"I told her I wished she'd just go away." Mavis looked me in the eye and then dropped her gaze as though ashamed. "I said I didn't care where she went, as long as was gone. That was the last thing I ever said to her."
As pitiful as this woman appeared, I didn't feel all that sorry for her. She'd let professional jealousy get the best of her. If she'd done a better job of running her B&B, she wouldn't have lost so much business to Mrs. Birchfield. I took a small step closer to her but stopped again when she appeared to stiffen.
"I'm sure she understood," I said because that was all I could think of.
She opened her mouth but quickly shut it and nodded. The silence between us was palpable, and I wasn't sure what to say or do … or if I needed to do anything.
Finally, she put her needles and yarn on the table beside her and stood. "I best be gettin' to bed. Tomorrow comes mighty early, and I have a passel of hungry folks to feed." She gave me an odd look. "Funny but you don't look like a cop."
"That's probably because I'm not," I said, annoyance rising in my chest.
"But you used to be." Without another word, she took off for her room in the back, leaving me staring after her. How she went from quiet, pensive, and somewhat apologetic to acting as though nothing had happened sent a chill of suspicion down my spine.
I trudged toward my room and flopped onto the bed. Mavis was right. Tomorrow would be here awfully early, and I needed to get some rest—after I called Mom and Dad. I dug my cell phone out of my purse and punched in their number.
"Summer, I've been trying to reach you all afternoon," she said without even a hello or how are you. "Where on earth have you been?"
"Sorry, Mom. I turned off my phone and forgot to turn it back on."
"You probably already know this by now, but Mrs. Birchfield …" Mom sniffled. "She's been—"
"Yes, I know. I'm the one who found her." The instant I said that last comment, I regretted it. Mom worried enough about me, and I didn't need to make things worse.
"Oh, Summer, sweetie, it must have been gruesome."
"It wasn't good," I agreed.
"I feel responsible for this."
"Trust me, Mom, no one even remotely thinks you had anything to do with what happened."
"I'm talking about sending you there and getting you all mixed up in this mess."
"What makes you think I'm all mixed up in it?"
"Summer." Her tone dropped an octave. "I've known you all your life. When anything bad happens to anyone, you want to be right there in the middle of things so you can fix everything for everyone. You've always been that way, even when you were a little girl. I remember—"
"Please, Mom, not now. I'm exhausted. I just wanted to call to tell you about Mrs. Birchfield and let you know I'm safe."
"When will you be able to come home?" she asked. "Don't tell me you're planning to stick around until they find who did it." I heard a heavy sigh. "But I know how you are, Summer. You'll be there until the bad guy is caught and behind bars."
"Um …" Mom was right. I couldn't stand leaving messes for other people. I wanted to be right in the thick of the action and lend a hand if needed.
"Okay, so it'll be a while before we see you. I'll check your mail and call you if anything looks important."
"Thanks, Mom."
After we hung up, I smiled. My parents were good about understanding what made me tick, even if they didn't like it.
It took me a few extra minutes to get ready for bed since I had to go down the hall to brush my teeth and wash my face. I'd finally snuggled down under the warm covers when I heard someone banging on a door down the hall and people hollering.
Chapter 5
"If you think I'm letting you in, you have another think coming!"
The voice sounded very much like that of Bert, only a slight bit tinnier. I got out of bed and stood by the door to listen some more. The voices were coming from the other end of the hall.
"Dad, you and I need to talk." This man's voice sounded much deeper.
Now I was really intrigued. I carefully and very slowly opened my bedroom door, praying that it wouldn't squeak, so I could hear better what was going on.
The voices grew softer, but just as I was about to open the door wider I heard a loud knock that echoed throughout the upstairs hallway. I quickly pushed the door to within an inch of the jamb.
"Go away. I don't want to talk to you now."
"If you won't talk to me now, I'll go tell the police what you've been up to for the past several months."
My ears rang. Without wasting another second, I shut the door all the way, went to my handbag, and pulled out my phone to call Jim. He answered before the second ring.
I told him what I'd heard. The sound of Mavis's voice got louder and louder as she ascended the stairs. "Y'all need to shush, now. I have a houseful of paying guests. They don't need to—" Her voice cut off, and a door slammed. I was pretty sure I heard a muffled scream, but it only lasted a split second, so I wasn't sure.
"Did you hear that?" I asked Jim.
"Hear what?"
Now I remembered that I'd bought the cell phone that had the best background noise reduction available, so he could only hear whatever was in front of the phone receiver. "Jim, trust me on this. Get over here as soon as possible, and I'll tell you while you're on your way."
"I'm in my car now. Start talking."
I explained what I'd heard, and before I finished, I heard more footsteps coming up the stairs. I opened the door enough to see who it was, and that was when I spotted Jim. As much as I hated to see anyone when I didn't have a stitch of makeup, I knew that timing was of the utmost importance. I stepped out into the hallway and pointed to the door. He gestured for me to go back into my room.
This was difficult for me. I never liked hiding behind a door when I knew a suspect needed to be apprehended. I started to do as he told me to, and then I heard the sirens. Backup had arrived. Now I knew all the guests in the B&B would be out of their rooms to see what was going on. Curiosity was one of those things that rendered most people incapable of following logic.
When I stepped back out, I saw that I was right. However, one of the officers who backed up the backups made her way toward the crowd and ordered us to go into our rooms. An elderly couple gestured for everyone to join them, so we did. The wife whispered, "They've kidnapped someone."
"Who?" I asked.
"Never mind who."
"Mavis," the man snapped. "If we have to fight the kidnappers, it's good to have numbers on our side."
"Is it kidnapping if they don't take her anywhere?" his wife asked.
"Only—" I began before the man interrupted me.
"Here." He handed me an old golf club that looked like it belonged in the Smithsonian. "You stand at the door and be ready to clobber anyone who tries to get in here." He issued orders to everyone in the room before turning to his wife. "You go in the bathroom and lock the door. I'll let you know when the coast is clear."
"But I—"
"I don't want to hear any buts. I promised your daddy nearly sixty years ago that I'd look after you for the rest of your life, and I don't plan to go back on my promise now." The look he gave her melted my heart. Chivalry obviously wasn't dead, but if this man was any indication, it was quite old. "I'll tell y'all when it's time to act."
Over the next half hour, I stood in the room at the other end of the hallway with the rest of the guests and listened as the police tried to negotiate Mavis's release. As I listened, I thought about some opportunities they might be missing. Bert and his son actually asked questions, which probably meant their getaway plan was flexible … or maybe even nonexistent.
Finally, I couldn't stand it anymore. I opened the door, slid out before the older gentleman realized what I was doing, told everyone to stay put, and closed it behind me. One of the officers gave me a stern look, but whispered something that kept him from stopping me. Jim motioned for me to join him.
"Looks like
we might have the murder solved." His shoulders rose and sagged in a heavy sigh. "I just hope we don't have a second one about to happen."
I was surprised that he'd assume anything at this point. "We don't know that Bert murdered Mrs. Birchfield."
"I'm not talking about Bert. It's his son who is our prime suspect now. Did you know that he's wanted for armed robbery at a couple of banks in Indiana?"
"No, of course I didn't know that." I glanced back and forth between him and the closed door where Bert and his son held Mavis captive. "How about Bert? Do you think he's in on it?"
"That's where we're not sure. As far as we know, he and his son have only had a few conversations in recent years."
"But if his son committed the murder, and Bert was staying at Mrs. Birchfield's boarding house, don't you think—"
"Bert has been here for several days. He moved out of the Birchfield B&B when Mavis offered him a better rate for a long-term stay." Here was another inconsistency.
"How about their relationship?" I asked.
"Whose?"
"Bert and Mavis."
He shrugged. "Who knows? Love is a strange emotion."
"And it makes people do strange things," I added.
He snickered. "Yeah, that too. Is Connie here yet?"
"She's not with the others, if that's what you're asking. Why do you think she'd be here?"
"She's now an employee here. At least that's what Mavis told us. In fact, she was working in both B&Bs for several weeks, which was why she wasn't there when Mrs. Birchfield was murdered." He gave me an apologetic look. "I know she told you she just filled in occasionally, but they've all told so many lies I don't think they can keep track of what they have or haven't said."
Nothing seemed to be adding up, so I'd already figured there were a few lies floating around. When I first met Connie, she mentioned something about Bert not missing meatloaf night. If she worked for both B&Bs, she'd probably know Bert had moved. And Mavis had said Bert didn't move in until the night before last.
This was getting more complicated by the minute, but at least it appeared we were making progress that would come to light soon. I suspected that as soon as one truth came out, we'd know who murdered Mrs. Birchfield. The way things appeared now and the reality could be two different things, which was why I chose not to assume anything about Bert's son. Yes, he was obviously a criminal, but that didn't necessarily make him a murderer.
"How about I give this a try?" I asked.
Jim shrugged. "I don't see why not. What do we have to lose?"
One of the other officers scowled. "We don't need to risk civilians. That man is dangerous."
Rather than put Jim in the position of having to explain, I blurted, "I'm a former cop. This was one of my specialties."
The officer cast a dubious glance at me and then turned to Jim, who nodded. "Well, okay then. Just don't do anything stupid."
"Trust me," I said. "I enjoy living too much for that."
"We'll be right here," Jim reminded me.
With an officer on either side of me, their guns pointed at the door, I lightly knocked. "Hey, Bert. I heard you like meatloaf."
Whispers sounded on the other side of the door, until Bert's son hollered out, "My dad likes anything as long as someone else cooks it."
"That's not true," Bert said. "Meatloaf is my favorite."
"I'm sure you'll miss Mrs. Birchfield's meatloaf now that she's no longer with us." I kept my voice as steady as possible. I didn't want to freak out Bert or his son.
The door flung open, surprising everyone, including me. Bert's eyes were wide, and his face was pale. "Where is she? I didn't mean to upset her so much she'd leave."
His son cackled from behind him. "That old woman is gone, as in dead. Someone stabbed her."
Bert spun around and shoved his son before grabbing Mavis by the hand and dragging her toward the door. The officers used the element of Zach's surprise and stormed into the room. Jim grabbed Bert's wrist to prevent him from getting past.
"Get your hands off me," Bert growled. "I-I'll sue you for police brutality."
"That's fine," Jim said. "Now let go of Mrs. Anderson."
"I can't." Bert planted his face inches from Jim's. "If I do that, one of your men will shoot me."
"That's not going to happen," Jim said. "At least it won't if you let go of her. Do you want to be arrested for kidnapping?"
"I don't want to be arrested. Period." Bert reluctantly let go of Mavis.
To my surprise, she didn't bolt. Instead she gently patted his arm. "I bet you're hungry."
Bert made a puppy-dog face and nodded. "I'm starving."
"Would you like for me to go downstairs and fix you something to eat?"
"If you don't mind."
She smiled at him. "Of course I don't mind. It's my pleasure, if these folks would be kind enough to let me get by."
Jim nodded, so the officers took a few steps back. "Would you like one of us to go with you?" Jim asked.
"Whatever for?" Mavis flicked her hand from the wrist. "You all get so worked up over every little thing." She started toward the stairs before stopping and turning to scan the crowd that had now formed in the hallway. "Anyone else hungry? I might as well feed everyone while I'm at it."
No one else was hungry, so she went on downstairs, leaving the rest of us looking at each other, wondering what was happening. It took a few minutes for the officers to read Zach Zuckerman his rights, cuff him, and take him out of the building.
"Do you all feel safer now?" the older man whose room we were all in earlier said. When no one answered, he clicked his tongue. "I didn't think so." He turned to Jim. "Are you going to keep him locked up for a while?"
"We'll do what we can," Jim answered. "But I can't guarantee anything. There's a process—"
"Process, schmossess," the man said. "That man should never be let out of jail. He's a menace to—"
"Bertie," hollered Mavis. "Your snack is ready."
Bert sighed. "I best go down there. She went to all that trouble for me."
"Yes, of course," Jim said as he widened his eyes in a you've-got-to-be-kidding expression. "I wouldn't want you to keep her waiting."
"That's it," the elderly man said. "Get your things, honey. We're leaving. These people are crazy."
His wife shook her head. "But where will we go?"
"Anyplace is better than this nuthouse. Go get your things."
The rest of the guests went back to their rooms, leaving Jim and me standing in the hallway, watching the doors slam. "Would you like for us to make other arrangements for you?"
"Why would I want that?"
He lifted his shoulder in a half shrug. "I just thought you might be more comfortable in a place that isn't such a …" He grinned. "Such a nuthouse."
"I'm used to nuthouses, remember? I'll stay right here."
I noticed the concern on his face, but I also saw the resignation that he realized I knew what I wanted, and that was exactly what I'd do. After he left, I went to my room, closed the door, and after a moment's hesitation, locked it. There was no point in taking unnecessary risks. It took a while, but I was finally able to go to sleep.
When I awoke the next morning, I felt like someone had beaten me with a sledgehammer. My body ached, my head hurt, and my eyes were swollen. As I lay in bed staring up at the ceiling, I thought about what I could do to help move this investigation along. Jim couldn't legally ask for my help, but I didn't think he'd interfere with anything I wanted to do.
I figured the best place to start was right here in the B&B. Mavis should be downstairs in the kitchen now, so I got up and got ready as quickly as possible. As I walked toward the stairs, I inhaled the blended aroma of cinnamon and bacon. My stomach rumbled.
To my surprise, no one was in the dining room. So I went toward the kitchen, and after a brief pause, pushed the swinging door. Mavis stood staring out the window with one hand on her hip and the other holding a potholder.
&nb
sp; "Mavis?"
She jumped as she turned around to face me. "What are you doing here? I didn't expect you for breakfast."
"You've already told me meals weren't included for me, so if you don't have enough for me, I understand …" I glanced over at the cinnamon rolls cooling on the counter. "But I would like some coffee if you don't mind."
"Of course." She pointed to the door. "I have a Keurig on the buffet in the dining room, so you can select whatever kind you want."
I would have loved coffee the old fashioned way – the way Mrs. Birchfield served it. When I was there with my parents, she had a silver coffee service set up in each corner of the dining room, and she spent most of her time refilling the pots. I knew Mavis's method was much more efficient, but it lacked the warmth and comfort I'd expected from a B&B.
"Where is everyone?" I asked as I headed toward the coffee.
She shrugged. "How should I know? I don't ask guest such personal questions. They come and go as they please. And I have a feeling after all that ruckus last night, we might not ever see some of them again."
Once again, I looked at the cinnamon rolls. "If you have any of those left over, I wouldn't mind eating one of those. It smells awfully good."
Without a word, she got a plate down from the cabinet and handed it to me. "Help yourself. I need to go make a phone call."
Her demeanor had been abrupt and weird since I met her, but even so, I thought she was acting even stranger this morning. As she scurried into the room behind the kitchen – what I assumed was her living quarters – I heard the sound of some people approaching.
I went back out to the dining area and saw the elderly couple from last night trying to figure out the Keurig. "Let me help you."
"Are you the new girl here?" the woman asked.
I smiled and shook my head. "No, I'm a guest, but I've been using these things for years. Do you need help with it?"
The man made a harrumphing sound. "It's just plain, downright stupid if you ask me."
His wife playfully jabbed him in the side. "No one asked you, Wilbur."
"They should. I'd be willing to bet those little plastic containers cost more than double what a cup of coffee the old fashioned way costs."
Summer Walsh Mystery Collection (Boxed Set) (Omnibus): Murder Under the Mistletoe, Gun in the Garden, and Offed at the office (Summer Walsh Mysteries) Page 5