But it was impossible to get any reading done now that the quiet inn had seemingly filled to its rafters with people. He could hear the chatter of couples talking, the bang of radiators heating up, the gurgle and gushing of water running and toilets flushing, and the thump of luggage being pulled down the hallways.
“It’s your birthday,” he reminded himself. “Wash your face. Pull yourself together. Get out of this room. The least you could do is take yourself out to dinner.”
Chapter 6
As soon as Myrtle was out the door, Klarinda went around lighting the fireplaces in the parlor and dining room. She saw Lucas and Meribeth, two of her three waitstaff for the evening, each pulling into the parking lot, so she turned around the sign that said Dining Room Closed to the side that said Please Seat Yourself.
She stuck her head back in the kitchen and said, “Pierre, the high schoolers are here and it’s five o’clock, so I’ve opened the dining room. No one’s down here yet, though. Did Myrtle tell you we’ve got a full house?”
“She mentioned it,” said Pierre. “It’s been a long time since we’ve been so busy on a weeknight.” He looked at her grimly.
“It’s just the weather, Pierre. This blizzard hitting right at sundown has probably made a lot of travelers want to get off the road.”
Pierre nodded. “A busy night goes faster than a slow one.”
Klarinda went back out to check on the dining room. One sad-looking man now sat alone at a table near the fireplace. He was staring at the flames with the faraway look in his eyes of someone who wasn’t seeing them.
“Hi there,” said Klarinda, wondering whether this was the gray room’s “saddy” or the blue room’s “saddy.” She turned on some more lights and then picked up a menu for him. “I’m Klarinda, the innkeeper here. Here’s a menu for you. By the way, which room are you staying in?”
“Thanks,” he said, not looking up at her and setting the menu off to the side of the table. “It’s gray. Very, very gray.”
“Super. Sounds like you’re enjoying it. If you need anything, I’ll be at the front desk. Meribeth or Lucas will be with you in just a minute or two to take your order.”
He nodded, barely looking up, still staring off at the flames, seeming to be off in his own world. Despite how lost he looked, Klarinda couldn’t help noticing that he was rather attractive. Quite a bit older than her, but with the kind of chiseled face that demanded a second glance.
Just then she heard the bell on the front counter ringing over and over. “Hello? Hello, hello, hello! Is anybody here?” someone was hollering at the top of his lungs.
“Excuse me,” Klarinda said to the man at the table, as she turned to go back up to the front desk.
“Hellooooo! Anybody home? You’ve got customers waiting!” yelled the voice over the banging, clanging clatter of the bell. She now picked up on a strong Southern accent. How was the bell making so much noise? As she came around the corner, she saw that it wasn’t being rung, it was actually being slammed onto the front counter again and again.
“Please! Stop that! You’re going to break it,” said Klarinda, swiping it out of the hand of the stocky, red-faced man who’d been abusing it and setting it off to the side, out of his reach.
“I was beginning to wonder if this place was even open! Do you have any more rooms for tonight?” he asked, using a forefinger and thumb to wipe away the spittle that had formed at the corners of his mouth. The little blonde woman on his arm looked mortified. She pressed her palm to her cleavage and smiled a small, apologetic smile at Klarinda.
“Let me just take a look at the appointment book,” Klarinda said, just as Lucas and Meribeth came in the front door. “Guest in the dining room,” she told them.
“Why don’t you have a vacancy sign out there?” the man asked. “What kind of an inn doesn’t advertise whether it’s open or closed?”
“We’ve got a new sign coming tomorrow. Or soon. The weather might delay it. The old one broke.” Klarinda opened the appointment book and saw that, as Myrtle had told her, there was still one room available. The penny-pinching cheapskate that she was almost wanted to give it to him, but she had her standards, so she told him, “Hmmmmm. I’m sorry, sir, but we’re all booked.”
“Oh, that’s a good trick. Get us in here, then let us down.”
“I’m really sorry we can’t help you,” she lied politely. “Have you tried the Econo-Hotel on the other end of town? I’ve heard it’s the fastest growing chain in America. And their cereal buffet is really something to write home about.”
“We’re not staying in an Econo-Hotel,” he said. “Aren’t there any other bed and breakfasts in town?”
“Dave, an Econo-Hotel would be fine,” said the little blonde woman.
“Tiffinie, be quiet,” he said. Then he said to Klarinda, “Are there other bed and breakfasts in this town or not?”
“Several,” she said, as two guests came down the stairs.
“Which way to the dining room?” one of them asked.
“Right that way,” said Klarinda, pointing down the hall.
“You don’t need to answer their questions when I was here first and you haven’t helped me yet,” said the man at the counter, wiping at his mouth again. “First come, first served! Can you find a place in town where we can stay tonight or not?”
“You’ll have to check with the other inns around town,” said Klarinda.
“Are you kidding me? You and the other bed and breakfasts here must have some kind of program where you work together to get all your rooms filled. Right? I’ve been all over the world: The Bahamas, Puerto Vallarta, Ontario. You places all do things the same way.”
“That sounds like a great system, but we don’t have any program like that here in Windy Pines.”
“Come off it. You think I don’t know better?” The man reached over, picked up the bell again, and gave it a good hard slam on the counter. His companion winced a little and her right eyelid began fluttering. “Can’t you learn to control that eyeball of yours?” he snapped at her.
She put her hand over her eye as another couple came down the stairs.
“Hi there. I’ll be right with you,” Klarinda said to them.
“Get in line!” the unruly visitor barked at them.
“Please don’t talk to my guests that way,” said Klarinda. “If the Econo-Hotel isn’t for you, there’s a motel called the Highway Retreat. It’s very fifties-chic,” she suggested, naming the motel on the other end of town that had recently been condemned due to its high mold spore count, but was still operating on a discreet, cash-only basis.
“We’re not staying at some dumpy old motel.”
“Well,” said Klarinda, “up at the top of Main Street, there’s the Blue Mountain Inn. On First Street, there’s the Four Sisters’ Guest House. Up on Old Mine Road, about half a mile out of town, there’s the Lone Pine Inn. If you google it, you’ll probably come up with some others I can’t think of right now. Good luck!” She began typing wildly on the keyboard of the computer in front of her, pretending to be busy doing something important.
“I’m not going to drive all over hell and back. Get on the phone and start calling them.”
“No!” Klarinda said. Then she looked over his shoulder at the customers behind him and said, “If you’re looking for the dining room, it’s just down the hall.” They nodded and left her alone with the man and his companion.
“Do you know the meaning of customer service?” asked the man.
Of course she knew what customer service was, but, she was realizing more and more every day, hospitality wasn’t really her thing. “I’m not going to help you shop for a room,” she said. “We’re booked. You might as well get out there and start looking before every room in town is taken.”
“You really mean to tell me that your entire inn is full?” asked the man. “This place looks huge. There are only eight or ten cars in the whole parking lot.”
“We’re not that big,�
� said Klarinda. “This whole downstairs is mainly the restaurant.”
“At first, it seemed like you were going to give me a room. If you have a vacant room, you need to deliver.”
“Dave…” said the man’s companion, still holding one hand over her eye and using the other to tug on his sleeve like a child. “It’s just one night. What difference does it matter where we stay? Let’s go to the Econo-Hotel like she suggested.”
“No, Tiffinie. I already told you that we’re not staying at an Econo-Hotel. Quit inserting yourself into the conversation. And you,” he said, poking a finger in front of Klarinda’s nose, “do you know how many stops it takes to get from Connecticut to Idaho Falls? Do you?”
Picturing rest stops, and unable to turn down a round of trivia, she guessed, “Fourteen?”
“What?! I’m talking about layovers.”
“Two?” she guessed.
“That’s right! And then, when we finally got off that last puddle jumper and over to the car rental place, they only had a Chevy Spark left for us. I’m done playing games and dealing with incompetence. Give us a room.”
If trivia was over, so was her conversation with this guy. “There isn’t one for you. And I’m glad because I wouldn’t want someone as rude as you to stay here. It’s time for you to leave,” she said. She smiled and put her hands on her hips, waiting to see what he’d say to that. She felt rather smug and wondered why she’d been polite for all these years. This new approach already felt so much more satisfying.
“You’re messing with the wrong man! If you think you’re going to talk to me like that in front of my fiancée and not regret it, you’re stupider than you look.” Then the man fumbled in his back pocket for his phone and held it up in front of Klarinda’s face. “I’m recording now. Why don’t you tell me that again?”
Just then, the man who’d been seated alone in the dining room came shuffling through the hallway. Getting a good, clear look at him for the first time, Klarinda was surprised to discover that he was even more handsome than she’d thought. A bit of a George Clooney look-alike. The red-faced man saw him, tore himself away from ripping Klarinda apart, and exclaimed, “Hey! You! Yes, you! I know you.”
The sad man looked up and looked behind him at the dim, empty hallway and shadowy parlor. “Are you talking to me?” he asked.
“Yes, I’m talking to you. You’re that Prescott guy. Aren’t you?”
Klarinda felt her mouth go dry. This didn’t feel good. Not at all. It was like deja vu. Having an inn full of guests, unexpectedly, on a snowy weeknight. Guests who were all going to turn out to know one another.
That was in December, this is November, she told herself. They were young, these guys are more, like, middle-aged. This is a totally different scenario, she tried to reassure herself.
But was it?
Actually, the red-faced guy looked like he wasn’t much older than her, which would put him in his late thirties or early forties. And his companion looked like she was only about twenty-five. The other two couples who had already gone to the dining room each looked like they were in their forties. They hadn’t recognized this man, so that was a good sign. Still, Klarinda’s heart was racing. Now she wished Myrtle hadn’t left for the day. And where was Josephine? She glanced at the big clock on the wall. For the first time since she’d hired her, Josephine was late.
“How do you know…” the sad, handsome man began to ask, but he let his words trail off. He shook his head. “I guess you saw pictures of me on TV or in the papers? Now you think you know me. But you don’t know me. You don’t know my family or anything about us. Excuse me, I need to get something from my room.”
“I’m not talking about seeing you on the news,” said the bell slammer, his harsh tone mellowing to a smooth, amicable drawl. “Name’s Dave. Dave Sommerset. And you’re Neil Prescott. I don’t think we’ve ever officially met before.” He held out his hand to Neil, whose right hand was on the stair railing. Neil didn’t turn around and he didn’t shake Dave’s hand, but he did stay there, as though he’d been frozen. A tiny moan escaped from his throat.
“Does that name tickle your memory? Hmmm? Does it, Neil? Is it coming back to you now? You know who I am,” Dave said mockingly.
Neil sighed. He looked as if he might collapse.
“You’re on Wild Rose Circle, right?” Dave continued, softening his tone a little. “That red brick house?”
Neil slowly turned and stared at some snowshoes hanging on the wall by his head, as if they may be able to help him. “What do you want from me?” he asked. His voice was so low, so defeated, that Klarinda could barely understand him.
“And you just bought that old, rundown place down the road from me, right? You’re going to tear it down, I guess? It’s worth it! Oceanfront property and with those old-growth trees on it. Smart man. I wish I would have bought it first.”
Neil shook his head. “This is all personal information. This isn’t any of your business,” he said. “I’ve been through more than I can take. Leave me alone.”
“Hey! You’re not the only one who’s been through something!” said Dave, and then, with renewed ferocious vigor in his voice, he added, “I’m sure you remember my wife. She’s the one who started that Godforsaken jewelry club.”
The little blonde next to him murmured, “Your ex-wife.”
“Ex-wife,” he agreed. Then he said, “Neil, this here is my fiancée Tiffinie. We live on Piccadilly Lane. And I’ve got a hunch you and I are in this neck of the woods for the same reason.”
Neil’s eyes shot open in understanding. He looked down, trying to downplay his reaction. He didn’t have much of a poker face, though.
“Funny how much we keep turning out to have in common, isn’t it?” laughed Dave.
The front door of the inn opened and Josephine, the night manager, and Kaitlyn, the other waitress, walked in. At the same time, a third couple came down the stairs, forcing Neil to step around them. They made their way to the dining room as he disappeared up to the sanctuary of his room.
“He just walked away from me! In the middle of a conversation! How do you like that?” Dave said to his fiancée. As upset as he was, he still had time to look Josephine up and down as she walked by. “Hubba hubba,” he said under his breath.
“Dave, we’d better go back out there or get on our phones and find a room,” his fiancée replied. She gave him a hurt look, most likely in response to the way he’d just checked out another woman in front of her, but he ignored it.
“I can’t believe he just walked away from me like that!” he said, following it with a snort of disgust. “Have you ever seen anything so rude? You know why he’s out here in the middle of No Man’s Land. He’s meeting with those people too.”
“Dave, please, let’s go.”
“Since no one here is going to help us, I guess it’s our only option,” Dave said, smiling curtly at Klarinda before leaving.
Klarinda had a hunch he never would have left so easily if this new topic and the appearance of Josephine hadn’t bumped her out of the forefront of his mind.
Chapter 7
The clanging of the bell had finally stopped, but the damage was done. Whatever mystical atmosphere Earl had hoped to find here at Mistletoe Manor wasn’t materializing. That awful racket had left him so frazzled and distraught that now he was fairly certain he wasn’t going to be able to go through with it.
“I don’t think I chose the right night,” Earl told Tabitha’s urn of ashes. “I’m sorry, Tabby, but this place is a madhouse. I don’t think this is what you were imagining.”
As if to mock him, the old inn groaned as several toilets were all flushed at once.
Earl took a good, long look at the gun and the tiny glass jar on the bedside table. It had taken months for him to get up the nerve to make this happen. As twisted as it sounded, he’d been looking forward to it. The planning of it had given his empty life meaning.
Securing the gun, and then the bright pink
, candy-scented vial of poison when he’d feared he wouldn’t have the guts to use the gun, had kept him busy all August.
Getting his finances in order, updating his will, and clearing out junk in the basement had been his September project.
Booking a room here at Mistletoe Manor, and then canceling it, and then repeating this process twice more had been October’s hobby. That and visiting the kids and grandkids a little more than usual.
And now it was November and, after days of sitting alone in his dark living room, wondering whether he was ever really going to go through with this, here he was.
He was proud of himself. He’d actually made it this far. He was in the home stretch now. The ball was in his court. So far, it had gone well enough. He’d made a real trip of it, adding on a couple detours along the way to places he thought Tabitha might want to see, like some national forest that he’d already forgotten the name of. He’d debated whether it was kind or cruel to send the grandkids postcards from his stops, knowing how it was all going to turn out, and had decided that Tabitha would want him to send them postcards, so he had.
And then, just as the weather had turned on him, he’d found his destination. What a relief it had been to discover that, not only did they have a room for him, but he was the only guest in the whole inn.
“What a long, strange trip it’s been,” he’d said to the older woman at the front counter, because this is what he and Tabitha had always said when they took any kind of trip. He supposed that to them, living in Iowa and taking so few trips, it hadn’t ever been a lie. Everything is subjective, right? Everything is relative.
After all his stops and starts, after all his cancelations, he’d been ready. He’d finally been ready. He’d gotten all his affairs in order. He’d believed he had Tabitha’s blessing and that she was as excited to see him again as he was to see her.
But why were all these people showing up here and ruining the moment he’d spent so long preparing for? Was it a sign?
In the Heart of Windy Pines Page 3
