by Emma Belmont
At the dining room sideboard, Maris checked that the tray was plugged in and that the hot water dispenser was ready, before returning to the kitchen.
“I think you’re right,” Cookie said, as Maris picked up the hash browns. “You and I were the only ones interested in the game.” She began to slice the cantaloupe.
“And Reggie,” Maris noted, taking the hash browns out.
When she returned, Cookie was working on the mangos, so Maris started the coffee, got out the juicer, and began to peel oranges. After another several minutes, everything was ready. Cookie took the fresh fruit to the dining room, followed by the Danish, as Maris poured the juice into its pretty glass pitcher and the coffee into its vacuum sealed carafe. Only one thing remained—their tea.
Cookie returned for the infusers, which she’d already prepared. “Shall we?” she said.
As was the tradition at the Pixie Point Bay B&B, the chef and owner dined with the guests. Nor did they have long to wait. Felix and Pammy had apparently smelled the quesadillas. When they appeared at the door, Felix asked, “What smells so incredible?”
As he went to the sideboard, Pammy looked at Maris and Cookie. “I didn’t think I could be hungry again after last night’s meal, but…” She glanced at the warming trays.
“Good morning,” Maris said smiling at them both. “That would be Cookie’s world famous breakfast quesadillas that you smell.”
“Breakfast quesadillas,” Felix said to Pammy. “Look at this.” Quickly he turned to Maris and Cookie, his smile beaming. “And good morning.”
“Good morning,” Pammy said as well.
Once the guests and Cookie had their food, Maris served herself a quesadilla, as well as a good helping of the fresh fruit. Though she looked at the different Danish rolls, she managed to stop herself from taking one. In her ongoing battle to lower her cholesterol and weight, she’d managed to make a little progress since returning to Pixie Point Bay. Now was the time to make more headway, not backtrack.
Once they were all settled, Maris thought back on the previous evening. “Felix,” she said, “I don’t think I heard what it is that you do at Whiz Kid Games.”
He swallowed and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I do what everybody else doesn’t,” he said, laughing a little. “My real title is producer. But I work on contracts, sourcing outside talent, budget, schedule, fact-checking, research… You know, pretty much anything but design.” He used his fork and knife to slice through the quesadilla. “This is the best quesadilla I have ever had. Breakfast, lunch, or dinner.”
“I’m glad you like it,” Cookie said, and sipped her tea.
“We have salsa,” Maris said, “if you’d like.”
He shook his head. “It’s perfect as is.” Then he took another big bite.
“Have you both been in the gaming business for a while?” Maris asked them, spearing a piece of cantaloupe.
“Oh no,” Pammy said, shaking her head. “I did story boards for Paramount for about three minutes. I also drew my own graphic novel. Then I did product photography for an online hardware store.” She shrugged and picked up her coffee. “Really, as an artist, you take what you can get.” She took a sip.
“And you Felix?” Maris asked. “It seems you’re a jack of all trades.”
He nodded. “You’ve gotta be. But I’ve always been in the gaming industry.” He grinned at her over a glass of orange juice. “One of the lucky few.”
Maris smiled back, genuinely pleased for him. In her time in the hospitality industry, she’d run across many travelers of course, some of whom journeyed for the job. But it was the rare person who seemed to be doing the calling of their heart—like her.
“Are either of you planning anything in particular today?” Cookie asked, tea in hand.
Pammy adjusted her big round glasses and then glanced at the bay window. “Well, I’d hoped to do something out on that pretty bay, but with the fog, I don’t know.”
“It’ll be gone my mid-morning,” Maris assured her. “It always is.” She nodded toward the back of the house. “We’ve got kayaks at the dock below the lighthouse.”
“Really?” Pammy said, breaking apart her Danish. “I adore kayaking. That sounds like a winner.”
“You know how to kayak?” Felix asked her.
Pammy nodded. “I’ve always been a water baby. The swim team in high school, water skiing at the old reservoir next to my parent’s house, jet skiing in the ocean, canoes. Pretty much anything that has to do with the water. I love it all.” She paused for a moment, then regarded him. “Do you want to learn how to kayak?”
He gulped his orange juice before he nodded vigorously. “Uh, yeah. That’d be great.”
“The life vests and paddles are stowed inside,” Maris told them.
“Life vests and paddles?” BJ said, appearing in the doorway. He put his hands on his hips. “Sounds like you’re getting ready for one of our business meetings.” His impish grin lifted the neon green glasses a little.
“Good morning,” Maris said to him, as Pammy and Felix chuckled.
“Good morning,” he replied, heading to the buffet. “I was going to sleep in, but my stomach said I’d better come down here and find out what was smelling so good.”
“The breakfast quesadilla is awesome,” Felix said.
By the time BJ got his plate and coffee, Cookie had finished and headed back to the kitchen. Maris, however, lingered over her tea.
“That was some stunt Reggie pulled last night,” BJ said, lowering his voice.
Felix snorted, as he sat back. “It’s the cash flow. He’s really banking on this new game. I had no idea how tight the money was until he said he’d sold it.”
BJ made a sour face. “That’s for sure. I’ve been saying for months we needed something else in the pipeline.”
“Well,” Pammy said. “No matter what. It was nice of him to pay for this weekend.” Almost as one, all three glanced to the second floor, as though Reggie were listening to them. “I’m surprised he hasn’t come down yet.”
BJ grimaced. “I’m not. He’s probably embarrassed—as well he should be.”
“Or hungover,” Felix suggested.
Pammy looked at BJ. “We’re going to go kayaking. Want to come along?”
BJ frowned as he looked at the two of them. “Can you get seasick on a kayak?”
“Honestly,” Pammy said, “I don’t know.” She looked at Felix, who shrugged. Then she turned back to BJ. “Do you get seasick?”
BJ nodded as he chopped into some hash browns with the side of his fork. “At the drop of a hat really.”
“There are lots of different things to do in the area that don’t involve being on the ocean,” Maris said. “I’d be glad to make some suggestions.”
“That’d be great,” BJ said. He glanced at the other two. “I’m afraid you guys are on your own.”
Pammy and Felix left to go check out the kayaks and, while BJ enjoyed his breakfast, Maris described some of the different options: the redwoods, the dairy tour in Cheeseman Village, the wine tasting and flower farms down south, shopping in the Towne Plaza, and the tide pools north of the bay, to name but a few.
BJ finished the last of his juice. “The hikes in the redwoods sound perfect. Not only do I feel the need to just get out in nature.” He glanced down at his empty plate. “But I think I’d better work off some calories.” He got up from the table. “Thanks very much for all the suggestions.” He glanced up toward the second floor. “Guess I’ll just get my jacket.”
Maris took the plates and a couple of glasses to the kitchen, where Cookie was washing the iron skillets. As Maris set the plates on the counter to be rinsed, Cookie looked over at them.
“Not everyone had breakfast?” the chef asked.
Maris shook her head. “Reggie hasn’t come down yet.”
“Shall we leave the buffet out?”
Maris glanced back to the hallway. “Let’s leave it for a little while more. If he doesn�
��t come down soon, I’ll save a plate for him.”
5
While Cookie cleaned the bathrooms and made sure to provide fresh toiletries and towels, Maris turned down the beds and took away the trash. Although she would have liked to vacuum as well, Reggie’s closed door stopped her. Rather than make noise, she would have to catch up with the vacuuming later.
As they made their way down the stairs, Maris said, “I think I’d better wait on the vacuuming downstairs too.”
Cookie nodded. “Just to be safe.” She glanced back up to the landing. “Maybe he’s just a late night person.”
Maris nodded. It was possible.
Sometimes the staff in hotels got worried if the “Do Not Disturb” sign was left for more than a few days. But only rarely had it ever meant trouble. For the most part, Maris had found that people simply wanted their privacy. Once in a while there’d be a guest who worked a graveyard or swing shift. And of course at the casino resorts they gambled all night and then caught one of the midnight shows. In a few particularly torrid parts of the world, it only made sense to venture out once the sun went down. But finally there were those people whose natural rhythm was different than others. The first thing that Maris had done when the staff was worried was check room service. For the bigger properties with twenty-four hour kitchen staff, it was easy to spot the midnight owls. They’d order dinner at three in the morning.
Downstairs, Cookie started to launder the towels while Maris dusted the public rooms first. Although the Victorian decor was charming and beautiful, it took more care than a minimalist’s dream. The antique wood had to be treated carefully, only dusted if possible, and then waxed if not. The intricate carvings and embellishments meant that even just dusting could be time consuming—likewise the various Tiffany lamps, porcelain vases, and books. Even so, she and Cookie were pretty much done in under a few hours.
When they met outside the pantry, Cookie asked, “How about if I warm up the quesadilla leftovers for lunch?”
Often there were no leftovers. After decades of serving breakfast, Cookie could almost size up the guest’s appetites. Since she ate with them, it was also a simple matter of watching the trays and making more if needed. She never cleaned the kitchen until the meal was over.
“Quesadillas would be wonderful,” Maris said. “Thank you.”
Then she looked up to the stairs, frowned, and crossed her arms. It’d be a good time to warm up Reggie’s breakfast plate as well. Even if the company owner was a night owl, he’d said himself that the group would have the rest of the weekend for activities. Surely he’d included himself in that. Thinking back on the morning meal, the others had speculated that he might be embarrassed or hungover. There’d been no indication that sleeping late was his normal thing.
Cookie followed her gaze up the stairs. “Go ahead. He’ll be glad for lunch.”
Maris smiled at her. “True.”
Outside Reggie’s door, Maris tapped lightly. “Reggie?” She waited for several moments. Could he have left without her or Cookie noticing? She knocked a little more loudly. “Reggie?” she said. But again, she was met with silence. There hadn’t even been the creaking of the bed. She knocked once more, with force. “Reggie, are you all right?”
Slowly, listening intently, she grasped the antique knob and turned it, opening the door just a crack. “Reggie?” she called inside. But as she slowly swung the door aside, she saw a large form in the bed under the comforter. “Oh, Reggie. I’m so sorry to disturb you.” He was on his side and facing away from her. “Reggie?”
How could he not have heard her? She came around the foot of the bed, watching him. He hadn’t moved an inch and she couldn’t see if he was breathing. “Reggie,” she said, as she came to the other side of the bed. “I’ve been–”
Though his eyes were closed and his hands were tucked under his head like a pillow, his skin had a bluish caste to it. “Reggie!” she exclaimed, shaking his shoulder. He wouldn’t rouse. Quickly she put two fingers to his neck, and almost pulled them back. His skin was cold. Even as her stomach dropped like an elevator, she tried to find a pulse—to no avail.
“Oh, no,” she muttered. She raced back to the door, dashed through it, and then hurried down the stairs. In the library she picked up the receiver of the antique phone and dialed the emergency number.
Cookie came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on an apron. “What’s the–”
When the emergency operator answered, Maris held up a finger to the chef. “Yes,” she said into the receiver. “This is Maris Seaver at the Pixie Point Bay Lighthouse and B&B. I think one of my guests has died.”
6
No sooner had the paramedic vehicle pulled up to the front of the B&B, than Mac’s sheriff’s SUV entered the long drive. Although Maris would have liked to wait for him, the two paramedics exited their vehicle with purpose, if not the headlong rush of trying to save someone’s life. Even so, one of them carried a medical kit. The paramedic in front looked at her as he came up the steps of the porch.
“This way,” she said, leading him through the open door.
Cookie was standing in the hallway, holding Mojo. “Oh, thanks, Cookie,” Maris said, as they passed her. Mojo’s glittering orange eyes seemed to watch them all. Though the little black cat had never expressed even the slightest interest in treading outside, she also didn’t want him underfoot where he might get stepped on.
As she trotted up the stair steps, the big men behind her took them two at a time. She led them directly into Reggie’s room and then stood back. The first man went directly to the body and felt the temperature of the forehead. The other opened the kit, took out a stethoscope, and placed it on the side of Reggie’s neck.
Maris heard Mac’s footsteps and turned to him as he entered. “Hello, Mac.”
Sheriff Daniel “Mac” McKenna wore his usual brown and khaki uniform, with the six-pointed gold sheriff’s badge above the breast pocket. The brightly colored patch on the long sleeve said “Medio County Sheriff.” But he must have left the campaign hat in the vehicle.
He glanced quickly at the room and the paramedics before moving next to her.
“Maris,” he said, touching her arm lightly. “I heard the emergency dispatch. Are you okay?”
In his early fifties, Mac was tall and well built, with short salt and pepper hair. But his glittering gray eyes, normally smiling, were filled with worry as they met hers.
She tried to give him a smile. “Pretty good, considering someone has died in my home. You know.”
He gave her a sympathetic look and gently rubbed her back between the shoulder blades. “Do you want to have a seat?”
She shook her head. “I had some water and sat down while I waited.” She didn’t mention that Cookie had made them both some tea. Because the chef’s magical ability involved potions, it’d had both a soothing and restorative effect that she was doubly glad for now. “I’m fine, Mac, but thanks for asking.”
“All right then.” He took out a notepad from the breast pocket of his uniform shirt. “What can you tell me?”
But before she could start, the paramedic who’d felt Reggie’s temperature said, “Sheriff, I think you’ll want to have a look at this.” He pointed at Reggie’s face, which Maris could thankfully no longer see.
Mac went to the other side of the bed. His eyebrows rose and he bent forward for a closer look.
“Could be poisoning,” the paramedic said.
“Right,” Mac muttered, straightening. He took the mobile phone from his utility belt and speed-dialed a number. “Hi, Genie, it’s Mac. Get a forensics team and the coroner to the lighthouse in Pixie Point Bay ASAP, would you?” He listened for a moment. “Thanks.” He hung up and put the phone back. As he fished a pair of latex gloves from his pants pocket, he said to Maris, “Tell me what you know.”
As she recounted the evening, Mac carefully lifted the bedding and checked underneath. She told him about the other guests, the catered dinner, and the mu
rder mystery game—and how unpopular it had been. As the paramedics began to pack up, he went to the dresser and picked up Reggie’s empty wine glass. He sniffed it and frowned. Although the EMTs had been about to leave, he motioned the one with the kit over. He held the glass out.
“What do you smell?” the sheriff asked.
The big man sniffed and then wrinkled his nose. “Bitters.” He looked Mac in the eye. “Cyanide.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” Mac said. He nodded to them both. “Thanks. There’s no need for you to wait.”
Maris put a hand to her pounding heart. Reggie had been poisoned? Mentally she ran through all the events of the previous evening—the ones she’d just explained to Mac. Reggie had acted drunk, not poisoned.
As the paramedics left, Mac put the wine glass back on the dresser.
“Let’s talk outside,” he said, gesturing for her to precede him. He closed the door behind him. “For now, that’s a crime scene.” He took off the gloves. “I’ll probably be able to release the room once the forensics team is done and the coroner removes the body for an autopsy. Later today.” He gestured to the stairs. “Let’s find Cookie.”
She was in the living room, but Mojo was nowhere to be seen. “I put him in your room,” she said, seeing Maris look around. “He was tired of being held.” She looked from Maris to the sheriff and back again. “What is it?”
“Reggie was poisoned,” Maris said.
The diminutive chef cocked her head back and gaped at them. “What? Poisoned?”
Maris shook her head and moved to the nearest chair, sitting down hard. “I know. I can hardly believe it, let alone see how it could have been done.”
“The wine glass is our best clue,” Mac said. “But I’m afraid we can’t assume that’s it.” They both looked at him. “I’m going to need any leftovers from the dinner, any wine bottles, empty or not, napkins, utensils, storage containers. Really, anything that might have come into contact with the food or drink.”
