Tea, Treats & Terror

by Carolyn L. Dean

  "You okay?" she asked softly, reaching over to help, and Benson climbed back up on the seat, then gave her hand an apologetic lick. Breathing a sigh of relief, she told the dog to stay, then got out and looked under the car to see what she'd hit.

  She opened her mouth in horror. A small gray squirrel was about two feet in front of her tire, lying on its back. It didn't seem to be breathing. Checking more closely, she didn't see any blood or injuries but it was obvious that the poor little thing had been hit. Whipping off her jacket, Amanda gently picked up the limp little body and cradled it in her coat, frantically trying to remember if she had the number for the local vet programmed into her phone. She tucked the little bundle in one arm and opened her back hatch and set it in a cardboard box she'd been meaning to dispose of. She took a last glimpse at the still little face, eyes closed as if in sleep, and bit back a sob as she closed the door. It had been an accident, that's true, but she had been the one driving the car.

  Getting back into the driver's seat she struggled to get her emotions under control, then started the car and continued on toward town. Benson was whining and eyeballing the back of the car, obviously aware that something new was back there, but Amanda put a hand on him and talked to him in a soothing voice, which seemed to help.

  They hadn't gone more than a hundred yards when all craziness broke loose in Amanda's SUV. There was a wild chirp of rodent anger from somewhere behind her head and then it all became a terrible blur. The squirrel, which had only been unconscious and not dead, seemed furious to have awakened in some lady's car, and he decided to take it out on her and demand release. As soon as Benson saw the little gray missile launch himself from the back seat all his doggie instincts kicked into play immediately.

  With a deep woof, Benson scrambled over the seatback in avid pursuit of the uncooperative squirrel. Amanda was screaming at the dog and trying to keep an eye out for the leaping rodent, who was squeaking wildly and trying to flee the huge yellow animal who was apparently trying to eat him. With one eyeball on the rearview mirror and one trying to watch the road in front of her, Amanda jammed on the brakes and slammed the car into park for the second time in one day, sliding to a sudden stop by the side of the road as the wild squirrel and prey-driven dog ran around the back of the car in a blur of fur and frenzy.

  Amanda jumped out of the car the moment it stopped, reaching in the back door just fast enough to grab hold of Benson's still-attached leash as he went by. The squirrel, obviously seeing his chance at freedom, dove over the barking dog and ran like his tail was on fire across the road. He disappeared into the bushes while Amanda struggled to keep the straining dog from pulling the leash so hard she'd have to let go, her shoulder aching from the effort.

  Finally, Benson seemed to realize that there would be no tasty squirrel treats that day. He stood still, then looked back at Amanda as if to apologize. Biting off a choice curse word or two, Amanda put Benson in the back seat and flopped back into the driver's seat.

  So much for the joy of having a pet.

  She brushed her hair out of her eyes and blew out a snort of relief. She'd had enough excitement for one day that she knew she wouldn't be needing to stop by Cuppa for her morning jolt of caffeine.

  Normally, she would've loved to park on the main street and do a bit of visiting or shopping, but today her errands led her a bit past that.

  The town square of Ravenwood Cove was a lovely patch of green lawn surrounded by some of the original buildings in town. The brick-faced police station was next to the town hall, and the white-steepled church where Amanda and James had been married stood as a proud witness to the town's history. The park was a favorite place for townspeople to come for walks or to just sit on the many benches around it and people watch. Dogs were welcome, as long as they were well-behaved and their owners cleaned up after them. A colorful playground at the end of the square closest to Main Street was a popular place for kids to come play with their families. Amanda loved to sit and watch them while they played tag or egged each other on to see who could swing the highest. It brought back good memories of her time with her mother. No matter how broke they were, her mother always tried to find time to take her to the park to play.

  It was Benson's first time at the park, and Amanda made sure he was on his best behavior. The good weather had brought out all sorts of folks and the yellow lab was in his element, having his ears scratched by strangers and being repeatedly petted and praised. The kids seemed to especially love him, and he got more than one hug around his neck. Amanda smiled. He seemed like a calm, friendly dog.

  That is, unless there’s a wild squirrel trapped in the car with him, she thought, and inwardly laughed.

  She was just about to usher Benson back in the car when she saw George Ortiz walking her way, holding the hand of his young daughter, Denise. Denise and Amanda were good friends, but when Amanda bent down to give the little girl a big hug she squealed in glee and ran right by her and started to pet Benson. Eyes closed in near-delight, Benson sat there and took it as his due, and Denise finally gave him an honest-to-goodness kiss on his broad head.

  "Oh, is this your new doggie? What's his name? How long have you had him? Does he like to eat dry food or wet food? Our dog likes wet food better. Can I take him for a walk?"

  Amanda laughed. "His name's Benson, and he likes wet food better. I'm sorry, sweetie, but I don't think it's a good idea if you take him for a walk."

  "How come?" Denise asked, her face falling in disappointment.

  "Well, it turns out he likes to chase squirrels, and he runs after them. If you were hanging on to his leash when he did that he'd drag you with him." Amanda sat down on the nearby bench, getting at Denise's eye level. "I don't want you to get hurt, okay?"

  Denise thought about it, then nodded slowly and turned to her father. "Daddy, can I go play on the swings? Brittany's over there," she asked, and George nodded his assent. As she scampered off to play he sat down next to Amanda.

  "How's James doing in Boston? I heard there was some sort of snafu with the extradition."

  Amanda sighed. "They're waiting a few more days, hoping they can bring Monroe's accomplice back with him, but so far the paperwork is dragging along. Hopefully, he'll know more tonight." She clucked her tongue at Benson and he lay down next to her, then yawned and set his head on his paws as he watched the children.

  "What's new with you, George? I haven't seen you since the marathon."

  "Well, I just heard something that's going to be in the papers tomorrow."

  This sparked Amanda's interest, and she waited for the police chief to explain.

  "The autopsy results came back from Ruben Bishop."

  Amanda looked at him, as he was staring straight ahead, watching his daughter. “Did they find out what killed him?"

  George nodded and stretched his legs out in front of him. "Peanut allergy. He died of anaphylactic shock."

  Amanda grimaced. "Well, I'm not surprised, seeing what sort of reaction he had, but why didn't his epi-pen work? I thought those were supposed to be pretty foolproof, as long as they were used correctly."

  "Usually, they are," George agreed. "The problem is, this one wasn't an epi-pen."

  Amanda frowned in confusion. "What do you mean, wasn't an epi-pen? I saw him open it up and jam it into his thigh right in front of me!"

  George looked at her, his face deadly serious. "What I mean is, that pen was full of water, not medicine."

  "Water?" Amanda's mind whirled with the possibilities of this fact, and George could see her trying to make sense of his words.

  "Yes, nothing but water."

  Amanda took a deep breath. "So, that means..." her voice trailed off in thought, until George cleared his throat and explained.

  "It means someone tampered with the pen so if Bishop had an allergic reaction he wouldn't have any medicine with him."

  Amanda's mouth dropped open at the implication.

  "It means someone knew that somewhere along the line R
uben Bishop was going to use that pen." He paused.

  "It means someone wanted him to die, and they'd commit murder to make sure he did."

  Chapter 11

  “I swear, I think the Hendersons are mental.” Jennifer said, peering out the kitchen window.

  Amanda gave a deep sigh and set aside her phone. “What are they up to now?”

  “You’re not going to believe it.”

  “Try me.”

  “Well, the whole family’s lined up their chairs outside and are sitting in a row, watching Roy Greeley bark orders at the construction workers who are building your house.”

  Closing her eyes, Amanda could feel a headache coming on. “They did the same thing when I first started remodeling the Inn. Just ignore them. Eventually, they go back inside.”

  “Really?”

  “Trust me. Wheel of Fortune’s coming on in half an hour. That should get them back indoors.”

  Jennifer continued to look out the front window. “Um, Pastor Fox is here with the teen landscape crew. What are they working on today?”

  “I asked them for a bid on building a new pergola out back. I’m thinking we should have one a bit closer to the Inn, in case of bad weather.”

  Jennifer looked surprised. “That’s a great idea.” She paused. “As long as they don’t dig up another dead body,” she added, and Amanda laughed.

  “I’ll make sure to put that in the contract.”

  * * *

  It wasn't her favorite chore in the world, but it had to be done. Every day, after the guests were out and about, either she or Jennifer went through all the bedrooms and cleaned it top to bottom, as well as the bathrooms. Amanda was justifiably proud of how much effort she'd put into making the rooms welcoming and beautiful, and having them tidy with fresh sheets was a huge part of that.

  Jennifer had taken the west side of the first floor, and Amanda could hear her singing wildly as she bopped along, her wireless headphones cranked up to concert hall volume. Amanda couldn't quite make out if it was classic rock or a mangled country tune that Jennifer didn't really know the words to, but whatever it was, it made her chuckle as she dusted. Amanda was finishing up her last room, the one belonging to Wendell Smith, when she noticed something in the wastebasket. Picking it up, she could see that several flat, plain pieces of paper had been dropped over something in the bottom of the can. She pulled up one corner of the paper, and sitting underneath was something completely unexpected.

  It was a single-serve plastic tube of creamy peanut butter, with the end ripped open.

  She'd seen peanut butter in portion-sized containers like this, mostly used for bagels or to pack in lunches, but she knew everything that was in her kitchen downstairs. She also knew for a fact that this tube, so innocent-looking to someone who didn't have to fear allergies, hadn't come from the Inn.

  Wherever Wendell Smith had gotten it, maybe there was a very good reason why he'd made sure to cover it up when he threw it away.

  She picked up her phone and texted James. He needed to know about her discovery.

  Chapter 12

  “I can’t believe we’re going to see a Disney movie.” James stuck his thumbs in the loops on his jeans and looked down at his wife. “I’m good with Disney for when we have kids, but as a grown man…” He shook his head, obviously not impressed.

  Amanda thanked the ticket seller and grabbed both tickets, then grinned at her husband.

  “Consider it research.”

  “Watching Alice in Wonderland is research?”

  “Sure, it is. Maybe it will give you some ideas about what you want to wear for the upcoming Mad Hatter party.”

  James looked skeptical. “Um, I’m not so sure about that. Do I look like the type of guy who’d be thrilled to be at a tea party?”

  Laughing, Amanda had to admit that her tall husband, dressed in his Levi’s and favorite cowboy boots, wasn’t exactly the spitting image of someone who’d love to sit and drink tea.

  “Oh, it’ll be fun. It’s not going to be one of those fussy affairs,” she assured him as she looped an arm through his. “Truman’s the one hosting it, so you know it’s going to be something completely different and fun. Something that Ravenwood Cove has never seen before. I’m not sure what I’m going to dress as, but maybe the movie will help with that. Look, if you hate the movie, you hate it, but let’s try to enjoy it, okay?”

  James smiled down at her. “I’ll do my best. There’s not going to be singing in it, is there?” he asked, and Amanda’s face fell.

  “How about I buy you some popcorn with extra butter, and a large soda?” she said, avoiding the topic and her husband gave a short bark of laughter.

  “And earplugs. Apparently, I’ll need them, too,” he commented, and they walked into the popcorn-scented lobby. “Do they sell beer here?”

  The line to get inside was full of people they both knew, and several of the guests from the Inn. Amanda and James had a good chat with the Hendersons, their neighbors across the street, and Burt, the fire chief. It seemed like everyone wanted to know what James was doing to find the murderer.

  As they were at the concessions counter, and James glumly confirmed his suspicions that the old-fashioned movie theater did not serve alcohol, Amanda could hear muffled voices coming from the roped-off stairwell behind her. They rose in fell in agitation, and from the timbre of them it sounded like a man and a woman. As James paid for their snacks and tickets Amanda watched the stairwell, expecting someone to emerge.

  Finally, the two people seemed to have stopped arguing. Amanda took the soda James handed her, then said, “Would you mind going in and finding us seats? I’ll be right there.” James raised his eyebrow but assented, and she watched him maneuver his way through the large doors, then the heavy curtains keeping the outside light out of the auditorium.

  I probably shouldn’t, she thought to herself, even as she stepped closer to the bottom of the unlit stairs and looked up the twisting staircase. The thin rope going across the entrance was looped around the handrail. With a quick glance to be sure no one was watching her, Amanda quickly flipped it open and ducked up into the shadows, quietly walking upwards.

  To her knowledge, the balcony of the old theater hadn’t been open to moviegoers for a long time, probably years before Amanda had come to Ravenwood Cove. Mrs. Granger had told her that there had been concerns about how much weight the top floor could take, and insurance for theaters with balconies was expensive due to the possibility of someone leaning over the rail and falling. Just minutes ago, she’d seen Brandon, the projectionist, already going up the other stairwell to his projection booth. Nate, the other employee, had his hands full at the ticket and concession counter.

  There was no reason someone would be up on the second floor, unless they were an employee.

  Holding her breath as she slowly crept up the old staircase, she winced against every tiny creak under her feet. She could hear the two people still talking now, both intense in their speech, both focused on their discussion. As she got closer, she started to be able to untangle the familiar voices.

  Tory and Sage.

  There was a muffled exclamation, then Sage said, “He was going to close the garage. That place has been my whole life since I got to Ravenwood. I just needed to get him off my back, that’s all.”

  “Hey, I completely understand,” Tory assured him. “My question is, what did you do to make him fall over like that, in front of all those witnesses? Are you crazy?”

  Sage snorted in denial. “Oh, you’re one to talk, Tory. Let’s talk about your part in all that, shall we? How about your history with Bishop in Portland, when you were neighbors? What was it his mother told you as she lay dying? I think you’re accusing me of something when you’re the one who’s got something to hide. Who’s got more reason to kill him than you?”

  “Maybe I did have my reasons. The man was a pig and he put his own mother through hell. What of it? Would the world be a better place if he was still walki
ng around, breathing my air?”

  Amanda’s mouth fell open. She knew Tory always had strong opinions about things, and Amanda knew that she tended to either love or hate people, with not much in-between. Still, to hear her be so flippant about Ruben Bishop’s death sent a chill through her heart.

  There was a pause, apparently while Sage considered.

  “Fine,” he said, finally. “Let’s just keep this to ourselves, all right? I don’t need to have any cops snooping around my garage.”

  “Absolutely,” Tory agreed. “This conversation never happened.” There was a pause. “I’m as silent as the grave.”

  Grateful for the noisy previews that had started playing on the big screen, Amanda tried to be quiet as she quickly went down the stairs, then emerged into the brightly-lit lobby. Turning her head as she opened the door to the auditorium, she could see Sage coming down the staircase by himself. She ducked inside, glad of the dark room and the lit screen, and quickly found her husband, who was already deep into the tub of popcorn and avidly watching the advertisements.

  “They’re playing True Grit next week, the original one with John Wayne,” he said happily, a bunch of popcorn clutched in his hand. “Don’t be surprised if I wear my spurs and my hat when we come see that.”

  “Oh, boy,” she said, settling in next to him and taking the soda he offered. “Something to look forward to.” She took a sip, considering. “Honey, when the movie’s over remind me to tell you something I heard today, okay?”

  He nodded, eyes on the screen. “Will do.”

  Chapter 13

  Driving home, Amanda thought back over what George had said.

  Murder.

  This was more than someone just tampering with Ruben Bishop's medication. With everything that had happened since she'd arrived at Ravenwood Cove, she had to wonder if the killer had also made very sure Bishop had been exposed to peanuts at the marathon.