. And that thought shot my panic level up another notch.
“How long before everyone arrives?” asked Liz, looking out the window.
I checked my watch. It was 1:12. Nine minutes later than the last time I checked. “The guests will be here in two hours. The actors are here rehearsing, thank heavens. Cielo is putting the finishing touches on the rooms, and Kent is fixing something on the gas fireplace in the Nancy Drew room. But Sharon’s an hour late and I haven’t heard from her.”
Grandma patted the seat next to her. “Come here, Vicki. You need to take a deep breath. Everything is going to work out fine. You just have a good case of opening night jitters.”
When I sat beside her, she continued patting me, now on my arm.
“Take a deep breath,” she suggested.
I did, but felt as though I was about to hyperventilate. My words rushed out on a panicked exhale. “I’ve spent so much money on renovations. What if nobody wants to come to a bed and breakfast with murder mysteries and detective-themed rooms?” Tears prickled my eyelids. “And it’s so hard doing this without Robert. The Who-Dun-Him Inn was our dream.”
I invested most of the insurance settlement toward the purchase and renovation of the Ross Mansion into th
e Who-Dun-Him Inn. And every dime I spent stung me with guilt because I’d rather have had my husband Robert here than any amount of money.
Grandma sighed. “You’re far too young to be a widow.”
I hated that word. At twenty-seven, it didn’t even seem possible. And yet, I was.
“But you are definitely not alone.” Grandma smiled. “We’re here.”
I looked from one to the other— Grandma Ross imitating an exotic, wrinkled parrot in yellow slacks and a bright striped blouse, and my sister looking elegant in a new black-and-rose pantsuit— taking comfort from their loving presence.
Liz crossed over, put her hands on her hips, and struck a tough pose. “And it’s a good thing we came when we did. Snap out of it, Red.”
Surprised, I tipped my head. I was even more surprised when she did an uncharacteristic gangsta-style wiggle of her body, and said, “I mean it, sistah.”
That actually made me smile. “Is that the attitude you cop in court before the judge?”
“Not the judge.” She grinned as she stood back up. “But the other attorneys are terrified of me.”
“I’m not surprised,” I said, but at least I was beginning to feel like I could breathe deeply again.
“So all the renovations are complete?” asked Liz.
I shook my head. “Not on the third floor, but the rest are done enough to be open for business.”
“I brought you some pseudo-bubbly,” said Grandma, rummaging in her huge purse and pulling out a champagne-shaped bottle filled with her favorite nonalcoholic grape juice, as she handed it to me.
“What is that?” Liz gasped, reaching toward Grandma’s purse.
Grandma grabbed something and clutched it to her chest.
“Why, Grandma,” Liz blurted out with a choked laugh, “what a big gun you have.”
Speechless, I stared at the cannon in my grandmother’s slightly shaky, liver-spotted hands.
Grandma shrugged. “So I’m packing heat. It just means you girls don’t need to worry about any troublemakers.” Except for our grandmother, who was the biggest troublemaker I knew.
Finally, I found my voice. “Please tell me that is not a real gun.”
“Of course it is, honey.” Grandma’s voice softened. “This Colt Python was your Grandpa George’s favorite pistol..” She shook herself out of her moment of reverie. “But don’t worry that I’m not legal. I got licensed to carry at Terrific Guns & Range.”
I groaned and shook my head. Grandma had done lots of weird things in the past ten years since Grandpa’s death, taking crazy class after crazy class, but a gun? That was too much, even for her. Who in their right mind would license an old woman with a deadly weapon? “Grandma— ”
She smiled at me. “And that’s not all. Have I told you girls I’ve decided to start dating again?”
“I’m pretty sure I don’t want to hear this.” Liz’s stiletto heels tapped across the hardwood floor toward the fireplace, her hands headed toward her ears.
“Good gravy, George has been dead for more than a decade. My mourning’s done. And I’ve still got some kick in these old legs.” Staying seated on the loveseat beside me, she kicked up an old leg to prove it.
“Running out of money, are you?” I asked.
“Oh, Grandpa George left me plenty of dough. This time, I’m going for a young, good-looking one. You know, one of those boy toys.” She smiled. “Like Demi has.”
Liz shook her head. “Boy toys aren’t looking for seventy-eight-year-old great-grandmothers.”
“Sixty-nine,” Grandma huffed.
She could easily pass for the sixty-nine she wasn’t. But dating was one thing and pistol-packing another. I had guests coming in less than two hours, and was determined not to let my grandmother ruin the grand opening of my newly remodeled Who-Dun-Him Inn. “You can be twenty-one if you want, but you cannot carry a gun here.”
“I most certainly can. I told you— I’m street legal.” She sat up chair-back straight. “I have a permit for carrying a concealed weapon.”
“Then conceal it,” snapped Liz. Although admittedly, she and Grandma both make me insane, they drive each other even crazier. Probably because they’re so much alike.
“What are you going to do? Take away my gun? I can read the headline now.” Grandma put one hand melodramatically to her heart. “Ungrateful Brats Abuse Poor, Defenseless Grandmother.”
“Grandma, please,” I begged. “My first guests will be here soon for the grand opening.”
I sucked in a breath to calm myself, and paused. It didn’t calm me, but I continued anyway. “Look, I appreciate you both visiting, but Liz, I need you to take Grandma home now. I have a lot of things still to do and you can probably tell I’m a little stressed right now.”
Liz raised an eyebrow. “That’s why we came to help.”
“That’s right.” Grandma patted my hand. “Let’s quit our talking and you girls carry my suitcases down to my room.”
“Suitcases?” Oh, no, no, no. Not on my grand opening weekend. “You can’t…”
“I gave up my Friday luncheon with my friends so I could come up to support you on your weekend party, and I had to bring some clothes with me. Don’t you worry. I’m not senile. I’ll keep Grandpa’s gun in my purse. The guests will never even know it’s there. Unless they cause trouble, of course.”
“Grandma!” barked Liz in a tone I’ve always admired, but never quite mastered, and which Grandma could elicit from Liz fairly easily. It was the same tone Liz used when I dared touch her Pound Puppy on our seventh birthday. “Hand over the gun.”
Grandma set her jaw and stuffed the gun in her purse. “No.”
“Fine.” Liz took a step closer to the couch and reached out her hand. “But give me the bullets.”
Grandma frowned and appealed to me with a glance.
I nodded. “Give ‘em to Liz.”
With a heavy sigh, Grandma shook her head. “And to think I was considering moving in with you, Vicki Butler, instead of staying with your parents.” Grandma said it as though hearing that tidbit would devastate me. Ha! I looked at it more like I just dodged one of her bullets.
“You can’t move in with Vicki. She doesn’t have time to entertain you.” Liz winked at me. And she was right. I didn’t. Grandma was loveable, but definitely high maintenance.
Grandma harrumphed. “Like your mother ever entertains me. She leaves me at all hours of the day and night to go gallivanting.”
She was staying with my parents for two months while her fancy home was remodeled, and referring to her daughter-in-law, my mother, former PTA President and current Relief Society president, married thirty-five years to my father. Liz and I may have shared identical red hair, brown eyes, and freckles, but our personalities definitely were forked on the family tree. Liz roosted partway out on the feisty branch where Grandma (who regularly dyed her hair red and proclaimed herself our triplet) perched, while I nested with my mother on a more sedate limb.
I frowned. “You make it sound like Mom’s out bar-hopping.”
“Well, she’s doing good while she’s gallivanting, but she’s still never home to entertain me. Besides, she and your father left me all alone to fend for myself.”
Life has an annoying way of presenting two important events at the same time which we mere mortals are forced to choose between. I deliberately planned my grand opening for one month after my twenty-one-year-old brother was scheduled to return home from his mission. After I set my plans in motion, my brother extended for— you guessed it— one month. So my parents struggled with the decision, but finally traveled to Spain for a week to bring him home. Otherwise, they would never have missed my grand opening. They told me repeatedly how sorry they were.
Liz eyed Grandma sternly. “Grandma, you’re changing the subject. Hand over those bullets.”
“You girls never want me to have any fun.” Grandma sighed and pulled the gun back out. Liz took it, dropped six huge bullets into her palm, smiled swe
etly, and handed it back to Grandma. Our grandfather taught us gun safety when we were teenagers.
Relief flooded me. Grandma with an unloaded gun might prove to be an irritation, but at least, no one could get shot.
Liz said, “The gun has to stay in your purse or we will take it away from you. I’m not kidding around.”
“You’ll talk differently when I save your fanny from some molester.” Grandma stuffed her bullet-less gun into her purse, stood, and spoke, the iciness chilling her voice. “You are both naughty girls. I am going downstairs. Unless you brats have a problem with that.”
“And you are a naughty Grandma,” Liz said with a grin. “I think we ought to wash out your mouth with soap for saying fanny.”
Grandma huffed and headed for the hall.
Liz called out, “Grandma, you shouldn’t be going down any stairs at your age. And especially not those steep steps into the dungeon.”
“It’s not a dungeon anymore,” I protested, thinking of how nice I’d made our family quarters downstairs.
“I lived in this house decades before you were even a twinkle in anybody’s eye.” Grandma’s testy voice cut through the air. “I think I know if I can handle the same flight of stairs I’ve used thousands of times.”
“Use the elevator,” I called out, glad to have her at least going to the family living space.
Grandma didn’t take the elevator, but instead veered toward the kitchen, calling back, “I’m hungry, if that’s all right with you two dictators.”
I looked at Liz. “You’ve got to take her home. There is no way she can stay this weekend, with or without the gun.”
Liz shrugged. “Short of renting a tranquilizer gun from a zoo, I’m not sure how to accomplish that.”
I sighed. “Me, either.”
The phone rang and I answered with my new slogan. “Laugh yourself to death at the Who-Dun-Him Inn. This is Vicki.”
There was static on the line. “Vicki? This is Grant.”
Snowed Inn Page 1
