Mission Inn-possible 02 - Strawberry Sin

by Rosie A. Point

  “This is amazing, Georgie,” Lauren said, bouncing forward with more enthusiasm than she’d had all week. Her red pigtails bobbed, and she looked left and right, taking it all in. “What do they have left to do?”

  “Just a few odds and ends. I can’t wait until they’re out. Now, of course I’m eternally grateful for the help, but I cannot wait to go shopping for all the equipment the kittens will need. I’ve ordered an incubator, you know.”

  “Do you think you’ll need one?” I asked.

  “I might,” Gamma said. “And I’ll definitely need someone to help me with feeding the kittens. Perhaps, several people. You know, newborn kittens need feedings quite frequently—every few hours or so, and that includes at night.”

  “It sounds like we’ve got a lot of work ahead of us,” I said.

  Gamma rewarded me with an excited grin. She couldn’t sit still these days. According to Lauren, she’d had passion project after passion project and there was no end to her energy.

  “Now, the only thing to worry about,” Gamma said, as she entered a sunny room and stood in the center of it, her hands on her hips, “is whether I’m going to be put in jail for a crime I didn’t commit.”

  That put a damper on my mood.

  “Don’t say that, Georgie.” Lauren wrung her hands. “Everyone in Gossip knows you didn’t do it.”

  “That’s definitely a lie, dear. Every person I’ve run into seems convinced of the opposite.”

  “Fine. Everyone in Gossip who matters knows that you didn’t do it,” Lauren said. “Besides, if they don’t have evidence to put you away, then that can never happen, right?”

  Gamma didn’t say anything, but I could read her face: doubt and determination. She wouldn’t give those detectives a chance to lock her up.

  “There has to be evidence linking someone else to the crime too,” I said. “That would help.”

  Lauren toyed with one of her pigtails. “I heard something today about that, actually.”

  “You did?”

  “Apparently, Abigail was the sole recipient of Hannah’s fortune. That’s the rumor from Mandy Gilmore, anyway. Abigail had enough money, and now she’s got even more. Isn’t that usually a motive? The will? Or life insurance policies and stuff?”

  “And stuff,” I agreed, shooting Gamma a look. “Georgina, it’s wonderful in here. I can’t wait to help you go shopping for all the equipment you need.”

  “Yes, that’s going to be the best part.” Gamma herded us back out of the new foster care center and into the kitchen again.

  The dishes awaited, and I held back a groan. Washing dishes, even if it was just to rinse and stack them in the dishwasher, was my least favorite chore.

  “Charlotte,” Gamma said, tapping me on the shoulder, “after you’ve finished up in here, I have a few errands I need to run in town. Would you like to come with me?”

  “Sure. I’ve already completed my morning cleaning. Do you need anything from the store, Lauren?”

  The chef shook her head, her gaze vacant again. What was going on with her? That was a mystery that would have to be solved sooner rather than later. But the murder would come first. The Gossip Inn without Georgina wasn’t an inn at all.

  “Good,” Gamma said. “I’ll meet you at the car in about… hmm, a half an hour?”

  “That works.”

  My grandmother swept from the room, leaving me with Lauren and the dark cloud hovering over her. I had a hunch that Gamma didn’t just need a few items in town—she’d heard Lauren’s gossip loud and clear. Our next stop would have something to do with Abigail Rhodes.

  But first… the dishes. Heaven help me.

  11

  I’d been right about Gamma’s ulterior motives. We’d stopped at the Little Cake Shop and grabbed a couple coffees to go then rolled out, seeking the elusive home of Miss. Abigail Rhodes. Except the home wasn’t that elusive.

  She stayed in the same area as Grayson Tombs. Loganville was the richest suburb in Gossip. The streets were perfectly clean, the center divider had been filled with flower beds that were now empty, waiting for the return of spring, and each house we passed by was fancier than the last.

  “Imagine living here,” Gamma said. “It’s like having the entire inn to yourself.”

  “I’ll pass.” There was something about massive houses that freaked me out. Maybe it was the potential for an intruder to hide in the nooks and crannies. “If I ever get a house one day, it will be a simple double story with three rooms and that’s it.”

  “Three rooms?” Gamma raised an eyebrow. “For children?”

  “Of course not. For my weapons. Weapons in one, fun stuff in the other, and then a room for me with a king-sized bed, all to myself.”

  “Oh dear.”

  I ignored that. Gamma was fixated on getting me to join in on the Valentine’s Day festivities. Even the trees here were decorated with red bows tied around their trunks. It was a small-town thing, I guessed. They took every opportunity they had to celebrate. It was kinda cute. Or it would be if I didn’t have to suffer my grandmother’s prodding.

  “Here we are,” Georgina said, pulling into a driveway in front of two magnificent silver gates. A winding road led past it and up to the front of a house that didn’t suit the town aesthetic. It was all marble columns and fancy windows. A black Porsche and a silver Jaguar were parked in front of the stone steps.

  Gamma rolled down her window, reached out and hit the intercom button. It buzzed and clicked.

  “Yeah?” A woman’s voice, sulky and with a slight rasp, came through. “What do you want?”

  “We’re here to speak to Abigail Rhodes,” Gamma said. “To offer our condolences.”

  A silence. “Yeah, well you’ve done that now. Bye.” The intercom clicked again.

  “Nice woman,” I said.

  “She’s clearly distraught about her sister’s passing.” Gamma thumbed the silver button on the pad again.

  Another click. “Look, I know who you are,” Abigail said, “I can see you on the intercom’s camera. You’re the main suspect in my sister’s case. I’m not going to open the gates for you, so, go away.”

  “Abigail, we’re only here because we want to offer—”

  The intercom clicked. She’d effectively ‘hung up’ on us.

  “How rude,” Gamma said. “Young people don’t have manners anymore.”

  “You could see why she wouldn’t want to talk to you.” I studied the cars out front, the magnificent lawn—green and well-tended—and the hefty front doors shut tight while Gamma thumped on the intercom button repeatedly. This woman was clearly rich. I didn’t see a good reason why she’d have wanted to murder her sister for money.

  But then, had Hannah been well off? She had rich parents, but I doubted she’d lived in a place like this. She’d worked in the library, and her cardigan and floor-length flowery skirt hadn’t exactly screamed glamorous socialite.

  “It’s no use. I don’t think she’s going to answer.”

  “She’s going to answer,” Gamma snapped. “She’d better answer, the rude young woman.”

  The intercom clicked. “Go away! I’ll call the police if you don’t.”

  “Listen, dear, we only came to wish you—”

  Another intercom click. Gamma went red from head-to-toe.

  “Come on,” I said, squeezing her arm. “We’re not getting anywhere here. She’s not going to talk to us.”

  “Wretched woman.” Gamma started up the Mini’s engine again and reversed out of the driveway.

  “Wait.”

  She hit the brakes. “What is it?”

  I nodded toward the mansion. A man had appeared on the front steps. He was tall and dressed in a leather jacket and a pair of designer jeans, by my guess. He strode over to the black Porsche, flicking a lighter open and closed, a grin on his lips.

  “Who’s that?” Gamma asked, squinting. “Heavens, I need to see my optometrist again.”

  “Sebastian Tombs,�
� I said. “It’s definitely Sebastian Tombs.”

  It was the second time, now, we’d seen Abigail and Sebastian together. The first had been in the Hungry Steer before the blowout with his father.

  “They must be friends.” It didn’t seem like a big deal, but I made a mental note of it. Sebastian had been disrespectful to his father, and Grayson hadn’t wanted him in the restaurant for whatever reason. Could there be a connection here?

  Sebastian perched his butt on the hood of the Porsche, still flicking that lighter and looking positively gleeful. The front doors of the mansion banged open and Abigail appeared holding out a dress. Or what was left of one. It was a burned wreck, twisted and melted, smoking from what had once been the hem.

  She screeched something at Sebastian and charged over to him.

  “What on earth?” Gamma leaned forward over the steering wheel.

  Abigail threw the dress at Sebastian. He caught it in one hand, lifted his lighter and swished it back and forth at her. She stamped her foot then turned and walked back up the stairs and into the house. The doors slammed shut.

  “Well, that was interesting.” I leaned in too. “Did he just burn her dress?”

  Sebastian dumped the item of clothing on the gravel then hopped into his Porsche.

  “No time to think about that now, he’s coming this way,” Gamma said, and reversed out of the driveway like a woman possessed. She whizzed off down the road before the Porsche could reach the front gate.

  “What a weird thing to do.”

  “Young people are getting stranger by the day,” Gamma said. “I’ve lost my will to understand people in their early twenties.”

  I had to agree with her on that point. But a burned dress and argument, while intriguing, didn’t give us any clues about the murder. “Where to now?” I asked.

  “The inn. Unfortunately, that puts an end to our leads at present. We’ll have to find some way to get to Abigail. Or catch her when she’s not hidden behind gates and security.”

  “Or in the process of having her wardrobe immolated.” I paused. “We could break in.”

  “True. But I wouldn’t risk doing that unless we had a solid lead connecting her to the crime. So far, all we’ve learned is that she’s rich and she’s only gotten richer.”

  “And that she hangs out with Grayson’s bad boy son,” I said.

  “Ooh! Maybe Sebastian is Abigail’s Valentine’s Day lover. That might have been a lover’s spat, we witnessed.”

  “Please don’t say ‘lover.’ It feels like I’m going to cringe the skin right off my body.”

  “So dramatic.”

  The trees and magnificent houses flashes by and the car cruised back into Main Street, past the salon and the restaurants, the bar, bakery and Hungry Steer, all covered in red and pink décor. Valentine’s Day was the least of my problems now, though.

  This felt very much like the calm before the storm. How much longer would it be until the police came to see my grandmother again? And what would happen if her picture circulated online? She wasn’t technically under protection—she’d been retired for years, and even if her cover was blown, I doubted she’d move away from Gossip.

  “Charlotte.” Gamma cut through my musings. “Are you going to get out of the car?”

  We were back at the inn, and I’d been staring into space. “Right. Of course. The shelves aren’t going to dust themselves, right?”

  12

  I lay in my comfy bed in the inn, a sliver of moonlight creeping between my bedroom curtains. Cocoa Puff had curled himself into a ball on top of my stomach and purred every time I shifted or laid a hand on him. The inn was quiet, too, only the creaking sounds of an old house broke the silence.

  It should’ve been easy to relax. I’d spent all day cleaning and cooking and brainstorming for leads in the mysterious case of the librarian’s murder. I’d had to avoid Smulder’s questions and keep him busy with the greenhouse. There had been no end to the day’s tasks. I should’ve been exhausted.

  But my mind wouldn’t switch off.

  I huffed a sigh and sat up in the dark, carefully shifting Cocoa off my lap and to the side. He meow-yawned at me.

  “Sorry,” I said, and clicked on my bedside lamp.

  Cocoa kneaded the sheet and settled in, apparently unfazed by my late night wakefulness. The clock on my bedside table told me it was past 2 am. I had to be up in four hours. How would I make it through the day at this rate? I wouldn’t. I’d be cranky and take it out on the guests.

  That Bob has it coming.

  I rolled my eyes at myself then opened my bedside table drawer and slid out my notepad and pen. I uncapped the pen flipped to a new page and wrote Hannah’s name at the top.

  Now, came the hard part.

  I jotted down my suspect list so far: Abigail Rhodes and… well, that was it. But even she wasn’t that much of a suspect. She didn’t have a motive as far as I could see, other than having been jealous of her sister. Her eulogy had been all veiled passive-aggressiveness.

  I tapped the end of my pen next to her name. Finally, I noted down Sebastian Tombs, even though, once again, there was no evidence suggesting he was involved. But he’d been hanging around Abigail a lot. Did that mean anything? Had he known Hannah? And there was the dress-burning thing.

  “Ugh, this is ridiculous.” I needed to talk to these people if I planned on making any viable deductions.

  I dumped the notepad on my bedside table, and Cocoa Puff meowed at me again.

  “What?” I asked. “You can’t seriously expect me to be happy about this.” I got up and circled around the bed, heading for the window. I needed perspective. In the months I’d been at the inn, I hadn’t felt claustrophobic once.

  Now, with Smulder here, watching me, my anxiety had built. Not that Smulder had done anything to hinder me yet. He’d been kept busy with the greenhouse and helping around the inn over the past few days. Gamma had him changing lightbulbs and clearing out the attic to keep him occupied. Still, it was just the potential to be caught that annoyed me.

  I opened my curtains. The moon bathed the backyard in pale light, and I traced the shapes of the trees and the greenhouse with my gaze. I lifted it to the sky and inhaled, sharply. What on earth?

  A massive plume of smoke rose in the distance.

  Fire?

  The wail of sirens came next and lights flashed as a fire truck tore down the road that flanked the inn and led toward Gossip. Definitely a fire.

  Whose place was on fire? Gosh, whose home? I shouldn’t have been this alarmed about it, but this was Gossip. I’d lived with these people for over six months.

  My bedroom door crashed open, and Gamma practically sprinted into the room, her keys already in hand. “Did you hear?”

  “Look!” I pointed to the smoke on the horizon. “Where do you think it’s coming from?”

  “To the Mini, quickly, now, Charlotte.” Gamma high-tailed it out of my bedroom. I slipped on my fluffy white robe and ran after her. There was no time to change and wearing dresses covered in emojis had cured me of embarrassment.

  We crashed out of the inn and piled into Gamma’s Mini then took off down the road. The drive was fast, and Gamma spun around corners, did handbrake turns and drifted like a pro-driver. She followed the trail of people and cars heading toward the disturbance.

  “The last time we had a big fire in Gossip was in 1992. The library nearly burnt down,” Gamma said. “Not that I was here to see it, but still. People here haven’t forgotten what that was like. How long it took to build and restock.”

  The Mini spun around another corner and skidded to a halt behind one of the fire trucks. We were in Main Street. Right across from the Hungry Steer… or what was left of it. Fire licked the windows and flickered up the walls. The roof creaked and groaned, even as the firefighters lined up with their hose and started spraying it down.

  “I don’t believe it,” Gamma said, clutching the wheel, her knuckles white. “The Hungry Steer? How did
this happen?”

  “It’s 2 am.”

  “Someone must’ve left a fryer on.”

  “Or, someone set it on fire,” I replied.

  Gamma nodded, the image of Grayson’s burning restaurant reflected in her eyes. “But who?”

  13

  I hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep since we’d come back from the fire at the Hungry Steer. Gamma and I had stayed up for another hour after we’d gotten home, going over what might have caused the fire or who might have set it—until Smulder had risen, knocked on my door, and asked us what was going on.

  Nothing broke up a party quicker than Brian Smulder’s frown.

  I yawned and polished the silverware Lauren had laid out on the kitchen table. I was already on my third cup of coffee for the morning and it hadn’t helped.

  “Oh no,” Lauren said, from where she stood reading the paper next to the oven. She’d baked several of her newest strawberry cupcakes as testers for the upcoming Valentine’s Day dining experience at the inn. “Oh no, no, no.”

  “What’s wrong?” I set down a silver fork.

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “I really do want to know.”

  “You don’t.”

  “Lauren, tell me what’s going on, please.” I forced myself not to be to brisk about it.

  The chef came over. She put the paper down on the table in front of me—a copy of the Gossip Rag—and pointed at the picture of Grayson’s burning restaurant.

  “Oh yeah, terrible isn’t it?”

  “No, not that. Read the article” Lauren had gone pale again.

  I studied her for a moment, caught between worry and wondering at why she was so withdrawn then turned to the paper.

  Stellar Local Restaurant Razed to the Ground. Connection with Murder to be Determined.

  “With murder?”

  “Hannah’s murder,” Lauren said.

  I scanned the page for information, and my stomach dropped like a diver off a cliff.

  —suspect, Miss. Georgina Franklin of the Gossip Inn. Local law enforcement couldn’t comment on the ongoing investigation, but what information they did release seemed to indicate that they would be taking a closer look at Franklin as the possible arsonist.