by Cindy Bell
“May I ask who you are?” Vicky inquired in a polite tone.
“My name is Barry Baker. I am a lawyer, and I represent the Lambard family,” he said as he studied Vicky. “I don't need to know who you are, I already do. You and your sister own this inn. Now, if you don't mind, I need to speak with Henry alone.”
“I'm sorry, I'm not sure that would be best…” Vicky began to say.
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to give you the impression that you had a choice,” Barry responded and narrowed his eyes. Ida moved closer to him, her gaze locking with his.
“Listen Barry, we're all trying to understand what happened here. Perhaps I can interest you in a glass of ice water?” she offered, and batted her eyelids flirtatiously. Barry seemed to be distracted by Ida's behavior, and the corners of his lips even turned upward slightly. Vicky was shocked at how quickly they had arranged for a lawyer to come.
“Water would be nice,” he agreed with a slight nod. As Aunt Ida sashayed across the kitchen to retrieve the water, Barry turned back to Vicky. “Please excuse us,” he said sternly.
“I'm not going anywhere,” Vicky retorted growing more annoyed by the moment.
“It's okay, Vicky,” Ida insisted as she brought Barry his ice water. “I'll keep this strapping, young man company while he talks to Henry,” she purred as she drifted her fingertips along the back of Barry's hand. “You don't mind, do you, Mr. Baker?” she asked and offered a seductive gaze.
“Well, I suppose it couldn't do any harm,” he chuckled and watched Ida as he took a sip of his ice water. Vicky knew that Ida would keep a close eye on the situation, and she needed to warn Sarah about the lawyer's presence. She looked up at Henry who was starting to pull himself together. She met his eyes as she spoke to Barry.
“I think you'll find no matter what questions you ask, the inn is not responsible for Mrs. Holstead's death. In fact, your time might be better spent finding out who exactly her husband was having an affair with,” she suggested and then shifted her gaze slowly to Barry.
“Ha,” Barry smirked as he glanced over at Vicky. “If I spent my time tracking down mistresses I'd never have time for anything else. I'm not interested in affairs. Mrs. Holstead died of an allergic reaction, one she no doubt informed your staff about. Now, I want to know how this happened. Her family is expecting an answer, and I certainly will give them one,” he furrowed a heavy brow as he met Vicky's eyes directly. “Now, if I have to ask you again to excuse us, then I will have to launch an even more thorough investigation into whether you were trying to withhold evidence of negligence. Perhaps we should get local law enforcement involved?” he suggested.
Vicky swallowed thickly. She could feel the bottle of oil pressing against the inside of her pocket. She knew that if Barry, or even worse, Mitchell discovered that she was hiding it, she would be in serious legal trouble.
“Yes, sir, please excuse me,” she said quietly and stepped out of the kitchen. She hurried down the hall to her apartment and opened it to find Sarah just about to open the door from the other side. “Sarah, the Lambard family lawyer is here,” she gasped out in one breath.
“I know,” Sarah frowned. “Michelle is working the front desk, she texted me to let me know that he'd arrived. I need to get to him fast…”
“Sarah, wait,” Vicky grabbed her by the elbow and steered her back into her apartment. “You need to listen to me. He's questioning Henry right now.”
“That's okay,” Sarah shrugged and tried not to panic. “I know Henry wasn't involved in this so…”
“Sarah,” Vicky growled and pulled the bottle of oil out of her pocket. “I know he wasn't either, but someone is trying to make it look like he was. Whoever put the peanut oil in this bottle, was not just trying to kill Sandy, but also trying to frame Henry for the crime.”
“Oh no,” Sarah gasped when she caught the scent of the peanut oil. “This is terrible! Do you think Henry is going to tell the lawyer that he made a mistake?”
“Henry is very honest,” Vicky said and bit into her bottom lip. She wasn't sure what Henry would do, especially in his emotional state. “What we need is a good distraction, we need to get Henry away from Barry Baker, and everyone out of the kitchen.”
“The fire alarm,” Sarah suggested, her eyes widening. “We can set off the fire alarm, then maybe we can get them out of the kitchen.”
“No, it needs to be more than that,” Vicky said as she tried to come up with something that would absolutely drive everyone out of the kitchen.
“The sprinkler system,” she announced suddenly. “Barry was wearing an expensive suit, if the sprinklers go off he's going to run out of that kitchen.”
“But the sprinklers only go off if there's smoke,” Sarah pointed out with a shake of her head. “We can't just turn them on.”
“Don't worry about it, Sarah. You go to the front desk, I'll take care of the sprinklers, understand?” she met her sister's eyes.
“Vicky, please be careful. Whatever you do, get that bottle out of your pocket and put it in a safe place!” she hissed. “If you get caught with it…”
“Sarah, everything is going to be fine,” Vicky declared impatiently. But as her sister brushed past her and Vicky rummaged through her kitchen drawer for a lighter, she had no idea if everything was really going to be fine.
Chapter Four
Vicky knew that she needed to get back inside the kitchen. Unfortunately, when she peeked into the kitchen she saw that Aunt Ida, Barry, and Henry were all standing around the island in the center of the room. There was no way to get inside without them noticing. If she slipped inside and then the sprinklers went off Barry would be very suspicious. She decided that the only way she was going to get inside was through a window.
Vicky stepped out through one of the side doors towards the gardens and walked around to the staff quarters. The staff quarters were directly across from the kitchen, with a walkway and large, grassy space between them. There was only one window on the wall of the kitchen facing the staff quarters that was large enough for her to fit through. It was a window into the pantry. Vicky tried to jump up high enough to grab it but it was a high window. Instead, she had to drag one of the rubber trash cans around from behind the kitchen and place it beneath the kitchen window. She tested its strength with one foot. It was tough rubber, but it was still rubber. She balanced herself by leaning her hand on the brick surface of the outside wall as she climbed up onto the trash can.
The center of the lid of the trash can began to give way, making her feel as if she was going to fall through it. She gripped the ledge tightly, worried that she might fall and cause a commotion. Just as the trash can was about to give way completely, Vicky managed to get the window open. She tossed one leg over the windowsill and then climbed the rest of the way in. When she got both legs on the other side of the windowsill she encountered a new problem. The floor of the pantry was a long way down. Luckily, there was a small ladder that was used to reach the items on the highest shelves of the pantry. She managed to hook her foot through one of the rungs and guide it closer to her. Once it was stable against the wall she climbed the rest of the way through the window. She could hear the voices in the kitchen, and though they were muffled she could tell that Henry's voice was full of defeat. It seemed as if he was preparing to make a confession.
There was nothing Vicky could do but hope that her paper and lighter would be enough to convince the sprinklers there was a large fire. She stood on the ladder in the pantry, nearly tumbling off it every time she tried to ignite the lighter. In the kitchen she could hear the voices of Barry and Henry growing a little louder.
“Do you often use peanuts in the food?” Barry asked.
“Of course I do,” he replied with a heavy sigh. “It's a common ingredient in its different forms in many of the meals that I prepare.”
“And were you informed of Sandy Holstead's allergy to peanuts?” he asked. From the next equally deep sigh that Henry produced, Vicky knew t
hat he had already surrendered himself to the idea that it was his fault.
“Yes, I was,” he replied reluctantly.
“So, you're the one who prepares all the food?” Barry asked.
“I am,” Henry replied morosely. “With some assistance from my sous chef.”
“And where is he?” Barry pressed, his tone becoming more insistent.
“I- I,” Henry stammered for a moment. “I honestly don't know,” he finally said. “But he wasn't involved in this. I was the one who made the food.”
Vicky winced as she knew that if Henry continued to give Barry evidence against him there was going to be a real problem clearing his name. She flicked the lighter three times in a row and finally got a flame. She touched the flame to the edge of the piece of paper and then held the paper up towards the sprinkler head. What she didn't expect was how fast the paper began to burn. She cringed as the heat quickly approached her fingertips. She swayed on the ladder as the top half of the paper became hot ash that fell against the skin on the back of her hand. Just when the flame was about to touch her fingertips the sprinkler finally came to life and began spraying the paper, and of course, Vicky. All of the sprinklers in the kitchen began spraying. The system was designed to work so that the sprinklers in the kitchen were the only ones to go off, but the fire alarm was triggered throughout the inn. As Vicky had hoped, Barry began to complain about his suit.
“Ugh, what's this?” he demanded. “My suit. We have to get out of here!”
“Don't worry, Barry, come this way,” Ida suggested and pulled him out through the back door of the kitchen. Henry took his opportunity to escape the questioning and went out through the interior entrance of the kitchen into the hallway. Vicky waited until she was sure that Barry, Ida, and Henry were out of the kitchen, then she made her way down the slippery rungs of the ladder. She nearly lost her footing on the last rung, but managed to keep her balance long enough to fall backwards on a large sack of flour. The sack was open and some of the white powder plumed upwards, coating Vicky's damp shirt and pants. She hurried out of the pantry and out into the hallway outside the kitchen. Henry was nowhere in sight, but Sarah was quickly approaching down the hallway.
“Vicky, are you okay?” she asked quickly.
“I am,” Vicky whispered back. “Just make sure that Barry talks to you before he talks to Henry again, okay?”
“Okay,” Sarah nodded and hurried back to the front desk. Vicky wanted to find Henry and tell him to remain quiet, but first she needed to change out of her damp, flour-covered clothes. The only problem was in order to get to her apartment she had to walk through the lobby, or risk going outside and around the pool, where Barry might see her. She opted for the outside option so that she wouldn't track flour through the lobby. As soon as she stepped outside she regretted it. Ida and Barry were standing in the garden where there was plenty of afternoon sun to dry off his clothing.
Vicky tried to duck back inside, but Barry was a keen observer and he heard the door open before she could close it again.
“Vicky?” he called out as he saw her soaked clothing. “You weren't in the kitchen,” he pointed out suspiciously and began walking towards her. “Did you have something to do with all of this?”
“What?” Vicky shot back with frustration. “Of course not. I went to the kitchen to check on the three of you, but you were already gone.”
“What is this you're covered in?” Barry asked as he touched her shoulder and stared down at his fingertip covered in white powder.
“Oh, Vicky, did you slip?” Ida asked quickly when she saw Vicky's blank look. “Are you hurt?”
“I slipped,” Vicky nodded with a smile of relief. “But I'm okay. I landed on the bag of flour, luckily,” she added.
“How very lucky,” Barry replied through gritted teeth. Vicky could tell that he wasn't buying any of it. But there was no way he could prove what she had done, especially since the entire kitchen had been thoroughly washed by the sprinklers. Unfortunately, that also meant that any clues Vicky might have been able to find about who really killed Sandy Holstead were washed away as well.
“Where is your sister?” Barry asked as he settled his gaze on her.
“She's at the front desk,” Vicky replied with a mild shrug. “I'm sure she's waiting to talk with you.”
“I'm sure you've already told her I'm here,” Barry replied with a grim smile. Vicky allowed Barry to get a few steps ahead of her. Then she decided to follow after him. She wanted to see how Sarah reacted to his presence. Vicky followed close behind Barry but did her best to keep her footsteps muffled. She heard him as he walked up to the front desk.
“Hello, I need to speak with Sarah,” he said calmly as he stood in front of the desk.
“I'm Sarah,” she replied and Vicky could hear the smile in her voice.
“Is there somewhere we could speak in private?” he suggested after introducing himself.
“Sure,” Sarah agreed. Vicky knew she would lead Barry into her office which was just behind the front desk. As much as she wanted to hear what Barry asked, she knew that Sarah could handle the questions. She also wanted to change, but she didn’t want to miss the opportunity to get to Sandy’s room. This was her best chance to get up to Sandy's room and have another look around before Barry began his investigation. The police still considered Sandy's death to be accidental, now that Vicky was certain it had been intentional, she was hoping there would be some clues in her room.
When Vicky reached the Holsteads' room she found it in disarray. It looked as if someone had tossed every piece of clothing from their suitcases around the room. The bedding was stripped and tossed on the floor. She wondered if she was too late and if Barry had already been inside. As she picked through the clothing in an attempt to find some clues, she found a fork on the floor. It was a fork from the kitchen. Vicky used one of the pillow cases that had been tossed on the floor to pick it up. She looked at it closely. She could see a sheen of oil on it.
Not far from the fork was the bottle of wine that Sandy had asked to be sent up to her. When Vicky picked it up she found something stuck underneath it. It was a receipt stuck to the bottom by the condensation on the bottle. It was a receipt from the local diner. It showed a total of just over ten dollars and it appeared to be for a meal for only one person. Why would there be a receipt from the local diner if on their first meal at the inn they had room service for lunch? She tucked it into her pocket and started to turn around to leave the room, when a shadow fell across the carpet. She looked up slowly to discover Henry standing just outside the door.
“Vicky, I just, I had to see the room…” he said quietly, his words cut off by a strangled gasp.
“Henry,” Vicky said his name sharply in an attempt to snap him out of the dazed state he was in. “This was not your fault,” she said with determination as she looked into his eyes. “Whoever is responsible for Sandy's death did it intentionally, this was no accident.”
“But the bottle…” he began to say.
“Henry, I'm telling you right now, say nothing more until we can figure out exactly what has happened, understand?” she searched his gaze hoping that her words had reached him through the shock that he was obviously experiencing.
“I want nothing more to do with this,” he stated flatly and shook his head. “I won't deny my mistake. If I did this, then I should be punished!”
“But you didn't!” Vicky said impatiently as she narrowed her eyes. “You know you didn't, and so do I, Henry, why would you risk your future when you were not involved?”
“No matter what, I must have been the one to put the oil on her food,” he said in a whisper with tears in his eyes.
“That's not necessarily the case,” Vicky argued the point and steered him away from the Holsteads’ room. “I want you to go to your room. Stay in it, don't answer your phone, don't answer your door. Only come out if it's me or Sarah, understand?” she locked eyes with him.
“Yes, I understan
d,” he nodded but his eyes were still clouded with tears. Vicky left the room as quickly as she entered it. She didn't want to be there if Barry Baker decided to look it over. She headed back to her own apartment to change her wet, flour-covered clothes. When she reached the door of her apartment she found a man standing in front of it. He didn't look like an average guest at the inn, he was very tall and very wide. His hair was gray and curly. It hung several inches past his shoulders against a brown leather jacket.
“Can I help you?” Vicky asked hesitantly as she stepped up behind him. The man turned to look at her, and his brown eyes widened when he saw the state of her clothing.
“Wow, looks like you're having a bad day,” his voice was raspy and full of humor.
“Not the best, that's for sure,” Vicky replied, a little more at ease because of his cheerful attitude.
“I'm looking for Ida,” he explained as he shoved his thick hands into the pockets of his jeans. “She said that she lived here but…”
“Why are you looking for her?” Vicky asked suspiciously. With the strange situations her aunt could get herself into she wasn't sure how much she should tell the man.
“Oh, I wanted to invite her to dinner,” he explained shyly and Vicky detected a blush in his cheeks. Despite everything unfolding around her, Vicky found his bashfulness to be endearing, and the fact that he was looking for Aunt Ida did not surprise her in the least.
“Well, she's probably in her room, let me give her a call,” Vicky suggested and started to reach for her cell phone until she realized it was in her sopping wet pocket.
“That's all right, I'll call her,” he chuckled and shook his head. “I'm Rex by the way, if you see her before I do, just tell her I'll be by her beauty in the parking lot.”
“I will,” Vicky grinned as she watched him walk away. Of all the men that she had seen Aunt Ida flirt with, he was the first biker. She had to wonder what came first, Rex or the motorcycle.