Creeps, Cache, & Corpses, page 4
SEVEN
As quickly as he appeared, Reginald must’ve taken a position immediately outside the door and heard the exchange. “You rang?”
For a moment, the air sizzled. Our party settled near the fireplace where there was less chance of getting burned than being caught between the fierce glares passed between Reginald and Edith. Chesterfield’s gloating added fuel to the fire.
“Mr. Chesterfield, glad you could make it.” Reginald said. “I haven’t had time to share the good news, but …” He turned to Edith. “We finished the renovations of the rooms on the third floor today.”
The daggers in Edith’s eyes receded when CJ said, “We will not mind the company, if there is room for all.”
Edith looked down at the registry and said sarcastically, “Reginald. Help with their luggage and take your lodgers to your guest rooms on the third floor …” She glanced up and gave him a scathing look. “That is if you think the rooms have been prepared to my standards.”
Reginald ushered the young men outside, using a soft ingratiating tone, cajoling, laughing, whispering. Ryker brought up the rear and the sneer on his face he thought no one caught sight of made me shiver.
Edith searched CJ’s face. “I apologize. I didn’t know Reginald readied the third-floor rooms to open, but we have plenty of space. Do you still have two more guests arriving on Monday?” CJ nodded and she took a ragged breath before reciting, “Complimentary beverages and snacks are available in the kitchen at any time. A three-course gourmet breakfast is served from seven until nine. There will be a charcuterie board available from eleven until one, and happy hour …” She turned her head to check out the kids. “… with sodas and snacks begins at four every afternoon.” She plastered on a grin and returned his credit card. “You’re all set. If anything comes up, please let me know. Reggie is working the hospital information desk tonight. We take turns volunteering, but he’ll be available the rest of the weekend.”
CJ lifted a bulging white paper bag. “If we promise to clean up after ourselves, may we use the dining room? I am starving, and the placard at your local bar and grill advertised their Juicy Lucie burgers as the best.”
Edith took so long it seemed she tried to come up with a good excuse to say no, but instead, she smiled a real smile and said, “Those burgers won the state competition four years running. Of course, you may use the dining room. You’ll find paper plates and silverware in the sideboard. If we can help you any other way, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
At that moment, my stomach growled, and the aroma of the burgers took up residence in my head to the exclusion of every other scent. Burgers and fries on a Friday night at the start of spring break. Who could ask for anything more? Except maybe a bike trip to Sonoma with Pete. A sigh escaped. Jane stepped to my side and threaded her arm through mine, reading my thoughts. She squeezed and I returned the gesture.
We schlepped the luggage to our rooms on the second floor. The girls took the mustard-colored room with two four-poster queen beds and a large armoire. Patricia flopped onto the frilly white comforter covering the bed, acting exhausted, and let out a huge breath before sinking into the puffy pillows.
Kindra flipped a light switch on the attached bathroom. “Whoa. Is this just for us?”
Fancy bottled soaps and lotions lined a delicately carved shelf above a large whirlpool. Fluffy creamy-white towels hung from the rack in front of the walk-in shower and smelled faintly of lilies of the valley.
CJ commandeered the dark-green two-room suite with a Jack and Jill bath for himself and Galen—the better to keep his eyes on his daughter’s boyfriend.
The light-blue walls in the third room complemented the intricate pattern on the multi-blue-hued-denim hand sewn quilts topping the comfy looking canopied twin beds. With the books and vintage toys occupying the shelves against one wall, our room could have been a nursery at one time. Jane and I would share the large full bath in the middle of the hall with Carlee’s grandparents.
Jane hung her garments in the narrow closet, and I unzipped my duffel. At first, I thought I’d grabbed the wrong bag. Glittery red paper winked at me. I checked the ID tag. Carefully, I removed the box and untied a sheer red ribbon. A thick card dropped from the bundle. I bent to pick it up. My name filled the front of the envelope.
I slipped my finger beneath the flap, slid it open, and wriggled out a stiff folded tagboard bearing two words. “Miss you.”
“Awww. Isn’t that sweet?” Jane cooed, and I lightly swatted her away. She giggled shamelessly.
I flipped the card, hunting to be certain of a name, and when I didn’t find one, I peeled the paper away from the package, revealing a precise pencil portrait of Maverick. Thousands of short black lines covered the page and looked so real, I wanted to pet the hair. The dark, intelligent eyes spoke volumes. The signature in the corner, although very small, read Pete.
“Did you know he could draw?” Jane asked, standing on her toes and looking over my shoulder.
“No.” My voice caught. My head cocked to one side as I stood the drawing on the nightstand against the wall. Maverick yipped, then spiraled twice and dropped onto a beautiful rug.
“Classy,” said Jane, kneeling down and running her hand over the woven floor covering. “An Aubusson. I love the colors and texture.”
Maverick’s head came up when he heard the clicking of Renegade’s nails outside our door. He jumped to his feet, whimpered, and nudged my thigh, urging haste.
After the dogs dismissed me and snuggled on the carpet, CJ led the herd of hungry teenagers, trampling down the stairs to the dining room. The wide mahogany table easily seated twelve guests. A skimpy chandelier attempted to light up the dismal room papered in dark gray and white paisley. The brown crown molding and double-sized mopboards added weight to the already heavy room. Two portraits hung on opposite walls, and although wearing Edwardian attire, the cheerless faces staring at us looked an awful lot like they belonged to Edith and Reginald.
Jane lugged the heavy pocket doors closed, turned her back and sagged against them, taking a breath. She pushed herself away and made straight for the seat next to me.
I unwrapped my burger and studied the work of art dripping juices and cheese and took a picture. I sent it to Pete with ‘thanks for the portrait’ and ‘wish you were here’ messages. Jane nibbled fries bathed in ketchup and surreptitiously eyed the kids, trying to figure out the least messy way dig in.
I took a small bite, catching the exploding juices with my knuckle, when the doorbell rang. I glanced at my watch. Mickey Mouse’s hands read nine.
The doorbell sounded twice again, followed by heavy pounding.
“Hurry up. Let me in.” The loud voice carried throughout the ground floor.
Carlee’s silver-gray eyes locked on CJ. The legs of his chair screeched as he pushed away from the table and stood. “Excuse me,” he said. Galen popped up and followed CJ to the door.
Jane and I flanked CJ and Galen as each slid one door to the side, revealing Edith, striding angrily across the foyer. She yanked open the front door. “You’re late,” she said gruffly.
“Let’s get this over with.”
The tall, balding man tugged at his walrus moustache with one hand and thrust an ornate wooden box at Edith with the other. He cast his eyes to the dining room doors, and Edith followed the wag of his bushy eyebrows. Her head jerked back, realizing she’d been caught by our curious, prying eyes.
“I apologize for disrupting your meal, CJ,” she said with less vinegar. Her hand hovered over the knob, and she inclined her head our way. “I have urgent business.”
CJ returned the nod and pulled the dining room doors closed but paused to listen. “In case she needs our help,” he confessed. We heard unintelligible mumbling and then nothing. After a few seconds passed, we resumed our seats, and concentrated on finishing the fabulous feast.
Galen picked up the four-inch-high sandwich with both hands, firmly holding the tomato, bacon, lettuce, and onion fixings together. He had no neatness qualms. “Here goes.” He took a humongous bite, groaning in pleasure. As he pulled his hands away, the melted yellow cheese oozed from the center of the burger, hanging in strings down his chin and onto the table. He wound the sticky stray strands around the bun and laughed so hard he almost choked when he swallowed. “This is so good.” He took another huge bite. If someone wanted to know the meaning of mastication, Galen provided a spot-on visual. He gulped and furrowed his brow. He wiped his lips and licked his fingers. “Are there more?”
CJ made a conspicuous show of digging in the large bag, tapping his hand against the sides, pretending to find nothing, and surprisingly extracting another burger. He set it in the young man’s greedy outstretched palm, shaking his head. “Just in case,” he said.
After watching intently, Jane daintily cut her burger in half and pouted in dismay as the gooey golden center spurted onto her designer shirt. All chatter and movement ceased, waiting. She snorted and it morphed into a chuckle as she wiped her front. The napkin shredded with the grease. She shrugged a ‘what can I do.’
The kids resumed their chatting and promptly ignored us.
I unfolded my well-curated list of recreational activities, and Jane snatched it. Her lips moved as she silently read the suggestions, featuring geocaches in the area, the local historical museum, and the chamber of commerce map of businesses, highlighting an ethnic bakery and several nearby restaurants.
The conversation at the adult end of the table turned to CJ’s morning visit with the person in charge of records followed by his initial call on the parish priest.
“Would you chaperone Carlee and her friends?” CJ asked earnestly.
Jane raised an eyebrow, incredulity written on her face. “You mean these sixteen- and seventeen-year-old mini-grownups?”
CJ flushed, a novel occurrence. “Then they will have an adult if they need one,” he stammered.
I gave Jane the evil eye and responded, “We’d love to. Wouldn’t we, Jane? It isn’t every day we take on the sights and sounds of a new community.”
She complained. “You can see both ends of downtown at the same time no matter where you’re standing. What trouble could they possibly get into?”
I didn’t know how she could have gauged the length of main street. She hadn’t seen it yet. Maybe the disappointment of lost time with her fiancé manifested in displeasure. I patted her hand. She pouted then looked down at her lap. She inhaled, exhaled, and forced her lips into a smile.
“We’ll give it our best shot,” she added apologetically, rapidly scrolling through pages on her phone. The browsing stopped and her face relaxed. “But only if I get to pick the first place to visit.”
It appeared she found something she thought she might like.
The kids filtered from the room, thoughtfully piling their garbage in the squat black trash can on the floor next to the door. By the time I reached the exit, the stack of plates teetered. I wiggled the waste sack from the container, stuffed my own leavings in on top, and went in search of a replacement. We hadn’t been given an authorized tour, but I figured I’d find some plastic bags in the kitchen near a trash receptacle.
I slid the first door to one side. It opened into a parlor. A tall lamp topped with a linen shade illuminated the elegant space, crowded with a forest-green loveseat, a plush yellow couch, two warm brown leather wingback chairs, a glass-topped coffee table, a matching end table, and multiple panoramic paintings adorning the walls. I took an appreciative glance inside, then closed the door.
The knob on the door of the next room rotated, but it stuck. I jiggled the handle, thinking how a closed door shouldn’t be enough to deter me. There’d been a time when I would’ve passively backed away, but no longer. Helping Dad recover from his gunshot wound and working through my own grief had taught me resiliency and given me a more immense well of strength. The meaning of life had changed. I no longer thought about my losses every day. I wished I hadn’t had to go through Charles’ death and Dad’s traumatic brain injury, but then I never would have met Ida, Jane, Drew, CJ, all of my students. My intake of breath hitched, and my heart stuttered, thinking about Pete.
‘Promise me you’ll live a good life.’ Charles’ words gave me more and more strength each day, and I clutched at the ring on the chain around my neck.
I pressed down, jiggled the knob, and pulled up. The door opened.
The dark night sky didn’t penetrate far into the room and the blackness hid its contents. I ran my hand lightly over the wall on the left side of the door. Nothing. Just as my right hand connected with a switch, I heard muffled voices. I almost cleared my throat, but before I flipped the switch, I strained to hear.
“You get one chance,” said one deep churlish voice, dripping with contempt.
“Is that an ultimatum?” another answered.
“Take it any way you want.”
“I promise we’ll have it. I just need a little more time. Try not to mess anything up.”
“Or what?”
I leaned forward and the floor squeaked.
“Shh. I heard something.”
I froze, looking down at my shadow backlit by the lights in the foyer.
EIGHT
Two faint woofs sounded. The deeper voice hissed. “It’s just those nuisance dogs upstairs.” Prickly bumps crawled up my arms at the suggestion my dog could be a nuisance. After a short pause, he added, “You have until tomorrow.”
I tiptoed out, holding my breath, and pulled the door closed without even a snick.
Thank you, Maverick.
I stutter-stepped; my knees gave out in relief. As I searched for the kitchen door, I contemplated the credible topics of their conversation, rationalizing the tone and the words with a number of innocuous explanations. Maybe someone was buying a lottery ticket. Maybe someone had a bread recipe to try out. Maybe someone needed a car fixed.
Then why did I sneak out of the room?
I shrugged a silent answer. It wasn’t any of my business. I was on vacation. I opened the next door. The overlarge spotless cook stove, walk-in cooler, fingerprint free double oven, and up-to-date appliances in the industrial kitchen seemed excessive even if guests filled every room. After topping off the garbage bin, I yanked free a new plastic bag and shook it open, intending to replace the one in the dining area.
A whimper sounded behind me.
My head swiveled, looking side to side. I thought I was alone. I peeked under the prep table, next to the refrigerator, and behind the door to the pantry.
A small woman with short curly pink-and-white streaked hair, elfin features, and blue eyes rimmed in red stood between the shelves of canned goods and appliances. Her hands covered her mouth. She adjusted the starched white apron worn over her dark clothes.
“Goodness. Am I … I’m sorry if I’m bothering you.” She swiped at her eyes. “May I help you?”
I shook my head. “Is there anything I can do for you …”
“Lauren. I’m Lauren Trnka.” Tears flooded her eyes again. “Don’t tell Mrs. Farthington. She’d never give me another chance.” Her hand flew to her mouth and her eyes went wild. “Please don’t tell her I said anything. Please.” She pleaded.
“Of course not.” She hadn’t said anything, and the moment felt like the right time for a subject change. “I wanted to replace the trash bag in the dining room. We pretty much filled it to the rim.” I held up the new bag as evidence.
“Let me do that.” She seized it from my hands and fled the kitchen.
I wonder what that was about.
Returning to the foyer, I rounded the corner and found the four late-arriving guests surrounding a twisting, turning figure. “What’s going on?”
Lauren squirmed. Ryker Chesterfield held her elbow tight for another moment, looking down into her terrified eyes. He gloated when she wrenched free and pushed her way through to the dining room.
I put on my best teacher face, turning over in my mind what I could say when Maverick bounded down the steps and slid to a stop at my side, reading my expression expectantly. We all looked up at the form clomping down the stairs.
The sneer on Ryker’s face shifted into something more benign.
“May I be of any assistance?” Even from behind the cane, CJ’s intimidating figure silenced the four men. Renegade sat next to him, watching.
“Just came in from a little jaunt downtown.” Ryker snorted and tried glaring. “Isn’t it past your bedtime, Gramps?”
CJ had maybe a dozen years on the idiot, but the wisdom of the ages. So out of his league, Ryker gave up on the staring contest and jerked his head. His henchmen turned simultaneously with the precision of a synchronized swim team. CJ stood his ground on the steps and slowly nodded at each as they trundled past him, hugging the banister.
Maverick rose to all fours and stood facing me, panting. “A trip outside is in order, I believe,” I said. Renegade’s paws clambered the rest of the way down, and we headed out the front door. “Thanks, CJ.”
“I released the dogs when they would not settle, Katie. What did the wayward youth want?”
Maverick read me from a floor a way. A warm feeling flooded my insides in opposition to the cool air, or something, that caused me to shiver at the same time. “I’m not sure. I don’t know about those other guests.”
“Do not look for trouble.” CJ’s bright, laughing eyes belied his serious tone.
“This inn isn’t what I’d been expecting.”
“It has surprised me as well.”
When the dogs finished their romp in the yard, we strode up the stairs and inside. CJ threw the bolt on the door. “My hospital appointment is after our breakfast.”
“Do you want me to go with you?”
“Galen is coming. The girls made plans to which he is not privy.” CJ’s eyes lit up. “And I will get one-on-one time to learn more about him.”
As we cleared the last few steps to our floor, I locked eyes with Ryker, standing amid his chums outside my door at the end of the hall. He scoffed, pointed a finger, and closed one eye as if looking down a scope. After he mimed pulling a trigger, he and his pals beat a hasty retreat up the remaining steps to the third floor and vanished. CJ and Renegade escorted Maverick and me to our room at the end of the long dark hall. As we passed, he twisted the knob of the girls’ room, testing to ensure their safety.
