Inn Dire Straits

by Dixie Davis

  Lori could see the recognition dawn on Doug’s face as soon as he’d asked the question.

  In the last eighteen hours, two members of Annie’s high school crew had been run down. Now Annie was out on the street alone.

  “Where did she say she was going shopping? Front Street or downtown?”

  “She didn’t say.”

  Lori leapt to her feet, grabbing her keys again. “The snacks can wait. We need to find Annie.”

  Doug followed her out of the private area, cutting through the parlor to reach the front porch and the gravel parking lot beyond. They were nearly running by the time they reached the blue rocks of the path.

  “You drove home?” Lori asked, pointing at Doug’s white rental car in the lot.

  “Yeah, she said she could walk it.”

  Lori groaned internally. That would make her even more of a target. “You check Front Street. I’ll head downtown.” And scour the roads along the way.

  Lori couldn’t be sure what she’d find as she whipped out of the parking lot and around the side of the inn. For all she knew, Annie could be walking back along this path right now.

  Or she could be lying on the side of the road, dying.

  Lori gunned the engine, running a stop sign in a clear intersection. She hoped the cops were too busy to be patrolling their streets.

  But with someone who liked to use cars as murder weapons on the loose, maybe that’s exactly where the police should have been.

  Lori made the two turns to dart into a parking space downtown — she was darn lucky to find one this week. She practically leapt from her car.

  She’d check the shops in the historic downtown block and then she’d . . . start driving any other streets in walking distance of where Doug had left Annie.

  Where was that? And how long ago? How far could Annie have gotten in that time? Lori pulled out her phone and texted Doug to ask before she ducked into the first shop: Heidi’s Heirlooms.

  While Heidi didn’t hate her the way she had a year ago, they still weren’t quite friends. Lori still didn’t go out of her way to visit Heidi’s shop, though she didn’t completely avoid it either.

  Today, she had no reason to even pretend to browse. She hurried past the displays, dodging other shoppers and glancing around each grandfather clock, cabinet and wardrobe. No Annie, no Annie, no Annie.

  Lori was out of the shop before anyone noticed her. Where would Annie go to get something for Doug? The hardware store? Lori ducked in and zigzagged through the aisles. It wasn’t as crowded as the antique store next door, thank heaven, but still no Annie.

  Just as Lori reached the door, someone touched her arm. She whirled around, hoping she’d just missed Annie.

  Mitch stood behind her. A gasp caught in Lori’s throat.

  “Need help finding something?” he asked.

  “Someone.” Lori gestured around the store. “She’s not here.”

  “I can help,” Mitch said, but Lori was already running out of the store.

  What else was on this block? Lori glanced up at the historic brick storefronts. Heidi’s Heirlooms, the hardware store, a swim shop. Nowhere that seemed right for getting a gift for Doug.

  Lori glanced at her phone. He’d replied to her text: Left her at the Salty Dog after lunch.

  After lunch? That was — she checked the time — an hour ago. She could be almost anywhere now.

  Lori hopped in her car and texted Doug back, this time asking for Annie’s cell phone number. She would have had that, too, if she’d just copied down the numbers last night.

  No time to kick herself right now. Lori shoved the car into reverse, tore out of the parking spot and circled the block as fast as she dared with this many jaywalkers.

  Did the festival actually have to work against her like this?

  Lori managed not to lose her temper even after the sixth time she had to slam on the brakes for someone who never even acknowledged her as they just darted into traffic. Okay, well, maybe she lost a little of her temper, but she didn’t yell at them, so she’d count that as a minor win.

  Not the win she needed right now.

  Lori glanced down at her phone, still in her hand — Doug had texted back with Annie’s number. She called the number and held her breath.

  Doug had to have tried calling her already. Had she not answered?

  Annie’s number rang and rang. This couldn’t be happening. Annie was supposed to marry Doug, not come here only to be mown down before he could even propose.

  Annie’s voice mail recording kicked in. Lori ended the call and maneuvered around another flock of tourists. They were worse than Canada geese sometimes.

  Lori scanned their faces, however, just in case Annie was there.

  Nobody would run her down in downtown with this many pedestrians.

  Then again, with this many pedestrians, an accident was more likely than ever.

  But there had to be less popular streets to check. The cute historic downtown brought out the tourists even more than Lori’s favorite shops along Front Street.

  Lori hung a left at the next stop sign, heading toward another less popular shopping mall. This one didn’t have a cornerstone that proudly proclaimed 1917 as the year it was built, but it did have better selection in some departments. If Lori were looking for a local gift for Doug, this might be the place she started.

  This stucco strip mall was crowded, too, but not like downtown had been. It took no time at all for Lori to find a parking space before she dashed into Roses. The department store was on par with a Wal-Mart — well, if you were generous, they were. What department would Annie be in?

  Lori hurried to electronics. That was usually a safe bet for a gift for Doug, though she wasn’t even sure why Annie was shopping for Doug right now. Maybe a bakery would be a better bet?

  Lori texted Doug to check in again and suggest Salt Water Bakes. If it was even open right now. Once Val heard about Trey, Lori wouldn’t have been surprised if she closed her bakery for at least the rest of the afternoon.

  No Annie in the electronics section. The grocery selection here was virtually nonexistent but Lori scanned those aisles, as well as clothing and home goods.

  No Annie.

  They were never going to find her like this.

  Lori ran back to her car and hopped in. She wasn’t going to give up hope yet. This time, she headed over to the Salty Dog.

  Maybe that was giving up hope, since that was where they’d found Nate and Trey, though the sections of the road were spaced far apart. But if Annie had started walking home from there — and it had only been a couple hours since Trey was hit — she could definitely be in danger.

  Or Lori was already too late.

  Lori turned onto the street for the Salty Dog and slowed down, scanning the right shoulder and then the left. The crime scenes from the night before and that morning had already been cleared. Maybe that meant good news for Trey and he was recovering. Or maybe it meant bad.

  All that mattered right now was finding Annie.

  The little yellow clapboard restaurant loomed ahead of her. Lori didn’t know where else to look, so she dialed Annie’s number one more time.

  “Hello?” Annie answered.

  Lori nearly slammed on the brakes. “Annie? Where are you?”

  “The inn. I got home a few minutes ago. Where are you?”

  “Looking for you.” Lori infused her tone with as much of a maternal scold as she could for an adult who wasn’t her child.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Did you need something?”

  “Just sit tight and I’ll be home in a minute.”

  It really only took a couple minutes for Lori to find Annie in the inn’s sitting room, relaxing on the couch with a novel.

  “Hey,” Annie greeted her. “What’s up?”

  Lori braced herself to break the bad news to someone for the third time of the day. This was one job she was beginning to wish she really could leave to the police. “Trey was hit by a car today.�
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  Annie sat up straight, her eyes wide, while her lips narrowed to a tiny ‘o’ shape. “Trey? As in my friend Trey? Is he okay?”

  Lori shrugged one shoulder. “They took him away in an ambulance. That’s all I know.”

  Annie covered her mouth with a hand, pressing hard like she was trying to hold back a scream or some deeper emotion. “What is going on?” she murmured. “Home is supposed to be your safe place, not the one where people are getting murdered.” She gave a little gasp and sat up straighter in her chair. “When — when was it?”

  “A little before noon.”

  Annie shook her head slowly. “Right after the memorial? I saw Serena leaving the memorial a little early. You don’t think she could have —”

  Lori’s stomach dropped. It wasn’t hard evidence, but it certainly didn’t look good for Serena.

  She needed to talk to her. And she also needed to fire that girl.

  Lori turned back to Annie. “You might want to drop Doug a line. He’s out looking for you, too.”

  Annie nodded slowly. “Now I understand why.” She pulled out her phone and tapped away for a minute.

  “Until the police catch who did this, we need to keep you off the street,” Lori said. “And I need you to think again about who might have harmed Nate — or Trey.”

  Annie nodded slowly. “I just — I can’t believe this is happening.”

  Lori sighed. How many times had she felt that over the last year-and-change? Too many.

  “I haven’t seen either of them in ten years. Could they have gotten into trouble since then?” Annie’s shoulders fell in a sigh.

  “Speaking of trouble, what have you been up to all day?”

  “Shopping.” Annie eyed Lori. “Why, do you want to see my receipts too?”

  Lori laughed at the idea. She was just glad Annie was safe — for now. But to keep her that way, Lori would have to work twice as hard at this investigation. No matter what Chief Branson wanted.

  Or threatened.

  Lori needed to talk to Serena as soon as possible. She still hadn’t heard back from Brett with Serena’s number.

  But before she could follow up with him, one crisis sprang up after another. First, the snack buffet was picked clean. Were squirrels stealing her buffet? Then Lori had to duck into the office to text Brett again. Still no answer. She took a moment to print off info on the next check-ins before starting on laundry and prep work for the room turnovers coming in the morning.

  But when she glimpsed her email inbox, Lori dropped everything to open the one from the Dusky Cove Business Owners Association — especially with its subject line. “Canceling Night Lights.”

  They couldn’t cancel the town festival, could they? This was the single biggest week in the town’s whole economy. People could go out of business without the rest of Night Lights, and the money the guests brought in with them.

  Lori clicked to open the message. She skimmed through the intro and scrolled past the summary of the minutes of their last meeting. Why would you put something that big in your subject line and then bury it inside the bottom of the email?

  This was a crisis for their tourist town. She was already trying to fix the problem. What else could she do to help?

  Lori finally found the right article and began reading:

  It has come to the attention of the Dusky Cove Business Owners Association Board that a spate of recent hit and run killings might be making our roads unsafe, especially in the immediate area of the Salt Marsh Boardwalk.

  As a board, we’ve been meeting to discuss alternatives, and we present them now to the general membership as a vote.

  Our options are:

  Work with police and bring in more deputies from the Sherriff’s department at additional cost to us

  Reduce the number of nights in Night Lights

  Cancel Night Lights altogether.

  We understand that cancelling Night Lights would make business very difficult for many of you, and this is why we’re bringing the decision to you. Please vote by replying to the email with the option of your choice.

  They couldn’t cancel Night Lights. It would cripple the town’s businesses for the next year.

  “Hey, Mom?” Doug poked his head in the door. “Can we borrow a movie to watch on my computer?”

  Lori nodded absently, directing him to the inn’s DVD library. She turned back to her computer to reply to the email, taking only a moment to look over the options. Perhaps the Business Owners Association was just trying to make sure they had people’s consent before they went ahead with the plan that they really wanted, and they’d set up their survey with two horrible alternatives to make the decision easier for members. Still, Lori hoped other members would see reason.

  She typed out her favorite answer and hit send.

  A bell sounded and Lori forced herself to her feet. She’d spent more time on them this week than she had in the previous month combined — and that wasn’t an easy month, either. But this bell meant a guest needed her.

  She popped out to the parlor, where she found the Wilsons standing with all their suitcases.

  Oh, no, had she missed a checkout this morning?

  “Hi,” she said. “Can I help you with something?”

  Mr. Wilson frowned at her so deeply that the worry lines on his forehead turned into troubled trenches. “Can you stop the murder spree here in town?”

  “I’m doing all I can —” Lori stopped short, cringing. She doubted guests would appreciate her sleuthing hobby any more than Chief Branson did. “Unfortunately, no, I can’t.”

  “Then we need to check out early.”

  Lori stared at him for a long minute, unable to put those words together. Was he asking for a refund? She’d never had anyone ask for a refund before. Well, they weren’t asking for that now, but she was sure they would.

  “Are you going home?” Lori asked.

  Mr. Wilson raised an eyebrow and nodded, his whole face saying, Duh. “It’s not safe to walk through the streets here.”

  “I understand,” Lori said. And she did. She just really didn’t want him to do this.

  “We’re not paying for tonight,” Mr. Wilson stated.

  Lori clasped her hands, trying not to wring them. “I’m sorry, but our cancellation policy is pretty clear. You have to make any changes at least forty-eight hours in advance.”

  “You’re telling me we have to pay for something we can’t use because we’re afraid for our lives?”

  Lori forced herself to smile. “No one has been run down inside the Mayweather House. If anything, you’re safer here than leaving.”

  Mr. Wilson’s expression turned sarcastic. “That’s fine, I’ll just stop the payment and dispute the charges with my credit card company.”

  “Our cancellation policy was listed on the page where you made the reservations,” Lori tried. She hated the way her voice trembled, but confrontation was easily her least favorite part of the job.

  Mr. Wilson scowled but nodded.

  “We’d love to have you finish your stay with us, but if you really want to leave, can I pack you some snacks for the road?” She hoped that small grace would save her from a bad review this time. She’d always tried to heed the advice of the previous owner and avoid online review sites, but once or twice her curiosity had gotten the best of her, and the negative sentiments — even if buried in the middle of a positive review — stuck with her far too long.

  “I guess,” Mr. Wilson sighed.

  Lori hurried to pack a paperboard box with crackers and cake, then apologized again that conditions weren’t better in town for them. Mr. Wilson pursed his lips as he and his wife and daughter walked out the door. At the last moment, he finally grumbled, “Wish we didn’t have to go like this. I know it’s not your fault.”

  She smiled to accept the not-apology-but-maybe-explanation. It really was out of her control.

  Unless she could catch the killer faster.

  Lori closed the door behind
the Wilsons and pulled out her cell phone. She still hadn’t heard back from Brett with Serena’s phone number. Had he been arrested? The anxiety leftover from confronting the Wilsons twisted to a knot in her belly. Lori hit the button to call Brett.

  It rang three times before he answered. “Mrs. Keyes?”

  “Yes, hi, Brett.” Whew. The police must have believed him if they hadn’t taken him away. “Did you talk to the police?”

  “Yeah, they checked my door for fingerprints, so I guess they believed me.”

  “That’s very good. Did they find anything?”

  “I don’t know, but I heard one of them arguing that this was pointless because both cars had been wiped down — no prints on the steering wheel or the door handles.”

  Lori took that in. The killer had wiped down the cars for prints? Obviously targeting Trey meant that Nate’s murder wasn’t just a crime of passion, but this was more planned than Lori had thought.

  And it was time to face the truth: Brett and Annie had alibis for this morning. Annie had seen Serena leave the memorial early. Serena was supposed to be working, but she only arrived just as the sirens started, and then she’d disappeared again.

  They really only had one viable suspect left. The one who was secretly dating or pining for the first victim. The one who’d been dumped by the second victim. “Brett, do you have Serena’s number or know where I could find her?”

  “Yeah, hang on.”

  While she waited, Lori turned to her computer. Now was as good a time as any to check Brett’s alibi. She pulled up her favorite TV schedule website and scrolled back to the morning hours. She spotted Judge Judy’s time slot: ten thirty to noon. The joys of syndication. Lori checked the descriptions for each episode. The first one featured a seamstress who’d made a shoddy wedding dress and a dispute over a loan. The second one had a caterer who’d given an entire church food poisoning and a classic failed engagement ring question. The third — the third had the faulty car repairs case.

  And that was late enough that Brett couldn’t have been the one to hit Trey.

  “Hey, sorry,” Brett’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Found it.” He read off the phone number and Lori read it back to double check it. “Do you really think she could have . . . ?”