A Masked Murder, page 3
And beyond that was something she didn’t expect to see at all.
A pair of legs dangling from a gap in the ceiling.
The sight startled Autumn. Legs, hanging from the ceiling?
They were clad in blue jeans, with sturdy and workmanlike, though dusty, boots at the ends.
Below the legs, she now saw, was a silver step ladder. But as she watched, the legs waved, bent, and then disappeared into the ceiling gap, leaving only a tiny shower of dust in their wake.
Now, she could see the shop’s counter, where Willow was waving at her.
“Hello Autumn! How was the committee meeting?”
Autumn always thought Willow looked like her namesake. Slim, tall, elegant and mysterious, with flowing deep brown hair and a perfect oval face. She took after their dad and Autumn got her strawberry looks from her mother.
Sadly, their parents and younger brother Theo had been killed in a car crash a few years ago, leaving Autumn and Willow alone in the world.
“The committee meeting was intense,” Autumn said. “There’s a lot to do. I can’t believe how much goes into organizing a ball.” She glanced again at the gap in the ceiling. “But what’s going on here? Who’s up there?”
“I have to access the top window. I’ve decided to replace the plain glass with stained glass. So I got someone in to do it for me.”
Willow looked slightly uncomfortable at this confession. Now, Autumn understood why those boots looked weirdly familiar.
“Did you ask Ethan to help?”
Ethan Stone was Autumn’s ex-boyfriend. She didn’t characterize much in her life as ‘stormy’, but she had to admit that she and Ethan had managed to strike sparks off each other continually during their relationship. Eventually, they had both decided that for the sake of world peace, it would be better to call it off. It had been just about the only thing they’d ever agreed on.
“Yes, Ethan’s up there. I did get a couple of quotes, and he was the cheapest,” Willow muttered, looking embarrassed to be seen with Ethan in the shop, as if using him was somehow disloyal to her sister.
It wasn't, of course. She and Ethan got on just fine now.
At that moment, a customer headed over to the till to purchase a handmade toy horse and buggy, and Ethan poked his head out of the ceiling gap.
"Hello, Autumn," he said, his tawny blond hair dangling down in a way that gave him a startled expression. "Thought I heard your voice."
“How are you, Ethan?” They hadn’t seen each other for months – in fact, now Autumn thought of it, their last activity together had been chasing down a murder suspect during the trouble that had shaken the town. With the killer arrested, and Ethan busy in other parts of the island, no wonder life had felt so peaceful since.
“Been busy.” He shook his head. “Replacing some flooring at the town hall, ready for the masked ball. You going to it?”
“Yes, I am,” she asked, feeling uneasy about the direction the conversation was taking.
"Who are you taking?" he asked, with an upside-down quirk of his eyebrow.
"What does it matter to you?" she responded, before inwardly chastising herself. Look at you, Autumn! You're in his company for about four seconds, and you are already getting defensive. Good grief, woman, get a grip.
“Just wondered,” Ethan said, in an innocent voice that made her suspect the question had been designed to cause a reaction.
“I’m a committee member,” she said. “The committee has work to do during the ball. I’ve got to…” She quickly stopped herself. It would not be a good idea to say she’d been asked to babysit a temperamental artist. As a committee member, she needed to take the high ground, and not call any VIP guest temperamental.
She was not going to react the way Ethan wanted her to. Those days were done, and she’d moved on from him now. However, she wasn’t quite ready to tell him she was asking Ben to the ball. The reason was that she hadn’t asked Ben yet, and she didn’t want to jinx the outcome of asking him, and it was all suddenly much more complicated than it should have been.
“Got to what?” he asked.
“Got to make sure it all runs smoothly,” she replied.
“Oh, I see.” Another upside down nod.
“Who are you taking?” she asked.
“I’m a handyman. Handymen have work to do. Got to make sure my flooring holds up.”
Was he teasing her? Never, in the entire time they'd dated, had Autumn successfully managed to work that out. She could never identify all the times when he was teasing her and when he was being deadly serious. She thought teasing was most times. Ethan did have a quirky sense of humor. It was a pity that the two of them seemed to default to misunderstanding each other so easily.
“Well, I’m sure I’ll see you there, if not before.”
His head disappeared with abrupt suddenness, and Autumn hurried over to Willow. Knowing that Ethan was in the shop, separated by only a flimsy ceiling and some rafters, she wasn’t as talkative as she would have been otherwise. For a start, Ethan’s presence in the roof meant that Autumn could not offload to Willow about the pressing issue of Ben.
Instead, she said, “The shop’s looking great.”
"Have you seen my collection of masks?" Willow's eyes shone with enthusiasm as she left the counter and headed over to the right-hand wall. There, Autumn saw, she had six or seven decorative masks displayed.
“These are stunning. You’ve got something for everyone here.” Autumn had been wondering what mask she was going to wear to the ball. Now, it seemed that her decision was sorted. One glance at the display, and she was reaching for the deep blue mask, with sparkling crystal detail and silver painted patterns on the cheeks.
"I knew you'd pick that one." Willow smiled. "I was hoping that it didn't sell before you got here. A lot of the others have sold. I'm getting a few more made, just in case people want to make last-minute purchases."
“It’s beautiful,” Autumn said, carrying it to the till. She could tell from Willow’s glance at the ceiling gap that she was also very aware of present company.
“Going to be fun at the ball,” Willow said, while wrapping the mask carefully in tissue paper.
“Yes,” Autumn said in a reserved way. “It will be fun.”
From the ceiling, Ethan’s voice boomed. “Don’t mind me, ladies!”
Autumn rolled her eyes. “We’ll talk soon,” she said in a low voice. This visit had been very unsatisfying, even though she knew it was nobody’s fault. Willow had to get her window looking beautiful, and Ethan had to do his work.
Maybe she’d call Willow later, Autumn decided, heading out. As she did, her phone rang.
It was Jasmine, from Harbor View, and the minute Autumn picked up the call, she could tell that there was something amiss with her right hand woman.
“Are you anywhere nearby?” Jasmine said carefully, in a voice that clued Autumn there was a guest listening. Perhaps not a happy guest. A disturbed guest.
“I’m on the high street. About ten minutes away.” She untied Max and set off in the direction of home.
“If you could get back soon… that’d be great,” Jasmine said, still in that restrained voice that spoke volumes.
Something had definitely gone wrong.
CHAPTER FOUR
All the way home, Autumn fretted about what she might find when she got there. She hadn't thought any of the current guests were problematic, but then, she hadn't seen enough of them to be sure. The guests had all been very busy, getting out and about and enjoying the sights and experiences that the island offered.
“Come on, Max!” she urged her dog. He was definitely a faster walker on the way out than he was on the way back.
She reached Harbor View in record time, and hustled inside, unclipping Max’s leash in one smooth movement as she headed to the reception desk. Max trotted away to the kitchen, where his water bowl would be waiting. As she reached the desk, Jasmine looked up, her brow furrowed.
“We may have an issue,” she said.
“What’s that?” Autumn asked.
“I don’t want to alarm you, but I think that the Cedar Retreat Room’s wall has developed a crack.”
Oh, no. Autumn stared at Jasmine in consternation.
Of all the things they didn’t need now, with solid weeks of bookings stretching ahead, a strange crack in the wall was just about top of the list.
“When did you pick that up?” she asked, racking her brains for the last time she’d been in that room. It had been a couple of days ago. When it was very busy, they employed a mornings-only cleaner to do the routine tasks, and Autumn only went in when a guest checked in or out.
“Mr. Pringle wanted breakfast in bed,” Jasmine said. “I noticed when I took in the tray.”
“Is anyone there now?” Autumn asked, and Jasmine shook her head.
“No. There’s nobody there now. He went out – to one of the art galleries in town, I think.”
Again, Autumn pondered the interesting fact that she was getting a lot of guests who wanted experiences. The Drawing and Painting in the Woods classes were extremely popular, and so were the art appreciation tours of the island itself. She wasn’t sure which of these were the focus of which guests, but she did know that she had a lot of art aficionados at Harbor View right now.
“I’ll go up and have a look,” she said.
The winter rains were coming soon. Yes, that would mean a reduction in guests, but there was no sign of the bed and breakfast slowing down as yet. And a crack in the wall was terrible. It could let in the damp, and guests got very upset about the fact that a building looked ready to fall down. She knew because similar things had happened before. Her bed and breakfast, one of the oldest houses on the island, could be described as ‘packed with character’.
What that really meant was ‘a mischievous knack for having odd things go wrong’.
She took the spare key from the hook on the inside of the lobby desk, and hurried up the stairs, feeling the treads creak in exactly the way she’d expected, as she trod on each individual one.
At the top, she turned right, walking quietly along the floorboards, passing the hand painted notices for each room.
Woodpecker View, Lilac Grove, Still Waters. And there, ahead of her, Cedar Retreat.
She tapped on the door discreetly, waited and then tapped again. Only then did she unlock the door and walk inside.
The room was neat. Jasmine had made the bed and done basic tidying up, a service that Autumn liked to provide as it made guests feel cared for and added a touch of luxury to their stay. But above the bed, she saw to her dismay that a large crack had appeared in the well plastered wall, just above the bed.
That was worrying. Was it just elderly plaster, or was it a bigger structural issue?
It looked like it wasn't getting rapidly worse. That was the only good thing she could see. It didn't look as if the whole wall was going to come crashing down any time soon. But it did need attention as soon as possible. Especially since this guest had already done some shopping. There were a few rolled up canvases, and a number of shopping bags, stacked on the side of the desk, each one carefully wrapped.
Shaking her head at the thought of the inevitable trouble that calling a handyman would bring, Autumn left the room, closing and locking it carefully behind her. She really didn’t want to have another encounter with Ethan. But since he knew Harbor View’s quirks well, and also had experience in fixing cracks and minor structural issues, it was more than likely going to end up in a phone call to her ex. Ethan could tell her if it was more serious or not.
Don't think about it, Autumn told herself. Don't worry about it for now. It's barely visible, it's slow, the guest in the room is not complaining, and you've got time to fix it. The old house isn't always s kind. Sometimes, Autumn thought of it as a cranky senior citizen who woke up every day with a different ache and pain.
Hopefully this one could be fixed with a band aid for another week or so.
She headed back downstairs.
“You’re right,” she said. “It does look like there’s a minor crack in the wall, and the best thing will be to call Ethan to take a look as soon as we can make that room available. For now, it’s not too bad.”
“That’s what I thought,” Jasmine said. Then her face lit up. “I wanted you to try this.” Rummaging under the desk, she produced a covered plate. She peeled back the plastic, and Autumn stared down in appreciation. A flawless looking, pastry tartlet stood on the plate. It was bursting with tomatoes, feta cheese, and basil. It looked mouthwateringly tasty, and how had Jasmine even gotten that glaze?
“It looks too beautiful to eat,” she said admiringly, even though she knew it was unlikely to survive more than a minute. That committee meeting had given her an appetite.
Giving in to temptation, she bit into it, her eyes widening as the perfectly crunchy pastry dissolved in her mouth, followed by a blend of flavors that were tart and intense, with a hint of sweetness, some creaminess from the cheese, and a kick of herbs.
“Wow!” she said, as soon as she could speak again. By then, the tart was finished. Nothing more than a few crumbs remained.
“I guess that was good?” Jasmine asked.
“It was better than good. This was – it was food nirvana. That is the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten.”
Jasmine beamed with delight, removing her blue striped apron and folding it up. Yet again, Autumn felt thankful that this super-talented chef was part of her team. For now, anyway. Autumn could brag one day that she had known her before she was famous.
“There’s been a lot of chit-chat about the ball,” she said, once Autumn was able to speak again, after having closed her eyes to let the moment of culinary appreciation last even longer.
“Are the guests looking forward to it?” Autumn asked, turning to the reception desk and eyeing the flower arrangement. There were a few blooms that were past their best, and she began carefully picking them out, while chatting to Jasmine.
“Yes, there’s a lot of excitement surrounding it, that’s for sure. When I was preparing his eggs, Mr. Finch was asking what the dress code was, and I told him that it’s flexible, but that he should try to wear a mask, even if it’s only an eye mask.”
“Good answer,” Autumn said.
“Then, Mrs. Cassidy was asking if she should take a buggy there and I said that would be a good idea, especially if she’s in smart clothing. You know, some of our guests feel differently about walking than we do. Some of them consider a half mile to be a long walk, while for you or me, it’s like popping next door.”
“That’s true, and very good advice,” Autumn said, feeling grateful all over again that Jasmine was so intuitive in helping the guests in just the same way that she tried to do. She took another look at the flower arrangement, picking up a couple of stray petals that had fallen onto the desk. The bouquet of blooms, including seasonal sweet william, white cosmos and gorgeous yellow marigolds, was one of the most beautiful yet, she thought.
“But, talking about the ball, there are a lot of opinions circulating,” Jasmine said, now looking uneasy.
“What do you mean by that?” Autumn asked, moving behind the reception desk and picking up the feather duster she kept there.
“I was talking to a few of the people in our road after breakfast,” Jasmine said. “I went outside to water the hanging baskets, and of course, everyone chose that moment to go out for a walk.”
“What did they say?” Autumn asked, wielding the feather duster in the corners behind the desk, that always seemed to get dusty in a moment unless carefully managed.
The way Jasmine’s tone sounded, it implied that they had said something. There was a mysterious note to her voice.
“Well, they were talking about the organization and planning,” Jasmine said.
"Good or bad things?" Autumn asked anxiously. Having been upgraded from a mere guest to a full committee member organizing the ball, she now felt personally invested in its success.
“One of the neighbors from down the road was saying that they wished there wasn’t going to be art there, and that it made it all too commercial.”
“Too commercial?” Autumn wrinkled her brow, standing on tiptoes to dust the top corner of the ceiling behind the desk.
“Yes. He told me that it should be just good clean fun, and not a thinly veiled excuse for selling people’s paintings.”
“That sounds really strange,” Autumn said, shaking her head as she lowered the duster.
“Then another neighbor from down the road came by, and said that you should take a look at the weather forecast, because there’s a massive rainstorm scheduled for that date. He suggested changing it to the following week.”
Autumn’s eyes widened. A rainstorm? Surely there was nothing they could do about that, seeing the event had been scheduled on this date for months?
“Did you take a look at the forecast?” she asked.
“I did,” Jasmine replied. “There doesn’t seem to be anything more than a light afternoon shower. But you know what the weather’s like here. Very unpredictable. Maybe he uses a sailors’ forecast that’s more accurate.”
Or maybe he was just using his imagination, Autumn thought wryly. She was beginning to figure out that everyone, absolutely everyone, had an opinion on how to run the masked ball. And yet, she’d only stepped in because nobody, absolutely nobody, wanted to be on the committee. Probably because it meant a lot of extra hard, thankless work at a time when everyone on the island was still far busier than usual with the tourists.
“I guess we can’t control the weather, but we can advise the guests that they should bring umbrellas with them,” she said, glancing at the basket by the front door, which always contained at least six or seven spare umbrellas. She was forever replacing them, because guests lost them so easily. They’d take them out on a rainy morning and then leave them on the boat, or at a cafe, or in a shop. And they were frequently breaking, or turning inside out. It might be a good idea to invest in a couple more before the ball.
