Festival Turmoil

by Wendy Meadows

  Festival Turmoil

  Sweetfern Harbor Mystery #7

  Wendy Meadows

  Copyright © 2018 by Wendy Meadows

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Printed in the United States of America

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Thanks for reading

  Be the First to Know

  About the Author

  Also by Wendy Meadows

  Chapter One

  Settling In

  The snow had fallen continuously in the week since Brenda and Mac had returned home from their honeymoon in Italy. Brenda took a deep breath and stood mesmerized by the sparkling winter wonderland surrounding the Sheffield Bed and Breakfast. There was nothing in her world to mar her happiness. The day she met Detective Mac Rivers, something stirred within her she had never experienced, and now after the marriage and the honeymoon they were home again in her—now their—bed and breakfast. Mac returned to work that morning and Brenda Sheffield Rivers felt all was right with her world.

  “You must land from your honeymoon, Brenda,” Allie said. “It’s back to business.”

  Brenda smiled at the teasing her young reservationist threw her way. Allie Williams was her youngest employee. She was adept in her responsibilities at the bed and breakfast and Brenda hoped she would remain in her job while later going to the local college.

  “I’m back,” Brenda said, “but memories won’t hurt anyone.” She glanced at the computer. “Who do we have arriving today?”

  “A couple is coming from upstate New York. They are Rachel and Thomas Wellington and should arrive early this afternoon. Then we have a man named Philip Turner from Canada.” Allie named other guests who had already either arrived or were due any minute.

  “I know you need to practice your ice skating skills,” Brenda told her. “Let me know when you’ll need time off for that. We all want you to win during the Winter Festival later this week.”

  Allie laughed. “I want to win, too, but I’ve made arrangements to practice at the indoor rink in the evenings when I’m finished here. I hope the lake at the park is frozen solid enough to have the competition outside, though.”

  Brenda looked at the guest roster again. “It looks like we have one unreserved room. With the festival, I’m sure we’ll have someone dropping in at the last minute for a spot here.”

  Allie agreed. It was rare they had empty rooms, especially during special events in Sweetfern Harbor. She and Brenda commented on the heavy snowfall. They knew that alone would bring winter die-hards to not only to their small town, but also to the popular Winter Festival.

  At that moment the door opened and Rachel and Thomas Wellington were welcomed in. They appeared to be in their early fifties. Rachel was petite in stature and remained somewhat quiet and reserved while Thomas signed in. He told Allie they came early to enjoy the village and shops before the festivities got underway. Brenda rang for Michael, who came to the foyer. He retrieved the bags and led the way for the Wellingtons to their room.

  “I’m going to meet with the chef for a few minutes,” Brenda told Allie. A brush of cold air swept the foyer at that moment. Brenda noted her reservationist’s expression focused on the tall, good-looking man who walked toward them. His strides were determined and yet casual.

  “Hello, I’m Philip Turner,” the man said. He paused, his attention resting on Allie. “What is a beautiful girl like you doing behind a desk?”

  Allie’s face tinted a faint pink and she smiled up at him. His deep blue eyes riveted her attention. Thick hair the color of the sandy beach on the other side of the seawall enhanced his looks. Allie saw the equipment bag by his side. “Do you have a hobby, Mr. Turner?”

  “I’m a professional photographer,” Philip stated. “I hope to get some good photos around town. I may start with you.” He reached into his bag with a warm smile and retrieved an expensive camera.

  Allie protested. “I know the Sheffield Bed and Breakfast is a nice backdrop, but perhaps you can wait to take my picture until I’m on the rink winning the upcoming ice skating competition?”

  His eyes lit up with interest. “I will agree to wait to photograph you on one condition…you tell me everything you know about the activities planned for the festival,” he said in a serious yet charming tone, and settled in to listen to Allie at length.

  Brenda left them and headed for the kitchen. When she returned to the foyer, Philip had left for his room. Allie seemed to be in a good mood after her conversation with the photographer, but something was bothering her. She wanted to speak to Brenda.

  “I know the empty room is the one that the famous actress Ellen Teague was murdered in, and I have a hard time assigning anyone to that room, every time. Can’t we just leave it empty?”

  Brenda was surprised that Allie was still squeamish about that room. The incident had occurred only six months ago, but it felt like longer; and besides, the room had been occupied many times since with no complaints. Then she recalled the dead body disguised as a fake mummy someone left there during the Halloween tours, but somehow in Brenda’s mind that didn’t count. She looked at her young receptionist.

  “There is nothing to fear in that room,” she told Allie. “Every time we have a full house it means you’re even more secure with your job. Booking every room does pay our salaries.”

  Allie returned a half-smile. “I know I have to forget all of what happened that awful summer. I never tell anyone what happened in there and you are right. No one has experienced anything bad there since that time.”

  In the middle of the exchange, an older couple entered the bed and breakfast. Brenda felt sure they were the answer to filling the last empty room.

  “My name is Richard Martin and this is my wife Marilyn,” said the tall, lanky man. He appeared to be in his sixties or so, and his shoulders stooped. His almost white hair and Romanesque features created a distinguished demeanor. His wife stepped forward and smiled. Richard continued. “I know we don’t have a reservation but we hope you have an opening. We plan to stay in the area through the Winter Festival. Your bed and breakfast is gorgeous and inviting.”

  Marilyn stepped closer. “This Queen Anne structure is magnificent. What is the history of the house?”

  “My uncle, Randolph Sheffield, was the owner until his death, when it became mine,” Brenda said. “He prided himself on how well he kept it up. He was in the theater for many years and well-connected in the community, so many notable people have stayed here as well. He bought it because of its location along the Atlantic. It is beautiful, as you say.”

  A few seconds of silence passed while the couple’s eyes rested on the architecture of the entrance and ornately carved staircase. Allie knew there was no option but to put them in Ellen’s room. She halted her thoughts. Brenda never wanted the place referred to as Ellen’s room. Instead, she cleared her mind and helped the guests register in the last open room. Once again Michael was summoned. He retrieved the bags and escorted the couple upstairs. Marilyn stood a few inches shorter than her husba
nd, but her head was erect and shoulders back. Watching them ascend the stairs, Brenda would never have guessed she was any older than early forties, but her graying hair and faint wrinkles told otherwise when face to face.

  Once everyone was settled in, Brenda went upstairs to the apartment she now shared with Mac. She called the detective to see how his first day back at work was going. She missed him already.

  “It’s good to hear your sweet voice, Brenda. It’s hectic around here. Seems there have been several cases of burglaries around town while we were gone. Bryce told me they are on it but no viable leads yet.”

  “I’m sure Bryce has been doing everything he can. I hope you catch the culprit or culprits soon. That’s not a good picture to show tourists who will be coming in for the Winter Festival.”

  “You’re right about that. I want to solve it as soon as possible. Besides, we have to get started on plans for our new house.”

  Mac knew she smiled when she answered. “Yes, we have to start plans if we want to turn that summer house at the edge of the backyard into something livable.” They returned to the subject of Bryce. Detective Bryce Jones was a young detective on the force. He was also engaged to Mac’s daughter Jenny Rivers. Both admired how Bryce had finally managed to gain some maturity since moving back to Sweetfern Harbor from New York City, and he had turned out to be very good at his job. Brenda felt that between Jenny and her father’s influence, Bryce had come a long way.

  “Be careful at Sheffield Bed and Breakfast, Brenda,” Mac said. “Whoever the thief is seems to be hitting small businesses. I know you secure things well, but be on the alert anyway.”

  Brenda assured him she would do that. It felt good to have someone looking out for her and even better since that person was Detective Mac Rivers. They had improved the security of the bed and breakfast a little since her Uncle Randolph’s day, but there was nothing quite like an officer of the law to make Brenda and her guests feel safe in their beds at night.

  Out of curiosity, she made a mental note to ask Allie where the Martins were from. Knowing a little bit about the background of her guests was helpful when interacting with them during dinner or in the sitting room, where everyone congregated after meals and in the evenings. Dinner would be served at seven. She had an hour and a half until that time. She sat at her computer and typed up several ideas for new menus to present to her chef. She and Mac had found Italian food to be delicious on their honeymoon and she was anxious to start incorporating some of the regional dishes they had discovered into the menu.

  The faint ring of the bell told her it was time to greet her guests at dinner. She glanced at her watch. Mac had not called back, but she decided his first day back on the job would likely prove to be a long one. She went downstairs and entered the dining room. Several guests were seated and waiting, amiably chatting about the festival and their time in the village. This group had no problem interacting with one another.

  Brenda joined them and wished her housekeeper Phyllis was home to begin the new season with her. Phyllis Lindsey had married William Pendleton on Christmas Eve in a double wedding alongside Brenda and Mac. The Pendletons were due to arrive home from their island honeymoon the next day. Phyllis was not only Brenda’s head housekeeper, but also her best friend since Brenda arrived in Sweetfern Harbor.

  Everyone had finished their salads and the servers were beginning to place the main entrées in front of guests when Thomas Wellington took his phone out of his pocket and suddenly excused himself.

  “I really have to take this call,” he explained. “It seems no matter how hard I try, I can’t really leave my work at home.”

  His wife threw an anxious look in his direction. Brenda flashed him a reassuring smile and mentioned that the library down the hall was a good private place to take his phone call if he needed. He stepped into the hallway, out of everyone’s earshot. When he returned, Brenda noticed the frown that crossed his forehead. But then Brenda was distracted when his wife Rachel’s fork clattered loudly on her plate, and she twisted to look for her napkin. Without apologizing, she retrieved it from the floor. Thomas smiled at everyone and resumed eating, turning to ask his neighbor about their visit so far. Brenda dismissed the interruption as something Thomas Wellington would have to solve for himself.

  “The winter landscape here is simply beautiful,” Marilyn Martin said. “We rarely see a snowfall like this.” When Philip asked her where they were from, Richard stepped in to answer.

  “We are from the lower Midwest where we get ice more times than snow, but I agree with my wife. New England is a beautiful part of America.” He turned to his wife. “We’ll have to learn to ski while we’re here.”

  She answered playfully. “You will have to do that without me. I’m not so sure I want to make such a fool of myself.” They laughed together and soon stories around the table moved to skiing experiences. Brenda wondered where in the Midwest they were from. She originated from Michigan and that state got plenty of snow during the winter months.

  After dinner, Brenda invited them into the sitting room for drinks. She heard Mac’s footsteps coming from the back hallway until they reached the room where everyone gathered. Mac’s face was red from the cold and he went to the fireplace after Brenda introduced him to their guests. He rubbed his hands in front of the fire and accepted a cup of hot coffee from Allie. He sat next to Brenda on the sofa and chatted with the Martins. Brenda didn’t miss how tired he looked. She stood up when he finished his coffee and together they told everyone goodnight.

  Just as Mac stood back to allow Brenda to go ahead of him at the doorway, a sudden camera flash startled him.

  “I hope you don’t mind I snapped a photo of you,” Philip Turner said, lowering his camera. “I’m taking candid photos of everyone until the festival later this week.”

  “I have to say I would have preferred to be asked permission for you to do that, but I suppose no harm is done.” Brenda knew Mac was distraught. He didn’t like surprises like that.

  Philip flashed a broad smile and said, “Good, I’m glad you’re not upset with me.”

  In response, Mac’s Robert Redford looks became steel. Without words, he and Brenda went up to their apartment. When they got inside, Mac relaxed.

  “I’m sorry I treated your guest like that, but he should have asked before snapping a picture like that.”

  Brenda laughed. “He’s your guest, too, or have you forgotten? Besides, he’s young and needs to be taught some manners. You may have done him a favor.”

  “Come here, Brenda Rivers. I need to feel you close to me.”

  Brenda gladly accepted the invitation. “Tomorrow will be a better day for you, Mac. I know the first day back is the hardest.”

  Mac bent slightly and kissed his wife.

  Chapter Two

  Wandering Guest

  Brenda's sleep was interrupted that night. She sat up in bed and tried to recall if she had a bad dream or perhaps been awakened by a sound. By now, she was fully awake and decided to close the bedroom door softly and escape into a book. Reading always calmed her and at this late hour surely sleep would come soon. It took twenty minutes for this to prove correct. She stood to turn off the lamp and in the darkness that followed, she glanced through the window to the back lawn.

  She did a double-take and squinted to focus better. A figure appeared to creep along at the edge of the tree line. From the slight stoop of the shoulders, she was sure she was looking at Richard Martin. The clock on the bookshelf read two o'clock. The snow was thick on the ground and the wind rustled the bare limbs of trees. The chill factor had to be unbearable out there, especially at this time of night.

  "What in the world are you doing out like that in the middle of the night, Richard Martin?" She kept her voice low, not wanting to wake anyone.

  She hoped this guest didn't have some sort of mental problem. It would take someone unstable to be outside at this hour in the deep snow. Brenda's next thought was to awaken Mac and tell him w
hat she saw, but she recalled the weary look on his face and knew he needed his rest. She would tell him in the morning. He may have an explanation, though she wondered what it could possibly be.

  As it turned out, Brenda missed Mac the next morning. His cell phone rang at five in the morning with the report of another burglary on the outskirts of town. This time, the victim was a young man who held classes in woodcarving. Several fine pieces of small furniture remained but three hand carving tools were missing.

  When Brenda came downstairs for breakfast, she observed Thomas Wellington pacing across the front veranda with his cell phone to his ear. She greeted her guests in the dining room. Only Rachel Wellington seemed preoccupied. Brenda went up to her.

  "Good morning, Mrs. Wellington. I hope you will get outside and explore Sweetfern Harbor as you said you planned to do, despite the snow." She smiled encouraging at Rachel, thinking the couple could perhaps use some fresh air to escape whatever problems were going on back home. Rachel Wellington merely smiled and nodded distractedly, and turned to fetch another cup of tea.

  Brenda worried a little for the couple. Sheffield Bed and Breakfast was intended to be a place for respite. Her mind swerved to Richard Martin. His wife Marilyn sipped coffee and conversed with a guest about her age. They were making plans to walk down to the shops when they finished breakfast.

  "I think the town is so quaint and interesting," Marilyn said. She turned to Richard. "I don't suppose you want to come with us, Richard?" Richard picked up on the fact that his wife asked merely out of courtesy, and declined.