Murder at Mistletoe Manor: A Mystery Novella
by Holly Tierney-Bedord
Also by Holly Tierney-Bedord
Bellamy’s Redemption
Coached
Right Under Your Nose: A Christmas Story
Ring in the New Year
Run Away Baby
The Snowflake Valley Advice Fairy
Sunflowers and Second Chances
Surviving Valencia
Weekend Immune System
Zeke and Angelique
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by Holly Tierney-Bedord, featuring artwork from Adobe Stock.
Murder at Mistletoe Manor: A Mystery Novella,
by Holly Tierney-Bedord
copyright © 2016 by Holly Tierney-Bedord.
All rights reserved.
Excerpt from Right Under Your Nose: A Christmas Story by Holly Tierney-Bedord
copyright © 2015 by Holly Tierney-Bedord.
All rights reserved.
Chapter 1
There were seven guestrooms at Mistletoe Manor, and it was strange for more than one to be booked on a Tuesday in December. Yet here was the appointment book with all rooms confirmed, a week in advance, no less.
Klarinda Snow chewed on the eraser of her pencil, pondering the odds. Unable to make sense of this anomaly, she brought up the Windy Pines online calendar of events to see if there was something special going on around town that night. Aside from the Christmas market, which happened throughout the holiday season, there was nothing special on the calendar.
“Must be some kind of a reunion,” she said aloud. But if it was a reunion, wouldn’t at least one of the guests have said so? And wouldn’t they have booked their rooms all together, at once? But she could tell from the different colors of ink in the appointment book that Myrtle had written them at separate times. She flipped the page over to the notes section, but there was nothing written there.
Just then the door swung open and her Jill-of-all-trades came in, carrying a pile of snow-dusted firewood.
“Hello, Klarinda! It’s getting nasty out there!” Myrtle said, setting the pile of wood on the old bench just inside the foyer by the front door. She removed her mittens and hat and set them on the radiator. “Do you want the fireplace in the dining room going yet, or should we hold off until later in the day?”
“Let’s hold off for now,” said Klarinda, anxious to ration as much firewood as possible. Unfortunately, running Mistletoe Manor meant scrimping on the luxuries, and sometimes even the necessities, at all times. “Myrtle, did all these bookings for December thirteenth come in at the same time?”
“Throughout the day yesterday, when you were up in Winter River getting new snow tires put on your truck.”
“Seems a little funny to have every room booked, doesn’t it?”
“I certainly thought so,” said Myrtle.
“And none of them paid in advance?”
“Come to think of it, I guess not.”
“Strange. We may need to change our policy on allowing bookings without prepayment. I feel like we’re being scammed,” said Klarinda.
“You’re such a cynic,” joked Myrtle.
“Perhaps. Or maybe I’m a realist. Did any of them mention one another?”
“No. Each seemed to be unrelated and random. It happens, I suppose. All the rooms getting booked at once like that.”
“It doesn’t happen, though,” said Klarinda. “I wish it did! But I can’t remember the last time all seven rooms were booked at once.”
“Don’t look down on good luck,” Myrtle advised.
“I’m not,” said Klarinda, smiling to prove it. Nearly twenty years younger than Myrtle, she received her fair share of sometimes-wise and often-overbearing pearls of wisdom from the older woman, despite that she was Myrtle’s boss. Still, she appreciated Myrtle’s work ethic and experience, so she usually bit her tongue when Myrtle doled out her advice. Not to mention, sometimes Myrtle was right.
“Oh, bother! This means we’re going to have to get the toilet working in the purple guestroom,” said Myrtle, remembering the project Klarinda had been reminding her about for two months.
“So… You got that?” asked Klarinda.
“Yes, boss. I got it,” said Myrtle, shaking her head good-naturedly. “While I take care of that, you need to call The Christmas Company. They can bring a tree here, with lights and non-breakable red ornaments, and have it all set up for just two hundred ninety-nine dollars. It could be here by the end of the business day today.”
“Nice try,” said Klarinda, “but it’s not in our budget.”
“You’re the boss,” sighed Myrtle.
With Myrtle upstairs, plunging away, or whatever it was she was doing, Klarinda went back to the appointment book, checking to see if any of the names were familiar to her.
In the master suite at the front of the inn were Alanna Winthorpe-Newcastle and Tom Newcastle. In the yellow room at the front corner of the inn, was Caroline Bradbury, alone. In the blue room across the hall from her was Tessa Wycliffe, also alone. Next were Jacob Reese in the green room and Christopher Murdock across the hall from him in the gray room. The last two rooms were the least used, often unbooked for weeks on end. Benji McKellar had reserved the orange room and Sara Byers was across the hall in the purple room. Klarinda didn’t recognize any of these names as those of previous visitors.
“Seems a little strange that single people have booked six of our seven rooms,” Klarinda noted aloud to herself. Mistletoe Manor was, unquestionably, a romantic escape for couples. There were no conference centers or large corporations in the tiny mountain town of Windy Pines, population 3,259. It was nearly twenty miles from the closest large highway, and forty miles from the nearest small airport. This wasn’t the kind of town or inn where people came for business, or while stopping off in the middle of traveling. It was a destination in itself, and single bookings were rare.
Befuddled, she closed the appointment book and headed back to the kitchen to check on Pierre, her chef. On slow days like this, he only made soup and a couple varieties of sandwiches for lunch, and a few pasta dishes and steak for dinner. Weather permitting, the Windy Pines Bake Shoppe brought in fresh bread and rolls each morning. Despite the limited menu, the inn’s dining room was considered the best restaurant in all of Windy Pines.
“Did Myrtle mention to you that we have a full house next week?” Klarinda asked Pierre.
“Can’t say that she did,” said Pierre. “You mean next weekend?”
“Next Tuesday, actually. The night of the thirteenth.”
“What’s the occasion? Some kind of family reunion?”
“I don’t think so,” said Klarinda.
“One of those ladies’ crafting parties?” asked Pierre, offering Klarinda a taste of some new salad dressing he had created earlier in the day to go with the evening’s menu.
She nodded in approval. “Good stuff. But no, it doesn’t look that way either. Maybe it’s just a coincidence.”
“You think so?” asked Pierre, unable to hide his skepticism. He looked around them at the empty dining room. They hadn’t had more than three or four tables filled at one time since late September.
“I don’t know, Pierre. It’s weird, but I ought to be excited about it. We certainly need the business around here.”
“You can say that again,” said Pierre. Like Myr
tle, he was single, in his fifties, and lived on the premises, in one of the two apartments in the old carriage house behind the inn. Neither he nor Myrtle had gotten a raise in years. When Klarinda purchased the inn two years earlier she’d been lucky enough to inherit Pierre and Myrtle… along with all the items she hadn’t been lucky to inherit. Like a leaky roof, outdated furniture, and atrocious utility bills. She’d had big dreams of freshening up the inn, advertising more, and turning it into the showcase she knew it could be. After all, it was a beautiful old inn in a picturesque setting. But so far, she’d only gotten as far as reshingling the roof, purchasing some new bedding, and creating a new website for the inn. Now, out of extra money, she was waiting for a miracle. Perhaps all these guests showing up at once were the start of that.
“You know we’ve got a big storm rolling in on Tuesday night,” said Pierre.
“Which means they may all end up canceling,” said Klarinda.
“Or, if you’re really lucky, maybe they’ll all stay another night.”
“Wouldn’t that be something?” All seven rooms booked for two nights in a row could mean getting the snow blower they needed and some new drapes for the dining room, and maybe even a new toilet for the purple room’s bathroom. “Running an inn certainly isn’t as romantic as people think it is,” Klarinda remarked.
Pierre raised his potato masher and sighed. “Tell me about it.”
Chapter 2
“This place isn’t as nice in person as the website makes it look,” said the tall, blonde woman standing before the reception desk. To prove her point, she strutted over to the staircase and ran her finger along an obscure little groove in the detailing of the woodwork, producing a small pile of dust. She strutted back to the front desk, held the bit of gray fluff in front of Klarinda’s face, and then softly blew it onto the floor.
“Uh, well, I’m sorry you feel that way,” Klarinda stammered. “And sorry about that dust. There’s a lot to keep up with here.” She glanced over the woman’s shoulder through the front window, as the Newtown Airport Taxi that had just dropped her off turned right out of the inn’s parking lot. Large flakes of snow were just beginning to fall.
“Caroline Bradbury. I’m here for one night.”
“Welcome, Caroline. Could I see your credit card and driver’s license, please?” asked Klarinda.
“You need my credit card?”
“And your license, please.”
“You need them both? Fine. Whatever.” Caroline reached into her handbag, pulled out her matching wallet, removed a credit card and her driver’s license, and tossed both onto the counter in front of Klarinda.
“Thank you. I’ll be right back with these,” said Klarinda, going off to make photocopies of them. It was probably illegal, but it had been the way the last owners did it, and it was how she did it now.
“Is there someone who can take my luggage? I’m tired of hauling it around,” Caroline yelled to the empty lobby of the inn, while Klarinda stood waiting for the copier to warm up.
“Yes,” she called back, over her shoulder, “if you don’t mind waiting just a minute, Ms. Bradbury.” Her voice sounded much more pleasant than she actually felt.
“It’s incredibly heavy,” Caroline Bradbury explained, as Klarinda returned to the front counter. “It weighs at least fifty pounds,” she added in a half-whisper, as if she were filling Klarinda in on something top secret. Then she gave her Louis Vuitton mini steamer trunk a shove with the pointed toe of her high heeled pumps, and sighed theatrically.
“I’ll bring it right up for you. You’ll be in room number one. The yellow room right at the top of the stairs.”
“Yellow? I hate yellow.”
“I can switch you to a different room, ma’am. How do you like purple?”
“Don’t call me ma’am. I’m younger than you are! The yellow room is fine. What difference does it make? It’s just one night. But yellow’s an ugly, unsettling color, if you ask me.”
I didn’t ask you, Klarinda thought. “I assure you, it’s a pretty room,” she said, smiling through her irritation.
“So,” Caroline said, a little less caustically, “what have you got planned for me? Some kind of spa treatment or something? A massage?”
“What have I got planned for you? Well,” said Klarinda, trying to hide how perplexed she felt, “there’s Sand and Stone Spa on Fourth Street. That’s a nice place. The Peabody sisters own it. In fact, I happen to have a brochure right here.” She located one beneath her counter and handed it to Caroline.
“I’d have to leave this inn to get there?” asked Caroline, wrinkling her nose.
“Well, yes. It’s probably about half a mile from here. Right down the mountain, then a few blocks down Main Street. And then you’d take a right on Fourth Street.”
“Out there, in the snow?”
“Yes,” said Klarinda. “You’d go through the snow to get there, of course. It’s not as if there’s a tunnel from here to the spa.”
“I’d freeze to death,” Caroline declared.
“There are a couple taxis around town. I mean, if Bob Harrison and Norm Richards are working today, anyhow. And one or the other usually is.” She scratched her head, wondering if she’d answered this bizarre customer’s question.
“Two taxis. That run when they feel like it. Charming.”
“I apologize,” said Klarinda, “but we’re just a small town.”
“Is this all some kind of joke? Am I in hell?” asked Caroline Bradbury.
“No. You’re in Windy Pines,” said Klarinda.
“I’m not impressed so far.”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” said Klarinda. She sighed. “Moving on, our dining room is open from seven to nine for breakfast, eleven thirty to one thirty for lunch, and five thirty to eight thirty for dinner. Here’s a little card with the hours on it, in case you forget.”
“Am I the only guest in this whole place?” asked Caroline, shoving the card from Klarinda into her handbag. She craned her neck, looking down the hall at the dark, empty dining room, and behind her at the dim, still parlor.
“For now, but we have other guests booked for this evening. It should liven up around here in no time!”
“That’s a relief,” said Caroline.
“One more thing, if you don’t mind,” said Klarinda. “We ask all our guests this: How did you hear about Mistletoe Manor?”
“What do you mean, ‘How did I hear about it?’” asked Caroline Bradbury. Her eyes narrowed menacingly as she leaned over the counter toward Klarinda. “You invited me here.”
“Excuse me?” asked Klarinda. “I’m pretty sure I didn’t.” She laughed a nervous, snorty little chuckle, and then hated herself for sounding like such a ninny in front of this woman. “How could I have, ma’am, when I’ve never met you?”
“Quit calling me that! Your boss must have invited me.”
“I don’t have a boss,” said Klarinda. “I’m the owner of Mistletoe Manor.”
“Enough of this silliness! I don’t like it when people play games with me. If you didn’t invite me, then explain this,” said Caroline, pulling an embossed envelope from her handbag and setting it on the counter of the front desk.
Klarinda slid the card out of the envelope and opened it, and read the short message inside:
Dearest Caroline,
You’re cordially invited to an evening of extravagance and luxury at Mistletoe Manor in scenic Windy Pines, Idaho.
Please use the airline ticket and taxi voucher included. All meals and expenses have been paid for. The evening of December 13 is reserved in your honor.
Don’t miss this very special evening, or you’ll certainly regret it. It will be a life changing evening!
Enjoy your stay!
Sincerely,
Your friends at Mistletoe Manor
Klarinda examined the card and the envelope. No return address, but it was postmarked Windy Pines. A plain white card with a raised MM on the front. It wasn’t a
card she’d ever seen associated with the inn. The envelope was equally simple and elegant, and made of the same heavy stock. She made a quick note of Caroline Bradbury’s address: 171 North Salem St., Clear Water, New York.
“Is this not from you?” asked Caroline.
“I’ve never seen anything like it before in my life,” said Klarinda. “Furthermore, no one paid for anything.” She handed the invitation back to Caroline, just as the front door swung open.
“Brrr! It’s freezing out,” said the cute brunette who was stepping through the front door. She stomped off her boots onto the mat, and appeared to be just about to say something else, when her eyes met Caroline’s and both women gasped.
“Caroline Bradbury?” squealed the brunette. “From Mount Hemlock Academy?”
“Tessa Wycliffe? Is that you?”
“It is! Me. In the flesh. Wow, Caroline Bradbury, my old roomie! Wild! It’s been years! What are you doing here?”
“I was just asking myself that!” snorted Caroline.
“If you know one thing about me, you know that I’m a hugger! So you get over here,” said Tessa.
Klarinda watched as Caroline awkwardly stepped forward and accepted Tessa’s enthusiastic embrace. In Tessa’s gloved hand was an envelope, exactly like the one Caroline was holding.
Chapter 3
Moments after Tessa and Caroline had checked into their rooms right across the hall from each other, the front door of the inn opened again.
“It’s a brisk one out there,” Todd Healy, the lone Windy Pines bike messenger announced. He was covered in snow and his teeth were chattering.
“How’s it going today?” asked Klarinda, filling a mug with hot coffee from the machine behind her, and passing it to him. She’d had a crush on him since the first time he’d stopped by the inn two years earlier, delivering a ‘Welcome to Town!’ box of salted caramels from the folks down at the Windy Pines Candy Kitchen.
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