Heather Horrocks - Who-Dun-Him Inn 01 - Snowed Inn (16 page)

She opened her eyes slowly, obviously still in pain. “Vicki?”

“Yes. The police are here. They want to talk to you.”

In slow motion, Alexis gradually got up and wrapped a robe around herself. She took a few steps and nearly fell over. She was doing a good imitation of a zombie from
Night of the Living Dead
.

Like DeWayne could get any information out of this woman tonight. “You know what? Just lie back down. DeWayne can come up here with Paul if he needs to.”

As her head dropped back onto the pillow like a rock hitting a pile of leaves, I spotted a bottle of prescription pills on Alexis’s night stand. A bottle with a pink, elastic ponytail holder on it. Suspiciously like the pink, elastic ponytail holder Grandma Ross had on her prescription bottles. I picked it up.

Sure enough, Grandma Ross’s name was printed on the label.

Great. Grandma was dosing up the customers with
Tylenol 4
.

I pocketed the pills, left Alexis in bed, and told DeWayne he’d have to interview the poor woman in the morning, or go upstairs and try to rouse her himself. Then I went in search of Grandma.

She and I were about to have a serious talk.

* * *

Unfortunately for me, talks with Grandma never went the way I planned. Frustrated, while climbing to the third floor to check on BJ, I wondered if anyone would ever get the last word with Grandma.

When I told her she was not to give my guests prescription drugs, she waved a hand and asked if I expected her to let the poor woman suffer all night. She told Alexis to put her feet in hot water and a cold pack on her head to lessen the pain, too, and asked did I have a problem with that, as well?

Since Doc Grandma insisted on dispensing drugs as she saw fit, I’d have to watch her more closely.

I knocked lightly on the door of the Southern Sisters room. BJ was pretty shaken up and so was Xavier. It was time to relieve him and see what I could do for her.

There was silence for a few moments, and then, through the door, BJ called out, “Who’s there?”

When I gave her my name, the door opened a few inches and BJ peered out. “Just had to make sure it was really you.” With that, she let the door swing open and wobbled across the room, falling into the large chair next to the small table.

Everything in the room was paired: one large, flashy and flamboyant, like Mary Alice in the Southern Sisters mysteries; and the other small, petite and conservative, like Patricia Anne. There was even a queen-sized bed (of course) and a smaller day bed.

BJ lifted a glass, and I could smell the alcohol. After Robert’s death, I grew to hate that smell. From the looks of the empty mini bottles scattered on the table, she was well on her way to becoming rip-roaring drunk.

With her eyes puffy from crying, mascara darkening the area beneath, and her hands trembling as she grasped her glass, BJ looked weary and years older than when she first arrived. Was that really just earlier today? Would this nightmare day never end? It was not quite ten and I was exhausted from the emotional strain.

BJ’s hand shook as she sipped and motioned with her glass toward the other, smaller chair, spilling some liquor on her blouse as she did. “Join me.”

I lowered myself into the other chair, wishing I could ease her pain. “I’m sorry, but the officers would like to ask you some questions.”

“First join me in a drink,” BJ insisted.

“No, thank you,” I muttered. “I don’t drink.”

“Suit yourself.” BJ held her glass up high in a mock toast. “To losing the man I love.”

Her pain enveloped me. I remembered my own grief after Robert’s death, and how having people just visit and listen to me had helped. I asked gently, “Where’s Xavier?”

“I sent him back to his own room. He was so pale, you’d think he’d just seen a dead body.” BJ’s laugh verged on hysteria. “Xavier was more trouble than he was worth. I took pity on the poor guy and told him to go lie down.”

“Listen, can I do anything? This has to be awful for you.”

BJ put her glass on the table and her hands to her face as she began to cry. “You can’t bring Gregorio back.”

“No.” Unsure what to do or say next, but knowing empty platitudes didn’t help, I settled for an inadequate, “No, I can’t.”

BJ wiped her eyes and nose with a crumpled tissue, tossed it over one shoulder toward the wastebasket, and missed, adding to the pile already scattered on the floor. “You’re a widow, right?”

There was that dreadful word again.
Widow.
So many wonderful relationship words. Courting. Engaged. Bride. Newlywed. Happily married. The only word that even came close was abandoned. Widow was such an ugly and
final
word. But it was accurate. “Yes.”

“Then you can understand.” She picked up another mini bottle and reached for the glass. At the last minute, she shrugged, set down the glass, and twisted off the cap, drinking from the tiny bottle. “You know what I like about Gregorio? He’s always buying me little gifts. He’s so sweet. Most men aren’t as thoughtful as he is.” BJ held up a bangle. “He bought me this for my birthday.”

She obviously couldn’t handle the past tense yet. And I understood that. There was a long time when I spoke of Robert as if he were still here, too.

“And my beautiful new ring.” She held out her hand and sighed sadly. “He just gave me this.”

“I know,” I said helplessly.

BJ spilled again on her blouse. “Gregorio was going to pull me out of the lifestyle I had grown accustomed to and give me money to do things like pay for rooms at nice places like this. I mean, I’m just a good, ol’ girl from Montana. You talked to Kevin. You can see the kind of redneck life I left.” She shook her head, and her words were slurred. “I knew no good could come from his ex-wife being here.”

Surprised, I said, “Calabria’s ex-wife?”

“Yeah. She’s got power of attorney over his estate. And she’s staying right here at your very dangerous Who-Dun-Him Inn.” BJ took another sip and slammed the bottle down on the table.

I winced at both the reference and the sharp clink of the bottle. “Who?”

“You really don’t know? Oh, that’s choice.” BJ’s face hardened. “The witch who crashed the party.”

I lifted an eyebrow. A lot of people crashed this particular party, but only one female. “Martha?”

“That’s the one.” BJ spilled more liquid onto her shirt. “The old slut.”

Chapter Twelve

I was relieved when Garrett knocked on the door to say DeWayne was ready for BJ. She could hardly walk, so she wouldn’t be able to answer much of anything. The young woman leaned heavily on Garrett, who was surprisingly gentle with her.

I followed them downstairs. At the bottom, they went straight ahead to the parlor, and I turned left.

I found Paul in the kitchen, Liz beside him. I sat on his other side, as if he were a book between matching bookends. “How’s the investigation?”

“That sounds so official,” Paul said, apparently still amazed at being called in to handle a murder. “Besides, you know I’m not supposed to tell you anything.”

“Oh, come on, the murder happened right here, my son could still be in danger, and you’re my brother. Spill the beans.”

“You know there has never been a homicide in Silver City except for that mining dispute back in the 1800s? And in all of Summit County, there was only one last year, down in Park City.” He took a deep breath. I could tell he was disturbed. “I’ve sent for Dr. Ray to ask if he can determine the cause of death.”

I looked at him strangely. “Cause of death? Did you see the size of the lava rock he got bashed with? And the blood?”

“Well, Dr. Butler, please do tell us more.” Liz waved her hand in the air. “I don’t think you know everything about murders.”

I shrugged. “Only what I read in mysteries.”

“Then you should know,” Liz said, “that nothing is ever as it seems.”

Paul nodded. “The medical examiner is on his way up here, along with the Summit County forensics team. But with this storm, it might be hours before they arrive.”

I stared at him. “How do you know? The phones are out.”

“I’ve set up a police radio in your office. I’ll show you how to use it. And the sheriff’s office will send up a satellite phone or two.”

“When will they take the body out of my carriage house?”

Paul wrinkled up his mouth. “The body will stay here until tomorrow sometime.”

“Yuck.” Liz spoke for me. “We have to sleep with a dead body.”

I shivered. “You make everything sound so gross, Liz.”

A ghost of a smile played on Paul’s lips. “Liz likes to sound naughty. She always has. Remember when you were five—”

Zach stuck his head in the doorway. “Mom, can I play the new video game?”

“No way,” I said. “And what are you doing up here alone?”

Paul told Liz, “Later,” and turned to my son. “Zach, you need to stay with someone all the time until the investigation is over. Okay? Use the Buddy System, like when we go swimming. It’s very important.”

“I’ll go with him.” Liz stood, and hand in hand, the buddies took off. Liz told him he needed to brush his teeth and then she’d read him a story.

Paul said, “DeWayne and I will need beds. We’ll take turns on guard tonight until the sheriffs arrive.”

I loved having the big, strong police chief and his great, big strong officer,
each with a gun
, here in case anyone tried anything else. Grandma and her gun didn’t inspire nearly as much confidence.

“You should have heard your guests whine when I asked them to stay put for awhile. They all said they have very important deadlines to meet.”

“I bet they do. They’re busy writers.”

“Regardless, until the detectives arrive, nobody leaves. As if they could leave in this storm, anyway.”

“They were all planning to stay until Sunday afternoon. They’ll be all right.”

“The deputies will be bringing all sorts of people up with them, Vicki. You need to be prepared. The blood spatter expert, the—”

”Blood spatter expert? Oh, please, stop there. I don’t want to hear anymore of this official stuff.”

The door pushed open and Dr. Ray entered.

“Doctor. Thank you for coming.” Paul motioned to the table. “Have a seat. Please.”

The elderly man sat in a regal manner. That was the only word I could use to describe him. Slim and regal. Okay, two words.

Paul— sandy hair, freckles, stocky and strong— twirled his chair around, sitting on it backwards. The opposite of regal. “I’d like to ask you about what you found when you were trying to resuscitate the victim. Or if you think the blow to the head killed him. I ask because our forensics people won’t be here until later, but it might help with our investigation.”

The older man looked grim. “Gregorio was indeed struck with a blunt object to the head and that wound caused much bleeding.”

That’s what I saw, too. I nodded. So did Paul.

“But,” Dr. Ray continued, “I do not believe that was the cause of death.”

Paul raised an eyebrow. “Why is that?”

“I ripped the shirt open because the buttons could have bruised Gregorio’s chest during resuscitation efforts. There was so much blood, I did not realize immediately there was another wound. After we gave up trying to revive him, I lifted the flap of his open shirt to close it, and I saw something.”

The men exchanged looks, and Dr. Ray continued. “Gregorio was stabbed in the heart. The head wound bled more, as head wounds do, and that caused some confusion, especially when the knife wound could not be seen.”

Paul narrowed his eyes. “A knife wound?”

Kevin had taken his knife!
That had to be the murder weapon.

Dr. Ray nodded. “Perhaps a letter opener or some other slim, sharp object. I really couldn’t say from the brief look I got. Your forensics department will be able to provide more specific details.”

“Very interesting.” Paul sat without speaking for a long moment. “Mr. Harmon was helping you with the resuscitation. Did he notice this, also? Or did you comment on it to him?”

Dr. Ray pondered the questions. “I don’t believe so. He was overcome with shock and I had to help him up. It was after he went into the bathroom to wash his hands that I closed Gregorio’s shirt.”

Paul nodded. “I’ll speak with Mr. Harmon and ask what he saw. But the obvious cause of death we shall assume to be the blow to the head?”

Dr. Ray leaned forward and nodded. “I believe so.”

Paul nodded again. “So far, only the three of us,” he looked at Dr. Ray and me, “know Mr. Calabria had a chest wound. The others will assume, as we did at first, that he died from the head wound. Only the three of us know. And the murderer.”

He paused again, obviously thinking things through. “Right. Let’s keep this under our hats. Never know if someone might slip up. I mean, if anyone besides us mentions the stab wound, or a knife being the murder weapon, that could be a clue.”