Deputy Franklin shook his head, opened the window, and yelled out to Officer Wells, “You can put your hands down.”
“Thank you. At ease!” said Officer Wells, saluting.
“And,” the deputy yelled, “don’t let people walk in and out the front door.”
“I can’t really see it from here.”
“You didn’t see Myrtle driving up the driveway just now?” asked Deputy Franklin.
“Oh, sure, I saw that.”
The deputy sighed. “Just make sure no one messes with the victim.”
“Gotcha! That’s what I’m doing,” the officer yelled.
“Myrtle,” said Deputy Franklin, after he closed the window, “Could you lock the front door please? Then I’d like you to get a chair and sit at the top of the stairs. Don’t let any of the guests go past until we tell you to.”
“What in the world is going on around here?” Myrtle exclaimed.
“Another murder,” the deputy said grimly.
“Another murder? Who was murdered?”
“We can’t say yet,” said the deputy.
“Was it Pierre?” asked Myrtle, her face falling in despair over her long-time friend and co-worker.
“It was a guest. Someone you never met,” Klarinda assured her.
“Just go upstairs, please, and keep them all up there,” said the deputy. “We’ve got backup coming soon.”
Myrtle shook her head. “And I’m supposed to sit up there alone? Do we know who did it yet?”
“Just sit down here on the couch then. I can see from here if anyone tries to sneak down the stairs. Where were we?” said the sheriff, glaring at the deputy.
“We were about to hear from Josephine. Josephine, thanks for coming back in such a hurry,” said Deputy Franklin, giving her his thousand-watt smile.
Klarinda rolled her eyes.
“Now Josephine, you were working at the front desk here last night? Is that right?” asked Deputy Franklin.
“That’s right,” she said, wiping her palms on the leggings she was still wearing.
“I can see from the parking lot that you have a full house here. Right?”
“Right,” she said, nodding.
“Were you working alone?”
“From about midnight on, yes. It was a really late night. Klarinda here,” she nodded at Klarinda, “was still here until after eleven. Then Pierre and I had a lot of cleaning up to do since our dining room stayed open later than normal. Then most of the guests had a snowball fight…”
“A snowball fight?” the sheriff interrupted.
“Yes,” she said.
“That seems a little unusual,” he said.
Josephine looked at Klarinda for help.
“The guests have been stuck here together for a couple of days and they’ve gotten to know each other,” Klarinda explained. “They’ve become a really friendly bunch, playing board games and having fun outside in the snow.”
“A friendly bunch,” scoffed the sheriff.
“There’s nothing friendly about murder!” exclaimed Deputy Franklin.
And this, thought Klarinda, is why I wouldn’t go out with you.
“Which guests went outside for the snowball fight?” asked the sheriff.
“Umm… All the couples, I think,” said Josephine. “And, um, the victim. I don’t think he was taking part in the snowball fight, though. He smoked a pipe. I think he just went out to smoke. I’m not a hundred percent positive if he was out there, but I think he was. I was doing a lot of coming and going when they were organizing their snowball fight. I was mainly back in the kitchen and dining room. I did come up front a few times to check on things though.”
Klarinda wondered whether she ought to mention that she was a hundred percent sure he’d been out there smoking his pipe, but she decided Josephine was doing a good job of handling matters on her own.
“Did anything else happen last night?” asked the sheriff.
“Well,” said Josephine, “I did a lot of laundry, so I was down in the basement for a large part of the night. Oh, here’s something! Derb Dunlavy was here around four in the morning, dropping off one of our guest’s cars he’d been working on.”
“He was here at four?”
“Yeah. New puppy,” she said.
“Makes sense,” the sheriff, deputy, and Myrtle all said in unison. Klarinda shook her head. She had no idea how that made sense. Since no one else was drinking the coffee, she helped herself to a mug of it.
“Did you happen to talk to Derb when he was here?” asked the sheriff.
“Yes,” she said. “Actually, I just remembered now that the front door of the inn was open. I came up from doing laundry and it was wide open.”
“Did Derb open it?”
“If you don’t push it all the way shut, it blows open sometimes,” Myrtle interrupted.
“I’m sure Derb didn’t open it, because he wasn’t here yet,” Josephine said. “He showed up while I was standing out there, trying to see if someone was out there.”
“You didn’t happen to see your guest lying in the snow at that point?” asked the deputy.
“Of course not! I would have done something if I had. That’s not to say he wasn’t already over there, but I wasn’t over there looking. I was just by the door and the parking lot.”
“Back to the snowball fight,” said the sheriff. “What time did it wrap up?”
“Around two, I think.”
“Everyone came back in at once and they all went straight to bed?” he asked.
“I think so. I was downstairs, but I heard them coming back in. I stayed down there, kind of hiding and folding laundry, because I was afraid if they saw me they’d make me bring out cider and cookies for them,” she admitted.
“Speaking of cider and cookies,” said Deputy Franklin, eyeing Klarinda and Myrtle.
Myrtle shook her head in annoyance, but she got up from the couch and headed back to the inn’s kitchen.
“Why don’t you tell us what you know about the victim. Either of you,” the sheriff said, addressing both Klarinda and Josephine.
“The check-in sheet tells you as much as we know about him,” said Klarinda.
“Did he eat dinner in the restaurant last night?” asked the deputy.
“Yes,” said Klarinda.
“What did he have for dinner?”
“Chicken and lasagna,” she said.
“Both?” exclaimed the sheriff.
“Yes.”
“Did he clear his plate?”
“As I recall,” she said.
“As you recall?”
“Yes, as I recall.”
“Interesting,” said the sheriff.
“That’s a lot to eat, isn’t it?” asked the deputy.
“Yes,” said Klarinda.
“Maybe we ought to get your chef in here,” said the sheriff.
“Josephine, would you mind getting Pierre?” asked the deputy. “That’s his name, right? Pierre?”
“Sure, I’ll get him,” Josephine said, getting up from the couch and heading toward the back door of the inn.
“Yes, that’s his name,” said Klarinda. “Pierre doesn’t have anything to do with this. I’ve known him for years.”
“Funny, though, how he’s always here when something goes wrong.”
“It’s because he works all the time and lives on the property in the downstairs apartment of the carriage house out back. Of course he’s here when things go wrong, but only because he’s always here.”
“Hmmmm,” said the sheriff.
“Has anyone alerted the man’s family yet?” Klarinda asked.
“We’ll do that once the coroner arrives,” said the sheriff.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” said Deputy Franklin to Klarinda, just as Myrtle came back in the room with a tray of cider and cookies.
Klarinda nodded. The man was out there, covered in snow. It wasn’t as if there was any doubt that he was dead. But she’d learned not
to question the way the Windy Pines police department did their job.
“Here you gentlemen go,” Myrtle said, making another spot on the coffee table for the tray of refreshments.
“Let’s talk about the things we found in the victim’s room,” said the sheriff, picking up a cookie and munching on it. “Or should I say, apartment. Isn’t that your apartment, Klarinda?”
“It used to be, but I’ve moved into Myrtle’s old apartment now that she lives at Rod’s house.”
“And you’re letting guests stay in the apartment?”
“Last night we did, since all the other rooms are full.”
Josephine came back into the room and sat down. “I told Pierre to come over. He’s just getting dressed. He said he’ll be over here in just a couple minutes.”
“Interesting,” said the sheriff. He passed an envelope to Josephine. “Can you read what that says?” he asked.
She took a look at it and shook her head. “It just looks like scribbles to me.”
“How about you, Klarinda,” asked the sheriff, holding it up in front of her face.
To her, it looked as if it said Neil Prescott. Then again, Neil was in the forefront of her mind. “I’m not sure what it says,” she told the sheriff.
“Enough small talk,” said the deputy. “There must have been an argument last night. Something must have happened. Someone knows more than they’re saying.”
Klarinda swallowed and looked down.
“I’d like the check-in papers of everyone who’s staying here. Now.”
“Okay,” Myrtle said, looking visibly shaken. She went up to the front desk and opened the file cabinet that contained current guests’ check-in sheets. She pulled them all out and brought them back to the parlor while the sheriff and deputy helped themselves to cider and Klarinda and Josephine sat by, idly waiting.
“It’s time for us to start questioning all of them,” the sheriff told Klarinda. “We’re going to do it one at a time.” He pulled a sheet from the pile and said, “Start with this one: Earl Morn. Bring him down here to the dining room so we can see what he knows. And you,” he said to Josephine, “call Derb Dunlavy and tell him to get back out here. We need to know if he saw anything unusual last night.”
Chapter 38
Klarinda knocked on the door of the blue room and waited. The whole upstairs of the inn was silent, as the guests slept off their late night.
Of all the people to start with, Klarinda thought, knocking lightly again on his door. This had been the guy who’d barely wanted to come out of his room. She was afraid he was going to simply refuse to open the door.
She raised her hand to knock a third time, when the door opened. He was standing there, fully dressed, smelling of minty toothpaste and aftershave, looking positively bright-eyed.
“Good morning,” she said.
“Good morning to you.”
“Where do I begin…”
“Is it check out time already? Because I wanted to talk to you about that. I’m thinking of staying on. For an extended period of time, actually.”
“Oh. How nice.” What she had to say would certainly change his mind. “That would be wonderful. But, you see, there’s been a terrible accident here. It happened last night. One of our guests… He’s passed away.”
“One of the carolers?” asked Earl, his cheery face crumbling.
“No?”
“Oh. I guess, that trek down the mountain... Never mind.”
“It’s a guest named Barney. The older man who was dining alone in the restaurant last night?”
“Oh. Heart attack?” Earl guessed. “That’s terrible.”
“It doesn’t seem like it was a heart attack. The police are here, actually—it’s just a formality, but they need to talk to everyone. Would you mind talking to them for a few minutes downstairs?”
“I can do that. I don’t know what I’ve got to tell them that will be any help, though.”
As they turned to go, Klarinda took a look down the hall toward the gray room where Neil was staying. She was tempted to warn him about what was happening. Instead, she turned and followed Earl downstairs.
Chapter 39
While Sheriff Carter and Officer Jacobs, who had just arrived on the scene, interrogated Earl Morn and kept the employees of Mistletoe Manor busy, Deputy Franklin sneaked upstairs to have a look around Earl Morn’s room.
It was neat as a pin. Clothes were hanging in the closet, as if he’d moved in, and a small array of toiletries were arranged on the shelf beside the sink in the bathroom. Deputy Franklin looked around for medications or other interesting, incriminating things (he wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he’d know it when he saw it), but found nothing.
Giving up on finding anything of interest in the bathroom, he went back out to the guest room to look around some more. A vase with a lid on top was on the table next to the bed. He was just lifting the lid, ever so carefully, when the door swung open.
“What are you doing in here?” Klarinda Snow exclaimed.
“Nothing! Just having a look around. You’re supposed to be downstairs.”
“You can’t go through the room of a checked-in guest without a warrant. Right?” she said.
“I forgot how much trouble you are. What the hell?” he exclaimed, realizing he was looking at an urn of ashes. He set the lid back on top with a clatter.
“You’re just saying that because I wouldn’t go out with you. You need to get out of this room.”
“Don’t you even care who the murderer is?” he asked. “You’re really that concerned about protocol? I’m just trying to get the job done.”
While they were talking, the sun had come out from behind the clouds, bathing the room in pinkish gold light.
Just as Klarinda said, “I care about both,” they heard Officer Wells calling up the stairs, to anyone who would listen, “Come quick! I found the murder weapon!”
Chapter 40
“I was just out there, patrolling the corpse,” Officer Wells said breathily, to the Mistletoe Manor employees and other officers who were gathered around him, “when the sun came out and it started melting everything. And that’s when I saw the sun shining off this!” He proudly waved a shiny pistol in the air.
“You picked it up?” asked Sheriff Carter.
“Well… Oops.” He set it down on the front counter and wiped his hands off on his back pockets. “Sorry, I was excited to show it to you. I’ll bet that’s where the dead guy got his split lip. He was pistol-whipped!”
“Go out and sit in the squad car,” the sheriff told Officer Wells.
“Which one?”
“Yours.”
“Front seat or back seat?”
“Front seat. Now get out of here.”
“Okay,” he said. He opened the door of the inn and announced, “Oh, look at that. Derb Dunlavy just pulled in.”
“Tell him to come on in here. I need to ask him about a thumping noise my daughter’s Ford Focus has been making,” said the sheriff.
“Sure, I’ll send him in,” said Officer Wells. “You know he didn’t do it, though.”
“Of course we know that,” said Deputy Franklin. “We’re just going to ask him what he saw last night. I’ve got some car issues too, though.”
“There’s something else I just remembered,” Officer Wells said, as he stood there, half in and half out of the door.
“What is it?” asked the sheriff.
“That old man, his glove was coming off, so I tried to put it back on him.”
“Why?” asked the deputy.
“Courtesy, I guess. But when I did, I saw a name written on his hand.”
“You’re just mentioning this now?” asked the sheriff.
Office Wells nodded.
“What name was it?” asked Deputy Franklin.
“Neil Prescott,” said Officer Wells.
“Does that name mean anything to any of you?” asked Officer Jacobs.
“It’s a guest h
ere,” said the sheriff. “We saw it on one of the check-in sheets. Klarinda, go upstairs and get the guest named Neil Prescott. Tell him to come down here immediately.”
Chapter 41
Neil opened the door, smiling. He was wearing pajama pants and a t-shirt that said My Daughter’s Making a Difference with ART!
This could not be a man who was guilty of murder. It just couldn’t be.
Please, God, don’t let it be Neil who did this. Please don’t give me someone so wonderful and then have it turn out that he’s actually a murderer, Klarinda prayed. I mean, yes, that sounds like my luck, but does it have to be? You could mix things up a little bit. Haven’t these past years of celibacy and hard work been enough? Just give me a break for once.
Neil reached out to embrace her. “Are you here to crawl into bed with me?” he whispered.
“No. I wish. I mean, I think I wish that. Whether or not I wish that kind of depends on how today goes.”
“What’s going on?” he asked. He looked devastated. “I thought we had such a wonderful night.”
“We did! But Neil, something terrible has happened,” she whispered, looking behind her to make sure none of the police officers had followed her up the stairs.
“What’s happened?” he asked.
“There’s been a murder here.”
His jaw dropped. If he was faking, he was certainly doing a good job, Klarinda decided.
“A murder?”
“Yes. The old man who you’ve been trying to avoid? I found him out in the snow this morning. Dead.”
“Are you sure he didn’t just die of natural causes?”
“There was blood in the snow. And now they’ve found a gun out there by him. Neil, he had your name written on his hand. They want to talk to you.”
“My name was written on his hand?”
Klarinda nodded. “Why were you trying so hard to avoid him?”
They heard the sounds of heavy footsteps coming up the stairs.
In the Heart of Windy Pines Page 12
