Heather Horrocks - Who-Dun-Him Inn 01 - Snowed Inn (20 page)

“Do I need to…?” I started, but then stopped. I wasn’t sure what exactly to ask. “I mean, will the body…?”

She smiled at me gently. “We’ll transport the body as soon as the crime scene photos are completed. We’ll be here dusting for prints and doing all the other technical sheriff stuff. Other deputies have begun a neighborhood canvass, talking with your neighbors or leaving them notes to contact us, to see if anyone saw or heard anything last night. Once the scene is released, I recommend getting a specialized cleaner in here. I can give you a referral.”

“A cleaner?” I grimaced at the thought.

“Not a pleasant thought,” Garrett said, startling me. He stayed outside. “But with this kind of mess, it’s advisable.”

This kind of mess? I stared at him, feeling queasy.

Deputy Shannon tilted her head. “These guys are not as sensitive as they should be. You’ll be all right. As soon as the cleaners are done, no one will ever know anything happened.”

Garrett said, “Though with a place like the Who-Dun-Him Inn, it might be a drawing card.”

“Go inside, sir.” Mary Beth Shannon shook her head.

Garrett smiled. “Wouldn’t you like to question me first?”

“Wouldn’t you like to get yourself put in handcuffs?”

When Garrett started to speak up, the woman silenced him with her own delightful drawl. “Now, y’all know better than that, sir. This is not a request.”

Mary Beth won the battle of the drawls.

“Yes, ma’am.” Garrett grinned, saluted, turned smartly, and retreated to the Inn.

“Men.” Deputy Shannon rolled her eyes and her southern drawl dripped over me like honey. “If they weren’t so darned sexy, we’d have to shoot ‘em on sight.”

* * *

Back inside the Inn, I could hear the authors in the parlor. Grandma was sitting close to Dr. Ray on the loveseat and she waggled her fingers at me and winked. I smiled back. Good, ol’ Grandma. Poor Dr. Ray. He didn’t have a chance.

I was afraid that, when he got on the plane home, Grandma might be heartbroken. Or maybe this was her version of a fling. Never having seen Grandma on the prowl for a husband, I wasn’t sure; but I had to trust she was old enough to handle things.

From the corner of my eye, I caught movement on the stairs. Alexis was descending, her unbandaged hand clutching the banister. She was still moving carefully and appeared incredibly pale from her migraine.

We’d have to tell DeWayne and the deputies she was up so he could question her.

I met her at the parlor door. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“Better, I think. My head still hurts a little, and my hand, too, but I’m much better. Thank you.” Her voice wasn’t as convincing as her words might lead me to believe.

Garrett and Dr. Ray stood at the same time, and Garrett pointed to the loveseat. Alexis sat and he joined her, putting his arm around her shoulder.

As she sank into the cushioned seat, Garrett said, “There’s bad news, Alexis. Gregorio was murdered last night.”

Her face went whiter, if that were possible. “That’s not funny, Garrett.”

It took a minute for us to convince her.

“I just can’t believe it. Was it that horrible man who attacked him in the dining room and cut me? Have they found him yet?”

“That’s precisely the subject of our little discussion group,” Martha said. “Clark and I think it was…” she paused as she revised her story from it having been BJ, “…BJ’s husband. Garrett has the preposterous notion it’s some unknown drifter, and Nicholas thinks it could be one of us.”

“But why would any of us want to kill Gregorio?” Alexis asked, obviously confused. She closed her eyes. “Are the police here?”

Clark said, “Yes. The police chief and deputy showed up last night. The deputy was the one who questioned us. And there are lots of sheriff’s deputies running around, being efficient.”

Dr. Ray studied Alexis. “Did you take medication last night, my dear? Because you seemed under the influence of a narcotic.”

She nodded.

“You seem quite sensitive to it. I’d be careful in the future with what you take.”

I wondered what the good doctor would say if he knew his loveseat partner was the one who medicated Alexis.

All of a sudden, I had an urge to make sure my son was all right. I went to the kitchen to see if he, Liz and Stephanie were still playing cards. They weren’t. I found them in the basement, working on a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle we received last Christmas. They set it up on the game table in the far corner of the family room. The puzzle had ragged outer edges and extra pieces; and was titled “The Impossible Puzzle.” Very literally, a needle in a haystack.

Which is what it must feel like trying to figure out who the murderer was if you rejected the logical choice.

Stephanie was watching Saturday cartoons on the television set. “Hi, Vicki. How go the authors?”

“Still figuring out whodunit.” I sat down beside Zach and reached for a puzzle piece, placing it alongside others, turning it this way and that, and trying to make it fit. “Though why, I don’t know. It’s gotta be Kevin.”

Zach looked up and his eyes sparkled. “I think we need a watchdog to keep us safe.”

“Nice try, squirt, but no.”

He grinned, looking at Liz and then at me. “I’ll quit asking if you can tell me ‘no’ in five different languages.”

I looked pointedly at Liz, then back at Zach. I counted off on my fingers, one at a time. “Okay. You asked for it. Here goes. No— English. No— Spanish. No— Portugese. No— Italian. And, fifth, no— British.”

“No fair, Mom. You’re cheating. I’m going to keep asking.”

I grinned at him. “I kind of suspected you would.”

“Vicki,” Liz said as she plopped three puzzle pieces in place in quick succession, “I was wondering. After the storm lets up, I’d like to stay and visit for a few days. If that’s okay with you.” She didn’t look up from the puzzle.

“I’d love to have you, but are you sure you want to stay longer? I have lots of authors who are trying to go home.”

“Dying to get out is what I heard,” Liz wisecracked.

Stephanie said, “Not funny,” as Grandma laughed.

I caught Liz’s eye and asked, quietly, “What’s going on?”

“Nothing. Just thought I’d visit the old stomping grounds. Got lonesome for some good, old sibling rivalry.” Something wasn’t right between Liz and Gene, but I didn’t know why or what.

There was a knock on the door at the top of the stairs and Henry Susselman, the telephone repairman, called out to me.

I jogged up, unlocked the door, and greeted him. “Come on down, Henry.”

He followed me downstairs.

I got to know Henry pretty well three years ago after his wife of thirty-five years died of cancer. He came into the Moose Muffin Café plenty of times just needing to talk with someone. He was only a few inches taller than I, but seemed more so because he was so slender. He had one of those strong, wiry builds. His face was lined from years in the weather.

And his smile was very sweet. “Your phone is fixed.”

“That’s fantastic. How much do I owe you?”

“I owe you plenty. This one’s my treat.”

The family room phone rang; he looked at me, and we laughed.

“Well, go ahead,” Liz said, “and answer the stupid thing.”

So, after I told Henry to help himself to breakfast, I did answer it. But I didn’t feel my “Laugh yourself to death” line was appropriate today. Instead, I said, “You’ve reached the Who-Dun-Him Inn. This is Vicki.”

Henry waved and headed toward the stairs, as I waved back and mouthed, “Thanks.”

He nodded and disappeared.

“Hi, Vicki,” boomed a voice I’d recognize anywhere and wished to avoid. It was my cousin, Manny Much, so-called by the rest of the family because he’d been married more times than you could count on one hand.

“Um, Manny, now is not a really good time for me—” was all I managed to get out before he interrupted.

“Listen, Vicki, I’m having a meeting Sunday, that’s tomorrow, and I’d like to show you how to make a whole lot of money.” That was the other thing he was known for— sharing the financial wealth opportunities of every multilevel marketing plan on earth, one at a time, with his lucky family.

“Manny, I really don’t—”

”Vicki, it’s a cinch. The best colloidal mineral supplement on the market, and if you join now, you’ll be getting in on the ground floor. It doesn’t get any better than that.”

“How about the website thing you signed Liz and me up for?”

Liz glanced up and rolled her eyes. “Tell Manny no way!”

“Much better. This one is a winner. You’ll come, right? Tomorrow night. Six o’clock. My place. Don’t be late.”

“Manny, you don’t understand. This is not a good time.”

“Listen, Vicki, have I ever steered you wrong?”

“You’ve just steered us into too many of these, Manny. I’m sure Amway, Melaleuca, and Body Toddy are all very fine companies, but are you still selling any of them?”

“Nope. This one is much better. Come over and give my friend a chance to make the presentation. You’ll like it.”

“Manny, you live an hour away.”

“It’s only forty-five miles to Salt Lake.” He cajoled. “Listen, Vicki, it’s really more of a chance for me to ask you if you know any nice women you could introduce me to.”

“Women? What happened to Cindy?”

“Aw, Vicki, she went to seed. Gained a hundred pounds and got an attitude and I just couldn’t take it no more.”

I couldn’t keep up with Manny’s love life. And I certainly would never introduce any woman I actually knew to him. “I’ve got to go, Manny. Good luck with the minerals.”

* * *

Over the next hour, I got the authors settled in the parlor with mugs of Stephen’s hot chocolate. At ten p.m., they were still playing their own version of Clue.

Garrett said, “Hey, Bonnie, I’m gonna grab my laptop. What say you brainstorm my plot with me? You always figure out the best plot twists, and I could use some help with my latest.”

I walked out onto the front porch, and the cold caught my breath. The sunlight glinted off the fresh snow, a strange sight since it was still snowing. I was watching for any sign of Kent and Cielo Freestone. They usually arrived about ten, but today, I didn’t know how they’d get here. Not in their Suburban. Dog sled? Snow shoes? Did they have a snowmobile? But I knew it was futile. No one was coming up these roads today. I was on my own to provide clean towels and freshen up the bathrooms.

I caught a glimpse of a man in the side yard. When I realized it was Paul, I joined him. I stared at the Snowcat in front of the carriage house. It was huge, with gigantic tires and a tank-like track. It had a cab wide enough for, oh, probably four men. Maybe five. And there was plenty of room in the back for all kinds of heavy equipment, along with a…

I whispered, “Are they taking the body out now?”

“Not yet.” Paul definitely looked paler.

The murder was affecting lots of people that way. I’d never seen Liz quite so quiet before, either. But the authors— oh, my gosh, the authors! Every time I passed them, they were spouting their theories and “What-ifs” of the possibilities that might have happened, who the murderer could be, and what would motivate a person to murder? I have to admit I heard the word “motivate” enough times, I was getting rather weary of it this weekend. I could see how all of it might be helpful in a book, but honestly didn’t see how it could help find a murderer, who, I believed, was way down the mountain by now.

I was thankful to be next to someone who I knew for sure was not the murderer. At least, my family tree was safe to climb. I sighed and turned to Paul. “Do you have any clues yet as to what happened to Mr. Calabria?”

Paul paused as if trying to decide whether to tell me anything. He looked around to make sure we were alone, then looked into my eyes. “We’re still waiting for results on the tests we’ve run so there’s not much I can pass along.” Paul grew serious. “But so far, my vote is for Kevin Higgins.”

“You know,” I said, “in a murder mystery novel, the most logical suspect is never the murderer.”

Paul rolled his eyes. “I thought you were being serious.”

“I am. Sorry. I’ve just been wondering about Kevin. If he really did return to kill Calabria, then where has he gone now? Has anyone seen him?”

“The deputies sent teams down the mountain to interview your neighbors. I have a feeling about the guy. He came up to kill Calabria. He punched him out. He cut the phone lines. He murdered him. And you know my gut hunches are usually right.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “You mean like that time you had a gut hunch Dad and Mom would be gone to Grandma’s another hour and you used the time to tie Liz and me up as prisoners of war? Only Mom and Dad came back early and you were busted?”

“I would have gotten away with it, too, if you rotten girls hadn’t started screaming.” He couldn’t suppress a smile. “You two were always such big babies.”

“Yeah. Silly us, protesting against being tied up.”