Inn Trouble

by Dixie Davis

  “How are you holding up?”

  It still hadn’t set in. It would probably be days or weeks or months before she called the Bughs and didn’t expect to hear his voice. And Vera?

  Mitch stepped in and glanced around the dark room like he was looking for someone. “I thought you might need a distraction.”

  “And you’re here to volunteer?”

  One corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. “You said something about wanting to see what the original wall covering was in here?”

  Oh. Right. Work. Lori glanced at the maroon walls and ugly floral sofa. “Yeah, I want to redecorate but I’m having a hard time getting started, and I figured that would help.”

  “Is now a good time?”

  “You don’t have anything else going on right now?”

  Mitch shoved his hands in his pockets. “Let’s just say I could use a distraction, too.”

  Lori nodded. “My guests should be out most of the day, but if we can keep the mess to a minimum, that would be great.”

  “Hope this won’t last all day. I’ll go get my tools.”

  Mitch returned from his SUV with a tool box and Lori helped him move a sofa table away from the wall. She hoped that would hide any scars from this exercise at least until she was ready to do something new with the walls.

  As they had so many times, Lori and Mitch fell into conversation while he worked, laying out heavy-duty plastic sheeting across half the room. He slipped paper booties on over his shoes, then spritzed the wall with water before he started scraping away. The conversation wasn’t quite as easy as usual. The silence allowed Lori, and probably Mitch, to slide back into their thoughts, so they fought to keep talking. But it was hard to talk to someone when one person had to keep a safe distance from the other’s drop zone and the other person was wearing a heavy-duty rebreather. On the other hand, not getting lead poisoning was probably worth the hassle.

  It didn’t take too long for Mitch to get through 236 years of paint, wallpaper, dust and grime. Once he got down to the base layer, he had to carefully spray and chip away at a big enough area to really see what was underneath.

  Mitch stood up and pulled off his mask. “Come take a look.”

  Lori moved closer, but she didn’t dare to tread on the plastic sheet. From where she stood, she could just make out a pattern on the dingy fabric. “Those look like oak leaves.”

  Mitch nodded, tracing the scrolling patterns on the paper with a gloved finger. Appropriate, with the live oaks growing outside the house.

  “What color do you think that is?” It was hard enough to make out the shapes; the colors looked to be brown on brown.

  Definitely not the direction she wanted to go with her décor.

  Mitch craned his neck one way and then the other. “I’m thinking . . . yellow?”

  Lori stepped to the left a foot, and the light shifted. “Oh, I see it!”

  Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and Mitch and Lori turned. Vera, bleary-eyed, slowly made her way down to them. Lori met her halfway across the room.

  “Was,” she started tentatively. “Was it a dream?”

  Hope rose in her friend’s voice, cracking Lori’s heart that much more. She shook her head slowly. “I’m sorry.”

  Vera nodded. “I know. I just kept hoping I’d wake up from this nightmare.”

  Lori caught her friend in a hug and just held on.

  That was all they could hope to do for now.

  Lori fixed Vera iced tea and a sandwich and got her settled on the sofa. “What did you find?” Vera managed, nodding at the spot where Mitch had torn up the wall.

  He pointed at the original wall covering. “It looks like the first layer was actually wallpaper. Why don’t you take a picture, Lori, so I can get to putting this back in order?”

  “I’ll go get my camera.”

  “Don’t you have a camera phone?”

  Lori laughed at herself. It had been such a big deal, the first time Doug and Adam persuaded her to buy a phone with a camera in it. She’d thought the whole concept was ridiculous, but she had found she actually did use her phone’s camera quite a bit.

  Lori pulled out her cell phone and opened the camera. Mitch brought a lamp closer to give better light, and Lori snapped pictures from several angles. She brought them over to show Vera, though the tiny screen was obviously not easier to see than the wall itself.

  Vera pretended her world wasn’t falling apart, nodding at the pictures. “That will be lovely,” she said.

  Lori gave her hand a squeeze. You could never tell what the right response was to someone else’s grief, but that was often because the person didn’t know herself what would help. Other than bringing the person they’d lost back.

  “If Howard were here,” Vera murmured, “he’d be ripping off the other layers right now, insisting we couldn’t see enough to tell what was under there.”

  Lori grinned. That sounded like the Howard she knew. “He’d go crazy with this place.”

  “And then he’d put up the wallpaper all in one night.” Vera’s voice grew stronger with each word. “And in the morning, when the light came in, you’d just get this horrible sinking feeling because it was the most haphazard, mismatched, slapdash thing ever done.”

  “Like Towelgate?” Lori asked, although she wasn’t really sure that was something she was allowed to joke about even if today wasn’t a tragedy.

  “Only much harder to fix.” Vera’s smile was tinged with more than a little sadness. “He never did anything halfway. Even if that meant doing it all the way wrong.”

  Lori allowed a little laugh, which seemed like the right response.

  “How about I get this closed up,” Mitch said, “and then I’ll run down for the soup of the day at Mimosa Café?”

  Lori waited for Vera’s nod before she said, “Sounds like a plan.”

  Vera reminisced about Howard while Mitch worked. Lori chimed in where she could, but a couple dozen phone calls over a year didn’t really make her an expert on Howard.

  By the time Mitch had wiped up the dust, wrapped up the sheeting, vacuumed and sealed up the exposed edges of the wall, Vera’s memories had begun to trail off. Lori doubted she’d run out — after how many decades together? — but she’d run out of energy.

  Vera slipped into silence as tears slid down her cheeks.

  It had been hard enough to lose Glenn over the course of a few months. Lori could only imagine the blow of losing him so suddenly.

  “It doesn’t feel real,” Vera murmured while Lori refilled her iced tea. “I would do anything to make this not real.”

  Lori nodded. “I know.”

  “It can’t — it can’t be possible. How is life supposed to continue without Howard? He was all the light in my life.”

  “What about —” Lori stopped short. Had anyone told their daughter? “Have you called Peggy?” she asked.

  Vera nodded, setting her glass on the coffee table, then immediately picking it up again. “The police sent Charleston PD over, and then she called me. At least I didn’t have to tell her myself. I don’t even know what words —” Emotion choked her off.

  Lori understood her relief. Her boys had been there with them at the end, so that wasn’t a conversation she’d had to have. And it wasn’t one she was looking forward to ever having.

  “As soon as I’m together enough to make the drive,” Vera said, “I need to go home to Peggy. I hate that she’s facing this alone.”

  Lori patted her friend’s arm. She’d seen what a father’s death could do to a child. Although Peggy was an adult, that didn’t mean her father’s murder was easy for her.

  “When someone dies,” Vera said, “you always talk about all the good things, or the things you can laugh about. But nobody ever mentions how absolutely infuriating that person was, or all the times they wronged you, or the horrible things they said to you. I can’t just gloss over those things in my marriage.”

  Lori nodded slowly.
“Sometimes we only want to remember the good side of people.”

  “But that’s remembering a lie.” Vera gripped her glass of tea tighter. “Nobody is all good. Why remember someone not how they really were?”

  “Is it bad to focus on the positive?”

  Vera’s shoulders dropped. “I don’t know. Probably not. I just . . . I can’t pretend Howard is — was — a saint. I love him, but that means living with a very flawed person.”

  “Don’t we all fit that description?”

  Vera’s lips twitched, playing at a smile. “I suppose we do.”

  “How would you want to be remembered?”

  She thought about that a long time, retreating into herself. She seemed older and more tired than Lori had ever seen her. “I’d want to be remembered the way I really was. Don’t airbrush my funeral, please.”

  “Hopefully airbrushing won’t be necessary — and your funeral won’t be for a long time.” And it wasn’t as though Lori had much dirt she could share about Vera. But she had to admit she didn’t know the Bughs well enough to say that, not if these last two days had shown her anything.

  Her doorbell rang yet again. It had to be Mitch returning with the promised soup, though it was soup weather in name only.

  Lori opened the door and almost jumped. Chief Branson stood on her front porch, along with Eddie. “Is Mrs. Bugh here?” Chief Branson asked.

  Lori nodded. “She’s not feeling well. Can I give her a message?”

  “We really need to talk to her. In person.”

  “It’s all right,” Vera called. “I want to help.”

  Once more, Lori remembered the concern in Andrea’s eyes. How many times had “wanting to help” backfired? Hadn’t Lori wanted the same thing the last time someone was murdered in town?

  But she stepped aside to allow Chief Branson and Eddie in. They each took an armchair, allowing Lori to join Vera on the couch again.

  “Mrs. Bugh, we’re sorry to bother you. I know today is not an easy one for you.”

  Vera stared at her glass. “No, it isn’t.”

  “But we do have some concerns in our investigation.”

  “Already?” Lori asked. “It’s only been a few hours.” Her investigation certainly hadn’t made any progress. Even if she’d spent most of that time trying to come to grips with grief and support a friend who was doing the same.

  “If we don’t get a solid lead within forty-eight hours,” Eddie explained, “it’s likelier that this mystery will go unsolved.”

  “You have to catch who did this,” Lori said. Her vehemence surprised even her, but once the words were out, she realized how much she meant it: catching the killer couldn’t bring Howard back, but it would give them a tiny bit of closure.

  “We mean to,” Chief Branson said. The firmness in his voice was clearly meant to put her in her place.

  Lori folded her arms but fell silent as Chief Branson turned back to Vera. “We have some more questions for you.”

  She nodded, staring at the ice almost gone from her tea.

  “You didn’t mention your life insurance policy on Howard.”

  Vera didn’t look up. “It wasn’t the first thing on my mind.”

  Lori had brought it up to her at the scene, but they hadn’t interviewed her again after that. Had Vera just chosen not to approach them again with the new information, or had she purposefully hidden it?

  Or was she just a bit overwhelmed because her husband had just been murdered?

  It wasn’t hard to guess the likeliest scenario there.

  “The insurance company told us you just took out the policy three months ago.”

  “No, that’s not right.” Vera’s eyebrows knit together. “I mean, I guess we technically changed providers, but we’ve had coverage on one another for decades.”

  Chief Branson pressed his lips together. “That isn’t what the company said.”

  “I don’t know what the company said.” Vera’s patience was wearing thin in her voice. “But I can tell you what I know is true. We didn’t need the money. He’s certainly worth more to me than that policy anyway.”

  “There’s no need to get upset with us.” Chief Branson leaned back in his chair, as if that would make him seem more like a harmless “Chip” instead of the “Chief” ready to rain down fire on them.

  The man had put Lori in jail. She wasn’t buying the act. She couldn’t. “Are you trying to tell us something? Is Vera a suspect?”

  Chief Branson cut his eyes toward Lori, clearly not pleased to be on the spot with that direct question.

  And then there came a knock at the door. Before Lori could get up — before she could even get mad — the door swung open.

  Was this the Johnstons already? A walk-in guest?

  “I come bearing soup.” Holding a large Styrofoam cylinder, Mitch stepped into view, followed by another man: Ray, from across the street. Why would Ray leave Dusky Card & Gift unattended in the middle of the day, even in the off-season?

  “Hello, Mitch.” Chief Branson folded his arms, clearly unhappy to see his “favorite” person. “Are we going to find you hanging around after every murder in town?”

  “I, for one, hope this is the last murder we’ll have to deal with.”

  “Chip,” Ray spoke up, “what are you doing over here?”

  “We have some questions for the widow.”

  Next to Lori, Vera flinched, drawing in a sharp breath. Was that the first time she’d heard the word applied to her?

  Lori certainly hadn’t said it to her. She remembered how that word felt at first, like an ill-fitting pair of shoes sure to leave a blister.

  “Right now?” Ray asked. His bushy, white eyebrows drew together. “Doesn’t really seem like the right time to be bothering someone who’s been dealt a hard blow.”

  Chief Branson clenched his jaw, slowly pushing out a sigh. “There isn’t a right time, Ray. Never is.”

  “I know that very well.” His voice was full of a measured patience Lori had never heard from Ray before. She was suddenly reminded that Chip had probably known Ray since he was in high school, maybe even regarded him as his future father-in-law. Could that influence help now?

  Nope. Chief Branson scowled. “I don’t come down to the gift shop and tell you what to sell, do I?”

  “No, you don’t. And I’ve never complained about how you do your job.” Ray’s eyes narrowed, and even Lori picked up on the silent message: even when I might’ve had a reason to.

  “Ray, do you have some evidence you’d like to share?”

  Lori noted that Chief Branson didn’t specify which case he was referring to, so that might mean about Howard’s death — or that of the woman who connected these three men.

  “No. Just reminding you that there are people on every side of an investigation.”

  “And one of them is dead,” Chief Branson clipped off. “I’m not here to torment anybody. I’m just here to get to the truth.”

  Ray nodded slowly. “See that you never lose sight of that.”

  Chief Branson turned back to Vera. “Can you prove you’ve had a policy on him before this?”

  She finally looked up from her iced tea, tears shimmering in her eyes. “I think Howard kept the paperwork in our safe. Our daughter should be able to fax it to us.” She turned to Lori. “Do you have a fax?”

  “Have her send it to the station.” Chief Branson pulled out a business card and a pen and circled a number on the card, then handed it over to Vera.

  Chief Branson and Eddie stood to leave, and finally Lori let herself relax. She got up to see him out.

  “Just one more thing,” he said, as if it were an afterthought, which Lori doubted. “We need a sample of your DNA. To rule you out.”

  Vera’s jaw dropped.

  Lori wasn’t about to take this lying down. She’d made that mistake with the Dusky Cove PD once before. “Tell me you did not come in my establishment to force my grieving guest to give you a DNA sample.”

>   “Nobody’s forcing anybody —”

  She couldn’t help her sarcasm. “Oh, no, you’re hoping Vera will just cooperate herself into a pair of handcuffs, like somebody else we know.”

  She’d meant herself, but Lori couldn’t miss the chief’s subtle glance in Mitch’s direction.

  “Are you asking me to come back with a warrant for a DNA sample?” Chief Branson asked.

  Lori buttoned her lips. She’d tried to stand up for her friend, but Chief Branson’s alternative seemed worse.

  That was the whole problem: Chief Branson was, of necessity, in a position of power. And that meant that Vera and Lori weren’t.

  “There’s no need to badger the poor woman,” Ray said. Mitch stepped up next to him as if they were standing in front of Vera forming a protective wall, instead of their position by the door.

  “It’s all right,” Vera’s voice carried from behind Lori. “I didn’t do it. DNA will prove I’m innocent, right?”

  Lori sat back against the couch to look at her friend. Of course it would work in her favor if she were innocent.

  Lori shook her head at herself. She’d bought into Chief Branson’s agenda so quickly that even she’d subconsciously presumed Vera was guilty.

  Chief Branson nodded for Eddie, who was blushing behind his freckles, to step forward. He pulled on rubber gloves and pulled out a kit, withdrawing a long cotton swab. Eddie sat down next to Vera on the couch, looking fully chagrined. “I need to rub this inside your mouth to collect the sample.”

  Vera opened her mouth and allowed him to brush the swab inside her cheek. Eddie deposited the swab in a tube and labeled the evidence.

  Relatively painless in the end. Even Vera’s dignity seemed to be intact.

  Eddie packed up and Chief Branson turned to go.

  “I loved my husband,” Vera said, her chin held high. “I didn’t kill him.”

  “Then thank you for helping us narrow down our suspect list,” Chief Branson said. He gave her a good-day nod and turned once again to leave — but once more, he turned back. “I meant to ask. I saw you smoking at the crime scene. What brand do you smoke?”

  “Capris,” Vera said. “But only when I need to calm my nerves.”