by Nic Saint
“I mean, I could be wrong, of course.”
“Of course.”
“But my sources are telling me Dorothy Valour has been acting very strange lately, and has even hinted that the wedding might be off.”
Alice blinked. “Who told you that?”
Felicity grinned. “A very reliable source.”
“Bancroft.”
She nodded.
Alice thought about this. “Your cousin would know. He’s probably the number one Dorothy Valour fan on the planet.”
“She’s been sending out a stream of tweets and posts and selfies indicating she’s very unhappy with Reece. And according to Bancroft—reading between the selfies—there’s definitely a rift in the making.”
Alice, who’d been downcast, immediately perked up. “You think?”
“Well, Bancroft does.”
“So it must be true.”
She was right. Felicity’s cousin was the preeminent expert on all things Dorothy Valour. He’d already been asked by several bloggers to guest blog on the topic, and his predictions had always proved correct. He’d been the one to anticipate the Hudson-Valour match in the first place. After several pundits had wrongfully linked the feisty socialite to other eligible bachelors he’d picked the winner. So if Bancroft said the wedding was off…
“I think you should give him a call.”
“Who, Reece?”
“No, Santa Claus. Yes, of course Reece.”
Alice groaned. “To say what? The man’s a movie star and I’m just a nobody from nowheresville. He probably won’t even remember my name.”
“The way he was looking at you tonight I’m sure he remembers more than just your name.”
Alice cocked an eyebrow. “You think so?”
“Honey, the man was practically devouring you with his eyes, so yes, I do think so.”
“But what do I tell him?”
“You have the best excuse in the world. The investigation, remember? He’s in your little band now, so—”
“So what?”
“So don’t you have some updates to give? Some instructions?”
Alice eyed the ceiling with a baleful eye, as if it had done her wrong. “I don’t know, Fe. I thought I had it all figured out, but then I met the guy and my legs turned to jelly and my spine turned to water and, and…” She threw up her hands. “Now I simply don’t know.”
Just at that moment a plaintive mewling sounded from the kitchen and Felicity rose to her feet with a groan. She and Alice were now the proud owners of no less than six cats. The original man of the house, Gaston, a large red tomcat, might not like it, but he’d learned to live with the five kittens his two masters had foisted on him.
Felicity dug a cup into a bulky bag of kibble and scooped it into six small bowls they’d bought as a matching set. Gaston, who’d been the one to sound the alert, instantly dug in, followed by the other members of the feline household who came padding up from their respective hiding places. “I say go for it,” she continued the conversation as she poured some fresh water into the water bowls. “In spite of the fact that he’s a movie star he comes across as a nice guy.” When no answer came, she went over and found Alice staring at her with a curious expression on her face. “What?”
“Are you sure you don’t…I mean, aren’t you…”
She raised an incredulous eyebrow. “Are you asking me if I’m interested in the man? Alice, honey, of course not!”
Alice gave her an appropriately sheepish smile. “Sorry for asking. I just thought—you seemed to get along so well.”
“Honey, I found my soulmate. I love Rick and wouldn’t even dream of cheating on him—not even with the dreamboat to end all dreamboats!” She grinned. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but he is exceedingly yummy.”
“No, you’re right. He’s definitely the yummiest guy I’ve ever met.”
The two friends shared a look of understanding. “Go for it,” Felicity repeated.
“Thanks,” Alice said softly and opened her arms. “Love you, hun,” she whispered as Felicity came in for a hug.
“Same here,” murmured Felicity and counted her blessings for a friend like Alice. They both glanced over when Gaston hopped up on the couch and let rip a plaintive meow.
“I think he wants some of that,” said Alice with a laugh and hugged the big cat close. Soon, five kittens were crawling between them, finding a place. Then Alice flipped on the TV and as they watched a rerun of Modern Family their own modern family was cozily convened on the couch. Two humans and six cats. Not a bad end of the day, Felicity thought.
Chapter 37
“What do you think?” Rob looked from his sister to his wife, wanting to know once and for all where they stood on the matter.
Ruth winced. “Mom seems so upset. I don’t want to upset her even more. I think we should give it a rest.”
Maggie nodded. “I just don’t think this is a good time to bring up the inheritance, honey. Maybe later, when she’s had time to grieve.”
Rob raised his eyes heavenward. “This is just crazy!” He was sitting here, listening to two dumbbells, while all the while their money was slipping through their fingers. “We need to push on now!” he stressed, hitting his fist in the palm of his hand. “We have to pounce while she’s weak. If we don’t go for the jugular now, we’re going to lose out. Big time.”
When the two women kept their tongue he sprang to his feet and paced the room. This wasn’t happening! Was he the only one in this family with a brain?
“I think we should—” Ruth began.
He cut her off, gesticulating wildly. “Look, do you want to be poor for the rest of your life? Is that what you want? Cause that’s what you’ll get if you give up now.”
“But Rob, don’t you think you’re being a little hard on her? Mom just lost a husband.”
“Yes, Rob. I think you’re being mean,” echoed Maggie.
“Mean?” he asked, his voice breaking with incredulity. “I’m being mean?” He gestured to the door. “She’s the meanie! She’s the one sitting on a pile of cash and refusing to let us see a dime! For Christ sake’s, I bet the entire estate will go to Mom—not a single penny left for us!”
“Well, honestly, Rob. It is her money, after all,” Ruth said softly. “We can’t expect her to just hand it over.”
“We can and we will. We need to make a stand here and to make Mom see once and for all she can’t keep jerking us around like this.”
As he gazed at the faces of the two women he realized he was getting nowhere. They both seemed reluctant to face the truth. He decided to play his final card. To win or lose all, no matter the consequences. He knelt down in front of his wife of twenty years. “Honey, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. Something I should have told you a long time ago.”
Maggie laughed a little nervously. “What is it, honey?”
He swallowed. “I…I lost my job.”
Her eyes widened. “What? But Rob!”
“Six months ago.”
Her lips quivered, her eyes wide. “You—”
“I was afraid to tell you—didn’t want you to worry—” He raked his hands through his thinning mane. “I figured it was only a matter of time before I landed another one.”
“But you go to work every morning.”
“I…went to the unemployment agency, went on job interviews, I…” He shook his head. “No one wants me, honey. I’m forty-six years old and I can’t land a job and if we don’t get some money soon, we’ll…” He swallowed again. “We’ll lose the house.”
“But our savings?”
“All gone. Six months’ worth of expenses and mortgage payments—it’s wiped us out.”
Maggie simply stared, then her hand went to the necklace around her neck. “You got me this.”
“I didn’t want you to stint on anything, honey. You know how I promised I’d take care of you when we married? I still do. But the only way I can do that is by asking for w
hat is rightfully mine.” He pointed to the door. “If Mom sells this place and the land…we’re literally talking millions! Millions of dollars!” He threw her a pleading look while she played with the necklace.
Finally she looked up, her face set. “No,” she said, the single word destroying all his hopes and dreams. “It’s not right.” She glanced over to her sister-in-law, who’d followed the conversation with bated breath.
When she felt Maggie’s eyes on her, Ruth shrugged. “No, you’re absolutely right, Maggie. It’s not right. I agree.” She glanced down at her brother. “I’m sorry, but that money’s not ours. And selling this inn? That’s not our call. We didn’t build this place. We didn’t work our hands to the bone for forty years. Heck, we never even set foot in here for the last twenty. How can you say it’s our right? It isn’t. It just isn’t.”
Rob hung his head. This was the end, he thought. They’d have to sell the house and he’d have to find a job flipping burgers. And for what? Because he had some frickin’ goody two-shoes for a wife and sister.
He rose and strode to the door without so much as a glance back.
“Rob, honey!” Maggie called out, but he slammed the door shut behind him and was gone.
Chapter 38
Mary Long sat at her desk, staring at the picture of Alistair and thinking back to the days of their courtship. Alistair had fallen madly, deeply in love with her and had decided he would have her no matter what. She’d been a pretty young thing, no experience with boys whatsoever, and had liked his fervor but not his looks.
Alistair hadn’t been handsome, not dashing like the men in the books she liked to read at the time. He certainly wasn’t a young Mr. Darcy, or a prince, duke or Scottish laird. In fact he was a farmhand working for her parents. He’d saddle up her horse when she decided to go riding and was, she frequently thought, very fresh with her.
He told her he would marry her someday and she laughed him off at first, not giving him the light of day. But when he kept repeating the mantra day after day, she started becoming intrigued.
He had a rough-hewn quality about him and an energy that made up for what he lacked in the looks department. He was energetic and eternally optimistic and would sing her songs as she entered the stables—songs that made her blush but simultaneously made her smile.
He bought her flowers—though later she discovered he actually simply swiped them from her mother’s rose garden—and started writing her letters. Poems, no less. She figured he swiped those as well, from some book he’d stolen from the library, but later he told her he’d written them himself. And they were lovely, simply lovely.
Slowly but surely she’d fallen for the boy and when they shared their first kiss, behind the stables, she realized for the first time that her preconceived notions of dukes and barons and lairds were nothing compared to the honest goodhearted man Alistair Long turned out to be. Before she knew it she’d fallen in love with him.
And she never stopped loving him, not even after all these years.
She gazed at her reflection in the vanity mirror and found that while her hairs had turned gray and her face lined, she still looked very similar to the young woman in the picture, the same way Alistair had still been that same boy.
It was in the eyes, she thought. The eyes hadn’t changed.
And she was just thinking about Rob and Ruth again and what to do about the inn when she heard a soft rustling sound. It had come from the window and as she gazed into the mirror she thought she detected a movement. Turning, she let her eyes drift across the heavy drapes, which were drawn to keep out the early spring chill.
Finally, when no more sounds emanated, she decided her ears had been playing tricks on her and she put cold cream on her face, then started wiping it off. Suddenly her eyes went wide when she saw the dark figure looming up behind her, towering over her with murderous intent, a club held high over his head. It was that nice scones man but he didn’t look so nice now.
She yelled in horror as the club crashed down on her skull.
Chapter 39
‘There’s nothing more to be said.’
Overly dramatic. Rob crumpled up the note and tried again.
‘I can’t go on living like this. I’m sorry. Rob.’
He frowned. Christ, why was it so hard to write a suicide note? Because it was his final communication with his loved ones, that’s why. And he didn’t want to make a lousy last impression. He stared at the words for a while and shook his head. Nope, this wouldn’t do.
He was sitting in the small internet room downstairs. Though the inn now had Wi-Fi in every room his parents had still kept the office, which also held a fax machine, printer and a desk where people could do such arcane tasks as writing letters.
The desk was actually a holdover from an era when writing letters still involved an inkwell to dip one’s quill into. The hole for the inkwell was still there and he idly brushed his thumb against the coarse wood, wondering how many people had sat at this desk, struggling with the same issues he was now facing.
Luckily for him, when he’d still been fully employed and affluent, he’d taken out life insurance with a reputable company. If he kicked the bucket now, Maggie would be well provided for.
He took another swig from the bottle he’d swiped from the bar. His head was swimming and he had the vague impression he was being overly dramatic and not seeing things straight. He didn’t care. He was going to end this miserable life right now, if only he could get this damn suicide note written.
He pressed the spacebar on the computer and typed ‘suicide notes’ into the google search window. If he couldn’t get something original down on paper, he might as well rip off someone else’s last words. Maggie would never know. He frowned at the screen, and quickly dismissed the first few. “Too long,” he muttered, then paused.
‘Don’t forget to walk Fifi—his leash is behind the kitchen door.’
Mh. He liked the sentiment, but it seemed hardly appropriate.
‘I hate you—I hate you—I hate you.’
Too dramatic.
‘Goodbye, cruel fate. And now the time has come to say goodbye—’
Bleary-eyed, he stared at the screen, then switched off the computer and took another swig from the bottle, quaffing deeply and profoundly. Finally he decided that simple was best, so he scribbled, ‘See you in heaven or hell, whichever you like best. Love you always. Rob.’
Then, placing the note in his pocket, where he knew the police would be most likely to find it, he rose unsteadily and walked to the door. He hadn’t thought this through, but seeing as he disliked pain intensely, he’d decided against slicing his wrists, jumping in front of a train, drowning in the ocean, or hopping from the bell tower. None of these greatly appealed to him and besides, where would he find a train at this time of night, or a bell tower for that matter? There was always the ocean, of course, but he’d always disliked taking cold baths.
No, he’d go quietly into the night by dumping all the sleeping pills he had in his possession in his drink and glugging down the lot. He’d simply pick a nice spot, get cozy, and do his thing.
He wobbled down the lobby, which was now deserted, and burst into song. In a stentorian baritone, he warbled “Should Old Acquaintance be forgot, and never thought upon…”
Not bad, he reckoned. He would have made a great singer, and for some reason he suddenly burst into tears. The room was swaying, and he wondered why suddenly the earth was moving. Hitherto he’d always found the inn built on a sturdy foundation but tonight there was definitely something wrong with the works. He squinted and saw that he’d finally made it to the door. He opened it and was hit by a blast of cool night air. Them ocean breezes, he decided.
This was exactly why he’d chosen the blue pill—or was it the red? The ocean was too cold and not at all a nice way to end things. An owl hooted from a nearby tree and he waved at it. “Hiya, fella. I’m here!” he mumbled, swaying in the breeze, the bottle of booze still clutched firml
y in his hand.
The owl, seemingly indignant at the disturbance of his nocturnal peace, gave another hoot and took flight.
Rob frowned darkly, feeling that even the owls of this world were abandoning him now. Then he made a throwaway gesture, deciding that since everybody ignored him, he would ignore them in return. See how they liked them apples.
He waddled to the wooden bench on the porch, and plunked down, settling in for the duration of the rest of his life, however short it would be. Then he took the bottle of pills from his vest pocket, dumped its contents into his mouth and washed it all down with Scotch. Not a bad way to go, he decided, and emptied the bottle.
He suddenly felt bone-tired, and figured that a nap was in order. So he lay down on the bench, closed his eyes, and promptly went to sleep.
Chapter 40
Mrs. Thomson hadn’t had a good time in Happy Bays so far. First there was that dreadful business with the murder and then, just when they decided to go on a little fishing trip, the engine had broken down and they’d been bobbing about a mile out from Montauk for what seemed like hours, waiting for the coast guard to come to the rescue.
Accommodation aboard the boat had been spartan and to make matters worse a freak storm had blown in and turned the ocean into a choppy soup, sending both her and her husband to the railing to upchuck their breakfasts.
When finally they returned to shore, soaking wet and freezing cold, they decided that a hot bath and fresh set of clothes were in order and had arrived at the inn only to discover they’d been given the room next to a couple of screamers, negative energy coming off them in waves. Even while soaking in the hot tub she’d been able to follow the arguments word for excruciating word and it had soured her mood even more.
They’d had their dinner and had decided to turn in early, simply wanting this day to finally end and start fresh the next morning.
And that’s when the banging had begun. First there was a loud scream coming from somewhere overhead and then the sound of a heavy object falling to the floor. It might have been her imagination, but she had the distinct impression someone…was being murdered!