by M K Scott
A quick head bob acknowledged the comment as Donna marveled at the woman’s unlined face and wondered what to say. Her bent knuckle pointed at the man in the photo. “They’re all so handsome too.”
The other woman shrugged. “Doesn’t mean they’re any good for her. Just because the chick’s famous doesn’t mean she isn’t taken in by the packaging.”
The clerk returned with a carton of cigarettes under her arm that caused Donna to remember commercials showcasing an alpha man smoking while doing manly pursuits back when cigarette ads dominated the airwaves.
The woman continued talking, not aware of the returning clerk. “It’s all packaging. People fall for it every time, even when they should know better. I run a service that provides shopping and transportation service for homebound individuals. Kenny, the man I’m shopping for today, told me he started smoking because it made him feel sophisticated.” She shook her head before continuing.
“I have to do his shopping for him because he’s too frail to do it himself. Cigarettes are the last thing he needs, but if I don’t buy them, someone else will. As a single parent, I need the money he pays me.”
The clerk cleared her throat, making her presence known. The woman turned around and paid for her purchases, giving a small hand wave before she left. Donna’s hand went up in reply, glad she’d never mentioned the cigarettes. The incident proved her brother right that she tended to judge people too quickly. Still, she kept her opinion to herself longer than usual. It was a start on her way to being an extraordinary innkeeper. Her customers would talk about that as much as the charms of The Painted Lady Inn.
Donna smiled at the clerk, hoping to engage her in a casual conversation the way she would potential guests. The young woman kept her gaze fixed on the scanner as she pushed the items through. Shy, that must be it. Her cheeks ached from the smile she pasted on waiting for the girl to look up. Seriously, how did beauty contestants manage the constant grin? What a waste if no one was looking. Her cheeks relaxed as she gave up on her image of geniality. The girl looked up, meeting her eyes briefly and then looked down again. Figures.
Who knew being consistently welcoming would be a challenge? Not her, she never considered herself perky or cheerful, but she wasn’t exactly the villain either. She went to work, did her job the best she could, treated her fellow humans with respect, occasionally with a side of unsolicited advice. Still, some people needed it, right?
Her silent clerk attempted to wrestle the air mattress into a bag but ended up ripping the thin bag in the process.
“Never mind,” Donna called out after the clerk tore another bag. A glare that could have read Now you tell me hit Donna as the girl glanced at her. She liked it better when the girl didn’t look at her. Debit card in hand, she tried to think of a suitable parting comment. Something that would uplift the clerk and make her feel good about herself.
After paying too much for the convenience of getting something immediately, she smiled again as she pocketed her receipt. “I appreciate how well you checked out my order.”
No murmured words of appreciation or even a gracious smile. Instead the girl looked startled, then burst into tears and ran toward the customer service door. Not the reaction she expected. The best thing would be to leave, but her cart turned cantankerous again. Long enough for her to hear her clerk gasp out between sobs that a customer had ridiculed her because she couldn’t bag a mattress. Then the same customer went and made a snarky remark about what a great job she’d done.
The heat in Donna’s face spread to her ears, no doubt painting them both bright red. A fierce shove pushed the buggy out of the checkout aisle and closer to the crying clerk. The small crowd of fellow employees turned as one and watched Donna as she wrestled the laden cart toward the exit.
Don’t you dare stop on me now, you piece of scrap metal.
Telling people that she wasn’t getting married after her fiancé found someone he liked better still held the number one awkward moment’s position. A discount clerk breaking into tears over a misunderstood remark didn’t even break into the top five. Definitely not after finding a dead man in her inn. It fit in nicely between the time she beaned the self-important golf pro on the driving range with an errant ball and the laxative-laced coffee meant for a patient that ended up in the doctors’ lounge.
Outside, she continued walking fast, still feeling the condemnation of a dozen pair of eyes. It didn’t help that she didn’t deserve it. People still ended up in jail when they hadn’t committed the crime. The assumption, speculation and the inability to hire a high-price lawyer could get you five to ten.
Packages stowed, car doors locked, she managed to regain her normal sense of anonymity she usually felt when driving. A classic rock station played softly as she steered the car toward home while composing a mental checklist of everything she’d have to bring. Her original intention of hiring a manager to stay at the inn made sense, except for paying the person. Yep, for a while, she’d be it. Owner, manager, cook and possibly maid, although she hoped she could at least get some college student to help clean the rooms.
The garage door moved up after she punched the opener. Jasper accompanied the creaking with his own high-pitched yelps. Most hardened criminals wouldn’t be scared, imagining the owner of the not-so-menacing barking as a fluffy poodle or Pomeranian. Although, Donna had run across a vicious poodle or two growing up. Jasper was bigger than his bark. Once when she walked him around the neighborhood, a charge from an unleashed chocolate lab startled her and her pooch defended her by growling at the oncoming dog. An invisible fence brought the lab up short, causing her and probably Jasper to both gasp a sigh of relief. Her pet could be courageous on occasion if the need arose.
The visit home allowed enough time for her to nuke her homemade chicken pot pie. It was stuffed full of fresh veggies and quarter-size chunks of chicken breast embraced by a buttery white sauce and finished off with a crust so light it practically floated above the dish. Usually, she’d heat the already baked pie in the oven, but time counted.
Her goal included getting her and Jasper to the inn, air mattress blown up and her tablet set up so she could watch the movie she downloaded last week. The home inspector had already tested the electric out, so she knew it worked. It would be better for her to get into the house while daylight still held. A little less obvious too, considering that people expected work done at the inn during the day. A pair of headlights pulling in would not go unnoticed, especially by her sharp-eyed neighbors or anyone else watching the house.
Even though most crimes shows relied on hanging out at crime sites or even attending funerals to catch the culprit, Donna had her doubts. Why a murderer would return. If a person got away with a crime, wouldn’t it be best to keep silent and hidden? It made sense to her, but then she was logical. The murderer could return if he or she thought something left behind could serve as an arrow pointing the police back to the culprit. She dismissed the idea as she threw Jasper’s bed and dishes in the trunk.
“Surely the police swept the place clean of any clues.”
Jasper barked his agreement or possible inquiry about the end destination of his belongings.
A small overnight case joined the dog bed along with a lamp, a small television and a hamper of food. White chocolate macadamia nut cookies could help her overlook anything that went bump in the night since she’d be too busy inhaling a dozen or more.
“The police could miss a clue if it didn’t fit into their theory about the killer.” The thought both scared and excited her. Another human possibly close by capable of cold-bloodedly killing someone was the scary part. If a clue existed, she could piece together the case and solve it. A sense of impending triumph put a bounce in her step as she chucked her uniform and a pair of slippers into the car.
It reminded her of the Sherlock Holmes game she used to play with her brother. The gameplay happened on a laminated surface with boredom as the worst result. Her top teeth rested on her bottom lip as she
considered the possible outcome of the same game played with live characters.
Her dog, unaware of her mental cogitations, jumped into the passenger seat. “Just a minute, Jasper. I have one more thing.”
Donna ran back into the house wondering where she’d hid the needed item. Hid was the appropriate word because she hadn’t wanted to see it, despite Daniel’s insistence on having it. The dining room chair served as an impromptu stepladder as she reached for the top of her china cabinet. The elaborate cherry scrollwork disguised the recessed area behind it. Sizable enough for something small and yet so obviously out in plain sight that a burglar would never look. A knowledgeable robber would know her china should be worth at least a thousand, but china must not be a fencible item.
Hardly the usual fence scenario with criminals with hats pulled low shading their faces dragging in heavy boxes of china to sell. The fence would hold the china up to the light, inspecting the thinness of the dish or turning it over for the marker stamp. Of course, he had to distinguish between bone, fine and porcelain china too. So few people could. Even the assistant at the upscale home furnishings store appeared baffled when she asked if any Spone china had passed through the store. She certainly had no desire to have any of the bone china that creator Spode created from human bone ashes from a crematorium, but she wouldn’t mind seeing it. She had even heard of a family that made up a set of dishes from their deceased relative. Put an entirely new angle on having dinner with grandmother. The thought sent a shiver down her back. Not a good thing when standing on tiptoes on a chair.
Her fingers reached past the dusty scrollwork. She didn’t need to see. The smooth cylinder and textured grip told her she’d found what she needed. Dust decorated the gun she swore she’d never use. Her brother managed to get her to a firing range deep in some subterranean area that could have doubled as a dungeon. A half dozen other grim-faced women took aim at the paper man-shaped torso with the bulls-eyes drawn over the chest area, not exactly on the heart. A clean shot would do enough damage to the internal organs to stop anyone in their tracks.
Daniel had drawn a few stares as he entered the room with her, not the usual kind, but rather the ones aimed at coiled rattlesnakes and mechanics who inflated car repairs. The targets at the end represented cheating husbands, abusive ex-boyfriends, stalkers and the bad luck to live in a crime-ridden neighborhood. Unwittingly by being born male, Daniel couldn’t understand the feminine world where women often had to be on guard. Still, she had to give him credit; he did try to protect her and bought her a gun. An expensive extravagance could have substituted for a number of birthday presents.
Even though it wasn’t her idea to go to a shooting range, she found herself following Daniel’s instruction. Her hands sweated at the idea of holding a gun. Daniel kept returning the pistol, reminding her it was hers, not his. A slight tremor in her hands betrayed her anxiety. Not acceptable, she had to pull on her big girl panties and get the job done. The woman beside her had pelted her target with a steady barrage of center shots with her semi-automatic weapon. Obviously, she had no anxiety issues when it came to firepower.
Because they both donned headphones to protect their ears from multiple gunshots, she and Daniel communicated through gestures. He held up his index finger, which she knew meant first. He pointed to his chest, mimicked inhaling, but held his breath while shaping his hand into a makeshift pistol with his thumb and index finger. The third finger bent then straightened as it functioned as a trigger. Her brother’s cheeks deflated as he mimed exhaling. Inhale before you shoot, exhale afterward.
She’d sucked in a huge gulp of air before pulling the trigger firmly and then exhaled after the bullet hurtled toward the paper man. The first two shots went wide, not even hitting the outlined torso. Not good, not good at all. Ms. Killer Instinct stopped shooting long enough to throw a pity smile her way. No interpretation was necessary.
Daniel stiffened beside her. Living with her a good part of his life exposed him to her natural competitiveness. Although, her younger brother didn’t usually face it head-on. He may have witnessed a few competitions where snotty I’m all that girls thought they could run over her because she didn’t come from a wealthy family or knew the right people. The social registry didn’t matter on the soccer field or in the chemistry lab.
The image of Heather Donahue with her plastic smile and double Ds taunted her. Never got to drive in driver’s ed because the instructor was too enraptured with her charms. Instead, Marcia and she stared out the back window waving at people behind them, especially if there were cute boys in the car following them. The instructor failed them both, probably afraid to put them on the road with no skills. It was her first experience with failure through no fault of her own. Her lips tightened as she imagined Heather at the end of the shooting alley.
Donna aimed higher as she sighted across the barrel since her eyes and gun hand were a good foot apart. A tidbit she remembered from a crime drama featuring a woman in the police academy. Instead of Heather, the image of her driving instructor with his receding hairline and half-open mouth as he ogled his student appeared. His expression morphed into shock as she plugged two bullets smack into his torso.
Her brother gave two thumbs up and a grin. Wow. What changed? He mouthed the words.
A shoulder shrug served as her answer as she turned back to the target. She took turns imagining people who had wronged her in some way. Of course, she knew she would never shoot anyone. It took on the form of therapy, releasing festering anger through the years. Maybe therapists would have more success if they used a carnival-style shooting gallery instead of the usual couch in their office. Who knew? It might actually lead to less violence.
Target practice had taken up three more off days before Daniel declared her proficient. That’s when the gun went to its home on top of the china cabinet. Her hand wrapped around the weapon and brought it down within view. Her hand covered most of the piece with only the molded handgrip peeking out and the very edge of the barrel. It was hard to believe something so small could be so deadly.
She eased off the chair, pointing the gun away from her. Of course, she knew better than to store it loaded. The clip and the extra ammo resided in a separate hiding place. A news statistic stated 70 percent of homeowners had their own guns used on them.
Ammunition. Where would it be? Not anywhere, close to the china cabinet because that would make it too easy for a robber. A quick search of closet shelves and the interior of a large china teapot she seldom used yielded nothing. Jasper wandered into the house through the open garage door and whined his displeasure about the unsuccessful ammo search that hogged all her attention better spent on him.
“You’re right, we need to get going.” He made a mincing movement with his feet that indicated excitement before pivoting and heading for the garage. The gun went into her tote with a mental note to pick up ammunition. Not tonight, but sometime soon. Jasper would be her early warning system, scaring off any possible home invaders.
Truthfully, she didn’t want to shoot anyone. Enough time spent in the emergency room demonstrated the damage a single bullet could do to vulnerable human flesh, which solidified her decision. It didn’t matter if the shot was deliberate or the result of horsing around. Dead was still dead whether you meant it or not. Then there were the critical sites that could disable a person. Her head shook slowly side to side. No way could she live with that type of karmic guilt. Maybe it would be enough to yell, I have a gun!
With the car packed, she slipped into the driver’s seat. Had she turned down the heat? Certain she had, she shifted into reverse and rolled out of the driveway, wondering if her neighbors were watching. Probably not, she wasn’t one who merited a twitch of the curtains. Good old predictable Donna went to work every day and came home to her little yapper. No one knew an adventure awaited her. At best, it would be a sleepover with Jasper. Then again, something could happen. A tingling danced up and down her arms and across her shoulders. The same feelin
g she got when the roller coaster climbed the hill, knowing a swift descent and a dark tunnel awaited her.
Her foot hit the brake at the foot of the driveway. Should she go back in and look for the ammo? An audible sigh filled the car and this time it wasn’t Jasper. While she had several excellent traits, her few idiosyncrasies such as continually losing items drove her crazy. She could look all night for the bullets and never find them. On another day, when baskets or patterned hosiery was her focus, she’d stumble across them. More room, that’s what she needed for better organization.
What if someone did break in? This inconvenient fear monger who kept inserting unwelcome thoughts in her head needed to go. Logically, she should plan for the worst-case scenario. Nine one one on speed dial might work. As long as she was inserting speed dial numbers on her phone, she could put in Mark Taber’s name. No reason to expect him to come running in the middle of the night, but he could be on duty. Yep, that’s what she’d do.
The drive went fast as she lectured Jasper on expected behavior. The pooch spent most of the trip decorating the passenger window with his nose art creations. “Remember, Jasper, no accidents. I realize this is a new place, but we need to keep it nice. No one wants to stay at a B and B reeking of dog urine.”
Food smells created by the various restaurants dotting the route resulted in Jasper’s animated sniffing along with a slight drool, he paused and gave her a reproachful look.
“Yes, I know you’re trained, but accidents can happen.”
The dog’s attention returned to the fast food restaurant bathed in vibrant neon lights. Donna noticed his actions but continued talking if only to reassure herself.”
“Well, at least there isn’t any carpet to worry about.” Three levels of wooden floors except the ceramic-tiled bathrooms and the linoleum-lined kitchen and foyer. The wooden floor would benefit from refinishing, but she had to draw the line at closets and storage rooms. Oriental carpets would cover the polished floors. A period book she snagged at the library book sale mentioned that the very wealthy would pile carpet on top of carpet making a plush surface while demonstrating their wealth. Estate sales or even online garage sales could provide her with the needed rugs. After all, the rugs didn’t have to match since they were in different rooms.