Mission Inn-possible 02 - Strawberry Sin

by Rosie A. Point

  “What? How is that possible?”

  “The cameras at the front of the library, over the reception desk, worked just fine, but the ones near the bookcases didn't record at all. Nothing but a black screen. I just spent the last three hours watching the recording of me and Hannah arguing over and over again and explaining what it was about.”

  “They think it was you.”

  “They suspect it's me. There's no footage of anyone else stopping at the reception desk or entering the library all morning.”

  That wasn't good. “But there's probably another entrance.”

  “There might be,” Gamma replied. “But I'm still on their list. The prime suspect.” She accepted a mug from me. “Thank you, Charlotte.”

  “But—”

  “There's nothing we can do to change their minds.” She took a sip of her coffee, staring blankly into space. “I can't imagine how this will affect the inn. This isn't like the last time. Now, they have actual footage of me fighting with the victim. People won't just suspect, they'll make up their minds.”

  “Unless we prove it wasn't you,” I said, softly.

  Gamma's head came up. “It's too dangerous for you. I can't let you jeopardize yourself like that.”

  “I won't let anything happen to you or the inn. You're in just as much danger as me. If your name or picture is online, they could track you down too—Kyle, that drug lord who hates you, any of the people you brought down. It will jeopardize us both. And the inn.”

  “And the foster care center,” Gamma had big plans for the broken down section of the inn.

  “Then it's settled. We'll do what we have to do. Quickly and quietly. Without anyone knowing.” And that included Brian. “Deal?” I held out my coffee mug.

  “Deal.” Gamma clinked the lip of hers against it.

  8

  Three days had passed since the untimely demise of the most hated librarian to walk the face of the earth. Was that even a thing? It was now. Hannah Rhodes was gone, and Gamma and I had spent every spare moment researching her and her family.

  We'd come up with basic information—her sister, who was incredibly popular, had been close with her, and her parents were far removed and living in Houston with so much wealth they'd have to buy two islands and a fleet of private jets to bankrupt themselves.

  Money.

  Money was always a motive.

  I sat in front of my dresser, dragging my brush through the thick dark hair I despised and that had been picked out for me, frowning at my appearance. I'd chosen understated makeup for today, along with a black dress that Gamma had lent me and a pair of thick leather gloves, black as well.

  A knock rat-tatted at my door, and Gamma entered, wearing a midnight black dress and a matching hat. “Ready?”

  “As I've ever been.” I didn't ask my grandmother if she was ready—she'd been trained to be ready. She was a professional and one small town memorial for the woman she was suspected of murdering wasn't going to bring her down.

  Still, the shocked looks on the townspeople's faces would be something to behold.

  “Our goal,” I prompted.

  “Is to gather as much intelligence about Hannah and her family. Look out for people who are shifty or don't seem upset.”

  “Conversely, those who are too upset,” I added in.

  “Absolutely. Charlotte, dear, we'll have to be quiet about it too. Listen and note things down. See if you can find out anything that might be considered a motive by the family members.”

  There was no spouse—Hannah had been a young, single woman with an unhealthy obsession with books. Our primary target would be the next of kin. Those closest to Hannah who might have wanted to see her dead. And with this much money involved...

  “Lets' go,” Gamma said. “It's due to start in a half hour and I don't want to miss the stares, hissing and gossip.”

  I chuckled. No way would the good folks and gossip extraordinaires of the town expect the prime suspect in Hannah's murder investigation to turn up at the memorial service.

  Twenty minutes later, we were parked outside the busy Gossip Church—what a name. Gamma and I got out and filtered inside with the other memorial goers, my grandmother pulling her hat low to shade the top half of her face.

  The pews were full, and we squeezed into one right at the back in case we needed to make a hasty escape. I craned my neck and spotted the grieving family at the front. Abigail Rhodes—the attractive blonde sister of Hannah—sat in the pew on the left, and her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Rhodes, sat in a pew on the right. They didn't so much as exchange a glance.

  I made a mental note of it. Family discord? There could be something there.

  A few heads turned and one of the main gossips in town, Mandy Gilmore, laid eyes on Gamma. She gasped, and spun to face the front, no doubt talking under her breath to the plum-haired woman beside her.

  “And so it begins,” I whispered.

  “We'll just have to work around this.”

  The reverend took a position at the front, next to a garland of flowers and the massive image of Hannah wearing her glasses and carrying a pile of books. “We're here today to remember Miss. Hannah Rhodes, a shining light in our community.”

  Gamma pursed her lips but didn't say a word. I tried my best to focus on what was being said, but my gaze was drawn back to Hannah's sister and then over to her parents. They didn't look at each other and when Abigail went up to the front to speak about her sister, whispers started up in the pews.

  Abigail had opted for a glittery, form-fitting dress for her sister's service. She cleared her throat and cast a heavily-lidded gaze over the gathered townsfolk. “My sister was...” Abigail trailed off and looked over at her mother and father. “She was a woman after my mother' heart.” The bitterness dropped off her tongue. “She was a people-pleaser. My sister couldn't have been more helpful if she tried, as long as there was something she could get out of it in the long run.”

  Another round of hushed chatter spread through the church.

  “If you want to hear all the great things about my sister, all you have to do is speak to my parents. As for me and Hannah, well... I don't know what else to say. She'll be missed.” She waited a moment, sweeping the audience with an imperious stare, as if she expected applause. Finally, she descended from the podium and took her place.

  I nudged Gamma, and she gave a tiny nod. That had been strange.

  The other speakers, Hannah's father and one of her childhood friends, Dotty, cried into their handkerchiefs as they spoke about her. The church grew stuffier, the creaking of the pews and the occasional whisper breaking the quiet. And then it was time for hymns and prayer.

  “You're all very welcome to join us at the Hungry Steer after the service is complete,” the reverend said. “The Rhodes family will be hosting a farewell celebration for Hannah.”

  He had barely gotten the words out before Abigail rose from her pew and walked off down the center aisle. A man, young and with blond fluffy hair and glasses, followed her. And then another man rose and did the same. And another.

  Gamma hadn't been lying when she'd said Abigail was popular. But why would a popular, rich girl have wanted her sister dead? I had no idea.

  Going to the Hungry Steer and poking around might help me find out. I patted my grandmother on the arm, and we rose and squeezed from the pew, ignoring the glares that followed us.

  “She has some nerve being here,” someone whispered. “After what she did.”

  “You know it was her. She did it. And all over late fines at the library.”

  “She'll pay for this. It's blasphemy, coming to a church after doing something like that.”

  The whispers followed us into the aisle and all the way out of the church. By the time we'd reached Gamma's Mini, my ears were red and my blood boiling. “You have some nerve?” I asked, slamming the car door. “They have some nerve! Gossiping like that when they don't know anything.”

  “Let them have their gossip, Charl
otte,” Gamma said. “It's all they have for now. We have to stay that course, that's all. Stay the course and figure out who really did this. That sister looked mighty suspicious, didn't she?”

  “And she was followed out of the church by a flock of men.”

  “Band,” Gamma said.

  “Huh?”

  “The correct collective noun for men is a band. A band of men.”

  “Oh, right. Of course. Well, what's the collective noun for clowns?”

  “I'll have to look it up. But I see your point.” Gamma flashed me a quick smile and started the engine. “You look it up on your phone and by the time we get to the Hungry Steer, we'll know exactly what to call Abigail's men.”

  Hopefully, the restaurant would present us with new leads.

  9

  Rain splatted down on the windshield, and lightning cracked in the sky. It was a perfect, gloomy afternoon to visit the bright red, barn-shaped restaurant in the center of town. The Hungry Steer's parking lot was already full, and groups of mourners got out of their cars and headed toward the front doors.

  Gamma and I did the same, filing in after them. The whispers and angry stares started up again, but the servers soon appeared and whisked people off to tables.

  We sat down at our favorite booth in the corner—it had a view of the rest of the restaurant with its tables, booths, and quaint hay bales. Almost everyone here for lunch had come from the service, and the sea of black gave the jaunty music in here an odd tone.

  “Do you see her?” I asked.

  “Over there,” Gamma replied, gesturing with a finger on top of her menu. “Sitting in the corner booth. The band of men is with her.”

  I scooted around to my grandmother's side of the table so I could watch as well. The trouble was that everyone else kept glancing at us too. The folks of Gossip, who had been nothing but accommodating since I'd arrived, glowered or muttered or hid their mouths behind their glasses.

  “Perhaps, we shouldn't have come,” Gamma said. “It seems we'll be stymied by the sheer level of attention we're receiving.”

  “Let's stay,” I said. “If we leave now, it will look more suspicious. Bring more rumors.”

  Georgina nodded. “You're right.”

  The waiter arrived and took our drinks and food orders then rushed off again. Nothing of interest had happened yet. Once again, Abigail was seated at a table separate from her parents. This time, she was surrounded by men, all of whom hung off her every word. She spoke and they nodded, she gestured and one of them got up to run off and do her bidding. Power like that? It had to go to a woman's head.

  Abigail could have whatever she wanted when she wanted it. Did that fit the profile of a killer?

  “Oh dear,” my grandmother said.

  I snapped my focus from Abigail. “What?”

  “It looks like we're about to have company,”

  “Lauren?” I searched for the inn's chef—this was our favorite hangout spot for Friday night's—but she didn’t' appear, bobbing toward us, her hair in pigtails. No, the person approaching our table was strictly pigtail-free.

  “What are you doing here?” I hissed.

  Smulder stopped next to our table. He wore another plaid shirt, black and white and reminiscent of bathroom tiling, and a pair of black jeans. “And hello to you too, Charlie,” he said. “Mind if I take a seat.”

  “Please do,” Gamma said.

  “Go away,” I blurted it out.

  “Ignore her, Brian. Please take a seat. We'd be happy to have the company.” My grandmother patted the side of the table. “Have you been to the Hungry Steer before? The food is wonderful.”

  What was my grandmother's deal? We didn't need Smulder around cramping our style. The whole purpose of attending the memorial service had been to find out more about the possible suspects and the family.

  “Thanks.” Brian sat down. “You came from the memorial service?”

  “We did. In Gossip, we're like one big family,” Gamma said. “It's important to pay ones respects, do you understand?”

  “Sure.” But Smulder's blank answer told me he didn't buy that. Was he onto us already? “What's good to eat here?” He lifted a menu.

  “Nothing. But there's a pizza place down the road,” I said.

  “The quesadillas are lovely.”

  Well, apparently my grandmother had made up her mind. Smulder would be joining us for lunch and there wasn't a thing I could do about it except sulk. Unfortunately, sulking wasn't my forte.

  “Everything looks great here,” Smulder said, paging through the menu.

  “It’s one of the oldest restaurants in town.” Gamma said, amiably. “Owned by one of the wealthiest men in Texas, actually. Oh, speak of the devil.”

  Grayson had entered the restaurant and wore a Stetson that had to be soaked through from the rain, a suit and a bolo tie. He glared around the restaurant then homed in on Abigail's table.

  'That's the owner?” Smulder asked.

  “That's him.”

  Grayson had reached the table, and a hush settled over the restaurant. Those patrons who had been casting nasty looks our way swapped them over to Abigail and Grayson instead.

  “What do you think you're doing?” Grayson snapped.

  Abigail didn't reply. The handsome young man next to her, however, rose from his seat. He wore V-neck sweater that screamed preppy and a sneer that matched it. “I'm eating,” he said. “Is that a problem?”

  “You know darn well it's a problem,” Grayson snapped.

  “Who's that?” I whispered. “The young guy?”

  “That's Grayson's son,” Gamma replied. “Sebastian. Apparently, he doesn't follow in his father's footsteps. He's a rebel. But not the James Dean kind.”

  Sebastian barged past the other men sitting around Abigail and squared up to his father, pressing his chest out. “What?”

  “I told you, you're not permitted in here,” Grayson said. “You’d better get your butt out of my restaurant before I—”

  “What? Before you what? What are you going to do, old man?” Sebastian poked his father in the chest and gasps and mutters broke out in the restaurant. “You going to throw me out of here? I'd like to see you try.”

  “I will have you removed,” Grayson said. “And I will cut you off.”

  Sebastian paled. Apparently, money had gotten through to him.

  “Now, get out of this establishment before I do something we'll both regret.”

  The son hesitated, but his shoulders had already sagged and some of the bravado had leaked out of him. His beady gray eyes flicked back and forth, studying his father then the restaurant at large. “Whatever.” He stalked off and exited.

  Grayson turned to the room and put up his hands. “My apologies for the disturbance, ladies and gentleman. Please, continue your meals and accept a complementary drink from the bar.”

  A smattering of applause and a few thanks rang out, but Tombs didn't stick around to hear them. He marched toward the other end of the restaurant and disappeared up the stairs that led to his office. Or so I assumed.

  “Sorry about that Brian,” my grandmother said. “Everyone has their issues, family and otherwise.”

  “Of course.” Smulder went back to perusing his menu, and it gave me a chance to shoot grandma a look. What had Sebastian been doing with Abigail? And why was Grayson so mad at his son?

  The waiter arrived with our drinks, and Smulder put in his order. I tried not to be annoyed at his presence.

  “So, what's all the construction at the inn about?” Smulder asked.

  “Georgina's building a foster care center for cats,” I said.

  “Yes, and construction should be done within the week.”

  “Oh.”

  The conversation died after that, at least from my side. Gamma did her best to keep Smulder entertained. My best guess was that she wanted to force me into a Valentine's Day date with him. Heaven help me.

  The food arrived and I buried my frustrations in
piles of nacho chips and cheese. Tomorrow was another day, one that would hopefully give us a new clue about the murder.

  10

  “The men are taking a break,” Gamma said. “It’s the perfect opportunity to take a sneak peek at what the inn will look like when it’s all done. Do you want to see?”

  Lauren and I were at the kitchen table, having just finished our lunch service and with piles of dishes waiting for us to be washed and stacked and dried. The usually happy chef of the inn heaved a sigh.

  “We have so much work to do still,” Lauren said. “Should we really take a break?”

  “Good heavens, Lauren, are you all right?” Gamma asked. “You seem down in the dumps.”

  “I’m fine,” she replied. “Just fine.”

  But I didn’t believe her, and if I didn’t believe her, my grandmother certainly didn’t. She shrugged, though and walked to the coffee station. Gamma fixed herself a mug then came back to the table and stood beside it.

  “Leave the dishes for later,” she said. “This is important. The foster care center will be done in about a week, and after that, it will just be up to us to furnish and go over to the Gossip Cat Rescue Shelter and pick up the kittens in need. I want you two to be the first to see it.”

  “That’s amazing, Georgina.” Lauren rose from her chair. “I suppose we should see it, shouldn’t we?”

  I got up, and we trooped out of the kitchen. Gamma stopped in front of the door that separated the inn from what had been the old section of the museum. The last time I’d seen the place, it had been holding old artifacts covered with sheets and the windows had been broken.

  I couldn’t wait to see what had changed.

  Gamma unlocked the door and we entered.

  “Wow.” And I meant it too—the place had been transformed. A few work tools still lay around, but the wooden boards that had been rotting in places and creaking in others had been replaced. The main room that had held old, dusty artifacts had been cleared out, the windows had been replaced, and the entire place repainted. The rooms were full of light, the walls now a gorgeous pastel pink and violet.