Checking Inn (8 page)

Except, we had to make an exception for Mr. Patterson and Luisa because she thinks they might end up getting married if he ever asks her out.

Also, we had to let Becky date the guy who mows the Inn’s lawn because, as she puts it “It’s totally uncool to put limitations on true love”.

But, this is definitely crossing the line. 

Okay, so Ben’s not 
technically
 an employee, but really isn’t he an employee of us all?  He works for the state, and my taxes pay his wages.

So that’s it, it’s against the rules.

Except, I can’t phrase it like that to my mother or it will make her want to date him more.

He looks around to make sure he’s not being overheard before he leans in towards my mother.

“What did you know about Samantha Manning, Tara?” he asks.

“She was in my year at school, so Mom didn’t know her that much,” I interrupt, reminding them that I am at the table too.  The last thing I need today is my mother going off on a tangent about–

“Samantha Manning was a bitch,” she says.

Okay, so tangent it is.

“Mom,” I say in a warning tone.

“I’m sorry honey, you know I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, or the living for that matter– except for a select few,” she amends.  “But that woman tortured my daughter in school.”

My face turns red and I shoot my mother a glance pleading with her to stop.

“What?” she asks me.  “She did.”

“Mom, Detec– er– Ben doesn’t need to hear about this right now,” I argue.

Especially when he is looking for a motive as to why someone would kill Samantha.

“I’m just telling Ben what I know about her, and that is that she was a terrible person.  Kate pretends she didn’t care, but she used to come home crying all the time.”

Lovely, could this possibly get any worse?

“They used to wait for her outside of the library and steal her books to drop them in the mud.”

“They?” Ben asks, studying me from the corner of his eye.

“Samantha and Tracy.  Though Tracy isn’t like that anymore,” I add.

Oh God, I don’t want to make Tracy a possible suspect as well.

“Yes, Tracy apologized a long time ago.  She’s actually a very sweet girl who just got mixed up with the wrong friends,” my mother acknowledges.

My mom and I have become very close to Tracy over the past few years.  When she found out we were renovating the Inn she asked to be in charge of the spa section, something we hadn’t even considered adding at the time.  Anyways, she talked us round to it and oversaw all the construction for that area, completely free of charge for the year, while she still worked another job, in the hopes that she would be allowed to come and work here when we opened.“My father loved this old place,” Ben says as dessert is served. 

“He would have loved to see it restored like this.”

“Did he pass away?” my mother asks.

“About ten years ago,” Ben says and looks at me.  “You should be really proud of what you’ve accomplished here.”

“Thank you,” I say and can’t help but be genuine.  It’s always so nice when someone appreciates the details that went into making the Inn what it is today.

“Kate’s loved this old place since the time she could walk.  Her father used to take her here as a child,” my mother smiles at Ben.

“Did your father get to see it restored?” Ben asks.

“No, he left when I was six,” I say and push my chair back.  “I’m sorry, but it’s been a very busy day for me, and I have an early morning tomorrow.”

“Of course,” Ben says, picking up his napkin from his lap and also standing.  My mother follows suit and I have no choice but to walk to the front hallway with them.  I go around the reception desk and lean over to get my purse when I hear my mother whisper to Ben.

“Sorry, her father is always a touchy subject,” she explains, and I look up to see Ben shaking his head as though her apology is unnecessary.

“I’ll see you in the morning, mother,” I say and walk up beside her to lay a kiss on her cheek.

“I’d like to get together, if possible, tomorrow afternoon,” Ben says to me.  “I need that list you have of the people that were in town last night.”

“Of course,” I say.  “Is one o’clock okay?”

“That’s fine.”

I say goodnight again and open the door to make the short walk home.  And that dog better be on her best behavior when I get there or she’s sleeping outside.

Six

Today is a new day.  I scrub my hair and body in the shower until I am certain there is not a trace left of the disastrous day before.  I have my toast and coffee while reading the newspaper in my sunny kitchen.  I tilt my head at my suits in my neatly lined closet and decide on the ash grey.  I even put on my hounds tooth blouse, which is usually a print I save for the weekend. But, I deserve to have a treat today.

I have compiled a list for Detective Gable of the people that have been staying at the Inn for the past few weeks, as well as anyone I know of that may be visiting a relative in town.  It’s not an extremely long list.  Our town’s population is just over five thousand, mainly retired people or young families who don’t travel much.  The town was founded in 1786, and we pride ourselves on maintaining a tight knit community.  About five years ago, when I applied for all the permits so the Inn could start construction, I asked the mayor if I could be in charge of a “guest book” for the town.  Anyone who is coming or going, besides those just driving through, is asked to stop at the Inn and sign the book.  At first it was met with a lot of eye rolling, but after a while everyone seemed to embrace it– saying it added further charm to our little town.

Now the book is a bit of a tourist attraction.  And let me tell you, if someone doesn’t sign that book, everyone knows.  It’s the first thing people ask when their guests arrive, and if they haven’t stopped at the Inn they have to by the end of the day.  Mrs. Phelps brought her nephew in last month by the ear and wouldn’t let go until he signed in. 

I love our town.

On my drive to work I make sure my portable coffee mug is firmly in place in the cup holder with the top securely on.  Just as it should be.

Stepping out of my car, I collect my purse, jacket, and clipboard off the passenger seat and lift my face to the refreshing breeze.  I can smell the fresh water from the lake and feel all the chaos of the previous day melt away.  Today is going to be a better day.

I enter the front door and see Tracy standing behind the reception desk.

“Hi Tracy,” I say and come to stand behind the desk, hanging my coat and purse up on the rack.

“Hi, Kate.  We didn’t expect you this early,” she says, looking at her watch.  “I have an early morning facial booked or I wouldn’t be here myself.”

“Just thought I would get a head start on things.  I didn’t manage to get a lot of paperwork done yesterday,” I say.

“No, I guess not.  Have they found anything yet?” she’s asks.

“Not that I know of.  They hadn’t as of last night.”

“It’s just so creepy,” she says.  “I was tossing and turning all night, and Tim kept asking me what was wrong, but I obviously couldn’t tell him.”

I nod and put my hand on her arm in a show of support.

“I mean, you don’t think anyone we know did this, 
do you
?” she asks and darts her eyes around as though the killer could jump out at us any minute.

“Absolutely not,” I say.  “Come on Tracy, do you honestly think anyone from Summerside is capable of 
murder
?  It took us two years and five town meetings to agree to send that letter to Hartford politely asking them to put us on their surrounding areas map.  We’re not the most confrontational people.”

“I know, you’re right,” she says.  “But then, who did it?”

“I don’t know,” I say, shaking my head.  “I went through our guest book last night and can’t think of a single person that is capable of this.”

Her eyes light up and she snaps her fingers.  “Unless they didn’t sign in,” Tracy says, as though she has solved the case.

“That’s what I figured too,” I say.  Which makes sense.  If I was going to kill someone I’m not sure I would stop at the local Inn and sign my name on the guest registry.  I mean, they killed someone, obviously they don’t have a lot of respect for the rules.

The phone rings and Tracy stands up.  “I’ll let you get that.  I have to go make an eighty year old look like she’s sixty,” she winks before walking down the hall to the newly expanded spa.

“Summerside Inn, Kate Foster speaking,” I answer.

“Oh good, Ms. Foster.  It’s Glenn from Regal Insurance.”

I scowl as I take my seat behind the desk.  This shyster again.  If he’s calling to say my premium has increased I’m definitely cancelling.  I don’t care how much the penalty is, there is spite involved now.

“What can I help you with?” I ask.

“I was speaking to your mother yesterday, about your situation there,” he says, and my whole body goes tense.

“What– er–situation?” I ask. 

There is no way my mother would have told this man about Samantha’s body.

She knows she’s not allowed to talk to anyone about it.

She knows I would be furious.

“About the murder–”

I’m going to kill her.

“Okay!” I say, cutting him off and looking around to make sure no one can overhear our conversation.

“Your mother was inquiring about your insurance policy, to see if the room would be covered in the event you wanted to redecorate it?”

Honestly, I will ask my mom to do something: sign some tax forms, send a check to the gas company, order the meat from the butchers– and she still won’t have done it weeks later.  I casually mention to her yesterday that we 
might
 want to consider redoing the room at 
some point,
 and she goes and calls the insurance company that minute!

“Unfortunately, because there wasn’t any actual physical damage to the room, you won’t be covered,” he says in a tone that I’m sure he hopes is apologetic, but it just sounds condescending.

“Of course we’re not,” I say.  There are two things I actual 
hate
 in this world.  Insurance men and the phone company.  With the amount I pay in premiums, I’m pretty sure I could buy a whole other Inn.  I’m covered from shark bites for Christ sake, but a woman dies in a room and I want to change the linens and they won’t give me a penny.

I hear footsteps coming down the stairs and peek around the corner to see Detective Gable sauntering down.

My eyes widen and I quickly whip my head back around the corner.  I can’t let Ben know my mother talked to the insurance company.

“Well, thank you for calling,” I say and try to look relaxed as Ben comes over to the desk and leans his arms on it.  I’m about to hang up the phone but Glenn is still talking.

“I did want you to know I have sent the paperwork over for you and your mother to sign, before I can release the life insurance check.”

“The–” I look at Ben, who is looking around the reception area, obviously waiting for me to get off the phone.  “The what?”

“The life insurance claim.  You’re covered when a death occurs on your premise– in the event the death causes a problem with your business or causes unforeseen damage,” he says.  “Your mother added it to your policy last year.”

My hand is shaking and I try and swallow the huge lump in my throat.  “She did that?”

“The coverage is for one hundred thousand dollars, so obviously it is going to take a little time to get everything sorted.  You could use some of those funds, if you would like, to redecorate the room,” he suggests.

“Yes, we’ll do that,” I say.  “I’m sorry there’s just a guest at the front desk.  Can I call you back a little later?”

“Absolutely,” he says.  “Though maybe it would be best if I come down there and walk you through everything in person.”

“No!“ I say, nearly jumping out of my seat.  Ben turns to look at me, studying my face, and I attempt to smile at him.  “Things are very busy here at the moment.  Maybe we could set up a time in the next few weeks?”

“Sure, just let me know what works.”

I say goodbye and slowly replace the receiver.

This is not good.  This is 
really
 not good.

If the police find out that we took out an insurance policy when we are on the brink of bankruptcy…

And then Samantha shows up dead…

Okay, I am going to have to buy my inhalers in bulk from now on.

“Everything okay?” Ben asks, still studying me.

“Absolutely!” I try to sound normal but I can hear the strain in my voice.

Why would my mother do this?  Why would she take out an insurance policy in the event that a guest dies? 

Having said that, she did get shark coverage.

But, why wouldn’t she mention it to me?

“I… umm… I just have to pop out for a minute,” I say to Ben before turning around to grab my purse and coat.

“Is something wrong?  You’re a bit pale and your face is twitching,” he says.

“No it’s not,” I wave away his concerns. “I just have something in my eye.”

“Do you want me to drive you?” he asks.

“No!” I yell and have to remind myself to calm down.  “No, thank you.  I won’t be long and I’m sure you have some investigating to do…”

“We are still good for this afternoon?” he asks, and I can tell his suspicions have been peaked at my behavior.

“Absolutely.  One o’clock.  It’s on my checklist,” I nod.  I stand, with my purse and clipboard plastered against my body, and wait for him to move out of my way.

He eventually moves to the side and I can feel his penetrating eyes follow me all the way to my vehicle.

Once I am inside, and have pulled out of the parking lot, I fish my phone from my purse and frantically dial my mother. 

“Darling,” my mother’s sing song voice greets me.

“Mom, I’m coming over,” I say.

“Alright,” she says.  “Is anything wrong?”

Of course something’s wrong.  
Everything
 is wrong.  My mother might just have made us the lead suspects in a murder investigation.  And I’m talking on my cellphone while driving without using my handsfree– what’s 
happening
 to me?