Mission Inn-possible 04 - Raspberry Revenge

by Rosie A. Point

  “You ladies OK?” he asked.

  “Fine as we can be, given the circumstances,” Gamma replied. “Thank you for asking, Brian.” She sniffed, the true unimpressed grandmother sniff that had always signaled trouble for me as a young girl.

  “You know, I bet it was that ghost that killed poor Mr. Shone,” Lauren said, suddenly, stunning the three of us. “Think about it.” She took a sip of her hot chocolate. “He was fine until he saw that ghost. And now… Heavens, what if I’m next?”

  “Don’t be silly, Lauren.” Gamma was brisk about it. “A real, flesh and blood human being murdered Mr. Shone.”

  “Equipped with a blow dart,” I put in.

  “Precisely.”

  “I suppose…” Lauren trailed off. “But it’s mighty strange that he saw the ghost, then died that same day. Don’t you think?”

  I thought it was strange. Suspicious.

  What if Lauren was right? That would mean there was a murderer hiding out in the inn.

  Here we go again.

  8

  Gamma couldn’t sleep and neither could I. We’d taken Lauren to her quaint little house in Gossip’s suburbs, then come back to the inn, brimming with theories about the ghost. None of them fit what had happened.

  A real ghost? No.

  A person in the inn who had killed Vaughan? Why? Why put themselves at risk by hanging around here afterward?

  Kyle or one of his associates come to find me? Why hadn’t they acted yet?

  Regardless, there was something fishy going on, and if I was honest, I didn’t much care for seafood.

  By the time we arrived back at the inn, it was shrouded in darkness. The solitary porch light was the only speck of illumination that broke the inky black. It was a cloudy night, and I scanned the front yard, the distant trees that led down to the creek running along the side of the inn.

  Gamma did the same, and it made me feel worse.

  “Inside, quickly now, Charlotte. We have a lot to talk about.” Gamma removed the front door key from her pocket.

  Inside, she switched on the foyer lights, then beckoned for me to follow her upstairs. Cocoa Puff darted out from under a table and followed us, greeting us with purrs.

  The inn was eerily quiet this late at night. The cracks beneath the doors dark.

  “There,” Gamma said, after shutting us in her room. “Safe.”

  “Relatively speaking. Assuming the killer doesn’t crawl out from underneath the bed.” I checked, just in case.

  “You haven’t done that since you were a little girl. You thought there was a monster with green eyes living under your bed.”

  “Monsters don’t scare me,” I said. “Humans are far worse. Not that I’m saying they scare me or anything. Just that it’s best to be safe.”

  “I’m on the same page as you.” Gamma double-checked the door was locked, then twitched the curtains over her window. “Good. Now, let’s figure out what we’re going to do about this ghost problem.”

  “I don’t see how we can do anything, short of searching the entire inn.” I was in the mood to pace, but I contained myself by sitting down on the edge of Gamma’s flowery violet bedspread. Cocoa Puff jumped onto my lap and settled down, purring and kneading my ruined PJs. There was no way I’d get this much chocolate out of them.

  “Exactly.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean exactly what I said. Exactly.”

  “That’s about as clear as a Mississippi Mud Pie.”

  “And less delicious,” Gamma replied, and walked to her dresser. She opened the bottom drawer then rooted around in it, giving me a grin that bore conspiratorial flavor. “Now, I know I had it somewhere in here. Better to store it here than in the armory.”

  “What on earth are you looking for?”

  “You’ll see.” She fiddled a second longer, and the thunk of wood loosening sounded. She lifted a false bottom out of the dresser drawer. “Just had to find the button. It’s been a while.” Gamma brought out a folded piece of paper, yellowing with age, and set it on the dresser. She carefully returned the false bottom, then shut the drawer and sat down on her velvet-padded stool.

  My grandmother was good at being mysterious, and the sense of anticipation grew.

  She lifted the page from the dresser and unfolded it. It wasn’t a page at all, but a huge sheet of thick paper that she held gingerly between her fingertips, as if afraid it would fall apart if she wasn’t careful.

  Gamma laid it down and crooked a finger. “Come have a look.”

  I set Cocoa Puff aside, much to his dismay, and scooted over to the chaise lounge. My eyes widened. “Where did you get this?” I asked. “It’s awesome.”

  “The previous owner gave it to me when I bought the museum.”

  The Gossip Inn had once been a rundown museum full of trinkets from across the country and even the world. It was difficult to forget that history because my grandmother displayed those oddities in the halls, in nooks and on rickety tables. They were the primary reason I spent most of my time dusting.

  And because I enjoyed having the time to think.

  The large sheet of paper on the table was a full-scale map, brown around the edges, of the many floors of the inn, from the basement to the attic. The previous owner had made little calligraphy x’s at several points, seemingly at random. There was an ‘x’ in the library along the wall, and another in the kitchen, yet another in the incubator room of the kitten foster center.

  “What are they?” I asked, tapping one of the x’s.

  “Careful, dear, you’ll ruin the map. Your fingers are oily.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Naturally oily.” Gamma grinned at me, excitement bubbling from her. “The x’s are entrances to secret passages around the inn. Or should I say, the museum? Now, the previous owner never mapped out all the passages. He was too old and a little broke by the time we crossed paths, but he did his best to mark those he knew about.”

  “Wait, he did his best?” I asked. “Didn’t he build this place?”

  “No. He inherited it. The history of the building is steeped in mystery that I haven’t gotten the chance to unravel yet. Somewhat of an enigma, built by his great-great-great-aunt or the like. Here’s the thing,” Gamma said, sweeping a hand over the map without touching it, “these markings are all the known entrances to the secret passages in the inn. The previous owner, Mr. Gierardi, told me he’d only found about two-thirds of them.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yes, exactly. Maybe someone is hiding in the inn, whatever their motivation. Using this map, we have a good starting point for finding them. And we can mark any new entrances we find as we go.”

  “That’s brilliant,” I said, then frowned. “But… didn’t this creep you out? Knowing that someone could sneak up on you through one of the unknown passages?”

  “It wasn’t on my mind until you arrived,” Gamma replied. “I haven’t had the time to worry about it here, though I have inspected my room and never found an entrance.” She blushed. “Things are slower in Gossip. That’s my excuse.”

  “I’ll forgive the lapse in security since you made up for it in weapons.”

  “Here’s what I suggest,” Gamma said, “we split the inn into quadrants and check both the known passages and searching for new ones.”

  “Easy. I can do that while I dust.”

  Gamma rolled her eyes. She’d maintained that I dusted too much and did the dishes too little. “Good. But we need to do more. Given that we now know the ghost isn’t just a rumor, and that he saw Vaughan before his untimely passing…”

  “You want to find out if his presence is connected to the murder,” I said, and hope flared in my chest. Excitement. I couldn’t stand sitting around, waiting for something to happen. Investigating a murder would keep me sane while the NSIB tracked down my ex.

  “I suggest we talk to the daughter first. Free for brunch tomorrow?”

  “I have a date with Brian. Maybe in th
e afternoon?”

  “Then it’s settled. I’ll meet you in the foster center at around 2pm. We’ll go from there,” Gamma said, and we shook on it, firmly.

  It felt good to finally be doing something. I let myself out of Gamma’s room, Cocoa Puff on my heels, and checked the hallway. It was empty and quiet as we’d left it. No man ghosts in sight.

  “I’ll find you,” I whispered, before shaking my head at myself and heading for bed.

  9

  “This is different,” I said, clinging to the sides of my seat as we rocketed down an unfamiliar dirt road in Gossip.

  Smulder’s van—one he’d rented for the time he’d be undercover at the inn—creaked and complained at the rough treatment, but Brian had never been ‘into cars’ and didn’t seem to care that he was probably damaging the axle, the engine, and my heiney during the madcap ride.

  “You’re going to love it,” he said, grinning at me. “I know you’re not the type of woman who enjoys sitting around on dates so…”

  “Eyes on the road, Marble,” I said, using his fake name to snap him to attention.

  He was an enigma, all right. Uptight and wanting to do everything by the book, except when it came to driving cars, apparently. Or looking after them. He didn’t give two hoots about that.

  “Was your father a racecar driver or something?” I asked, thankful for the seatbelt digging into my chest as we took another corner at speed.

  “No,” Smulder replied. “But he bought me my first car when I was sixteen. And my second one.”

  “Why two?”

  “I totaled the first one.”

  “Wow,” I said. “Just wow. And he bought you another one?”

  “He was a car salesman. There were plenty to go around,” Brian said. “Don’t worry. I’ve gotten better at driving since then.”

  “I should hope so, given that you took the NSIB advanced driving course.”

  “Scraped by.” He winked at me once again, taking his eyes off the road for far too long.

  “Road! Eyes!”

  Smulder chuckled.

  I would’ve been mad at him, but I liked the sound of his laugh. He didn’t do it often, maybe because he wanted to stay focused on our cover or the task we’d been set. Or keeping me out of trouble.

  “You’re different today,” I said.

  “It’s the driving,” he replied. “I like it.” And then he threw the van around a corner, the wheels spitting up dust and chips of gravel.

  I screeched. He let out a whooping cry.

  Finally, he slowed the car and trundled the rest of the way up the road to an open gate. The sign tacked to it read ‘Gossip Petting Zoo.’ A small home, painted a quaint pale pink, sat amid three small fields. To the right, green grass stretched to another fence, and to the left… animals and people, from bunny rabbits to goats, to a pony that was giving small children rides.

  The parking lot out front was already full up with cars. We found a space near the exit, then got out of the van.

  “A petting zoo,” I said, taking Brian’s arm.

  “Do you like it?” Brian stopped dead. “If you don’t want to do this, we don’t have to.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I replied, channeling my inner Georgina. “I love it. It’s great. You know how much I adore animals.”

  We paid for two tickets inside, the house smelling faintly of paint and baking cookies, then headed out to the petting zoo. I gravitated toward the bunnies, accepting a pail of feed from a helper.

  “Hey, sweetheart,” I said, bending and dropping a few brown pellets on the ground in front of a bunny that was white as snow. “Come over here.”

  “Careful.” A helper, dressed in a pink cotton t-shirt with ‘Gossip Petting Zoo,’ printed on the breast pocket, stopped nearby. “That’s Snowball. She’s liable to bite your fingers if you get too close. Grumpy as they come.”

  “I can relate,” I replied. “I’d be grumpy too if I had to spend every day surrounded by humans dressed in pink, cooing at me like I was a baby.”

  The helper gave me a funny look and walked off.

  Smulder crouched and scattered a few pellets for the other bunnies. “You really know how to relate to people, Charlie.”

  “What? I’m just honest.”

  “Brutally.”

  “I thought you liked that about me,” I said.

  He gave me a quick kiss on the forehead. “You have many redeeming qualities.”

  “Redeeming! What are they redeeming me from or for or—?” I stopped talking, jaw dropped.

  What on earth is she doing here?

  “What’s wrong?” Smulder asked.

  “Jessie Belle-Blue,” I whispered, nodding toward my grandmother’s nemesis at the other end of the bunny pen. She wore another of her pashminas—this one checked in green and red wool, like some giant Christmas decoration.

  “Where?”

  “Don’t look,” I said. “She might notice us.”

  Smulder busied himself trying to coax Snowball toward the food while I eyed Belle-Blue surreptitiously. We hadn’t seen her since she’d come over to accuse Gamma of stealing her cats. She looked plenty happy now.

  She wasn’t alone. Jessie stood with a man who could only be described as a silver fox. Tall, tan and silver haired, with a well-kept beard, he leaned on the fence and spoke to her.

  She frowned occasionally, nodded, gestured to the animals.

  “She’s up to something,” I whispered.

  “Up to what?” Smulder asked and held out a handful of pellets to Snowball. The white-whiskered bunny hopped closer to him. “Looks like a date to me.”

  “Oh please, Jessie couldn’t land a man like that if she tried. That guy’s more Georgina’s type. Anyway,” I replied. “Belle-Blue is too sour for romance. It’s got to be something to do with the missing cats. I bet she did it herself and is trying to pin it on us.”

  “Cats and grandmothers,” Smulder muttered it. “Charlotte, what about when this is all over? What are you going to do when that—ouch!” He snatched his hand away from Snowball. “She bit me! Look, I’m bleeding.”

  “You’ve been through worse.” I stroked his back, then rose, turning away from Belle-Blue. I hurried off, leaving him and the conversation about the future behind. The last thing I wanted was to think about what would happen after they had arrested Kyle.

  About leaving Gossip.

  Besides, there was a murder to focus on. An investigation. Better that than worrying about what might be. And what it would be like to say goodbye to the only friends I’d had in years.

  10

  Gamma and I helped Lauren clear up the plates after the lunch service at the inn—hamburgers and fries—both quiet as we anticipated what we’d be doing after we’d finished.

  “I’m so full,” Lauren said, from the kitchen table. We’d made her sit and relax because it wasn’t good to strain oneself when pregnant. “What a day.”

  “Did you get much sleep last night?” I asked.

  “Oh, yeah, yeah, I slept just fine. Jason gave me a cuddle, and we fell asleep watching a comedy.”

  “That’s good to hear,” Gamma said. “You cooked like you’re well rested. The hamburgers were fantastic.”

  “Sumptuous.” I agreed, packing away the plates in their cupboard. I cleared my throat. “I think I’m going to go for a walk.”

  “That sounds like a lovely idea.” Gamma hung up her apron.

  “Not for me.” Lauren raised her palms. “I’ve got to get over to my sister’s bakery. She needs help perfecting a muffin recipe.”

  “I always said you were the best baker in Gossip.” Georgina smiled and gave me a thumbs up behind her back.

  The plan was to rendezvous in the garden and make our move from there. Gamma had been keeping tabs on Stephanie since the murder and had noted that she’d gone out to the garden to sit on the benches yesterday. A couple questions had told her it was a common practice Stephanie undertook every day after lunch.
/>   I slipped out of the inn first. Brian was around the side of the building in the greenhouse, working on the fresh vegetables Lauren insisted on for her dishes. He wouldn’t approve of us getting involved, and he’d been so cagey about his private calls with Special Agent in Charge Grant, I didn’t feel bad keeping this from him.

  Stephanie sat under a stand of oak trees Gamma had nicknamed ‘the Glade.’ She’d taken great pains in ensuring every part of the garden was idyllic—a place where her guests could relax. And Stephanie sure looked relaxed. Maybe a little too relaxed.

  Her father had just been murdered.

  I headed down the steps and went over, casually taking a seat on the bench next to her, then shutting my eyes and resting my hands on my stomach.

  Stephanie didn’t notice. She had her phone out and was texting furiously, muttering under her breath.

  Footsteps approached, and I kept my expression impassive.

  “Charlotte, there you are.” Gamma’s voice drifted across the lawn.

  Stephanie shifted. I opened my eyes. “Oh, did you need my help with something, Georgina?”

  “Lauren’s heading out, but I thought you might want to talk to her about what happened last night. The ghost.”

  Stephanie snorted, and we both looked at her. She shrugged. “Sorry. Just, I don’t buy that there’s a ghost around here or whatever.”

  We’d been working up to involving her in the conversation, but she’d invited herself in. That was great.

  “Sorry, but wasn’t your father one of the people who saw it?” I asked, opting for the gentle approach that was all Charlotte Smith the maid, and not at all Charlie Mission the spy.

  “Yeah, that’s what he said, but I’m pretty sure he did that to get attention for that stupid theater he opened up,” Stephanie spat. “So dumb.”

  “You didn’t like the theater?”

  “It was just a waste of money and time, and now that he’s gone, I have to deal with it and his idiot business partner,” Stephanie said.

  “Sorry for your loss, dear.”

  “Yeah, thanks.” Stephanie waved a hand. “It’s no secret me and Dad didn’t get along, and it’s like his last gesture of revenge that he went and got himself murdered by a stupid blow dart. Now I have to take charge.”