It had three windows, one on either side of the room, affording dusty views of the garden and the search parties combing through it, and another at the far end, in a cupola. The space was filled with old things covered by sheets that had once been white—creating the outlines of furniture and mirrors, trunks and other items I couldn’t identify
I opened my mouth to call for Chrissy, but a low scratching sound, followed by a girlish giggle, stopped me.
The noises had come from behind an old chest of drawers.
I tiptoed over.
A little girl with a shock of blonde hair, dressed in a summery pink dress with a plastic tiara on her head, trailed a peacock feather along the old wooden boards. Sherlock, the calico mischief, chased after it, occasionally letting out a little meow of excitement, his tail flicking this way and that. A trunk lay open in front of the pair, items spilling out of it—peacock feathers, a boa, costume jewelry and scarves.
“Hi,” I said, quietly.
Chrissy turned around, her eyes wide. “Oh!” A small smile parted her lips. “Oh, hi. I thought you were my mom coming to shout at me. She doesn’t like it when I play with cats.”
“Because she’s allergic, right?”
“Right,” Chrissy replied, in a businesslike tone. Sherlock leaped at the end of the now still feather, and Chrissy waggled it again. “My name’s Chrissy, by the way. What’s yours?”
“Charlie,” I replied. “Or Charlotte. Whichever you prefer.”
“I like Charlie.” She had to be about seven- or eight-years-old. “Charlie’s a nice name for a girl.”
“Thanks.” I came around the side of the chest of drawers. “It looks like you found some treasure up here.”
“They’re fake.” Chrissy pointed at the jewels on the mess of old things.
“Yeah. But it’s pretty cool up here, right?”
“Very cool,” Chrissy agreed, and picked Sherlock up. She plonked him in her lap and stroked the top of his head. He purred and rubbed against her palm, bumping it in his enthusiasm. “It’s quiet too. And my mom can’t find me here either.” A savage little grin appeared. “Now, I can play with the kitty as much as I want.”
“His name is Sherlock.”
“Why Sherlock?” She continued petting him.
“Because he’s adventurous. He likes to explore. Did Sherlock help you find this place, Chrissy?”
The little girl nodded. “He scratched on the side of the book thing.”
“Bookcase.”
“Yeah. And then it kind of opened and he went in, so I followed him.”
I nodded. “Well, Chrissy, your mom and dad are worried about you. They were scared that you ran away. They couldn’t find your secret hiding spot.” I couldn’t risk upsetting Chrissy—likely, her parents would discipline her for having run off and scared everyone, but I couldn’t tell her that. And I couldn’t blame her for wanting some time away from her screeching mother.
The woman drove me mad after two seconds with her. Poor Chrissy had to deal with the bossiness and panic on a daily basis.
“Oh.” Chrissy’s grin shrank. “Are they mad?”
“I don’t know. But I think it’s time that you and Sherlock come back downstairs, now. You can have a cookie and some milk. Does that sound good to you?”
“But if I go, my mom won’t let me play with him anymore.”
My heart broke for her, and I pressed my hands onto my knees, bending slightly so I could meet her eye-for-eye. “Chrissy, I promise if you come back with me now, I’ll speak to your mom and dad about getting you some fun play time with the kittens in the foster center.” Obviously, only the ones who were close to adoption age. “You’ll have special time with Sherlock.”
“Really? Promise?”
“Promise.”
“OK.” She got up, pressing Sherlock against her chest, gently. The kitten adored the attention.
“I have a question,” I said, as we strolled toward the staircase. “How have you been getting Sherlock out to play?”
“Oh, I haven’t. He comes to visit me early in the morning. He scratches on the door until I open it.” Chrissy bobbed along, her fear of losing time with Sherlock forgotten.
The questions remained… How on earth had Sherlock gotten out in the first place?
14
Later that evening…
AFTER THE EXCITEMENT of having found Chrissy and Sherlock had died down, the volunteers had been given cupcakes and lemonade for their troubles. Spirits had been high, especially since Trinity had been so relieved to see Chrissy that she’d actually said thank you, and had decided that Chrissy could play with the cats once in a while. That was as long as she changed out of her cat-fur-covered clothes once she was done.
That solved the problem of the disappearing child. But what about the escaping kitten?
Either Sherlock was the smartest cat in the world and had found a secret escape route—like the one in the library—or someone was letting him out. Since there were only three keys, and three of us who held them, the latter seemed impossible.
I stood in the kitchen, snacking on a cupcake over the sink, my gaze fixed on the clock on the timid green wall.
It was just past 6 pm.
Gamma had given Lauren the night off. Lauren, Smulder, all the volunteers, Chrissy and her family, and the guests in the inn, were going out to the Hungry Steer restaurant to celebrate the successful rescue mission.
I wouldn’t be joining them.
I needed time to think.
The murder investigation had taken a back seat because of the mysterious case of the disappearing child and her furry friend. Now, it had swung back into front of mind like a monkey on a vine, and the chatter in my brain was nearly unbearable.
Who had done it?
Why?
It had to be related to money, surely. Bob had been rich and mean. Aunt Gracie had hated him. Leanne, his fiancée, had the most motivation, didn’t she? But then, there was Trinity and her continuous accusations and fights.
And the way she’d behaved after her child had gone missing.
She hadn’t run around the inn searching for Chrissy. She’d taken the opportunity to storm through Leanne’s room, banging open doors and rummaging through things. That wasn’t the behavior of a woman looking for a missing girl, but for a missing… something.
And the animosity between the two couples was suspicious as well.
“There you are,” Gamma said, stepping through the archway. She wore the same outfit she’d had on earlier—a pair of tailored pants and a sleeveless silken blouse. She clasped her glasses in one hand. “Lost in thought?”
“You could say that,” I replied. “I’m trying to work out… the case.” I whispered the last part. “A lot of new variables have presented themselves.”
“Agreed.” Gamma took a seat at the kitchen table and set down her glasses.
“Aren’t you joining the others at the Hungry Steer?”
“Of course not, Charlotte. This is the perfect opportunity to sneak around. If we want evidence or clues, now will probably be the best time to find them. All the guests have left.” She arched a silver eyebrow. “Including Leanne.”
Ah. So my grandmother believed Leanne had had something to do with it as well.
“You’re as suspicious of her as I am,” I said.
“I don’t buy the crocodile tears. Or that Sherlock’s escaping from the kitten center by himself. He’s by far the most adventurous of the little blighters but there’s no chance he’s found a way out of that room.” Gamma pushed up from her chair. “I just went through the whole place, nearly scared Marietta out of her soul because of the noise I made coming in, and it’s airtight. I made sure of it when I hired those contractors. I didn’t want escapes like this to happen.”
I rubbed the pad of my thumb along my jawline. My cupcake was finished and I was already hankering for another one, but curiosity dampened my hunger.
“Leanne, Gracie and Trinity,” I said.
“Three women who all had a stake. Trinity’s might be the most tenuous but you should have seen the way she behaved today. She rifled through cupboards in Leanne’s room in her search for Chrissy.”
“That’s… odd. It’s more proof that there might be something in Leanne’s room worth looking for. I have it on good authority that the police haven’t found the murder weapon.”
“Good authority?”
Gamma tapped the side of her nose. “Maureen’s cousin Betsy-Mae is friends with the dispatcher at the Barnett County Sheriff’s Office, and she said that they don’t have a cooking clue where the murder weapon is. That means that the Gossip Police don’t know either.”
“You really do have an ear for gossip,” I said.
“It’s easy once you make a few friends. All it takes is some cakes, a smile and a few juicy tidbits. In this case, all I had to share in order to get that information was some gossip of my own.”
“Which gossip?” I asked.
“That you and Brian are in a happy relationship.”
I nearly choked on my own saliva.
Gamma gave me a bright smile. “Meet me outside Leanne’s room in five minutes. I need to get my keys.” She spirited herself away before I could lambast her. Not that it would make a difference. What Gamma wanted, Gamma got. I was just along for the ride.
I had enough time to inhale another cupcake before rushing upstairs to meet Gamma on the second floor.
“You’re late,” she said, jangling her massive ring of keys at me. “And you’ve got crumbs on your face.”
“Sorry.” I dusted myself off.
Gamma unlocked Leanne’s door and we entered, shutting it with a soft ‘click.’ I’d been in here before, but only in the cleaning capacity and it had been Bob’s room at the time. The place was spotlessly clean. I’d have loved to take credit for that, but it wasn’t my doing. I was a passable maid at best and a downright nuisance to the inn at worst. This had been cleaned by someone else. Leanne, I had to assume.
“Okay,” Gamma said, rubbing her palms together. “Let’s see what we can find.” She headed for TV cabinet and checked behind it.
I dropped down on all fours and peeked under the sofas in the living area of the suite. Nothing. Just a tiny gap between the floor and couch and… what was that? A sock. A stinky old sock that had probably belonged to Bob. Well, that didn’t help. The bedroom might provide more of a—
The scrape of the key entering the suite door’s lock sent a rush of heat through my torso and up into my throat.
Leanne was back.
Gamma had gone round-eyed. She gestured frantically to me, then dropped down behind one of the sofas. I scrambled across the floor and squeezed myself into place behind an armchair, my heart pounding.
The door opened and two sets of footsteps entered.
I twisted my head, bringing one eye just level with the side of the armchair. I caught a glimpse of a pair of high heels and a set of comfortable nurse’s shoes then drew myself back again.
“I’m sorry to bother you like this,” a man said—a gentle voice I recognized as Kieran’s. Gracie’s nurse was in Leanne’s room. Why?
“It’s a good thing you caught me before I left for the Hungry Steer,” Leanne replied, with a weighty sigh. “Are you sure this can’t wait until afterward?”
“Gracie’s taking her rest, now,” Kieran replied. “I don’t think I’ll get another opportunity to discuss this with you.”
“Fine. Yes, I understand. But you realize that Bob and Gracie didn’t have the best relationship,” Leanne said. “When the solicitor does divide his assets there’s really no guarantee that Bob left any provisions for Gracie in the will.” For once, Leanne didn’t sound weepy or pitiful. She was brisk. Emotionless, even.
I couldn’t make eye contact with Gamma—her sofa faced the exit and my armchair the bedroom door—but she would be as suspicious as me about the change in behavior.
“I understand that, but as his aunt, Gracie deserves help.” Kieran paused. “Look, she’s the only family I’ve got, at this point. I know I’m not technically related, but I’ve been her nurse for years and—”
“That has no bearing on the issue. I don’t know what’s going to happen to her,” Leanne said. “Frankly, it’s not my job to worry about it either. You’ll just have to wait until the solicitor calls everyone in to discuss it.”
“But you’ll try to help her? She can’t just go to—”
“I’ll do what Bob wanted. Nothing more and nothing less.” The finality in that sentence left tension in the air.
A shuffling of shoes followed and then… “All right,” Kieran said. “Well, thanks for taking the time to talk to me.”
“I’d say it was a pleasure,” Leanne replied, “but I’ve got to go, now. The rescue teams are meeting up at the Hungry Steer. I need to be there.” Another thumping of steps came and then the door opened and shut. A key was inserted into the lock and the latch clicked.
I counted to ten then stood up. Gamma had risen too.
“Interesting,” I whispered.
“Leanne’s not the wilting flower we thought she was.” Gamma gestured to the room. “Let’s finish up here before she comes back for something else.”
We made short work of rifling through Leanne’s things, but there was nothing incriminating to be found. No gun. No hateful messages. No evidence of financial trouble on Leanne’s part.
“A goose egg,” I said.
Gamma pursed her lips. “Speaking of eggs, we should get downstairs and finish wrapping the chocolate ones for tomorrow’s hunt. The murder weapon will have to wait.”
But just how long would it wait? And why had Leanne’s demeanor changed so much in the span of an afternoon?
15
The morning was bright and sunny, the sky azure and cloudless—a perfect day for an Easter egg hunt in the inn’s expansive back garden. The trees that flanked it and led into the forest had been decorated with pink and yellow crepe paper, which doubled as makeshift cordons so that the kids wouldn’t run off into the woods in search of eggs.
We’d spent all evening wrapping and hiding the chocolate treats, and I had to admit that it was pretty satisfying to watch the children laugh, screech and run around, carrying their little wicker baskets and scrounging around for the glittering foil eggs. Chrissy was among them, her hair done up in cute pigtails and the incident of the previous day long forgotten.
I tucked my hands into the pockets of my jeans, my plain t-shirt a joy in comparison to the dresses and skirts I usually had to wear.
“They’re having fun.” Smulder came down the kitchen’s back steps, carrying a basket full of cupcakes to go on the trestle table Gamma and Lauren had set up for snacks for the parents.
“Everyone’s having fun,” I agreed. “Adults included. That’s got to be a rarity with this much screaming going on.”
“Screams of joy.” Smulder nudged me. “It’s kinda cute, you’ve got to admit it, ice queen.”
“Ice queen? I’m not an ice queen.”
“Oh come on, Charlie,” he said. “I worked with you for years. I know you’re not the type of woman who likes kids, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”
“I don’t not like kids. Or dislike them. Whatever.”
He gave me a skeptical look, somehow making it handsome. Could the butterflies in my belly behave? Apparently not.
“I don’t,” I insisted. “I consider them a responsibility which is what they are. And for me, they’re not plausible. Given my line of… uh, work.” As an agent, not as a maid and assistant to my grandmother.
Smulder sobered. Perhaps, he’d forgotten that he was in the same boat. We wouldn’t be having kids—separately!—because there was the off-chance that one of our many enemies might find us and use them against us. That would never change.
“So you do like kids,” Brian said, after a beat. “You’re not as much of an ice queen as I thought.”
“I’m vacillating between
being complimented and taking offense to that.”
“Then I should probably leave before you decide which.” He winked at me and swept the basket off to the trestle table. He was immediately swamped by cupcake craving parents.
Did he just wink at me?
Smulder was obviously taking the relationship cover story too seriously. Then again, we were in public. Maybe he’d caught someone watching us? But a quick look around showed me that the parents were too busy chatting or eating and the kids too busy hunting to pay attention to lil’ old me.
The kitchen door opened and Lauren emerged, grinning from ear-to-ear. She was in her usual red pigtails and apron. “Isn’t it perfect? I knew this was a good idea!”
“You outdid yourself again,” I said.
Lauren joined me and Gamma appeared a few seconds later, munching on a cupcake. She ate as much as me and did half the exercise, but somehow maintained a slim, fit physique. She had to be doing weights in the basement when I wasn’t around. She was a night owl, after all.
“Another successful event.” Gamma pointed with her half-eaten cupcake. “And it’s all thanks to you, Lauren. And you, of course, Charlotte.”
“I didn’t wrap those eggs on my own.”
Smulder came back with the basket. “I hope you have more of those cupcakes. They ate this batch the minute I put the basket down on the table.”
“I can whip up some more.” Lauren’s face lit up. Baking wasn’t work to her. It was what she loved to do, and she disappeared inside before anyone could protest that she’d already made at least ten batches in the past two days.
Smulder lingered instead of following her. “Nice day, isn’t it?”
“We’re talking about the weather now?” I asked.
“Oh, Charlotte, when a handsome man wants to talk to you about the weather, it’s common courtesy to oblige. You wouldn’t want to drive him away, would you?”
Why did my grandmother have to say the most embarrassing things at the most inopportune moments? I opened my mouth to say something, anything that would drive Smulder off before he spotted my red face.
Mission Inn-possible 03 - Cocoa Conviction Page 6
