Inn for Murder, page 6
He opened the door to his garage. It was so full of stuff, I bet he never even parked his car in there. It just wouldn’t fit.
We followed him past stacked boxes and things like dusty old ski equipment until Clark stopped to proudly show us an old wooden chest. He said that it once belonged to the Reynolds family. He had acquired it during an estate sale held by the Byrons before the renovations.
“Why did you buy it?” I asked.
“I guess I’m sentimental. I worked there for twelve years.”
Clark opened the chest, allowing us to look through old documents, invoices, and receipts. Among the stacks of papers, he found a letter.
“I always thought this letter was interesting. I’m surprised the Reynolds even kept it. Maybe it was misplaced and they forgot to get rid of it.”
He gave me the letter to read. It was addressed to the Reynolds family from a man named John Glenn, demanding money for something gone wrong. It was vaguely worded and politely threatening.
“This could be something,” I said, passing the letter to Max.
Max’s face turned serious as he read the letter. “Do you know anything about this John Glenn?” he asked Clark.
“I remember overhearing something about John when I worked at the inn. He did something with wine distribution, but I never actually saw him bring wine. He often came to visit the Reynolds family. He seemed a bit shady, and I never knew what he wanted from them, but I keep my nose out of things, so I never asked.”
“What did he look like?”
“Tall, thin nose. Average looking, although distinguished. He must’ve been in his fifties at the time.”
“Did he like to wear hats?” I asked. “Fedora type hats?”
“Hats?” Clark thought about it. “Not often, but maybe he did when it rained. I can’t remember.”
Clark didn’t seem to know much more than that. He let us keep the letter and decided we could take all the documents from the chest. If we didn’t find anything helpful, we could discard them, but Clark insisted we keep them for archival purposes.
“My wife will be pleased,” he said. “I’ve been promising to clear out this garage for seven years. She can finally use this chest for her knitting supplies.”
“Thanks,” Max said.
“Yes. Good luck, Clark,” I said.
We promised to keep him updated on any new information. As we drove back to the inn, I felt we were getting closer to solving the mystery. However, the more we uncovered, the more questions arose.
CHAPTER 14
The next morning, the inn was bustling with guests once again. The staff was back, and everyone was happy and relieved. After breakfast, Max, Jesse, and I carved out some free time to look into the mysterious letter. We estimated that John Glenn, if still alive, would be in his seventies or eighties, but we had no idea if he was still living in Sierra Hills.
“Maybe someone in town or a neighboring town might have some information on him,” Max suggested.
“Yes, and he might still have relatives around here,” I added.
“Let’s make this a competition,” Jesse said. “Whoever finds dirt on John Glenn gets a…,” he paused, searching for a fitting prize, “…gets a free night’s stay at the inn!” He chuckled, since we all lived on the property.
I still needed to find my own apartment. Stella lived in a lovely house adjacent to the inn. Max and Jesse were temporarily living there. They both needed to find their own places too. Once Jesse had complained that while living with their mother had its perks, he felt like he had regressed back to childhood.
Max and Jesse were stuck sharing the same computer, which led to brotherly bickering between them. Jesse, being the more impatient one, would complain that Max wasn’t typing fast enough. Max would annoy him further by typing even slower.
I tried to focus on my research, but their brother banter became quite the distraction. I didn’t know whether to chastise them for not taking their work seriously or laugh at their childlike behavior. But the bond between the two brothers was undeniable; they were like two peas in a pod, always teasing and joking. Maybe it was true that living together, plus working together so closely, made them regress into little boys.
Attempting to concentrate again, I plunged back into my research. Social media once again came to our aid, leading us to a woman on Facebook with the last name Glenn. Nancy Glenn was a woman in her fifties working at the local beauty salon.
“She has to be related to John,” I exclaimed to Max and Jesse. “There are no other Glenns in Sierra Hills on Facebook.”
“There are some Glenns in neighboring towns,” Jesse said. “No John Glenns, so maybe you can question this Nancy first.”
“If she doesn’t know who John is, we’ll try the other Glenns,” Max added. “Although I hope she does, since there are a lot of Glenns around.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’m calling for an appointment.”
“What appointment?” Jesse asked.
“A hair appointment.” I thought it was obvious. “She works at The Lilac Salon in town.”
“I’ve seen that place,” Max said.
“I need a haircut anyway,” I said, idly playing with my long brown hair. Did I have split ends? I couldn’t even remember the last time I had it cut.
“You sure you don’t want one of us to come with you?” Max asked.
“I’m sure. Women open up to each other at these places.”
I hoped I was right.
Entering through the glass doors of The Lilac Salon, I was immediately embraced by a warm and inviting atmosphere. Laughter and chatter filled the air, accompanied by the sweet fragrance of hair products. The lilac-colored walls created a serene ambiance amidst the bustling scene.
The receptionist led me to Nancy’s station. As I walked past the lively clients in the salon, I couldn’t help but smile at the familiar sounds of gossip. One woman exclaimed, “I can’t believe she actually said that!” while others shook their heads, saying things like, “The nerve of some people.”
Nancy, a kind-looking woman with curly brown hair touched with gray, introduced herself. She looked every bit the chic older woman I aspired to be one day in her crisp white blouse and black trousers. When she leaned in, her hair carried the scent of lilac, the salon’s signature fragrance.
Nancy turned me around to the mirror. As I looked into my big brown eyes and stringy hair, she asked, “So, what kind of haircut are we looking for today?”
After a brief moment of thought, I replied, “I want something fresh and new, maybe shoulder-length with some layers.”
Nancy nodded in approval. “I think I know just what to do. How about some highlights as well? They would really bring out your natural hair color.”
“That sounds perfect,” I replied, feeling excited about the new look. A young woman led me to the shampoo station, where I indulged in the luxury of having my hair lathered and massaged. I almost forgot why I was there.
Back in Nancy’s chair, she went to work with her shears. We chatted about the salon, the town, and her family. Nancy, a Sierra Hills native, had never ventured far from home. Through her job, she practically knew every resident of Sierra Hills or at least something about them.
I mentioned my recent move to town for my job at the Wildflower Inn.
“Of course, I know the Wildflower Inn. It has changed owners a few times, hasn’t it?”
“Yeah, the new owners seem to be doing well. Very entrepreneurial,” I replied.
Nancy hummed as she worked on my hair. “That’s good to hear. The previous owners didn’t seem to like all the work of the inn.”
“I heard that too. It does take quite a few people to keep that place running smoothly.” I shared a bit more about the Amandes and mentioned Stella. “You’ll probably meet her soon. I’ll recommend The Lilac Salon to her.”
“Thank you.”
“Have you been to the inn recently?” I asked. “I’m sure you would know quite a few people who work there. It’s a big staff.”
“Well, you’re right about that. Everyone around here seems to know everyone else’s business,” she said, chuckling.
And she was right. She told me that Simona and Eliza came here all the time. I asked her if she knew any former employees as well, friends or family.
Nancy paused, her scissors still in hand. “Why do you ask?” she inquired, her tone suddenly guarded.
I shrugged nonchalantly, even though my heart rate quickened. “Just curious, I guess. I’m new in town and trying to get a sense of the community and who knows who.”
Nancy hesitated before finally responding. “I do know some people who used to work for the previous owners, the ones who built the place. The Reynolds? I didn’t hear very good things.”
Intrigued, I raised an eyebrow. “What kind of things did you hear?” I prodded.
CHAPTER 15
Nancy worked her magic with the scissors, shaping my hair into an elegant and modern silhouette. Pausing, she glanced around the salon, making sure our conversation was safe from prying ears.
“Well, let’s just say that the Reynolds were involved in some questionable business dealings. Some folks in town suspected them of money laundering and fraud,” she whispered, eyes flitting around the room. “Nothing was ever proven, and they sold the inn and hightailed out of town.”
“Do you think the new owners are aware of this?” I asked.
Nancy shrugged. “I have no idea. They’re from out of town, right? Probably saw a good deal and snapped it up. When the Byrons took over, the inn seemed like an honest business. They were doing well. They just weren’t cut out for running a place that big.”
“Right. They wanted to retire. Not to mention, keeping the guests happy can take patience, even though most of them are lovely.”
“Didn’t I hear that there was some police there the other day?” Nancy asked. “What’s that about?”
I breathed a sigh of relief; news about the murder hadn’t traveled that far. If the ladies at the hair salon were still in the dark, we were in the clear, especially now that the inn was back up and running.
“Yes,” I replied. “They asked some questions about Paul Davis, who bought wine in our store.”
Of course, I had to leave out the part about Caleb.
“Oh yes! Mrs. Montgomery was telling me about that horrible man this morning. Choking his wife. Can you imagine? I hope he gets his due. I should go check in on his poor wife.”
I murmured my agreement.
“But what can be done about it now?” She continued. “I hope she has the support she needs. There’s a women’s shelter in town. I’m sure she has plenty of people to stay with, but she could get support there if anything.”
A heavy weight settled in my chest. Even my own struggles with Ansel, who had never been physically violent, must have paled in comparison to what this woman endured. I couldn’t even begin to imagine the pain she must have experienced. Sensing my unease, Nancy quickly changed the subject, breaking the tension.
“Did you catch a glimpse of Detective Connor?” she asked. “He’s quite the dish, isn’t he?”
I laughed. “He has nice eyes. Kind of serious, but kind.”
“You talked to him?”
“I kind of had to.”
“You’re lucky.” Nancy winked at me in the mirror. “He’s single, you know.”
“Why is that?”
“Oh, he had a sweetheart, but she moved away a couple of years ago. I guess it didn’t work out. He’s one of those men who works too much. Maybe that was why they broke up.”
I nodded, thinking about Detective Connor and how grim and serious he always looked. But the last time we spoke, he seemed encouraging and even gentle. I wondered if…
“If you’re interested, you should make your move,” Nancy said. “Half these ladies are in line, hoping to date him.” She gestured to the women at the salon, chuckling.
“I’ll think about it.” I laughed back.
I was getting distracted again. I directed the conversation back to who she knew who worked at the inn.
“You said you knew some friends who used to work at the inn?” I asked. “Or relatives?”
“Oh, it was a long time ago. I have this uncle, John, who used to work with them. But John was kind of a black sheep of the family. He traveled a lot. Still does. He’s quite the character.”
“Wow. And he worked at the inn?”
“Well, He did his own thing. He was an importer-exporter of whatever was hot. Toys, gadgets, even cheese once. He sold wine to the inn or something. Something to do with wine anyway. He loved wine in general, always bringing back different kinds from different countries.”
“Where did he travel to?”
“He was often in Europe—Monaco and the French Riviera, mainly. And he traveled around Italy, Spain, even Austria and Germany.” Nancy laughed. “I haven’t seen him for years.”
“Really. He doesn’t come to town often?”
“No. I don’t know where he is now, but he’s probably living it up somewhere. I wouldn’t be surprised if he is still traveling around, looking for the next hot thing to sell. Oh, my customers usually do most of the talking, but here I am babbling on. What about you, dear? Why did you take this job in Sierra Hills of all places?”
I wasn’t used to sharing my personal life with strangers, but something about Nancy made me feel comfortable. Maybe it was the fact that she was so easy to talk to or that she reminded me of my aunt. Whatever it was, I found myself opening up to her, even though I only mentioned wanting a fresh start after a breakup.
“Good for you, dear. Everyone deserves that. You’ll love Sierra Hills.”
“I love it already,” I said.
“There’s a lot to do. Have you been to Patty’s Pilates?”
As she talked, I thought about her uncle John. Could he be the one who was brokering deals for the fake wine? Did he even make the fake wine? If so, why didn’t the Reynolds family pay him properly?
It all seemed to add up! I couldn’t wait to share my theory with Max and Jesse, and even fill in Detective Connor on my findings.
Nancy blow-dried my hair. It looked great that I almost gasped when I looked up at the mirror. The layers gave my hair volume and movement, and the highlights added a subtle shimmer.
“I love it!” I exclaimed, twirling around in the chair to get a better look. My hair just grazed my shoulders now, and I felt so light. “Nancy. You’re a true artist.”
Nancy beamed with pride. “You look gorgeous! It was a pleasure having you today. Don’t be a stranger, okay?”
I promised her I wouldn’t and made my way to the receptionist to pay.
I returned to the Wildflower Inn with a newfound sense of confidence. The fresh cut made me feel like a whole new person. As I strolled by the front garden, I caught sight of Jesse carrying a basket of carrots, about to head inside. His eyes widened in surprise as he took in my new look. A grin spread across his face, and he gave a whistle of approval.
“Wow. You look incredible.”
I felt my cheeks flush with pleasure. “Thanks. Nancy did an amazing job.”
“Yeah, I can tell. It suits you so well.”
We walked in together. Max was at the front desk to fill in for me.
“Sophie? You look so…different.”
“Better, I hope.”
“Really…pretty.” He looked shy as he said it.
I beamed.
Jesse leaned in, taking an exaggerated whiff of my hair. “You smell like lilacs.”
“Don’t be weird,” Max teased, playfully shoving Jesse’s arm away.
I ran my fingers through my freshly cut hair. It felt so silky. I should really go back and buy their hair products too.
“Actually, while I was there, I found out something pretty important.” My voice dropped to a hushed tone as I led Jesse and Max back into Max’s office.
I told them all about what I learned about Nancy’s uncle John.
CHAPTER 16
I found myself in Max’s spacious office, absentmindedly tracing the shapes of the countries on a world map adorning one wall. Jesse leaned casually against a bookshelf, pushing his sandy blond hair out of his eyes. Max sat at his desk, the laptop screen illuminating his handsome features.
“John Glenn,” I murmured, my eyes scanning the map. “He could be in Europe, but then again, he could be anywhere.”
“He’s not an easy man to find,” Max admitted, leaning back with frustration.
“We’d need to join the CIA to track him down,” I quipped.
“Or he’s just exceptionally good at hiding,” Jesse added, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Maybe he’s really the international spy, or a James Bond villain.”
“Jesse, we don’t have time for jokes,” Max scolded, though I couldn’t help but crack a smile—Jesse’s irreverence was infectious.
“I’m just trying to lighten the mood,” Jesse said, grinning. “We’ll find him, Sophie. We just need to keep digging or ask around town.”
“He could’ve easily changed his name,” Max mused.
“Even if he didn’t, John Glenn is a common name,” I sighed.
Footsteps outside grabbed our attention. Max glanced at me before suggesting, “Hey guys, it’s almost lunchtime. Maybe one of us should head out to the front desk in case any of our new guests need help.”
“I should check on the kitchen staff,” Jesse chimed in. “Make sure nothing’s on fire.”
I rose, straightening my pencil skirt. Work should be my priority, and the inn’s 70% occupancy rate post-murder meant we needed to keep guests happy.
“No, you can stay,” Max said to me. “I’ll be out. You keep investigating. You’re better at this than I am.”
“Really?”
“Sure. I think we’re close to figuring this out. Keep at it.”
