Heather Horrocks - Who-Dun-Him Inn 01 - Snowed Inn (5 page)

My heart pounded with excitement.
My guests were here
.

As the couple drew closer to the main door where I stood, I noticed the blonde appeared to be all of sixteen, very pretty, but overly made up, with shiny, blonde hair and long, red nails. Heaven only knew what word Grandma might use to describe her.

With a full head of jet-black hair and Mel-Gibson-with-a-moustache good looks, the man appeared to be in his fifties. Oh, well, life in the fast lane, I supposed. Second trophy wives and all that.

The other shuttles slid to a stop as the couple reached the main doors. I pulled one open and cold air followed them inside. “Welcome to the Who-Dun-Him Inn.”

The blonde said, “Hi,” and smiled.

Liz held open the second set of doors.

The blonde nodded to her before making a beeline toward the large, old-fashioned, framed mirror on the wall. She used the tip of her little finger to wipe a mascara smudge from beneath her eye. Unbuttoning her coat, she revealed a snug-fitting, short, red sheath dress.

The man smiled fondly at the young woman, set his valise on the floor, and looked at me. At Liz. Back at me.
Déjà twin
.

“I am the owner, Vicki Butler, and this is my twin, Liz Eklund.” I smiled. “And you must be with the Calabria party.”

“
Signora,
I
am
the Calabria party.” The dark-haired man motioned to himself with a flourish. He spoke with a light Italian accent. “You have made arrangements for me to have the private outside suite,
no
? The nicest in the Inn?”

“Yes, sir. You will be in the Magnum P.I. carriage house behind the Inn. It’s our wedding suite. With this storm, though, I’d suggest you reconsider. I do have another luxury suite on the third floor.”

“No, no, no. I prefer the privacy of the carriage house.”

“All right.” I motioned toward the check-in counter. “I’ll get you registered.”

“
Uno momento, per favore
. First, you must meet my authors.”

I preferred to deal with the second half of the payment due at this time, but he already paid half in advance. I’d register him later, after the introductions. Having been part of an innkeeping family for too long, I knew not to leave a bill unpaid.

Another blast of cold wind blew five more people inside. I asked them to set their suitcases along the wall and hang up their coats on the row of large brass hooks before I led them into the parlor. The group warmed themselves around the fireplace, talking quietly among themselves.

Mr. Calabria motioned toward Liz and me. “This is our hostess, Vicki Butler, and her sister, Liz Eklund. I hope
Signora
Butler will now give us a tour of her Who-Dun-Him Inn.”

“Call me Vicki. Please.” I took great pleasure in showing off my creative handiwork in the Inn. Except for the Sam Spade room, which I gave to Calabria’s incognito sister, of course. “I would like to welcome all of you world-famous authors to my soon-to-be-world-famous Who-Dun-Him Inn for our first official mystery weekend, entitled
Too Many Men Spoil the View
.”

“You can say that again.” The speaker was a short, chunky, dark-haired woman.

“First,” said the guru, who apparently needed to be in control at every moment, “I will make the introductions.”

The authors were certainly an eclectic group. Some didn’t look like my image of famous authors at all, more like an ordinary housewife or the guy next door. Others were sophisticated enough to match my most glamorous expectations. The guru’s wife looked darned expensive. And the rocks on several of her fingers must have cost a bundle.

“First, I will introduce the man who became my first client when I opened my agency fifteen years ago.” He turned to an older man in a costly suit who exuded class. Older than my mother, but younger than Grandma, his hair was seasoned with more salt than pepper, but styled to perfection. He smiled graciously as Calabria continued. “He has sold millions of medical thrillers from his writing loft in Trenton, New Jersey. Perhaps you have heard of him. May I present Dr. Nicholas Ray.”

I could feel my eyes widen. His books always hit number one on the
New York Times’
Bestseller List. Feeling like a small-town hick— I supposed that’s what these people thought of me— I almost gulped. “
The
Nicholas Ray? Nice to meet you.”

The authors laughed, obviously enjoying my reaction.

Dr. Ray stepped forward, took my hand in his and bowed slightly before releasing it, his manner stately and reminiscent of another era. “Thank you, Ms. Ross. I very much admire your Inn.” He took Liz’s hand next. “Ms. Eklund.”

Calabria pointed to a man dressed all in black. “My stellar science fiction star from San Antonio, Texas. Mr. Garrett Long is the author of the very popular
Black of the Night
series.”

The tall, slender, handsome man, about my own age, could have passed for James Dean, looking all grown up and successful in his matching jet-black jeans, leather jacket, trendy shoes, and sneer. He was in a black mood, too, if the frown on his face were any indication. Black mood. Black clothes. Black titles. He certainly celebrated the absence of all color. Or was black the presence of all color? I could never remember. Regardless, his image appeared to be cocky as he rested his elbow on the elaborate wood mantel above the fireplace and nodded.

When he smiled, little crinkles edged his eyes, momentarily giving him a pleasant look, as he tipped an imaginary hat toward Liz and me. “Pleased to meet you, Ms. Butler, Ms. Eklund.” He had a pleasant Texas drawl that couldn’t quite mask his anger.

“I’ve heard of you, too, and I’m so pleased to have you here.” As in,
please don’t find anything wrong with our play
.

After Garrett nodded, his smile transformed back into a frown. I could literally feel waves of anger flowing from him, and I wondered at the undercurrents. Was he mad at life in general? At someone in this group? The storm? The delay? Was he hungry? His frown put me off, as did his apparent rudeness and surliness. I realized first impressions could be misleading, but I didn’t care for the man.

Calabria pointed to an elegant lady standing next to Garrett. “Alexis Cordova is a wonderful romance writer. Her books are very popular with all the
signoras
. She resides in New York, as I do also.”

The woman put up a hand in greeting. She must have been five-ten and could maybe have filled out her doll-sized dress if she took a deep enough breath. Her dark brown hair was pulled back into an elaborate bun, with all sorts of twists and curlicues I could never have accomplished on someone else’s head, much less my own. She wore a tailored suit in warm, butternut tones.

“And you have to really pay attention to her books, because her plots are complicated.” Nicholas Ray turned to Alexis. “I really enjoyed
Love All Tangled
.”

“Thanks, Nicholas.” Alexis turned to me. “I’m pleased to meet you.” Her voice shook.

Garrett touched her arm. “Are you all right?”

“I’m tired. A bit of a headache. But I’m fine. Really.”

These people lived all across the country, yet appeared to know each other personally. Of course, that made sense if Calabria got them together every year. I wondered if he ever took them to the same place more than once. Hey, an innkeeper could hope.

Calabria smiled broadly and motioned. “Come, Bonnie.”

The short, dark-haired woman packing a few extra pounds— the housewife of the group— smiled and said, “Hi,” with a cheery voice. Her black hair curled around her pretty face. She was probably about halfway between my height and that of my seven-year-old son, but confidence fairly shone from her.

“Hi,” Liz and I responded together.

“This little lady from the mountains of Denver, Colorado, is my leading diva in the world of mainstream romantic comedies. I am pleased to present Bonnie McCall.”

“This is great,” I said. “I’ve heard of all of you.”

Bonnie put out her hand for me to shake, again smiling broadly. “Always glad to meet a fan.”

Liz spoke up. “You’ve got two of them here.”

“I am always delighted to meet two fans at a time, especially two as cute as you. My best friends growing up were twins, and I’ve been to the annual twin convention with them. Have you ever gone?”

We didn’t get a chance to answer, as Calabria put an end to the unauthorized chatter by ignoring her and continuing. “And my newest rising star.” Calabria’s features softened. “My newest author, BJ. She has just written her first bestselling romance.”

It appeared the romance in their marriage was going strong, as well. That was always a good sign. However, they couldn’t have been married long, or he’d have been robbing the cradle.

I didn’t recognize her name.

The pretty blonde flipped back her hair. “Charmed.”

She had an accent I couldn’t quite place. A
small-town
-type of accent the woman— girl? — was obviously trying to conceal. She had a sense of agitation about her, and yet something else, too, that I couldn’t identify.

All at once, the authors’ eyes shifted behind me, to the main staircase in the foyer. Martha must have decided to make her grand entrance before dinner.

But when I turned, I discovered it wasn’t Martha descending the stairs to surprise her brother, after all. Martha’s dramatic appearance would have been a good thing.

This was not a good thing.

No.

This was an unstoppable force of nature.

Chapter Four

It was Grandma making
her
grand entrance.

Grandma was dressed for the occasion, now more resembling a macaw than a parrot, a forties movie star in a knee-length, short-sleeved, white and black sheath dress, lacking only the feather boa. She wasn’t kidding when she said she packed for a party.

As Grandma reached the main floor and crossed the entryway, I saw a woman trying to steal the show from our guest who had already proven he liked being the star. I forced a smile. “I’d like to introduce our grandmother, Mrs. Naomi Ross.”

Grandma fluttered to a stop by Liz, as the authors greeted her warmly. I prayed she would behave herself. She said, “I hope I haven’t missed the introductions.”

Dr. Ray stepped forward and offered his hand, quickly introducing not only himself, but the others. I guess he’d known Calabria long enough to know he wouldn’t repeat himself. Heck, even I’d known Calabria long enough to figure that out.

Grandma smiled at Dr. Ray. “I’ve read all your books.”

“And enjoyed them, I hope.”

“Oh, yes.” Before I knew it, Grandma flapped a few feathers and was situated beside the good doctor.

Oh my gosh, Grandma was on the make. Right here. Right now. Right in front of me. But, after all, Dr. Ray wasn’t quite young enough for a boy toy, Garrett was too grouchy, and Calabria was taken; so how much damage could Grandma do?

“My late husband, George, rest his soul, loved this mansion.” And, just like that, she informed the good doctor she was available. I guess he
was
young enough for her.

Bonnie asked me, “So what kind of books do you like to read?”

“At the Who-Dun-Him Inn, do you even have to ask?”

“Murder mysteries.” BJ shrugged. “Of course.”

“She fills entire bookshelves with mysteries,” Grandma said.

Calabria shot me a megawatt smile. “I have just the person you are looking for. A famous mystery writer, Clark Harmon.”

“Clark Harmon? You’re
kidding!
He’s my favorite.”

“Oh, sure, your favorite,” Bonnie teased. “Seriously, though, ask him to autograph your books.”

“By tomorrow, I’ll have books for all of you to autograph.”

Even Garrett smiled. “You’ve discovered our Achilles’ heel. An author will do anything for a fan asking for autographs.”

Calabria waved his hand impatiently. “The tour, please.”

“All right,” I said as I went into official Tour Guide mode. “We are currently standing in what was originally the Mayor’s Parlor, now transformed into the 1891 study of Sherlock Holmes, and where each evening, we host a game of Clue and serve our specialty, Murderously Good Chocolate Chip Cookies. They’re to die for, of course.”

BJ said, “They sound delicious.”

Calabria smiled at her fondly.

I repeated what I told Martha about my great-great-great-grandfather originally building the mansion.

“He must have been filthy rich,” BJ blurted.

“He made a great deal of money in mining,” I explained.

“And whiskey,” Grandma added. “Those mining townfolk drank a lot of whiskey.”

“Whiskey?” Bonnie laughed. “Here? In Utah?”

“Oh, yes,” Grandma elaborated. “Mormons are industrious.”

The authors laughed appreciatively and I said, “William had a large family to provide for.”