Inn Over Her Head

by Dixie Davis

  Lori stayed put as ordered while Heidi marched off to the back room. It was quiet for a few minutes, save for the sounds of the three grandfather clocks along one wall and Emma’s footsteps. Finally, Emma cleared the armoires, putting her in Lori’s line of sight.

  Lori held her breath, waiting for Emma to turn to her and ask why she was there. But then movement from the back of the shop drew her attention again — Heidi returning at a quick march. She caught sight of Emma and segued into a more business-like speed. A walk that didn’t say get out of my shop, you sister-stealing harpy.

  Once she was in range, Heidi stuck out her hand. Lori went to shake it, but that wasn’t Heidi’s intention. She slapped a key onto Lori’s palm.

  “Take it.” Heidi leaned closer and dropped her voice to a harsh whisper. “Make any more trouble for me, and you’ll really regret it.”

  “Heidi,” Lori said at the same volume, but a much gentler tone, “your sister chose to sell me the inn. That doesn’t mean she’s never coming back, even if I do leave.”

  Heidi narrowed her eyes at her and opened her mouth to speak.

  “So, Lori,” Emma’s voice carried over to them before they could say anything else. Heidi pulled back, but Emma didn’t seem to notice, still grinning at Lori. “Were you looking for me?”

  Lori pasted on a guest-relations smile. “Nope, just lucky!”

  “We had some business to finish,” Heidi said, without grounding out any of the words. “But Lori’s on her way out.”

  Lori nodded a little too fast, smiling a little too broadly. “Hope you come visit us again soon,” she bid Emma.

  “Good luck with your wedding!” Emma called.

  Lori tossed a “Thank you!” over her shoulder. She watched Heidi for her whole retreat, even after she scooted out the door.

  “Whoa!” a man’s voice brought her up short — right before she walked right into him.

  “I’m so sorry —”

  “Hey, Lori.”

  Lori dared to look up at the man she’d almost plowed into — Mitch. She didn’t know whether that was more embarrassing or less.

  “Saw the good news in the paper.” He pointed behind him at the door to the hardware store, where she assumed they had the Dusky Chronicle on sale. “But I always knew you didn’t do it.”

  “You did?” Lori beamed. It might be easy for everyone to claim that now, but something about the sincerity in Mitch’s eyes said that, like Andrea, he was telling the truth.

  “Of course. I saw you when you found her. If you’d faked that reaction, you should’ve been in Hollywood. Or at least Wilmington, filming movies.”

  She laughed. “Well, thank you.”

  “My pleasure. And, hey, if you ever need anything fixed, feel free to call me.” Mitch leaned closer and dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I won’t tell Joey if you won’t.”

  Lori giggled and nodded her agreement.

  Conspiring over something so innocent — and not feeling like the whole town would judge her a murderer for it — felt wonderful.

  Mitch checked his watch and sucked in a breath between his teeth. “Where did the time go?”

  This time, Lori managed to hold in the laugh, since this one would be an inside joke with only herself, but she’d asked that same question not an hour ago.

  Mitch held a shh finger to his lips. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Count on it.” As soon as he passed, Lori kicked herself. If Joey ever heard her talking like that behind his back, it’d break his heart. He deserved more than that.

  Lori promised herself she’d do better and settled into her driver’s seat. She turned on the car and checked the time herself. Seriously, where did the time go?

  The sweet savory smell of the sweet potato hash still lingered in the car, but with the overtones of tarragon instead of the “right” spice. And that begged another question: where did the thyme go?

  This time, Lori’s smile faded before she put the car into gear. What if the poison had been in the missing thyme?

  On the one hand, that was good news for her. Her kitchen was safe, and she knew she didn’t put anything into the thyme.

  Maybe the police had taken it, then. No wonder they’d suspected her.

  But if the killer put poison in the thyme, how could he be targeting Dawn?

  Lori turned around in time to watch Mitch’s white SUV drive away. She’d dismissed him as a suspect when she figured he couldn’t kill indiscriminately. Because poisoning an ingredient before she’d made the zucchini bread meant you had no control over who died. Even Lori wasn’t planning on making the zucchini bread twenty minutes before she started. It was totally up to chance.

  Why would Travis try to kill just anybody?

  If he’d been trying to murder Dawn, he couldn’t possibly have done it that way, not on purpose.

  Then the police had the wrong person — again.

  And the real killer was somewhere out there. No, out here. Lori slowly wheeled back to the antique shop.

  Was Heidi actually the killer?

  Mitch?

  Someone else entirely?

  Lori spent the rest of the afternoon searching the kitchen and pantry from top to bottom. Aside from tossing some potatoes that had gotten lost in the pantry and started a revolution of their own, she found nothing.

  No thyme.

  Up until now, she could’ve dismissed it. She misplaced things all the time. The thyme might turn up in the fridge in a week, or her jewelry box or the linen closet, and Joey would tease her about being absentminded again.

  He wouldn’t be wrong.

  But Lori had checked the jewelry box, the refrigerator, her dresser, the linen closet, her desk, and everywhere that it could fit, no matter how ridiculous. Unless she’d stuck it in a guest room, the thyme was gone.

  Where. Did. The. Thyme. Go?

  The only credible theory now was that the police had taken it as evidence. After her arrest, Joey had supervised the police search of the inn, but he couldn’t watch all the cops at the same time.

  One easy way to find out. She figured the police would be less inclined to answer questions over the phone, and she had some evidence to hand over anyway. Before she pulled out of her driveway, Lori made sure Heidi’s old key was still in the cup holder.

  Yep.

  Lori pulled up to the police station, which was obviously a made-over home. The professional-looking beige stucco still didn’t jibe with the homey porch and rocker.

  She’d hardly gotten out of her car when she spotted Chief Branson hurrying to his own unmarked car — or maybe his personal car? — in the side lot.

  “Chief!” she called.

  He looked up. She could tell the exact second he recognized her: he sighed and his shoulders dropped.

  Lori ducked back into her car to grab the key, then rushed over to the chief where he waited in the lot. “I’m worried you might have the wrong person.”

  Until she said it, she wasn’t sure who made more sense as a suspect. But she gripped the key in her hand tighter. Heidi was the only person in her suspect list who had a motive and opportunity to kill who didn’t care who she hurt. Any victim at the Mayweather House would have worked for her.

  Chief Branson raised an eyebrow. “The wrong person? What, now you want to confess?”

  “No,” Lori practically spat. “I wanted to give you this.” She held out the key. “Heidi Carleton gave it to me today.”

  “Uh huh.” Chief Branson dug in the breast pocket of his brown blazer until he came up with a ziplock bag. He opened it and held it out to her. “And I bet you’re the only one who can vouch for this.”

  “No,” she said again. “Emma Townsend was there in Heidi’s shop when she did it.”

  This time his eyebrow-jump was somewhere between surprised and impressed. “Who’s Emma Townsend?”

  “She was a guest at the inn, and she was shopping at Heidi’s at the time.”

  “Hm.” Chief Branson h
eld up the baggie and eyed the key. “Goes to the inn, I assume?”

  Right. She should’ve checked — but she couldn’t. “I guess it does. We changed the locks. I think Mitch Griffin took the old ones.”

  Chief Branson’s sigh was so deep it almost sounded like a growl. “Sure he did.”

  Oops. She shouldn’t bring Mitch up with the chief, and she definitely didn’t want to drag him into this, not if she could help it.

  “Thanks for your help.” Chief Branson glanced back at his gold sedan, not hiding his impatience in the way he pursed his lips.

  “I don’t want to take up more of your time.”

  The chief nodded his thanks and headed away — until Lori remembered something. “Wait.”

  Chief Branson stopped halfway into getting in his car and straightened again. “What?”

  “Do you have my thyme?”

  “Do I have your time? Do I look like H. G. Wells?”

  Who was that? “No, my thyme, t-h-y-m-e.”

  He slowly lowered his chin, leveling her with a glare. “Don’t tell me that’s turned up, too. Let me guess. Heidi’s backyard.”

  Lori couldn’t help it. She gave him one of those patented looks every mother knows, the look of I know you didn’t go there with me.

  Chief Branson actually shifted under the weight of her stare.

  Good man.

  “You don’t know what happened to my thyme either?”

  Then the memory popped up: Chief Branson’s last question in their interview before her lawyer came in. Where did the time go?

  No. That wasn’t it. It was Where did the thyme go?

  It wasn’t anywhere in the inn. The police didn’t have it either.

  Then did the real killer have it?

  “If you find it, call me right away.” Chief Branson’s eyes were serious.

  Lori backed away, letting Chief Branson go, finally. Instead of getting in his car, he headed back into the beige stucco station house. Hopefully to enter the key into evidence.

  Could Lori somehow sneak into Heidi’s house to search for the thyme? She hadn’t seen it anywhere in the shop, but Heidi wasn’t stupid; she wasn’t going to put the evidence of a murder on display.

  But someone had been in her inn. At least twice, it looked like, if they planted the poison and then took it out. And sent that email. Maybe even reset the time on her computer to mess with her.

  Travis had been to the B&B before the murder, and she’d caught him outside her office the day she’d found Dawn. But Travis was in jail.

  Lori had bought the place only recently. Who knew who else might have keys?

  Like the old owner’s sister.

  Lori got back in her car and grabbed her cell phone. She found Mitch’s number. He answered on the third ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Mitch, it’s Lori.”

  “Hey there. Need rescuing already?”

  She fought back a sarcastic laugh. Was it too late for that? “No. I was wondering if anybody else has a key to our new locks.”

  “No.”

  “Not even you?”

  “No.” He sounded offended. “Why would I do that?”

  Lori nodded slowly. “Right, yeah. Just wanted to be sure. Do you still have our old locks?”

  “I think so?”

  “Hang on to them. The police might want to take a look at them.”

  Mitch paused. Thinking about how much he didn’t want to deal with Chief Branson?

  Tough luck.

  “Okay,” he said at last. “You sure you don’t need rescuing?”

  “I hope not,” was the best Lori could do. But even with her new locks, she couldn’t be sure she was safe.

  Lori wasn’t quite as quick driving back to the inn. She tried to come up with a list of things to do to keep herself busy, keep her mind off the threat that was most likely still walking free, but her thoughts always seemed to trail off in the same direction.

  A weight had disappeared from her shoulders with Travis’s arrest, knowing that she and her inn were safe — and cleared. But if Travis didn’t do it, what did that mean for her?

  Lori tried not to let her thoughts stray to that scary place as she prepared the rooms for the O’Briens and the Evertons. She’d moved on to deep cleaning every bathroom in the inn to keep herself distracted when her phone buzzed with a text message. She pulled off her rubber gloves and pulled out her phone. A text message from Joey.

  Of course. Joey could always stay here. He was practically living in the Carolina Beach Room already. Lori pulled off a glove to check the text. Want to come for dinner? We can work on our vows.

  She wiped her brow. She did want dinner, and did need to work on her vows, but she also had to shower and greet guests. Lori tapped out the world’s slowest text — why anyone would prefer communicating this way, she couldn’t fathom — to let Joey down easy. Rain check? she finished. Tomorrow?

  Sounds good.

  Lori blew out a breath and looked around. Without guests around, the inn was still eerily quiet in the afternoon. And she wasn’t about to ask guests to play security guard. Are you coming back here tonight? she texted Joey.

  He didn’t respond for a few minutes. Lori gathered up her cleaning supplies in her bucket, stashed them in the right closet and headed down to her shower.

  Finally, Joey’s answer showed up. I don’t think I can. Too much packing. See you tomorrow, though!

  Lori scowled at her phone. Did he not know about — of course not. Nobody but Chief Branson knew what she’d told him. That meant she was well and truly alone tonight.

  Lori pushed away that thought, too dark to hold onto. Instead, she hurried to dry her hair, frowning at the balance of blonde and gray in the mirror. Or lack of balance, really. She’d been trying to convince herself the sparkly strands were her hair returning to the platinum shade she’d had as a baby, but she knew the truth. What would her guests see? An old woman with a round face — baby fat, her mother had called it, even ten years ago when Lori turned forty.

  Still, Joey found her attractive. Lori sighed and pulled out a black cardigan, the closest thing she had to a blazer. She had to look professional. In control. Even though there might well be a killer on the loose.

  She’d felt so . . . settled when Travis was arrested and Joey was here. But now Joey wasn’t here, and she wasn’t so sure Travis should have been arrested.

  They’d changed the locks. Heidi couldn’t get in anymore. Right?

  But if she’d already done her damage in the kitchen, could Lori trust anything she made for breakfast, no matter how secure her doors were now?

  The doorbell rang and Lori hurried down to greet the first of her guests: Matt and Mallory O’Brien, in town for a leisurely, romantic getaway, a surprise from him. Lori checked over her mental list of his requests: rose petals and chocolates were already in the room, and they’d take their breakfast in their room in the morning.

  They were happy to meet her and gushed over the “charming details” as she gave them the quick tour and checked them in. Mallory gasped at the rose petals strewn across their floor and Matt swept her into his arms to carry her over the threshold.

  Well, they seemed happy to be here. Lori headed back to the parlor to wait for the other guests that were arriving soon, Heath and Virginia Everton. But once again, it was too quiet, and Lori’s mind wandered straight back to worrying.

  She should check the kitchen. As soon as the Evertons were settled, she’d run to the grocery store and buy whatever she needed fresh.

  The doorbell interrupted her thoughts again, and Lori welcomed the Evertons. They wanted dinner recommendations, so she gave them Beth’s restaurant list. When things quieted down a little, she could get to work updating that, too.

  Things were far from quiet these days. She never thought she’d be looking over her shoulder this much after she was off the hook for murder. Was she worrying her guests? Lori flashed an extra bright smile at Virginia, who was busy reading
the restaurant list.

  Lori hurried them through the tour — it was really only the parlor and the dining room, anyway — before the Evertons picked a place for dinner.

  She waved goodbye to them while running through her check-in checklist: both guests had room keys and new front door keys. The O’Briens were ordering dinner in, and the Evertons were out.

  She had time for a very quick grocery run, just for fast things for breakfast: eggs, yogurt, granola, and a deli sandwich for her dinner.

  For once, she actually made it out of the grocery store — or, really, the Quik’n Easy a mile up the road — in less than half an hour.

  Was she overreacting? Maybe. But someone had already killed, and wanted it to look like she’d done it, and now Lori seemed to be exonerated. Who was to say the killer wouldn’t try again?

  Yep, worth the extra precaution. Once she had put the groceries away, she pulled out the tray of sweet potato hash and dished up some for a taste test. Beth had left a padlock for the fridge in the desk, and tomorrow morning she’d call Mitch to come change out the locks on the owner-only areas.

  He did promise to rescue her, didn’t he?

  By the time Lori was pretty sure the sweet potato hash was safe — both in her belly and in her fridge — the Evertons returned from dinner. Or at least Virginia did.

  “How was dinner?” Lori greeted her.

  Virginia shrugged. “Fried within an inch of its life.”

  “Where’d you go?”

  “That Calabash place on the road to Boiling Spring Lakes.”

  There were at least three Calabash-style seafood restaurants between here and the next town up the road, but if you didn’t want fried food, none of them were a good choice. The whole cooking style was about battered seafood and hush puppies. Still, Lori nodded in sympathy. “If you want good Calabash seafood, you might as well go all the way to Calabash.”

  Virginia seemed to agree. Heath finally walked in, handing Virginia a doggie bag. “Oh, Lori,” he said, “I meant to tell you earlier, sorry again about not responding to your email sooner. I’d been checking my email all weekend. Don’t know how I could have missed it.”