Death At A B & B

by Nancy McGovern

  Patrick looked up, and his face softened. “Your dad’s with the Sheriff, Sloane. It’s okay.”

  Nora saw the resemblance almost instantly. The girl had the same large, melting chocolate eyes Burton possessed, and like her father, she was stout, with a thick chest and twiggy legs.

  “I don’t understand what’s happening,” Sloane’s tears leaked out. “Mr. Madford, I woke up and looked outside, and I saw the cops all over the place. I couldn’t find my dad and—”

  To his credit, Patrick put his own grief aside to comfort Sloane. “It’s all right,” he took her hand and patted it sympathetically, “your father’s fine, Sloane. It’s—it’s Mia. M—Mia’s gone. She’s dead.”

  Sloane withdrew her hand almost instantly, and stepped back. “What?” Sloane looked up at him, her eyes wide, and suddenly clear. They were blazing with some emotion, so fierce that Patrick took an involuntary step backwards.

  “Are you sure?” Sloane blinked.

  “Your father found her in the kitchen an hour ago. She—” Patrick swallowed. “We’re not sure of the cause of death yet.”

  “No. No.” Sloane raised her hand, palm out. “Stop, hang on. This isn’t real, is it? You’re all pranking me.”

  “It’s real.” Patrick’s eyes welled up again. “I wish it wasn’t, but it is.”

  Sloane’s mouth opened and closed as though she wanted to say a million things and couldn’t find the words for any of them. “How…who…why…” was about all she managed to come up with. Patrick was on the pink armchair again, his head leaning on the back of the chair, eyes closed, ringed with exhaustion.

  “I need a cigarette,” Sloane muttered. She fumbled around in the pocket of her bathrobe, and drew out a red pack with Satin’s Superslim Strawberry Cigarettes written on it. With slightly shaking hands, she lit one up, and took a puff.

  The door opened and Sean walked in. He studied the room, taking in Sloane’s just rolled out of bed look, the cigarette in her hand, and Patrick’s closed eyes. With a motion of his head, he indicated to Tina and Nora that it was time for them to leave.

  “Patrick, we need to talk,” he said, his voice grim.

  *****

  Chapter 3

  Burton’s Discovery

  The Legrand Manse was a local legend. It was a regal estate house, built by one of the town’s founding fathers over a hundred years ago. With a magnificent wraparound porch, and a light blue trim across its five gable roofs, it stood on top of a slight slope that had once overlooked fifty acres of impeccably maintained gardens. Until very recently, it had attracted wedding parties from all over the state. After the murder on its premises, however, the Legrand Manse and its owners had fallen into hard times, having to sell off the land piece by piece, and eventually the inn itself. Mia Madford and her husband Patrick had swooped in when the inn went on sale, and renovated quite a bit of the house, including its oak ballroom. They’d renamed it Bellewood, and even began to clean out the small algae-filled pond that stood a few feet from the inn. Between that and the bakery, business had slowly begun picking up again. Nora wondered if all their work would now be in vain.

  As they headed outside, Nora and Tina found Burton sitting on the stoop, staring out at the pond. His eyes were blank, gazing across the gardens, focused on some distant, unseen spot.

  Nora sat down beside him, and waited. He didn’t turn to look at her, but his gaze dropped, and he smiled a little. “What is it?” he asked, “Are you here to commiserate with me? Don’t bother. It’s no secret that I didn’t like Mia much. Still, it feels really strange to have her gone.”

  “Didn’t like her much?” Tina looked surprised. “But she sang your praises about town. I remember that very clearly. Mainly because, well, I was surprised to hear Mia praise anybody at all. She said that a good handyman like you made the difference between life and death for Bellewood.”

  “She did?” Burton’s shoulders straightened a little, and then drooped. “But—” He sighed. “I don’t understand women. I don’t think I ever will. Sloane’s as much a mystery to me as her mother was. And as for Mia, she was a character, all right!”

  “Is Sloane’s mother—” Nora didn’t finish her question before Burton burst out laughing.

  “No, Sloane’s mother isn’t dead. She’s just traveling across Canada with her new boyfriend and her old camper. Sloane herself just graduated Penn State University, but she’s taking some time to be with her dad while searching for a job. She’s been staying here with me for three months. I’m glad she is—gives us time to bond. I was too busy working hard to be a proper dad when she was young, but she never held that against me. She’s the sweetest daughter a man could ever ask for.” His eyes clouded over.

  “She does seem to love you very much,” Nora smiled. “Burton, I wanted to talk to you about what you found this morning. I mean—”

  “You mean, the body,” Burton grimaced, “it’s funny, isn’t it? One second, she was Mia Madford. A somebody—fierce, and talented, and hard to get along with, but easy to respect. Now, she’s just a body.”

  “Mia’s still a somebody,” Nora said. “None of us will forget her soon.”

  “No we won’t,” Burton agreed. “I don’t understand it, Nora. I heard the deputies speculate that it was poison. Who could have done that? Why?”

  “Never mind that,” Nora said. “When you found her, did you see anything unusual?”

  “I mean, finding her in itself was unusual,” Burton said. “I was so shocked, I just worked on autopilot. But I knew on some level that she was gone. As soon as I tried to shake her awake and felt how cold her body was I knew. And, yet, I was so hysterical that I didn’t know that I knew, you know?”

  Nora tried to disentangle all of his “knows”, and came up with a more coherent version of what he was saying. “You’re saying that subconsciously, you knew she was dead even as your body instinctively ran about trying to shake her awake, and then waking Patrick.”

  “Exactly,” Burton said. “That’s another weird thing, too. Patrick being asleep, I mean. That’s not how this place works.”

  “Well, how does it work?”

  “See, this place runs like clockwork, thanks to Mia and Patrick. They’re both like machines. Every day, Patrick gets up at five a.m., goes down and starts setting up the bakery, has a cup of coffee and a croissant, reads the paper, and then wakes up Mia at six a.m.,” Burton paused. “I mean—he used to. That is to say—”

  Nora nodded. “Just use whatever words seem appropriate, Burton. Don’t worry about using the present tense when you mean the past.”

  “Thanks. It’s just all so fresh. I half feel like Mia could walk out anytime and start scolding me for not fixing the boiler yet.” Burton sighed. “Anyway, like I was saying, Patrick is always up first. In some ways, it wouldn’t have surprised me to see him lying on the floor. But—” He shook his head. “I don’t know. For some reason, Patrick slept in today, and Mia woke up early. I never wake up until six thirty a.m., and by the time I come down for breakfast, there’s scrambled eggs, toast, bacon and beans waiting for me and the guests. Not today, though.”

  Nora didn’t say anything, but her mind was already working. Why had Patrick chosen today, of all days, to sleep in? Why hadn’t he been down there as usual? Or had he been? Could it be that he’d poisoned Mia’s breakfast, watched her as she died, and then pretended to be asleep when Burton found her?

  “Are there guests staying here right now?” Tina asked Burton, looking appalled. He was about to reply, when the door slammed open, and a grumpy looking man stomped out, a Marlboro dangling from his lips. His eyes were narrow slits, and a light stubble covered his pudgy cheeks. His broad forehead was bordered by rather greasy hair.

  “Dang it, I found a man climbing up my window and peeking in as I slept! Claimed to be a policeman hunting for clues when I caught him! What kind of place is this anyway!” The man exclaimed, “Burton, you need to install a security system pronto!”


  “Mr. Alvarez,” Burton got up hurriedly, “I’m sorry. I’m afraid there’s been a death on the premises.”

  “A death?” Alvarez raised an eyebrow. “Who was it? Not…not Mia?”

  Burton’s lips tightened, “Mia is the one who died, yes.”

  “Had to be her. Was it a heart attack? It was probably the stress that killed her.” Alvarez nodded sagely. “She always looked angry. Never saw a smile on her.”

  “That might just have depended on who she was talking to,” Burton muttered.

  “What?” Alvarez looked at him sharply.

  “Nothing,” Burton shrugged. “Let me introduce you to my friends. Nora Newberry and her friend Tina own the finest diner in town. Nora, Tina, this is Arsalan Alvarez, he’s a regular here at the B and B.”

  Ignoring the introductions, Alvarez turned to Nora. “So why are you here so early in the morning?” Alvarez looked interested. “You hear of the death and just decide to come down for a look?”

  “N—no.” Tina hesitated. “We actually came to ask Burton if he’d help us put up a new picture window. Someone broke ours last night.”

  “Huh,” Alvarez shrugged, “I thought teenagers these days were too busy trolling online to actually get out and vandalize stuff. Good for them. But on a more interesting note, this death, what’s it all about, Burton? How’d she die?” Alvarez’s tone was disrespectfully breezy, his attitude as lax as a man who’s just read a piece of interesting news in a tabloid. Yet Nora saw how his eyes darted all around the place, and his hands shook slightly as he adjusted his cigarette. Was he being far too casual? Perhaps he was hiding his shock behind a layer of indifference. She’d known some men to do that.

  Burton, however, clearly didn’t think that Alvarez was capable of subtleties. He chose to ignore the man’s questions. “I’ve got to see the sheriff, sorry.” Burton got up. “I’ll come back and talk to you later about that window, Tina, goodbye!”

  Alvarez shrugged, “I guess I irritated him,” he said with a slight smile. “I tend to do that to people sometimes. I’m not very good with social interaction.”

  “Have you been staying here long, Mr. Alvarez?” Tina asked.

  “A few months, now.” Alvarez nodded. “I’m a writer. This place is perfect for my next novel.”

  “What’s it about?” Tina asked.

  “A woman who’s brutally murdered by her jealous lover,” Alvarez said, a slow smile spreading over his face as he saw Tina’s sudden shock. “I call it, Poison In My Veins. Funny thing, you know,” he paused, “in my story, the woman dies when someone injects her breakfast with poison.”

  The skin on the back of Nora’s neck began to prickle.

  “Even funnier? We were all discussing the story just last week night.” Alvarez took a deep breath. “Burton’s daughter is a big fan of crime thrillers, and she and I got into a detailed discussion on it. Patrick asked us to stop because it was too morbid a topic for the dinner table. A strange coincidence, isn’t it?”

  Strange, maybe. A coincidence? Nora wasn’t sure if it was a coincidence at all!

  *****

  Chapter 4

  Sloane’s Quandary

  Tuxedo leaped down from the sill of the door where she’d been hiding, and onto Nora’s shoulders, her claws digging in painfully. The black and white cat moved beautifully, her gambit as complex as an athlete’s play.

  “Ouch, Tux!” Nora exclaimed, “Harvey, did you see what she did?”

  Harvey, who was engrossed typing something on the computer, looked over the screen, and grinned. “The cat knows it's feeding time. She’s just trying to get you to move faster.”

  In response, Tuxedo meowed forlornly, and dropped down to Nora’s lap, looking up at her with pleading eyes. Nora, who happened to have her own laptop there, gave a squeal of indignation as Tuxedo’s furry little body smashed down on the keyboard.

  “Tux! Come on!” Nora exclaimed.

  In response, Tuxedo’s eyes got wider, and the tip of her tail moved slightly.

  “Oh, she’s a devil, this one. No one could resist those eyes.” Nora bent down and crooned, “Could they, Tux? No they couldn’t! No they couldn’t!”

  Harvey grinned. “Hey, will I get some food too, if I make big eyes at you?”

  “There’s leftovers in the fridge,” Nora said, with a sigh. “I’m trying to look up something online, without much success.”

  “What do you want to find out?” Harvey perched on the side of her chair and leaned over, till his head was on her shoulder.

  “Harvey!” Nora laughed, trying to push him off. “Tuxedo gets half her manners from you.”

  “Does she, now?” Harvey laughed, and smoothly picked Tuxedo off Nora’s lap, then contorted himself until he was on it. Given that he was a big man at six foot one, the sight of half his body on her lap while his legs stuck out over the chair made Nora burst into giggles. Marriage with Harvey had exposed her to a side of him dating had never really revealed. When relaxed and happy, he was nothing short of a goofball, doing everything he could to get a laugh out of her.

  “There,” he said now, as she began to laugh, “that’s my favorite sight in the world. You’ve been shaken up all day. With good cause, I guess. First the broken window, then Mia’s death.” Tuxedo meowed her agreement.

  Nora sighed, and smoothed the hair off his forehead. “It’s just… Mia’s death was a shock. The police confirmed that it was poison all right, but beyond that, they’ve been tight-lipped. I was trying to Google her, see if I could find out something about her past, but I’ve had no luck.”

  Harvey stood up, shaking out his body, and released Tuxedo on the ground. Taking Nora’s hand, he raised her off the couch, and drew her into his arms.

  “Do you have any suspicions?” He asked.

  “I… don’t know,” Nora said, “I don’t want to ruin someone’s life by accusing them of something they haven’t done, you understand.”

  “Naturally,” Harvey said, “but you suspect someone all the same.”

  “Patrick,” Nora said, “there was something about the way he acted, I can’t quite pin it down. The grief he felt about Mia’s death was genuine, and yet...” Nora sighed. “Harvey, you don’t suppose I’m becoming a bitter cynic, do you? I seem to go around suspecting everyone of murder.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t know,” Harvey said. “If anything, you’ve always been downright naive when it comes to believing in me. You believed in me even when everyone else in this town thought I’d committed a crime.”

  “Of course I did,” Nora said, kissing him lightly. “You’re no murderer.”

  “True,” Harvey said. “Which leads me to believe that maybe your instincts are just telling you something you ought to believe.”

  “Well, my instincts aren’t enough reason to throw Patrick in jail either,” Nora said. “No, there’s something he wanted to hide from Sean. I saw it in his eyes...”

  They both looked up, startled, as the doorbell rang. Harvey pushed back his sleeve, looked down at his watch and frowned. “Eleven p.m. Who could that be?”

  Nora answered the bell, and raised a surprised eyebrow. Sloane stood on the porch, a hoodie thrown over her jeans and t-shirt, looking both miserable and hopeful at once. Her dark hair was tied back in a ponytail, making her look younger than her twenty-three years, and her brown eyes had dark shadows under them.

  “Sloane!” Nora exclaimed. “Come in, come in. What are you doing out here so late?”

  “I needed to talk,” Sloane said. She stayed put, glancing warily at Harvey. “I…maybe I should come back tomorrow. This was a bad idea. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “No, wait,” Nora hesitated. “Harvey was just about to have his second dinner of the night. Do you want to come in and have some food too?”

  Sloane shook her head, “No, really, I think I should—”

  “I insist,” Nora said, shepherding her into the house.

  “I’ve never heard of an
yone have second dinner,” Sloane said, looking all around as she entered.

  Nora laughed. “Harvey sometimes forgets to eat lunch when he’s busy. He makes up for it by eating twice at night. I keep telling him it’s not healthy, but...”

  “But I don’t listen.” Harvey smiled.

  Sloane nodded politely, though her eyes were traveling all over their house. Nora and Harvey’s red-brick house was one of the prettiest in towns. They’d done up the interiors in a Mediterranean style, with lots of floor-to-ceiling windows, open spaces, and rustic, wooden furniture. Sloane trailed a finger against a bright-blue glass vase with yellow lilies blooming in it, and paused to admire an intricate, fantastical painting of a seashell lying on a beach, with a cozy miniature home inside it.

  Nora smiled. “A friend of mine gifted that to me last year. She’s a talented artist.”

  “Did Donna gift you that?” Sloane asked. “She’s my friend, you know. I mean, sort of. She’s the one who told me to come to you, as a matter of fact...” Once again, Sloane bit her lip and looked away, unwilling to talk.

  Nora didn’t press her with questions, knowing it would only make her want to run away. Instead, she escorted Sloane inside, and began to set the table. Tuxedo followed the three to the kitchen, and rubbed herself against Nora’s legs, purring loudly. Her green eyes fixed on Sloane, carefully monitoring the new human for any sudden moves. Sloane squatted down and put a hand forward, making little kissy noises to attract the cat. “She’s so fluffy,” Sloane said, as Tuxedo haughtily deigned to move forward and have her ears scratched.

  “Best cat in the world,” Nora smiled. “Very shy, too. She doesn’t normally let strangers touch her. She must like you.”

  Harvey, who had seen Tuxedo accost literal strangers in order to get a belly rub, gave Nora a surprised look at this blatant lie. Nora narrowed her eyes at him a little, and he nodded along. Anything to get Sloane comfortable. It worked too. The young girl’s face brightened at the thought that the cat had taken a liking too her, and she redoubled her efforts at petting Tuxedo.