You’ll be fine. Everything will be fine.
I grabbed my fluffy white robe—opulence compared to how I’d lived before I’d arrived in Gossip—and headed downstairs.
The inn was peaceful at this time of night, dark and smelling faintly of old wood, polish, and lavender. I drifted down the stairs, walking closest to the balustrade where the wood was least likely to creak out of habit. They died hard. Hopefully, you don’t.
At the base of the stairs, I hesitated, taking in the view of the front doors of the inn, the windows above them capturing a glimpse of the porch lights on outside. Silence.
I wanted this moment—minus the uncertainty—to last forever.
No. You want to go back to being a spy, remember? You hate it here.
It was such a laughable sentiment at this point, I actually smiled. I had never hated a place less.
A clatter of noise from the kitchen wiped the smile right off my face.
Adrenaline coursed through my veins, instantly. Someone awake at this time of night? And making noise? Not one of the cats—the kitten foster center was on lockdown at all times. No way could the kitties escape. We had done a full security sweep months ago.
I pressed my lips together, forcing myself to focus entirely on the noise.
Carefully, I made my way down the passage to the side entrance of the kitchen, the one closest to the door that separated the kitten foster center from the inn. While the kitties weren’t able to get out, a human could certainly unlock the door and enter the inn.
But that was why we had Jordan there.
The only three people with access to the center, who had keys to that door, were Jordan, the assistant, Gamma, and me. Unless someone had knocked Jordan out and used the key to gain access?
And then what? They went to the kitchen and started making an excessive amount of noise. Get real.
Regardless, I proceeded with caution, pressing myself to the wall beside the kitchen’s doorjamb.
“—mine now,” a man murmured inside.
And then… a chewing noise? The smacking of lips. The unmistakable noise of a man eating with his mouth open—cringe—and enjoying it.
I inched forward, silently, and stole a glance into the kitchen.
And, indeed, there was a man eating in there.
Gerry stood over the table, feasting on the mint-chocolate cupcakes Lauren had made, his cellphone casting blue light over his face while he scrolled. He spilled crumbs as he ate, fingers shaking as he fed himself cupcake after cupcake.
“How do you like that?” he whispered then gave a gleeful giggle. “It’s all mine now. All mine.”
I sneaked backward, breathing evenly. What in the heck? I didn’t use that word often, but this situation warranted it.
The last thing I’d expected when I’d left my room was to find one of the main suspects in Darling’s murder case in the kitchen, binge-eating. Could it be that he was sleep-walking? I’d heard about that before.
But no, he was clearly conscious, on his phone, talking and eating. Another clatter sounded from the kitchen, and I peeked again.
Gerry had entered the pantry in search of more cupcakes.
I took the opportunity to dart down the hall toward the kitten foster center. The cupcake-eating was interesting but might not be relevant to the case. I let myself into the foster center, and a sudden thought occurred to me.
What if Gerry had a binge-eating problem? And what if it wasn’t just cupcakes he liked to snack on?
Sunlight ran over to greet me, and I scratched under his chin, enjoying the resultant purrs.
“Mushrooms,” I whispered, my eyes widening in the darkness.
I’d have to discuss this with my grandmother first thing in the morning.
17
The best laid plans of maids and spies, as the saying went, often went awry. That wasn’t a direct quote from “To a Mouse” by Robert Burns, but it might as well have been.
For instance, I had planned to talk to my grandmother about the mushroom theft and the potential Gerry connection first thing, but I’d woken to find Detective Crowley and the police at the inn instead. He’d involved my grandmother in a lengthy conversation while the police finished their work and declared the library could now be entered.
Granted, not many of the guests would want to go inside after Darling’s death. Likely, Gerry, Mr. Superstitious in Chief, thought her ghost now haunted the inn. It was him who hadn’t wanted to come here in the first place for fear our establishment might be haunted.
“Our” establishment?
I entered the library, while Gamma and Detective Crowley chatted out on the porch, my feather duster tucked under one arm, my chosen dress for the day covered in roses, and Cocoa Puff hot on my heels.
Cocoa leaped onto one of the comfy armchairs and settled in, cleaning himself and purring, while I dusted the bookcases and books before surreptitiously checking under the coffee table.
The police had found the gum wrapper and removed it. It was evidence by virtue of having been at the crime scene, but did that mean it was connected to the murder? Only time would tell.
Or Gamma and I would tell when we solved the case.
I reorganized the books—someone had been in here and shifted them out of their usual alphabetical and genre filing system—humming under my breath. With the library back, things felt more normal, even though Gamma was still upset over having lost Darling.
The door opened and shut, and my grandmother cleared her throat behind me. “We’ve got problems,” she said, primly.
“The usual kind?”
“In our case,” Gamma said, straightening her cream cardigan, “usual problems are extraordinary.”
“That’s what I meant.”
“Then yes, we have the usual kind,” Gamma replied, walking to the fireplace, and packing logs into it. She was spry and didn’t need my help, but I came over to stack with her, anyway.
“I appreciate the help, Charlotte, but this is not a two-person job.”
“I’m nervous,” I said. “Unusually so.”
“I can feel it too.” Gamma straightened. “There’s something… in the air. Something coming.”
“Superstitious?”
“Instinctual,” Gamma said. “A woman’s intuition.”
“What did Detective Crowley say?”
“Therein lies the problems,” Gamma replied. “He believes the murder was committed by someone who didn’t stay in the inn. He’s told me everyone here is free to leave. The investigation has narrowed in on a suspect who lives in Gossip. A loner who fits the bill of an obsessed stalker.”
“He offered you this information freely?”
“Apparently, the news is about to break. They’re making the arrest this morning,” Gamma replied. “And I believe he told me because he couldn’t tell you. The man has taking a liking to you, Charlotte.” A glimmer of mischief appeared in her eyes. My grandmother reached out and tucked my dark hair—colored from its natural blonde—behind my ear. “My sweetheart.”
My heart swelled at the gentle words, the briefest breaking of her cover.
Gamma removed her hand, sighing. “Apparently, this man has been stalking Darling for some time and knew she would be in town.”
“But there’s no evidence of a break-in,” I replied.
“Precisely. I believe they’ve got the wrong man, but Crowley thinks I’m sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong. He’s technically correct but entirely wrong about the murder this time.”
“It’s not like him to be sloppy.”
“I agree,” Gamma said. “Which means this individual must not have an alibi, and his DNA or fingerprints must be around the inn. He might’ve come here to spy on Darling at some point.”
“We won’t have the time to check him out.” Frustration bubbled inside me.
“No, we won’t, but that’s fine, as I don’t believe it was him who did it. There were no signs of forced entry, and though I don’t have internal
cameras in the inn, I have taken the liberty of recording the exterior doors and entrances,” Gamma said. “And the only people who entered and exited the inn were the guests and the staff. This individual never crossed the threshold.”
“Did you tell Crowley that?”
“No,” Gamma replied. “I’m afraid the cameras I’m using are… well, they weren’t sourced from anywhere in town. Showing Crowley the footage would raise questions that we don’t want answered. This is up to us to solve, now. We’ll have to find a way to do it without anyone knowing we’re the ones on the case.”
A thrill of excitement traveled over my skin. “I’m with you, Georgina.”
“Good. Because we have to do it fast. Crowley has given the guests permission to leave. We’re counting on them staying for a memorial for Darling. I’m going to try twisting Sherise’s arm about it, perhaps even Gerry’s, to buy us more time.”
I paced back and forth, sweeping my feather duster around and brainstorming. “What’s our first objective?” We’d have to go full spy mode on this.
“Case out the suspects, of course.”
My eyes widened.
“What is it?”
“I’ve noticed irregular activity around the inn.” I told her about Gerry’s cupcake mission the night before. “And when Sherise and Callie had their little catfight, Sherise mentioned she’d heard someone moving around in the halls at night. There’s been a lot of irregular late-night activity.”
“Then we know what we have to do,” Gamma replied, extending a hand.
I shook it. “It starts tonight.”
18
That night…
The stakes were higher than ever. So high we couldn’t afford to go to bed and pretend everything was all right in the Gossip Inn. I crouched in my hiding spot on the second floor of the inn—a narrow hidden passage Gamma and I had discovered the last time there’d been a murder at the inn.
The entrance to the secret hiding spot was slightly ajar, just a crack for me to see through. I waited patiently, though at least an hour had passed since I’d first positioned myself here.
Most of the guests were on this floor—Callie, the tantrum thrower, Sherise, the old lady with a serious attitude problem, and Gerry, who had a cupcake problem.
Gamma had hidden herself in the dining area downstairs, and we wore button mics and earpieces for communication. The mics were so sensitive, I could breathe a couple words to be heard. The best tech an agency could get their hands on, all at my grandmother’s fingertips.
I checked the time on my watch—synchronized with Gamma’s, of course—and fought back exhaustion.
A day spent cleaning the inn and helping Lauren serve the guests had drained my energy, but this was important. We had no idea when the guests planned on leaving. My grandmother’s chat with Sherise hadn’t gone to plan, and she hadn’t found out any information about the memorial service.
Gerry had ghosted her. Ironic, since he was terrified of hauntings.
“No movement,” I whispered to Gamma.
“All’s clear,” she replied.
And we settled in to wait again. Every hour on the hour we’d check in unless something happened before then, of course.
“Movement on the ground floor,” Gamma breathed. “Heading out of the inn. Front doors.”
“I’m on the move.”
“Roger.”
I slipped out of my hiding space, shut the trapdoor behind me, then stole down the steps. Gamma waited for me in the foyer, nodding to the now-open front doors.
“Who?” I asked.
“Brixton,” she replied. “That uppity handsome boy. He’s carrying a basket.”
We set off without further ado, this time, both wearing PJs again to avoid suspicion, though we’d chosen dark shades of burgundy flannel for Gamma, navy for me. On the porch, we spotted Brixton hurrying across the grounds.
Gamma was right. He carried a basket over one arm, illuminated by the moonlight overhead. He carried a flashlight, as well, the beam of light strobing over the grounds.
“He’s heading for the woods.” I nodded to the trees growing along the side of the inn.
“The creek,” Gamma agreed. She signaled for us to separate and flank our mark, and I followed the order with practiced ease.
Through the trees, over roots, my footsteps silent and my ears perked up for noises. Brixton clearly thought he was being sneaky, but his flashlight gave away his position, and he walked like a lumbering bear with a thorn stuck in its paw.
Following him was easy.
The trickling noise of the creek grew closer until the rush of water overpowered the sound of Brixton’s passage.
I hid behind a tree trunk, a shiver running down my spine—the cold, not fear. I peeked out at the creek.
Brixton stood near it, his flashlight pointed to the ground, casting him in silhouette, that basket still hung over one arm. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, waiting for something.
I scanned the surrounds but couldn’t find anyone else. My grandmother was included in that. She was too good at hiding and getting angles to be found out by a quick search of the underbrush, but whoever was supposed to meet Brixton wouldn’t be.
Unless it’s another spy. Or Kyle. Or… you’re being ridiculous.
Why on earth would Brixton bring what looked to be a picnic basket out into the woods near the Gossip Inn? It didn’t make sense. Unless…
What if he was meeting a lover? What if it was Callie? That might’ve been motive for Brixton to get rid of Darling. Or for Callie.
If Brixton and Darling had been engaged in an affair Brixton couldn’t escape—
A crack of a twig snapping made Brixton jump.
I forced my body to relax. Tension would make it more difficult to react in a life-or-death situation. I carried myself in a state of readiness—relaxed but on the brink of movement.
“There—” Brixton said, his sentence disappearing in the rush of water.
“Can you hear what he’s saying?” Gamma asked, in my ear.
“Negative.”
“Oh dear,” Gamma whispered.
Another figure appeared in the underbrush, their face hidden in the shadows under the trees.
Brixton switched off the flashlight, and only then did the new individual come forward. They were short but walked with long strides. Not a woman? I couldn’t make anything out in the darkness.
“See any features?” I asked.
“Negative.”
Brixton handed over the basket then shook the person’s hand. He turned and walked off through the forest, turning on his flashlight after a few paces, directing it away from the person he’d met.
What was this all about? What was in this basket?
“Eyes on target,” Gamma said. “Initiate pursuit.”
“Roger.”
Gamma and I stepped out of the shadows and streaked toward the figure now holding the basket. They let out a yelp, masked slightly by the rush of water from the creek, then took off running toward it.
It was the last thing I had expected—if anything, the figure should’ve run for the trees to try throw us off their trail. But this guy, I was sure it was a man from their stride, dove into the water instead with a fantastic splash-gloop.
What on earth?
I ran for the water’s edge, Gamma just ahead of me, but it was already too late.
The person had disappeared around a bend in the creek, carried by the fast-moving water. The darn thing shouldn’t be called a creek if it moves that fast!
Gamma looked on the verge of diving into the water and chasing after the person but didn’t. She put out a hand to me too.
“No need to get your flannel wet, Charlotte. They’re gone.”
Disappointment settled in my gut. They were gone. But at least we’d discovered something new about the guests.
Brixton wasn’t as innocent and pleasant as he seemed. Clandestine meetings under the cover of darkness. Something
passed over in a basket.
What on earth was going on in the Gossip Inn?
19
The following morning, I spent most of my time on the first floor, dusting. Brixton’s room was at the end of the hall, but the door remained closed. Perhaps he was sleeping in after his late-night jaunt through the woods. I didn’t blame him. Every other breath, I yawned.
After his midnight escapade with the mystery basket, I’d been unable to catch much sleep.
Most of my night had been spent sipping hot chocolate and pondering what on earth he’d been up to out there. And who the other individual had been. Someone who didn’t want to be discovered so badly, they were willing to dive into a creek to escape.
Why run unless they were guilty?
I glanced at Brixton’s closed door and dusted a crystal statuette of a woman with her arms raised above her head, summoning fire in either hand. The inn had an eclectic mix of items on display, thanks to the old museum, and I enjoyed seeing them every day, trying to figure out where they were from.
Cocoa Puff wandered down the hall and meowed at me.
“I know,” I said. “Too much time spent here. I agree. But I have my reasons.”
He rubbed against my leg, and I scratched behind his ears.
“I suppose I’d better go help Lauren with the brunch snack.”
Another meow-purr in response.
I stowed my feather duster in the supply closet on the ground floor of the inn, humming under my breath. It was a pleasant day, warmer than the last week had been, with the start of spring fast approaching.
“—because you helped me doesn’t mean I owe you anything.” The words had come from the porch of the inn.
“Belle-Blue, why on earth would you think you had to come all the way out here to tell me that?” My Gamma’s voice.
Uh-oh.
Occasionally, we’d get a visit from the woman who owned the cattery. Jessie Belle-Blue was my grandmother’s meanest adversary. Funny, since she had no idea my grandmother was a retired spy and could snap her like a twig if the whim took her. Which Gamma would never do, of course.
Mint Murder (A Mission Inn-possible Cozy Mystery Book 5) Page 7