Heather Horrocks - Who-Dun-Him Inn 01 - Snowed Inn (25 page)

I didn’t want to tell her, but she persisted, and I held up my left hand. “I lost my ring.”

“Oh.” Gently, she took me in her arms as she did when I was a child. When I finally cried myself out, she pulled off a paper towel and handed it to me. “Here, honey. Blow your nose.”

I did as she asked and sucked in a few shuddering breaths.

“Better now?” Concern filled her faded blue eyes.

“I think so. Thanks.”

She nodded her head and sighed. “When your Grandpa George died, I thought I’d die. We’d been together forty-one years and suddenly, he wasn’t there. I wanted to join him. But, Vicki, you have to believe me, the pain will lessen. There will come a time when you’re ready to move on. But I understand your pain. You want Robert back, especially in this time of confusion.”

I nodded.

She hugged me again. “He’s there, waiting for you, just like George is waiting for me. But that’s hard to remember when we’re stuck here, facing decades without them.”

That made me smile. And I had no doubt she was right— she probably did have decades left in those old legs she was ready to start kicking up again. “But it’s taken you ten years.”

“But I’m old and set in my ways. You’re resilient and young. You’ll see.” She patted my hair. “Now lift up your chin. I’ll fix supper. That’s what I came down for. But you freshen up. Put on a smile, honey. I’ll take care of things in the kitchen and dining room for you.”

“Thanks, Grandma. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Victoria.”

I splashed water on my face and left her pulling pots and pans from the overhead rack and humming her favorite children’s primary song, “I Am A Child of God.”

In the lobby, Zach came running from the elevator, followed by Liz. “Hey, Mom, guess what? Jeremy called and his mom said it was okay if we have a puppy.” I bet she did. Zach batted his eyelashes ridiculously. “Please!”

Liz laughed. “Oh, how cute.”

“If we don’t take a puppy, they’ll have too many.”

“Better them than us,” I responded, trying to make a joke.

“Please, Mom. I’ll take care of it. I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die. Stick ten thousand needles in my eye.”

“Now there’s an attractive image. Do you suppose you’ve crossed the line into overdramatic?” I sighed again. “I’ll think about it. Now go help Grandma in the kitchen.”

As he ran through the door, Liz looked at me for a long moment. Rather than ask if I was feeling okay, like normal people, she said, “A puppy might do you good.”

I shrugged. “I’ll get one for you, too, for your birthday.”

She laughed. “I’ll move in with you and visit yours.”

The police radio Paul set up crackled. I picked up the handpiece and spoke into it like Paul showed me.

“Vicki, this is Deputy Shannon. Is Paul around?”

“He’s outside, I think.” I tried to find the volume dial, as her lovely drawl filled the entire office area.

“Will y’all pass on a message for me?”

“Sure.” Ah, there. The dial.

Her voice quieted. “Tell him we have the preliminary autopsy results. The victim died of a stab wound and exsanguination. The blow to the head came after death. He wanted to know.”

“I’ll pass it on,” I repeated, looking at Liz. So Dr. Ray was right. And, knowing Paul, he probably wouldn’t have shared that with me, so I was glad he was out for a few minutes.

Liz asked, “Does it matter?”

“Shh. Yes,” I said in hushed tones, glad no one was around to hear us. “Because the killer might give himself away.”

“Or herself. The knife hasn’t been found, right?”

“No.”

Liz looked toward the kitchen in horror. “There aren’t any knives missing from the kitchen, are there?”

A chill ran up my back. “No. I already had to check for the deputies.”

Liz shivered. “Thank goodness.”

I caught sight of BJ standing in the dining room door, poised. I had no idea how much she overheard, or if I turned down the volume in time.

As soon as I saw her, she stepped toward the elevator.

Did she overhear anything? And if so, how much? I sighed. I wasn’t cut out for all this undercover work.

Garrett jogged down the stairs again, this time in black sweat pants and tee-shirt.

Liz whispered to me, “The man looks good.”

I nodded. I couldn’t deny it. Garrett was a nice distraction from my fears.

“You ought to go after him, sis.”

I glanced at her. “Yeah, right.”

She smiled widely. “You could do worse than a rich, good-looking author. Follow Grandma’s example.”

He crossed the foyer with a smile. “Hi, ladies. Do you happen to have a razor I can use? I forgot mine and the shadow is driving me nuts.”

The stubble of black whiskers only accentuated his good looks. In a romance novel, he’d be called wickedly handsome.

I forced my mind back to razors. “I’ll get one for you.”

He smiled. “I’m headed for the weight room. Time to work off some tension.”

We watched him walk away, and Liz whistled softly. “If I were single, I would look twice at that man.”

“You already did.”

Liz just laughed. “I’m going in for a third look.”

“Take this with you.” I handed her the razor and, there, in a drawer, I caught sight of the trading cards Zach was looking for, lying loose.

I picked them up to slip a rubber band on. The top card had a purple, three-headed beast and I immediately thought of Martha.

That made me smile and I set the card on the counter. The next card was a black monster. Oh, that was Garrett, of course. So making the purple beast Martha and the black monster Garrett, I put their cards into a cluster, which I designated the people who had alibis. Alexis could also go there, for she was drugged; she was the beige, long-fanged creature. And BJ was the red, slinky girl in skimpy clothes. I put those four cards in a group on the left side of the counter.

On the right, I laid out cards for Bonnie, Dr. Ray (although he denied it, was he the man arguing in the library in the dark?), and my favorite author, Clark Harmon, who wrote that most disturbing paragraph. Disturbing suspects. Unlikely suspects, I hoped.

Another group of cards included people who were at the Inn to work: Stephanie, Lonny, Xavier. Kent and Cielo didn’t count because they were snowed out while we were snowed in.

And, last of all, I put one card off by itself: Kevin was still out there. I felt like he was the likeliest choice for murderer, but I remembered Paul’s warning and shivered.

Unfortunately, I found no connections in the cards. Or too many. Calabria was married to Martha, engaged to BJ, and an agent to the rest. Garrett and Martha were doing the wild thing, as were Martha and Calabria, and maybe even Martha and Xavier.

But what was missing? I was still pondering that when Liz came back out, grinning. “I got lots of information from handsome Mr. Black. Garrett and Martha spent their time together, seducing each other. He said Gregorio claimed he divorced Martha because she flirts with anyone with a dangling participle, but the divorce was really over Gregorio’s many affairs.”

“Good job.”

“And, now Gregorio is dead, Martha’s going to be Garrett’s agent again.”

Now that was a real shocker. Ha!

Chapter Eighteen

I had just enough time to water my plants before dinner. As I walked through the library toward the arboretum, I could hear soft music coming from what I renamed the Miss Marple garden.

I knew someone must be in there, but I did not expect that person to be lying on the earth-toned tiles. The last time I found someone down, he was dead.

BJ wasn’t dead, but had curled up on the mat and was crying. Skin-tight black and white Lycra from ankle to wrist to cleavage left nothing to the imagination.

I dropped to my knees. “BJ, are you all right?”

She sat up, her legs in a pretzel position, and pressed Kleenex to her eyes, which were red from crying. “Yoga usually centers me, but, today…”

I sat beside her, not nearly so limber or graceful.

“Sorry. Yoga has helped me since I took it up the last year of my marriage to Kevin.” She shook her head. “You know, I was with Kevin for three years, and I just can’t believe he killed Gregorio. I can see him following me up here. Punching Gregorio. Even cutting the phone lines. But not murder. Much as I want to get Kevin out of my life, if he goes to jail, they’ll be sending an innocent man. A very dull and boring, but innocent, man.”

“Did you tell Paul this? The police chief?”

“I did. He asked me who I thought did it, and I told him Gregorio’s ex-wife. I know Martha came into our room.” She looked at me. “Did you see the lipstick on the mirror?”

I could feel her anger. She definitely needed to center herself. “Did you and Mr. Calabria argue about her?”

“You’d better believe it! You saw how he let her stay here. I would have called the police and tossed her out. But I guess even the best men have faults, right?” She stretched out her legs straight and bent over, touching her body to her legs and held the position for a long time.

She sat back up. “We argued and I returned to the main house. Our last words were angry ones.” She pressed the Kleenex to her eyes again.

As we sat in silence for a moment, surrounded by the peace of the place— the plants, the view, the warmth inside while small flakes of snow still fell lightly outside, the music— I could feel her grief.

“Vicki?” Grandma called out in a stage-quality voice. “Where are you, girl?”

BJ smiled faintly. “Life goes on.”

“It must be suppertime.” I excused myself.

I went into the foyer, prepared to help in the kitchen. Instead, Grandma loaded my hands with wet dishtowels. “Zach spilled a full glass of milk.” She winked at me. “But we didn’t cry over it. Will you run these down to the washer?”

“Sure,” I said. “I’ll hurry back up to help you.”

“Oh, don’t worry about a thing, honey. Liz, Zach and Stephanie are all in there lending a hand. Aztec chicken and all the fixings will be on the buffet table quicker than you can shake a stick.”

I watched her return to the kitchen. Now there was one heck of a woman. As crazy as she was sometimes, I loved her dearly. She was giving up prime man-hunting time to help me.

In the basement, I had to move a bottle of hydrogen peroxide from the top of the washer before I could toss in the towels. I wished Zach would put stuff back after he used it. I wondered what part of his body he scraped this time.

I opened the washer, but it wasn’t empty. I pulled out a few clothes I didn’t recognize.

“Vicki,” Liz said, coming up behind me.

I was getting jumpier as the weekend went on and people kept sneaking up on me. “Don’t do that!”

Liz shrugged. “Grandma sent me down with more towels.”

I studied the clothes: a pair of small, off-white wool slacks and a dark blue, long-sleeved sweater. “These yours?”

“No, and what nimrod dries darks and lights together? And this sweater, oh my gosh, that can’t be the right size anymore.”

It looked like it might fit Zach. Maybe.

Liz took them from me, examined the big name labels and shook her head. “I only wish I could wear a size six.” She started to fold them, stopped, and pointed. “They’re stained.”

There were stains splattered around randomly, like someone took a large paintbrush and flicked it. Except the possible source of the dark, rusty-brown color struck us at the same time.

We stared at each other, but Liz spoke first. “Blood! And someone was trying to wash it out.” She dropped the pants on the floor as if they were fire-hot. “These are evidence. Get Paul!”

I unclipped my cordless phone and punched in the main number upstairs. When Stephanie answered, I asked her to send my brother downstairs.
Now
. Too bad his idea of now and mine weren’t quite the same. While we waited, I asked, “Is it possible the murderer could really be a petite, size-six woman?”

“Only BJ and Alexis could possibly be that tiny.”

When Paul finally arrived, he told us to stay put and keep quiet while he asked around to see whose clothes they were. It nearly killed us, but we stayed downstairs for ten minutes. Then Liz said, “Forget this,” and went upstairs. What else could I do? I followed her.

We reached the parlor just in time to hear BJ say she was missing some clothes. And suddenly, in a flash, I remembered the wet carpet under the window and wondered if BJ was the person who climbed out onto the outside staircase in the snowstorm. BJ was certainly athletic enough, but why would she have done that? She was supposed to sleep in the carriage house that night, so why didn’t she just go out the back door?

A new, more sinister thought struck me. Unless BJ was the one who murdered her fiancé, and didn’t want to be seen going back.

What if she caught Calabria with Martha?

For the first time, I began to believe perhaps the murderer could indeed be in my house— svelte, sexy, not to mention athletically limber, and supposedly bereaved: BJ.