Snowed Inn

by Heather Horrocks

  I led them into the exercise room. “You may work out between seven a.m. and ten p.m.” One glance told me Calabria didn’t care, so I moved through the curved arch at the back into the plant-filled arboretum, which ran alongside both this room and the library, joining the three so you could walk in a circle through the three rooms and back into the lobby. “Miss Marple’s indoor garden is a peaceful place.”

  BJ touched a leaf. “I feel the energy in here. It’s peaceful, and yet…” She trailed off.

  Calabria smiled at his kooky young wife while the others glanced at her as if she was crazy. Next, she touched the white wrought-iron park bench. “I feel sadness and also healing.”

  I stared at her. I bought the Inn from my parents three months after Robert’s death and spilled many tears on that bench. As if sensing my thoughts, BJ caught my eye and smiled gently, her sophisticated blonde facade dropping for a second to reveal a more… what? A centered person? Was she full of hooey? Or could she really pick up the vibes of my tears?

  Shaking off the strange sensation from BJ’s words, I led the way back into the foyer and up the main staircase, which rose along the library wall toward the rear and curved twice until it headed back toward the front. Soon, we all stood in the large common area on the second floor, except Garrett, who wandered around the staircase and stared from the windows, still frowning.

  The door to the Sam Spade room was closed, and now would be an excellent time for Martha to keep it that way, if she still intended to surprise her brother.

  “There are fifteen detective guest rooms. Seven on each floor and the Magnum, P.I. carriage house suite outside.”

  “The bridal suite,” interrupted Calabria.

  I paused for a moment to see if he would continue. When he didn’t, I did. “Two of the third floor rooms are not yet completed. On this floor, you’ll find Jessica Fletcher, Mike Hammer, Inspector Clouseau—”

  ”Oh,” interrupted Bonnie as she clutched her heart dramatically, “Clark would love the Inspector Clouseau room.”

  So the authors did know each other well. “Actually, I think he might prefer the Max McKnight room.”

  “His character even has his own room here?” Garrett turned and laughed, though not without warmth. The faint smile did wonders for his looks. “That’s great.”

  “This I’ve gotta see.” Bonnie said.

  So I led them first to the futuristic Max McKnight room, where they oohed and ahhed over the sleek, queen-sized metallic bed that appeared to hover. I forked over quite a bundle for this illusion and was gratified by their obvious appreciation.

  I heard Grandma tell Dr. Ray, “You will love the Hercule Poirot room,” as they slipped out.

  Liz whispered, “Should I chaperone?”

  “Make sure they don’t go into the Sam Spade room,” I whispered back. “And mention dinner and her promise to serve it by six.”

  “Supper.” Liz winked, knowing Grandma would correct her. She smiled and excused herself to chase down our flirtatious grandmother as well as the prey caught firmly in her macaw talons.

  I continued the tour in the far corner of the second floor. “The elevator goes from the top of the mansion to the cellar.” I didn’t mention that you couldn’t get to the family quarters in the former cellar without punching in a special code. “Originally this was a hidden space used during polygamy years so when the feds were expected, the men could slide down the fire pole to the cellar, go through the tunnel to the barn, climb up through the trapdoor and into the hiding place on the bottom of the wagon, where three men would fit.”

  “Wow,” Bonnie said. “Gotta write it.”

  I read from the plaque on the next door:

  MIKE HAMMER ~ New York ~ 1950s

  Continuing, I said, “I’ve decorated the rooms in accordance with each detective, keeping each room true to its time period.”

  We moved on to Chief Inspector Clouseau and Hercule Poirot, where I found Dr. Ray’s briefcase on the bed, Grandma and Dr. Ray at the window, and their chaperone nowhere in sight.

  Grandma’s and my tours overlapped just long enough for me to lean over and whisper the word, “dinner” and for her to whisper back two: “supper” and “handled.” I could tell she wanted to say more, but didn’t. Kudos to Grandma for showing restraint. I was sure she’d give me heck later for sending Liz after her.

  I smiled at her and led the others into the Columbo room, where a framed trenchcoat decorated one wall.

  Garrett whistled and tossed his black jacket on the chair as if to mark his territory. “Where did you locate this great car?”

  “On eBay, actually. It’s a beauty, isn’t it? A 1959 Peugeot convertible, Model 403, just like Columbo’s. An old man had it in his shed in Nevada, and when he died, his children didn’t want it. It isn’t big enough for two people, so there’s also this loveseat that makes out into a double bed.”

  Garrett circled the car, admiring it. I’d apparently found his weakness as he actually grinned at me. “I claim it.”

  When we got to Jessica Fletcher’s room in Cabot Cove, Maine, complete with bicycle, Garrett said, “This is your room, Alexis.”

  A little uncertain, she asked, “Are you sure?”

  I thought he was right. The room, though not as sophisticated as the model-like Alexis, was certainly feminine enough.

  “Yes. Most definitely,” Garrett said with finality. Did Garrett also want her situated in the room next to his? For a romance, perhaps?

  Alexis said, “I need to lie down. I don’t feel well.”

  “Yes,” said Calabria. “Rest so you feel better for dinner.”

  I pointed to the closed door of the Sam Spade room and announced it was not available to showcase. Between Jessica Fletcher and Sam Spade was the stairway to the third floor, where Bonnie immediately laid dibs on the small Kinsey Millhone room. “Because Kinsey is one savvy, intelligent broad— and so am I.”

  Garrett laughed. “She was one nosy, pushy broad, you mean.”

  Now that everyone had a room, I showed them the other ones quickly, beginning with the small Nancy Drew. Next, was the large Southern Sisters suite with its spiral staircase up to what used to be a long loft with lots of small, stained glass windows. I explained that, because the mansion was on the highest ground around, messages were sent by the strategic placement of lanterns behind the colored porthole windows. If behind the blue stained glass, the army was on its way. Red meant the Mormon prophet was in residence at the Ross Mansion. These days, the loft merely housed a garden tub.

  We bypassed the unfinished V.I. Warshawski and Hardy Boys to check out the Lt. Joe Leaphorn hogan in the Navajo Nation, and the Charlie Chan, complete with pictures of his fourteen sons. Number One son, Number Two son, and so on.

  Bonnie bubbled over. “Your place is absolutely wonderful.”

  “Now that’s the kind of response an innkeeper likes to hear.”

  Garrett said, “I’ve chosen the Kinsey Millhone room,” and took off. Bonnie followed him, laughing.

  Our tour eventually dwindled to the three of us: Calabria, BJ, and me. I pointed to the window and again offered an inside room, but Calabria still insisted on the private outside suite.

  BJ looked more concerned. “But look at that snow, Gregorio. It’s bad out there.”

  He didn’t bother to look. “I want the private suite.” His tone was as unbendable as Grandma’s.

  “All right, then,” I said. “I’ll take you to the carriage house suite.” Me and the sled dogs. Mush!

  BJ said, “I’d like to look around for a few more minutes.”

  “I’ll be downstairs. When you’re ready, I’ll take you to your suite.” I retraced my steps. As I exited the stairway on the second floor, I saw Garrett opening the door to Martha’s room.

  “Wait—”

  But it was too late. Martha’s surprise was ruined.

  As Garrett stood in the doorway, I pressed behind him in time to see Martha turn from the window and place her
finger to her lips.

  Garrett raised an eyebrow. “Interesting.”

  I could hear the Calabrias starting down the stairs.

  Chapter Five

  I whispered, “Mr. Calabria’s sister wants to surprise him.”

  “I wouldn’t want to spoil a good surprise,” Garrett reassured us. “Her secret is safe with me.”

  To my relief, Garrett closed the door just seconds before Calabria and BJ reached the bottom of the stairs. I pasted on a smile. “I’ll show you to the carriage house now.”

  Calabria pointed to the Sam Spade door— his sister’s. “You have not shown us this room yet.”

  “This one?” I paused for one beat. “It’s not ready—”

  ”And yet,” Calabria frowned, “Garrett has seen it.”

  “It was my mistake. She’s right. It’s not ready to show.” Garrett patted Calabria on the shoulder, surprising me. Earlier, he acted like he could barely stand the guy; but now, he was all chatty. “Gregorio, tell me about your trip to Italy last month. Was your mother well?”

  Calabria’s eyes lit up and he grew animated. “Ah, mia madre. She still tells everyone what to do, but she is growing old.”

  Garrett led Calabria toward the stairs. Behind them, his young wife fell into step with me.

  Garrett said, “I’d like to see the illustrious carriage house suite. That’s where you’ll be staying, Gregorio?”

  Calabria puffed up importantly. “You may come with us.”

  And, just like that, the man in black changed into a smiling conversationist, a chameleon in a superhero cape, to save my fanny. Grandma couldn’t have done better with her gun.

  We bundled up in our coats and snow boots (I lent a pair to BJ) and trooped out into the weather, huddling together against the wind and six inches of heavy, new snow.

  I listened to Garrett chat with Calabria as if they’d never exchanged harsh words earlier. It was amazing they could talk at all, what with the wind and snow we had to slog through, all bundled up like Nanooks of the North. When we entered the carriage house, I caught BJ’s eye. She shrugged.

  The warmth of the room felt wonderful. Cold nights like these were what made a fireplace such a delightful thing.

  BJ brushed snow from her coat and tossed it over an expensive chair. She checked the mirror, made a disgusted sound, and fluffed her hair with her fingers. Casually, I hung her coat on a hook along with my own. Hers was faux fur, so environmentalists wouldn’t be here with the media any time soon. The men hung their own coats.

  BJ never noticed. After all, she couldn’t see me in the mirror. That centered person I glimpsed in the arboretum was definitely gone now.

  The carriage house was a tropical paradise. On the main level was a living room, small cabana kitchen, and bathroom with a central gas fireplace that looked like three tiki lamps. In the upstairs loft was a large, romantic bedroom and deluxe bath suite, with a fireplace as a hole in the sand on the beach. I lit the gas fireplaces on both floors with the flick of a switch.

  Since this was the Inn’s official Bridal Suite, it was our most luxurious. I showed the couple how to turn the ocean sounds on and off. Ocean sounds. You know, Hawaii. Magnum, P.I. I couldn’t afford the Ferrari, but ocean sounds, beach cabana, and large hot tub I could manage.

  A seascape mural was painted on every wall, bringing the illusion of palm trees into the room. Sand-toned ceramic tiles covered the bathroom and kitchen floors. And two live palm trees in huge pots were cared for by a plant service.

  Oh, and I did have a small to-scale Ferrari in a glass display case on the mantel.

  Calabria seemed impressed with the rooms, BJ delighted. Even Garrett complimented me.

  The Calabrias hardly noticed when we left, which we did the instant they started looking at each other with bedroom eyes. After reminding them of dinner in an hour, I was out of there. Outside, I yelled to Garrett over the wind. “Thanks.”

  “Sure thing.” Garrett pointed. “Who’s that?”

  A small figure was running pell-mell from the main house toward me, wearing Zach’s bright yellow coat and hat, calling out, “Mom!”

  Something must have been wrong.

  Beginning to panic, I caught him up in my arms, afraid to let him speak. Had Grandma fallen? Paul’s baby come? Something more dark and ominous than the storm? “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong, Mom.” My son caught his breath. “Shelby just had babies. And we get to have one.”

  “Who the heck is Shelby and why is she giving away babies? How many babies did she have, for Pete’s sake?”

  “You never remember anything, Mom.” Zach struggled from my embrace and yelled slowly, as if I were the child and he the exasperated parent. “Shelby is Jeremy’s dog. She just had five puppies. And he said I can have one.”

  “You want a puppy?” Garrett chuckled.

  I glanced at Garrett, trying to hide my irritation.

  He shrugged. “Every kid should have a puppy.”

  My relief at there being nothing wrong warred with my desire to kick Zach’s little tush for scaring me so badly. I took the high road all parents have to tread and forced a smile. “We need to talk more about it.”

  “Let’s talk in the house.” Zach tugged on my arm. “It’s too snowy out here.”

  I caught Garrett’s eye. He grinned and said, “Who knew?”

  * * *

  Thirty minutes later, I made a final circuit of the main floor, grateful for the momentary solitude. Zach ate an early dinner and was downstairs, only slightly mollified with no dog by playing his favorite game. The guests were in their rooms, dressing for dinner. The actors were downstairs, applying makeup and donning costumes. Liz and Grandma were in the kitchen, fussing over the final details of a dinner I had no doubt would be delicious and impressive, mainly because I wasn’t involved in fixing it.

  And the smells were making my mouth water. Burgundy Beef was one of Grandma’s specialties when she ran the Ross Mansion bed-and-breakfast, and always a hit.

  I opened the door to the dining room. The long, rectangular table was set with the good china and three pumpkins intermingled with silk flowers were arranged down the center of the linen tablecloth. Marissa Ross’s antique silver candlesticks stood at each end of the long table.

  I opened the lower china cabinet doors, placed the iPod I loaded earlier with classical music onto the stereo dock, adjusted the speakers, and pushed PLAY. The sounds of Mozart lightly filled the room.

  The table was set with ten place settings: two for the guru and his wife; one for his sister (after she made her grand entrance); one for Clark Harmon, who hadn’t yet arrived; five for the authors I’d met; one for Lonny; and the one I was forced to promise to Grandma.

  Finally, everything was ready for the first big dinner in my Who-Dun-Him Inn. My grandmother had served countless meals over the years, but this was the first on which my success depended. That had to explain the somersaults my stomach was performing.

  I peeked into the kitchen. Grandma was doing her cooking thing and Liz was helping. It smelled fabulous. Grandma frowned at me. “What’s the big idea sending Liz after me upstairs?”

  I chuckled. “Grandpa George would have wanted us to make sure you are only fraternizing with good men.”

  Grandma harrumphed. “Dr. Ray is a good man.”

  Liz shook her head. “How can you tell after just one hour?”

  “I can tell.”

  “You dated Grandpa for three years.” Liz took the lid off a pot on the stove. “And you’d already known him all your life.”

  “So I’ve gotten smarter through the years. You girls leave me alone. I know what I’m doing.”

  “You’re making a fool of yourself.” Liz stirred something.

  Grandma looked at me thoughtfully. “Do you think I’m making a fool of myself, Vicki? By wanting to date?”

  I smiled. “Actually, I think it’s great.”

  “See?!” Grandma turned to Liz triumphant
ly. “Your sister always did have good sense about these things.”

  As they traded insults, I slipped back out, thankful Grandma could still cook like an angel and bake killer desserts.

  I was also thankful I had the downstairs remodeled so I didn’t need to worry about Zach running among the guests with his imaginary dog, Charlie. He could run and play and not disturb the guests or my mystery dinner. I was still looking for someone to tend him in the evenings when I would be hosting murder mystery dinners; but for tonight, Stephanie, Liz, and I would take turns checking on him.

  When a hand closed over my shoulder, I jumped. Stephanie, dressed in a waitress uniform that matched mine, said, “Relax.”

  “Oh, sure, relax, when you just shaved five-point-five years off my life span.”

  “You always did worry too much about things.” Stephanie teased me. “What can go wrong? No, wait. Instead, tell me what can go right. What has already gone right?”

  I paused to consider. “Most of the guests are here. Dinner’s on schedule. And the guests love their rooms.”

  “So what are you worried about?” Stephanie laughed gently at my fears like the old friend she was. “How long has it been since we were dressed as waitresses? I hate this outfit, by the way.”

  “Hey, babe, you wrote the script.”

  “Yeah, and in the next one, I’m going to write in a tall, wealthy woman who wears diamonds. Lots of diamonds.”

  I laughed. “All right. I’ll try to quit worrying if you don’t write in any diamonds. Otherwise, I can’t afford you.”

  Stephanie smiled. “Deal.”

  The back door opened and the wind blew in the Calabrias, along with some snow. He closed the door against the storm. Removing their coats, I could see they took my mention of formal wear seriously. I wondered how many hundreds, or possibly even thousands, BJ’s simple, slinky, black dress must have set Calabria back. Probably not as much as his obviously expensive gray-on-black pinstripe suit. BJ slipped off her snow boots and pulled stilettos from her coat pockets.