Plaid and Fore! and Murder

by Patti Larsen

  I’d been trying to reach her for months, only getting an automated message before hearing from Malcolm Murray the poor woman had suffered a stroke. Could she have been trying to reach me? Was she recovered enough to call? When my attempt ended at yet another Irish voice telling me her mailbox was full, I hung up, heart in my throat.

  I’d call Malcolm in the morning and see if he knew anything. If she was trying to reach me, maybe it was a good sign. I would have loved to have something to tell her, though. My digging had met walls and, in all honesty, I’d been so busy I hadn’t done as much as I could have and knew it. Sure, Dad had years to investigate, so who said I could find out more than him, a trained professional, with just a few months to dig? My inner voice that told me I’d been a slacker and wasting time, that’s who.

  Now who was feeling guilty?

  ***

  Chapter Five

  The regular cycle of check-ins and check-outs never seemed to get easier, no matter how many mornings I faced behind the sideboard counter of Petunia’s foyer, a smile plastered on my face and staff hurrying behind me with food from the kitchen and Mom’s capable hands to the dining room while Daisy handled the annex and the phone rang and my text line blew up all while I did my best not to lose my mind and go completely psycho.

  The endless line of tourists passing through the door on the way to the street felt like a treadmill that then deposited brand new faces that blurred together with the old as my next set of guests arrived. No complaints, no complaints.

  No complaints, Fiona Fleming.

  As I waved to a nice seeming couple who mirrored every other nice-seeming couple who’d stayed at Petunia’s in the last three years while trying to maintain that sense of freshness that ensured the next set of smiling folks who landed in front of me got my very best.

  It wasn’t lost on me this used to be Daisy’s favorite part and she often would take over from me and let me schlep bags or help Mom. But the last six months or so—who was I kidding? Since Rose moved into Reading and used her evil powers on my bestie—she’d been much happier out of the limelight. Not like Daisy at all.

  If I could just find the time to breathe, I’d look for a solution. But even the two seconds I needed for a deep breath? Not always available.

  I nodded pleasantly—at least, I think I was being pleasant—at the couple who landed in front of me, their bags on rollers behind them, their matching jackets and ball caps sporting golf club motifs. Only then did I remember what weekend this was—the opening of the inaugural While Valley Lodge Golf Classic, right? Olivia had been hard at work to get this event off the ground for the last year or so, hadn’t she? She certainly wasn’t slowing her efforts or riding her laurels, though there were times I wished she’d just take a freaking vacation already.

  Grumpy, Fleming?

  I checked in the Florence’s, wished them a happy four days at the tournament and grit my teeth against my growing resentment. Honestly, my bottom line was benefiting so much from Olivia’s tourism promotions I had very little to complain about. Everyone in town ran on a financial high. I’d even managed to push us into the black with the annex, though it had only been completed and handed over to me last May. The fact I’d been able to pull together enough income to pay off the debt I’d incurred renovating the place in a single year? Testament to the power of Olivia Walker’s drive to keep the cutest town in America on the must-visit map.

  Still there was something to be said for moderation, right? And my tired, snarky humor the last few months? Well, honestly I would have gladly taken twenty years paying off the investment if it meant I could have a few days off in a row.

  Funny being careful what you wish for ran in the family.

  More golf fans piled into Petunia’s, Daisy showing briefly to guide guests to the annex. I looked up when the line at my desk thinned to the surprised and uncomfortable half smile on the face of Jared Wilkins. He hovered in the foyer like he wasn’t sure he was welcome, though it had been he who had delivered the annex to me in all its glory, and he who had been my friend the past three years since the death of his father.

  I felt a pang of hurt over his tight, tense expression and circled the computer to join him. He stuck both big hands in his pockets, his young face as lined and tired as it had been last year when he’d strung himself so thin. Worse, though, because I couldn’t even seem to offer him support this time when he backed off a step at my approach like getting too close wasn’t allowed.

  According to whom?

  “Sorry to bug you, Fee,” he said, that deep voice quiet.

  “You’re not, Jared,” I said, one hand rising toward him without my consent before I let it drop to my side. “Nice to see you.” I ignored the few guests waiting for me and focused on him, standing there in the bright sunlight shining through the open front door. The light only made him look more tired, lines around his eyes. When had he become an old man in a young man’s body?

  “I’m helping Alicia coordinate,” he said like White Valley Lodge wasn’t owned by his family but was all hers instead. She’d been the general manager for a while now and since taking over might as well have taken possession of the place, from the efficiently controlling way she ran every single detail in a way that made my head spin. I guess she made such good business decisions no one in the Patterson family chose to argue with her, least of all her fiancé. Wasn’t jealous or anything, honest. I had my own work to sort out. She could keep that monstrosity of a headache, thanks. “We have a few guests of ours that were rebooked with you a few months ago we’d like to check on.”

  I nodded, though I wasn’t quite ready to cut him the kind of slack that would allow for a strictly professional interaction. “I hear you set a date. September. At the equestrian center?” They’d originally wanted to get married at the annex, just like Aundrea and Pamela. That all changed not so long ago and I still didn’t have answers why. The tension had only increased over the last few months to the point I couldn’t even talk to them anymore. Not that I didn’t want to talk to them, I did. They were the ones putting up walls between us.

  Yes, it hurt, made me mental when I let myself think about it for too long. I was this close to shaking Jared and demanding, “What gives?” Except I had an idea there was a Patterson explanation that had nothing to do with the handsome young contractor I adored.

  Jared flinched in response to my question, looking away, swallowing hard. “Yeah,” he said. “Alicia’s organizing it.”

  From what I heard (yes, I went snooping and asking questions, sue me) it was going to be a big affair, almost everyone in town invited. All but me, that was, and my parents, Daisy. Crew. Grunt. Didn’t do me any good to stand there and stare at him like he’d somehow break and tell me what his problem was. Or to feel hurt when he didn’t, refusing to even meet my eyes at that point.

  Jared wasn’t the only source of pain anyway, just the visible one. When Pamela Shard originally asked me to write a column for the Reading Reader Gazette, I’d taken my good time figuring out what I wanted to say, but had been faithful with an opinion piece for months. That was, until she stopped printing them out of the blue, no explanation.

  I’d been too busy to confront anyone—sure, Fee, that was the reason, nothing to do with being a chicken or burning bridges when my typically redheaded temper got the best of me—not that doing so would change anything. And as I stood there, willing Jared to look at me, to talk to me, to just say something that would help me make sense of what was going on, I felt despair and anger and disappointment fuse together into what seemed like the siren song of my friendship with the young man I used to call my friend.

  “Talk to Daisy,” I said, turning my back on him. “I’m sure she can help you.” If he wanted off the hook, fine. He was off the hook. For good.

  As I spun around to return to the computer and my duties, the man next in line—who’d waited, what, all of two minutes for my attention?—scowled at me like I’d kicked his puppy before getting in my
face, the peak of his logo crusted ball cap almost tapping me in the forehead.

  “About time, girl,” he said. “I’m ready to check in. And you don’t want to keep me waiting.”

  ***

  Chapter Six

  I didn’t even get to fully feel the surge of resentful, indignant discontent to the maximum extent of its blazing glory I was, quite frankly, owed, thank you very much, before the same loudmouth rambled on like someone actually cared if he had a roof over his head tonight.

  Because the list was short and I wasn’t on it.

  “I can’t believe I’ve been relegated to this place.” He actually sneered as he looked around the foyer of Petunia’s. Sneered. Lip raised over shining white teeth, perma-tan showing the wrinkles around his eyes when he squinted at me like I wanted him here. Again, nope. Just nope.

  Jared hurried forward, and it was then apparent just why he was here in the first place. Not to check in on guests, but, obviously, guest. One I was very rapidly sliding down a slope of all full at the inn, sucker. And the attitude my young (former?) friend was hanging onto with the tenacity of someone pushed to the edge of a cliff wasn’t helping matters. I’m positive he could tell I wasn’t about to take any crap. I was never very good at hiding how I felt, and my temper had become rather legendary.

  Hey, redheads are allowed. Heck, we’re entitled. It’s built into our genes.

  “Mr. Nethersole,” Jared said like this guy actually warranted respect, though from the young contractor’s face he was fighting his own version of giving a crap about whether said golfer dude—the paleness of his left hand told me he spent too much time with one glove on to be anything but one of the pros playing this weekend—found shelter or ended up sleeping in his car. That image actually helped some and I almost snorted. “Alicia and I are very sorry for the mix up. I’m sure you’ll be comfortable here at Petunia’s. Fee and her staff are top notch.”

  Nice of him to say so, though the warm fuzzies weren’t in the offing, considering he was placating the golfer and, possibly, me at the same time. Was Jared trying to make some kind of effort? I had a bad habit of reading too much into what people said, but it softened me toward him further and I gave him the benefit of the doubt. For the last time. If I didn’t get answers from him or Alicia soon, I’d be taking matters into my own hands.

  That was, if I ever found ten minutes to actually sit down and sort out my life.

  Nethersole grunted at Jared before giving me the once over. My scowl returned, though I dutifully checked his reservation, the name Jack preceding his surname. Didn’t sound familiar, so he couldn’t have been that famous. So there.

  “I highly doubt anything about this place is top notch.” Oh my god, he had to just keep at it, didn’t he? I inhaled, decision made, ready to call Dad on bouncer duty if necessary, Jared’s sudden panicked expression notwithstanding. He could just explain to Alicia why this pain in my rear end was her problem again because she wasn’t talking to me anyway, was she?

  Snarl.

  “I’m sure we’re going to love it here.” While Jack Nethersole’s attitude left a lot to be desired, the man who now shouldered his way between Jared and the counter, bobbing a quick nod at me, throwing me the sort of apologetic smile that usually did the trick and might have if extenuating circumstances beyond his control weren’t in play. Instead of caving, I waited, finger hovering over the cancel button on the screen while the second man turned to Jack, his own ball cap a match, their ages clearly close. Were they old friends? Played together? “This is great, Jack, seriously. We can get some quiet time before you need to warm up tomorrow. View the latest videos, maybe even relax a little. You know when you stay at the event hotels it’s all distractions and you don’t play as well as you could.”

  Jack actually seemed to listen before sighing heavily, like this was a huge inconvenience but he would slum it this once. Since I still hadn’t decided if they were staying, I gave him one last chance to bury himself. Hoping he did, to be honest.

  Instead, he turned his back on me. “Fine, Leo, whatever. You deal with it. I’m going to go back to the club and hit the driving range.” He strode out like he owned my B&B while the second man he’d named Leo exhaled and offered his hand to me, rueful smile sweet and apologetic.

  “I’m sorry about Jack,” he said. “He can be difficult, especially before a tournament. He carries a lot of weight on his shoulders.”

  Okay, fine, whatever. “And you are?” I shook his hand but dropped it quickly, not in the mood for playing nice.

  Leo took my unhappiness in stride as Jared touched his shoulder.

  “I’ll run Jack back to the lodge,” he said. “I can come back for you?”

  But the other man just shrugged. “I’m sure I can catch a ride with someone,” he said. “Thanks, Jared, you’ve been a big help.”

  The young contractor looked like he wanted to say more and even met my eyes. So did he want to talk to me after all? Even if he did, I wasn’t so sure the feeling was mutual at the moment. I arched an eyebrow at him, saw his face fall and watched him leave, feeling suddenly hurt and remorseful and guilty and not liking it one bit.

  This wasn’t my fault. Was it?

  “The other reservation should be for Leo Amstead.” I returned my attention to the second golfer and nodded.

  “You work with him?” I couldn’t even bring myself to mention Nethersole’s name, I was that annoyed. And mentally prodded myself to get a grip. Grow up, Fee. So when Leo answered, I was on my way back to a more accepting state of mind firmly grasped by my practical need to get the job done.

  “His caddy.” Leo didn’t sound like that was a bad thing. He shrugged and laughed. “Jack’s career took off and mine didn’t. We always agreed we’d support each other no matter what, so…” He stumbled to a halt then laughed again. “Sorry, too much information. I just find sometimes I have to explain myself. I forget not everyone is in the industry and no one really cares.”

  Okay, that softened my edges the rest of the way and I actually managed a smile. “There’s nothing wrong with supporting success,” I said, handing him the two keys—one for his room, one for Jack’s. “In fact, most successful people wouldn’t be where they are without the ones who stand behind them.” Made me think about Mom, Daisy, Dad. How much I took them for granted… way to improve my mood. Not.

  Leo’s easy grin and bobbed nod seemed authentic enough. “Thanks,” he said. “I agree. And if you have any trouble with Jack, just let me know. I’ll handle him.”

  I gestured to one of the girls Daisy had sent to guide guests to the annex and Leo followed her with a tip of the brim of his hat, two big suitcases in his hands. So he lugged for his boss too, did he? Huh. Friends, my ass.

  My phone buzzed and I checked it quickly, the last of the new guests lined up, looking impatient as they always did but at least not as rude about it as Jack had been. The text was from Malcolm, short and to the point.

  Need to see you.

  Well, he knew where to find me. Argh. I ignored it for the moment, finishing up with the last two sets of guests before leaning into the counter and staring at the text, pondering what to do. Should I tell him I thought Siobhan might have tried to reach me? Maybe that was what he was texting about. While I mulled over whether I was in the mood to deal with Malcom right now, an alert pinged and I groaned inwardly.

  Right. I was booked in to speak to Oliver Watters. The old historian/antique dealer had been out of town for months, researching his new book, he’d said. I’d tried to talk to him a week ago when he returned at last, but he’d insisted I make an appointment. Seriously, because my life wasn’t busy, too. But since talking to him was tied to Fiona Doyle, I had to do things his way.

  Thing was, if Oliver wanted something from me, I knew he would never hesitate to just show up at Petunia’s and demand it. Whatever. I’d humor the old fart, get what I needed and move on.

  Just as soon as I checked in my last guests of the afternoon, one of
whom chose right then to walk through the door with a huge smile on his handsome face.

  ***

  Chapter Seven

  You know how sometimes you can be in the worst mood ever, just ready to take off the head of the next person who rubs you the wrong way while knowing without a moment of doubt or hesitation you’d be in prison if you actually acted on the impulses that rewired your brain when you were in said worst mood ever? Yeah, that was me, on the brink of tossing my hands and walking away for a bit before I did something I’d regret.

  Except, of course, there were also times moods like the one that plagued me could actually be turned around by a simple smile. The beaming young man who approached me had that kind of energy around him and, despite myself, I found by the time he’d entered the foyer and crossed the short distance to my computer I’d gone from wanting to commit murder so I could just get some peace and quiet (because peace and quiet waited in the Big House, right?) to managing to actually smile back. And mean it.

  “Tyler Hendy, ma’am,” he said, removing his ball cap—sheesh, men and ball caps, didn’t they know how irritating they were to most women?—and grinning at me, cheeks a bit pink, darling youth shining through, tall, lean body tucked into a well-tailored golf shirt and dress pants. Okay, so yes, I was engaged to Sheriff Delicious, and this drink of water was far too young for me at maybe twenty-four, but a girl could look right? Especially when the view wandered into my parlor and offered me a chance at a far better outlook than the last set of men I’d been dealing with.

  “Fiona Fleming.” I grinned back, feeling the tension in my shoulders ease, the temptation to actually giggle making me eye roll at myself. Get a grip, why don’t you? “Welcome to Petunia’s, Mr. Hendy.”

  “Please, Tyler.” He released his suitcase handle, now free hand sliding through his caramel colored hair, green eyes bright and with the shine still in them. So no one had buffed out his innocence yet? Good for him. Yikes, okay, I was in serious need of a day off, apparently. “I should have a reservation?”