Heather Horrocks - Who-Dun-Him Inn 01 - Snowed Inn (23 page)

As I unlocked the door at the top of the stairway, Liz’s voice came from behind. “Hey, Vicki. Wait up.”

I folded my arms. “Well, your helping me with the towels certainly didn’t last long, did it?”

“I don’t see why you can’t just leave these towels in a nice, neat, little stack on the counter, and let the guests pick them up as they need them. Their arms aren’t broken.” She waved her hand. “Besides, I didn’t want to interrupt you and Bonnie.”

“How thoughtful of you,” I said, trotting down the stairs.

Liz followed me, locking the door behind us. “You’re welcome. Any time I can help by not actually helping is when I’m happiest.”

Downstairs, Zach was playing his video game. Normally, I would have scooted him off the game and out to play with friends or do something else. Something useful. But where could I scoot him to today? At least down here, there were no killers.

Just killer crosswords, which Grandma was working, sitting in the Lazy-Boy. Robert’s Lazy-Boy. From out of nowhere, a pang of grief hit me. I wished he were here right now. I blinked back hot tears. I was not going to cry. I would not. Instead, I thanked Grandma for setting out such a delicious luncheon.

She set down her paper in concern. “Victoria, you look dead dog tired.”

“She has bags under her eyes packed for a week-long trip,” Liz said with a slight question in her voice, as if she sensed my raw feelings.

I leaned over and kissed Zach. The grief hadn’t been this overwhelming in a long time. I learned if I just kept breathing, the pain would lessen, eventually. But I didn’t want anyone to see my pain, as after eleven months, others could be quite unsympathetic. How many times did I hear a variation of, “It’s time to get over Robert and get on with your life, Vicki”? Like I could replace Robert as if he were nothing more than a family dog.

“Hi, Mom,” Zach said without missing a karate kick on the screen. Just looking at him, a miniature of Robert, and inhaling the little boy smell of him, helped steady me.

“Are you hungry, honey?” I asked him.

“Nope. Grandma already fed us.”

Now able to face the others, I stood in time to see Liz dart a questioning glance at me before pulling a bottle of nail polish from her purse. Painting your nails seemed a strange response to murder, but perhaps no stranger than I, keeping busy with meaningless tasks.

Grandma glanced at the bottle. “Why do you want to wear a harlot color, Elizabeth?”

Liz winked at me. “Because I’m a harlot, Grandma.”

Grandma frowned. “Hand it to me.”

Liz opened her eyes wide in surprise. “What?”

“You heard me. I think Nicholas would like that color.”

For a moment, Liz was speechless. She looked at me and I shrugged. I hadn’t seen this side of Grandma, ever. Grandpa George would have had a fit if Grandma ever wore Neon Coral nail polish, so she had obviously subdued the more colorful part of her accessories, if not her personality. But now she was free to seek more open-minded men. Which was blowing me away.

Finally, Liz smiled sweetly at Grandma and said, “You’ll have to wait until I’m done.”

“That’s fine with me, because I can’t reach my toenails all that well, anyway. I want you to paint them for me.”

Shaking my head, I left to eat some of Grandma’s yummy spinach salad, one of my favorites. But as I neared the dining room, I heard the murmur of voices from the parlor. When I entered, Martha and Alexis were looking out the big front window, their backs to me, watching the snow still falling.

Apparently, they hadn’t heard me, for Martha asked, “Is your boyfriend treating you well?”

“Oh, yes. Things are good.” There was definite coolness in Alexis’s reply, though Martha asked nicely enough.

Martha saw me first. “Hi, Mistress of Murder. The view is simply beautiful. I’ll bet the turning leaves were gorgeous.”

“They’re always magnificent.”

Alexis turned around. Her face looked tight, as if she were in pain again. Poor woman. I was glad I didn’t have migraines.

Seeing the large window behind them reminded me of the wet one. “Did either of you happen to open the hall window on the second floor last night?”

Martha raised a delicately arched eyebrow. “Someone needed below-freezing fresh air? Not me, honey. I prefer things toasty warm. As for Alexis, she was dead to the world with her migraine, remember? She wasn’t out opening anything.”

Alexis nodded at that, though the coolness lingered in her eyes. “I wouldn’t have noticed if someone opened the window in my room, much less in the hall.”

“Have you ladies had lunch yet? My grandmother set it out.”

“Bless her.” Martha smiled, and turned to Alexis. “I’m glad to hear everything’s good for you. Think about the offer and let me know. Now, I’m going to eat.”

As we watched Martha exit the room, like an exotic bird in brilliant plumage, Alexis relaxed into a chair with a deep sigh.

I was immediately concerned. “Are you all right?”

“Oh, yes. I’m fine. She wants me to sign a contract.”

“Is that bad?”

“It’s hard for me to talk to Martha.” She lowered her voice. “I feel like she screwed me over on a contract a few years ago, and I never got over it.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Alexis nodded. “It’s the reason I signed with Gregorio.”

Well, that certainly put a different spin on things. “I was under the impression some of the authors had a problem with him.”

“Yeah, well, not me. Gregorio got me my first bestselling book. I’ll always be grateful to him.”

“Did BJ have any problems with him?”

“You’re joking, right?” Alexis laughed and winced. “She was having sex with the guy. What problems would she have?”

“Well, when you put it that way,” I answered. “None.”

“Besides, lots of authors are indie publishing now and some of the others want to do their own books.” Alexis shook her head and grew pensive. “It’s hard to figure out why anyone would kill him, though. You understand?”

“Yeah.”

“You know what I’m afraid of?” She shivered and wrapped her arms around her waist. “That the person might strike again.”

I shivered, too, and wondered what I could do to help find the murderer so we could go back to living without fear.

* * *

Everyone ate lunch in the dining room except BJ, who insisted on eating in her room again. I offered a meal to the Summit County people, and some of them took me up on it.

The guests ate in the dining room, and family and friends were fed around the kitchen table. I may have planned the menus for this weekend, but Grandma was a genius at stretching food to feed extra people.

Now, thirty minutes later, only Liz, DeWayne, Paul and I were still seated. Zach and Grandma were back in the dungeon, as Liz called it. Stephanie, Lonny and Xavier were playing Clue in the parlor.

Paul eyed the plate I moved to the counter. “Can I have another sandwich, Vicki?”

I sighed. “I live to serve.”

“Oh, you poor baby,” Liz said, pointing at Paul’s slight paunch. “Jennifer told you to stop eating so much. ‘Grazing,’ I think she called it.”

“I live to graze. And don’t you go telling Jennifer, or she’ll just get all irritated because she’s nine months pregnant and could bite your heads off.” We snorted and Paul smiled, as he leaned back with his arm on the back of the chair next to him. “We ran police records on your guests.”

I perked up. “What did you find?”

“They’re all clean.” Paul smiled. “Except for one.”

“Quit teasing us,” I said.

“Now, now, Victoria, Elizabeth, how many times did Dad tell you both to be patient?”

Liz took up her tough gangsta pose again and said, “Tell us right now or I’m taking away your grazing rights.”

I laughed. “She looks serious.”

An admiring look in his eyes, DeWayne said, “She does.”

“I am serious.” Liz folded her arms. “Well?”

Paul laughed. “All right, already. One man has a prior for an assault during a barroom brawl five years ago.”

“And does this man have a name?”

“Kevin Higgins.”

I knew it. Kevin was the most logical suspect. He had motive, opportunity, and a prior record. But as I watched Paul closely, I noticed he wasn’t meeting my eyes. Or Liz’s, either. I hadn’t grown up with this man and watched him lie to our parents without picking up a hint or two. He rubbed the nape of his neck. Maybe lying was too strong a word. Withholding pertinent information might be closer to the truth. “And?”

Paul looked at me and paused, as if weighing whether to go on. I could tell the instant he decided that, no, he wasn’t going to. Instead, he surprised me with, “Vicki, I know you’ve been asking questions.”

“I’ve been making beds, delivering towels, and feeding guests. I make conversation while I do that.”

Liz, ever the snitch, said, “Oh, yeah, she’s been asking questions.”

“I wasn’t, either. You were.”

My brother put his hand on mine. “Just be careful. I’m hoping we’ll find Higgins soon. But there’s something not quite right with these guests.”

I started to speak, but this time, DeWayne interrupted me. “Questioning the wrong person might trigger another attack.”

Paul nodded. “Let the professionals handle it.”

Liz sighed. “Can the professionals speed it up at all?”

Paul frowned. “I mean it, Liz. You both be careful. When you go to deliver towels, make sure that’s all you do.”

I heard the roar of another snowmobile and looked out the back kitchen window. Kent and Cielo Freestone. I’d already freshened the bathrooms, but there was still plenty for them to do.

Through the window, I watched them park the snowmobile by my back door and knock the snow off their snowsuits— hers baby blue and his royal BYU blue— before coming in the back door. They took off their snowsuits, which revealed Kent’s favorite BYU sweatshirt.

“You got it running. Is there anything you can’t fix?”

Kent had faded brownish hair, but his neatly trimmed beard and moustache were a bright red. He shrugged and smiled warmly. “It’s my calling. What can I say?”

Cielo slipped off her snowsuit to reveal tight jeans and a clingy blouse, showcasing sexy curves. If I didn’t know their story— Kent meeting this Sophia Loren lookalike on his mission to Italy twenty-five years before— I would have said he robbed the cradle. She did not look forty-five. No way.

“He is so— how you say? — humble, no?” I could tell by the gleam in Cielo’s eyes that she knew exactly what the word was.

I grinned. “I think it’s closer to—”

Kent interrupted with, “Manly.”

We all laughed. I said, “Yeah. Manly. That’s it.”

Kent turned serious. “The police came to our door and told us about the murder. Asked if we heard or saw anything.”

“We are shocked, Vicki.” Cielo spoke with a slight accent, tinged with concern. “How terrible this is for you.”

“It has been tough,” I admitted.

“That’s exactly what we wanted to get away from when we moved here from L.A. But here we are, three years later, and murder followed us to this mountain. It’s just not right.” He shook his head. “So, where do you want me to start today?”

“The generator was acting up yesterday. When the power went out, it didn’t kick on. A guest fixed it.”

“Generator,” Kent repeated with a sharp salute. “Check.”

DeWayne and Paul came out of the kitchen. DeWayne chuckled when he saw the BYU sweatshirt. “Kent, how many times do I have to tell you? This is not Cougar country.” DeWayne was a University of Utah man. I didn’t get caught up in the U/BYU rivalry at all, even once having committed one of the seven deadly sins by wearing Ute red to the BYU stadium on the very day they played the U.

Kent patted the big, white Y on his chest. “Manly,” he repeated with a grin, pulling his gloves on before going outside.

DeWayne and Paul followed him.

As Cielo went off to clean up the dining room after breakfast, Garrett chose that moment to jog down the stairs. He watched Cielo appreciatively as she entered the parlor, only turning his head after she disappeared. He was wearing— what else? Black. A black tee-shirt under a dark, charcoal gray sport jacket atop black jeans, and boots.

And I had to admit he looked darned good in black. I guess I must’ve been watching him appreciatively, too. I was glad Liz wasn’t there to witness it. Or Grandma, heaven forbid.

“If your brother doesn’t let us leave for a week or two,” he said with a grin that had undoubtedly set many women’s hearts aflutter, “you’ll have some grouchy writers on your hands.”

“You’re not already grouchy?” Liz’s warmth took any sting out of the words, as she came out of the kitchen. “I thought writers liked places where they can retreat from the world and write. Vicki should be charging you extra. Besides, Paul can’t keep you here.”

“Not grouchy.” Garrett shrugged. “Though I can see why you might have gotten that impression. I was upset when we arrived.”