Room At The Inn (The Jeff Resnick Mysteries)

by Bartlett, LL

  "Sounds like fun." Plop! went another piece of bread.

  "We can rendezvous at the municipal parking lot in the village."

  "Okay." Plop!

  I started off, and then thought of something else. "What did you say as you left the dining room to make the DuBois' laugh?"

  "Last night Michele told me people always try to get her to do drawings or paintings for free. I told her people always ask me for free medical advice. At breakfast Mrs. Andolina entertained me with the history of her uterus."

  I couldn't help but smile. "What's Michele's husband do for a living?"

  "He's an editor at a magazine in Québec."

  My smile waned. "Interesting. Laura Ross is a former editor; Eileen Marshall agented for magazines, and Jean DuBois currently edits a magazine."

  "And Maggie's written for magazines. It's only coincidence, Jeff. I can't see those two young people involved in anything sinister."

  "I suppose. Maggie and I haven't had any luck penetrating Laura's steel veneer. Do you think you could talk to her this evening?"

  "I'll try."

  I studied him. "It's got to be the mustache."

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "Why else would women casually unburden themselves to you?"

  "People always tell doctors things they'd never tell their spouses. You have no idea how many sexual fantasies have been confided to me at cocktail parties."

  "You're joking."

  "Whether I want to hear them or not."

  I left him to feed the fish, wondering how he rated all the fun.

  Maggie waited for me in the car, reading her novel. She'd changed into the blue sundress that went so well with her eyes, with a white sweater draped over her shoulders. I got in and started the engine. She replaced her bookmark and closed the cover as I pulled onto the highway.

  "Rich is going to meet us in town."

  She nodded.

  It was time to broach a potentially sore subject. "Do you mind if I pull over and look at that place along the road?" No other explanation was necessary.

  "Of course not. Maybe you should take a picture."

  The idea gave me the willies. "Can’t—no memory card. Yet."

  We drove in silence until we reached that desolate spot in the road. The narrow shoulder bordered a gully, which sloped into a wooded area. Birds chirped in the evergreens, the branches swayed gently in the breeze. It was peaceful, idyllic, and yet it scared the hell out of me. I could almost understand the connection with Colorado. Almost, but not quite. I felt more than saw it, but it was there.

  Maggie got out the car, joining me. She wound her arm around mine, standing close, and leaned her head on my shoulder. "Wouldn't this be a romantic spot to build a log cabin?"

  "It's too close to the road. You'd hear traffic all night."

  "There's not much traffic." To dispel that, a truck roared by, heading north. "Jeff, you look so worried. What is it about this place that bothers you?"

  "I don't know. That's what worries me."

  "Could something bad have happened here in the past and you're picking up on it?"

  "I don't know."

  "Is it the same as what you felt in the inn?"

  "No." That much I was sure. This place had an aura of ... what? Pain ... loss?

  "If we were going to build here, I'd do some research. Maybe a tragedy occurred. Or maybe someone was hanged here a hundred years ago and that person still haunts the site." Her expression was wistful.

  "Pure conjecture. You have a writer's overactive imagination."

  "I know, but isn't it fun?" She smiled, but it quickly faded. "Do you think the police will let us go home tomorrow?"

  "I sure hope so."

  "I've got to be back at work on Wednesday morning. I can't afford to lose this job."

  "You won't lose it."

  "There's talk they might make me permanent. That would be wonderful. I hate living hand to mouth. If it weren't for renting out the bottom of my duplex, I don't know how I would have survived the summer."

  "They'll hire you soon."

  "Really?"

  She had that look of hope I knew so well. Maggie and Brenda seem to question everything I say, as though I have a direct pipeline to the future. Just because I sometimes have flashes of insight, they think I know more than I do. This time I played along; she'd already had her contract extended once.

  "Of course."

  A string of traffic zoomed by. "Come on," Maggie said, tugging my hand. "Or Richard will get to town before us."

  She got into the car and I crossed to the driver's door, taking one last look at the innocent surroundings, wishing I could pin down why I felt so apprehensive about the place—knowing I'd eventually find out, and dreading it.

  Chapter 11

  I was able to get another memory card at one of the shops along Stowe’s main drag, and went back to the car to wait for Richard. Eventually the white Buick station wagon pulled alongside my parked car. "Where we going?" Richard called through the open window.

  "To Ben and Jerry's for ice cream. Want to drive?" I said.

  "Why not. I've got nothing better to do."

  We transferred our stuff to the station wagon and locked the Chevy. Richard drove out of the lot and we were on our way.

  Ben and Jerry's ice cream factory and amusement center was going full tilt at 10:30 on a Sunday, holiday-weekend morning. People were already lined up for the factory tours and the ice cream stand was crowded with people waiting to consume a thousand plus calories. We bought tickets for the 11:15 tour and killed time at the cow viewing area, where Richard and Maggie mugged for the camera. Next we headed for the gift shop to drop a few more bucks.

  The tour wasn't as thorough as I'd hoped. Because of the holiday, the packaging line was shut down. But we got a free sample of Cherry Garcia and spent time reading the funky letters that decorated the corridors from celebrities and ordinary Joes like us.

  Maggie was dying for more English Toffee crunch, so afterwards we lined up and bought cones. Strolling down the asphalt walkway, I heard a voice call out.

  "Wait! Please wait!"

  I turned. Kay Andolina hurried toward us. She got within ten feet of me before she stopped dead. "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you were—"

  "Who?"

  The anticipation in her eyes turned to confusion and disappointment. She looked from Richard to me as though searching our faces for some elusive answer. At last she looked away, embarrassed.

  I hadn't counted on running into any of our fellow guests. I didn't want anyone to know about my relationship with Richard—and here we'd been caught in a very public place.

  Maggie's smile was friendly. "Small world, isn't it?"

  Kay frowned, her gaze hardening.

  "Have you taken the tour?" Richard asked.

  She shook her head. "Fred's getting tickets now."

  "Nice as it is, we just had to get away from the inn," Maggie said.

  "Yes," Kay agreed. "We'd been looking forward to a peaceful weekend in the mountains. Now, with Ms. Marshall's death, it's more like a nightmare."

  Children romped by us. A dog barked somewhere behind me and an elderly couple jostled past. The building's painted murals seemed too bright. Time wavered and something flashed before my mind's eye. Actually more of an impression—of something Kay Andolina had seen.

  "She argued with Laura Ross," I blurted. "The day before we got there. Wednesday, right?"

  Kay looked at me strangely. "How did you know?"

  "What did they fight about?"

  "It was none of my business," she said.

  "Jeff!" Maggie dabbed at my hand with a paper napkin. Ice cream dripped down my fingers, the cone was crushed in my fist.

  Fred appeared, handing his wife a ticket stub. "Hello," he greeted us. In contrast to Kay, he seemed relieved to see some familiar faces. "We have to hurry, dear, the tour starts in a few minutes." He took his wife's hand, leading her away.

  I didn't watch them
go. My attention was focused on the mess that had been my ice cream cone.

  Richard cleared his throat. "Why don't we sit down," he said, turned me by the shoulder and pointed me in the direction of an empty picnic table.

  I tossed the cone into a nearby trash barrel and wiped the drips from my fingers as we sat on the bench. Maggie produced a bottle of hand sanitizer and squirted some onto my waiting palm.

  "So what did you get?" Richard asked, all business. He’d deduced what had just happened to me.

  I thought about it as I rubbed my hands together, working in the gel. "I'm not sure. It's all vague—just that she'd been disturbed by the argument. But that proves Eileen knew Laura before she came to the inn."

  “I’m sure of it. Didn’t Ted ask if she’d been to the inn over Fourth of July?”

  I nodded.

  "But then why did she introduce herself to Laura in front of us?" Maggie asked.

  "Maybe she was undercover—like me," Richard said.

  "Well, thanks to the Andolinas, your cover's been blown."

  "Not necessarily. They didn't even seem to notice. Which reminds me, at breakfast I asked if she saw anyone on the stairs after you had your little accident last night."

  "Did she?"

  "No."

  Nobody said anything for long minutes. Maggie and Richard finished their cones, their attention focused on anything but me.

  Finally, Maggie dug into her purse once again and came up with a travel guide. "Let's see what else is in the area," she said, flipping pages.

  "Since we're in Vermont, let's find a covered bridge," Richard said.

  Maggie consulted a map of the area. "Looks like there's one about ten or twelve miles down the road called The Great Eddy Bridge. Jeff?"

  I was still thinking about Eileen's and Laura's argument, but her voice shook me from my reverie. "I'm game. Let's go."

  Just as the guidebook promised, the village of Waitsfield did indeed have a charming covered bridge that had survived the flooding of the Mad River in 2011. I hauled out the camera and played tourist, but Maggie was more interested in checking out the Christmas and Teddy Bears store nearby.

  "This bridge was built in 1833," Richard said, reading the brass placard on the side of the bridge. “And apparently lucky it didn’t crash into the river like some of the other bridges during the aftermath of Hurricane Irene.”

  The hand-hewn timbers were ten inches square, and I marveled at the workmanship. I shot pictures from every conceivable angle and wondered if any would be good enough to sell as calendar shots, amazed at my sudden confidence in my ability. Still, I enjoyed it, glad for the distraction. Having Richard along was an added bonus.

  I snapped one more shot and replaced the lens cap. "Do you realize, this is the first family vacation we've ever been on."

  "So it is." He frowned, his brow wrinkling. "You know, there are a lot of things I regret not doing when you were a kid. It never occurred to me to take you on a vacation."

  I'd lived with Richard and his grandparents for four long years after the death of our mother. It was not a fun time. Still in his hospital residency, Richard was seldom home and I was left to fend for myself with the elderly Alperts—who didn't care for my company, either.

  "You were always working. Besides, I'd never been on a vacation. I wouldn't have known what to do."

  Richard looked thunderstruck. "You never went on vacation?"

  "Mom could barely pay the rent. Vacations were an unobtainable luxury."

  "Jesus," he muttered.

  "Don't sweat it. It's not important."

  "But it should have been."

  "I finally went on a vacation when I was nineteen." I smiled at the memory. "A buddy and I had a week's leave and bummed passage on a C-130 to San Francisco. I had the time of my life. We must've visited every bar on the wharf. Met a lot of ladies—and I use that term loosely. I was damn lucky not to get the clap."

  "Ah, the good old days," Richard said, but his voice held no amusement.

  "I've been a model citizen ever since," I bragged.

  "What? Oh, sorry. I feel crummy when you tell me how things were for you growing up. I should've been there for you."

  "Hey, you're here now." I had a feeling that was a lot more important. "Besides, you didn't have much choice. Look, I didn't mean to put a guilt trip on you. Let's just enjoy the day, okay? Besides, if you really feel bad, you can buy my forgiveness with a drink at dinner."

  "That I can do."

  We started off toward the Christmas shop. "So where'd you learn French?" I asked.

  "I had a French governess. Grandmother thought it was chic. And I spent a year studying in France before I started medical school. You sowed your wild oats in the army—I sowed mine in Paris."

  "And had more fun, too."

  His smile was enigmatic. "Probably."

  An old Victorian mansion housed The Christmas Shop. We entered the Yuletide wonderland, its crown molding festooned with red and green twinkling lights while a forest of artificial Christmas trees lined the walls, their branches bowing under the weight of hundreds of ornaments. Christmas carols played softly in the background making the holiday atmosphere complete.

  "We'll never drag Maggie out of here," I muttered.

  "I want to look around anyway. If I don't come home with some kind of gift, I'll be in the dog house with Brenda."

  "Suit yourself."

  We split up, Richard entering the room on the right while I followed the path into the next room. Maggie stood before the sales counter, conversing with the clerk, a cheerful looking woman of indeterminate age. Heavyset, with streaks of silver in her hair, the woman's eyes seemed to twinkle behind her gold-framed glasses. She could've passed for Santa's wife, but the tag pinned to her Christmas-red apron read Barb.

  "It looks like you bought out the store," I said, indicating the large floral gift bag Maggie held like a trophy.

  "Jeff, this is Barbara Jenkins. She has a booth at the same antique co-op as Susan."

  "It’s a small world," I commented as we shook hands.

  "I was telling Barb that I've known Susan since high school."

  "Poor Susan," Barbara clucked.

  "Poor?" I asked. Money squeezed, maybe, but certainly not without assets.

  "She works so hard and she's so unhappy." Barb shook her head in sympathy. "If only Zack would show a little more interest in the place."

  "Lazy, huh?"

  "Not that Susan's said. But he's away so much she seems to get stuck with most of the responsibility. We haven't seen much of her at the co-op lately."

  "Their marriage is kind of rocky?" I guessed.

  "She thinks he might be having an affair," Barb whispered. "Of course, you won't mention this to her, will you?"

  "Oh, no," Maggie promised.

  "She's having trouble financially, too," I put in, hoping to pump Barb for more information.

  "She was looking for an investor, and asked me if I'd consider being her partner. But I don't want to get in the middle. I mean should there be a divorce."

  "Their relationship is that rocky?" Maggie asked.

  "Money can be the dividing factor when a marriage goes sour. Zack had a successful business back in Connecticut, and Susan talked him into selling it to buy the inn. Then she spent an awful lot to upgrade the place. They're still in the red and Zack resents it. I keep telling her it might take another two or three years before they see much of a profit, but Susan's impatient."

  Richard wandered up, balancing a large teddy bear and several fragile-looking ornaments. "What do you think, Maggie? Will Brenda like these?"

  "Oh, yes."

  Barb became very businesslike and rang up Richard's purchases, then carefully wrapped them in holly-patterned tissue paper. Maggie made the mistake of admiring an unusual crèche and it was another twenty minutes before we could break loose from Barb's well-meaning lecture on the subject.

  "I got the most beautiful blown-glass ornaments," Maggie said
as we headed for the car. "Wait 'til you see them."

  "Oh, boy," I deadpanned.

  "I'd like to see them," Richard said kindly.

  "No wonder you get to hear so many women's sexual fantasies."

  It took half the trip back to Stowe to explain it to Maggie.

  We decided against an early dinner and Richard dropped us at the municipal parking lot to pick up the Chevy. I saw the patrol car across the street when we first pulled up, but didn't give it much thought as I unlocked the car. Though the sun had retreated behind a bank of clouds, a blast of hot air greeted me when I opened the driver's door. I rolled down the window before getting in. Too bad the air conditioning had died during the former owner's tenure.

  "Can we go to the grocery store?" Maggie asked. "I want to get another bottle of tonic."

  "Sure."

  I started the car, pulled out of the lot and noticed the patrol car slowly roll out behind me. Driving to the store, my eyes constantly darted to the rearview mirror. We parked and I waited while Maggie went inside. The cop car took a space at the other end of the lot.

  Maggie smiled as she exited the store and got in the car. "I got some Vermont cheddar and a box of crackers, too. We can have a nice happy hour before we go to dinner."

  I pulled back onto the highway, looking to see if my shadow followed.

  It did.

  "I don't want to disappoint you, love, but I don't think we're going to get a happy hour tonight."

  "Why not?"

  "Because we're being followed by a police car.”

  Maggie’s carefree expression changed to concern. She craned her neck to look behind us.

  "Don't panic. They might have had us staked out for a very good reason."

  "Like what?"

  "They probably just want to ask us a few more questions about Eileen's death. There's nothing to worry about," I reassured her.

  I obeyed all the traffic laws. My shadow stuck to us like glue.

  I pulled into the Sugar Maple's drive and saw two more police cars. Richard waited by the Buick, his expression grim. I'd had a feeling something was going to break in the case. I just didn't know the break was going to be me.