Heather Horrocks - Who-Dun-Him Inn 01 - Snowed Inn
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Authors: Heather Horrocks
Tags: #Mystery: Cozy - Humor - Mystery Buff - Utah
| Heather Horrocks - Who-Dun-Him Inn 01 - Snowed Inn | |
| Number I of Who-Dun-Him Inn Mysteries | |
| Heather Horrocks | |
| Word Garden Press (2011) | |
| Tags: | Mystery: Cozy - Humor - Mystery Buff - Utah Mystery: Cozy - Humor - Mystery Buff - Utahttt |
Things really go downhill when her twin, Liz, shows up, trailed by flamboyant Grandma Ross, who announces she’s seeking a boy toy among the suspects. When both a local younger man and an out-of-town newshound start sniffing around the inn—and her—Vicki realizes she's got more than just a murderer to worry about. Can she solve the mystery before the killer strikes again? Or will this case of opening-night jitters prove to be terminal?
Excerpt: Murder is Misunderstood
Excerpt: The Princess Problem by Diane Darcy
Snowed Inn
Who-Dun-Him Inn Cozy Mystery #1
Heather Horrocks
BOOK DESCRIPTION ~
SNOWED INN
Mystery buff Vicki Butler plans to kill someone this weekend.
Nothing personal, just business.
The killer grand opening weekend at her new Who-Dun-Him Inn is all fun and games
—
until an unplanned dead body appears. With a murderer on the loose, young, single mom Vicki is forced to keep her family, guests, and actors safe while searching for clues.
Her author guests, also the prime suspects, try their hand at solving this real-life whodunit, in the process hindering the investigation by local law enforcement officers. Things really go downhill when her twin, Liz, shows up, trailed by flamboyant Grandma Ross, who announces she’s seeking a boy toy among the suspects.
When both a younger local man and an out-of-town news hound start sniffing around the inn, and Vicki, she realizes she’s got more than just a murderer to worry about.
Can she solve the mystery before the killer strikes again? Or will this case of opening night jitters prove to be her undoing?
Dedicated to Diane Darcy, my partner in crime, who’s always game (ad exciteum) for discussing where to hide a body or a murder weapon, or plotting yet another book in a day (over fifty so far!), or doing lunch and a bookstore. You’re a great friend. These last couple of years have been quite an adventure, and I expect the next ones to be even more fantastic.
And to Mark, even though his eyes tend to glaze over when I’m talking (ad nauseum) about where to hide a body or a murder weapon or about the plot of yet another book.
Copyright © 2011 Heather Horrocks
www.BooksByHeatherHorrocks.com
Word Garden Press
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.
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Cover Art Copyright © 2011 istockphoto.com / factoryonfire
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Work of Fiction
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
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Chapter One
“Surprise, Vicki!” Grandma Naomi Ross flung her arms out wide enough that my twin sister, Liz Eklund, dodged with a quick step to the left. “I bet you didn’t expect
us
today, did you?”
“Uh,” I said, disoriented. When the doorbell rang, I expected to find Sharon, my cook for the evening, who was already an hour late. But, instead, it was Liz and Grandma standing on my porch, bundled against the October weather.
I looked behind them. I really, desperately needed my cook. An hour ago. This was my grand opening weekend and it had to go perfectly.
After a moment of silence, my sister raised an eyebrow. “I take it we’re not a pleasant surprise?”
“Of course you are,” I lied, pulling myself together and glancing behind them—
still no sign of Sharon
— as my anxiety level rose another notch. I tried to reassure myself. Sharon was very reliable. Surely, she’d show up soon. Or at least, call.
In the meantime, I tried to remember my manners. “Come on in.”
As they moved forward, I looked past them, dismayed. “It’s still snowing?”
Liz brushed flakes off her coat and nodded, but hurried to reassure me, “But not bad. Your guests shouldn’t have any problems getting up the mountain. There’s a sprinkling on the road, but we were able to drive right up.”
Grandma stepped inside, wrapped me in a snowy hug, and kissed my cheek. I let myself sink into the familiar, comforting embrace. “Congratulations, darling. You’ve done wonders for the old place. It’s good to see it open for business again.”
She gave me a nice, strong embrace. In darn good shape for a woman her age, Grandma was always well put together, with flattering makeup and an expensive hairstyle. She exercised more than I did.
As they hung their coats on the wall hooks closest to the entry, I closed the door behind them and followed Grandma into the Mayor’s Parlor. She sank down onto the Queen Anne loveseat that used to belong to Grandpa George and her when they ran the Ross Mansion Bed and Breakfast, before my parents bought it.
I looked around, thinking of all there still was to do. But surely, I could give my family five minutes. And that thought shot my panic level up another notch.
“How long before everyone arrives?” asked Liz, looking out the window.
I checked my watch. It was 1:12. Nine minutes later than the last time I checked. “The guests will be here in two hours. The actors are here rehearsing, thank heavens. Cielo is putting the finishing touches on the rooms, and Kent is fixing something on the gas fireplace in the Nancy Drew room. But Sharon’s an hour late and I haven’t heard from her.”
Grandma patted the seat next to her. “Come here, Vicki. You need to take a deep breath. Everything is going to work out fine. You just have a good case of opening night jitters.”
When I sat beside her, she continued patting me, now on my arm.
“Take a deep breath,” she suggested.
I did, but felt as though I was about to hyperventilate. My words rushed out on a panicked exhale. “I’ve spent so much money on renovations. What if nobody wants to come to a bed and breakfast with murder mysteries and detective-themed rooms?” Tears prickled my eyelids. “And it’s so hard doing this without Robert. The Who-Dun-Him Inn was
our
dream.”
I invested most of the insurance settlement toward the purchase and renovation of the Ross Mansion into the Who-Dun-Him Inn. And every dime I spent stung me with guilt because I’d rather have had my husband Robert here than any amount of money.
Grandma sighed. “You’re far too young to be a widow.”
I
hated
that word. At twenty-seven, it didn’t even seem possible. And yet, I was.
“But you are definitely not alone.” Grandma smiled. “We’re here.”
I looked from one to the other— Grandma Ross imitating an exotic, wrinkled parrot in yellow slacks and a bright striped blouse, and my sister looking elegant in a new black-and-rose pantsuit— taking comfort from their loving presence.
Liz crossed over, put her hands on her hips, and struck a tough pose. “And it’s a good thing we came when we did. Snap out of it, Red.”
Surprised, I tipped my head. I was even more surprised when she did an uncharacteristic gangsta-style wiggle of her body, and said, “I mean it, sistah.”
That actually made me smile. “Is that the attitude you cop in court before the judge?”
“Not the judge.” She grinned as she stood back up. “But the other attorneys are terrified of me.”
“I’m not surprised,” I said, but at least I was beginning to feel like I could breathe deeply again.
“So all the renovations are complete?” asked Liz.
I shook my head. “Not on the third floor, but the rest are done enough to be open for business.”
“I brought you some pseudo-bubbly,” said Grandma, rummaging in her huge purse and pulling out a champagne-shaped bottle filled with her favorite nonalcoholic grape juice, as she handed it to me.
“What is
that
?” Liz gasped, reaching toward Grandma’s purse.
Grandma grabbed something and clutched it to her chest.
“Why, Grandma,” Liz blurted out with a choked laugh, “what a big gun you have.”
Speechless, I stared at the cannon in my grandmother’s slightly shaky, liver-spotted hands.
Grandma shrugged. “So I’m packing heat. It just means you girls don’t need to worry about any troublemakers.” Except for our grandmother, who was the biggest troublemaker I knew.
Finally, I found my voice. “Please tell me that is not a real gun.”
“Of course it is, honey.” Grandma’s voice softened. “This Colt Python was your Grandpa George’s favorite pistol..” She shook herself out of her moment of reverie. “But don’t worry that I’m not legal. I got licensed to carry at Terrific Guns & Range.”
I groaned and shook my head. Grandma had done lots of weird things in the past ten years since Grandpa’s death, taking crazy class after crazy class, but a
gun
? That was too much, even for her. Who in their right mind would license an old woman with a deadly weapon? “Grandma— ”
She smiled at me. “And that’s not all. Have I told you girls I’ve decided to start dating again?”
