Bed & Breakfast Bedlam (A Logan Dickerson Cozy Mystery Book 1)

by Abby L. Vandiver

  “Doesn’t work like that.” She glanced at me. “Can’t solve murders like that. At least with any powers I have. You have to deduce who the murderer is from clues.”

  “Oh,” I said wondering how I was ever going to talk her out of looking for clues.

  “So what do we know so far?” Miss Vivee asked, evidently ready to start using her powers to deduce.

  “Not enough to know what killed her or who did it,” I said. I went over and sat on a high stool next to where she stood.”

  “I already know what killed her.”

  “Are you ever going to share that with me?” I asked.

  “In due time,” she replied. “In due time.”

  I huffed. “Okay. Let’s see. Suspects: Renmar Colquett.” I started counting on my fingers. “Jeffery Beck. Miranda Beck. Who by the way,” I noted. “We know nothing about.”

  “Keep going.”

  “Uhm, oh, the roommate, Koryn Razner.” I glanced down at my finger and up to Miss Vivee. “I think that’s it.”

  She nodded in agreement.

  “And we know,” I continued. “That Gemma was killed either at the park or at her house. Or anywhere past the Jellybean Café and between those two places and here, or somewhere else that could include the entire town.”

  I’m sure I was being too sarcastic for Miss Vivee because by the time I finished she had a scowl on her face.

  “Renmar thinks I shouldn’t take you to Atlanta, although she thinks we’re going to Augusta.” I said deciding to just come out with it. “She said she’s going to have to put her foot down and insist that you don’t go.”

  Vivee lifted an eyebrow. “Did she now?”

  “Yep. She did.” I got up and walked to her shelf of herbs and picked up a bottle filled with a pretty sparkling orange powder. “So, I’m thinking that we won’t be going to Atlanta and checking out that strip bar.”

  “Be careful with that. It could kill you.”

  I put the bottle with the pretty sparkling orange powder back on the shelf – gingerly.

  “She also said that you always bite off more than you can chew. So translating that into terms of solving this thing about Gemma – well, I was thinking, it might be a bit much for you. I’m sure she would say that, besides the fact, we’re not supposed to be doing it. Renmar told me that all of this going out is just too much for you.”

  That last part may not have been what she said, exactly, but I had to try.

  “Well, aren’t you the little instigator?” Miss Vivee said.

  “Me?” I frowned my brow. This little plan seemed to be backfiring. “I’m not instigating. I’m just telling you what she said.” I went back and sat on the stool, and fiddled with some dirt that was scattered on her workstation. “And I think maybe she’s right. We haven’t gotten the autopsy report back yet and we’ve hit a snag with finding out that it may be someone in Atlanta that committed the crime.” I looked at her out the side of my eyes. “If a crime was committed.”

  “Gemma Burke was murdered. Mark my words on that. And that’s what that autopsy report will read when it gets back.” She seemed to be working up an anger. “And I don’t care what Renmar thinks about me. I can figure this thing out. And I will figure it out. I’m not feeble minded you know. I do my crossword puzzles, Sudoku and all those little brain exercises to keep my mind sharp.” She tightened her lips. “Not that I need to.”

  I hadn’t meant to upset her. Maybe, I thought, I should make her understand what I mean. “She didn’t say -” I started but she interrupted.

  “I don’t care what she said,” Vivee hissed out the words. “I know what I saw. I know what happened to that girl.”

  “Well, that may be all that we’ll ever be able to know about it,” I said. “You certainly can’t go to Atlanta and find out anything. It’s too far and you wouldn’t know where to start.”

  “You listen here, Missy.” She gripped her pruning shears a little tighter and pointed them at me. “Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do. I was grown before you were a twinkle in your daddy’s eye. Hell, before he was a twinkle in his daddy’s eye.” She threw the shears on her table and started pounding on the dirt that surrounded the plant. “I’ll go to Atlanta if I want to. You best believe that. And pay no mind to what Renmar says . . . or thinks. She don’t know jack about what I’m capable of. She thinks I didn’t kill her husband.”

  My eyes got big. “You killed her husband?”

  Vivee’s face went from anger, to surprise, to sheepish. “Don’t you ever say a word to anyone,” she let out in a squeak. “I’ll deny I ever said that. Not a word.” She pointed her finger at me. “You hear me? I know how you like to stir up trouble.”

  I laughed. “No I don’t like to ‘stir’ up trouble.”

  “I ain’t so sure.” She sang the words.

  “I won’t say anything to anyone. I promise. But you did say it,” I said. “You said you killed Renmar’s husband.”

  “I guess I let that cat outta the bag, huh?”

  “Does that mean you killed her husband?”

  Miss Vivee bowed her head and closed her eyes. She was quiet for a long moment.

  “Not exactly” she finally said after a long sigh. “And not mostly.”

  “But?” I held out my hands questioningly. She bit her bottom lip. “What, Miss Vivee? What in the world does ‘not mostly’ mean?”

  “Means that the ‘most’ part of him dying I had nothing to do with.”

  “You have to tell me what you mean.”

  “Only if you take me to Atlanta.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Monday Afternoon, AGD

  “We just can’t go to a strip club alone,” I said. I had given up trying to talk her out of it.

  “Why not?”

  “Look at us. An old woman and an archaeologist. We don’t fit.”

  I was sitting on Miss Vivee’s bed watching her as she pulled dress after dress out trying to decide what to wear. Her hair was loose and hung down her back and she was all smiles. She acted like she was going on her first date, no outfit seemed to be the right one. I wondered did she actually think she could find something in her closet that would be just the right thing for a hundred-year old woman to wear to a strip club.

  Cat on the other hand liked everything she had pulled out. She barked her approval of each choice.

  Miss Vivee’s room was big and filled with antiques. When you walked through her bedroom door it was like stepping back in time. She had a big, four-poster bed, floor and table lamps with fringe hanging from the bottom of them, dark wine-colored wallpaper, and a beautiful mahogany wood vanity with a silk covered stool. And there were pictures of Bay all over.

  I wouldn’t have been able to stomach all the “Bay-ness” if she hadn’t been holding information that I wanted over my head. The only way, she had told me, that I was going to find out what she had to do with Louis Colquett’s death was if I took her to Atlanta. And to be sure I didn’t renege on my part, she told me she would only tell me once we got back. Plus, after I realized how much it meant to her, I didn’t have the heart not to take her. What’s a trip two hours up the road? So I was stuck going to a strip club in Atlanta, and suffering through the “Eyes of Bay” staring at me from every corner of the room.

  “I see what you mean,” she said and sat down on the bed next to me. “Just the two of us can’t go. We need to take a man with us. Make us look more legit.” she said and bit down on her lip.

  Legit? Where did she get that word from?

  “We could ask Bay to go with us,” she said, a questioning look on her face.

  “No,” I practically shouted out the words. She raised her eyebrows at my outburst. “It’s just . . . you know . . . He won’t let you investigate like you want,” I said. I didn’t want her to know that I was afraid if I was anywhere near that man he would trick me into confessing my crimes. I tried to steer clear of him at all cost.

  “That’s true,” she said tho
ughtfully. “I’ve got it,” she said, snapping her finger. She hopped up and Cat jumped with her, tail wagging on “high.” She grabbed both my hands. “We’ll ask Mac!”

  I thought she was going to pull me up and start dancing she was so elated over her decision.

  “Who?” I asked.

  “He’ll be our cover,” she said beaming. Then we’ll look like we belong.”

  “Who?” I asked again. Then it hit me. “You mean the ninety-year old man that was at the diner staring at you? That Mac?”

  “Yes. That Mac. I only know one Mac. I’ll call him and tell him to meet us at the diner. We can tell him our plans.” She stopped and squinted her eyes. “I would go to his house, but I vowed I never step foot in there again.” She shook her shoulders and looked at me. “That’ll work fine. The diner. We’ll meet him at the diner.”

  I wasn’t as enthused about Mac as she was.

  “I really don’t think taking an ol- I mean him – Mac will help us.”

  “Why not? Don’t be silly.”

  “He may not want to go. Or be up to it.” I remembered how upset Miss Vivee got the last time we ran into him. I just didn’t think it would be a good idea for her to be like that all the way to Atlanta and back.

  “Oh hogwash,” she said. “That man’ll do anything I ask him. He’s in love with me you know.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “No. I didn’t know.” That comment nipped my concern in the bud. “Soooo,” I started slowly. “Do you love him?”

  “Of course I do.”

  I smiled. How cute.

  “Then why aren’t you together. And why did you barely speak to him when we saw him at the diner? And why did you duck down in the seat when we passed his house?”

  “You ask a lot of questions, Missy.”

  “I’m a scientist.”

  “Poohey.”

  I laughed. “So what’s the answer?”

  “To which question?”

  “All of them, Miss Vivee. Spill the beans.”

  She lowered her eyes and came back to sit on the bed with me. “I’m mad at him.”

  “What happened?”

  She took in a breath. She glanced at me and then stared down at her hands that she had folded in her lap.

  “I ran him over with my car,” she said in a low, contrite voice.

  “Oh?” That’s the only thing I could think to say.

  “You know that little limp he has when he walks?” she asked. I nodded my head. “It’s because of me and my brand new 1994 Lincoln Continental. I called her Betsy – she was a great car. Anyway, we broke his hip.”

  “Wait. 1994? That was like twenty years ago.”

  She nodded.

  “You two were in your seventies.”

  She nodded again.

  “You hit a seventy year old man with your car?”

  No nod this time, she just sighed and closed her eyes.

  “Why?”

  “I thought he was cheating on me.”

  I couldn’t hold my laughter in any longer. “With who?”

  “This hussy that lived the next street over from him,” she said, her whole demeanor changing. “Ooowee! I couldn’t stand her. Always smiling at him. Falling all over herself when she was around him. Cooking him dinner and inviting herself to have meals with him.” Vivee waved her hand in the air. “Just the thought of it, even now, turns my stomach.”

  “You said you ‘thought’ he was. Did you find out if he really was cheating on you with her?”

  “Well.” She fluttered her eyes. “He said he wasn’t. But you know men, if their lips are moving they’re probably lying.”

  “So are they together now?”

  “Oh God no. Don’t be silly. If they were I wouldn’t be taking him to Atlanta with us. She’s dead and buried. Rotting in hell I hope.” She turned and looked at me, the fire of her eagerness popping back into her eyes. “So Mac gets a reprieve.” She clapped her hands together.

  “Now come on, Missy. Get a move on.” She patted me on my leg and stood up. “We gotta go and tell him about our little trip. With that limp he don’t get around as quick as he used to. It’ll take him some time to get ready.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Tuesday Afternoon, AGD

  “Mac is here, Miss Vivee,” Viola Rose whispered it as soon as we walked through the door of the Jellybean Cafe. She nodded her head toward the back of the diner. “Says he’s here waiting for you, wouldn’t even order anything until you got here. Wasn’t sure how you felt about talking to him. I know how he dills your pickles. Maybe you’d want to come back later?”

  “It’s okay, Viola Rose,” Miss Vivee replied. “I asked him to meet me here.”

  “Oh. I see,” she said, drawing out the words and then flashing a conspiratorial smile.

  “No. You don’t see, Viola Rose. It’s just business,” Miss Vivee held her head up, chin jutted out and seemed to saunter toward the booth where Mac sat. “Just bring us three glasses of iced tea over, will ya?” she said over her shoulder.

  She was putting on a show. I grinned. Mac sure did do something to her. After all that talk it had taken her the rest of the day to get up the nerve to call Mac and tell him to meet us at the diner. And all morning she fussed with another wardrobe dilemma. This time what to wear to see Mac. She had put on face powder and that same lipstick she’d worn for her “coming out.” She had checked several times in her compact mirror on our way to the diner that everything had stayed in place. She’d even left Cat at home.

  “Sure thing,” Viola Rose called out to her. I turned my head to look at Viola Rose and she gave me a crooked smile.

  I had promised myself I wouldn’t tease, so I kept a straight face and followed behind Miss Vivee.

  As we walked up to the booth, Mac stood up and waited for us to sit before he pushed himself back in on his side of the booth. I noted he didn’t have his cane again.

  “I ordered you an iced tea, Mac. You still drink those, don’t you?” Even Miss Vivee’s voice changed around Mac. It was softer and gentler.

  “I do.” He smiled. “Thank you.”

  She eyed him, and a smile crept up her lips. “What’s that you got on your hair,” Miss Vivee said crinkling her nose. “Looks like a cow licked it.”

  His hand immediately shot up to it head and he swiped a hand across it. He had his all white hair parted on the side and slicked down.

  “Pomade,” he answered.

  Miss Vivee raised her eyebrows and said, “Hmmmm.”

  Okay, so maybe it was just her voice that was nicer, because her attitude hadn’t changed.

  Mac looked as his hand, the one he had swiped across the pomade, and then wiped it on a napkin he got out of the holder.

  Viola Rose brought the drinks over, she had a coke for me instead of iced tea. How nice she remembered. She sat them down in front of us. “Anything else,” she asked.

  “Not now, Viola Rose,” Miss Vivee dismissed her with a wave. “I’ll let you know if we change our minds.”

  I leaned into Miss Vivee. “Maybe he wanted something to eat.” I nodded my head toward Mac.

  “Who? Mac?” Miss Vivee looked at me and then over at Mac. “Did you want something to eat, Mac?”

  I saw a glint in his eye and almost a smile cross his face. “No Vivee. I’ll wait for you.”

  She gave me a “That’s what I thought look,” then jumped like she’d been startled. “Oh my,” she said sitting up straight in her seat. “Where are my manners?” She pointed to me. “Logan Dickerson this is Macomber Whitson. Mac, this is my good friend and companion, Logan.”

  “Pleasure to meet you,” I said wondering when Miss Vivee and I had become “good friends.”

  “Just call me, Mac,” he said and stuck out his hand for me to shake.

  “Mac is a doctor,” Miss Vivee said to me with a nod. “Tell her, Mac.”

  “I’m a doctor,” he said as instructed.

  “Same kind of, um, doctor as you?” I said.
I had to refrain from putting air quotes around the word “doctor.”

  “I told you, I’m an herbalist. So. No,” she said. “He went to school. Graduated top of his class. Didn’t you, Mac?”

  “Yes. I did.” He seemed to blush. I guess he liked Miss Vivee bragging about him.

  “He was the town doctor. Birthed most of the people in this town and took care of them while they grew up, got old and died.” She stared right at Mac as she talked. “Back then the town wasn’t as big as it is now.”

  All five hundred people big, I thought.

  She broke her stare and looked at me. “Are you hungry?”

  “Me?” Oh, did she care? “No. I’ll wait for you,” I said. I figured Mac’s answer had been the right one.

  “So,” Miss Vivee said and hesitated, leaving an awkward silence among us. She seemed unsure of what she wanted to say or at least how she wanted to say it. The plan was to get him to go to Atlanta with us.

  Had she changed her mind?

  She licked her lips and then took a sip of her iced tea. “Mac,” she finally said. “You heard about Gemma Burke?”

  “Sure did. Terrible thing. Word going around it was Renmar’s bouillabaisse that killed her.”

  “Well that’s a lie,” Miss Vivee said adamantly.

  “How do you think she died, Vivee?” he asked, the question etched in his face.

  He knew her well. Right away he knew she thought something else was going on.

  Miss Vivee looked at me and then leaned across the table. Mac leaned in as well.

  “I think she was murdered,” Miss Vivee whispered.

  Mac sat back slowly. I wasn’t sure if because he was surprised about Miss Vivee’s revelation or because that’s all the fast he could move.

  “Well now,” he said and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “And who do you think did the murdering?”

  Before Miss Vivee could answer, Viola Rose popped back over. “Just checking back for food orders.” She stood poised with order pad and pen.

  “Maybe in a minute, Viola Rose,” Miss Vivee said visibly annoyed with her. And then we all sat quietly. No one speaking as long as she stood there.