Mission Inn-possible 02 - Strawberry Sin

by Rosie A. Point

  “It’s cramped.” The fluorescent light above us flickered and ticked. “And stuffy.”

  “Yes, I’m quite sure that that beastly Hannah has been moving the bookcases closer and closer together just to spite me.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “I wouldn’t put it past her. Now, quietly, Charlotte, I need to select a book for the club.” She drew one out and turned it over to read the description.

  “Anything I can do to help?”

  “Don’t speak,” she replied. “That would be the biggest help. It’s the quietest it’s ever been in this library. I’d like to take advantage of that.”

  I drifted off to give her space, pausing to squint at a spine of a book or pull one out and check out the cover and first few pages. I’d slowly grown accustomed to the slow pace in Gossip and that sent a jolt of anxiety through my stomach.

  I couldn’t afford to grow lax. I had to stay the same—in the same mindset and shape, but that was difficult when I was surrounded by cakes and cookies and warm smiles.

  Trust no one.

  Apart from my grandmother. Not even Smulder. For all I knew, he might not have been sent by the NSIB but was a dirty agent too who’d flipped over to Kyle’s side. My gut told me that wasn’t true, and I’d always trusted my gut, but I’d be wary. Wariness had saved my life on several occasions.

  I shook my head and slid the book back onto its shelf.

  The bookcase thudded and teetered toward me then settled. What on earth?

  I caught Gamma’s eye—she’d stopped reading and frowned. “What was that?” she asked.

  “Maybe she’s trying to tip bookcases over on you, now.”

  “Could be.” Gamma strode toward me, and we walked around the side of the bookcase and into the next aisle. My grandmother thrust out her hand, and I stopped in my tracks.

  Hannah the librarian lay on her back in between the rows of books, a knife thrust into her chest.

  Here we go again.

  “I’ll call the cops,” Gamma said.

  “I’ll leave.”

  “I’m afraid that will only make things worse. The surveillance cameras, remember?”

  “Right.”

  Hannah had been messing with them at the front desk. So what was she doing here? And who on earth had wanted to murder her? And how had they done it so silently, while we were right in the next aisle?

  We backed out of the row while Gamma removed her cellphone from her handbag and unlocked its screen.

  It had already been a long week, and it seemed it would only get longer.

  6

  Two hours later we arrived back at the inn. The questioning from Detective Crowley had been exhaustive, but the usually serious detective had seemed almost relaxed. Perhaps, it was because he’d figured that the surveillance cameras would tell him all he needed to know about what had happened.

  I hoped that was the case—the last thing I needed was more attention. If Smulder couldn’t ‘keep me in check’ I’d be shipped off to whatever dark hole the NSIB had earmarked for me.

  “Inn sweet inn,” Gamma announced, as she steered her Mini into its usual parking spot. “What an outing.”

  I grunted. Not ladylike, but, oh well—the polka dot dress and tights pulled that off for me. “I don’t like that detective,” I said. “I don’t trust him. He seemed too relaxed about the murder, like he thought solving it was a piece of cake.”

  Gamma patted me on the arm. “At least, it didn’t happen in the dining room of the inn, this time. There’s always something to be thankful for. Let the detective do his work, Charlotte, and this will be over before you know it.” She paused, unclipping herself from the seat. “Now, we’ve got much more important things to concern ourselves with. Lauren has the afternoon and evening off, and that means lunch and dinner are on us.”

  “What?” I practically gaped. Lauren never took time off. She hadn’t once in the months that I’d been here. “Is she OK? She was acting weird this morning. Sort of depressed and muted.”

  “I hope she’s fine.” A flicker of a frown darkened my grandmother’s brow then cleared again. “But she requested the time off and I granted it. I’ll be the main chef, and you can help me like you usually do her. We’ll rendezvous in the kitchen at noon.”

  I checked my watch. That gave me one hour to pace around in my room, angry at Smulder, at the detective, and the fact that there’d been another murder in my vicinity.

  “See you then.” I got out of Gamma’s car and headed for the front steps of the inn’s wooden porch. I stomped up them and entered through the inn’s open doors. They were always left ajar during the day, even though it drove me crazy with paranoia.

  Now, what was I supposed to do? Worry about—

  “Charlotte.” Brian’s voice whipped out of the library door to my right.

  How had I not seen him there? I’d been too busy storming around in a huff to notice. “Mr. Marble, right?” I tilted my head toward him.

  Brian wore his plaid shirt and jeans and had his hands tucked into them. He leaned casually against the door jamb. My heart skipped a beat, and I forced myself not to swoon like a high school girl.

  What was wrong with me? I was mood swing central today.

  “Is there something I can help you with?” I asked.

  “I have an issue in the library. Could you help me, please?”

  Oh boy. What was this about?

  “Of course,” I said.

  Brian stepped back and waited until I’d entered. He shut the door with a soft ‘click.’ “It’s safe in here,” he said, quietly, right near my ear. “I’ve checked the room for listening devices and found none.”

  “What a relief,” I said. “Now we can gossip freely. Did you hear about Martha Malarkey’s new haircut?” I spun around walking backward as I spoke. “Apparently, she found out her husband was having an affair while she was getting it cut. She jumped out of the chair—”

  “Charlie.”

  “—and the hairdresser snipped off a huge chunk. Naturally, they had to even out the other side, so, now, she’s got a pudding bowl haircut and a rage that would scare a hippopotamus. You know, hippos are notoriously aggressive.”

  “What are you doing?” Smulder asked, folding his brawny arms across his chest.

  I forced myself not to stare. Heavens, what was wrong with me? Had Gamma put something in my coffee this morning?

  “Oh, I’m just subjecting you to some of the fun I’ve had in Gossip. Of course, you won’t fully understand unless you’re wearing a dress covered in frolicking fish. But this will have to suffice.”

  “Frolicking fish?”

  “I kid you not. Someone at HQ packed me nothing but these.” I plucked at the fabric of my dress. I didn’t mind dresses or looking pretty, but I drew the line at the cutesy images, the hearts and smiley faces and kittens. “At least, you got plaid.”

  “Are you all right?” Smulder asked, his voice rumbling and warm. “You seem… manic.”

  “That’s one way of putting it.”

  “What’s another way of putting it?”

  I chewed on the inside of my cheek. I couldn’t tell him how I felt. He would either tell me to get over it or rat me out to the big guy, just like he’d done with the leak. Sure, he’d had to do that, but that didn’t mean I had to expose my thoughts to him.

  If Smully found out I’d been looking into Kyle’s whereabouts, he’d book me a one way ticket to isolation.

  “I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re not fine.” Smulder said. “And I know why.”

  “Because I have a babysitter and the Special Agent in Charge doesn’t trust me?”

  “Come on, Charlie. You don’t trust anyone.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “That it’s rich to be angry about a lack of trust coming from you,” Brian said.

  “Why did you pull me in here?” I asked. “Just because you’re here ‘watching over’ me, doesn’t mean we have
to skip through the daisies hand-in-hand.”

  Smulder massaged his temples. He’d done that a lot when we’d worked together. “You want to tell me what happened at the public library?” he asked.

  “Not particularly.” How did he know about the murder already? Gossip traveled that fast in this town? Sheesh. There had to be a way to harness that power and use it as a source of renewable energy.

  “A woman was murdered. With a knife. In the library,” Smulder said.

  “It sounds like we’re playing Clue.”

  “Is that true?”

  I sighed. “Yes. It’s true. We found her body.”

  Brian grimaced. “Again. What’s wrong with the people in this town?”

  “They have murderous tendencies, apparently.”

  “You know what this means,” Brian said.

  “Enlighten me.” I walked to the window and admired the view of the empty lawn.

  “Oh come on, Smith,” he said, not even stumbling over my fake last name. That was Smulder, always the professional. He never let his guard drop.

  “What?”

  “You know what it means. Your cover might be in danger again. You have to stay away from this, this time. I’m not going to take any chances here—if you put a foot wrong, I’m going to have to report you. It’s for your own safety.”

  I swiveled and glared at him.

  I hated that he was right, but what could I do? “Is that all?” I asked. “I’ve got to help Georgina with lunch.”

  Smulder nodded.

  I headed for the library door, angry at myself, at Smulder, and at the situation in general. Maybe it was Gossip that had gotten to me. The small town had seeped into my veins. My focus had shifted.

  Perhaps, it would be better to stay out of this.

  I exited into the foyer of the inn and stopped dead.

  Detective Crowley stood on the threshold, his police car parked out in front of the inn, the lights flashing. My grandmother had positioned herself in front of him, a hand on one of the inn’s door handles, grasping it tight as if on the verge of thrusting the door closed.

  “Georgina?” I asked.

  “Charlotte.” She turned her head, blue eyes sharp and brimming with irritation. “I’ll be back later.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To the police station. The detectives want to talk to me about Hannah.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but she gave the tiniest shake of her head before stepping out of the inn and following Crowley to his car.

  Well, so much for not getting involved in the case.

  If Gamma was in trouble, I had no choice. I’d have to solve the mystery.

  And, apparently, make lunch for the guests by myself.

  7

  I crashed through the doorway to the library, and Smulder froze, gripping a book.

  “What?” he asked.

  “I need your help.” It went against my core to ask him this now—especially since I was annoyed at him being at the inn in the first place. “Do you know how to cook?”

  “Huh?”

  “Do you know how to cook?”

  “A little.”

  “Good,” I said. “You're officially hired. Come with me.” I spun on my heel and marched out of the library, my ankle boots clicking on the hardwood floors.

  “What is this about?” Smulder asked.

  “Georgina has been taken down to the police station for questioning, Lauren is off work for the day, and we have about twenty guests to feed,” I said, and barged into the kitchen. The clock above the door ticked. “And we have only about an hour to get a meal ready for them.”

  “It will look strange if I'm in here cooking with you. I'm supposed to be a guest.”

  “New plan,” I said, pointing at him. “You're going to be the gardener. The one who tends to the vegetables. That would explain the... plaid.” I gestured at his getup. “And because Lauren and Georgina are gone, I’ve recruited you to help me in the kitchen for today. Sound good?”

  “No.”

  “Too bad. “

  “But this isn't—”

  “I get it, Brian, but didn't you think it would look more suspicious if you were here as a guest for months?” I asked.

  “I'm supposed to be a recluse.”

  I ignored him and got Lauren's recipe book down from its hallowed shelf above the countertop. She'd have harangued me if she'd been here, but oh well. These were desperate times. I opened it and searched for an applicable wintery lunch dish.

  “Ah!” I cried. “Here. Spicy Texan Pumpkin Soup. Perfect.” It looked relatively easy. I couldn't mess it up that bad, could I? Of course, Lauren would've made a crusty bread to go with it but there wasn't time. And I wasn't an accomplished enough baker to pull that off.

  I clattered pots out of the cupboard then straightened and brandished one at Smulder. “I'm giving you a task list.”

  “This will be interesting.”

  “Just help me, OK? Help me, and I swear I won't do anything dumb to get myself in trouble.” Of course, I had one hand behind my back and my fingers crossed. That was a given.

  Brian took a breath. “Fine. What do you need done?”

  “Run out to the greenhouse and get me a pumpkin, please. A big, ripe one. Oh, and some peppers, at least five. And then you can run to the local store and grab some whole-wheat bread. Freshly baked. Oh! Try the Little Cake Shop. Lauren's sister runs it—apparently, she makes more than just cakes. The bread is bound to be good.”

  Smulder was out of the door before I could say another word, and that left me to get everything else prepped. Thankfully, I'd been working in the inn's kitchen with Lauren long enough that some of the things were second nature. But I still managed to trip over my feet and break five plates in a fantastic crash of noise.

  Cocoa Puff watched from the kitchen doorway, still as a statue and offering his judgement as I brought out pots and olive oil and butter then put the olive oil back again. I had a recipe. That was something at least.

  This is a disaster.

  It was officially my job to make sure the customers were happy. What if they took one bite of my store bought bread and my quick-fix pumpkin soup and decided to end their stays and go to the hotel instead?

  Nightmarish.

  A few months ago, this level of stress would've seemed laughable, but now... well, this was my grandmother's inn. I couldn't let her down. I couldn't let Lauren down either.

  Smulder brought back the veg then rushed off to the store. I set to work chopping up and de-seeding the pumpkin, swiping the back of my hand over my forehead every other minute. The hour flew by, the pumpkin soup bubbled and needed salt. I brought dishes out and set them on a tray, my heart pounding at a mile a minute.

  Finally, Smulder came back with two loaves of warm, freshly baked bread. I could've hugged him out of sheer relief, but I wasn't that far gone yet.

  “Help me plate up,” I said.

  “You've been busy.”

  “It's not over yet.” The guests had gathered in the dining area, all seated and waiting. I sucked in a gasp. “Drinks! I forgot to put out the coffee for the coffee station.”

  “I can do that.” Smulder strode into the dining area, nodding to the people gathered there. They eyed him with interest, and a knot formed in my stomach. What if they got suspicious about his sudden presence in the kitchen?

  Too late for that now.

  It was time to serve up. I poured the hot soup into bowls—it plopped like sludge. Too thick! But I didn't have any time to thin it out now. And heavens, I'd followed the recipe directly. I carried the bowls out and started serving them with a smile. I received wary ones in return. A few people stared at me without saying a word, eyes wide. Smulder brought out the bread, and we returned to the kitchen with our empty serving trays.

  “We did it,” I breathed, flopping down at the worn kitchen table. “We actually did it.”

  Smulder stood next to the kitchen door. “They seem to be
enjoying it.”

  “Good,” I said, “because they all stared at me as if I'd sprouted an extra arm when I served it.”

  “Have you looked in the mirror?” Smulder walked over to the kitchen counter, a small grin—he hardly ever smiled—forming on his lips. He brought over a ladle and directed it at me.

  My reflection, orange-splattered and exhausted, stared back at me. I'd managed to streak my apron, my forehead, and my cheek in pumpkin guts. The orange was everywhere. “Shoot. I've got to freshen up. Will you hang out down here until I'm back?”

  “I don't see that I have a choice now,” Smulder replied.

  “Glad you caught on so quick.” I pointed a finger gun at him and fire. I paused in the doorway on my way out and cleared my throat. “Thanks for the help, Brian.”

  His face was a blank canvas. “Part of the job,” he said.

  TWO HOURS LATER, the guests were gone, back to their rooms, and I'd finally finished cleaning the kitchen and myself. The counters glistened, and the remnants of the lumpy pumpkin soup had disappeared into my stomach.

  It hadn't been half-bad—chunky, yes, but tasty. At least, none of the guests had tried to check out. And I had the kitchen to myself after chasing Brian out to do whatever it was he did when he wasn't haunting my every step. Sheesh.

  I polished the stovetop with a flourish. “I can't believe I have to do this all again in a few hours for dinner.”

  Footsteps clopped down the hall and Gamma appeared in the doorway, her silver curls wilted and her expression dour.

  “You're back!”

  “It's a miracle I got away. They wouldn't stop asking me questions. I'm sorry to have abandoned you like that at lunch time. Did you manage?”

  “I forced Brian to help,” I said. “He's part of the staff now, unofficially. I anointed him greenhouse gardener.”

  “Lauren won't like it, but I'll assume you did what you had to do.” Gamma came over and lowered herself into a chair at the kitchen table.

  “What happened?” I headed over to the coffee machine to fix us both a much needed cup.

  “Questions upon questions. Apparently, the surveillance footage at the library wasn't sufficient. The police caught something, but not the actual murder.”