Heather Horrocks - Who-Dun-Him Inn 02 - Inn the Doghouse

by Heather Horrocks

  “He seemed like he wanted to get back together with Liz,” I said. “Like he really meant it. He must have been utterly heartbroken to do something like this.”

  Heartbroken enough to kill himself? But Gene taking his own life just didn’t make sense. He had the pregnant girl he told to take care of his baby. Alternatively, he was trying to get back together with Liz. He had a successful business that he loved. Nothing made sense.

  But I’d already learned when Robert got hit by a drunk driver that death before its time wasn’t supposed to make sense. It just happened; and we survivors just had to deal with it.

  ~ ~ ~

  It took forever before Paul could finally walk me to my car. I started to unlock my Jeep, but he put a hand on the door and shook his head. “There’s no way I’ll let you drive in your state of mind. I’ll take you home.” He looked back in the direction of the body and his mouth tightened grimly. “I have to tell Liz, anyway.”

  Even though normally, I would have brushed him off, I was shaky enough that I just climbed into his police car, feeling relieved.

  We rode in silence through the outskirts of Silver City where the old cemetery was, and up the windy, narrow road that hugged the mountainside. Halfway home, I said, “How can you tell her something like this?”

  “It’s going to be hard.”

  I put my hand on his arm. “I know. Do you want me there with you?”

  He shook his head. “No. This is my job. I’ll do it.”

  Relieved and a little embarrassed at having him do it alone, I sat back in the seat.

  When we reached the Inn, he searched for Liz in our basement family quarters.

  As I crossed the large, fancy foyer of the Who-Dun-Him Inn, I smelled something delicious cooking. David must have been here again, but he wasn’t fixing food for the guests. This was a bed-and-breakfast, not a bed-and-dinner, except on the weekends during the murder mysteries. We usually had two mystery weekends a month, depending on how busy the season was. And early November was a very busy season in the ski country of the state with the “greatest snow on earth.” Or so our license plates still proclaimed.

  With the Inn being just a short jaunt from Snow Haven, a swanky ski resort, we were becoming a popular winter sport destination.

  I sat down at the check-in counter, my hands still trembling.

  My guests from Denmark, a couple and their two preteen children, all blondes, red-cheeked and sturdy looking, came out of the Mayor’s Parlor, now Sherlock Holmes’s study, and headed toward me.

  I forced myself to chat with the parents normally. When she spoke, she had a light Danish accent, “I love our Charlie Chan room. The pictures of all fourteen of his sons are great. And that secret loft! Wherever did you get such a great idea for the detective rooms?”

  “I love murder mysteries.” Thinking of Gene’s body, I added, “Reading them, I mean.”

  “I just love the idea of detective rooms. What other cool decorations do you have?”

  Glad for something to distract my brain from the horror I left behind, I said, “The Columbo room has his 1959 Peugeot convertible, Model 403, made into a bed. There’s a Navajo hogan in the Lt. Joe Leaphorn room. And the Southern Sisters Suite has everything in doubles, with one large and bright, and the other smaller and muted, just like Mouse and Sister.”

  “Well, I just love it. How long have you been open? This looks like a really old building.”

  “The Ross Mansion has been in my family for over a hundred years, ever since my great-great-whatever Grandfather Ross built it for his wife. Wives.” He had three and another one who couldn’t handle the lifestyle; I didn’t blame her. “It’s only been open as the Who-Dun-Him Inn for a month, but the detective rooms are very popular. We have a low vacancy rate.” This week alone, ten of our twelve finished rooms were filled.

  I was rambling again, acutely aware of my brother downstairs with my sister, telling her that her husband had evidently shot his own face off.

  “Are these old portraits of your family?”

  “Yes. Wives, children, and grandchildren. We put name plaques on each of the frames—all but one. We’re not sure who that woman is, but we figure she’s related somehow.”

  When the couple told me good night and headed up to their room, I wandered into the kitchen.

  David turned from the stove. He looked really cute in his Don’t Expect Miracles apron. Especially since culinary miracles were David’s specialty.

  I said, “Why are you here today? I didn’t expect you until Friday’s mystery.”

  As soon as he saw me, he stopped stirring whatever was in the large wok and turned off the heat. “I heard a rumor that you might need some comfort food tonight.”

  I nodded. “It’s been a horrible day.”

  “Does Liz know yet?” David asked.

  “Paul is telling her right now. How do you find out all these things?”

  “I told you. I have reliable sources.”

  David pulled out a chair for me at the kitchen table. “Your hot cocoa awaits.”

  At his thoughtfulness, I began blinking back tears.

  He pretended to misunderstand. “You don’t like Stephen’s? We have other brands.”

  “It’s not that,” I said.

  “I know.” He took my hand and sat in the chair beside me.

  The front door chime sounded and a moment later, Zach shot into the kitchen. “Hi, Mom. Hi, David.” I pulled him into a big hug. When he wiggled free, he said, “Hey, Mom, can I watch a movie?”

  Downstairs? With Paul spilling the horrible news to Liz? Not a good idea. “Why don’t you stay up here for a little while, squirt? Maybe we can talk about the father/son campout.”

  Zach frowned. “I don’t want to go. How come I can’t go on Germy’s Scout campout instead?”

  I looked at my seven-year-old son and ached for the father he didn’t have to take him. “Brother Unger offered to go with you.” He was our home teacher and intended to drive all the way back from St. George for the event. He was also old enough to be Zach’s grandfather or great-grandfather.

  Zach scowled. “I don’t want to go with him. He doesn’t do anything fun. And he has too many rules.”

  I struggled to think about Zach’s dilemma, trying to push aside my worry about Paul and Liz. “Maybe we can find someone else to take you. Maybe Paul would.”

  David put a lid on the pot and shrugged. “I’ll take you, Zach. If you want to go with me.”

  “Really?” Zach’s face lit up. “That’d be great.”

  “David, you’re already doing too much here. I’m keeping you from your reporter’s job.”

  He shrugged again. “I’m kind of on sabbatical. Taking a rest from my former hectic pace.”

  “You work for the Silver City Sentinel.”

  “Not enough to worry about. I’ll get my work covered. Not a problem.”

  “Still…”

  “I’m an Eagle Scout, you know. I can even light a fire with two sticks.”

  “Wow,” Zach said, his eyes wide with awe. “Really?”

  “Big deal. So can I,” I said. “As long as one of them is a matchstick.”

  My feeble attempt at humor got Zach laughing.

  “I can help him with rank advancements, too.” He chuckled. “And we can work on more than just the cooking merit badge when he gets to Scouts.”

  That sounded long-term and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. “Let me think about it.”

  He nodded. “Sure thing.”

  Paul came in, his brow furrowed. “She’s—” When he saw Zach, he stopped.

  I turned to David. “Maybe you could talk to Zach right now about the campout?”

  “Sure.” He took the excited seven-year-old boy over to the kitchen table and pulled out a small notepad and pen. “Okay, buddy. Let’s decide what stuff you already have and what I’ll need to bring of mine.”

  Paul and I went into the lobby.

  “How is she?” I asked.r />
  “She ran to the bathroom,” Paul said, running his fingers roughly through his hair, obviously shaken. “The news actually made her physically sick.”

  I shook my head, aching for my sister.

  “She’s asking for you, Vicki.”

  Liz and I hadn’t cried together for a long time. But when I reached her bedroom, she fell into my arms, and we sobbed without restraint over Gene’s death. Knowing about her conflicted feelings toward him only made it worse.

  And I was so glad, after we finally splashed water on our faces and went upstairs, that David had comfort food waiting for us: homemade chicken noodle soup and homemade rolls. Food doesn’t get any more comforting than that.

  ~ ~ ~

  The doorbell rang less than an hour later, just about the time I began serving our specialty chocolate chip cookies in the parlor. Most of our guests were still at Snow Haven Ski Resort, so chatting with them didn’t take long. David left for home. Zach was taking his bath. I was exhausted and couldn’t wait to fall into bed.

  When the front door opened again, I glanced over and saw it was Gene’s business partner, Lamont Williams.

  “Liz?” he asked, mistaking me for my sister.

  “I’m her sister. Vicki.” I met him in the lobby.

  “I’m sorry to intrude, but the police just called me with the news. I drove right over.” He took a breath, to calm himself I supposed, for he seemed quite upset. “What will Liz do now?”

  I led him into the library, and closed the door behind us, after checking to make sure no one was in the arboretum. It was separated by only an open arch on the other side. We were alone so we could talk. I didn’t want my guests to hear any of it.

  Still shaken, he sank into one of the comfy antique armchairs scattered among the bookcases. “May I speak with Liz? I would like to offer my condolences.”

  “She’s not feeling well and is currently lying down.”

  He grew quiet, stared at a bookcase, and shook his head. “They were having problems, you know. I just don’t want her to think it was her fault in any way that Gene shot himself. I can’t believe he would, though. What could he have been thinking?”

  He didn’t seem to notice that I wasn’t replying and he continued. “We’re cousins and have been friends our whole life. We even roomed together at college.”

  I’d already heard most of the story through Liz. Lamont and Gene were both older than Liz and me, by about five years. Gene was thirty-four and very brainy.

  His exquisite brains were now splattered all over the cemetery.

  I swallowed to keep from being sick. “Lamont, I don’t think Liz is up to talking right now. But I’ll be sure to call you when she’s awake if you’ll give me your number.”

  He stood, pulled out a business card, and handed it to me. “Thanks. I just didn’t know what to do, or whom to contact. My wife is out of town or she would have come with me. She and Liz always got along very well. Mary Anne would know exactly what to say to her.”

  I, however, figured Mary Anne would be at a loss, too, dealing with a woman who couldn’t stop crying. But it truly was the thought that counted sometimes. “I appreciate your coming by and voicing your concern for my sister. Can I get you anything? Some hot cocoa? Water? Cookies?”

  “I don’t drink spirits, but it’s times like these that make me wish I could have a good stiff drink.”

  “Don’t say that.” I touched his forearm briefly in comfort. “That’s how my husband died.”

  “From a good stiff drink?”

  “Several, poured into the drunk driver who ran into him.”

  He sighed. “Sorry for coming here like this. I know I’m too upset to be socializing, but I just wanted to let Liz know it’s not her fault. I’ll go now.” He motioned to the business card I was still holding. “Please call me and let me know how she is. My wife and I are very concerned.”

  I pocketed his card and promised: “I will.”

  He gave me a quick hug. “You look kind of pale, too.”

  “I found the body.”

  His eyes opened wide. “That must have been horrible.”

  “It was.”

  I walked him to the front door, watching him through the stained glass window in the main doors as he walked down the steps toward his car. Then I glanced at his card. Mountain Edge Real Estate. Lamont Williams, Vice President. Salt Lake City Office. When they’d separated offices, Gene had kept their original business name, Mountain Home Real Estate, and Lamont had changed his.

  He paused as though he forgot something and turned back. “I’m glad you’re here for your sister. She’s going to need support. Especially when the police begin asking questions. Don’t let her talk to them without having an attorney present.”

  The blood drained from my head and I felt dizzy. “An attorney? During police questioning? That sounds ominous. But he committed suicide.”

  “Just remind her to be careful.”

  “I will.” I dropped the card onto my desk. “She is an attorney, so she can handle it.”

  “And please tell her that I will gladly step into Gene’s office until we can get people hired to handle it for Liz. Tell her not to worry about the business. At least I can take that worry off her mind.”

  “Thank you,” I said, and closed the door after him.

  I still couldn’t collapse. Now, I had to go downstairs and see how Liz was doing.

  ~ ~ ~

  I wasn’t surprised that DeWayne showed up next, only that he took so long. It was eight o’clock and dark outside when he arrived.

  Dear, sweet DeWayne, here to rescue Liz. I just wished my sister could have seen what a good man he was. Crystal Maynard certainly could.

  Zach raced from the kitchen and through the foyer. “Hi, DeWayne. Hey, Mom, David and I have almost decided what kind of dog I want.”

  “Oh, you have, have you?” I wasn’t sure I liked having Zach make decisions about a dog with anyone besides me, even handsome David. Perhaps it was time to warn David to slow things down, although I did just agree to let him take Zach on a campout, so maybe part of this was my doing.

  DeWayne cocked an eyebrow at me. “Really?”

  I ignored him.

  “Yeah. A border collie or a wrinkled dog.” Zach stopped running and waved his hands around in excitement. “What kind of dogs do you like, DeWayne?”

  “My favorite dog was a cute, little white poodle with pink bows.”

  “You’re weird, DeWayne.”

  “You have no idea.” The policeman chuckled at my son. “Actually, my best dog ever was Shep, and he was just a mutt.”

  Zach raced over to the door leading down to our family quarters and called out what DeWayne taught him last year. “See you later, alligator.”

  DeWayne called back, “In a while, crocodile.”

  We watched Zach disappear downstairs before DeWayne turned back to me. “How’s Liz doing?”

  “She’s pretty hammered.”

  “She’d already left him,” he pointed out, as if that meant she shouldn’t care that he died horribly.

  “Yes, but all that does is add to the guilt factor,” I said calmly. I echoed some of Liz’s worries earlier. “She keeps wondering if she hadn’t left, would he still be alive?”

  “I guess,” he said, looking over at the door Zach had just vanished through. “Can I talk with her?”

  I hesitated. “I’m not sure, DeWayne.”

  The door opened and Liz came out, walking toward us. She was still pale. “I need some human interaction and Zach told me you were here.”

  Concern splashed over DeWayne’s face. I could almost read the quandary in his eyes. Should he touch her, like he wanted? Or wait?

  He chose to stretch out a hand, and Liz took it. “Thanks for coming, DeWayne. You’re very thoughtful.”

  He stepped closer and looked down on her, with a protective gaze. “I just thought you shouldn’t be alone right now.”

  Some of my guests arrived laugh
ing through the Inn’s front door upon returning from the ski slopes. They immediately headed toward the parlor for cookies.

  Liz allowed herself to be pulled into DeWayne’s side as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

  “Let’s go into the kitchen,” I said, leading the way.

  I pulled out the dessert David fixed—a lovely peach cobbler—and dished it up before I sat on the other side of Liz.

  “When should I have the funeral?” Liz asked, sounding lost. “When will the body be released?”

  “I’m not sure,” DeWayne answered. “Not for a few days, anyway. But you can make all the other arrangements: buy the casket, discuss the details, and those types of things, right now.”

  Liz straightened her shoulders. “I guess I should go to the mortuary then, right?”

  DeWayne said, “I’ll go with you if you like.”

  She looked up at him, her expression uncharacteristically vulnerable. “I’d appreciate that. Can you go tomorrow morning? I’d like to get it over with as soon as possible.”

  He nodded. “I’ll tell Paul I need the morning off.”

  I figured this would be a good time to leave the knight in shining armor and the damsel in distress alone, so I headed downstairs to find my son. I needed to tell him about his uncle before he found out from someone else.

  He was in the great room, playing with his Legos, building some sort of Star Wars ship. “Hi, Mom.”

  “Hi, squirt.” I sat on the floor beside him and reached out for a few loose pieces, turning them over and putting them together in weird ways.

  Zach eyed them critically. “Let me show you how to do it right.”

  “Okay.” I smiled at him.

  After a minute, he handed the pieces back to me. “There.”

  “Zach, I have to tell you something. Something sad.”

  He looked up at me, his innocent eyes wide. “What?”

  “Something has happened to your Uncle Gene.” Feeling unsure as to what to say next, I stopped.

  “What happened?” He sounded distressed.

  I pulled him into my arms and he leaned against me, probably sensing that it was something bad. “Uncle Gene died today.”