Heather Horrocks - Who-Dun-Him Inn 01 - Snowed Inn

by Heather Horrocks

  “Barefoot, too, I bet.” DeWayne grinned.

  “Probably. She kicks her shoes off first thing.”

  Paul said, “Do you have any of those ice cream things I like? I need to eat it before Jennifer calls me back.”

  Liz rolled her eyes. “Creamies, Vicki. He wants Creamies.”

  “Those I have.” I grabbed some from the freezer. They were my son’s favorites— my son who was sleeping peacefully, I hoped. Grandma would make sure he was in bed, especially since her other playmate, Dr. Ray, was upstairs playing doctor without her.

  We enjoyed the treats in silence for a moment. My tension began to melt. “Is there any reasonable doubt about Kevin’s guilt?”

  “Oh, he did it,” Liz said. “In a moment of passion.”

  “What about BJ?” I asked. “Is she a suspect?”

  Paul smiled. “Everyone’s still a suspect. If we focus on one person, we could get tunnel vision and miss other clues.”

  “Do you think anyone could commit murder?” Liz asked.

  “Definitely,” DeWayne said.

  Paul said, “I wanted to kill you guys sometimes.”

  “But you never did,” Liz pointed out.

  “He was afraid of Mom’s belt,” I said.

  “You didn’t get spanked nearly often enough,” Liz complained. “You were a very naughty boy.”

  And that got us started on all kinds of memories.

  Right about then, the phone rang. I fished my cordless from my pocket. “Hello.”

  “Hi, Vicki. This is Jennifer.”

  “Are you in serious labor? I’ll get Paul.”

  Jennifer laughed. “I wish. Calm down, Vicki.”

  “Okay. I’m calm. So… how are you doing?”

  “Well, let’s see.” She paused and chuckled. “I’m huge as an elephant. My feet and ankles feel swollen, and I say feel because I couldn’t see them if I tried. I am so ready.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re in that last month. The one God put there so that otherwise sane women who have already been through delivery say crazy things like, ‘I want to go into labor’.”

  “That’s for sure. Though I’m living the good life. My mom’s taking care of the kids while I lie around reading romance novels, eating bonbons, and gestating.”

  “Sure you are.”

  “Well, I am reading romance novels.”

  “Any by Bonnie McCall, BJ Killian, or Alexis Cordova?”

  “Alexis is there? She’s my favorite.”

  That got us started for another five minutes, and I promised to ask Alexis to autograph a book for Jennifer. “And I’m sure she’ll do it because she’ll feel so sorry hearing about a woman being pregnant for like twelve months.”

  “Sure feels like it.” She chuckled again. “Is the reason for all my aches and pains there? My contractions are starting.”

  “Oh, my gosh. I knew it! Why did you let me rattle on?”

  “Don’t worry. This is probably another false alarm.”

  “Paul!” I turned to him. “Get home. Now.”

  And he did just that, leaving the rest of us to reminisce without him. We talked until nearly eleven.

  As we stood, DeWayne took both Liz and me by the arm, walked us to the stairs, and reminded us to lock our doors.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Paul is back. Jennifer did not have the baby. But he did bring someone with him.” Liz danced into the kitchen with a mischievous look, and said dramatically, “Caught a fish.”

  I turned from the window, where I was watching the play of brilliant Sunday morning light on the snow. It had been a while since I’d heard that particular phrase. It meant she was talking with someone who mistook her for me— and she let him believe it. It used to be one of our favorite games in high school. A grin spread across my face. “Where?”

  “In your parlor. A very handsome fish.” She grinned. “I asked him to excuse me for a moment.” She removed her white sweater. “Here, put this on.”

  I shrugged into it and went to see who was waiting for me to “return.” Two steps into the parlor and I was fuming. “You!”

  It was David Weston, the infidel reporter who leaked the story of the murder to the press. I’d have stomped on his sandaled toes except this morning, he wore hiking boots. I narrowed my eyes. “What are you doing here?”

  He cocked his head and smiled slightly. “It’s good to see you again, too, Ms. Ross.”

  “Mrs. Butler to you,” I said.

  His eyebrow raised. “Oh, I thought since you didn’t wear a ring, you weren’t married.” He pointed to my left hand.

  What an infuriating man. When I spoke, my voice came out like cracked ice. “My husband died in a car crash eleven months ago. And I lost my ring yesterday.” Not that it was any of his business.

  “Oh, I am sorry to hear that.” His eyes were gentle and caring, and that made me mad all over again.

  “That’s old news and old news won’t sell many newspapers.”

  “You’re upset because I wrote the story about the murder?”

  “Did you want an update for the bigger papers?”

  “I got a call from your brother. He said you could use some help.” He smiled again. “I’ve come to offer my skills.”

  Jennifer wouldn’t have to worry about shooting Paul. I’d do it for her. “I don’t need a newspaperman, but thanks anyway.”

  “Before I settled on journalism, I trained as a chef.”

  I could feel my lips scrunching up in what I knew was an unattractive way, but I didn’t care. “Prove it.”

  “You know, your twin is much more hospitable than you are.”

  Surprised, I stared at him. “My twin?”

  “The lady who answered the door. Surely, you’ve met her.”

  I crossed my arms. “People can’t tell us apart.”

  He shrugged his very broad shoulders. “She’s not wearing a wedding ring, either, but the white line on her finger is wider than the one on yours. Besides, you made it pretty obvious when you came in and said, ‘You!’ don’t you think?”

  Now I cocked my head. “She always wears her ring. She adores it. Gene designed it himself.”

  “I’m only reporting what I saw.”

  I was going to prove him wrong. “Wait here,” I said, returning to the kitchen. I planned to personally drag her “caught-a-fish” tush from the kitchen into the parlor and shove her ring up his nose.

  Except when I got to the kitchen and held up Liz’s hand, there was no ring. “He’s right. Did you lose your ring, too?”

  “Not exactly. It’s a long story.”

  “All right,” I said. “I’ll be back soon. And I’d like to hear a really good long story about why you’re not wearing your wedding ring and he noticed before I did.”

  “Better worry about whether David can cook first.”

  Even if he could, I didn’t want him here. And I did not want to go back into the parlor; but when I did, I went in with a perky smile. I’d show him. I could be as nice as Liz. Nicer. Much nicer. After all, everyone always told us how nice I was. Too nice, if the truth were known. While Liz went around breaking hearts, I went around picking up the pieces. You can’t get much nicer than that. “Okay, Mr. Weston. Can you really cook?”

  To his credit, he didn’t say I told you so. He didn’t even mention Liz or her missing ring. He smiled at me, but it was a nice smile, not like he was laughing at me. He picked up a bag from the table and I couldn’t help seeing how his biceps bunched up. He was obviously a weight room kind of guy. “Paul said you were kind of desperate and asked if I’d do this as a favor.”

  “I don’t know how much business you’ve lost for me already. How can I trust you now?”

  “Paul trusts me. Besides, I brought samples.”

  “You brought samples? On snowmobiles?”

  He smiled broadly and pulled out a bag from his backpack. “The best freshly baked rolls you’ve ever tasted.”

  He pulled one out, unwrapped
the foil, and handed the roll to me. Unbelievably, it was still warm.

  Reluctantly, I took a bite. Darn it, he was right— it was the best roll ever. You know that saying? Melt in your mouth? I shrugged and lied, “So-so.”

  “All right,” he said as he put his samples back in the bag. “I won’t take up anymore of your valuable time.”

  I smiled in earnest now. “Perhaps more than so-so.”

  He stopped and looked into my eyes. “How much more?”

  “Okay, okay, it was great,” I admitted. I didn’t know whether to hug him for being such a good and willing cook, or bonk him on the head for being an obnoxious reporter. “I do need someone to cook, but I can’t afford to have any negative publicity about the Inn right now. I’m just getting started. You write another story about the murder, and you might as well shoot me in the head.”

  “Wouldn’t want to do that to such a pretty head,” he said. “What do you think we ought to do?”

  “You have to promise you won’t write any more stories about the investigation.”

  “I can’t make a promise I can’t keep.”

  “Will you at least wait until after the murderer is definitely found?”

  He thought for a moment. “Yes. I can do that.”

  “And do you think you could write something favorable about the Inn this time?”

  He smiled. “I’m sure I can. It’s a delightful place.”

  I took a big breath and a bigger chance. “Okay.”

  * * *

  After introducing David to my ringless twin, I would have stayed and kept an eye on him in the kitchen, except it was time for BJ to visit Kevin. Liz and I found him lying on the Mike Hammer bed, under the care of Dr. Ray, who had taken up his station again in one of three chairs. I wondered how Grandma was faring with this trial separation.

  Deputy Shannon and Lt. Josephson sat in the other two chairs, closer to the door, and the three were playing a game of cards. Gin, apparently, for as we walked in Dr. Ray laid his entire hand down and announced “Gin!”

  Deputy Shannon said, “Hi, y’all,” in her honey-warm drawl.

  Kevin had dark bags under his closed eyes. The quilt was pulled up tight under his chin. His black five o’clock shadow and long eyelashes stood out dark against his face.

  BJ took a few steps into the room, looked to see if we were following, and turned back to her husband. “Kevin?”

  When he opened his eyes and saw BJ, his face lit up. “Baby, you came!” He tried to sit up, but started coughing.

  “Is he contagious?” I whispered, concerned for BJ.

  Deputy Shannon shook her head. “Good heavens, no. Would I be sitting here if this man was contagious?”

  “Probably,” I whispered back as I smiled at her.

  BJ’s face softened as she crossed to the bed and took his hand in hers. “How are you, Kevin? You’re not looking so good.”

  Liz and I stood back against the wall. Paul stepped closer to the bed, beside BJ.

  “I feel fine, now you’re here. Oh, baby, Cece really misses you. So do I. Won’t you come back home with us?”

  She was silent for a moment as she glanced back at us. I smiled at her and nodded. You can do this.

  She turned back to her husband. “Maybe you won’t be going home, Kevin. What if they arrest you?”

  “I didn’t kill him, baby. You know I didn’t do that.”

  “I know. But it sure looks like you did. Can you tell us anything that might help the police find the murderer?”

  He shook his head and winced at the movement. “I didn’t even know he was dead until yesterday when I got back inside.”

  “Come on, Kevin, you need to be totally honest with these people.” She switched subjects. “Did you cut the phone lines?”

  “I didn’t want the police up here until after I could talk with you, baby.”

  Paul’s and my instincts were right. He lied.

  Kevin looked at me and Liz, and back again. That must have been the first time he noticed us together. He blinked his eyes as though to cure the double vision. “I’m sorry for all the trouble I caused, ma’am. Ma’ams.”

  Then he turned back to BJ, eyes huge as a Disney cartoon animal in his pale face. She switched subjects again. “What did you do with the knife after you cut the wires?”

  “I told that policeman. I tried to get in the house through a window, but some horrible-looking woman startled me and I lost my balance and fell off the roof. That’s when I hurt my ankle. And I couldn’t find my knife after that.”

  “That story really sucks.” BJ shook her head.

  “It’s true, baby.” He smiled up at her, happiness on his face just to be in her glorious presence.

  BJ had one hand on the side of the bed, and was twirling Calabria’s large ring on her finger, keeping it out of Kevin’s sight. I didn’t want to be reminded of wedding rings, but the pain hit again. I rubbed my empty ring finger, aching for the ring I lost. And the husband who gave it to me.

  Everything Kevin said seemed to be an attempt to get BJ to come home. He wanted her back, regardless that she left him and his daughter without a word. Regardless that she was engaged to someone else, or living with someone else. How pathetic. Though I understood the ache to have someone back in your life.

  Regardless of the chance that he’d be in jail soon. Poor Cece. Soon, she’d have no one at all.

  I was wrong. It was obvious this man had not seen BJ in awhile, much less passed her a knife.

  Liz poked me in the ribs and motioned me out into the hall. Quietly, she said, “I couldn’t stand anymore adoration. And what I wouldn’t give for eyelashes like his.”

  Paul followed us out. Liz asked, “What happens to him now?”

  “The only fingerprints on the murder weapon are smudged, but they belong to Kevin. We’re taking him to town for questioning.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Paul, you can’t take him out of his deathbed to snowmobile down the mountain.” Liz put her hands on her hips. “It’s not right.”

  “He’ll be in the heated cab of the Snowcat, which is on its way back up the mountain, and Dr. Ray says his condition is stable. He looks worse than he is. We’ll have him checked into the hospital in Park City within the hour.”

  A wave of relief swept over me. “So we can go back to normal life.”

  Paul raised a finger of warning. “Still be careful. I’m leaving DeWayne here to make sure you’re really safe.”

  “Did he request that duty?” Liz asked with a strange look on her face. “Or did you assign it?”

  “He asked to stay.” He shot Liz a meaningful look. “For some reason, he wants to make sure you’re safe.”

  Liz looked troubled over that news.

  Paul went back into the bedroom. Liz and I stayed in the hall. We agreed Kevin wasn’t going to say anything more except a variation on “Baby, come home.” His sole confession was he loved BJ and wanted her back. Or was it Bobbi Jo he wanted?

  “She’ll cave,” Liz said. “Kevin and his long, black lashes are going to win her right back into his double-wide trailer.”

  I wondered. “We’ll see.”

  * * *

  I watched David— without being too obvious, I hoped— as he proved he was indeed very much at home in a kitchen. More at home than I’d ever been.

  “Since Grandma doesn’t know about you, I’m wondering how to tell her another cook is here.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” David said. “Paul said he was going to take care of it. He mentioned she would probably be delighted, as she’s busy with a new project of some sort.”

  Dr. Ray, no doubt, was her new project. Liz and I smiled at each other.

  I handed back Liz’s sweater and she tossed it over her arm and said, “I’ll be back,” leaving me with David, just as Lonny came in. His wide grin faded as he caught sight of David. He motioned me over and asked, in a low voice, “Why’s he here?”

  “Paul arranged for him to cook here
for the next week.”

  Lonny looked at David like he didn’t trust him at all. “I brought you a bunch of books.” He dropped his stuffed backpack on the counter and pulled books out. Books by Garrett Long, Nicholas Ray, Alexis Cordova, Bonnie McCall, and BJ Killian.

  “Lonny,” I said, “Where did you get all these?”

  “I told Felicia it was an emergency and she let me in. They’re for your collection.” Felicia Wanstrup was the owner of the high-end used bookstore, Bookwyrm.

  I threw my arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. “That is the sweetest, most thoughtful thing ever. Thank you.”

  The resulting grin glowed. “It was my pleasure.”

  I thought everyone in the room was happy at this moment, until I glanced at David. A frown rested on his face. As soon as he caught my eye, he turned his attention back to the food.

  Was I imagining things? Or did I have two very attractive men interested in me?

  * * *

  It was Bonnie’s fault we were building snowmen in the backyard an hour later. Liz and I worked on one snowman, Garrett and Alexis on another, Bonnie and BJ on a third. I was glad BJ decided to join us. A good sign, I thought.

  Bonnie called out, “Hey, Vicki, have you named this backyard garden yet? You know, one of your funky, mystery-type names?”

  I shook my head. “Hadn’t thought about it.”

  Bonnie grinned again. “How about calling it Scotland Yard?”

  “I love it,” I said, thrilled.

  “So do I,” Liz said.

  Garrett lobbed a snowball at Bonnie. “What do you call that?”

  “A snowball fight,” she called back, grabbing more snow.

  So here we were in the backyard— pardon me, Scotland Yard— having a snowball fight. It was good packing snow, full of moisture. And everyone was laughing. Must be the relief of having the murderer caught and soon to be gone.

  There was three feet of snow on the ground, but the storm finally died out. Give the snowplows a good four or five hours and the roads ought to have been clear and salted all the way to Salt Lake City.

  At some point, I got winded, and brushed the snow off a bench so I could sit. Bonnie dodged a snowball and ended up at my side. “Mind if I join you?”