Murder in the Winter (3 page)

Longworth told us that the inn had thirty-two large
rooms, with his emphasis on large. Rooms had either king- or queen-size beds,
end tables on each side of the bed, a desk and chair, a table, a couch, a
refrigerator, and two or three upholstered chairs, one of which reclined. Each
room had a fireplace, and a container of wood sat ready for each occupant. The
entire grouping of rooms was in an E shape, looking from the front, only there
were no rooms above the front desk where guests checked in and out. Thus, only
part of the bottom of the E contained rooms.

Longwood piqued my interest when his diatribe turned
to food. Three meals were included each day in the cost of the room. They
served breakfast at 7:00 (which meant I would have to rise earlier than usual),
a mid-morning snack at 10:00, and lunch at 12:30. Also, snacks would be
provided each afternoon at three, and hors d’oeuvres served prior to the
evening meal, which was at 7:00, and bedtime snacks would be set out at 10:00
for anyone who was interested. Lou and I would be interested.

Longworth finished his monologue as Manfred returned
to carry our luggage. None of the other guests were anywhere to be found, so we
checked in, picked up the keys to our rooms, and mounted the steps behind
Manfred. Having seen no other guests, we agreed to rest for thirty minutes
before tackling the layout. Could it be that Longworth had already disposed of
the other guests, but the snowstorm prevented him from pushing their cars over
the cliff? Somehow I figured our job would be tougher than that.

My room was the first room on the left after mounting
the steps and turning right. Across from my room, I could lean over the railing
and practice Romeo and Juliet in my falsetto voice. Only two things prevented
me from doing so. I don’t know Shakespeare, and under no circumstances do I use
a falsetto voice. If I did choose to look over the railing, I could look down
upon the registration desk, out upon the lobby, or up to the ceiling much
higher than where I stood. I chose to do none of those things.

Manfred opened the door to my room, and I discovered
that Longworth did not embellish too much. Considering it was one room and not
a suite, it was quite large. There was a desk, two upholstered chairs, one of
which might’ve been a recliner, a king-size bed, a couch, a small refrigerator,
and a microwave. Those last two would come in handy if I decided to sneak any
food back to my room. Manfred carried my bag inside, pointed out each of the
room’s amenities, and asked if I needed further assistance. I declined, and he
left to show Lou to his room.

3

A knock at the door shook me from my nap. Evidently I
had slumbered too long to satisfy a sergeant who wanted to wrap up the case as
soon as possible. Not taking time to tuck in my shirt or comb my hair, I
stumbled to the door and opened it. I should have grabbed my gun on the way.

“Hello, Cyrus. I like what you’ve done with your hair.
I had planned to run my fingers through it, anyway.”

I wondered how my next-door neighbor knew where the
good sergeant and I had bedded down for the weekend, and then I remembered she
had snatched the murderer’s note from my hands. But how had she found out which
room was mine? Could it be that the proprietor had told her more than he was
willing to tell me? Whatever the case, there was no way this vixen would run
her claws through my hair.

“Well, Miss Humphert, what brings you here, and how
did you know what room I was in?”

“When I returned from walking Twinkle Toes this
morning I realized the subtle hint you offered when you passed the note to me.
I knew it was your way of calling me to this weekend love nest.”

“The love nest is out among the trees. Why don’t you
go outside, leap from the cliff, grab on to a tree limb, and wait for me? Oh,
and by the way, you didn’t tell me how you knew which room was mine.”

“That cute sergeant downstairs let me know.”

I no longer felt guilty about waiting inside while Lou
solved an outdoor murder.

“Well, why don’t you go downstairs and bother the sergeant,
while I finish getting dressed. He loves getting his hair messed up. By the
way, where’s Muffy? You didn’t leave her at home by herself, did you?”

“Oh, I couldn’t do that, Cyrus. Twinkle Toes loves her
Cyrus, too. She can’t wait to nibble at your toes.”

I closed the door as my next-door neighbor turned
away. I wondered how far a man of my size with steel-toed shoes could kick a
rat. I began to smile at the possibilities. I continued to smile when I
realized that if the murder had not yet taken place, my neighbor was still
eligible to be the victim. I stopped smiling when I felt God reprimand me for
my thoughts.

+++

I went to the phone and called the front desk. I asked
whoever answered to page the sergeant, who should be nearby getting his hair
messed up. A couple of minutes later, someone knocked on the door. I opened it
a crack, but enough of a crack that I could see a smiling face. I decided to
get even with that smiling face later, and invited him inside. Change of plans.
We would plan our strategy from within the confines of my room.

Lou informed me that he had seen no guests except for
my next-door neighbor. After getting up from his nap, which was much shorter
than mine, he had ventured down a few hallways, but saw no one. When he
mentioned this to me, I wondered if we were lured to the inn by Longworth, who
used the ploy he did to bring customers to his establishment. Or could it be
that he planned to murder the two of us, unbeknownst to him that wither I goest
my neighbor is sure to follow? I quickly dismissed that theory. Surely our work
would be more difficult than that. And so it was.

I wanted to check out the inn. Actually, I wanted to
check out of the inn, but that was not possible with a murderer lurking nearby.
On one occasion, I slid the latch from my door and peeked out to see if
you-know-who was around. I suffered a kiss on the cheek while claws messed up
my hair. I hit my eye on the door as I tried to get away from her clutches. If
someone were to look out again, it would be the good sergeant. I looked around
the room for other means of escape. There were none. We would remain in my room
until I heard screams, or until the smell of food cooking wafted in under the
door.

After too much time in isolation, we weren’t able to
solve a yet uncommitted murder, so my thoughts shifted to planning my exit. I’d
read about Noah. I knew about the raven and the dove. After a reasonable amount
of time elapsed, I would send the good sergeant out. If he didn’t return within
a few seconds, I would know that either the neighbor had captured him or he had
smelled food.

+++

I expected things to get worse when we left the room,
but not in the way they did. We strolled down the steps, slinked over to the
hors d’oeuvres, and crinkled our noses.
What is this stuff?
I whispered
to Lou to see if he had a clue. He had no idea, either. The other guests had
come out of hiding. At least two men had. I whispered again to Lou and we
stepped back and waited for someone else to go first. One did, and he seemed to
enjoy it. Then an elderly woman hobbled over, ate some of the pasty stuff, and
licked her lips. I motioned to the sergeant to go first. He whispered, “Lieutenants
first.” I whispered back, “Not after you sent that
woman
to my room.” He
smiled and sidled up to the table to choose his poison. He took a knife and
spread a small portion of the pasty stuff on a cracker, took a bite, and
smiled. Knowing Lou could be a good actor at times, I followed, begrudgingly.
Lou looked at me and did his best not to laugh.  I was about to whisper and ask
him, “What is this stuff?” when Mrs. Longworth walked up and asked us how we
liked the pâté de foie gras. I tried to smile, and took another bite. It tasted
like dog food that had been run through a blender. On second thought, it tasted
like liver, and I can’t stand liver. I hoped the hors d’oeuvres were not a
precursor of what dinner would be like. I turned away from the paste and walked
over to the sitting room. On the way I passed Mrs. Longworth and said something
about not wanting to spoil my appetite for dinner. When she was out of sight, I
sneaked my Hershey Almond bar from my pocket and bit off two almonds and all
the chocolate that surrounded them. I wouldn’t go near that foie gras again,
unless it would be to recommend it to my neighbor, who was descending the
stairs as I looked up. She was dressed for dinner. Too bad she had not chosen a
hat with a veil to accompany her outfit.

+++

At dinner, Lou and I got to meet everyone. Well, we
got their names and faces, but didn’t waste much time talking. Instead, I
listened, plus checked out the eyes to see if anyone recognized us. No one
seemed to. Maybe they were all good actors. And there wasn’t a hunchback among
them. After dinner, I would ask the good sergeant to corner my next-door
neighbor and see if she recognized any of our dinner companions as the
hunchback who’d left me the note. I doubted if she could. Whoever it was had
bundled up, and all of the guests seemed about the same height and weight. Even
the woman was near the same size as the men, but then my neighbor would never
recognize another woman.

I was right about one thing. There weren’t a lot of
guests, and from what I could discern, not only were the good sergeant and I
the first to arrive on Friday, but, other than my neighbor, we were the only
ones to arrive on Friday. Three other guests were expected, but never arrived.
According to Longworth, one phoned to say he would be late, another to say that
the storm delayed him until the next morning. The third had not called. Maybe
one of them was our murderer, hiding inside a nearby turret until the time came
for him to accomplish his dastardly deed.

The dining room consisted of six, large, mahogany tables,
each covered with white tablecloths, and each capable of seating sixteen
people. Because of our small number, everyone was seated at the same table. Too
bad my next-door neighbor hadn’t ordered room service. I smiled at the others
seated around the table. Well, everyone except my neighbor. I’d heard about the
food at this place, but didn’t see how it could compare with the Blue Moon. At
least the Blue Moon doesn’t serve that pâté de foie gras stuff. Good thing, too.
If they did, Lou and I would be looking for a new place to chow down. Give me
meat loaf, country fried steak, and all the trimmings.

I’d learned that whenever possible, the Longworths ate
with their guests. That night it was possible. I scanned the table, trying to
get a lead on what might happen. Mr. Longworth sat at the head of the table,
his wife at the foot. Because of the three more-than-fashionably-late guests,
there were only six other guests at the inn that night. On Longworth’s right
sat a man who introduced himself as Myles Mycroft. He looked nearly forty and
wore his hair slicked straight back. Mycroft looked like someone who had read
all the books on etiquette. I’d watch him if I lost my place and didn’t know
the proper way to attack a certain dish. I might have to lean forward to do so,
because Lou sat next to him. The good sergeant’s body protruded farther forward
than did Mycroft’s. Maybe Mycroft spent more time reading about eating than he
did eating. I sat next to my partner, in the last seat on Longworth’s right,
which means I sat next to Mrs. Longworth. Since the table accommodated sixteen
and there were only eight of us, we had room to spread out, although I deduced
that spreading out was not the custom at a place like Overlook Inn. There were
no “No Grazing” signs, but I could sense that no one other than a policeman
would be caught putting his or her elbows on the table.  If I could’ve
identified my adversary, I would’ve suggested a change of venue for the murder,
with the Blue Moon Diner as my first choice.

Arthur Plankton sat opposite Mycroft. Plankton was a
weasel of a man who looked best suited for absconding with the bank’s funds. 
He looked like his best days were behind him, and I guessed his age to be
somewhere around sixty-five.

While Plankton looked old, the woman seated to his
left looked even older. She had so many age spots and wrinkles it would have
been hard to add them and divide by two to get her age. Miss Isabel Dukenfield
wore a hat with a veil. I remembered that my grandmother had one that looked
quite similar. Miss Dukenfield’s hat must have survived the war. I think she
might have looked better if she’d traded the hat for a bag. The veil didn’t
cover nearly enough. Besides, she pulled it up when the food came.

I looked up at the chandelier that loomed almost directly
above my head. I hated to eat under so much glass. I was afraid it would fall
on me, but it was so large that it hovered over two or three tables, and
another chandelier picked up where that one left off. My fear of the chandelier
was interrupted when someone opened the front door. In walked a young man, who
looked at us and apologized for being late. The openness of the inn, with no
walls separating the sitting room from the dining room, made it possible to see
anyone who came or went, even though we were quite a distance from the front
door. I soon found out that the man’s name was Tony McArthur, and it seemed
that everyone at the table, with the exception of my partner and the hussy who
lives next door to me, seemed to recognize the man. I whispered to Lou to see
if maybe he recognized the newcomer, but he didn’t. I thought maybe he was some
kind of star and our work and lack of hero worship prevented us from
recognizing him. The tall young man grabbed a chair and scooted it between Lou
and Mycroft, thus making it even harder for me to follow Mycroft’s lead.

I was starved. I couldn’t wait for the food to be
served. Possibly sensing this, Mrs. Longworth rang the bell. I speculated that
someone would soon arrive with food, or we would come face to face with
Pavlov’s dog. It was time to eat. What conversation there was died down when
our guest list increased by one.

The meal started with shrimp, but it wasn't fried. Evidently
someone here wasn't from the south. And the ketchup in a bowl beside the shrimp
tasted funny. And the soup he brought next was cold. Good help must be hard to
get so far out in the country. I didn't see any improvement in subsequent
dishes, but Mrs. Longworth smiled through the whole process. I think she was
embarrassed. Things didn't get any better until the dessert arrived, but that's
also when things got worse.

Before I could sample Baked Alaska, Mycroft made a few
gyrations and fell face first into his. From what I could tell, his hairline
landed about Barrow while his chin touched down in Anchorage. From the way it
looked, it didn’t matter that the flames had burned out before he dived in. Evidently,
the sushi had given him food poisoning. If Mr. Mycroft had family, Michael the
chef would soon be sued.