Death in Room 7 (Pine Lake Inn Cozy Mystery Book 1) (2 page)

“What d’ya say, Dell?” she answers me with a big smile, wiping her hands on the apron.  “Got a few customers in today for lunch, didn’t we?”

“Do you have enough jumbuck stew to go around?”

As servers rushed in and out of the room, bringing the plates and bowls of prepared food out to the guests and locals who came in for a good meal, Rosie lifted the lid of a tall, metal pot, and the aroma of thick gravy simmering with vegetables and tender meat fills the room.  “Sure do.  Everybody likes the stew.”

“I know someone who doesn’t.”

Rosie’s face soured.  “He’s down for lunch, then, is he?”

“Yes.  Mister Brewster came in just before me.  I imagine he’ll want his usual steak sandwich, done rare and tender.  Might as well make it now, right?”

“Hmph,” she scoffs, crossing her arms over her full chest.  “Rare and tender.  More like bloody and raw.  Ah well.  No accounting, I suppose.  I’ll do it up for him.”

“Thanks.  I actually came back here to tell you something really awesome.  You’ll never guess who that was on the phone.”

When I tell her about Jess, about her coming here to Lakeshore, the response I get is a lot less enthusiastic than I had expected.

“Oh.”  With that single word, Rosie busies herself with sprinkling flour over a raw lump of dough and then kneading it with her hands.

“That’s all?” I ask, knowing that I’m missing something.  “Just, oh?  You don’t have anything else to say about it?”

Rosie shrugged.  “That’s nice, I guess.”  She hits the lump of dough a little harder than she really needs to.  “No, actually, I don’t think that’s nice.  I know she was your mate back in Uni and all, Dell, but Jessica was always trouble.  Getting into something she shouldn’t, and then not caring who she dragged along with her.”

I stand there, a little stunned, not sure how to respond to that.  I never knew that Rosie felt like that about Jess.  “We were all friends back then, remember?”

She took down cinnamon and a few other spices, and took her time seasoning the dough before she said anything else.  “You and Jess was great pals.  You and me were the best of friends, always will be.  But me and Jess?  Not so much.  She’s trouble, that one.  Just don’t want her bringing it here.”

“Oh, Rosie.  I’m sure it’s not like that.  You’ll see.”

My friend nodded, and smiled, but it wouldn’t take much to see she wasn’t convinced.  Well.  I can’t really argue with her.  Jess made her own reputation, with no help from anyone else, but she was always a good person in her heart.  Whatever Rosie remembered from back in our University days, I knew my friend wasn’t coming here to cause trouble.  Rosie might need some convincing, but I knew Jessica’s visit was going to be just great.

The server’s rushed in and out again, black vests and white shirts pressed and perfect.  I hired people from Geeveston and other local towns for the busier times of the season and right now, I was in their way.  I’ve had to lay them off a few times when things slowed down and there weren’t that many guests to take care of, but for the most part the Pine Lake Inn is always a busy place.

I left them to it and went to check a few things in the registration book.  Everything is on the computer, too, but there’s something very intimate in letting people write their names and information down for themselves.  Makes them feel like friends.  It’s good business.  It’s neighborly, too.

After finishing up a few little tasks I start upstairs to my room.  I’ve something I want to find up there.  Before my husband left me we had a place of our own out in Lakeshore, out near the edge of town where the Monteray pine trees grow tall and thick and on a clear day we could see the tips of the Hartz Mountains.  Sold that house over two years ago.  No need for me to live in a big place like that anymore.  Too many memories chasing around the corners.

The stairs from the second to the third floor are on the opposite end of the hallway from the first floor stairs.  I check the rooms as I go, taking a look-see into the ones that aren’t currently rented, just to be sure the cleaning lady I hired three weeks back is doing her job correctly.  I’ve fired bludgers before who thought they could collect a paycheck and never sweep a floor.  From what I can see, I’ve found me a good one.  Every bed made up tight, everything in its place.  Huh.  Will wonders never cease?

Up the stairs to the third floor, my mind started to wander back to Uni and all the times that Jess and me and Rosie would stay out late in a pub or catch a movie or get in trouble together.  Now that I thought back on it, I do remember more than once when Rosie would beg off from our activities with a simple excuse of having to study or of being tired.  Strange I never noticed it before.  Well.  We’ll just have to show Rosie that Jess is a good person, deep down where it counts.

In the middle of that thought, the skin at the back of my neck crawled.

Have you ever had the feeling you were being watched?  It happens to me, well, more often than it probably should.  Especially here in my Inn.  Things happen here that I can’t explain.  It’s not just the way the phone will ring at odd times with no one on the other end of the line.  Sometimes I’ll set down a cup or a book just to turn away for a minute.  When I turn back, things have been moved. The book is closed or the cup is out of reach or my nice, neat pile of paperwork is all out of order.  I can see shadows moving that shouldn’t move.

And I’m not talking about Mister Brewster.

Then there’s moments like this, when I can feel a man’s eyes on me, even though no one else is with me on the stairs.

I look up, then back down the way I just came.  I really am alone.  There’s no one else here.  That’s a fact that my brain can accept, having seen the evidence with my own two eyes.

Still, my heart is racing and my skin is all goose pimply and my hand is gripping the banister tight enough for my knuckles to be white.  My brain might know I’m alone, but the rest of me isn’t buying it.

Do you believe in ghosts?  I do.  Never seen one myself but I believe they’re just as real as the dingos that howl at night out in the Never-Never.  So I have to wonder, when things are moved with no good explanation, or when every picture we hang on that one wall in the entryway falls crashing to the floor…are there ghosts in my Inn?

Or am I just bonkers?

That thought lets me smile at myself, even chuckle a little, and start up the stairs again.  Bonkers it is.  Every place has its own little quirks.  Been in hotels where the pipes creaked all night and the television kept going on the fritz.  Didn’t mean it was ghosts.  The Pine Lake Inn was like that.  It had character.  It had its own special ambience.  It had a soul, after a fashion, but a soul isn’t a ghost.

Even so, I make sure to shut the door to my room behind me and lock all three locks.

My room is a bit grander than most of the others in the Inn.  Maybe not as big as room number nine, the Honeymoon Suite, but bigger than the single rooms to be sure.  Arranged differently, too, since I lived here permanent like.  I had a real closet built into the far wall, to the right of the tall window that looked out on the smooth surface of Pine Lake.  There were a lot of little things I added after me and Rosie took it over.  My bed wasn’t all that big, but it was another personal touch I had brought into this room when I took it over.  It has wooden banisters and a canopy with pink ruffles.  I painted the walls in the same color with a white trim.

Hey, I like pink.  I’m still a girly girl.  When I want to be.

The ensuite bathroom is decorated in seashells.  Shells on the wallpaper.  A sink shaped like a scalloped shell.  Even bottles holding tiny shells I’ve picked up along the coastline.  My shower curtain is transparent except for very strategically placed sea shells.  Just the two rooms, bedroom and bathroom, but I’ve managed to make them my own.

The entertainment stand to the left of the bathroom door held my television and DVD player and a stereo system that I never actually used because I didn’t want to disturb the guests.  It also held a row of paperback novels by different authors.  Had my photo albums, too, and one other book that I hadn’t looked through in years.

Opening the magnetic catch of the glass door, I slid out the tall book with its stiff blue cover.  The name of my old University was scripted across the front, above a picture of the main building, and the year I graduated.  A few more years back than I care to admit.  Heh.  Time moves on.

My yearbook creaked when I opened it.  That’s how long it’s been since I’ve looked through it.  The inside cover was filled with the names and well wishes and really bad limericks signed by the friends I’d had there.  I found what Jess had written easily enough.  Strong, blocky letters read, “Drink often, laugh more, and love with abandon.”

I can’t help but smile at that.  Those words were Jess to a tee.  Always living her life to the fullest, not worrying about what tomorrow might bring.  It would be great to see her again.

Flipping through the pages, past the faces of people I’d forgotten all about, past a few others I promised myself to catch up with—someday—I find the photo of Jess.  Thin, in that athletic way that men found so attractive.  Long, honey-colored hair.  Eyes that were always smiling even when the rest of her face was scowling.  In the picture she looked like she was thinking about what mischief to cause next.  Or, maybe that was just my mind adding details that weren’t there.

Flipping to another page I find a photo of Jess and me mugging for the camera in the hallway of one of the buildings on campus.  Dewey Hall?  Druthers?  I can’t remember now.  Not that it really matters.  What matters is that we were happy back then.  We had our whole lives ahead of us.

Well, life was happening around me now.  I was happy, to be sure, but I wouldn’t mind finding some of that carefree attitude I could see in that photo of my younger self.  I snapped the book closed and set it, face up, on the corner of my bed while I went into the bathroom to freshen up.  Little water on my face.  Reapply my mascara.  Things like that.  Jess was coming, and it was going to be grand.  I couldn’t wait to see her.

Blinking my eyes at myself in the mirror, I pursed my lips in a kiss, then laughed at myself.  Just knowing Jess was coming had me feeling younger already.

Stepping back out into my bedroom I reached for the yearbook.  And stopped.

It was now lying face down.

Bang, bang, bang.

“George, I’ve told you to just let it go.”

I have, too.  He’s tried to hang that painting on the wall near the fireplace so many times I’ve lost track.  Won’t give up, though.  Our handyman is nothing if not tenacious. 

I think that’s a Tassie word for just plain stubborn.

On top of his ladder, George flashes me a confident smile.  “I know ya think it’s a lost cause, Dell, but this painting of the honored Lieutenant Governor David Collins should hang in a good spot.”

“Maybe so, George, but there’s folks who would say old David Collins should just hang.”

George gave me a look that said he didn’t think my comment was funny.  Politics in Australia is pretty serious for some.  So’s our history.

“Okay, George.  What’s the plan to get David Collins on our wall this time?”

Balancing on the ladder with his feet planted and his hips braced on the top step, George smiles at me and holds up a long hook with a threaded end like a screw.  “These little buggers expand as ya screw ‘em.  Can’t come out.  Guaranteed.”

“George!  You’ve already put more’n a dozen holes in that wall already.”

“I patched them all!” he protested, with a sideways glance at the wall beside him.  “Well.  Most all of ‘em.”

The painting of David Collins is perched on the top of the stepladder, and from his pale face with its dark eyebrows, the man’s eyes seem to beg me for help.  See?  Even the painting knows it isn’t going to work.

But George wants to try, so…  “Have at it, George.”

He winks one pale brown eye at me and runs a hand through his gray hair while he surveys the wall to find the perfect spot for his special, expanding screw hooks.  Hopefully not somewhere he’s already nailed or screwed or drilled.  Yes, drilled, and don’t think I didn’t have a long talk with him after that little escapade.  I’ll give him this much.  He doesn’t give up.

He was still rapping the back of his knuckles against the wall when the door opened a few minutes later, and Jess came waltzing in.

George stopped what he was doing, knuckles in the air, to stare.  Couldn’t blame him.  She looked exactly like she had in University.  Like there hadn’t been a dozen—or so—years between then and now.  Slim, feminine curves under a light blue windbreaker.  Heels that would have killed a lesser woman.  Tight blue skirt.  A mouth that smirked in anticipation of mischief and eyes that devoured every detail in the room.  Her hair was the only thing different.  Instead of blonde she was sporting a long, straight cut of raven’s-black, a color that could only have come from a premium dye job.

It was like she had just stepped out of her dorm room, ready to go to class or, more likely, the local pub.  This was the friend I remembered.

The look she gave me said she felt the same way about me.

We met in the middle of the floor, hugging each other warmly.  I didn’t exactly tear up but I’m not afraid to say it was a near thing.

“Let me look at ya!” she said to me, holding me back at arm’s length.  “Just as beautiful as ever, ain’t ya?”

“Look who’s talking.”  I hugged her again.  “You haven’t changed a bit!”

For just a moment, her eyes were serious.  “More than you can know, Dell.”

Then she was my old friend Jess again, and I figured I had imagined it.

“This is quite the place, ain’t it?” she said, turning around in a circle to take in the whole room.  She stopped when she was facing George, looking up at him on top of his ladder.  “Hello.”

George was still staring, and he knew it, and Jess knew it too.  He bobbed his head and raised his hand in greeting.

The painting jumped off the ladder, and fell to the floor with a crash that they probably heard all the way up on the third floor.

I mean it when I say the painting jumped.  Anyone else looking at it would have assumed that George caught it with his hand or shoved it with his shoulder accidentally.  I knew better.  That wall was not going to tolerate anything being put on it.  I can’t explain it.  Ghosts?  Maybe.  A flaw in the construction?  Sure, that would make all the sense in the world.

Except the painting had
jumped
off the ladder.

Not that I could tell that to anyone.  Joking with George that nothing is going to stay on that wall is one thing.  Telling him straight out that things
fly
and
bounce
away from that wall would get me a one way trip to the nut house.

Besides.  Jess just got here.  No sense in freaking her out about such things.

Grumbling under his breath in language that made my ears burn, George climbed down the ladder and grabbed the painting, sparing a quick glance for the bent frame before walking out of the room with his head hung low.

Jess laughed softly, placing her hand on my shoulder, and I can’t help but laugh with her.  Poor George!

“Well, he’s a real card, ain’t he?” she asks me.  “Ah, Dell, I’m so happy that you and Rosie got to live your dream like this. Your own Inn!  That’s just brilliant.  Where is Rosie?  She out back in the kitchen?  That girl always did love to bake.”

I looked through the door to the dining room, knowing Rosie was exactly where Jess figured she was.  In the kitchen going over the dinner menu with the wait staff and planning out tomorrow’s menu.  I also knew that Rosie might not be as excited to see Jess as I was, considering our earlier conversation.  Yes.  That reunion could wait a bit.

“Tell you what,” I said to Jess.  “How about we get you set up in your room first and then I’ll give you the tour.  How’s that sound?”

“Sounds perfect.  I’m so tired!  Sorry it took me so long to get in, Dell.  I was on that dirt track they call a road out there and I got distracted by this wonderful little roadside stand selling jellies and little crafts.  Oh!  That reminds me.”

From the pocket of her jacket she took out a leather string, tied like a necklace, with a small wooden charm dangling on the bottom end.  Then she handed it to me.

It was a little unicorn, carved in dark teak or some other smooth wood, made to look like it was prancing, his head thrown back and his long and curvy horn pointed at the sky.

“Oh, Jess, that’s beautiful.”

“It’s for you,” she tells me.  “Just a little thank-you for always being my friend.”

“Aw, thanks Jess.”

We hug again, and I clutch the necklace in my hand.  I always loved unicorns.  The myth and the legend, and the way they inspired hope.  Other people kept pictures of angels or wore crosses around their neck to remember the promise of hope and love.  For me, it was always unicorns. 

When I get her the keys for her room from behind the counter I put the cute necklace down next to the cash register.  It’s just a homemade carving but I love it.  I can put it on later.  It’ll be safe here for now.

We still use real keys here instead of the electronic pass cards that bigger hotels use.  When she takes them from me Jess raises an eyebrow, then tucks them both into a pocket of her jacket.

“Do you have any luggage?” I ask her.

The answer is yes, but she wants to get her things later.  “For now, just let me pay for the room and then ya can show me where it is.”

“You know you don’t have to pay me, Jess.  We’ve got empty rooms right now, and you’re my friend.”

“Ha.  If ya let all your friends stay for free you’d be broke in a month, Dell.  Here.  Run it on this.”

She hands me a card from a little wallet she had tucked into her purse.  I can’t help but notice the name on the card isn’t hers.  “Steal this, did you?” I asked jokingly.

“No, nothing like that.” 

She held out her left hand, and it was only then that I saw the rings.  Just a small diamond engagement ring and a slim silver band to match, but very pretty.

“Jess!  Wow.  You and Horace?”  Of course.  Should’ve recognized Horace Sapp’s name on that card right off.

“Sure enough.  Happened a few years ago.  He finally popped the question.”

As I run his card—her husband’s card—I remember how those two were in the last year of Uni.  Hot, close, and troubled.  Their relationship led to a lot more trouble for Jess, a lot of arguments, and a lot of making up.  I gave it six months after graduation. 

Looks like I was wrong.

I hand back the card, with another glance at her rings.  “So what brings you to Lakeshore?  Don’t think I had the chance to ask you on the phone.”

She shrugged, slipping the card back into her wallet, her eyes distant.  “To tell the truth, I wanted to take some time away from Horace.  We’re married, and that’s all well and fine, but marriage don’t change some men.  He’s the same as he’s always been.  Know what I mean?”

Horace Sapp had been a hard man to understand, sometimes, and truth be told there had been times when he outright scared me.  Just now, when I had called their relationship “troubled,” I may have been a bit too generous.  Volatile would be a better word.  I can understand why Jess might need to leave the other side—the mainland—and come down to Tassie for a bit of a rest.

All I could do is smile at her.  I’ve had a husband run out on me, leave me without a trace, but sticking by a man who constantly ran you down and made you cry…well, that probably took more guts than I have.  Leaving him might take even more.  Jess was at my Inn now.  I was going to make sure she didn’t have to worry about anyone upsetting her.  Nothing bad was going to happen to her.  Not while she was here.

“Let’s get you settled in,” I tell her, coming around from behind the registration desk to hug her again.  “We can come back for your bags later.  I really want to show off my town to you, too.  Got time for a look see tonight?”

“Oh, Dell.  I’m feeling a bit stuffed.  Could use a rest in a nice soft bed.  Show me your Inn first.  If I make it up to the room now then I’m just going to bury myself in the blankies and sleep the day away.  Plus I want to say hi to Rosie!”

“Well, let’s go see her first.”  I put as much cheerfulness in my voice as I could manage.  I think I even kept a straight face when I did.  Rosie was already sour on Jess visiting, and now I would get to tell her that our old friend from University was basically running from her husband.  That should go over like a lead balloon.

It turned out that Rosie was far too busy baking and mixing to do more than wave to Jess through the swinging half door that separated the kitchen from the dining room.  We waved back, and then I took Jess on a quick look around.  She was impressed, and told me so several times, which I have to say made my ego swell.  Here I’d been worrying what she would think of my little place.  I should have known better.

I told her about the three lakes outside of town, and about how beautiful the place is in the warmer months when everything is in bloom.  I told her about some of the people here, my friends, and even got to brag about my son Kevin, local police officer.  We talked about my Inn some more, about how it’s hard sometimes to get in supplies from Geeveston or Hobart in a timely fashion and how we depend on local suppliers for our meats and our jams and our honey.  After a while we settled ourselves in the sunroom off the entryway with cups of coffee one of the servers brought to us.

“He was cute,” Jess whispered to me after Paul had given us our steaming cups and left the room.

“Jess!” I protested with a smile.  “You’re a married woman, remember?”

She winked at me, and then hid her expression behind a long sip of her coffee.  I know what she means.  Paul is our youngest guy server and he looks like that singer, the one all the girls go crazy over with the dark hair and the sparkling eyes.  In those tight slacks he wears I’ve seen more than a few girls watching him walk away.  Bit young for me, but that doesn’t stop most.

“Sure, I’m married,” she sighs, putting the cup down.  “That doesn’t mean I can’t look, right?  Besides.  Horace isn’t here.  But we are.  We should so hit the town tomorrow, Dell!  Be like old times.”

“I don’t know how old-timey it can be in this town,” I told her.  “It’s not like it is in Sydney.  Figured that out right quick when I moved here.”

“Ya got a pub, don’t ya?”

“Such as it is.”  I don’t go to the Thirsty Roo very much, myself.  Still, if Jess was looking for that kind of an outing, it was the best we had to offer.  “We could take a trip up to Hobart if you wanted?  I can have someone cover the desk for a day.”

“Nah, too far to drive.  I wore myself out just getting here.  Like to stay here in Lakeshore.”  Suddenly she was yawning, covering her open mouth with the back of one hand.  “Speaking of.  Time for a bit of a sleep.  Think I’ll go up to my room.”

“I’ll help you bring your things up,” I offered.

Stretching her arms out she shook her head.  “No need.  It’s locked up in my car out in the lot.  I’ll get it later.”

“Okay.  It’s room seven.  Got your keys?”

She patted her pocket.  “Yup.  See you later tonight?”

“Sure thing.  I’ve got some errands to run in town that I really should get to.  I’ll knock on your door for supper.  How’s that sound?”

“Enph,” she muttered through another yawn.  “Make it a late supper?  Eightish?”