Heather Horrocks - Who-Dun-Him Inn 02 - Inn the Doghouse (2 page)

“Liz’s treat! And also her idea.”

“So it’s a
hair
-brained idea. Ha-ha.”

I rolled my eyes and said, “I laugh at your
hare
-brained comment.”

“
Somebunny
is not happy.” She studied my natural red hair, usually just brushed and clipped back; but today screaming,
Look at me! I’m cool and trendy!
“It’s not your normal style, but I like it. Gives you some sass and attitude.”

“Suits Liz’s career as sassy attorney better than mine as friendly bed-and-breakfast hostess.”

“If you say so, but you look
sharp
, girl.” Stephanie was best friends with both Liz and me ever since she moved to Silver City in elementary school. She was the first person I ever saw with skin the color of milk chocolate. “So I take it you’re not enjoying having everyone mistake you for Liz again? You forgot what it was like, didn’t you?”

“What was I thinking? When Liz said ‘let’s get our hair cut exactly alike; it will be fun to be mistaken for each other again,’ for a brief moment of insanity, I agreed. Silly me.” I nodded. “Actually, it
was
kind of fun getting second glances,” I admitted. “Until Zach got home from school, hugged me, and called me Aunt Liz instead of Mom.”

“Ouch.” She leaned in and whispered. “Did Grandma get hers colored red and cut like yours, too?”

At one time, Grandma did exactly that, calling herself our triplet. I tipped my head. “See for yourself. Here comes trouble now.”

I stood up and threw away the last of the wet napkins as Grandma and Liz joined us. Stephanie gave Grandma a hug, and then excused herself with, “I’m going to get in line to say hi to your parents. Catch you later.”

As Stephanie walked away, Grandma grinned. “I told you I don’t need a gun to take care of us. Karate is where it’s at nowadays.”

Last month, she was carrying Grandpa George’s favorite handgun; this month, she was taking karate lessons. I could hardly wait for next month’s surprise.

Grandpa George had been dead a decade, and Grandma decided it was time to kick up her heels again. She informed us last month that she was looking for a boy toy—and then proceeded to make an obvious play for Dr. Ray, one of my very first guests, who barely qualified as a boy toy, being only a few years younger than she. A best-selling author, he intended to move to Silver City next year to research his next book. Apparently, he also made Grandma his research assistant.

“Well, that’s good news,” I said, referring to her karate hands, and trying to keep my voice quiet. “Since Paul confiscated your gun.”

Liz chimed in with, “As if you ever really had a permit for it.”

My brother, Paul Ross, Silver City’s police chief, had wisely locked Grandpa George’s handgun securely in his locked home gun repository, safe from Grandma—and therefore, keeping everyone else in town safe, as well. Thank heavens for that. I nearly got shot with it only a month ago during the grand opening weekend of my Who-Dun-Him Inn. I certainly didn’t care to repeat the experience.

“I don’t need a permit to carry my hands. And soon, they’ll be classified as lethal weapons.” Grandma nodded smartly. “Let’s see Paul try to take my
hands
away.”

I stifled my laugh, making my face as stern as I could, and whispering, “Grandma, can you show us your karate skills later? Please? Maybe after the party.”

“You look exactly the same.” Grandma glanced from Liz to me a couple of times. Then she settled her gaze on me. “But
you
must be Vicki. Lighten up.”

Rolling my eyes, I said, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Smart aleck.”

Zach ran up and grinned at Grandma Ross. “Cool yell, Grandma. Are you a ninja?”

“That’s
Great
-Grandma to you, short stuff.”

“You are great, great,
great
.” Still grinning, Zach took Grandma’s arm. She patted his hand with her liver-spotted one, shook her head, and sighed deeply. “Your mother is far too repressed for her own good, if you ask me. Come with me and we’ll eat cookies while we discuss how to solve this problem.”

Zach leaned closer to Grandma and lowered his voice. “Which one is she?”

Shaking my head, I pointed to myself.

My son grinned “Hi, Mom.”

Grandma smiled down at my son and said, “Zach, did I ever tell you how I got my lucky penny?”

I’d heard the story before, but I didn’t think Zach had. Grandpa George had found a penny on their first date, picked it up, and given it to her, saying it would be their lucky penny forever. She’d carried it with her all the years since.

With a wave, Grandma walked Zach toward the refreshment tables. Looking over her shoulder, she smiled before sticking her tongue out at me.

If all the guests hadn’t been watching, I would have stuck my tongue right back at her. I was
not
repressed. I just happened to have the most
unrepressed
grandmother in the world. No, the world was too small: she had to be the most unrepressed grandmother in the entire
universe
.

I turned around and saw Liz, who raised her hands. “Hey,
I
didn’t say it. I think you’re perfect just the way you are.”

“I am
not
repressed,” I announced in a cool voice as I grabbed a cookie and took the nearest seat at an empty table.

“Okay,” Liz agreed and sat beside me. “Not to change the subject, but I’m starting a betting pool on who asks you out first: David or Lonny.”

Surprisingly for me, I actually did have two guys interested. Lonny Singer was a guy I’d known since we were children, while David Weston was a new guy in town. I enjoyed spending time with both of them, but hadn’t dated either. They both said they’d be here tonight, which might prove interesting. They took an instant disliking to each other the first time they met and had continued their feud ever since, especially around me. Go figure.

I shrugged. “I’ll keep you posted for a cut of the action.”

“Be sure to say yes either way.”

“I don’t think I’m ready yet. And I still feel the need to be home for my son.”

I saw the hurt cross Liz’s face, and immediately regretted my thoughtless words. We might be identical in most ways, but she couldn’t have children, while I had Zach within two years of marrying Robert. “I’m sorry, Liz. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Hey, don’t worry. A child would just make things harder now, what with having to worry about visitation and all.” Her words didn’t camouflage her vulnerable tone. “And who’d want to subject a young child to Gene and his various girlfriends? I’d be forced to shoot him myself with Grandma’s gun. Then Paul would feel obligated to arrest me, and that would make future family parties really awkward.”

Liz left her husband of four years, Gene, last month because she discovered not only that he was having an affair, but that it was the latest of many. The final straw was after he’d gotten a much younger girl pregnant. Liz was still in the angry stage.

During the past twenty-four months, I’d become intimately acquainted with the stages of grief. After spending a little time in denial and isolation, avoiding people and places, pretty soon I moved on to irrational anger. I stayed angry for a long time at Robert for leaving me alone, not that he invited the drunk driver to hit him. I skipped over the bargaining part, and settled into a low-level depression for months. Now, finally, after nearly two years, I wasn’t totally ready for acceptance, but I could see it from where I was standing.

Two years in exactly six more days, a date I
was
trying hard to ignore.

When my phone vibrated, I excused myself. I didn’t recognize the number, but had been answering unknown numbers for days in preparation for the party, talking with family and old friends of my parents. So I readily answered.

“Vicki, baby, I’m so glad I reached you.”

I instantly realized the number must have been a new one for my cousin, Manny Much—so named for his habit of marrying more wives than you could count on one hand—who loved recruiting us for the latest multilevel marketing program
du jour
.

Already trying to think of nice ways to end the call, I restrained a groan of frustration and said, “Hi, Manny.”

“Hey, Vicki, tell your parents congrats for me. So is this a
Halloween
-themed anniversary party? I mean, this is the last Friday in October, after all.” He snorted a laugh. He
was
pretty funny—in his own mind, at least.

“Just a boring wedding reception theme, I’m afraid. How are you, Manny?”

“Looking forward to meeting the woman of my dreams.”

He was
always
looking forward to meeting that elusive female, and I hoped he wouldn’t be asking me again to line him up with one of my friends. “Good luck finding her.”

“I’d be there tonight, you know I would, but I have a presentation in five minutes. And that reminds me. I really want to talk to you about an awesome ground-floor opportunity, and this one is the
real deal
.”

Yet another of Manny’s “real deals.” How could I possibly resist?

I saw Camille stand up as she talked to her mother. That gave me the perfect solution of how to end the call. I turned around and told Manny a little white lie. “Hey, Manny, I’ve got to go. It looks like Camille is getting ready to sing.”

Having heard Camille’s singing at another family gathering, Manny was quick to reply, “Oh, man, that’s a disaster just waiting to happen. Hurry! You must stop her!”

He hung up and I closed my phone, smiling at the blessed silence.

Suddenly, the loudspeaker music stopped, piano notes filled the air, and I turned back just as Camille changed my little, white lie into the truth.

I had to give her an A for enthusiasm, but voice lessons alone just couldn’t overcome the fingernails-scraping-on-the-chalkboard quality of her pitch.

I was prepared for a very long night.

Chapter Two

IT TOOK TEN MINUTES TO entice Camille away from the mic with a plate of chocolate chip cookies. Thankfully, the speakers played pleasing music again.

As more people entered the gymnasium and stepped to the back of the line, I continued to wave and greet people I’d known my entire life, one of the benefits of living in a smaller town.

I saw Paul’s friend, Morgan, who often joined my brother in tormenting us on countless campouts. And Monica Bailey, who cooked at the Moose Muffin Café when I waitressed, and was still creating masterpieces for homespun tastebuds. I saw the retired doctor, who not only delivered Liz and me, but also my mother.

And DeWayne Smith and his mother, Ellen.

DeWayne was our brother, Paul’s, one and only police officer for years, right up until Paul hired a second officer just a few weeks ago. DeWayne’s grin appeared the instant he caught sight of Liz. He dated her in high school and never really got over her. Seeing her again, when the murder at the Inn occurred last month, seemed to rekindle the flame he carried for her.

I was pretty sure DeWayne would never cheat on a wife; he’d be true blue. But, in his case, nice guys
did
finish last. He never got married. He dated Olivia Castleton for a few years, but she wasn’t here with him now and I had heard it was over between them. No doubt, she preferred a man who wasn’t still pining for another woman.

DeWayne’s mother joined the line of well-wishers, but DeWayne made a beeline for my sister. I was standing closer, however, so he reached me first and gave my shoulder a friendly squeeze. “Hi, Vicki.”

“Hi, DeWayne.” As always, the man knew the difference between us, despite our identical haircuts.

Turning to Liz, he did the same arm-over-shoulder move, but on Liz, it looked more like a hug. “Hi, Liz. How are you?”

Liz shrugged. “I’m doing well.”

Liar.
She was still pale and looked strained.

DeWayne glanced at me and raised an eyebrow. I smiled sweetly. He nodded and reluctantly removed his arm off her shoulders. Then we chatted and watched people.

Aunt Eulene hugged us.

Zach left to serve more refreshments, and somehow managed to snatch a few brownies on the way.

Our nephew, Scott, was the grandson my parents recently brought home from a two-year church mission in Spain a month ago. At the time, Scott’s mother, my sister, Joannie, was having emergency gallbladder surgery. They planned the trip months before, but weren’t able to get a refund on Joannie’s or her husband’s tickets. So my parents went to Spain to get him.

When DeWayne’s mother moved closer to the front of the line, he excused himself to join her.

As I watched him walk across the gymnasium floor, I impulsively asked, “Do you ever wish you married DeWayne instead of Gene?”

“I’m not DeWayne’s type.” She picked up a cookie and popped a little piece in her mouth.