Mission Inn-possible 02 - Strawberry Sin

by Rosie A. Point

  “How were you first introduced?”

  “He worked on the computer system at the library,” Abigail replied.

  Alarm bells sounded in my head. I struggled to contain my excitement. “So, you met him through your sister?”

  “Exactly. Hannah knew the guy. He had a crush on her or whatever and then he met me, and well, he obviously forgot about her real quick because I mean… just look at me.”

  “Of course.” I’d transferred the note from Matthew’s phone over to mine, and I opened it now. I placed my device on the table then slid it over to her. “Read that. From Matthew to you.”

  She bent over the phone. Her expression grew slack as she read, and she sucked in a breath and pushed herself back from the table. “You’ve got to be kidding me. He did this? He did all of it?”

  “That’s how it seems.”

  “He did it for me,” she said, and there was a horrifying hint of pride in her voice, like she thought that was impressive. A suitor who didn’t just send flowers but burnt things down in her name.

  “Yes. Now, I need to ask you some questions to clarify a few things about your involvement in this.”

  “My involvement!” she exclaimed. “My involvement? I wasn’t involved. I didn’t know about any of this until right now.”

  “But you met with Matthew at the Bottoms Up Bar last night.”

  “No, I didn’t meet with him,” she said. “He crashed my night and I told him to get lost. He keeps trying to talk to me, even though I want nothing to do with him.”

  “So you haven’t asked him to do anything like this, right?”

  “Of course not! I’m not a psycho! These are people’s businesses,” she said, wide-eyed. The doe look. I wasn’t sure if I bought it, but I didn’t have anything on her, technically.

  “All right. And what about Hannah?”

  “What about her? You think she was involved in this? But no, she passed before…” Abigail swallowed, her eyes welling up again. “Why did you have to bring her up?”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” I said, “but I have to bring this up because, well, has there ever been a point where you’ve expressed displeasure about your sister in front of Matthew?”

  “In front of… oh my—you don’t think that he… You don’t really think that he had anything to do w-with her death?”

  “I’m not sure, but I’m trying to cover all the bases here. Like I said, I’m trying to help out. You know my friend’s inn was set ablaze, and if I can gather information about what might have happened, it will be super helpful.”

  “I don’t know anything else,” she said. “And I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I’m trying to move on from what happened to Hannah, not rehash it over and over again. I’ve already spoken to the police about it. I don’t see why I have to speak to you too.”

  “I understand.” But it was safe to say that Hannah had been friends with Matthew. That was something, at least. “Thanks for your time, Abigail. I’ll see myself out.”

  She nodded faintly, sat back, and covered her eyes like she couldn’t bear to look at me. I was a pretty empathic person, but I struggled with her. Maybe it was because of her richer-than-thou attitude.

  I got up, collected my phone and walked from the room and down the main stairs. The table of presents drew me to it, and I approached, leaning in to admire the flowers and the variety of colorful wrapping papers.

  One of them, a small box covered in thick gold paper, stood out to me. I glanced up at the landing, but Abigail hadn’t come out yet. I opened the card on the present.

  To Abby,

  Love you loads.

  Sebastian.

  Was that a friendly ‘love you loads’ or something more? I put the card back in its tiny envelope then walked for the door, mulling it over. Hadn’t Grayson said that Sebastian shouldn’t be hanging around with ‘her?’ And the only ‘her’ I’d seen his son with was Abigail.

  The fires and Matthew didn’t explain what had happened in the library or why Grayson’s ring had been there. If it was his ring.

  I let myself out of the mansion and hurried to Gamma’s Mini. Once again, I had more questions than when I’d started. My next stop was the police station where I’d hand over the SD card and phone, and tell Detective Crowley that I’d found it near the inn.

  That was it.

  I wasn’t about to hand over the bloodied ring. That would only incriminate Gamma and me.

  Now, all I had to do was figure out how Matthew had been involved in the murder. If he’d been involved.

  26

  “You’d think he’d have been grateful I handed it in,” I said, cutting into my steak.

  As a treat, Lauren had come by the inn and prepared a meal for Smulder, Gamma, and me. Lauren sat eating her steak at the table too, silent and occasionally touching her stomach. Gamma was opposite, picking at her vegetables—braised asparagus and a medley of peas, corn and carrots.

  “This mushroom sauce is great by the way.” I gestured with my fork. “You’ve outdone yourself, Lauren.”

  “Thank you, Charlie,” she said, softly.

  “I was just doing the right thing. There was no need for Crowley to get all sour about it.” I looked over my shoulder at the kitchen door that led outside, just in case Smulder decided to join us. “I just found it, as far as he knows.”

  “Oh, he’ll assume the worst,” Gamma said.

  “What’s worse than finding out the arsonist had an alibi for the day of Hannah’s murder?” I asked. “I was so sure it was him.”

  Lauren shifted in her seat. She was squeamish about our investigations at the best of times. Now, didn’t seem to be the best of times for her, though she still hadn’t told us why.

  “Me too,” Gamma said.

  “I mean, he even worked on the IT system at the library. There would have been ample opportunity for him to sabotage it. But why do that if he didn’t want to murder her himself.”

  “I feel queasy.” Lauren pushed her plate aside.

  “Sorry.” I tried to chew less enthusiastically. Charlotte Smith probably wasn’t meant to be so relaxed about murder. Charlie Mission, though, didn’t care. She’d seen worse. Sometimes, living was worse than dying—I’d seen people hurt in worse ways than what had happened to Hannah, as horrible as it sounded. At least the librarian was at peace, now. Though in Gamma’s opinion, Hannah was downstairs rather than up there with the big guy.

  “Are you all right, Lauren?” Gamma asked.

  “I’m fine. I just need to go home. Jason will be waiting. Thanks for the meal.” She scraped her chair back.

  “You were the one who cooked it,” I said. “Are you sure you’re OK? Do you need something sweet? You look really pale.”

  Lauren pressed her lips together and quivered on the spot.

  Gamma was out of her chair, instantly. She placed an arm around Lauren’s shoulders and guided her back into her seat. “Lauren, sweetheart, you simply must tell us what’s going on here,” my grandmother said, her British accent pronounced out of sheer concern.

  “Yeah. Whatever it is, we can help you. You haven’t been yourself for weeks.”

  “Is it the pressure of the Valentine’s Day dinner?”

  “No,” Lauren said, “it’s not that. It’s not anything to do with the inn. It’s…”

  “Go on, you can tell us.” Gamma stroked her back.

  I glanced at the clock above the door against the timid green wall. It was fast approaching 1 pm—Smulder had been out for a while. He’d be in soon, and we didn’t need the interruption.

  Lauren worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “I just… I—I’m afraid that I—”

  The front doors on the inn crashed open and footsteps thudded across the polished floorboards. Smulder skidded into the kitchen. He hadn’t broken a sweat but mud streaked his overalls and one of his cheeks.

  “We’re kind of in the middle of something here, Brian,” I said.

  “That’s OK.” L
auren’s shoulders sank. “I should probably be getting home anyway.”

  “The cops are here,” Smulder said. “They’re coming up the drive.” The approaching wail of police sirens supported the claim.

  My heart sank. Gamma stiffened. Lauren went even paler if that was a possibility now.

  There was only one reason Detective Crowley and his gang would come screaming up the driveway to the inn. And it wasn’t for tea and biscuits as my grandmother would’ve put it.

  I rose. “Brian, talk to them. Delay them if you can.”

  “On it.” He strode from the room, and a wave of gratitude washed over me. It was short-lived.

  “Lauren, you need to go home. Now, please,” I said.

  Our chef wobbled on the spot. She shuffled out of her chair, grabbed her handbag from one of the glistening kitchen counters and made for the back exit. The door swung shut behind her with a click.

  “Basement,” I said.

  Gamma wore the key to the basement and Shroom Shed on a chain around her neck. She unclipped it now and handed it over. “Quickly,” she whispered.

  “I’ll take point.” I moved to the door and opened it, then poked my head out. The coast was clear. Flashing red and blue light illuminated the corner of the inn, but it seemed Smulder had the cops busy. For now.

  I stepped onto the side path with Gamma right behind me, and we hurried down the side of the inn and around to the back. The basement doors appeared, painted in merry toadstools, and I bent and inserted the key into the center lock. It clacked.

  Gamma and I opened the doors, then bustled inside and closed up behind ourselves.

  “The armory.”

  My grandmother nodded, her expression somber. We passed the Shroom Shed—where Lauren often sent me to fetch freshly grown fungi for her dishes—and headed around the new ‘obstacle course’ of items Gamma and I had stacked in front of the door along the wall. One that was now hidden from view when entering the basement.

  I sneezed and blocked it—too much dust down here—then unlocked the door to Gamma’s secret armory. She entered and heaved a sigh. “Lights,” she said.

  The fluorescents pinged on overhead, casting light over the rows of neatly organized shelves. They were stocked with ammunition and tech equipment. A rack along the wall, backlit for viewing pleasure, held weapon after weapon. My grandmother’s RPG was still in place.

  “You’d better go back up, Charlotte,” she said. “Lock me in here. I’ll be fine.”

  “What about food?”

  Gamma walked to her chromed out desk near the door and hit a button on it. A secret compartment opened, and she reached in and brought out a protein bar and a bottle of water. “I’ve got enough for a few days.”

  “I’ll bring you a hot meal tonight.”

  “Go.”

  I backed out of her armory, shut the door and locked it, my heart sinking into the pit of my stomach.

  Gamma was in hiding. The cops had come for her, and she was officially a fugitive. What would happen when the NSIB heard about this? Would they squash it? I had to speak to Smulder.

  I wound around the obstacles—a dresser, a set of chairs, an old musty sofa—and hurried up the creaky steps to the basement doors. I opened one of them and peeked out. No cops in sight, only the slight scent of old smoke on the air.

  I clambered out then locked the basement doors. After, I tucked the key into the front pocket of my jeans.

  Could things get any worse?

  I didn’t want to find out. But I had to figure out who had dropped the ring, and who had murdered Hannah Rhodes before the cops, or Smulder, found my grandmother.

  27

  Crowley and his gang had searched the inn from top to bottom—as far as they were concerned—and had asked for the key to the basement. I’d lied and told them I didn’t have it, and that I had no idea where my grandmother had got to. She’d disappeared that morning. That was the story.

  Finally, after an hour of interrogation, a search warrant, and a few snarky comments from Detective Crowley, they were gone. I stood in the inn’s doorway, grasping the jamb and taking even breaths.

  I had to remain calm and clearheaded.

  This was the worst things had ever been.

  Smulder walked up the front steps of the inn, still in his sun-washed overalls, and clomped to a halt a few feet from me. He folded his arms. “Lucky there aren’t any guests at the inn.”

  “I don’t see how the fire was lucky,” I replied.

  “You know what I mean.”

  I kept my silence, staring out at the front lawn instead. Moments ago, it had been packed with police cars and officers. The lack of them brought no relief. We were in deep sticky trouble.

  “Charlie, this isn’t going to go over well,” Smulder said. “I’m going to have to put in a call.”

  I didn’t have to ask what he meant.

  “Where is she?”

  “Gone,” I lied. “She’s gone. She’ll be back once it’s all blown over.”

  “It’s a murder case. It won’t blow over.”

  “You’re telling me they won’t squash this?” ‘They’ being the NSIB. “She was their best operative.”

  “I don’t know what they will or won’t do, but it’s going to reach the papers again. And once they put out word, it’s going to be all over the internet. I can’t do anything about that from here,” Smulder said. “I can’t help you this time.”

  “So, what? That’s it? The inn’s going down. My grandmother is going to have to go into hiding because of this idiocy? Because someone murdered a librarian and she just happened to be in the vicinity? What do they even have on her?”

  “Fingerprints on the murder weapon,” Smulder said.

  “Impossible. I was with her. She didn’t touch her. Why am I not being investigated?” I asked, though I already knew the answer. I didn’t have motive. There was no physical evidence linking me to the crime scene. Crowley had questioned me and dismissed me almost immediately. It was as if they were out to get Gamma. “I won’t let this happen.”

  “Stay out of it, Charlotte.” Smulders deep brown eyes had gone steely.

  “You’re insane,” I said, “if you think I’m going to let her take the fall for this. You’re insane if you—” My phone buzzed in the pocket of my jeans, and I wormed it out and answered. “Hello?”

  “Charlie? It’s Lauren.”

  “Oh hi.”

  “Is everything OK?” Lauren even sounded pale. Her asking represented a certain degree of irony. “With Georgina?”

  “Georgina’s gone, Lauren. She’s wanted by the police.”

  A thud rang out on the other end of the line.

  “Lauren? Hello?” I covered the end of my phone. “I think she passed out,” I said to Smulder.

  He didn’t give a reaction. Gosh, I had known I couldn’t trust the guy. The first sign of trouble and he was ready and willing to rat my grandmother out because he wanted to ‘do the right thing’ according to the NSIB rule book. Yet another reason I’d never let him see the armory. Or let him close for that matter.

  Just when I’d started believing he was OK, that he was on our side…

  “She’s wanted by the police?” Lauren squeaked, apparently having come around.

  “Correct. But the show must go on. We’re going to fix everything up here, and I’ll call you when the inn is back in business.” How I’d achieve any of that was a question for another time. But it would be what Gamma wanted. “Lauren?”

  “I’m not going to work there anymore if Georgina isn’t running the place. It would be wrong. I can’t do it.” She sobbed, and my heart wrenched. “Poor Georgina. How could this be true? It can’t be. Can it?”

  “No, it can’t be. Look, Lauren, I have to go.”

  “Sure. OK.” She hung up.

  I tucked my phone back into my pocket and met Smulder’s stare. “Just stay out of this,” I said. “Cool your heels for a few days before you report anything, OK?”
/>   “That’s not going to stop the papers from publishing this story.”

  “I know, OK? I know. You don’t have to keep reminding me,” I said. “Look, can you just, I don’t know. Just go upstairs or go do greenhouse work or go away. I don’t care. I need to deal with this.”

  “Charlotte. You should prepare to leave. This isn’t the place for you anymore. If Georgina’s gone then—”

  “Stop. Just stop nagging me for five seconds. Give me a few days to get everything worked out, then you can call Grant.” I glared at him. He didn’t owe me anything, and he’d already proven that he’d do what he saw fit rather than what helped us. What did I really expect here? Help?

  Smulder’s expression flickered from blank to something else, a softening I couldn’t place. “You have three days,” he said.

  I couldn’t bring myself to thank him.

  “THREE DAYS,” Gamma said, and clapped her hands. “Well, that’s more than enough time.”

  “What about the reports? They’re going to go online. That Jacinta Redgrave at the Gossip Rag won’t pass up the opportunity for a good story.” I opened the pizza box I’d set on the desk and grabbed a slice—vegetarian with pineapple because Gamma loved pineapple on pizza.

  “We can’t worry about the paper or their online presence, now,” Gamma said. “The police have a warrant out for my arrest. They’ll put that everywhere they can, so they’re the real problem.”

  Hopelessness wrapped its cold arms around me. “What do we do?” I asked. “Gamma, what are we going to do? Even if we clear your name, it will be online with the Gossip Inn’s address.”

  “They don’t have my mugshot, yet, and this isn’t going to spread very far. Remember six months ago when I was hailed as the woman who solved the murder of Pete Ball? They printed a picture of me then, in front of the inn, and it wasn’t a problem. I’ve integrated well here and none of my enemies are looking for Georgina Franklin. They know me as Gee Mission.”

  Gee Mission. Her agent name. There was a reason I’d never formally introduced Kyle to my grandmother. She had been shrouded in secrecy. When they’d met, it had been under the guise of her being a friend’s aunt.