Murder at Mistletoe Manor: A Mystery Novella

by Holly Tierney-Bedord

  “What are you doing in here?” snapped Benji, looking shocked.

  “Just getting your room ready for the night,” said Klarinda.

  “Oh. You scared me. I didn’t know anyone would be in here.”

  “Sorry. I’m about to get out of your way. Did you have a good dinner?”

  “I guess it was alright. The gravy was lumpy. In my head, I pictured it smooth.”

  “I’ll talk to the chef,” Klarinda said, even though she had no intention of mentioning the complaint to Pierre.

  “Good,” said Benji. “I wasn’t expecting you to care.”

  “I care,” said Klarinda, feeling immediately guilty.

  “Another thing,” said Benji, “is that there are typos in your menu.”

  “There are?” asked Klarinda.

  “Yes. Beef bourguignon is not spelled b-o-u-r-g-u-i-n-i-o-n,” she said.

  “Okay. Sorry about that,” said Klarinda.

  “And there should be a space between ice and cream in ice cream. Obviously.”

  “Well, yeah. I guess I noticed that one already, but it costs quite a bit to get them reprinted. Anyway, thanks for pointing that out.”

  “I went to Harvard. Not that you’d have to go to Harvard to be able to spell ice cream.”

  “Good for you,” said Klarinda.

  “I’m not trying to brag. It’s just that I heard that stuck-up group of pretties going on and on about how they went to Princeton and Yale and Oxford. But none of them went to Harvard.”

  “Pretties?” asked Klarinda.

  “That’s what I call pretty people. People like that group sitting around the table. They’re nothing. Just a bunch of pretties.”

  Klarinda wasn’t sure why she felt compelled to continue carrying on with this conversation, but she’d never been one to hold her tongue when she felt she ought to speak up. “I don’t know if it’s fair to hold someone’s success against them. And really, I don’t think a lot about where people went to college. I’m in my thirties, and at this point, it doesn’t mean that much to me. Honestly, it never has.”

  “You’re just saying that because you must not have gone anyplace good. Back to what I was saying, you ought to get your menus fixed.”

  “I heard you the first time. Anything else you need? Otherwise, have a good night,” said Klarinda.

  “I suppose you think I’m arrogant, but I’m just trying to help you improve. I wish someone had helped me improve at some point in my life, but I’ve always been on my own.”

  “Maybe I have, too,” Klarinda said. “You shouldn’t assume things about people.”

  Benji snorted a little at that. “You can, though. Statistics can explain quite a bit about most situations. Back to helping you improve, though. A better menu would add to the experience of staying here. And a Christmas tree. It’s deplorable that there isn’t one. You’re setting people up for disappointment. I’m trying to help you. So far, this experience hasn’t been the best.”

  Klarinda nodded. “Okay. Sorry you feel that way. I’ll leave you to your privacy now…” she said.

  Benji yawned and sat down on the edge of the bed, and continued talking, ignoring Klarinda’s cue. “It was getting busy down there. I figured I’d had enough. I don’t like that much noise!”

  “Well, the dining room closes at eight thirty, and we stop serving alcohol at ten thirty, so you won’t need to worry about it going on all night. Do you need any extra towels or anything like that before I go?” Klarinda asked, her hand on the door frame and one foot out the door.

  “No. You mean they’re going to be down there until ten thirty?”

  “Well, actually, it could be a little later. We stay open until eleven, but last call is at ten thirty. Honestly, though, you won’t be bothered by them. These old walls are thick. Even if the dining room is busy until eleven, it doesn’t usually affect the people who are upstairs.”

  “It affects me,” said Benji.

  “Okay? Well, my work is done here. Have a great night,” said Klarinda. She had the door half closed, but then she paused and stuck her head back in Benji’s room. “Quick question for you, if you don’t mind my asking: What made you decide to stay here at Mistletoe Manor? We like to know these things. For marketing purposes.”

  “Like I already told you,” said Benji. “I got invited. By you, I thought. I got an invitation telling me I won a free night’s stay.”

  Klarinda nodded. “That’s right. I forgot. Did you have to travel far? Do you still live in Massachusetts?”

  “I’m surprised you know that’s where Harvard is. You’d be surprised how many people don’t even know that much.”

  “So, is that where you’re from?” Klarinda tried again.

  “Could you please excuse me? I have a terrible headache,” said Benji, lying back on the bed, closing her eyes, and rolling over to face the wall.

  “Of course,” said Klarinda. “I hope you’re feeling better.”

  “I will be soon,” said Benji. “You can close the door after yourself. Goodbye.”

  Chapter 6

  “I’ve never seen so many people here,” Kelsie said to Klarinda.

  “You’re doing a great job. I’ll get this table by the doorway. Just do your best,” Klarinda told her, before heading over to the four elderly gentlemen in reindeer sweaters. They were rather famous around town for traveling about on skis and caroling all winter long, fearlessly facing whatever weather Windy Pines had to throw at them.

  The clock on the wall said it was eight fifteen, but people were still piling in, and the inn’s policy was to serve dinner to anyone who appeared before eight thirty. Poor Pierre, thought Klarinda. He must be pulling his hair out back there, alone in the kitchen.

  Klarinda approached the old men’s table to take their order, since Kelsie was barely keeping up.

  “Just some eggnog and a big basket of fries for us,” said the old man who most resembled Santa Claus.

  “Bless your hearts. Your order will be right up,” said Klarinda.

  “Do you mind if we do a little caroling while we wait?” asked the one with the droopy mustache.

  “That would be wonderful. You go right ahead,” she said, before rushing over to greet a couple who looked like they were in their teens.

  “We snowshoed here,” the boy announced, his cheeks red from the gusting wind.

  “School’s been canceled for tomorrow, so we decided to celebrate,” added his girlfriend. Then the cute couple looked at each other adoringly.

  Klarinda nodded, trying not to admit to herself that she was jealous of a couple of sixteen year olds. She showed them to one of the last remaining tables in the dining room.

  Just then some activity happening in the parlor caught her attention.

  “Can I help you?” she asked the two men in khaki coveralls who were setting a Christmas tree stand in front of the old bay window.

  “Is this a good place for it?” asked one of them.

  “It would be if I’d ordered a Christmas tree,” said Klarinda.

  “You didn’t?” asked the other.

  “Nope.”

  “Isn’t this Mistletoe Manor?” asked the taller guy, consulting his worklist.

  “It certainly is, but I never ordered a Christmas tree,” said Klarinda.

  “Oh. Well, someone from here called in an order for our budget-friendly Douglas fir with white twinkling lights and sixty childproof burgundy ornaments. They also checked the box for a burgundy felt tree skirt and the small assortment of wrapped empty packages to set beneath it. It says here… someone named Myrtle ordered it. Are you Myrtle?”

  “Just set it up,” said Klarinda, too frazzled to argue.

  She hurried back to the dining room, just in time to see the old men stand up and begin their barbershop quartet style show of caroling. The room hushed and time stopped for a moment, giving Klarinda a chance to focus on her overnight guests at the big table again.

  To her irrational disappointment, Jac
ob and Caroline were still all over each other. Tessa and Christopher were also getting cozy, and Lannie and Sara were huddled together, deep in conversation. Lannie was still wearing the bathrobe, despite that there were six tables of other diners surrounding them.

  “Isn’t this great?” Myrtle asked, sneaking up behind Klarinda. “This is why I love living in a small town. By the way, the toilet’s fixed, it only cost forty dollars, and Rod Showers gave me his personal phone number. He’s only sixty-two, by the way!”

  “How lucky can you get?” whispered Klarinda. “So, you went ahead and ordered us a tree?”

  Myrtle shrugged. “I had to do what I had to do. Are you mad?”

  “Nah. It was probably the right move. As one of our guests said, a place called Mistletoe Manor really does need to have a Christmas tree.”

  Myrtle nodded. “True,” she said.

  “By the way, this is the worst group we’ve ever had at one time. I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have you to vent to.”

  “Has that woman seriously eaten her whole dinner while wearing only a bathrobe?” asked Myrtle.

  Klarinda nodded. “Classy establishment we’ve got here.”

  Just then Lannie seemed to realize how ridiculous she looked, and she rose from the table. Hugging the wall the whole way, she edged herself around the room like she was clinging to the side of a building, then raced up the stairs to her room.

  “Smooth,” Klarinda whispered to Myrtle, both of them smirking.

  Sara then seemed to realize she was a fifth wheel, so she set some money on the table and also headed upstairs.

  The barbershop reindeer sweater oldies wrapped up their act and the dining room erupted into good-natured applause.

  “Not to be outdone,” announced Christopher Murdock, untangling himself from Tessa, “I’ve got a little holiday ditty for you. Let me get a beat rolling on my phone,” he said. He smoothed his Don’t be a bully, be a woolly! t-shirt and cleared his throat.

  “You’re such a doofus,” Tessa giggled drunkenly.

  Seconds later a peppy little beatbox rhythm filled the room and Christopher broke out into a song about snow angels and candy canes that he seemed to be making up as he went along. The other diners, instead of being annoyed or irritated by these little shows, ate them right up. They caught right on to Christopher’s song, and before long the whole room was singing along.

  “I’m up next,” said Jacob, trying to outdo his old friend with a rap about wrapping paper, but failing miserably. He sat back down when he was done and took a big swallow of beer.

  “Shake it off,” said Caroline, giving him a little hug.

  “Let me!” shouted an older woman in the corner, jumping up as soon as Jacob had sat back down. Much to her embarrassed husband’s dismay, she belted out Silent Night, and was met with much applause.

  “This is turning out to be quite the great evening,” said Myrtle, her eyes shining.

  “I couldn’t agree more. When I bought this inn, I imagined us having nights like this. Fun, spontaneous, special times,” said Klarinda, just as the festivities were derailed by an ear-piercing scream.

  Chapter 7

  “I just wanted to get a little shampoo and conditioner from her. The kind you gave me was so cheap. I couldn’t bear to use it,” said Lannie.

  She was still in the robe, leaning over Sara’s lifeless body, her face pale with shock. Klarinda and Myrtle, and nearly all the diners who’d moments earlier been enjoying themselves, were gathered around, or waiting in the upstairs hallway, on the stairs, or in the downstairs hallway. “Please, someone call 911,” Klarinda yelled to the crowd behind her.

  “It’s too late for 911. She doesn’t have a pulse,” Lannie sobbed. “I already checked.”

  “We still need to call 911,” said Klarinda. “Did you find her right there, halfway in her bathroom and halfway out?”

  “Yes,” said Lannie, nodding emphatically. “I knocked on her door and she didn’t answer. I waited a little while, and I even considered showering with the samples you gave me, but I couldn’t do it. This color costs a fortune. Those samples would probably turn it all brassy and dry, and give me split ends. So, I knocked again, and she still didn’t answer. I thought it was kind of strange, so I tried her door and that’s when I discovered her lying here… dead!” Lannie burst into tears, burying her face in her hands.

  “This has got to be particularly difficult for you,” said Caroline Bradbury, who, thanks to being a head taller than most of the people around her, had a good view of the scene.

  “No kidding,” said Tessa, shaking her head in disgust.

  “What are you two getting at?” asked Klarinda.

  “Never mind them,” said Christopher. “They’re both drunk.”

  “Would everyone up here please go back downstairs?” Klarinda said to the crowd. “There’s no need for you to all gather up here. Has anyone called 911 yet? And please don’t forget to settle your bills and tip your waitress before you leave.”

  “Oh my goodness,” wailed Lannie. “Would you look at that? There’s pink foam on the corner of her mouth. She’s been poisoned!”

  “I mean it,” Klarinda yelled. “Everyone, get out of here. You too, Lannie. Myrtle, would you please call 911 in case no one else has yet?”

  “I called them already. They should be here any second, if they can make it through this blizzard,” said a voice from the hallway.

  It was Benji. She waved her hand in the air. “I called them,” she repeated. “I just got off the phone with them. Help is on the way.”

  “Thank you,” said Klarinda. There was a smattering of applause, which struck Klarinda as ironic, considering ten minutes earlier they’d all been clapping for carolers.

  Just then the sound of sirens cut through the noise, and people began clearing out to make way for the first responders.

  Chapter 8

  “What a night,” said Klarinda, an hour and a half later, when she, Pierre, and Myrtle were cleaning up the kitchen together.

  “It’s tragic,” said Pierre, shaking his head.

  “At least we closed early,” said Myrtle, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was just quarter to eleven.

  “I wouldn’t have minded staying open,” said Klarinda, since she seemed to be the only one who ever remembered that they were running a business.

  “What do they think happened to her?” asked Pierre.

  “When they heard there had just been a plumber here, the police figured it had something to do with the hydrochloric acid he used to clear the drain line,” said Klarinda. “Maybe she inhaled it, or got some on her toothbrush, or something like that. I think they were on their way to talk with Rod Showers.”

  “Oh no! I hope Rod’s not in trouble,” said Myrtle.

  Klarinda shook her head. “I don’t think they suspect foul play. Still, the sheriff should be back in town tomorrow morning, weather permitting, and the police who were here tonight said he’ll stop in to talk with us more. They said he’s visiting his sick mother up in Elk’s Pass tonight, and the road’s closed. So who knows what will happen next.”

  “If he’s busy they could send over Deputy Franklin,” Myrtle suggested, naming the hot new officer about town.

  “That would be nice,” Klarinda agreed. “From the sound of it, the police really have their hands full this evening. They said there have been several accidents, and that the avalanche warnings for north of town are on high alert.”

  “So Deputy Franklin’s busy with real emergencies? Darn it!” Myrtle joked.

  “No kidding,” said Klarinda. “How do we get a ‘real emergency’ to take place here?”

  “You two,” said Pierre, shaking his head. “The police force must be feeling a little overwhelmed. There’s not often much happening around here.”

  “I’ll bet you’re right. Did you see we were voted the safest community in all of Idaho?” asked Klarinda, referring to an article she’d read in the Post Register the prev
ious month.

  “Aha! You’re starting to become a local,” said Myrtle.

  “What do you mean by that?” asked Klarinda.

  “You’re getting proud of your town,” said Myrtle. “I told you it would happen! Didn’t I tell you, when you first moved out here and you were homesick, that one day you’d wake up and Windy Pines would be part of you? And that you’d never be able to leave!”

  “I guess I am starting to think of Windy Pines as my town,” mused Klarinda, picking up a dirty pan.

  “I’ll take care of that,” Pierre added, taking his beloved copper pan from Klarinda’s hands.

  “Oh, that’s right. These are your babies,” she said.

  “So I love my pans. So what?”

  “No judgement here,” laughed Klarinda. She took a swig from the open bottle of brandy they were sharing and passed it to Myrtle. Sipping from a bottle of brandy and sharing a bag of chips while they did the dishes had become the Mistletoe Manor crew’s nightly tradition.

  “Don’t mind if I do,” Myrtle said to Klarinda, taking the bottle from her. “So, can I ask you something?” she said.

  “Sure. Ask away.”

  “How old are you?”

  “You know how old I am, Myrtle! Anyway, don’t you know that you’re never supposed to ask a woman her age?”

  “That’s only true if the woman is older than you,” said Myrtle.

  “Maybe I’m older than you,” said Klarinda.

  Pierre reached for the bottle and took a swig. “This is getting good,” he said.

  “I’m thirty-four,” said Klarinda. “I’ll be thirty-five in March. How old are you?”

  “I’m fifty-three,” said Myrtle. “Now, back to you, how’d you end up owning this place, all alone? I know for a fact that when the Petermans sold this place they were asking over half a million dollars for it. How’d you come up with all that money? And why would a young, single gal like yourself want to take on all this responsibility? I’ve been meaning to ask you this for two years!”