Snowed Inn

by Heather Horrocks

“Oh, I am sorry.” Martha leaned back with a wide smile. “Proceed,” she told Lonny, who stood behind her.

  “Ma’am, this is not your fight, though I do appreciate the support.” With that, Lonny advanced on the older man.

  “Can’t we settle this like civilized men?” Calabria continued to ad lib as he stood. He grinned. Good.

  “It’s too late for that.” Lonny moved again, and managed to look menacing while making very little forward progress. “A beating will help you remember to stay away from my wife.”

  Lonny was convincing.

  Calabria stood, his grin fading a little.

  Maybe Lonny was a bit too convincing.

  “Captain,” Dr. Ray said, “surely, you can work this out.”

  “Let ‘em fight,” said bloodthirsty Grandma.

  As the song on the CD faded to silence, Lonny picked up the extra (inexpensive) goblet set in the middle of the table for this purpose and threw it into the fireplace. The shatter echoed, and since the goblet was filled with dry, magician-type powder, the flames flashed hot and bright for a moment.

  For the first time all night, the room was totally silent, until strains of Beethoven filtered over the speakers. I knew the glass would be thrown, but still, even my heart was pumping faster.

  Alexis’s hand flew over her heart.

  Martha cheered Lonny on. “Go get him, tiger. Protect your wife’s honor.”

  Xavier straightened his shoulders, gearing up for his part as Lonny had done, and ran into the dining room, yelling, “Don’t do it, Steve. He’s not worth it.”

  “Don’t try and stop me.” Lonny took another two steps toward Calabria. As Xavier raced closer, Lonny pulled his fist back as if to punch. And, just as they practiced, Xavier grabbed Lonny’s arm. These guys were good. I had to smile.

  Calabria stood still, staring first at Lonny and then at Xavier. Perhaps he really thought he was going to get hit.

  Xavier wrapped his arms around Lonny and started pulling him back. “Come with me, buddy. Don’t drag this man into it. Go talk to your wife. Ask her what’s going on.”

  I hardly heard the rest of the lines as I watched Calabria’s face. He looked pale. The actors were too convincing, perhaps, and really scared him. He sank into his seat.

  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Gregorio.” Martha laughed. “The ghost of affairs past, perhaps.”

  He glared at her. “You knew about this.”

  “Not the play.” Martha grinned. “But I couldn’t have planned it better if I’d tried. Relax and enjoy the fun.”

  Garrett whispered in Martha’s ear. She shrugged, and I heard her say, “Earlier today.”

  Dr. Ray frowned. “Martha, I haven’t seen—”

  Martha put her finger to her lips and shook her head.

  Dr. Ray shrugged and smiled at Grandma, who was apparently asking him what he knew.

  Xavier pulled Lonny to the door. “Come, Captain. You need to take your medication.”

  Through the dining room windows flashed the lights of an approaching vehicle. It could only be my favorite mystery writer, Clark Harmon, finally arriving. I could hardly wait to meet him. Ever since my brother, Paul, first shared one of his Max McKnight mysteries with me when I was in ninth grade, we both were hooked.

  I excused myself and went outside. Kent had gone home an hour ago, and I could barely tell where he’d blown snow. The air was so cold, it hurt to breathe. I shivered and my face was freezing after just a few moments outside. The wind picked up and whistled loudly, carrying the smell of wood smoke from the direction of Horse Feathers Ranch.

  The vehicle was not another airport shuttle, but an older model, blue Ford pickup. Rent-A-Wreck, perhaps? It slid to a stop on the driveway. Out stepped the driver, a tall, slender man, wearing a cowboy hat and cowboy boots. I’d seen pictures of Clark Harmon in the back of his books, so I knew what to expect— but he needed a better picture. A more current one, at least, because an inch-long, black beard hid his face. He stomped snow off his boots.

  “Welcome to the Who-Dun-Him Inn.”

  Impatiently, he said, “Take me to Mr. Calabria, please.”

  I was an idiot. The guy had to fight his way up here in a snowstorm, so he was in no mood to talk. I opened the door. “Your group is well into dinner and the play. Your part is being filled by my grandmother, of all people. But we have another one for you.” Grandma playing a butch baseball player and Harmon a southern debutante (BJ’s part) ought to prove interesting. I was rambling because I was actually meeting my favorite author, and he was not in a good mood.

  I pushed open the door. “You forgot your bag.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said, flicking snow off his pale blue denim jacket. It was one like a thousand guys owned, Levi brand, fake wool-lined, snapped up the front. Very similar to the coat Robert was wearing, which still resided in my closet downstairs. “I just want to get my business taken care of.”

  I offered to take it from him, but he brushed me off. “No, thanks, ma’am. Please just take me inside.”

  He certainly wasn’t as charming in person as I’d hoped. When I led the way into the dining room, the others looked up. “Your last author has arrived.”

  Alexis tilted her head as she studied Harmon.

  Bonnie shrugged and returned to her Burgundy Beef.

  White-haired Dr. Ray put down his fork and watched intently.

  Grandma Ross ignored the new man entirely.

  Calabria grinned.

  Martha waved her punch-filled goblet toward him and said, “Welcome, last author. There is no bourbon, I fear.”

  Clark Harmon asked, “Which one is Calabria?” His harshly spoken words surprised me. Had he never met his agent? Or guru? Or whatever Calabria was supposed to be?

  Martha laughed and wiggled a finger at Harmon. “Come on in, honey. The more, the merrier. Gregorio is the one at the head of the table.” With a mischievous grin, she stage-whispered, “This isn’t Clark, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  Calabria glared at Martha. “Can you be quiet for five minutes? Let them put on their play.”

  So Calabria thought this was part of the play, but Martha seemed to have realized it wasn’t. With growing horror, I whispered to the man, “Please tell me your name is Clark Harmon.”

  “No, ma’am, it’s not.”

  That was what I was afraid of. I needed to get this clown out of here, and fast. I spoke quietly. “Sir, this is a private party. I must ask you to leave.”

  “I will, ma’am, just as soon as I’ve had my say.” His eyes were cold and his face drawn tightly with anger as he turned toward Calabria and called out harshly, “So you’re the so-called man that doesn’t mind stealing other people’s wives.”

  “He’s the one,” Martha said. “Will there be more of you?”

  Calabria looked puzzled, but joked, “This needs revisions to move the plot forward. It is a repeat.”

  Martha smiled lazily. “Rumor has it this is quite common where you’re concerned.”

  “Silencio, Martha.”

  A burst of wind rattled the windows. The man beside me took another step toward Calabria. “I’m talking about Bobbi Jo, you piece of wife-stealing scum.”

  “Bobbi Jo?” Calabria scanned his script and shrugged as if he wondered where this new part of the play was headed. “That doesn’t sound familiar. I don’t know any Bobbi Jo person.”

  “Don’t even remember her, huh? Well, that’s too bad, because you’re going to remember me.” He took another step.

  I followed him and put my hand on the man’s arm.

  “Sir—” I began until he turned and looked into my eyes, and the anger and hurt I saw there startled me.

  He removed my hand. “I’ll just be a moment, ma’am.”

  “Oh, hot-blooded knight,” Martha said, “what is thy name?”

  “Kevin Higgins, ma’am.” He advanced on Calabria, making it obvious Lonny was only playacting before. “Ever hear Bobbi Jo m
ention my name before?”

  I whispered to Lonny, “Can you get him out of here?”

  Lonny nodded and headed for Kevin, perhaps to pull him away as he’d done with Xavier. I’d heard Lonny claim to have bench-pressed three hundred pounds. At six-foot-two and about two hundred pounds, he ought to have been able to handle Kevin, who looked like he weighed forty pounds less.

  At the door, Xavier shook his head and looked disgusted.

  “Bobbi Jo,” Kevin repeated. “You know her, all right.”

  Stephanie, always quick, said, “I’m right here, sweetie. And I vow I haven’t had a thing to do with him.”

  Everything and everyone stopped, except Kevin, who spun around. When he saw Stephanie, he frowned. “What?”

  “Oh, baby.” Stephanie headed for Kevin, her face expressing love. “I am so glad you’re here. Where have you been, baby?”

  Obviously frustrated, he shook his head, and turned back toward Calabria.

  Lonny nearly reached him in one direction, while Stephanie was halfway around the table on the opposite side. “Baby, come home with me. I’ve been so lonely.”

  Liz chose that moment to step in. “Kevin, don’t go with her. Come with me.”

  Kevin looked at Liz, did a double take, stopped and looked at me. Back and forth a couple of times, then he shook his head, obviously frustrated, and focused on Calabria. “I want you.”

  Calabria must have sensed the very real threat. He stood and circled the table, away from Kevin. “I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

  Kevin Higgins pushed the empty chair out of his way. Lonny reached for his arm, but missed. “Don’t, huh? Long blonde hair? Long red nails? Cheating heart?” He choked up before he toughened up again. “Mole on her back?”

  Calabria blanched. “BJ Killian?”

  Aha! The memorable BJ had a mole— and a husband.

  “Killian is her maiden name,” Kevin said. “But legally, she’s still Bobby Jo Higgins.”

  The guests started talking all at once as they realized this was not part of the play, but real.

  Garrett shook his head as if in disgust, Dr. Ray looked offended, and Alexis smug. Bonnie tilted her head and stared at the threat. Martha still grinned and swirled the punch in her goblet, apparently pleased with the turn of events. This was a bizarre group of people. Perhaps because they were writers.

  Stephanie reached Kevin and put her arm around his waist. “Baby, come on home with me.”

  “Lady, I don’t know you.” He very easily moved her away from him, gently but firmly, and turned back to Calabria. “Yeah, BJ. Bobbi Jo. So you do know her. It’s taken me a long time to track her down, and imagine my surprise to find she’s living with somebody rich. Is she here? I need to talk with her.”

  “She’s in our room.” Calabria waved his hand almost dismissively. “We’re engaged.”

  Kevin nearly growled at that news. “Engaged? You can’t be. She deserted me eight months ago, but she’s still my wife. And the way I figure it, bigamy’s against the law.”

  “You’re in Utah, pal,” said Garrett. “Matrimonial high jinks could very well be legal here.”

  Time to get Kevin out of here or this would be the first assault at the Inn. And if I had any choice in the matter, it was to avoid calling Silver City’s chief of police to break up a fight. My brother, Paul, was skeptical enough about my new venture.

  Lonny grabbed Kevin, but the smaller man shook him off so hard, Lonny staggered into the table. Kevin took two quick steps, swung at Calabria, and connected with his chin, as evidenced by a sickening crunch.

  Martha and Alexis screamed.

  Bonnie jumped up, knocking her chair over.

  Calabria crumpled to the floor.

  Breathing heavily, as if he’d run a mile, Kevin stood above Calabria, almost daring him to rise to his feet, and rasped out, “You touch my wife again and I’ll kill you.”

  Then Kevin pulled out a huge, green-handled knife.

  Chapter Seven

  Holy crap!

  Lonny jerked Kevin back. Garrett sprang up to help. Between the two of them, they pinned Kevin’s arms. I won’t repeat some of the words bandied about as they dragged Kevin from the dining room and toward the front of the house.

  Stephanie and I rushed to Calabria, who looked up at me with pain in his eyes. “Are you going to let in anyone else of whom I do not approve?” His words were nasal as he held his nose with his fingers. It didn’t look broken, but bled profusely. Stephanie handed him a stack of cloth napkins to staunch the flow.

  “I thought he was Clark Harmon. I let him in as you requested.” It was a flimsy excuse and we both knew it. I ruined everything. No, this Kevin guy ruined everything. Stephanie and I helped Calabria to his feet and back into his chair, apologizing to him all the way.

  “I thought Clark was your favorite author. Didn’t you ever look at his picture in the books?” Calabria asked as best he could through the fabric. “Mama mia, this ruffian does not look a thing like Clark.”

  He had me there. In my own defense, Kevin’s beard hid his features.

  Dr. Ray gently pushed me aside and began to check Calabria, who was going to have one heck of a shiner. Probably two.

  “I need ice and some clean cloths.” Dr. Ray looked up at me.

  Liz said, “I’ll get them,” and left the dining room.

  Martha surprised me by starting to cry. “Oh, Gregorio. What have you gotten yourself into now?”

  Alexis screamed again, and I looked up to see Grandma, brandishing the gun she must have pulled from her purse. “I told you there might be troublemakers.”

  Liz came back in with the ice and clean dishcloths. When she saw Grandma, she narrowed her eyes. “Grandma, don’t make me take that gun away from you.”

  “I want to make sure we’re safe, that’s all.”

  I said, “Why don’t you go and make sure Zach is safe?”

  Dr. Ray put out his hand toward Grandma. “Naomi, please give me the gun. I will make sure we are safe.”

  I never thought I’d see the day when Grandma acted meekly around a man. She bossed Grandpa George around until the day he died, even telling him it was time to pass on when he grew too sick from his cancer. My bossy grandmother returned the gun to her purse, and said with dignity, “I’ll go check on Zach.”

  I suppose I could have called the police, but Paul would have given me all kinds of flak. He’d rub it in forever that these types of problems never occurred when our parents ran the Ross Mansion. No, I’d deal with this myself. And the first thing I had to do was get this Kevin dude out of the Inn.

  As I reached the door, Calabria said, “Ms. Butler.”

  I stopped. “Yes, Mr. Calabria?”

  “If you would be so kind as to telephone the police, I plan to press charges.” He hit the top of the table with his blood-flecked fist. “No one strikes Gregorio Calabria.”

  * * *

  I followed the sounds of raised men’s voices, though they were hard to hear with the wind rattling the windows. I found Kevin seated in the library, and Garrett and Lonny in front of him, as if daring him to get up, the same way he did with Calabria.

  “She’s going to marry him?” Kevin was still reeling from the news. “She can’t. She’s married to me. And I’m not going to sign any divorce papers.”

  “Give it up, man,” Garrett said, roughly. “It’s over.”

  “No, it ain’t over until I’ve talked to Bobbi Jo.”

  “It was over as soon as you pulled that knife, dude.” Lonny’s voice was harsh.

  “I’m sorry for the trouble. I don’t have an argument with no one else here,” Kevin said. “I just wanna leave.”

  Garrett put up a hand to keep Kevin in place. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that. You can’t go around slugging and cutting people. It’s frowned on in polite society. Besides, I bet Gregorio’s on the phone right now, filing charges.”

  “Good guess,” I said. “Only he wants us to do
it for him.”

  “So…” Lonny looked at me and raised a questioning eyebrow, “…you want me to call Paul?”

  I sighed and nodded. It had to be done. If I were lucky, Calabria wouldn’t include me in the complaint. On a Friday evening, Paul’d be home, so I rattled off his home number.

  Lonny stepped back, stopped, and glared at Kevin suspiciously. “Are you going to behave yourself now?”

  Kevin raised his hands in submission and repeated, “I don’t want no trouble.”

  Garrett said, “You sure have a funny way of showing it.”

  “I don’t want no trouble with no one else. I enjoyed giving that wife-stealing son-of—” He caught himself and glanced at me. “Excuse my language, ma’am.”

  I asked, “What if you go to jail for attacking Calabria?”

  Kevin smiled grimly. “Then I’ll go to jail happy.”

  Well, I could certainly understand that. Jail was looking more and more appealing as a means of escaping this situation.

  “Ouch,” Lonny said and I turned to him.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, apparently nothing, to hear this guy talk about it.”

  I noticed Lonny pressing a napkin on his other forearm. The napkin was stained red with blood. “My gosh, Lonny, are you hurt?”

  “It’s okay. Just a small scratch.”

  “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean to cut you. I just wanted him to let my wife go.”

  “Sure.” Slowly, as if he didn’t trust Kevin to behave, Lonny picked up the phone with his good hand, tapped the buttons, and asked for Paul. A moment later, he informed me, “Jennifer says he’s out front, snowblowing the driveway. She’s gone to get him.”

  Since Paul’s wife was nine months pregnant, it might take a minute for her to waddle out and back.

  Garrett leaned against one of the large bookshelves that William Ross, Sr. had installed for his second wife, who also loved books. It was an action that caused nearly as much of a ruckus in his family of sister wives as Kevin did in the dining room.

  Keeping a sharp eye on Kevin, Garret shook his head and asked, “What were you thinking, man? You can’t get away with threatening people. Write a novel and bump him off there.”