BED, BREAKFAST, and BONES: A Ravenwood Cove Cozy Mystery

by Carolyn L. Dean

  Unlatching the French doors on one of the balconies overlooking the derelict orchard, she swung them wide and took in a deep breath. There were so many fruit trees outside that she could actually catch the scent of ripe apples on the morning breeze. She hadn’t realized that several acres of land came with the Inn, along with a few sturdy outbuildings. A large rose-covered pergola was right next to the path leading into the orchard, and a couple of sheds, a small stable, and lone chicken coop were set at the very back of the property.

  Closer to the Inn a tangled mess of weeds and a forlorn, leaning scarecrow marked what had previously been at least half an acre of garden, surrounded by a short picket fence. She knew that the Ravenwood used to provide meals for guests, and wished she’d asked her uncle more questions about the day-to-day life of running a historic bed and breakfast. Perhaps some cook long ago had been able to rush outside to get the fresh herbs or extra tomatoes they needed for dinner, or bring back fresh eggs for breakfast.

  Maybe Amanda could even get some chickens for eggs. She chuckled, picturing herself chasing squawking hens around while searching for eggs. She definitely was not a country girl.

  She took the main stairway up another floor and found two small bedrooms, probably for servants, and a large suite that was obviously the owners’ living quarters. Every room she had discovered still had the original furniture there, covered in dust and sometimes cobwebs, but the owners’ room was the first where it was in chaos. Unlike the other neatly-arranged bedrooms, this one had clothes strewn on the floor and every drawer in the dresser pulled wide open. The bed was unmade, with blankets dumped onto the floor and papers still scattered wildly across the desktop.

  She’d known that her aunt and uncle left suddenly years before, but this had all the signs of someone fleeing in a hurried panic. When she visited her uncle in Kansas he had told her they hadn’t lived in Ravenwood for years, but never offered the reason for their move, or why they’d left a thriving business behind.

  Amanda was careful, walking over the strewn clothes and discarded papers and trying not to step on anything. How many years had this poor place been left to rot? Why would her uncle and aunt suddenly flee, with so many personal possessions and expensive furniture still here? People leave when they’re afraid, she thought, picking up an overturned chair and setting it on its legs. They run away when they’re being chased and don’t want to get caught.

  Amanda had already felt like she was a visitor as she walked through room after room that looked as if they just needed to be cleaned up to be ready to greet guests again, but seeing the room where her uncle and aunt had lived and then suddenly left, Amanda felt almost like she was trespassing in someone else’s private life. It seemed like just another reminder that she didn’t really know much about her last relatives’ lives, and that now she was by herself, that opportunity had passed her by.

  She backed out quietly and shut the door. It’d be best to sleep in one of the other rooms before she’d try tackling cleaning out the history and the mess in that one. Too many secrets in there.

  After a quick breakfast of cheese and crackers, she was ready to start. She made a few calls to set up an account with the local electric company, to order a subscription to the local paper and delivery of a dumpster for remodeling debris, and to check with the local assessor about any back taxes. Uncle Conrad had mentioned once, years ago, that paying the taxes on the Inn were killing him, but that he wasn’t ready to stop yet. Whatever kept him writing out yearly checks to Ravenwood Cove for an inn that he didn’t live in anymore was a boon to Amanda, since it had no liens on it and it hadn’t been sold at auction.

  With no past debts to worry about and the promise of electricity by noon, she grabbed a crowbar and some work gloves and headed outside. By the time she had pried the second board off, she could feel that someone by the street was watching her.

  Let them gawk, she thought. Not like they’ve never seen a woman doing remodeling before, was it?

  “Good morning!” The voice was authoritative, masculine, and definitely meant to get her attention.

  She turned around, still clutching the bleached piece of lumber she’d just wrestled off the window, and wished she had a free hand to brush her hair away from her face. The middle-aged police officer standing behind her was smiling but it didn’t go up to his eyes. His facial expression was all business.

  “I don’t believe we’ve met.” It was a statement that expected an answer.

  Amanda set the board down, annoyed at the interruption and pulled off her work glove. “I’m Amanda Graham, the new owner of the Ravenwood Inn. My uncle left it to me and I’m fixing it up a bit.”

  He shook her hand, gripping it firmly, and gave her a genuine smile. “I’m George Ortiz, the police chief for Ravenwood Cove. Welcome to our little village. You’re pretty good with that crowbar.”

  Surprised, Amanda laughed. “Thanks. It’s my first time.”

  George’s eyes roamed over the peeling paint and warped floorboards of the front porch. “I wish you luck with your project. I’ve always wanted to see inside this old place but it’s been abandoned so long I haven’t had a chance. Do you think I could get a tour sometime?”

  “How about now?” She smiled, laying the board and crowbar on the decking and cleaning her hands off as she straightened up. It wouldn’t hurt to take a break, and she certainly wasn’t going to start off on the wrong foot with the local police.

  She took George through the entire Inn with a feeling of pride at the potential that she was showing him, and he nodded whenever she told him about her plans for a certain room or possibilities for what she could do at the Inn in the future. The police chief was full of ideas and comments when she told him her plans for the various rooms, and she took notes on which contractors and tradespeople he recommended. By the time they’d reached the third floor she’d learned not to hire the Hortman brothers as her plumbers, because they drank on the job, and that contractor Roy Greeley gave the best job for the best price, as long as she didn’t have him do any electrical work because he’d nearly burnt down his own shed.

  Life in a small beach town, she thought. Of course the police chief knows everyone.

  “I’ll send the Reverend by later today. Looks like you could use some serious help with the grounds.”

  Amanda peeked around him, through the smudged window to the back part of the property. Fallen tree limbs and decaying piles of leaves were tangled in the knee-high weeds. “The church does yard care? Or do you think I just need prayer to get this place back in shape?”

  George laughed. “Not exactly. They have a youth group that raises money for charity and the Reverend makes sure they do a good job for a good price. My wife and I hire them to mow our yard every week, and it helps keep the teenagers busy and outta trouble.”

  When Amanda opened the door to the owners’ suite, showing the scattered mess inside, George gave a low whistle.

  “Maid’s day off?”

  She shrugged, unapologetic. “Was this way when I did the walkthrough, and I just haven’t had a chance to clean it up yet.”

  “Looks like someone left in a hurry.” The police chief stepped carefully into the room, his eyes sweeping over the chaos.

  Amanda nodded, suddenly feeling protective of the mess, although she didn’t exactly know why. “My uncle and aunt left really suddenly one day, and they never talked about it. I think they hired someone from town to board up the windows. I don’t know if they ever came back to visit.”

  George corrected her. “The city council paid for the windows downstairs to be boarded up because they were worried about kids breaking them for fun or getting inside and making mischief. The Inn is the oldest structure in town, and one of the most historic.” He walked through the room, looking at everything but not touching, and Amanda had the sudden sensation that that was exactly what he did at a crime scene.

  “They never told you why they left in such a rush?”

  Amanda sho
ok her head. “I don’t think they told anyone. When I tried to ask once, Uncle Conrad just said it was in the past, and to leave it there.”

  George flipped over an open book with his foot. “By the way, you’re going to have to talk to the city council about your plans for the Inn, being it’s on the historic rolls and all. You’re not going to paint this place purple or turn it into a meditation center or something like that, are you?”

  Amanda laughed as she ushered him out the bedroom door and back into the hallway. “Not hardly. I want the Inn to be what it was in the past. Elegant and beautiful.” She thought for a moment, and added: “Hopefully loved, too.”

  “Well, I hope you can make a go of it.” He shook her hand again when he left, and thought his words sounded positive, there was a faint tone of doubt in his voice.

  Fine, she thought. Another person who thinks I can’t make this business work.

  She was discovering that nothing motivated her as much as someone saying no, or telling her she couldn’t accomplish something. Maybe it was her stubborn nature, or maybe it was because of all the times someone had disappointed her, but it seemed like other people’s opinions meant less and less to her as she moved toward what she needed.

  After George left, Amanda got her crowbar and started working again on the boarded up windows. By noon she had almost all of the ground floor free of lumber, and light was streaming in through the smeared glass. It was as if the old building, shuttered for so long, was emerging from its frozen slumber, and Amanda was the one magically awakening it.

  Chapter 3

  As the day wore on it was readily apparent that she was drawing a crowd. There was a steady parade of people quietly strolling by the front of her property, openly staring at what was happening to the long-abandoned Inn. Several people had come forward to introduce themselves as the local electrician, plumber, or painter, and she politely took their cards and answered their endless questions about her plans for the Ravenwood. She could tell some people wanted her business, and some just wanted to be able to tell their friends the latest gossip about the strange woman with the crowbar down at the Inn.

  By the time she’d met the cheerful local reporter, Lisa Wilkins, and had posed for a quick photo on the wide front porch, she was wishing that she’d been more careful with her hair and makeup, and realizing that she wasn’t just a new resident. She was a new event in the small town, like some circus or traveling art show. It was definitely out of her comfort zone.

  Eventually she found a broom in the utility room, and started sweeping the dead leaves and dirt off the front porch. Within minutes she could see that her neighbors who lived across the street were solemnly filing out of their garage, each family member carrying a folding chair. The parents chose a spot on their lawn, facing across the road toward the front part of the Inn, and pointed to where the three kids could set up their own chairs. Amanda was trying to keep her head tucked down so they couldn’t see her sneaking surreptitious glances their way, but once the family had brought out a lunch basket and were making sandwiches and drinking soda while they openly watched her, she couldn’t help but stifle a giggle.

  Nothing good on TV, she thought. I must be way more entertaining, I guess. Might as well grab this bull by the horns.

  She straightened up, smiling broadly and waving at her audience, until finally the mother waved back, still clutching her sandwich.

  Amanda put down her broom and was just about to walk over and introduce herself, when a large tan van pulling a small trailer drove up next to her brick mailbox. She walked close and as soon as the van was stopped in her circular drive, about a half dozen teenagers spilled out. The driver was last, walking around the car, his face wreathed in smiles as he stuck out his hand.

  Amanda saw the cross painted on the side of the van, along with the words Ravenwood Cove Presbyterian Church. “You must be the Reverend.” She shook his hand, watching the teens leaning against the side of the car. “And this must be the work crew.”

  There was something warm and welcoming in the laugh lines around his eyes, and the openness of his face. “Yes, Mrs. Graham. I’m Thomas Fox. We thought we’d stop by and donate an afternoon’s worth of work to your cause. Then, if we do a good job, maybe we can bid for your business.”

  Amanda corrected him about the Mrs. comment and showed them where to get started, in the front by the road. Once she was satisfied that they were going to spruce up the front flower beds and edge the lawn to her wishes, she went inside to get the kitchen in shape enough that she’d at least be able to store her food in there.

  Fearing the worst, she took a big gulp of fresh air and whipped open the refrigerator door. She had no idea how long the Inn had been without electricity. To her surprise it was empty and clean inside, as was the separate industrial-sized freezer. She checked through the tall cupboards, throwing out all the old boxes of food in a couple big plastic garbage cans from the utility room, and clearing away a clean space for her own groceries.

  After letting the water in the main faucet run for a few minutes, she was relieved to discover it had transformed from a brownish-red to clear, letting her know that at least the pipes in the old building weren’t going to be a problem for her. She had enough to deal with between the layers of dust and the family of mice she had found living behind the kitchen garbage can.

  Buy bleach and paper towels. Red wine. Hire exterminator, she added to her list. Maybe she could find one that was humane.

  By the end of her first day she had bought some groceries and cleaning supplies, met her spectator family from across the street, the Hendersons, and fed cookies and sodas to the entire church work crew. She’d also killed four spiders, gotten electricity and light in the Inn to chase away the ghosts lingering in the shadows, and hired an inspector and contractor to see what needed to be done. She’d scrubbed, swept, carried and chatted until every muscle in her entire body screamed in protest.

  I won’t need a gym membership, she thought as she shuffled into the relatively clean guest room she’d previously chosen on the second floor and dropped on the freshly-made bed in utter exhaustion. If this Inn doesn’t whip me into shape, nothing will.

  She was asleep within minutes, dreaming of dancing ghosts of the past waltzing in the foyer, and fat mice in the kitchen.

  Chapter 4

  By the afternoon of the third day she could see real progress. It felt good to pull the tangled vines away from the foundation, and to supervise the yard crew. The teens had been put to work digging deeply into the rich dirt of the garden, hacking out the tree roots that had grown into it during the years it had lain fallow. They were doing a terrific job with the tough labor, laughing and joking in-between taking turns on the shovels, and Amanda was truly happy that she’d hired them.

  The morning hadn’t started out quite so well. Her local rooster had upped the ante this morning by crowing at the crack of dawn right underneath her windowsill, and then streaking away in terror when Amanda had hoisted the sash and hurled a pillow at him. She’d muttered a few words that would’ve made her mother give her a stern lecture of disapproval, but it was worth it. He may have been a big, beautiful fellow with gorgeous tail feathers the colors of fall, but if he kept it up she was going to start researching recipes for chicken and dumplings.

  The surly building inspector had come and gone, snooping in every corner of the building for over two hours, and pursing his lips while he made grunting sounds of disapproval. The extensive report he left behind actually wasn’t as bad as Amanda had feared. The good news was that the Inn was basically sound, and no issues were found with the foundation, plumbing, or wiring. The bad news was that it desperately needed a new furnace, the windows would all have to be replaced due to crumbling sills, and a long-term roof leak at the back of the building had rotted out a huge chunk of the sunroom wall. The inspector had handed Amanda the printed report with the deadpan comment, “Coulda been much worse.”

  Roy Greeley, the contractor, was a wo
nder, and Amanda made a mental note to thank the police chief for his recommendation. Roy had brought his own small team with him to start repairs right away, and after watching for a bit to make sure they knew what they were doing, Amanda was satisfied with their progress enough to head into the kitchen for some coffee, and to call to order the new double-paned windows. She had gulped when the guy on the phone had told her the total cost, but pulled her credit card out of her wallet and glumly gave the salesclerk the numbers. It was nearly a third of the money she’d set aside for the total remodel, and she realized she’d have to find new ways to squeeze her budget. At this rate her funds would be gone far too soon, and she knew she couldn’t open for paying guests until the work was completed. It was definitely going to be a race to see if her money ran out before she could get paying customers.

  It was two o’clock before Amanda got a chance to sit down. With the high school group and Roy’s crew taking a much-deserved lunch break, she could relax a bit herself. The crisp fall air carried the smoky scent of burning fall leaves, and she could see a drift of white smoke from somewhere down the road where one of her neighbors was probably burning yard debris. She retrieved her copy of the Ravenwood Tide, the local newspaper, off the front porch and settled into a wicker chair to read about the goings on in her new town.

  The paper’s front page had Amanda’s picture on it. Her smile looked a bit nervous in the photo, but the article was accurate and to the point, listing some of the work that was expected to be done on the Inn, and Amanda’s new ownership after her aunt and uncle had left town eight years before. Lisa, the reporter, had made sure her quotes were exact, putting in Amanda’s comments about the remodel and her hopes for having the Inn open for guests soon.