Bed, Breakfast, and Murder
Jenna St. James
Copyright © 2017 by Jenna St. James.
Published by Jenna St. James
Cover Design by Juliana Buhman
All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced without the written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names and characters are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Jenna St. James Books
Ryli Sinclair Mystery Series Order
Picture Perfect Murder
Girls’ Night Out Murder
Old-Fashioned Murder
Bed, Breakfast, and Murder
Veiled in Murder
Bachelorettes and Bodies
Rings, Veils, and Murder
Last Stop Murder
Sullivan Sisters Mystery Series Order
Murder on the Vine
Burning Hot Murder
Prepear to Die
Dedication
I want to dedicate this book to M. Take it from me, there is nothing more therapeutic than writing. Take all the different emotions you are experiencing right now as you travel this journey…and kill “him” off.
To Lauren Dottin-Radel…although we have never met face-to-face, your encouragement touches my heart. I hope I gave you a little of what you asked for.
As always, to my mom and sister for their unending support and love.
And to James, thanks for pushing me when I want to throw in the towel and cry. And by pushing, I mean reminding me that you want to travel when you retire, and I better start putting my fingers and brain to work because crying isn’t going to get you a trip to the islands! LOL.
Chapter 1
“That’s quite the getup you got there, Aunt Shirley.”
I sat down on my great-aunt’s bed and stared in horror at the outfit she was holding up in front of the mirror. Bright floral print, elastic scoop neck dress, with three ruffled tiers ending at her knees. Around the top tier and armholes little multi-colored tassels were sewn into the dress.
“You like?” Aunt Shirley twirled, causing the tassels to airlift.
It was absolutely hideous.
The only saving grace was that it sort of matched the newly-dyed purple hair she was currently sporting. A couple months ago, my Aunt Shirley had shaved one side of her head. Now that it had grown out, she had these wispy tuffs of hair sticking out the left side of her head. Today the tuffs were purple. Tomorrow, who knows.
My Aunt Shirley was a true old maid. She’d never married nor had kids. Instead, she ran away to Los Angeles when she was in her early twenties and became a private investigator. Throughout the nineteen sixties and seventies, my aunt was a true Charlie’s Angels type chick before it was even popular. Of course, to hear her tell, the series was based loosely on her life.
Now she lived at Oak Grove Manor, an assisted living facility in Granville, Missouri. She also helps out at the Granville Gazette, the newspaper where I also work. Aunt Shirley has no background in anything other than stakeouts and telling whoppers about how she used to sleep with all the hottest Hollywood men back in the day. But my boss, Hank Perkins, loved having her around the office.
Because I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, and we needed to go soon, I decided to go with a lie on the dress. “Love it. Is it new?”
“Sure is,” Aunt Shirley preened. “It’s just one of the birthday dresses I bought for myself. The brochure for our murder mystery weekend said we’d have dinner and cocktails our first night. So I want to look extra snazzy in case I need to catch the eye of a hunky dude.”
I suppressed a groan. “I thought you and Old Man Jenkins were an item?”
Aunt Shirley cackled. “He’s my assisted-living beau. I get outside this place, and I’m fair game for anyone who thinks they can tame me!”
God help us all.
“How much more do you have to pack?” I asked. “We want to be on the road this morning by eleven so we can miss all the Friday evening traffic.”
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist. I’m almost done.”
I looked at her makeup bag, which was actually bigger than her suitcase. “There are three other people riding in the Falcon. And we’re only going to be gone for two days. You don’t need to pack your whole closet.”
Aunt Shirley closed the lid to the suitcase and snorted. “First off, the Falcon’s trunk is large enough to hold three dead bodies. She’ll be able to hold a couple suitcases no problem. Secondly, I’m a lady, and a lady can never have too many outfits.”
I rolled my eyes, but wisely kept my mouth shut. The Falcon Aunt Shirley was referring to was her pride and joy. A 1965 turquoise Ford Falcon with purple flames on the sides. Under the hood was a stock 302 with an Edelbrock fuel injection. The barely-there dashboard was done in the same turquoise color, and the bucket seats in the front and bench seat in the back were pristine white with turquoise stitching.
And now the Falcon is my pride and joy.
I helped Aunt Shirley wheel her luggage out into the deserted hallway and down to the elevator. “Have you spoken much to your new neighbors across the hall?”
Aunt Shirley glared at me. “No. Why would I? You remember what happened to the last ones, right? Besides, I can already tell I don’t like these ones. There’s something shifty about them.”
Again I wisely kept my mouth shut.
Old Man Jenkins was waiting for us in the lobby. He was a good foot shorter than Aunt Shirley, around ninety years old, bald, and looked as though a strong wind would knock him down. But he was gaga for Aunt Shirley.
I loaded the suitcases in the back of the Falcon while the two love birds said goodbye to each other. Once Aunt Shirley was in, we waved farewell to Old Man Jenkins, and took off for the newspaper office to check in one last time.
Hank was still a little put out that Aunt Shirley and I were leaving for the weekend, but seeing as how I’m pretty much his star reporter, he only gave me a little grief.
My boss, Hank Perkins, is a retired Marine who still walks the walk and talks the talk. Once a Marine, always a Marine. Oorah! There are two loves in his life—his wife and his newspaper. In that order.
Mindy was definitely the angel and anchor in the relationship. She was as gentle and kind as he was mean and surly. She had platinum blonde hair that was teased for miles, wore skin-tight Capri pants, neon colored off-the-shoulder shirts or sweaters, and designer high-heeled shoes. She’s also got more herbal tea choices on hand than Carter’s got liver pills. I just recently learned the etymology behind that saying. It wasn’t at all what I thought it was. So now I’m using the phrase whenever I can.
Aunt Shirley and I sauntered into the newspaper office around ten. This was our last stop before we loaded up at Mom’s to leave for the trip. I had to admit, I was giddy with excitement.
When Aunt Shirley first announced she wanted to do a murder mystery weekend, I was totally against it. Aunt Shirley and I seem to find enough trouble on our own—three different murders in about five months. Not a very good track record for anyone keeping track. But she lured me in with the promise of some wine tasting.
“I see by the way you’re moseying in here so late that you both are still going on this ridiculous excursion,” Hank snarled around his signature unlit cigar.
“Now Hank,” Mindy soothed, “leave the girls be. They deserve this vacation. This is the first time they’ve taken off since the unfortunate i
ncident in February.”
The “unfortunate incident” Mindy’s referring to is the near-death experience Aunt Shirley and I almost suffered at the hands of Aunt Shirley’s crazy neighbors.
“I don’t suppose there’s any chance you two will stumble across a murder or two, is there?” Hank asked. “Usually you two are good for that.”
I narrowed my eyes at Hank. “The only dead bodies we’ll see this weekend will be the ones that are in the script. That I can promise you.”
“Yep,” Aunt Shirley agreed. “This is our weekend to relax and not worry about people trying to kill us for a change. Just a couple girls drinking wine and watching men.”
I rolled my eyes at Mindy. “The drinking wine, yes. The watching men, no.” I turned to Aunt Shirley. “You are the only one that’s single on this trip.”
“Oh, no! What about Old Man Jenkins?” Mindy asked. “Are you two not seeing each other anymore?”
Aunt Shirley opened her mouth to answer, but I cut her off. “Don’t ask about that weird relationship. Her response won’t make any sense. Anyway, we just came in to say goodbye and let you know, Hank, that I’ll write up something while I’m down there for an entertainment and travel piece for the paper.”
Hank yanked the unlit cigar out of his mouth. “I’d rather have an article on a nice murder, but I guess your namby-pamby fluff article will have to do.”
I physically bit my lip to keep from sticking my tongue out at him. “Mindy, I’ll miss you. Hank…well, I’ll see you when I see you.”
Hank grinned at me. “You be careful down there, kid.”
“What about me,” Aunt Shirley pouted.
Hank chuckled. “The day I have to tell you to watch your back will be the day you go to a permanent nursing home.”
“True dat!” Aunt Shirley cackled as we walked out the door.
It takes less than five minutes to drive to my mom’s house from the newspaper building. Of course, it takes less than five minutes to drive pretty much anywhere in this town because Granville has a population of just over ten thousand.
Mom’s house is a large, two-story Victorian with a wooden wrap-around front porch. My favorite part of Mom’s house—outside of the newly remodeled kitchen and bathroom—is her library. All four walls were filled with recessed bookshelves holding hundreds of books. Along with the gas fireplace, she’d also added a large dome-shaped skylight for just the right ambiance.
I was glad to see Garrett’s police-issued vehicle in the driveway. My brother, Matt, had recently graduated from the police academy and now worked as a policeman for the Granville Police Department.
“Looks like everyone’s here,” I mused.
Aunt Shirley clapped her hands in glee. “Let’s go solve us a murder!”
***
“You sure you’ve got everything?” Garrett’s lips brushed against my ear, sending shivers down my spine.
I hid my smile so he wouldn’t gloat at my obvious delight. “This is the last of it.” I shove Mom’s suitcase to the side and Garrett reached up and closed the Falcon’s trunk.
Garrett Kimble is ten years older than me, with jet-black hair styled short from his military days, and the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. After leaving active duty, he worked for the Kansas City Police Department until my brother, Matt, talked him into applying for the job opening in Granville. He and Matt met at a veterans convention.
“So who lost the Rock, Paper, Scissors war?” Garrett teased.
“Me.” I stuck out my lower lip in what I hoped was an adorable pout so he’d feel sorry for me. “I have to bunk with Aunt Shirley for the weekend. Mom and Paige have the other room.”
I could tell by his twitching lips that he was trying to hide his smile. “Well, then promise me you and your aunt will stay out of trouble.”
I kissed him quickly on the mouth. “I can definitely promise you I’m going to do nothing but wine taste and…well, wine taste!”
Aunt Shirley was already in the front seat, bouncing up and down like a kid in a toy store. Mom and Doc Powell were saying goodbye on the porch, and Matt and Paige were snuggled up by the backseat door, mooning over each other.
Even though neither one had said anything, I knew the last couple months had been stressful for Matt and Paige. They were really wanting a baby, but so far they weren’t successful. The added pressure of Aunt Shirley constantly making reference to the lack of bouncing a baby on her knee wasn’t helping.
Aunt Shirley stuck her head out the window. “Let’s go! We ain’t got all day.”
I sighed and kissed Garrett one last time. “Miss me?”
He held my head in his hands and brushed his thumb across my right cheek. “Always, Sin.” He laid his forehead against mine. “Remember…try not to get into any trouble this weekend.”
Chapter 2
“It’s absolutely beautiful,” Mom said as we drove under the wrought iron archway welcoming us to Mystery Farms.
“Breathtaking,” Paige agreed.
The long, paved driveway that led to the bed and breakfast was lined on each side with enormous oak trees. About fifty yards from the house was a large horse stable. According to the brochure, Mystery Farms had six horses for use. I couldn’t wait to go horseback riding.
I pulled up in front of the main house and parked in the circle drive. Paige was right…the pale yellow, two-story farmhouse with white shutters and large white pillars attached to the wraparound porch was breathtaking. Rocking chairs and benches sat on the wide-planked wood front porch. Hanging flower baskets and colored flower pots were also scattered around the porch. It was perfect. Add the Missouri backdrop of gently rolling green hills, and I couldn’t wait to spend the weekend relaxing here.
The front door opened and a middle-aged couple walked down the steps hand-in-hand to greet us.
“Welcome to Mystery Farms Bed and Breakfast,” the man said. “My name is Gary Wainwright, and this is my wife, Cybil.”
Gary Wainwright towered over his wife by a foot or two. He was fit and trim, with short black hair and warm brown eyes. I liked him immediately.
Cybil Wainwright looked like she packed a pretty powerful punch in a little body. I was willing to bet she spent a lot of time outdoors helping with the horses. Her wavy, chin-length hair and genuine smile helped to soften her angular features.
“Your place is just gorgeous.” Mom shook Cybil’s hand then turned to the rest of us. “This is my daughter, Ryli, and my daughter-in-law, Paige.” We each took turns shaking hands. “And this is Aunt Shirley.”
The Wainwrights’ eyes were as big as saucers as they took in Aunt Shirley’s hair. It was kind of humorous the way her purple, grown-out fluff was blowing in the slight breeze.
“Can I help you carry in your bags, Aunt Shirley?” Gary asked.
“Nope,” Aunt Shirley said. “I got it. Keeps me young.”
“Well then,” Cybil said, “follow me, and I’ll show you where you check in.”
We gathered our luggage and followed her up the stairs and into the farmhouse. I gasped as I took in my surroundings. The inside was just as spectacular as the outside.
The wide, curved staircase was definitely the focal point of the foyer. It also didn’t hurt that the foyer was twice the size of my bedroom back in Granville. Dark, hardwood floors went on as far as I could see. The wool, hand-woven floor rugs and lace doilies were a perfect country contrast.
“This is my niece, Dayna Bowers,” Cybil said as she led us farther into the room.
Dayna was probably in her mid-twenties, with brown hair and hazel eyes. She was pretty and petite and had the same physical features as her aunt.
“She will get you guys checked in,” Cybil continued. “Dayna also helps out in the kitchen and with housekeeping. So if you need anything, she’s your girl. I better get back outside to greet our next guests.”
“Welcome to Mystery Farms,” Dayna said as her aunt walked out the front door. She motioned us over to the large, check in coun
ter she was standing behind. “I have Janine and Paige in the Parker Pyne room, and Shirley and Ryli in the Miss Marple room.”
Aunt Shirley laughed. “First off, you can call me Aunt Shirley, everyone does. And secondly, are all the rooms named after characters from Agatha Christie novels?”
Dayna smiled. “Yes, ma’am. We also have the Hercule Poirot and Harley Quin rooms.”
“What about Tommy and Tuppence’s room?” Aunt Shirley asked.
Dayna laughed. “The Beresford room belongs to Uncle Gary and Aunt Cybil, of course!”
We all stared in amazement at Aunt Shirley.
“What?” She threw her arms out wide and shrugged. “I do read you know. How do you think I got my sleuthing skills when I was a private investigator?”
Now why doesn’t that surprise me?
Dayna opened a wooden box on the wall and withdrew two keys. She closed the door then handed Mom a key. “We do have an extra set of keys down here just in case you lose this one.”
“Thank you,” Mom said. “Hopefully that won’t be necessary.”
Dayna then handed me a key to our room. Mom gave Aunt Shirley a pointed look when Aunt Shirley made a grab for the key. “Why don’t you let Ryli keep track of the key.”
“Never,” Aunt Shirley said as she successfully grabbed the key from Dayna.
Dayna smiled. “Just take the stairs to the top, turn left, and follow the hallway. That is the east wing. All guests stay in that wing. The room names are located on the doors. Dinner is served at five-thirty. Is there anything else I can do for you right now?”
“I don’t believe so,” Mom said.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to help you with your suitcases?” I asked Aunt Shirley.
“The day I can’t carry my own suitcase up a staircase is the day you need to take me out back and shoot me!”
I rolled my eyes at Paige. Pretty much everything with Aunt Shirley ended with us taking her out back and shooting her. One of these days I just might take her up on it.
Bed, Breakfast and Murder (A Ryli Sinclair Mystery Book 4) Page 1