Inn Over Her Head

by Dixie Davis

  But then Joey might figure out what she’d seen.

  Maybe — maybe there was a reasonable explanation. There had to be. Right?

  Just in case — just in case — she dug through her purse until she found Chief Branson’s card.

  “Chief Branson,” he answered, practically grumbling already.

  “Chief — Chip — it’s Lori Keyes. I promised I’d call when I found the thyme?”

  “Where was it? Under the stove?”

  “No. My fiancé had it. At his apartment.”

  Chief Branson was quiet. “Where are you now?”

  “His bathroom.”

  “I need his address.” In the background, it sounded like a chair was scraping across a floor.

  Lori gave him the address, and the chief groaned. “Wilmington?”

  Right. That meant he was a good forty-five minutes away.

  She suddenly wished Mitch could come through on his promise of rescuing her. Didn’t look likely.

  “I’ll call WPD. Don’t try anything stupid.” Chief Branson ended the call.

  A knock sounded at the bathroom door and Lori jumped six inches with a little yelp. Had Joey heard her on the phone?

  “You okay in there?”

  “Yes. One minute.”

  This was Joey. Joey cared about her. He loved her. He wanted to marry her. He’d taken care of her.

  He couldn’t have framed her for murder.

  There had to be another explanation. And she’d find it.

  Lori stared at herself in the mirror for a moment. Yesterday, she’d told herself her too-round face, too-old hair, too-frumpy body didn’t matter because Joey loved her. But . . . if he loved her, why would he murder a guest? Did he — had he ever—?

  She had to know if Joey had loved her.

  She had to know if Joey had framed her.

  She had to know if Joey had killed Dawn.

  Steeling herself, she pulled the door open. Joey wasn’t in the hall, so she headed back to the kitchen.

  “Were you looking for another spice?” Joey called as soon as she walked in. A couple bottles of herbs lay on the counter.

  Lori walked over to the countertop and set her purse on top of the VCR by the Walkman — the Walkman. While Joey’s back was turned, she clicked the record button on, covering the sound with a cough, quickly withdrawing her hand.

  He turned around, but he didn’t seem concerned. “Did you need help finding something?”

  “Um, no, I think I found what I needed. Joey, do you remember how we met?”

  “Sure, on that website for prospective innkeepers.”

  “But . . . you weren’t a prospective innkeeper. Not soon, anyway.”

  He gave her a lopsided smile. “Only in my dreams. The dreams that you made come true.”

  The chill invaded her gut. She was making his dreams come true. But was she supposed to be part of those dreams, or merely the means to the end?

  “I talked to Adam,” she said.

  Joey picked up the pasta pot and dumped it into the colander waiting in the sink. “How’d that go?”

  “Not great.”

  He turned around, one eyebrow raised. “Doesn’t he want you to be happy?”

  Lori flashed him a smile, though she knew it was weak.

  Joey didn’t seem to notice, pouring the steaming pasta onto the plates.

  “He asked a lot of questions,” she tried again. She braced herself for the lie that was coming — from herself or from Joey, she wasn’t sure. “And he said that he wanted to keep the inn in the family. He’d be happy to take it over if something happened.”

  Joey whirled around. For a split second, Lori caught sight of the anger in his eyes, but bewilderment took its place. “Did you tell him about the arrest? I thought you weren’t going to.”

  Crud. “No, but Adam lost his father when he was nine. Of course he worries about me and my future, and what would happen when I go.”

  Joey eyed her for a moment longer. Would he buy that?

  He moved. Lori tensed, but Joey detoured for the fridge. “Would Adam have the first clue what to do?”

  Lori carefully kept her voice more patient than she felt. “I was hoping, if something happened to me, that his stepfather would have the courtesy of showing him the ropes. If not for Adam, then for me.”

  “And then what? After putting in years — hopefully many wonderful years — but years at the inn, I’m supposed to ride off into the sunset empty-handed?” He slammed the refrigerator shut.

  “Not necessarily, but I did buy the inn with Glenn’s life insurance. That money — that inn — is rightfully theirs.”

  Joey said nothing for a long minute, one muscle in his jaw working. When he did speak, his voice carried an edge. “What about what’s rightfully mine?”

  Lori edged backward a step, but fought against the urge to flinch. “What would that be?”

  “Are you really asking me to work — with you — to build up this inn and then walk away with nothing?”

  The words hit Lori like a final volley of ice. Nothing there about caring about her, wanting to marry her or be with her or enjoy their years together. Just what am I getting out of this?

  “Did you target me from the beginning?”

  Joey pulled back. “Huh?”

  “From that innkeeper website. You knew I was in North Carolina too, and I wasn’t just dreaming about owning a place. I had a plan, and the money to make it happen. How long did it take you to get that out of me? A week? Two?”

  Joey’s mouth slowly opened, but no words came out. “I don’t — I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He laughed, nervous and high and thin. “This is crazy.”

  The more Lori allowed herself to see it, the more the evidence fell into place. “That’s why you wanted to get married, and get married quick. ‘Don’t want to burden the boys.’” Lori shook her head. “I can’t believe I fell for that — I fell for you!”

  “Lori, are you serious?”

  “All this time, I’ve wondered what someone as young and handsome as you would want with tired, old, round-faced me.” Lori took a deep breath. Instead of freezing fear, her belly filled with heat. “But it was never about me, was it?”

  “What?”

  “At least not until you were ready to start getting rid of me, huh? Did you plan for Dawn to get it first?”

  Joey looked around like she was crazy and some invisible person in the room would back him up. “Dawn who?”

  “The woman who died — the woman you killed!”

  “I didn’t kill anybody. I’m not the one who got arrested, remember?”

  The heat of anger spread throughout her body. “Oh, I remember, and I remember all the so-called evidence against me. The email, which someone had to have sent from my computer?”

  “I wasn’t even around when that email was sent.”

  He didn’t know when the email was sent — unless he was the one who sent it. “You probably reset my computer clock, didn’t you?”

  “You know I had to get help to fix it for you.”

  Lori inched her way toward the box of spices. “The poison, which has conveniently disappeared from my kitchen?”

  “What?”

  “Were you trying to kill me?”

  Joey held out pleading hands. “Lori, please, what’s gotten into you? I thought we were going to be happy together. We’re supposed to be working on our vows right now, but now you’re talking crazy talk.”

  “Oh?” Lori grabbed the box of spices and dumped it onto the floor. “Then explain this!”

  Joey stared at her, checked the floor, then focused his stare on her again. “I can’t explain it.”

  “Ah ha!” Lori pointed an accusing finger at him.

  “Because you’re acting crazy.” He gestured at the floor and Lori finally looked down.

  Her thyme jar was nowhere to be seen.

  What? No. That wasn’t possible. She’d just seen it.

  Joey pick
ed up a bottle from the counter by the sauce pot: a bottle with a red lid labeled Thyme.

  Not her thyme at all.

  “See?” he said.

  “I —” Lori couldn’t say anything else. After spending so many hours hunting for her thyme, had she imagined the bottle?

  Joey held out his arms to her. Numb, Lori walked into his embrace. “I know, I know. Everything with Dawn and the inn has been crazy. It’s about made me lose my mind, too — worrying over you.” He took hold of her shoulders and held her out at arm’s length. “Maybe we should get you some grief counseling?”

  The concern in his eyes looked so real that Lori found the heat of the anger dissipating in her system.

  Of course he loved her, round face, gray hair and all. He had always loved her. How could she possibly think otherwise? She needed him to love her.

  Joey’s gaze fell. “I’m sorry, maybe I pushed you too hard. We don’t have to rush into this. Maybe . . . maybe we should back off the engagement.”

  Lori gasped. What had she done?

  She’d accused her fiancé of murder. Why wouldn’t he break up with her?

  “No, wait.” Lori glanced around, trying to come up with something that would save them, save her. She spotted the manila folder with his vows — and the contract.

  That was what she had to do. She grabbed the folder and a pen and signed her name on the line.

  There. She trusted him. He loved her. It couldn’t take back what she’d done, but it might help change his mind.

  A slow smile grew on Joey’s lips.

  “I love you,” Lori said.

  “I love you too. Now, let’s eat and . . . maybe talk about our vows?”

  “Sounds great.”

  Joey picked up the plates he’d prepared and carried them to the tiny café table in the kitchen nook that passed for his dining room.

  Lori was already cringing in anticipation of the salty-yet-bland sauce, but the first bite was bitingly bitter.

  “Do you like it?” Hope lit Joey’s eyes.

  Lori managed a nod. She managed to chew. She managed to swallow.

  Only thirty more bites to go.

  She wasn’t sure she could do this.

  “What did you use in the sauce?”

  “You know, parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme.” Joey grinned at the allusion.

  Lori choked down another bite that left her tongue practically tingling and set aside her fork. She couldn’t taste rosemary, sage, parsley or thyme.

  Thyme.

  “Joey?” she asked.

  He looked up. Perfectly patient. Perfectly innocent.

  Perfectly played.

  “How did you know I was looking for thyme?”

  The sweet expression slipped from his face. “What?”

  “When I dumped out the spices — you showed me your bottle of thyme. How did you know what spice I was looking for?”

  “You told me.”

  “I didn’t.”

  Joey stared at her a moment longer, the shock in his expression hardening into anger. He tossed down his fork. “Guess it’s a good thing I used it on your food, then.”

  “What?”

  His grin turned wolfish. “It’s so sad that you couldn’t face your guilt and chose to take your own poison.”

  No. That wasn’t possible. “Nobody will believe that.”

  The arch look on Joey’s face said he’d already planned for this contingency.

  A shudder passed through her body. She was going to die, and Joey was going to get away with murder. Two murders.

  How could she have ever thought he cared about her?

  Now she was as good as dead, no matter how fast Chief Branson or the Wilmington police came.

  Wait — the tape. As long as he didn’t discover it, she would have the evidence to make sure he didn’t get away with this.

  Lori hopped up from the table. How long did she have before the poison took effect? She grabbed her purse from the VCR, jostling the Walkman. It was still recording.

  Behind her, Joey laughed.

  Lori pretended to fall forward and catch herself on the counter — but she really slid the Walkman into her purse.

  How far could she get?

  “Are you going somewhere?” Joey slowly rose from his chair and sauntered over, blocking her way out of the kitchen.

  Lori backed away from him, into the kitchen. Why couldn’t he have another way out of this room?

  She bumped into the oven handle and stopped. Joey kept advancing on her, while the heat from the sauce and the pasta water radiated against her back.

  A sharp pain stabbed into her stomach.

  The poison.

  She clutched at her belly, and Joey’s wicked grin was back. He took one more step closer.

  If she wanted to get justice for Dawn — if she wanted to get help — if she wanted to get out off here alive, she had to act. Lori grabbed the closest pot handle and heaved with all her might.

  The pasta water sloshed onto the floor close enough to Joey that he had to hop backwards. While he was distracted, Lori darted past him to get out of the kitchen.

  A hand clamped down on her arm.

  Lori screamed. She didn’t slow down, but looked back. Joey took one step to get a better grasp — and slipped on the wet floor.

  Joey hit the linoleum, and Lori banged against a cabinet. But he’d lost his grip on her. Lori scrambled to her feet and out the front door.

  She slammed directly into someone on the walkway outside Joey’s door. Her heart screamed in her ears and she jumped away from him. Was this stranger a threat, too?

  Then she saw his badge. A Wilmington police officer. “We had a call about a disturbance?” the officer asked.

  “He —” Lori gasped for air, pointing back into the apartment. “He tried to kill me!”

  The officer put one hand on his gun and hurried into the apartment.

  “I have it all on tape!” she shouted. “He killed someone else and he poisoned me!”

  Another pang struck her stomach, and Lori had to grab onto the metal railing to stay on her feet.

  “I need an ambulance!” Her shout was more of a croak as she doubled over in pain. Cold sweat broke out across her back.

  Was it too late?

  The hospital kept her a little longer than Lori really thought necessary, which made her even more excited for the SUV to pull up to the hospital exit.

  Mitch hopped out of the driver’s seat, although she didn’t need the help, or the nurse, or the wheelchair. She wasn’t a hundred percent, but she felt so much better than she had, she was ready to do a jig.

  Or maybe not.

  Mitch and the nurse helped her to her feet, and Mitch kept a hand on her back as she climbed into his SUV.

  “You know,” he said as he buckled his own seatbelt a minute later, “this was not what I had in mind when I offered to ‘rescue’ you.”

  Lori laughed. “Have you ever had hospital food?”

  “Yes — tonsils and appendix. And it wasn’t as bad as people say.”

  Lori shook her head. “You need someone to cook you some real food then.”

  “If that’s an offer, I’ll take you up on that sometime.”

  Lori fell silent. It wasn’t supposed to be an offer. She wasn’t ready to even think about dating. Her fiancé had tried to kill her a couple days ago. He might be safely in jail — for murder and attempted murder, since the police had found her empty thyme jar in Joey’s trash with her tape-recorded confession as the nail in his coffin — but dating?

  Clearly, she was not prepared for this.

  “As your friend,” Mitch added, as though he’d read her mind. “Seems like you could use a couple of those.”

  She managed not to laugh. “Yes, I need some to offset all the enemies I’ve racked up.” She pushed the image of Joey out of her mind. “Like Heidi — and Chief Branson.”

  “Now that’s something we have in common.”

  “One of these da
ys, you’re going to have to tell me the whole story about why he hates you.”

  “One of these days.” Mitch changed the subject. “That tape recorder was quick thinking.”

  “Your best friend said the same thing when he stopped by yesterday.”

  Mitch quirked an eyebrow. “You know my best friend?”

  “Chief Branson.”

  “Ah.” He tried to fight back a smile, but didn’t succeed.

  Chief Branson had also said it was a good thing she hadn’t eaten any more of the dinner than she did. While the effects and treatment and observation hadn’t been fun at all, she hadn’t had a fatal dose, so “mild” discomfort was all she’d had to endure.

  She’d have to talk to whoever defined “mild” discomfort.

  Mitch tuned the radio to an oldies station playing the Tams. Beach music could soothe the soul, but not as much as spending a few days on her own porch, looking out over the river.

  “So,” Mitch said, “how did you end up in Dusky Cove?”

  “My boys and I came here on vacation years ago, when our hotel in Wilmington lost our reservation. It’s been stuck in my mind ever since.”

  “I hear we do that to people.” He glanced at her. “Should I apologize?”

  Lori reviewed everything that had happened over the last two weeks: the inn, Dawn, Joey.

  Her heart ached for Dawn’s too-young death.

  Her heart ached even more for her own loss.

  But the inn? She still had that. And if she still had the inn, she still had a home, and she could still have hope.

  “You don’t have to apologize to me,” she murmured.

  “Good to hear, because we’ve been trying to make up for it while you were out of commission.”

  Lori had heard from Ray that someone very capable had stepped in to handle the end of her guests’ stay and there were no complaints. She’d assumed “someone very capable” either meant Mitch or Ray himself, both of whom seemed like they’d make great hosts.

  “I got the wolf’s bane torn out,” Mitch said, as if reading her thoughts and confirming them. “You sure you want to replace them with . . . that?”

  “What’s wrong with morning glories, Professor?”

  “Nothing, other than being an invasive species, and a weed most people are trying to kill off.”