Heather Horrocks - Who-Dun-Him Inn 02 - Inn the Doghouse (31 page)

Acknowledgments

Thanks to Diane Darcy and Kristin Holt for help in plotting this story. Our hours at Marie Callender’s were deliciously productive.

Thanks to my awesome editor, Anissa Wall, and Teri (Editing Fairy.com). Thanks for making me look good.

Thanks to my readers: Diane Darcy,
A.N. Allan, Rangi Moleni, Dawniece Duren, Molly Ford, Marie Barnhurst, and my final reader, Janelle Fenn.

Thanks to my editors, Anissa Wall and Teri the Editing Fairy.

And thanks to all my readers who loved Snowed Inn and asked for more. Here it is! I hope you enjoy!

Excerpt:
Snowed Inn

Who-Dun-Him Inn Series #1

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?

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.”

If you’d like to read more, go to
www.BooksByHeather.com
.

Excerpt:
Murder is Misunderstood

Bad Mothers Club Series #1

Good mothers are understanding. Bad mothers are misunderstood.

When stay-at-home mom Becky Montgomery caught her husband of twenty-three years in their bed with another woman and beat him up a year ago, she never dreamed her children would blame her for the impending divorce.

Feeling like maternal failures, she and her friends feisty PI Sam and “No-One’s-Accused-Me-Of-Being-Mother” Teresa form the Bad Mothers Club in order to deal with their various heartaches.

When her soon-to-be-ex-husband Jack is accused of murdering Becky’s first date in over two decades, the Bad Mothers set out to prove his innocence, but only for the sake of Becky’s children.

These Bad Mothers have faced everything from terrible twos and sleep deprivation to rebellious teens and heartbreak—they’re not about to let a mere murderer stop them from winning the Worst Mother of the Month award.

CHAPTER ONE

Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water. Jack fell down and broke his crown, and Jill came tumbling after.

IF LIFE WERE FAIR, the five depressing hours I’d just spent at the mall buying all-black school clothes for my youngest daughter Gina would have meant the worst part of my day was behind me and I could now relax with dinner, a good book, and a long bath. But of course everyone knows life isn’t fair. So when I pulled into my driveway and discovered Kramer lounging on my front porch swing like he owned the world, I wasn’t happy but I wasn’t overly surprised, either.

Normally his choosing my place over Jack’s brought me a wicked sort of enjoyment, but today I was too emotionally drained to handle the inevitable upheaval caused by his presence. I didn’t want to see Jack today, and I didn’t want him to see my messy living room full of stuff I was in the process of boxing and hauling to the thrift store. Uncluttering my life was proving to be very messy. And convincing Gina not to call her father until morning could be even messier.

“Seinfeld is back!” Delighted, Gina was a black blur as she raced to the porch and scooped him into her arms.

I took my time, pulling out the mail from the box and going through it. All bills. All for me. Becky Montgomery. I’d kept the Montgomery because it was also my children’s last name. Plus I’d gotten used to it over the years.

When I couldn’t put it off any longer, I moved slowly toward my beautiful two-story brick home with flower beds lining the walk that was no longer the haven it had once been.

I passed Gina and Kramer and, with a shake of my head, unlocked the front door and stepped from Colorado’s August heat into my cool entryway.

Gina followed me inside.

With a sigh, I scratched the cat behind the ears. “Didn’t you listen to those high-powered attorneys, Kramer? You don’t live here any more.”

“
Mother
, his name is
Seinfeld
.”

Mother? Since when had my sixteen-year-old daughter started calling me
Mother
instead of plain ole Mom? It sounded so foreign. So detached. So extremely self-righteous. And the prim tone seemed more than a little strange coming from a confused teenage girl dressed entirely in goth black.

“Dad named him Seinfeld ’cause he’s so funny,” she explained as if I’d been living in a bubble for the five years since we brought the cat home. Kramer occupied a tender place in my heart for many reasons, the first and foremost being the fact that he valued this forty-four-year-old woman for herself, unlike some husbands I could name.

“But he keeps sliding through our door just like Kramer.” I went for flippant as I reached out to stroke the Siamese cat’s soft, two-toned, dark-brown-and-beige fur. “Complete with crazy stand-on-end hair.”

“
Seinfeld
,” she repeated firmly, as though that ended all argument, forever. Lowering the cat to the floor, she raised an eyebrow and continued her lecture. “We should call him the name Dad wants. He paid for him, fair and square.”

“Yes, he did.” I turned my head to hide my smile. Jack had made a huge concession in our not-quite-finalized divorce: I could have the antique sideboard I loved, the one that had belonged to
his
grandmother, in exchange for him keeping
his
cat.

The sideboard seemed to like it at my house. Unfortunately for Jack, the cat did, too.

I called him Kramer in an attempt to distance myself. And because it ticked off Jack. And on normal days I loved it when the cat ignored the attorneys’ pronouncements.

I shook my head. “If he’s Dad’s cat, then why does he keep coming over here all the time?”

“Because you feed him tuna.”

Note to self: Buy more tuna
.

If you’d like to read more, go to
www.BooksByHeather.com
.

Excerpt:
Kissing Santa

(Christmas Street Romantic Comedy Series #2)

It was supposed to be just an innocent kiss at a charity kissing booth—but it turned out to be fireworks.

‘Volunteered’ to dress as Santa, firefighter Zeke Pepper is blown away by the kiss and feels he may have met The One, but school teacher Hannah Cooke is still trying to win back her high school sweetheart Jackson.

When Zeke runs into Hannah on Christmas Street, they make a deal: In exchange for him making her ex jealous at a New Year’s Eve party, she agrees to go on three dates with Zeke.

It seems like her plan to win Jackson back is working perfectly—but Zeke has other plans. Could she be falling in love with the wrong firefighter?

CHAPTER ONE

“YOU GOT YOUR KISSING FACE ON, PEPPER?”

“Nope. I didn’t sign up for the booth.” Zeke Pepper glanced at his fellow firefighter as he plopped his heavy boots into place under his even heavier fireproof suit. They’d just returned to the fire station. “And I’m glad.”

“It’s for a good cause.” Austin Dean removed his helmet to reveal sandy-colored hair plastered to his head and soot smudging his fair complexion. “If I were single, I’d jump at the chance.”

Another firefighter, Felipe Mendoza, joined them in shucking off his gear. Six inches shorter than the other two men, Felipe ran a hand through his dark hair, sending ashes flying into the air. “Dude. You don’t know what you’re missing.”

“I have a life of my own, you know. Places to go. Things to do.”

Zzzz’s to catch.

Zeke stowed his tools in his compartment and thought about the next few days off—starting just a few minutes from now—when he planned to catch up on a little sleep. There had been several fires on this shift and far too many hours since he was awakened by the cacophonous fire bell.

“You do have a life, bro, but your life is like one little taco,” Felipe said. “Not like Austin. This guy has the whole enchilada.”

Zeke frowned. “What does that even mean?”

Austin grew serious. “It means I’m a man whose wife is about to go into labor.”

“It’s your own fault.” Felipe shook his head. “Wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t take that romantic cruise nine months ago.”

“It was a really great cruise. I’d do it again in an instant.” Austin grinned. “Only next time I’ll make sure we remember the birth control pills.”

Felipe snorted. “You got the whole enchilada by accident? Your manliness quotient just dropped ten points. Down to a chalupa.”

Austin punched Felipe’s arm. “And your life is like a sampler platter. You want to try everything on the menu without choosing anything.”

“Hey, that’s not true. If I ever find just the right sample, I may settle for the whole enchilada, too,” Felipe teased.

Austin shook his head. “You don’t sound like a man who’d be willing to settle for just one entree.”

Zeke dropped his gloves onto his shelf. “I’m not even ready to make a commitment to a woman yet, much less become a dad, so I’ll settle for my little taco life. I happen to like tacos.”