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

by Carolyn L. Dean

  “Yes, and all the people who won’t stand up to her. I’ve never wanted anything in my life so much as to fit in here and build a life, and it feels like I’m getting stopped at every turn.” Amanda turned her face away, pretending to be wiping down the wainscoting so James couldn’t see the raw emotion in her eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Amanda. Really I am.” His voice was warm, but Amanda knew if she gave in to his sympathy she’d probably just start to bawl outright.

  “That old bat. You know, I’ve never really thought of the idea of having an enemy, but that is exactly what Mrs. Sandford is to me. My enemy. It’s like she’s deliberately trying to shut out every bit of hope and light and money that I can have in my life, and I just can’t stand to be around her.”

  James was silent, waiting, as she went on. “She’s one of those enemies that the Reverend would say I should be praying for. Apparently, I’m really bad at that.”

  He shrugged. “It’s hard to forgive when you feel someone’s out to get you.”

  “I just want to smack her disapproving face. Every time I see her that’s what I picture. WHACK. With a fish. A big slimy one.”

  He burst out laughing and she couldn’t help but giggle. The thought of the mayor being cracked across the face with a limp cod was too funny for words.

  “She wasn’t always like that, you know. People don’t just become cranky and stuck in their ways for no reason, all good or all bad.”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  He sighed. “Look, she gets on my nerves, too, but I grew up here. I know that years ago she used to be the belle of the town around here. It wasn’t until after she was married and her first baby died that she started to change. Her husband wasn’t an easy man, and I think her prestige and wealth she’d had as a girl kind of dried up."

  “Maybe she dried up, too.” Amanda didn’t want to feel sympathy for the mayor, and it showed.

  “Maybe. It’s hard to be in one place your whole life, where everyone knows everyone and is in your business. It makes you worry about what people think about who you married, or if your new house you bought is less expensive than the last one you bought, or that your husband may have a roving eye.”

  Amanda felt a sudden twinge of sympathy, and ruthlessly tried to quell it. She really didn’t want to feel it for the mayor at all.

  “Doesn’t excuse her bad behavior, I know, but thought it would help for you to hear a bit about her. My Dad says she used to be really well-liked in town. She didn’t always push people around like this.”

  Amanda thought about that, trying to imagine the mayor as a carefree bride, hopeful for her future. It wasn’t easy.

  She needed some time to think about it. Maybe the mayor changed because she thought she had to change, or because she was afraid what would happen to her world if she didn’t. Maybe she was just trying to survive.

  Amanda subdued any twinges of compassion as she furiously cleaned in the corner between the wall and the massive bed. Yes, people change, she thought, but that doesn’t give anyone the right to treat other people like garbage. Just because she had a bad life doesn’t mean she can act like she rules everyone else.

  She saw the corner of the torn envelope the moment she flipped back the corner of the rug. She picked it up and was just going to toss it into the small garbage can she was dragging with her through the room, when her eyes caught some writing on the outside.

  YOU HAVE TWO HOURS

  Big dark letters, written in an angry scrawl across the front.

  Amanda’s blood ran cold. This wasn’t a piece of mail carelessly left. This was something that had been deliberately hidden, and that was much more personal and angry.

  She glanced sideways at James, who was busy ripping down the heavy velvet curtains, a cloud of dust poofing around his head.

  It took only a moment for Amanda to fold the envelope in half and stuff it into her pocket. She patted it hard to ensure there’d be no telltale bulge, and pulled the corner of the rug back to see if there was anything else there.

  Nothing.

  She’d have to read it later, when she was by herself. As she kept working she had a twinge of guilt about not sharing it with the hard-working detective, now climbing the stepstool to clean out the hanging light fixture. It wasn’t that she thought he was working against her. It was just that it felt almost like family business, this murder and this letter.

  Family business. If there were incriminating things in that piece of paper stuffed into her pocket she would tell him. She just wanted to see what it said first.

  Chapter 20

  By late afternoon they were all tired and covered in dust. Amanda could see the fatigue in their movements and when the crew moved toward the staircase to the third floor, she made a quick decision.

  “Let’s call it a day.” She was exhausted, and had been itching to get some time to herself so she could read the letter she’d discovered.

  James looked at her, not surprised. “Amanda, are you trying to be nice to us, or are you trying to keep us away from master suite?”

  The words were so plain and open they hurt. “Maybe both.”

  Roy and his crew may not have understood why Amanda wouldn’t want them seeing the suite, but they nodded and headed downstairs, trailed by Lisa.

  James wasn’t so easily dissuaded. “You sure you don’t want help with that room?”

  She looked at him, assessing. Maybe he meant well, but he was still a detective investigating a murder.

  “No, thanks. I’d like to work on it by myself. There are some fragile things in there that I really should box up and I’d like to take my time.”

  He nodded, understanding both her excuse and her reasoning. “How about I go take a look at that washer for you?”

  “That would be great. It’s in the laundry room off the kitchen.”

  He loped downstairs toward the kitchen, and she could hear him rummaging around in her tool drawer, slamming it shut before she heard the floor squeak by the laundry room.

  Now. She needed a place to read the letter, alone.

  It took only moments for her to quietly head upstairs and click the door shut behind her in the still-cluttered master suite. She sat down on the dusty bed, took a deep breath, and eased the crinkly envelope out of her pocket, smoothing it open.

  The paper was dry and almost brittle with age as she unfolded it. She could feel the adrenaline starting to course through her veins as she read the first line.

  My patience has come to an end.

  Oh, no. She kept reading, her eyes raking over the horrible words, taking it in like she’d take in desperate gulps of bad air.

  If you know what’s good for you you’ll leave tonight. We’ve had enough history you know I can make you disappear, and I’ve got enough connections that you know I can get away with it. If you aren’t gone by dawn I’ll rip everything you love away from you and you’ll never even see me coming. You have until midnight.

  Her hands were shaking as she reread the threatening letter. Was it from her uncle, or from the killer? Why would someone want to send someone out of state?

  It took her almost ten minutes to dig through the paperwork that her uncle had left behind, frantically scanning long-discarded mail and notes jotted on scraps of paper before she found what she was looking for.

  It was a love letter her uncle had written to her aunt, stashed with a shoebox full of keepsakes, probably from the time they’d been dating. They’d left it behind, another sad testament to how fast they had fled, and what parts of their life they’d had to abandon.

  She smoothed out the two letters and laid them side by side on the bed.

  The writing was totally different. Whoever had written the mysterious letter had not been her uncle. Whoever wrote this letter was threatening to murder him.

  That meant two things. Someone had been threatening her family and that was why they had fled and never returned, and her uncle hadn’t been the killer.

  H
er thoughts flashed instantly to her dead uncle and aunt, with almost a feeling of embarrassment that she’d ever suspected either of them in the first place. Whatever they had been, they weren’t murderers.

  Now she just had to figure out who wrote the message, and why.

  She picked up both letters and headed downstairs to the laundry room. Time to get the sheriff’s department involved.

  Chapter 21

  When Amanda found the old bicycle in the back of the chicken coop, she wasn’t sure if it was junk or treasure. She brushed off the straw and cobwebs, then wheeled it up to the back of the Inn, by the hose and spigot. Even though the front tire was flat and there was a lot of loud squeaking when she rolled it, Amanda could tell that this bike was a classic from decades ago. With bright red fenders and a broad wicker basket over the front wheel, it would be perfect for runs into town on errands. Truth was, she didn’t always need her car, and it would be nice to have something that gave her some exercise and didn’t burn up gas.

  And, at the rate she was spending money to get the Inn repaired she couldn’t afford the extra expense of gas, anyway.

  She dug out a soft brush and some old towels, and got to work. Within half an hour it gleamed, water droplets still running down the bright paint and pooling on the brick patio. A bit of three-in-one oil and adjustment of the brakes and it almost looked brand new. Amanda rummaged around in the shed and discovered an old pump, and after a bit of wrangling with it she was able to get the flat tire inflated.

  Perfect! For some reason, just looking at the bike, gleaming with glossy lipstick-red paint and bright chrome, made her happy

  She’d already printed out the fliers announcing the first meeting of the new Merchant and Farmers Market Association, so it took only minutes for Amanda to change into clean jeans and a fresh blouse and to pedal her way toward town.

  The soft breeze tasted a bit of salt and was cool on her face as she coasted downhill, loving the crispness of the autumn air. Going to be tough going back up, she thought, but I could definitely use the exercise.

  Amanda took the time to go into every shop on Main Street, and the merchants greeted her as if she were an old friend. They seemed excited and hopeful about the upcoming meeting and told her tale after tale about how their business was suddenly booming.

  The only problem was at Petrie’s general store. Brian Petrie was staffing the counter, ringing up a new garden rake for Mr. Henderson, but when he saw Amanda he motioned at her as if he wanted to be sure she’d come over to talk to him.

  Amanda put on her best smile and pulled a flyer off the stack in her hand. As soon as Mr. Henderson had left with his slug bait and new rake, Brian pointed an accusatory finger at Amanda, mock anger on his face.

  “I think you’re avoiding me, little lady. Every time I see you on the street you’re talking to one of the other store owners and you haven’t said two words to me in the past couple of weeks. What’s up? Did I sell you a garden hose that leaked or something?”

  She laughed, and then she lied. “No, no, nothing like that. I’ve just been so busy that I haven’t had a chance to really swing by and talk much.” She didn’t tell him that she’d waited until she was sure Sally, the assistant manager, was there at the same time Brian was. She definitely didn’t feel comfortable being alone with him.

  He looked skeptical at her explanation. “Okay, so you’re not mad at me, then?”

  Amanda grinned and lied again. “Of course not!”

  Before she left, she stopped by the woodstove benches so she could say hello to Mrs. Granger, then stepped out into the crisp air of Main Street. She gulped it as if she’d been holding her breath the whole time she’d been inside the store, then clutched her file of papers and headed over to the next shop.

  By the time Amanda had handed out most of the flyers it was time for breakfast. Maybe a warm cinnamon roll at Cuppa, she thought, happy to turn her new bike toward her favorite little coffee shop.

  Tory Sherwood, the owner, was busy rolling out dough in the back room when Amanda walked in. Her friend Meg was bent over, putting a tray of fresh scones in the pastry display case. At the cheerful sound of the bell over the door, she straightened up with a smile and wiped her hands on her white apron.

  “Hey! I was just going to call you. I wanted to make sure to invite you to my grandmother’s birthday party,” Meg said.

  “Mrs. Granger’s birthday party? When is it?”

  “This Saturday at six, in the back meeting room at Ivy’s. Gram would love to see you. You’re one of the few people that she really likes around here.”

  Amanda laughed. “I can’t imagine why. Maybe she just doesn’t know me too well yet, I guess. What can I bring?”

  “Just bring something for the potluck,” Meg said. “She’s got enough stuff already. At ninety years old you tend to accumulate a lot of things. Oh, and don’t tell her about it. It’s a surprise party.”

  Amanda grinned. “I’ll be there with bells on.”

  Chapter 22

  Pedaling up the hill wasn’t nearly as much fun as coasting down into town, but Amanda consoled herself with the idea that it was free exercise and that her bike basket was full of fresh goodies for dinner. She was also happily musing over how well things were going for the merchants, and trying to think of new ways to help the town. By the time she rolled onto the gravel drive at the front of the Inn she was panting a bit from exertion, and ready for something to drink and maybe a nap.

  It was never going to happen. There were three vehicles parked in front of her beautiful Inn; two cars and a van. She hopped off the bike and rolled it toward the front door where four men stood, obviously waiting.

  “Are you Mrs. Graham?”

  “Not Mrs., but I’m Amanda Graham. What can I do for you gentlemen?”

  The man was short and round, wearing dark coveralls. He seemed almost embarrassed as he handed Amanda an official-looking sheet of paper.

  “Pest inspection. The city’s been getting some complaints that the Ravenwood Inn may have rats, which are infesting the neighborhood.”

  “Rats! What are you talking about? I’ve never had a rat problem here.” She scanned the document, her mind flashing to the evidence of mice she’d discovered in the kitchen. Definitely not rats.

  She looked up, her gaze raking over the quiet men. “Are you all here for rats?”

  A guy in an orange t-shirt and jeans stepped forward, holding out another sheet of paper. “Sewer inspection. There’ve been some reports of bad smells from your place and I’ve been told–“

  “You’ve been told to come check it out. Let me guess. All of you have been told to come check problems at the Inn, right?” They nodded, and when the next man stepped forward, Amanda instantly recognized him. It was the terse building inspector who’d looked through the Inn when she first moved to Ravenwood.

  “What are you doing here? You’ve already gone over the Inn with a fine-toothed comb, and you know what condition it was in.”

  “Heard you’ve been doing a bunch of work out here and haven’t pulled any permits, Miss Graham. That’s a serious violation and you know I have to investigate that whenever we get a report—“

  Her temper boiled over as she interrupted him. “Get a report. Right! Did any of you geniuses figure out that if you all get reports at the same time maybe someone is just out to get me? Maybe someone is trying to harass and intimidate me?”

  The building inspector seemed surprised. “Um, we don’t know anything about that. We just do what we’re told. Any time there’s a complaint we have to investigate and report back to the city.”

  “To the city or to the city council?” There was that headache again, right between her eyes.

  “To the city.”

  “And just who, do you suppose, filed all these complaints about me?”

  He shifted nervously from foot to foot. “We’re not allowed to say. It’s kept anonymous.”

  Amanda could feel her blood pressure rise. “A
nonymous, huh?” She’d begun to hate that word. “We’ll just see about that.”

  Trying to keep her temper under control was a challenge as the apologetic workmen started going through her precious Inn, armed with flashlights and clipboards. They poked in every corner, even going into the untouched attic to check for violations or permit issues. The rat guy (for that’s what Amanda had termed him in her mind) walked around the perimeter of the Inn, then the entire property, poking a long stick into holes and examining the wooden siding for chew marks. Amanda made sure they were doing what they said they would and once she was satisfied that they were, she grabbed her purse and headed for her car.

  It took only minutes to drive down into town, park the car, and stomp into the city hall. Painted white with some brick on the façade, the building was easy to find, right on the main town square by the tall flagpole. The bespectacled clerk at the desk looked surprised, then alarmed, as Amanda stormed past the counter and toward the open door on the mayor’s office.

  “You, you can’t go in there!” he was sputtering, just as Amanda stepped onto the Persian carpet and glared at the mayor.

  “You won’t get away with this! I don’t care how long it takes, but I’m going to be sure that justice is done and that you won’t be able to pick on the citizens of Ravenwood ever again! You have no right to persecute me –“

  The mayor suddenly stood and cut her off. “Miss Graham, I have no idea what you’re babbling about.”

  Amanda could see a few people drifting out of their offices to check what the commotion was, and she tried to keep her voice a bit lower, even though it was shaking with fury.

  “How dare you! How dare you single me out for your vindictive, petty issues! You may have backed me into a corner, but don’t be surprised when I come out fighting. I don’t care how many inspectors you throw at me. You haven’t beaten me yet!”

  “Young lady, you are completely hysterical.” The mayor’s voice was calm, but the expression on her face was finally beginning to reflect alarm.