Murder at the Mansion

by Janet Finsilver

  “Fred is, too. He was trained to detect cancer.”

  “Wow! I’ve heard about that,” Stevie said. “They have a lot in common. Maybe that’s why they’re getting along so well.”

  Tommy looked at his mother. “Allie and I are going to start our homework now.”

  “Good idea. There’s fresh lemonade in our refrigerator.”

  Tommy and Helen lived in a small cottage behind the B & B. He and Allie raced each other, with Fred close behind. It wasn’t much of a match with Allie’s long legs.

  “Is it okay to pet your dogs?” I asked Stevie.

  “Sure. They love all the attention they can get.”

  I knelt down next to them and rubbed their ears, one hand for Jack, the other for Jill.

  Stevie turned to Daniel. “I’ll check Helen’s cottage tomorrow. I should be done by late morning, and then I can start on Redwood Heights.”

  “Great. I’ll meet you here, and we can go over together.”

  “Sounds like a plan, man.”

  I stood. “Your dogs are sure cuties.”

  “Thanks. They’re my kids. I love them. And they’re good at what they do.” Stevie led the beagles off to the garage.

  Daniel moved toward the trailer. “Kelly, do you want help unpacking?”

  “No, thanks. I’m just going to take in the basics I used at the hotels on the drive here for now.”

  Helen started back to the inn. “I need to finish the appetizers for tonight.”

  “Why don’t I pick you both up in an hour?” Daniel asked.

  Helen and I agreed that worked for us.

  Looking around, I decided the best place to leave the trailer was next to the garage. I closed the horse trailer, drove it closer to the building, and parked. I unhitched it and took the Jeep back to the parking lot. I grabbed my backpack and black duffel bag from the backseat and went into the inn through the back door. I entered the large multipurpose room.

  The kitchen area lined one wall, with a counter separating it from the main room. It worked as both a place to eat and a food preparation area. A granite island with stools to accommodate six people stood next to the counter. A large oak table supplied a place to sort papers, lay out numerous contracts, and provided an alternate eating site. A television, overstuffed chairs, and beanbags that could be pulled out for additional seating were off in one corner for leisure moments.

  It was the main room for the inn’s staff activities. The person who designed it had functionality and quality in mind. It was a room you walked into and felt surrounded by comfort. I loved it.

  “Your place is open,” Helen called out as she grabbed trays of stuffed mushrooms from the refrigerator.

  “Thanks.” My place. My wonderful, incredible place.

  Once again my heart raced faster. This time my feet picked up their pace as well.

  The Oriental runner covering the dark wood floor muffled my steps as I walked down the hallway. Ahead, I saw the door to my rooms. I paused a moment, then opened it.

  As I stepped in, I thanked the architect who created the work of art that brought light and nature together in such a spectacular way. Walls of glass framed the rugged coastline. Churning waves, craggy rocks, and a jagged beach stretched out ahead of me. The inn’s lush gardens enclosed the room on one side. The flowers created a riot of color and looked like a painting. Little brown birds—LBBs, as my birder friend called them—landed on a feeder in the yard, so close I could see the distinctive differences in their feather patterns.

  I put my bags on the bench seat next to the wall and went into the miniature kitchen. It was as I remembered. Everything sized for a small unit, except for the large, professional coffeemaker, an important piece of equipment in my boss’s life. I put the makings together for an espresso and started it up. I peeked in the bedroom and was surprised to see a new comforter set. Swirls of green and blue made it one with the view from the front room.

  I pulled a small, buttery-soft leather pouch from my fleece pocket and traced the multicolored beads sewn in a V-shape on the front of it with my finger. I opened it and dropped its contents onto my palm. A miniature black raven looked up at me with its bright blue eye. I studied the meticulously carved, artfully sculpted wings and the lines of the feathers.

  Grandpa had asked me to pick a Zuni fetish from his collection to accompany me on this new path in my life. It had been a difficult decision. Native American lore attributed different meanings to many animals. The badger had the ability to help reach a desired goal. I was excited about my new job and wanted this to be my career, so I was tempted to choose an amber one from the assortment. But I felt pulled to the raven, believed to give its keeper courage to work through problems and face personal fears. In the end I had settled on the black bird.

  I put him on the table next to the bench seat, then curled up on the soft cushions and sipped the coffee. Daniel would be back soon, but I wanted a moment to soak this all in. It was a new beginning with wonderful friends already a part of it. Still hard to believe. I felt so lucky.

  Looking at my watch, I saw it was time to move. I unpacked the heavy company fleece and the lightweight nylon jacket Corrigan had sent with the cardholder. They had REDWOOD COVE BED-AND-BREAKFAST embossed underneath RESORTS INTERNATIONAL. A glance outside showed fog beginning to swirl in. I chose the fleece.

  I joined Helen in the main room.

  “Ready to go?” Helen asked.

  “Sure. What can I help you with?” Two boxes were on the counter, containing stacks of plastic-wrapped trays full of appetizers.

  Through the back door window, I saw Daniel’s bus roll into the backyard.

  Helen pointed to a box. “Grab that one.”

  I could almost hear my red hair beginning to curl in the foggy air as I walked outside. I got in the middle bench seat and placed the hors d’oeuvres on my lap.

  Redwood Heights was only a short distance from the Redwood Cove Bed-and-Breakfast. A block from the inn, we took a left turn down a hill and went around a corner, and there it was.

  I gasped. The building sat nestled among giant redwoods. It was two stories with row after row of windows interspersed with French doors leading to balconies protected by black wrought-iron railings. A master craftsman had twisted them into intricate twirls and patterns, same as the ones encircling the top of the building. The mansion reminded me of a majestic English queen, the towering trees her staff-in-waiting, her billowing skirts the outcropping of buildings spreading to either side, her crown the widow’s walk on top.

  This answered one question—what Daniel and Helen had meant when they said this property was different. It definitely wasn’t like any other Resorts International properties I knew. The ones I’d experienced and the ones I’d read about had a more casual air to them.

  We pulled into the back and unloaded. Helen busied herself in the kitchen, heating the appetizers.

  “I get them ready, then the staff minds them and adds as necessary to the hot trays in the parlor,” she explained.

  “The guest area is this way.” Daniel pointed to a hallway.

  We walked into a room filled with guests and over to the sideboard holding the evening’s offerings.

  Large crystal chandeliers lit the room. Tables were covered with white brocade tablecloths. A stack of fine china plates sat next to an array of artisan cheeses and several wine choices.

  I looked around the room. Lustrous pearls rested on cashmere sweaters. The diamond on one woman’s hand competed in size with the crystal finial hanging from the center of the chandelier. The gentle orchestral strains of “Moon River” accompanied the conversation in the room.

  These weren’t the fleece-and-denim Redwood Cove visitors I had gotten to know. I straightened my jacket and ran my hand through my fog-frizzed hair.

  A young woman offered some of Helen’s appetizers to a guest. As she reached for one, a shrill scream ripped through the room, shattering the tranquil moment.

  Chapter 3


  The room went quiet, except for the music. People began to stand. Daniel and I rushed across the room.

  “Please, everyone, remain seated,” I said. “Let us see what’s happened.”

  People sank back into their chairs.

  I flung open the parlor door. The registration area was off to my left. A steep, wide staircase dominated the area ahead of me. A woman lay sobbing at the bottom of it in a crumpled heap.

  I knelt beside her, and Daniel joined me. Tears had washed her artfully applied eyeliner down her cheeks, creating black rivulets through the powdered blush.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “I’m not sure,” she said in a tremulous voice. “Someone . . . someone pushed me.” She sat up and ran her fingers through her carefully coiffed blond hair, causing furrows in the heavily sprayed hairdo.

  Daniel and I scanned the open landing above and saw no one.

  “I’m Kelly Jackson, and this is Daniel Stevens. We work for Resorts International. Are you injured? Do we need to call a doctor?” I asked.

  The woman slowly extended her arms, flexed her fingers, and then stretched each leg. “I feel sore, but I don’t think anything is broken.”

  “I’m so glad to hear it,” I said.

  “I’m Sylvia Porter.” The woman’s voice quavered. She cast a frightened glance at the row of rooms above, then looked at us, her eyes wide with fear. “I could’ve been killed! You need to search and find who did it. They’re hiding up there.”

  Daniel and I looked at each other.

  Sylvia grabbed my arm. “Please, promise you’ll search . . . that you’ll find the person.” Her nails dug into my flesh.

  I put my hand on hers. “We’ll do our best.”

  Daniel nodded in agreement.

  A pair of very pointed black patent shoe tips appeared in my peripheral vision. I turned, and my gaze traveled up finely tailored women’s black slacks and over a suit jacket. The woman’s expression appeared more tolerant than concerned. Her short black hair completed the picture.

  “Mrs. Porter, what’s happened? Are you okay?” The woman bent over and patted Sylvia’s shoulder. “There, there, dear. It looks like you’ve slipped and had a nasty fall.”

  “I didn’t slip, Mrs. Hensley.” A belligerent tone crept into Sylvia’s voice. “I was pushed.”

  So this is the manager and the source of the exchanged looks between Helen and Daniel.

  Sylvia looked at Daniel and me. “You believe me, don’t you? I know the difference between slipping and being shoved.” She threw a defiant glance at the woman bending over her.

  “Do you think you can stand?” Daniel asked. “I’ll help you.”

  Sylvia grabbed the ends of the staircase railing. Daniel put his hand under her arm and helped her slowly to stand. The sobs reduced to sniffles.

  “Did you see who . . . pushed you?” the woman next to me asked.

  “No, Mrs. Hensley. If I had, I would’ve told you.” She glared at the manager.

  “I’ll let the guests know what’s happened,” Mrs. Hensley said, “and I’ll have Tina go upstairs with you and see that you’re comfortably settled in your room. She’ll be happy to prepare a tray for you from the parlor.”

  “That would be nice.” Sylvia took a tissue out of her pocket and dabbed under her eyes.

  “And I’d like to offer you a complimentary bottle of wine for your stay here.”

  Sylvia shot a quick glance at the manager. “Well, I really enjoyed the Oak Tree merlot we had yesterday afternoon.”

  “Of course, Mrs. Porter.” Hensley’s eyelids dropped a fraction and her eyes narrowed. “You have excellent taste. I’ll have it delivered to your room.”

  The manager disappeared into the parlor.

  Sylvia looked at Daniel and then me. “You said you were going to search. You’re going to do that, right?” Tears began to well up again.

  “Yes, we gave you our word. We’ll look,” I replied.

  Mrs. Hensley returned as Sylvia sagged against Daniel at our response. A young woman with short, brown curly hair came back with the manager.

  “Mrs. Porter,” the girl said, “I’m sorry you had a fall. Let me help.” She supported Sylvia on one side, and Daniel supported on the other, and the group started a slow ascent up the wide staircase and into the woman’s room.

  I turned to the woman in black and held out my hand. “Kelly Jackson, manager at Redwood Cove Bed-and-Breakfast.”

  “Margaret Hensley.” Her cold hand barely touched my palm.

  I looked at the row of rooms above us through the second-floor railing. I counted six. “I think Daniel and I can do the search pretty quickly.”

  “There’s no need. The woman tripped and fell. Plain and simple.”

  My shoulders tensed. “There is a need. We gave our word.”

  “It’ll be a complete waste of time.”

  “Keeping one’s word is never a waste of time.” The heat of a blush started, an angry one. My mental mirror reflected my red-and-white-splotched face.

  Our verbal swords were drawn and poised for battle.

  After a short pause that seemed like an eternity, she said, “Fine.” The word seemed to struggle to escape her clenched teeth. “Come with me.”

  She turned, and I followed. We entered a massive office with dark oak paneling. Hensley marched over to the wooden cupboard, pulled a key from her pocket, and opened it. Skeleton keys lined the back, each on a numbered peg. A large metal ring at the bottom held numerous keys.

  The manager grabbed it and turned to me, thrusting the keys in my direction. “You’ll find no one. The Porter woman has been a pain since the day she arrived. A first-class drama queen.”

  I took the keys. “Thank you.” I turned and left, determined to engage as little as possible with the angry manager.

  I met Daniel on the landing. “I think if we say we’re housekeeping, that will be the easiest way to announce ourselves to see if there’s a guest in the room.”

  “Good idea.”

  I knocked on the first door. “Housekeeping.” I waited a moment, knocked again, and said, “Housekeeping.”

  When no one answered, I inserted the room key. The large metal keys were heavy and cumbersome. It took some jiggling to make the lock turn. I opened the door, and Daniel searched the closet, while I looked under the bed and behind a large, high-backed chair in a corner.

  We didn’t find anyone and left the room. It took a bit of work to lock the door. The authenticity of the metal key was nice, but right now a more modern system would be nice. I went to the next room.

  “Daniel,” I said, as I struggled with another recalcitrant lock and key, “why don’t you search, and I’ll go unlock the next room. When you come out, I’ll lock it up. I think we can go faster that way.”

  “Sounds like a good plan.”

  With our new system, we made short work of the rest of the rooms.

  The heavy keys dangled from my fingers. “I’ll return these to Hensley.”

  “Okay. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

  The office door was open. I knocked on the frame and walked in.

  Hensley looked up from behind a large oak desk. “Did you find anyone?”

  “No.” I handed her the keys.

  “Like I said, a waste of time.” She put the keys in the cabinet and turned and looked at me. “Michael Corrigan informed me he assigned you to work here.”

  She didn’t lose a beat as she shifted the subject. No matter. I’d had horses change their gait on me like this, and I’d been able to stay on for the ride.

  “He asked me to do an inventory.” Not be your employee.

  Our eyes locked. Neither of us blinked. I was a champ at this. My brother James and I used to spar like this all the time.

  The phone rang, ending the silent standoff.

  Hensley answered it. “Of course, Mrs. Carter. I’d be happy to meet you and discuss dining options.” She put the phone down and stood. “The guests finish breakfas
t at about eight. I like to mingle with them.” The manager grabbed a leather-bound notebook off of her desk. “Will nine tomorrow work for you to begin?”

  For some reason it didn’t sound like she was asking. “Fine.”

  “Tomorrow then,” she said over her shoulder as she left.

  I took a deep breath as I walked down the hallway. Now I knew what the other look meant between Helen and Daniel when they’d mentioned her name.

  Daniel and the young woman from earlier stood next to the kitchen sink, talking. They stopped when I entered.

  “Kelly, I’d like you to meet Tina.”

  She gave a little wave. “Hi. Nice to meet you.”

  “Same here.”

  “Helen walked back to get dinner started for her and Tommy. The trays are in the van,” Tina said. She handed me a brochure. “This gives some of the history of Redwood Heights. I thought you might enjoy reading about it.”

  I took the pamphlet. “Thanks.”

  We took our leave. I sank back into the passenger seat, waves of tiredness threatening to drown me.

  “Quite the end to a full day,” Daniel said.

  “Yes, and there’s still the evening to go.” I had told my boss I would call.

  “Tina said all the guests were in the parlor when Mrs. Porter fell.”

  “Good to know. We did what we could. I doubt if we’ll ever really know what happened.”

  We unloaded after the short drive to the inn. Daniel got Allie from where she was doing homework with Tommy, and they headed home. I walked into the workroom and relished its warmth after the cool ocean air.

  Helen pulled a pan from the oven. “You must be exhausted.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “I remembered how much you liked the first dinner I made for you, so I prepared the same one again.”

  Two pieces of oven-baked chicken covered with fresh chopped herbs sat next to bright green broccoli with a light covering of Parmesan. A mixture of brown rice and sautéed mushrooms completed the dinner. I knew most, if not all of it, was organic—and it smelled wonderful.

  “Helen, that’s very thoughtful of you.” But not surprising, from what I knew about her. “I really appreciate it.”