Innkeeping with Murder

Praise for the Lighthouse Mystery series by Tim Myers

“Entertaining ... authentic ... fun ... a
wonderful regional mystery that will have readers rebooking for
future stays at the Hatteras West Inn and Lighthouse.”

—BookBrowser

“Colorful... picturesque ... light and
entertaining.”

—The Best Reviews

Praise for the Candlemaking Mystery series by
Tim Myers

“Excellent storytelling that makes for a good
reading experience…(Myers) is a talented writer who deserves to hit
the bestseller lists.”

 ---The Best Reviews

“An interesting mystery, a large cast of
characters, and an engaging amateur sleuth make this series a
winner.”

---The Romance Reader’s Connection (four
daggers)

The Lighthouse Inn Mysteries by Tim Myers

Innkeeping With Murder

Reservations For Murder

Murder Checks Inn

Room For Murder

Booked For Murder

The Candlemaking Mysteries by Tim Myers

At Wick’s End

Snuffed Out

Death Waxed Over

A Flicker Of Doubt

The Soapmaking Mysteries by Tim Myers

Dead Men Don’t Lye

A Pour Way To Dye

A Mold For Murder

The Cardmaking Mysteries by Tim Myers written
as Elizabeth Bright

Invitation To Murder

Deadly Greetings

Murder And Salutations

Innkeeping With Murder

by Tim Myers.

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2001 Tim Myers

All rights reserved.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal
enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to
other people. If you would like to share this book with another
person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If
you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not
purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com
and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work
of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual
persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or
locales is entirely coincidental.

Dedication

For Patty, who never stopped believing.

Chapter 1

“Alex, we’ve got a problem.”

At the sound of the maid’s voice, Alex
Winston jerked his head up, cracking his skull on the steel pipe
placed treacherously just above the opening of the furnace he’d
been working on. Alex had been crouched in an awkward position
staring at the mysterious workings of the inn’s antique boiler,
trying unsuccessfully to figure out what was wrong with the blasted
thing this time.

For a moment, all Alex could see was a
dancing whirlwind of flashing white lights.

“Damn!” he said as he rubbed the crown of his
head. No blood came away on his hand, thank God for small
favors.

“Are you cursing at me?” Marisa Danton’s tone
implied that an improper response from Alex would send her fleeing
to her room in tears yet again. It had happened too many times to
count over the past three months she’d been housekeeping for him at
The Hatteras West Inn, an exact replica of the Cape Hatteras
Lighthouse nestled on forty acres of land in the foothills of the
Blue Ridge Mountains.

With a forced smile, Alex said, “No, of
course not, I would never swear at you.” He’d become quite adept at
soothing Marisa’s ruffled feathers. Alex needed his maid’s
goodwill, but he also needed a working furnace. Without it, they
would both be out of work. Worse yet, Alex could lose the only home
he had ever known.

Marisa stared at the mechanical workings of
the boiler, a slow smile coming gently to her lips. “It’s broken
again? That’s the third time in two weeks.” She looked absolutely
delighted by the misfortune.

Alex couldn’t figure out what there was to
smile about. The cantankerous boiler supplied the heat and hot
water for all the guest rooms in the two buildings that made up the
inn. It was difficult keeping up two guest buildings as well as the
lighthouse, but there really wasn’t much choice. The arrangement
and construction of the buildings had been determined long before
Alex Winston had been born, one stormy Halloween night nearly
thirty years before.

Alex kicked the cast-iron base, cracking his
big toe with the impact. “I can’t believe how ungrateful this
mechanical nightmare is. I should have thrown it out years
ago.”

He looked at the boiler with disgust. He
could usually coax the antiquated system back to life with a
judicious whack from his monkey wrench, but even his verbal threats
to dismantle the oil eater and sink it in the lake down the road
had met with no response. On second thought, he realized it
wouldn’t do to pollute one of the features that drew guests to the
inn. The lake, though small by some standards, was large enough to
allow visitors to fish from the banks or from a canoe. Alex had
gotten a good deal on four battered aluminum canoes from a summer
camp that had gone bankrupt the year before. After giving each boat
a fresh coat of green aluminum paint, he began offering them to his
guests, for a slight fee, of course. Alex used every angle he could
think of to generate more income, but no matter how much money he
brought in, there never seemed to be enough.

The boiler was a case in point, nothing more
than a big black hole waiting to swallow what was left in his
dwindling bank account. Still, he had no choice but to have it
fixed immediately. Lacking basic amenities, his guests would
disappear faster than cotton candy in a thunderstorm. The weather
in the foothills of North Carolina could suddenly turn cool during
the fall months, and they were now in the heart of autumn.

As gently as he could, Alex asked, “What
problem were you talking about when you came in?” Marisa started to
answer, but Alex held up his hand to cut off her response. “Never
mind, I don’t want to know. Marisa, if something’s wrong, you’re
going to have to deal with it yourself. I have to call Mor or Les.”
The two men operated the town’s combination handyman service and
fix-it shop. Unfortunately, both men were on intimate terms with
his troublesome boiler.

Marisa’s lower lip quivered in a rapidly
increasing tempo, a sure sign she was fighting back a crying jag.
Her teary spells had concerned Alex at first, but he’d soon learned
that the girl would cry at the slightest provocation. Barely in her
twenties, Marisa had the look of a wild doe, from her long thin
body and matching oblong face to the biggest set of brown eyes Alex
had ever seen.

Marisa stifled back the tears and mumbled
something Alex couldn’t understand. He tried to bury his irritation
with the girl before he spoke. She hadn’t done anything to anger
him, but the throbbing ache in his head from the boiler collision
was hard to ignore.

In a voice calmer than he felt, Alex said,
“Relax and take a deep breath.” She did as he suggested, and Alex
could see the quivering recede. “There, that’s better. Now what’s
the problem you wanted to tell me about?”

“You said I should handle it myself.”

Alex coaxed her gently. “I shouldn’t have
said that. I’ll take care of whatever’s wrong.”

“It’s Mr. Wellington,” Marisa said. “He asked
me to wake him from his nap, but he won’t come to the door no
matter how hard I knock. It’s time for him to take his medication.
I just know he’s forgotten again.”

“Where’s Junior?” It was a ridiculous moniker
for a fifty-year-old man, but that was the name Reg Wellington
insisted everyone call his grown son. Although the senior
Wellington had been vacationing at the mountain lighthouse for as
long as Alex could remember, he had never brought his son with him
before this trip.

Marisa said, “I can’t find him anywhere
either. I don’t know what to do.”

Great, just great. For the hundredth time
that day, Alex wished his dad had left him anything but the inn.
After his father had died, Alex’s brother Tony had opted for cash,
and in a burst of sentimentality that Alex had often regretted
since, he’d volunteered to take over the ten-room inn and
connecting lighthouse where the two of them had grown up.

Rubbing the crown of his head, Alex asked,
“Marisa, would you like me to take care of Mr. Wellington
myself?”

The maid’s face lit up. “Oh would you?” With
the glimmer of a smile, she added, “I’ll be happy to call Mordecai
for you.”

So that was the reason she’d been pleased
about the boiler trouble; it was another chance for her to see Mor.
It was obvious by the way Marisa doted on him that she had a crush
on the handyman. Marisa was the only person in Elkton Falls who
didn’t call Mor by his nickname. Les was the founder and older
partner, Lester Williamson. Everyone around town had called them
Mor or Les for years, so the two men finally decided to adopt the
name officially for their business.

“You do that,” Alex told her. “Tell him it’s
the boiler again.” As an afterthought, he added, “You might want to
mention that if he doesn’t get over here soon, there’ll be no money
to pay last month’s bill.”

Alex used every weapon at his disposal to
keep the inn open. He’d robbed Peter so many times to pay Paul,
Pete was getting absolutely gun-shy.

He followed Marisa out of the mechanical
equipment room and walked to the inn’s front desk. The check-in
space was located in the annex lobby, an area devoted to padded
easy chairs, a television and a welcoming fireplace. There were
game boards set up along the expanse of front windows where guests
could try their hand at Checkers, Chess, Backgammon and Scrabble,
though the letter game had become a true challenge ever since an
eight-year-old had taken every “E” in the set home with him after
his family’s visit to the inn.

Marisa stopped to primp her hair in front of
a mirror that hung behind the desk before making the call to the
handyman. Alex shook his head in bewilderment and took out his
master key as he walked to room 10.

Reginald Wellington Senior had been staying
there since the days when Alex’s father had first opened the inn.
For the last two weeks of every September as long as Alex could
remember, the older man had occupied the replica of the main
keeper’s room, lording over the lighthouse like a formidable
station master. Alex had a soft spot in his heart for the kindly
man. Reg knew more about lighthouses than anyone Alex had ever met,
and he hadn’t been stingy with his knowledge while Alex had been
growing up. The two of them were great friends, sharing a passion
that transcended the difference in their ages. This year the senior
Wellington had finally persuaded his only son to come along with
him on his annual sojourn. Alex didn’t care for Junior’s
stuffed-shirt disposition, but he tried to be polite for Reg’s
sake.

Alex tapped on the guest room door with a
knuckle. “Reg? Are you in there?” He was certain the board members
of Wellington Senior’s company would be shocked to hear anyone
refer to the patriarch as Reg, but it had been a tradition between
the two of them since Alex first began to talk.

A hint of concern swept through him. Alex
suddenly realized that he had no idea how old Reginald Wellington
was. Like the ancient pines and oaks surrounding Alex’s land, the
man was ageless in his eyes. Reg was as solid and enduring as the
granite of Bear Rocks, a conclave of boulders that abutted the
lighthouse and was part of his property.

Another knock, and still no response. Alex
raised his

voice, as Reg had most likely removed his
hearing aid before lying down for his nap. “Get decent. I’m coming
in.”

Alex slid his pass key into the lock.

Reg wasn’t there. In and of itself, that
didn’t mean anything, but Alex was still concerned. The older man
took a nap every afternoon at precisely the same time, and
according to Alex’s watch, Reg should have only just awakened. He
looked carefully around the room. The bed was neatly made, due more
to Reg’s fastidiousness than Marisa’s. As a housekeeper, Marisa was
an excellent crier.

The main keeper’s chamber, like every other
guest room at the inn, featured floors, walls and ceilings made
entirely of rich yellow Southern pine. The wood had mellowed over
the years to a golden patina, making the space warm and cozy. The
windows, large and abundant to catch the cooling breezes of the
mountains, were trimmed in white, offering an instant cheery vista
to the outside world. Each guest room sported a brightly decorated
quilt featuring lighthouses from all over the world. To fight the
chill of night, they covered the inn’s plain pine Shaker-style
beds. Alex’s mother and grandmother had made every quilt in the
inn, adding to the overall effect that Hatteras West was a home
away from home for its guests. All of the furniture sported sleek,
clean lines, complementing rather than competing with the textures
of the wooden walls. Large floor-to-ceiling fireplaces of faded
brick adorned every room, but only the flue in the main lobby
downstairs actually worked. One more item on Alex’s list of
improvements was the restoration of the guest-room fireplaces, but
it would have to wait for another, more prosperous day.

Alex locked the door quietly behind him,
wondering where his friend could be. The only other place Reg went
during his visits was the top of the lighthouse. That’s where Alex
would look next.

Alex left the guest building and headed for
the lighthouse next door. To him, the lighthouse’s older sibling on
the Outer Banks was the structure that looked out of place. It
appeared downright naked sitting among the scrub pines and the sand
dunes. Alex had taken a rare break from the inn to watch them move
that lighthouse away from the sea’s ever-reaching grasp. Seeing the
work the professional crew had undertaken, he’d been darned glad
his lighthouse was safely tucked away in the mountains.