She gets points for not using the word ‘abandoned’, Amanda thought, and turned the page.
The rest of the paper was a slice of life from her new hometown. Kazoodles Toy Store was having a sidewalk sale, weather permitting. The volunteer fire department was hosting a pancake breakfast at the grange hall to raise money for much-needed equipment. Mrs. Welch was missing her diamond necklace and offering a reward. This month was the best time to plant garlic and start a new compost pile.
Not exactly LA, Amanda mused, folding the paper. Maybe the article about the Inn will bring some new business my way.
With that happy thought, she grabbed a hammer and a box of nails so she could tack down some loose boards on the small porch by the back door. It was separate from the main front porches, just off the kitchen. Definitely not as elegant as the sunroom on the other end of the house, it probably had been a welcome resting spot for staff who’d been on their feet too much in a hot kitchen while cooking for a houseful of guests, or servants needing a break from people wanting their time and attention.
Amanda was almost ready to pound the first nail into a floorboard when she caught a rustle of movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned her head just in time to see a plump woman with a Russian-style headscarf tied under her chin. The woman was gaping at Amanda, standing under one of the laden apple trees and holding a split-wood basket over one arm, her practical shoes deep in the fallen fruit on the ground.
Amanda straightened up and smiled, but her mysterious visitor turned and ran like a woman possessed, not minding the fruit bouncing out of her basket as she fled. She quickly pushed one of the tall fence boards aside and slipped through the gap, into the yard of a small bungalow next door.
That’s it, Amanda thought, irritated. My neighbors are flat out weird.
She didn’t mind sharing the bushels of apples that were being neglected in her orchard, and she certainly didn’t mind a visitor, but she was going to have to get used to people thinking her life, and apparently her land, was open for public use and scrutiny.
***
A couple of hours later and the contractor crew and the teenage workers were back at their jobs. Amanda was scraping the paint from a carved wooden porch railing on the side of the Inn when her contractor walked up to her. Roy was accompanied by a tall, elegant woman and from the look on his face Amanda could tell he was none too pleased about it.
“Amanda, I’ve brought someone here to meet you. This is Mrs. Sandford, Ravenwood Cove’s mayor.”
Amanda smiled warmly, but the glacial expression on the older woman’s face remained unchanged. She looked Amanda over carefully, as if she were a specimen in a zoo. An ugly specimen.
One that she wants to eat, Amanda thought.
“The mayor’s come to see the progress on the Inn.” Amanda could hear the faint note of warning in Roy’s voice, and from his tone and the mayor’s rigid posture, she could tell something was definitely wrong.
She restrained the impulse to curtsey to the tall, somber woman and instead shook the mayor’s cool hand.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mayor Sandford. I was going to come by to check about what I needed to do to satisfy the historical society on restoring the Inn. Don’t want to get off on the wrong foot with the town, do I?”
The mayor sniffed and looked pointedly at the long peels of old paint that clung to the front porch. “I do hope you’re considering this as a dwelling and not a business, Miss Graham. With the exception of month-long or more rentals, Ravenwood Cove does not allow short term occupation.”
Amanda was stunned, and her face showed it. “Um, I’m sorry, but I don’t understand. You mean you don’t allow bed and breakfasts, or hotels? In a beach town?”
Mrs. Sandford inclined her head gravely at Amanda. “Ravenwood Cove has never been some wild tourist hot spot, Miss Graham. I hope you understand that our residents prefer a more sedate, quiet type of living here. They’re used to having all the benefits of living in a beautiful and secure coastal town, without the horrid traffic and litter and problems that a tourist-driven economy would incur.”
“Wait! You mean that the local merchants don’t want tourists and families to visit here, too? Have you asked them?”
The mayor gestured to the workers installing new floorboards on the porch, and digging the weeds out of the garden. “I commend you for being so meticulous in the upkeep of your home, but I can tell you now that the city council would not be able to approve such a drastic step as to convert this structure to a hotel.”
Amanda could feel her blood pressure shoot up as she listened to the pompous words of the imperious woman in front of her. “This structure?” She gestured widely toward the Inn, her sole source of future income and the only thing of value she owned except for her car. “This place has been hosting guests for decades! There wouldn’t be any conversion, because it’s always been a hotel. God only knows how many people have visited here! Mr. Petrie told me that the Inn is the oldest building in town.”
Mrs. Sandford ran a languid hand up the nearby column, cracking off paint chips under her blue-veined fingers. “Maybe the oldest, but that doesn’t mean it needs to be back in business.” She wiped her hands together briskly, as though signaling the end of the conversation. “We have to protect the town against an influx of tourists and the problems that riff-raff who don’t belong in the town bring with them. I’m sure you understand. Besides, the neighborhood here is now residential.” The mayor gestured down the quiet, cottage-lined street.
“This town grew up around this Inn, and surely its original function is grandfathered in, isn’t it? Just like farms that have towns build up around them and they get to keep their livestock. Should be the same thing. What do you mean it’s now residential?”
“I’m sorry, but no. Since this structure was abandoned so long, I believe the zoning has been changed to fit the new type of neighborhood.”
Amanda could feel the pressure between her ears, and her hands were actually shaking. “Do you know this means I’ll be completely broke? I’ve been putting every dime I have into fixing this place up. I can’t afford to even live in the Inn, if it isn’t bringing in any money.”
Mrs. Sandford inclined her head gravely. “It is regrettable, but the town must be protected. You are welcome to bring your concerns before the town council, of course.”
Amanda tried to keep her voice calm. “And are you on the town council, Mayor?”
For the first time, her guest’s mouth flexed in a semblance of a smile. “Of course. As mayor, I head the council.”
Amanda’s mind scrambled wildly, trying to come up with things to say that would possibly sway the imperious old bat.
“We believe in preserving the tranquility of the town at all costs, Miss Graham.”
“Even at the expense of your residents? I’m a resident, too, Mrs. Sandford!”
The frosty smile faded from the mayor’s thin lips. “Miss Graham, my family has been here for generations. Many of the best buildings in town were originally built and owned by my relatives. Your family stayed here just long enough to leave in the dead of night years ago, under very odd circumstances.” She sniffed. “Not exactly a solid family legacy.”
For the first time in memory, Amanda couldn’t think of anything to say, at least anything that didn’t have four letters in it.
Apparently Mrs. Sandford could detect the rising rage that Amanda was trying to control. “Hmmmm. How unfortunate that unwholesome tempers run in your family. I’m afraid that I must be going. Good day, Miss Graham.”
As the tall mayor turned to go, ignoring Amanda’s stunned look, there was a scuffle of commotion in the garden, and a chorus of sharp exclamations. Amanda turned to see what had happened, just as one of the tallest teenage boys ran over to her.
“Um, Miss Graham?” Amanda could see the desperation on the boy’s face.
“Yes?”
“I think we just found a dead body in your garden.”
/> Chapter 5
Nightmare. This had to be a nightmare, because surely her life couldn’t get any worse.
The tall boy was right. There was definitely something buried under the scarecrow.
Only it wasn’t a something. It was a someone.
One of the workers had been digging out tree roots about three feet down when he’d caught a glimpse of something unusual in the bottom of the hole. His spade had pulled away enough dirt from the clear plastic that Amanda could make out the skeletal outline of a human hand, and a glimpse of a dark piece of fabric, maybe a sleeve.
Several people already had their cell phones out to call the police, and Amanda could only imagine how busy the small town’s emergency dispatcher was going to be.
The next few hours were a blur of unwanted, horrible activity. The entire parking area for the Inn was taken up by police cars and townspeople who had driven over so they could see the excitement up close and personal. Roy stayed with Amanda on the side porch, explaining who was who, and bringing her a steaming mug of coffee as the evening’s chill set in. The police chief had arrived first, and had asked the stunned owner of the Ravenwood Inn to sit in one spot, in case he had any questions.
“No media vans? I’m surprised.”
Roy shrugged. “Too far from the big guys to drive over. Probably get a lone reporter with a camera guy here in the next day or so.”
Pretty certain this isn’t the tranquility the mayor had been talking about, she thought, as she watched a young police officer unroll yellow crime scene tape and tie it to the bare lilac bushes at the edge of the road. Mrs. Sandford had stayed for just fifteen minutes, frantically talking at breakneck speed into her cell phone while the entire contingent of local emergency responders, including paramedics and volunteer firefighters, showed up to witness the excitement happening at Amanda’s historic Inn.
“I’m thinking those paramedics are too late,” she commented to Roy as the ambulance crew pulled out a gurney and sat on it, watching the people milling around the garden. “The poor guy is dead, after all.”
Roy’s face was deadpan. “You’re got a weird sense of humor, Amanda.”
She shrugged. “Seems appropriate today.”
Roy took a sip of his cooling coffee. “Just a slow day for them. You have to understand that not much happens around here, and they want to check out the action.” Roy waved a paint-spattered hand at the neighbors across the street, openly sitting outside and watching the crowd accumulate. “This is big stuff in a small town like Ravenwood Cove.”
A white minivan pulled in to the circular front drive and drove up the edge of the tape, waiting as a young police officer hurried to move it aside so the van could drive through.
“Who’s that?”
“That’s Ben, the mortician. The funeral home doesn’t use hearses anymore except for funerals. Ben says that way they don’t creep people out when they’re driving dead people around, and no one messes with their cars.”
Amanda suppressed a shiver. Dead bodies. Who’d want to mess with that?
The contractor chuckled. “Can you imagine someone carjacking that minivan when someone’s in the back? That’d be a surprise for them.”
“You’ve got a sick sense of humor, too, Roy.”
Roy sighed deeply. “Yeah, that’s what my wife tells me.”
She should’ve expected it, but when the police chief came over with a warrant to search the Inn, specifically the main suite, Amanda’s heart flipped over in her chest. Her hands were trembling when she held the piece of paper, reading the details. George sounded a bit apologetic when he explained that his team would need full access to the Inn, that she was allowed to stay in one room while they searched, and that they’d do their best not to damage anything.
It was official. Her family and her Inn were the first suspects.
It took hours for the police to process the crime scene, and to remove the adult-sized skeletal remains from Amanda’s garden. The tall spotlights they’d brought in still illuminated the trampled backyard, now littered with tarps and tape. They’d also photographed every square inch of the disheveled master suite, and carried out several brown paper bags full of evidence.
By the time the police chief came over to where she was sitting on the porch, it was nearly midnight. Wrapped in a heavy quilt, the night air was cold on Amanda’s face, and she could see fatigue in every line of George’s body as he dropped gratefully into an open chair.
“I know you’ve got a lot of questions, Amanda.”
She snorted. “You think? Do you have any idea who that guy is…was?”
George ran his hand over the back of his neck, stretching his sore back at the same time. “Well, the official word won’t be back from the lab for a while, but I’m pretty sure I know who it is.”
Amanda leaned over, breathless.
“I think it’s Emmett Johnson. He always wore this signet ring on his right pinkie finger, and it looked to me like it was the exact same one we just dug up.”
Amanda’s mind was reeling. Emmett Johnson. Someone who was known in this town, and buried in her backyard. Even though she’d never heard of him before, she knew she’d never forget his name.
Emmett.
“Are you sure?”
“I’d bet good money on it. Emmet used to wear a pair of ostrich-skin cowboy boots all the time. Looks like the fancy steel toe tips are right around where his feet are…were.”
“Well, if it is Emmett, how long’s he been in my garden?”
Amanda could see the hesitation on the police chief’s face.
“Emmett’s been missing for eight years.”
Her mouth fell open. “You mean he – “
“Disappeared the same day your aunt and uncle left town, Halloween night over eight years ago.” The police chief turned, and she caught a look of near-pity on his face.
“Right after your uncle told him to go to hell.”
Chapter 6
Amanda didn’t sleep much that night, and when she did her dreams were as tangled as the sweat-soaked sheets on her bed. Even when her boyfriend had left her she had endured the humiliation and pain without crying, but the last couple of days made her want to curl up in a ball and sob. Well, and maybe eat a half gallon of rocky road ice cream all by herself.
She felt defeated and tired down to the bottom of her soul. Losing her business, maybe losing her home, due to some stiff-necked locals and a corpse buried out back. It was just another disaster in the string of problems she’d had in her life, but she wasn’t sure how she was going to get out of this one. She’d always been able to make plans on where she could land and what her next step would be, but a murder investigation and losing everything she owned definitely wasn’t anything like her normal, small disasters.
She also kept thinking about the fact that maybe her family was the reason that guy had been buried out back. It’d be great if that wasn’t a possibility, but the look in George’s eyes said it was. Amanda kept going back to the police chief’s words and what the look on his face implied.
Dead guy in the garden who disappeared same day he’d had an argument with her uncle. No wonder the cops had used a warrant to search the Inn.
She knew her Uncle Conrad wasn’t a warm person or particularly friendly, but she couldn’t picture him as a killer who’d literally plant the evidence right in his backyard.
It was true she hadn’t really known her uncle or Aunt Judy well until her mother died two months before she was heading off for college. Amanda’s father had left when she was two and for as long as she could remember her mom had been the only one there for her. She’d never seemed very interested in keeping in touch with her brother-in-law and his wife, and brushed off Amanda’s occasional questions about them as unimportant. Amanda’s aunt and uncle may have meant well when they had her over for Thanksgiving dinner in their tiny apartment, but the truth was that they just didn’t have much in common with a college student. They both seemed to be beaten
down by their lives, and Uncle Conrad’s face was always set in a mask of tired bitterness. They didn’t seem to know how to relate to a younger generation at all, and her aunt had a hangdog appearance every time Amanda saw her, as if life was perpetually disappointing her. Conversations were stilted or full of carefully-chosen neutral topics, while all the while Amanda was pushing the food around on her plate and counting the minutes until she could hug them goodbye and get out the door.
She couldn’t say that she loved them, but she couldn’t see them murdering anyone either, and from her brief conversation with the police chief, she was sure her uncle was on the short list of suspects.
All that time she’d know them, and maybe she hadn’t really known them at all.
She was just pulling on a clean shirt and zipping up her jeans when she heard a loud knocking on the front door, two floors down. More cops or journalists, she thought. By the time she’d run down the stairs and yanked open the heavy door, she was out of breath, and looking up into the disapproving eyes of a tall man dressed in a dark brown bomber jacket and jeans.
“You always take this long to answer the door?”
She’d had it. After a nearly-sleepless night and a parade of rubber-necking townspeople, she was more than fed up with being polite and reasonable.
“You always this cranky before breakfast? Who the hell are you, anyway?”
He’d been looking over her head into the foyer behind her, but at the sharp tone of her voice his eyes snapped back to her face, and he pulled out a large police badge.
“I’m Detective James Landon of the county sheriff department. I’ve been assigned this case, and I came over to see what the local boys missed.”
Amanda felt a surge of anger. She’d only been in town less than a week, but she already liked the local police she’d met.
BED, BREAKFAST, and BONES: A Ravenwood Cove Cozy Mystery Page 3