by Dixie Davis
Inn Danger
DUSKY COVE BOOKS
© 2019 Dixie Davis
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
OTHER BOOKS BY DIXIE DAVIS
Inn Over Her Head
Inn Trouble
Inn Vain
Inn Dire Straits
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For Benjamin,
Fast and strong
Inn Danger
Cover
Front Matter
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Thank you for reading!
More from Dixie Davis
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Lori Keyes tried not to pace on her porch. The warmth of spring had taken its time in coming, but the weather wasn’t the reason she was out here. Neither was the view of the river and the ocean from her bed and breakfast, though she often came out here if she was feeling unsettled. The sight always seemed to bring her peace.
Except today. Because that water was exactly where Mitch was taking her for their “big date.” He’d been talking this up for months, and she hadn’t had the courage to tell him she didn’t like small boats. Even with a life vest, even knowing how to swim, all the rocking and the shaky balance was just too unstable for her liking.
And Mitch had worried she’d be uncomfortable using raw chicken for bait.
Mitch’s white SUV pulled around the corner of the Mayweather House to her gravel parking lot. A big green plastic canoe was tethered to his roof.
Oh boy. Her heart seemed to hit her shoes.
Rather than parking over on the side where her guests were, Mitch stopped in front of the steps and bounded out of the driver’s seat. “Hey.” He gave her a quick kiss. “How’s your day been? Guests all checked in?”
Lori could only nod. If she opened her mouth, she wouldn’t just report on her guests this weekend — she’d tell him she really didn’t want to go.
She did want to go. Mitch wanted to do this and she loved Mitch.
She just didn’t want to go. Her stomach plummeted too.
“You ready?” he asked.
She nodded again, still not trusting her vocal cords not to betray her true feelings.
Once they were in the car on the way, then she’d be safe to talk. She hoped.
Mitch helped Lori up into the passenger’s seat and then got in on his side. At the road, Mitch started the conversation, eyeing the shop across the street from Lori’s, Dusky Card & Gift. “You been to see Ray this week?” Mitch asked.
There was a safe topic. “Yes, twice. Why?”
“Katie’s having a hard time.” Mitch shook his head. He still cared for Ray and Katie Watson, the shopkeepers, like they were his in-laws, though Mitch’s wife had passed away a decade ago.
Lori frowned. “I’ll bring some breakfast by in the morning after my guests are finished eating.”
“And what do your guests have planned?”
She launched into what she knew about her visitors’ plans this weekend. The Besases had just come to relax, and Mr. Kirk had asked about fishing excursions.
“Oh, you should’ve invited him along with us,” Mitch said.
Lori glanced at the peak of the canoe’s bow in front of the windshield. Two people in a boat was hard enough to balance. How could they possibly fit that many adults in there and not end up capsizing at least once?
She shoved aside the memories of misfortunes at summer camp — every year — and replied to Mitch’s comment, which was probably a joke. “Pretty sure he wasn’t picturing tying a drumstick on fishing line and hanging out under a bridge. Or catching crabs.”
Mitch shrugged. “His loss.”
Lori rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “You wouldn’t happen to know if Stevie’s taking his boat out tomorrow and if he’s got any openings, would you?”
“I haven’t heard, but I’ll ask him.”
Mitch drove them out to Miller’s Point, a park along the waterfront on the other side of town. Technically, this might not be considered the Cape Fear. It was probably the Intracoastal Waterway. Mitch took the canoe off the SUV, and Lori helped to carry it, loaded with their supplies, down to the tiny dock.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Lori asked.
“Of course. You said you like crab, right?”
She sighed. She did like crab — it was one of her favorite foods, but she hardly ever splurged on it. Once Mitch had discovered that, he’d started talking about this trip and had been planning it all winter long.
Lori had to admit it: she was trapped by good intentions. She helped Mitch get the canoe into the water, and he held it steady for her while she stepped in. Lori strangled the sides until Mitch climbed in and launched them off.
Once they were moving over the water — and not moving inside the boat — Lori’s rollicking insides calmed down a little. Mitch did all the paddling, but the canoe moved over the water smoothly. The water itself was fairly calm, and at six thirty there weren’t many other people out, let alone the barges that usually made their way through here.
Lori let herself relax a little more. This might be nice. The two of them out on the water, enjoying the quiet and the calm and the company. And the crabs. Lori took stock of the equipment on the floor of the boat between them: a bucket to hold the crabs, a net to help catch them, a package of raw chicken drumsticks for bait and a roll of heavy twine for their fishing line. She wasn’t a big fisherwoman, but this was definitely the most primitive style she’d ever tried.
But Mitch was certain it would be effective, so she’d let him be the expert.
Mitch guided the boat from the little bay by the park into the Intracoastal Waterway proper. His smooth, even paddling sent them gliding downstream in the wide channel. Slowly, slowly, Lori let go of the canoe’s gunwale. Maybe she’d survive this after all.
It wasn’t long before they came up on the bridge that led out to the barrier island beyond. Mitch dipped the paddle in the water and slowed them down, guiding them between the last set of pylons and the bank.
Once they weren’t moving forward anymore, suddenly Lori felt every little quiver and shake in the boat. This wasn’t nearly as safe as she’d thought just a moment ago. Lori grabbed the sides of the canoe again, gripping them hard enough her knuckles turned white. She glanced at Mitch.
He was biting his lip. He’d placed the paddle in the boat, and now that his hands were empty, he was fidgeting.
Maybe she wasn’t the only one nervous to be in a boat.
Mitch patted something in his pocket but seemed like
he was mostly reassuring himself.
She wished she could do the same.
“You’ve never been handlining before, right?” he asked.
“I have no idea what that is.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Mitch handed her a pair of scissors, forcing her to release the canoe. “Cut two long lengths of twine.”
“How long?”
“Very.”
Appreciating that oh-so-precise guideline, Lori grabbed the ball of twine and wound off a very, very long piece. She snipped the twine and started over.
“Not that long.” Mitch seemed to be holding back a smile. “It just has to reach the bottom.”
“I’m sorry, can you see the bottom?”
He checked over the side of the canoe, but Lori already knew the answer. The water was murky enough that you couldn’t see farther than six inches, maybe twelve.
Mitch nodded at the twine in her hands. “That’s probably good there.”
Lori cut the twine again and tossed the ball back into the middle of the boat before returning to her grin-and-grip-it position.
Mitch picked up the package of drumsticks and tore into the plastic. He held up one drumstick. “Tie the handle end on one end of the string.”
“Any recommendations on what knot to use, O Wise One?”
He shrugged. “Square, I guess. Needs to hold really well.”
Lori barely dared to let go of the gunwale to accept the drumstick. She traded him for the long, long length of twine, then tied her own string tight around the bone end of the chicken leg. “This look good?”
Mitch nodded. “You’re a natural.”
She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide a smile. Even the silly little things he said like that reminded her of the heady excitement of a new love. Theirs wasn’t exactly new — they’d dated by default for a year, then they took a break, and now they’d been dating for real for nearly a year.
Plenty of time to get to know someone enough to fall completely head over heels.
“Toss your drumstick in,” Mitch said. Lori took hold of the other end of the string and followed his example. The drumsticks sank, and the lines went slack. They must have hit the bottom.
Lori tucked the twine between her palm and the metal edge of the canoe, still grasping both sides tight. “Now what?”
“The thrilling part of fishing: the waiting.”
Normally she would have laughed at that joke. Today, she barely managed a twitter.
“Are you okay?” Mitch asked.
“Of course. Why?”
“Because this boat’s not getting any deader, so you can stop strangling it.”
Lori laughed and eased her grip on one gunwale. No way was she letting go of both. But she could try to relax. She drew in a deep breath and looked out over the view — the island across the channel, the placid flow of the waterway, the sky just starting to pinken for the sunset, the shadows already beginning to grow longer.
For some reason, tonight the sunset reminded her of another sunset nearly a year ago, when her son Doug took the love of his life out onto the dock and asked her to marry him.
Right before they discovered she was a serial killer.
So much had changed in the last eleven months. Doug was doing better now, dating again. Her younger son, Adam, had a serious girlfriend and a job close enough to Lori that he visited almost every month. And of course, there was Mitch, the true constant in her universe.
Was she ready for a big change?
Maybe. She was pretty darn sure Mitch wasn’t a serial killer, anyway.
Mitch patted his pocket again, then went back to fidgeting.
Mitch never fidgeted.
What was going on? Lori studied her boyfriend’s face, the way he absently bit his lip. For someone who didn’t want her to be nervous, he was acting pretty nervous himself.
“Lori?” Mitch asked. There was the tiniest little quaver behind the question.
Then the pieces fell into place. Of course there was a reason for this — a reason why he’d insisted on going out on the boat, why it had to be at sunset, why they had to do this tonight. Why he kept patting his pocket.
Was this really happening?
“Yes?” Lori finally managed. She tried to keep the hope out of her voice, but just as surely as Mitch’s tone betrayed how he was feeling, hers did the same.
“I think you have a bite.”
She furrowed her brow. A bite? What did he mean?
Mitch pointed at the twine clamped between her hand and the edge of the canoe. Oh, of course. Her line was now taut leading to the surface of the water. “What should I do?”
“We want to reel it in very smooth — well, slow enough that he won’t let go, but fast enough that he sees his dinner’s trying to get away and he better hold on.”
Lori had known the chicken legs were for bait, but she hadn’t really considered that crabs would be eating the meat. Or that crabs might be carnivores. She started to pull the twine in slowly, trying to find that ideal balance Mitch had referred to. Every couple feet or so, she stopped to make sure the crab was still there, and that sucker tugged on the string, trying to drag his quarry back to his den to eat.
The chicken leg bobbed into sight. Lori lifted the string, pulling the drumstick out of the water. Along with it came a good-sized crab, its blue legs wiggling in the air.
Mitch scooped the dip net underneath the crab. With a little jostling from Lori and Mitch, the crab finally dislodged from its prey.
Mitch brought the net closer to inspect the catch. He gave a low whistle. “Now that’s some beginner’s luck,” he said. “This one’s big enough to eat.”
“Are there rules about that?”
“Yeah, but you don’t need a license to go crabbing by hand, so I don’t know if most people follow them.” He clutched the bottom of the net and upended it into the bucket. The crab was tangled in the net, but after a shake or two, he dislodged and tumbled out, landing in the bucket with a sharp slap.
Lori leaned forward to peer into the bucket. This was her catch. That sucker had to be the size of her hand. Now that she thought about it, eating crabs made about as much sense as eating spiders. Who had decided to try eating these things? If it was good enough for seals and sea birds, it was good enough for people?
The crab scrabbled up the side of the bucket, splaying its claws at Lori. “Can it get out of there?”
Mitch glanced over. “I don’t think so.” But the uncertainty in his voice was not what Lori wanted to hear.
The crab slipped, its many legs skritching back down in the plastic bucket. Lori tried not to shudder. She did like the taste of crab, but she wasn’t sure she could eat something after she’d looked it in the eyes. Especially after those eyes gave her the heebie-jeebies.
Wherever the eyes were on a crab.
“Ugly things, aren’t they?” Lori remarked.
Mitch laughed. “Not everything can be as pretty as you.”
She rolled her eyes at the compliment but relished that little bolt of warmth in her belly.
“Was there something you were going to say?” Lori asked. “Before I caught the crab?”
“Oh, um.” Mitch bit his lip. “Well —” He looked down at the line in his fingers. It, too, had gone taut, tugging against his hand. “Guess I better reel this in.”
Lori nodded, trying not to scowl or sigh. Nerves coiled around her stomach, poised to strike again as soon as Mitch deposited this catch in the bucket.
Was he really going to propose?
Lori almost wanted to drum her fingers as Mitch pulled the twine up. Apparently, he’d let down more twine than he needed, since it seemed to be taking a while.
But Mitch was frowning. “Everything okay?” she asked.
“Yeah, my line’s just a little stuck.”
“Maybe you caught a tire.”
Mitch laughed. “Pretty sure you can’t catch a tire wit
h a drumstick.”
“Wouldn’t put it past you to be the first.”
He laughed again, tugging at the line a little harder. “That or I’ve been attacked by Moby-Crab.”
“A definite possibility.” She wanted to help, but she couldn’t move across the boat to do it. And she seriously doubted that she could do much to help Mitch anyway.
Mitch furrowed his brow, resetting his grasp on the twine for a sharp tug. When it didn’t yield, he wrapped each hand in the string to try again. After the second try, the string finally pulled free.
“Did you lose your crab?”
“I’m sure,” Mitch said. He pulled the rope a couple inches higher. “Feels like I’m dragging something though. Better get it off there.”
Slowly, Mitch reeled in the loose string. Lori watched the murky water. Something white and blurry materialized in the water, then came into focus as it was towed to the surface.
Fingers.
It was a hand. A human hand.
Lori was too stunned to scream. She turned to Mitch, who’d gone pale.
And then the rest of the body followed, bobbing to the surface. The long, dark hair covered the person’s face.
Mitch swore under his breath. “I’m so sorry,” he said quickly.
It wasn’t her first dead body, not by a long shot — and Mitch knew that.
A ripple of water washed over the body, moving the flowing hair aside to reveal her face. She looked to be around the same age as Lori and Mitch. Her features still looked delicate — perfect. She couldn’t have been here very long.
She had on a wedding ring. Lori’s heart went out to this woman’s family, wherever they were. As awful as this would be for them, at least they’d get closure.
“That’s not possible,” Mitch breathed.
Lori looked to him. “You okay?”
“No.” Mitch stared at the body, his lips pressed together hard enough to lose their color.
Lori waited for him to elaborate. She was used to this — people tended to stop her at the bank and the grocery store to share their life stories with her. All she had to do was wait.