BED, BREAKFAST, and BONES: A Ravenwood Cove Cozy Mystery
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BED, BREAKFAST & BONES
By Carolyn L. Dean
Visit the author at http://www.CarolynDeanBooks.com
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BED, BREAKFAST & BONES is copyright 2016 by Carolyn L. Dean. All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author or publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews.
DEDICATION:
For my first and my last, and for my parents, Carol and Dean.
For the world’s greatest beta readers! Beth, Eric, Geri, Jeff, Nancy, Sharon, Spencer, and Viktoria.
And again, for Spencer, my good friend and writing buddy, who made sure I got this done.
EXCERPT:
It was easy to find Mrs. Granger inside the general store, and Meg had been spot on when she described her as Yoda. She was a little cotton-haired lady of indeterminate age and shape, sitting on a padded wooden bench near an antique stove, her four-wheeled walker parked close by. Quietly knitting fingerless gloves by the light of the large window next to her, she was obviously eavesdropping on the lively conversation at the checkout register ten feet away.
“Mrs. Granger?” Amanda asked. She held the pink cinnamon roll box in her hands, waiting.
“Shhhhh! Just a minute…”
Amanda shifted foot to foot while the checker wrapped up her conversation with the chatty customer, and thanked her as she headed out the door.
With a satisfied sigh, the old lady settled back on the bench. “Now, what can I do for you, dear?”
Amanda held out the box. “Meg said I should come talk to you, and she sent over some pastries.”
The toady little woman’s eyes lit up, and she made excited “ooo” sounds as she grabbed the box.
“Have a seat!” She gestured vaguely at the wooden bench next to her as she pried open the lid and dug into the fat cinnamon roll.
“Sorry to shush you, but I was listening to Mary Anne Bates tell Myrna about her new Chrysler.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “You know, she’s not a bad person, except she forgets to vote and she does grow the marijuana down in her chicken shed.” Mrs. Granger pulled a huge piece of icing off the top of the roll and waved it at Amanda. “I don’t like that. It’s not healthy,” she said, as she expertly crammed the chunk of frosting into her mouth.
After a couple minutes of enthusiastic chewing, she came up for air and smiled at Amanda. “You’re the lady with the problem buried under her scarecrow, or rather, the problem that was buried under your scarecrow.”
“You know about that?”
“Oh honey, I read the paper like a good taxpayer should. I’m figurin’ you probably came to ask me about how Emmett wound up in your garden, six feet under.”
“Um, it was more like three.”
“Whatever.”
Table of Contents
EXCERPT:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Epilogue
AUTHOR NOTES:
ABOUT THE AUTHOR – Carolyn L. Dean
CUPPA’S ‘TO DIE FOR’ CINNAMON ROLLS
Chapter 1
“I’d burn it to the ground.”
Amanda Graham swiveled her head toward her friend, incredulous.
“You’d what?”
Beth’s voice was determined and serious. “Burn it. All of it. One lit match, a couple of gallons of kerosene and WHOOSH. A lovely empty lot to sell. With an ocean view.”
Amanda took a long, hard look at the abandoned Ravenwood Inn, huge and empty for years. It sprawled across the shaded lawn like the bleached skeleton of a once-fine debutante, left to rot after a long history of visiting friends and elegant parties. Every line of its Victorian frame, the wide porches and gingerbread details on the many balconies, showed that it had once been loved in this little coastal town. If she used her imagination a bit, she could almost hear the laughter and see the ghosts of the previous guests as they walked arm in arm up the broad front steps, decked out in their finest evening attire from decades past.
“Some of it’s brick. It wouldn’t burn well anyway,” she said, being practical. Maybe she was looking at the situation with rose-colored glasses, but her mind was made up. If she was going to live here, she was going to have to look past the peeling paint and boarded up windows.
“I think it just needs some work and it could be amazing. You know, for years this used to be the most popular bed and breakfast in the area. It’s probably had hundreds of guests visit here. Everyone knew the Ravenwood Inn.”
Beth looked skeptical. “What, a hundred years ago? A thousand?” She laid a gentle hand on her friend’s shoulder, but her words were brutally honest.
“You’re not up to this, Amanda, and you know it. This thing’s a money pit, and to fix it up will take every last dime you made from the sale of your condo. I understand you have some weird family attachment to it, but you need to be practical.”
Just the mention of the condo’s sale gave Amanda a stab of pain. She wasn’t sorry she sold that place after her boyfriend Ken had left her, but the whole thing had been so sordid and awful that she’d known she needed a brand new life. When she got the word that her last living relative, her uncle Conrad, had died and left her Ravenwood Inn, she’d been both stunned and relieved. Maybe it was a sign that her need for a new life and a different place to live was coming true. Perhaps she could reinvent herself in this little town.
“I’m tired of being practical, Beth. I’ve been practical my whole life. I’m tired of having everything planned out and people telling me what to do and bad, stupid men. I need a new start, and what better place to do it than in a small Oregon beach town off the beaten path?”
Beth snorted, unimpressed. “You mean Hicksville.”
Amanda looked around, at the quiet country road lined with snug cottages surrounded by neatly-trimmed flower beds. The narrow road was quiet and empty. Behind the inn the weak autumn sun was already setting, making the long shadows of early evening slide under the huge trees in the front yard.
“Maybe, but I might as well build a new life here in Hicksville as anywhere else.”
She heard a sharp huff of annoyance behind her and turned to see a plump local matron glare disapprovingly at them as she hurried away, clutching her oversized purse.
Great. An excellent start with a possible neighbor, she thought. Just what I need.
She turned back to her friend, ignoring the sudden gust of cool wind swirling through her thin sweatshirt. “I appreciate you coming up here with me, Beth, and I know you want what’s best for me. The truth is that I need something new, and I think this could be it. Nobody knows me here and no one kno
ws what happened. I can start fresh. They don’t need to know anything about me except that I now own a cool, old hotel.”
She gestured to the silent, unlit inn again. “This is my chance at a clean, boring, mundane life, and I’m going to take it.”
It was a heartfelt speech, but she wasn’t surprised when her friend dug in her purse and pulled out her car keys.
“Call me when you’re desperate for sushi and civilization again, girlfriend. I’ll come running.” Her voice sounded almost pitying. She kissed Amanda on the cheek and gave her a last, tight hug. “It’ll be getting dark soon, and I don’t want to be driving home too late. Let me know if you need anything,” she said, and headed toward her car.
It took almost two minutes of effort to make the rust-pocked key turn in the lock set in Ravenwood Inn’s massive front door. Amanda was careful not to push too hard on the elaborate leaded glass insert when she muscled the door open wide enough to squeeze inside.
From what she could see in the fading light the front entry hall was enormous, strung with huge, looping cobwebs like some forgotten party streamers. She clicked on her flashlight and could just make out a large chandelier above her head and a curved staircase right in front of her. Wide, arched doorways on her right and left led into dark, silent rooms, and she could barely see the shapes of abandoned furniture. The air was stale and dry, as if the inn had been sealed for years and she was the first living thing inside it again. She shivered, her eyes surveying the entrance quickly, trying to still her thumping heart and see everything at once. Amanda half-expected some long-sleeping ghost to waft in and greet her, and then request to see her reservation before she was able to check in at the reception counter tucked beside the stairs.
She suppressed a shudder and went back outside, leaving the problematic front door still cracked open while she retrieved her sleeping bag and luggage from the car. With the exception of what she had at the bank, all her worldly possessions were now able to be carried in two over-burdened trips and set inside on the faintly-patterned carpet in the parlor.
Coffee, she thought. I need coffee and lanterns. Or a stiff drink.
She pulled her coat out of the backseat, buttoned it tightly against the creeping chill, and quickly drove down the hill the three blocks over to the main street, looking around her as she went in an attempt to remember the route to take back to her new home. The Inn had been built on the top of a scenic bluff overlooking the sprawling little town and the wide beach and ocean just beyond it. The streets were often curved to match the topography as they dropped toward sea level, and were clean and quiet. Rows of small shops with lit window displays lined the sidewalks, and antique-style street lamps were just flickering on in the semi-darkness.
Driving on Main Street, it looked like the town had rolled up the sidewalks for the night right before she arrived. Not exactly LA, she thought, but then she hadn’t actually loved Los Angeles. It had been where she lived and where she worked, but she’d never really felt at home there. This old beach town was as different from her last town as it could be, with charming little side streets full of well-kept bungalows and locally-owned small shops. She could just see an open town square that the people probably used as a park, with a painted white bandstand and benches scattered around the sidewalk-enclosed lawn. The main patio had a permanent stand in place for the town’s annual Christmas tree and Amanda guessed that the stone monument nearby was probably for war veterans or to honor a local hero or city founder. The raw ocean air was almost tangy with salt.
No smog or hot pavement here, she thought, but I will probably miss Starbucks on every corner and going out for carb-free lunches.
Amanda had seen a general store with a large sign that boasted “hardware” when she first drove into town, and she silently prayed that it would still be open this late. She parked in front of the old movie theater and had to jog the last few yards to catch the attention of the dark-haired store owner, who had a gray cat tucked under his arm and was just flipping over the CLOSED sign in the front window. He looked up in surprise but nodded and let her in under the green awning, setting the large cat on the floor as he pulled open the door. The cat strolled over to the main counter and hopped up, its yellow eyes soberly watching as Amanda hurried inside.
“Thank you so much for letting me in! I just need a couple of things and I’ll be out of here before you know it. Do you have any lanterns?” She stopped to scratch the unenthusiastic cat under the chin, and followed the store owner down an aisle packed with crab traps and boxes of Mason jars. The whole store smelled of history; of fresh fruit and cardboard and smoked fish and motor oil, and decades of townspeople and visitors who had stopped by to get supplies or ask advice.
Just past the old-fashioned woodstove and some well-worn benches clustered around it, her host stopped in front of a display of lanterns.
“Oil or battery?” he asked.
“Battery,” she said. “Don’t want to burn the place down my first night there.” Amanda flashed back to her friend’s recommendation to just torch the place so she could sell a vacant lot, and she suppressed a grin.
The clerk cocked an eyebrow in surprise as he pulled a box down from the top shelf. “This one won’t burn down anything. Um, first night where?”
Amanda mentally winced. “The Ravenwood Inn. I inherited it from my aunt and uncle and just came into town. Figured I’d stay there tonight and get a better look at things in the morning.”
He gave a low whistle. “Lady, you’ve got guts. That place needs some serious help.” He looked her over, not trying to disguise it. “So you’re Conrad and Judy’s niece, huh? You going to just live at the Inn or open it as a bed and breakfast again?”
“Both.”
He stuck out a large hand, grinning. “I think you’re going to be a very good customer of mine. My name’s Brian Petrie and I’m the owner here. If you need anything, let me know.”
She shook his hand, laughing. “I’m Amanda Graham. I’m afraid I might be too good of a customer. The Inn needs a lot of work to get back in shape. You don’t happen to have a frequent buyer discount, do you?”
“For people who fix up historic old buildings that are probably full of spiders and ghosts? I’m sure we can figure something out.” His smile was warm, and for the first time since she’d come to Ravenwood Cove, Amanda started to relax a bit.
“Just don’t mention spiders, okay? I’m sleeping on the floor. Got any cots for sale? And bug spray?”
***
By the time Amanda walked out of the hardware store her arms were full of packages and bags. She waved clumsily at Brian, watching him flip over the CLOSED sign again, and stuffed her loot into her small car. It took a bit of maneuvering to push her purchases aside enough to wedge behind the wheel and close the door.
Gonna need a larger car for the Inn, she mused. Something I can use to pick up people and groceries, and transport building supplies. Her thoughts were full of the future business, with images of lots of happy tourists booking reservations to stay at her beautiful historic inn and Amanda as their smiling, always welcoming hostess.
It was just the sort of dream that she really wanted to make come true.
She wasn’t afraid of hard work. Her last job had been as a fraud investigator for a large insurance company, and she had practically run the team. Her boss had been a well-meaning alcoholic with a habit of disappearing shortly after lunch and then coming in the next day with a colossal hangover. Amanda had taught herself a lot of the investigation techniques, learning how to tell when someone was lying to her to get a chunk of settlement money, or when a restaurant’s devastating fire was really a case of arson to pay off the owner’s debts. She’d seen more than her share of how greedy and manipulative other humans could be. Between that and an ex-boyfriend who never missed an opportunity to let her know if she’d gained a few pounds or which girls at a party were prettier than her, she was tired right down to her soul.
A new career and a huge proje
ct like the Inn was exactly what she needed. No men, no drama.
Thank goodness small towns didn’t have any secrets or excitement.
Chapter 2
Amanda awoke the next morning to the harsh sound of an enthusiastically-crowing rooster somewhere down the street. Bright sunshine streaming through the small cracks in the boards that were nailed over the dirty windows on the ground floor. A quick jump out of her cot and a lot of frantic checking of her bedding later, she was able to give a deep sigh of relief.
No spiders! That was definitely a good start to the day. Checking the clock on her phone, she cursed softly. It was much earlier than she normally got up, and certainly a crowing rooster was entirely different than the normal traffic sounds she was used to outside her condo window in LA.
Damn chicken.
She tied her long hair back into a scruffy ponytail and grabbed her flashlight, then began a methodical survey of the Inn, jotting quick notes in her notebook about the floor plan and taking photos of the condition of each room. The main floor had a formal dining room next to a huge, if a bit old-fashioned, professional kitchen. A dark wood door led to a large tiled powder room, complete with a large, extravagantly-framed mirror. Two oversized parlors were obviously the main areas to entertain; one with an attached sunroom and a sheet-draped piano and the other boasting an enormous fireplace, complete with an iron swing arm to hang a kettle on. There was a full laundry tucked just off the kitchen, and another door toward the back. She opened it, shining her flashlight downward. A painted wooden staircase led downstairs to a dark basement, and she caught a whiff of cold brick and old dirt. Amanda shuddered and closed the door. Definitely something she’d check out after the lights came back on.
Closing the cellar door she turned and started walking up the stairs next to it, emerging on the next floor at the end of a wide hallway. Servant stairs, she thought to herself, realizing that this route was for easy access, not broad and designed to impress like the main staircase. Going upstairs she discovered six large bedrooms; four with a view of the distant beach, three that had their own bathrooms, and all with small balconies. The furniture looked old, but sturdy and in good shape. She pulled open the heavy drapes carefully, welcoming the sunlight brightening the rooms even as she held her breath against the sudden cloud of dust.