Mission Inn-possible 04 - Raspberry Revenge

by Rosie A. Point

  “This is my establishment,” Gamma said, “and if you don’t remove yourself immediately, I will call the police and have you escorted off the premises.”

  The noise had drawn attention from the guests, some of whom had gathered on the first-floor landing.

  “Call the police,” Belle-Blue said, jabbing a finger into her palm. “I want them here to arrest you!”

  “What?” Gamma and I asked, in unison.

  “You’re going to prison for what you’ve done.”

  “What who did?” Gamma folded her arms, her cheeks pinking.

  “You! You… you… thief!” Jessie spat, as red as my grandmother.

  “Thief? Belle-Blue, did you splash something extra in your coffee this morning?”

  “Cats,” the other woman hissed.

  “Seriously. I think she needs help,” Gamma said, out of the corner of her mouth.

  “You’ve stolen my cats. From the cattery. Three of them have gone missing in the last week.”

  Gamma’s confusion became concern. “The cats are being stolen?”

  “Don’t play dumb.”

  “Have you reported this to the police?” I asked. “Surely, they’d be able to investigate.”

  “They don’t care,” Jessie said, without softening. “They think the cats have just run away. But that’s impossible. They can’t get out of their cages without someone opening them.”

  “Cages.” I pulled a face.

  “Enough!” My grandmother put up a palm. “Remove yourself before I have you removed. There’s no one here who would steal from you, even if those cats should be free of their cages. Leave.”

  “Or what?” Jessie asked.

  “Or I’ll make you.” My grandmother was cold as ice.

  Jessie took her in and paled. She blustered a few nonsensical sentences, then practically sprinted for the exit.

  But the seed had been planted. Cats had gone missing? A ghost in the inn. A dead body. Gossip had never been more curious, and I’d have to hide that from both Smulder and my boss. Especially since I’d be receiving a call from Special Agent in Charge Grant this evening.

  “The show is over, everyone,” Gamma called. “My apologies for the interruption.”

  People muttered, and the crowd dispersed. I had the feeling that this ‘show’ was only just beginning.

  6

  That same evening…

  The knock on my bedroom door came right on time. 8pm sharp. That was Smulder—never late or early, but punctual. That anybody could be anything but ‘on time’ utterly confounded him.

  I brushed my fingers through my long, dark hair, still lamenting the loss of my short blonde locks, then checked my reflection in the mirror. I’d changed into jeans and a light cream sweater for the evening, pairing it with a pair of my grandmother’s pearl earrings.

  It was the most feminine I’d felt in a long time, and I loved that. Strange how work had so completely consumed my identity over the past few years that a casual glance in the mirror now could make me feel… good.

  “Charlotte?” Smulder knocked again.

  “Sorry. Coming.”

  I let myself into the hall and found Smulder wearing his plaid shirt and worn blue jeans—practically his uniform since he’d taken up his cover at the inn. He leaned in and gave me a chaste kiss on the cheek. Butterflies tumbled through my tummy.

  “You look nice,” he said, and offered me an arm.

  “Thank you.” I tried and failed not to blush. It was surreal after what I’d been through with my ex. I accepted Smulder’s arm, and we walked down the stairs together like we were two Seniors heading off to prom.

  Halfway down the stairs, I realized how ridiculous that was, and I took my arm from his, giving him a quick smile as consolation.

  “Ready for tonight?” Smulder asked, as we reached the closed, etched door that led to the library.

  “Less prepared than you.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I’m not the one who’s been having clandestine meetings with Grant,” I whispered, checking the coast was clear.

  “Two things,” Smulder said, raising as many fingers. “They weren’t clandestine, at least not in the general sense, and given our line of work… isn’t everything clandestine?”

  “Make up your mind, Brian,” I replied, leaning in slightly. “Were they clandestine or not?”

  “Nothing important was discussed in those meetings.”

  “But you won’t tell me what was said,” I replied. “You can see how I’d be suspicious.”

  “That’s just because—”

  A thumping came from within the library, and Smulder left the rest of the sentence unspoken.

  I frowned. The library was usually empty at this time of night. That was part of the reason we held our meetings here most evenings. That, and there was a secret passageway that led up to the attic.

  Smulder took a step closer to the door, and I joined him.

  “—the money you have now, there’s no need to worry about anything.”

  “Yeah, I know that, but I don’t want to stay here, Archie,” a woman replied—vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place her. “I get this is your town or whatever, but it’s not my idea of a good time.”

  “It’s Gossip,” the guy in the library said. “It’s not a good time, but it’s home. That means something to me. Besides, there’s plenty of work here. I’ve got a good gig now. Don’t want to ruin it.”

  “Is that what they’re calling it?” This woman had a real attitude, a lip-smacking arrogance that practically oozed under the library door. “A gig. Because last I checked, selling those—”

  “Shut up,” the guy whined. “You don’t want anybody to hear, do you?”

  “Why? Are you embarrassed? You should be.” The woman paused. “Anyway, is this it? Your grand idea of a date? Because it’s lame, Archie, I gotta tell you. Like, not what I imagined at all.”

  “No, I just wanted to talk to you first. Find out how you were feeling about your dad kicking the friggin’ bucket.”

  “I’m fine. Let’s go.”

  I grabbed Smulder’s arm, and we back pedaled. The library door opened and Stephanie Shone, Vaughan’s daughter, emerged with a ratty looking guy. They saw us, and Archie went the color of fresh-picked strawberries before Stephanie steered him toward the inn’s open front doors.

  “That was interesting,” I muttered, once we were safely inside the library. Safely being sarcasm in this instance. We had just overheard someone else’s entire conversation from outside what I’d thought was the thick wooden door.

  Smulder and I headed for the secret passageway behind the bookcase and let ourselves onto the rickety wooden staircase that led to the attic. Once inside, we checked the place was secure—we’d had a run-in with a spy here a few months ago—then Smulder brought out his phone and two sets of Bluetooth headphones that connected to it.

  I slotted the headphones into my ears, and tried not to focus on the conversation we’d heard downstairs.

  But it wasn’t easy.

  That’d been the victim’s daughter down there, and the conversation had been so relaxed. She didn’t seem upset about her father’s spectacular demise. Not usually how I’d refer to murder, but the man had taken a blow dart to the neck for Pete’s sake.

  “You OK?” Smulder asked and squeezed my arm.

  “I’m OK,” I said. “Just eager for everything to return to normal.” Are you? What’s normal anymore? Was I ready to run off on more spy adventures, leave my grandmother behind again?

  I’d become adept at burying emotions as an agent, but after being here for a few months, nearly half a year now, my hardened exterior had softened.

  “If you need to talk, Charlotte…”

  I smiled at Smulder, and it held warmth. “Thanks.” I wasn’t ready to share my fears with him. It would be easier to fall into the trap of liking him too much.

  The phone rang, and Smulder tapped the screen.

  �
�Evening, Miss Smith, Mr. Marble.” Special Agent in Charge Grant always used our code names on these calls.

  “Hello, grandfather,” Smulder replied, formally. “How are you? Is everything going well back home on the farm?”

  “The chickens have flown the coop.”

  My heart thudded. The code-phrase for Kyle having left Prague. They’d found him! They knew where he was! “And? Did you get them back?” I asked.

  “Unfortunately, not. The cockerel has landed, though, and is still on the run.”

  Kyle was here. In America.

  Cold rushed over me. Now what? What could we do about this? He was here. That had to mean he was on his way to Gossip. That he knew where I was. Kyle wouldn’t risk returning to America unless he had a good reason to—it would be easier for NSIB agents to track him down on American soil.

  “—don’t want you to worry about this. The farm is our responsibility,” Grant continued, and I tuned back into the conversation.

  I’d frozen upon hearing the news, even coded like this. Smulder’s hand was on mine, holding it tight.

  “What do you need us to do, grandfather?” he asked, his grip tightening. His knuckles had gone white.

  “I want you to stay safe. Keep doing what you’re doing. Let me look after the chickens, the cockerel, and the coop. Understood?”

  “Yes,” Smulder said.

  “Miss Smith?”

  “Understood,” I whispered, the word like poison on my tongue.

  Smulder hung up, and I sat down on one of the musty armchairs in the attic, sending up a puff of dust. I coughed and put my head in my hands.

  “What now?”

  “Charlie, it’s going to be OK. He doesn’t know you’re here.”

  “Don’t be naïve, Brian. He knows I’m here. You know he wouldn’t risk doing something like this needlessly.” My heart rate had gone through the roof.

  “You don’t know that for sure.” Smulder crouched in front of me, his brown-eyed gaze deep and mellow, emanating calm. How he did it at a time like this was beyond me. “We don’t know anything for sure.”

  “Yeah, because Grant won’t tell us,” I snapped. “He knows that I’m going to take control of the situation myself if he does.”

  “Whatever his reasons, it’s better this way. You’re safe, all right?”

  “It’s not me I’m worried about.” It was my Gamma’s inn, Lauren’s baby, the guests, even Sunlight the cat, and Brian too.

  “Look at me,” he said, and carefully removed the Bluetooth earplugs from my ears. “I promise I won’t let anything bad happen. No matter what.” He drew me into a hug.

  I squeezed him tight, letting a little of my weakness show. But after this, it would be back to normal. I’d have to train properly again, keeping myself physically fit.

  Turner was on his way. And this could only end with one of us dead or behind bars.

  It will not be me.

  7

  “You’ve got to relax, Charlotte.” My grandmother was tucked up in bed, her ereader on her lap, and her reading glasses on the tip of her nose. She’d placed a cup of hot chocolate on her bedside table, marshmallows slowing dissolving to foam in the heat. Cocoa Puff had curled up next to her, purring.

  “Relax?” I paced back and forth, nearly wearing tracks in her violet rug. “What makes you think I’m not relaxed?”

  “I wonder,” she said, primly. “Could it be the smoke rising from my rug? Or the steam coming from your ears?” Gamma lowered her voice. “If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a million times. Nobody messes with a Mission.”

  My grandmother rarely broke cover, and that meant she wanted me to understand the gravity of her statement.

  We were Missions. We didn’t get scared, and we didn’t hesitate or panic. We acted with cool, clear heads and that was that.

  “Do you think I’m scared?” I asked, pointing at her. Her sharp, crystal blue glare made me redirect the finger to the wall. “Because I’m not scared. Not of him. That’s not it.”

  “I didn’t say you were scared.”

  “It’s the fact that I can’t do anything, you know? He’s on his way. He’s not even on his way. He could be here, hiding out. Biding his time. What if he hurts one of us? What if he… sets fire to the inn or ruins our lives? He’ll want to hurt me worse than I hurt him.”

  “That sounds like something a scared person would say.”

  “I’m not scared,” I reiterated, then gasped. “It could be the ghost. I bet the ghost is him.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. The ghost was nothing more than Mr. Shone’s attempt at drawing attention to the opening of the drive-in cinema.”

  “That could be true, but what if—?”

  “You’re driving yourself insane. Sit down and drink your hot chocolate.” She gestured to her chaise lounge and the cup of hot chocolate she’d set on the dresser next to it.

  I did as she’d told me because it felt better to obey an order than to go crazy thinking about the possibilities. That was the thing—I was used to obeying orders by now.

  Oh please, you love breaking rules as much as you love obeying orders.

  “Now, I won’t stand for you panicking like this. You’re made of stronger stuff than that. Have some chocolate. It will make you feel better.”

  “He’s my ex. Not a Dementor.”

  “A Demen-what?”

  “Really? Harry Potter?”

  Gamma fiddled with her glasses. She lifted her reader, returning to her book. It was her way of helping me relax, I guessed. The normality of it. If she wasn’t worried, why should I be?

  My grandmother had been hiding out from her copious amounts of enemies since she’d retired. They’d never caught up with her.

  Besides, there was an entire arsenal of weapons in her secret base downstairs. If Kyle came knocking—or creeping—we’d have the weapons we needed to take care of him.

  Finally, my shoulders relaxed.

  “You know, you’re probably right,” I said, lifting the mug to my lips and slurping down chocolatey goodness. “I don’t need to worry. It’s frustrating not being able to take control of the situation myself. I should be the one tracking him down. I should be the one who—”

  An ear-splitting shriek came from downstairs, and I jerked upright, splashing chocolate down the front of my cute pink PJs. My more sensible cotton ones were at the dry-cleaner.

  “What on earth?” Gamma threw back her duvet.

  I set the mug on the dresser, then ran for the door. Gamma had already grabbed her shotgun.

  The hall was empty, so were the stairs, but we streaked down them, and found Lauren standing in the foyer, her hands pressed to her pregnant belly. She was pale and trembling, red pigtails bobbling.

  “Lauren, dear?” Gamma lowered her gun.

  “What’s wrong? Where is he?” I asked, spinning in circles, trying to cover every angle with my gaze, even though I didn’t have a weapon.

  Smulder entered the hall from the living room. “What’s going on?”

  Doors opened and people appeared on the landing, all pale and likely expecting to see another corpse. Stephanie Shone stood among them, her hair in curlers, and her glare hot enough to melt ice. “Why is there so much noise in this stupid inn?”

  “G-ghost,” Lauren hissed. “I saw the ghost.”

  “The ghost? Where?” Gamma spun around.

  Some guests cried out and ducked below the balustrade.

  “Where did you see it?” I asked. “Lauren, where?”

  “It was on the landing.”

  If there’d been alarm before, it was nothing compared to now. People darted for their bedrooms, gasped, shrieked, and freaked out. Within minutes, the landing was clear, and it was just us three again.

  “Let’s move to the kitchen,” Gamma said. “We’ll talk about it there.”

  Inside the cozy yellow kitchen, we helped Lauren into a chair at the worn table. I fixed her a cup of hot chocolate, trying to ignore the sticky d
iscomfort of my PJ top, still covered in the stuff, and brought it over to her.

  The ghost again? What if it was Kyle? It had to be, right? We could dismiss one sighting as a fluke, but two…

  “Drink up, Lauren,” Gamma said, and took her place at the table. Cocoa Puff appeared in the doorway that led to the hall. He planted his furry butt out there and watched us through wise yellow eyes.

  Lauren glugged down hot chocolate and set the mug down, a ring of chocolate around her lips.

  I handed her a paper napkin, and she dabbed.

  “Feeling better?” Gamma asked.

  “Yeah, thanks. A little.”

  “What did you see?” I was desperate for information here—Kyle was tall, blond, and handsome with a slight angle to his nose where he’d broken it. If Lauren described him, we’d have to call in agents. Clear out the inn.

  Lauren took another fortifying sip of her chocolatey drink. “A ghost,” she said. “I saw a ghost.”

  “Yes, Lauren, dear, of course you did.” Gamma smiled. “But what did the ghost look like?”

  “Pale. And he was, uh, sniffling a lot.”

  “It was a male ghost?” I asked.

  “Yes. Sort of hunched over, wearing an oversized sweater, and a… I think it was a blanket on his head,” Lauren whispered. “Gray. Translucent.”

  “Translucent?” I asked.

  “Maybe opaque.”

  “Those are literally opposites,” I said. “Was he opaque or translucent? Come on, Lauren, you need to remember.”

  “Charlotte.” Gamma lifted a finger.

  “I-I-I don’t know.” Lauren trembled, placing a hand on her belly and flattening her cotton summer dress over her baby bump. “It happened so quickly. I just—I was so afraid.”

  “Did you see his hair color?” I asked. “What did his nose look like?”

  Lauren stammered wordlessly, shaking her head, and Gamma cast me another appraising look. “That’s all right, Lauren. You just relax. Everything will be fine.”

  Would it be, though? Two people had now seen this so-called ghost, and I wasn’t about to sit around and do nothing. Smulder entered the kitchen and came over to join us.