Heather Horrocks - Who-Dun-Him Inn 02 - Inn the Doghouse

Title Page

Book Description

Dedication

Copyright

Half Title

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Thank you!

About the Author

Books by Heather Horrocks

Acknowledgments

Excerpt: Snowed Inn

Excerpt: Murder is Misunderstood

Excerpt: Kissing Santa

Excerpt: Beauty and the Beach by Diane Darcy

Thanks again.

INN THE DOGHOUSE

Who-Dun-Him Inn Cozy Mystery #2

Heather Horrocks

Description:
Inn the Doghouse

When single mom and mystery buff Vicki Butler pays a visit to her husband’s grave, she stumbles across the body of her twin sister Liz’s estranged husband—the same brother-in-law she argued with just yesterday.

Since Vicki is caught standing next to the body and her sister stands to inherit millions in her dead husband’s will, the twins suddenly find themselves “persons of interest.”

Will they identify the real murderer in time to avoid the slammer?

Or are they about to learn firsthand just how many innocent people one doghouse can hold?

Dedicated to awesome author friends—Kathleen Wright, Bruce Simpson, A. N. Allan, Rangi Moleni, and Dawn Duren. Thanks for the great critiques, the good conversations, the laughter, the scathingly brilliant ideas, and the moral support you’ve shared with me over the years.

And to Mark, even though he doesn’t write novels, at all. Even so, he has still managed to share scathingly brilliant ideas, good conversations, laughter, and moral support.

Copyright © 2013 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.

Cover

Cover Art Copyright © 2013 istockphoto.com / elvispupy

All Rights Reserved

This includes the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions.

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.

Special eBook Edition

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only; it may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please use the Kindle enabled lending program or purchase a separate additional copy on any other format.

Previews

For previews of upcoming books by Heather Horrocks, to sign up for mailing list, to order personalized print copies, or for more information about the author, visit
www.BooksByHeatherHorrocks.com.

INN THE DOGHOUSE

Chapter One

Friday, September 28

Morning of the Anniversary Party

AS THE DARK-HAIRED WOMAN approached me with a pair of sharp scissors, my apprehension grew.

I put up my hands as a signal for her to stop advancing. “I think maybe this is a bad idea.”

Behind me, my twin sister, Liz Eklund, put her hands on my shoulders and kept me in the chair, staring at me in the black-edged salon mirror. It was like seeing double. “It’ll be fun. Come on, Vicki. You can’t chicken out now.”

Marta, whose hair was trimmed into a sharp-edged, geometric, high-fashion style, drew closer. How could she look so menacing with such pretty blue eyes and a friendly smile? Or sound so ominous with her slight French accent? “You’ll both look stunning when I’m done. I promise.”

Shaking my head, I said, “I’ll settle for not scaring off the paying customers.”

Liz touched my hair. “Come on, Vicki. You already agreed. And it’s not like you’re the only one changing your look. I’m getting mine cut next.”

When Marta lifted a large lock of my shoulder-length red hair, I panicked. “Wait, ladies. Let’s rethink this. Why don’t you just trim my hair and shape it instead? I’m not sure I want to be mistaken for you all the time, Liz.”

My sister answered, “Shush, and let Marta do her job. It’s just a haircut.”

Marta held up the scissors. “Do I have your permission to proceed?”

I wanted to protest again, but really, what could it hurt? For the first time in a long time, I’d have a ritzy haircut. After two years as a single mom, I suppose I needed a makeover. That it would be on Liz’s dime was even better. And where better to show off my new ’do than at my parents’ anniversary shindig tonight?

I blew out a nervous breath, shut my eyes, and nodded. “Okay.”

The immediate
snip
of the scissors startled me and I opened my eyes.

Marta held out a five-inch lock of my hair. “Your transformation to stunning beauty has begun.”

O-
kay
. With a big chunk of my hair cut, I had officially passed the point of no return. My indecisiveness came to an end and I sat back, actually feeling relieved. “All right. Transform me.”

“That’s the spirit,” Liz said, pulling up a stool to watch. “We’re going to have so much fun at the anniversary party. People won’t know who they’re talking to.”

I felt certain she was right about people being confused, and could only hope she was right about how fun it would be.

I settled back to enjoy the makeover.

~ ~ ~

During a quiet moment between the last notes over the loudspeakers of one love song and the first strains of the next, an ear-splitting shriek rent the air.

I jumped, fumbling my plastic cup full of lemonade onto the wooden floor. Heart pounding, I spun around to see who was in trouble.

Beside me, Liz laughed, raising her hands up in surprise. “Why, Grandma, what a big yell you have!”

That was Grandma? Really? Holy crap, Batman!

Sure enough, twenty feet behind me, Grandma Ross was crouched in a martial arts pose, a huge grin on her face—a-hundred-and-plenty (her words) pounds of Chuck Norris readiness—but with streaked blonde hair and many more years under her wannabe-black belt.

My parents, Frank and Cheryl Ross, were seated at the far end of the large, rectangular room, waiting to greet the many friends and family members who came to help them celebrate their thirty-fifth wedding anniversary. Mom shook her head and Dad smiled at the antics of his mother. My seven-year-old son, Zach, who was standing by my mother, grinned.

Surprised by Grandma’s yell, others in the church’s large gym-decorated-as-wedding-reception turned to stare at us. Just twenty minutes into the party, there were already enough well-wishers to form a line hugging a long side wall, all craning their necks to see what was happening while waiting to congratulate our parents.
And all were looking our way.

For once, could we
not
be the center of attention? Apparently not, with my grandmother around. I just wanted a nice celebration for my parents; a nice, uneventful evening without karate yells or any high jinks. They didn’t have a big wedding or reception when they got married, so we intended to create a nice reception for them now. I thought we’d succeeded quite nicely so far.
Ha! Enter
Grandma
.

This morning’s dramatic haircut didn’t help matters any, either. I was already mistaken for Liz twice—the first time by my own son! Ouch.

While Liz headed toward our grandmother, I bent down near the refreshment tables to retrieve my plastic cup before attempting to mop up the mess with the few napkins in my hand. They were instantly soaked, and I grabbed more from a nearby food table.

The large, rectangular room was a little bigger than the basketball court demarcated on the floor. For this afternoon’s festivities, the baskets were raised snugly against the ceiling. Beneath them, fifteen white cloth-draped, round tables with centerpieces of red silk roses invited guests to linger.

Most of the guests were still in line, with only five tables filled so far.

Oblivious to the attention she’d garnered, Grandma Ross tipped her head emphatically as if she’d made her point. Then she lowered her hands and stood up straight, which, at seventy-eight years, was surprisingly vertical. I felt a rush of love for my noisy,
bossy, but life-affirming grandmother.

In the other corner of the room by the refreshment table, my oldest sister, Joannie, sat on a folding chair. She placed it next to the church piano that someone rolled in from one of the other rooms. Her daughter, Camille, perched on the piano bench, facing the center of the room. They’d flown in from Pennsylvania yesterday. Joannie was still hurt that we opted for a playlist to come through the speakers, rather than asking her to play the piano. We would have asked, as Joannie played beautifully, except we knew if we did, Camille would insist upon singing. I loved my niece, but she was no songbird. Even so, I would have wagered that before the party’s end, she’d have a mic in her hand. Oh, well, at least then everyone wouldn’t be staring at Grandma—or at Liz and me, trying to figure out who’s who.

When my best friend, Stephanie Bowcutt, entered the building, I waved before grabbing another handful of napkins, hoping these would finish the job. I was determined to ignore Grandma.

As Stephanie drew near, she said, “Hi,
Liz
.” She drew out the
Liz
. “Want some help?”

“Whatever,
Amelia,
” I said, calling her by her older sister’s name. “I’m already getting that from everyone else here, but I know you can tell us apart.”

“Yes,
Vicki
, I can, but tonight, you two look exactly alike. Ack! It’s like I’m having a flashback of high school.” She pretended to shudder, then laughed as she handed me more napkins. Running a finger along the sharp edges of my new geometric haircut, she asked, “Edward Scissorhands was here?”

“Liz dragged me into a hair salon this afternoon. Your Clip’s Come In.”

She whistled at the mention of the ritziest place in Silver City. “Did you have to sell your son in order to afford it?”