Heather Horrocks - Who-Dun-Him Inn 02 - Inn the Doghouse (9 page)

Liz pushed off the bookcase. “Oh, immature one, I came in to tell you I can’t go to the cemetery with you, after all. Claire Daybell called and wants to meet with me today. I’m so sorry.”

“So you’re really going to work here in Silver City?”

“The commute to Salt Lake City is just too far, especially now that I’ve moved out of Gene’s Park City house.”

“Have you already given notice?”

“Not yet, but I will as soon as I have a new job. Claire Daybell is the senior partner of Daybell, Murray and Moore. I want to make a good impression.”

“It’s okay. I understand. And good luck. They’ll snatch you up in a second.”

Liz took my hand and held it for a moment. “So sorry I can’t go with you today.”

She knew how much I needed her. I was feeling quite vulnerable emotionally, and we could always sense each other’s feelings when we got into that state. It was the whole twin connection that non-twins could never imagine.

“How about Zach?”

“Paul is bringing him over later. I need some time alone first. I’m taking flowers to Robert’s grave. I was there on Saturday, so I’m hoping I don’t cry too much and upset Zach. Just in case I do, I need a little time to center myself so I can be there for him.”

An hour later, I pushed through the same creaking gate into the old cemetery, and walked the way I went before. Past my grandparents. Past Fanny Felter. Past a tall Jones headstone, with a foot sticking out from behind it.

I jumped before I realized it was a leftover decoration from Halloween and laughed at my skittishness. What kind of weirdo decorates real graves for Halloween, anyway?

I passed the gravestone, looked back, and sucked in a chilly breath of air.

It wasn’t a Halloween decoration. It wasn’t
just
a foot. It was an entire body.

A real dead body.

Stumbling backward, I dropped the flowers I brought for Robert’s grave, stifled a scream, and yanked out my cell phone, fumbling with it and nearly dropping it.

Having collapsed onto the ground, I scrambled back up and punched in the number for Paul’s cell phone.

“Hi, Vicki. What’s up?”

“Paul, oh, my gosh, oh, my gosh. He’s lying there. I think he’s dead.”

Now that was pretty stupid. The man was obviously deader than a doornail, his limbs twisted in an unnatural position and his face half blown away. I had to restrain my gag reflex. “He’s definitely dead. Very dead. Deader than a doornail.”

“What are you talking about? Is Grandma handing out her medicinal-purposes-only cold medicine again?”

I started to cry.

“Vicki, where are you?” His voice became quiet and he talked to me as if I were a little girl.

“I’m at the old cemetery. I came to put flowers on Robert’s grave. But there’s a body here on
top
of the ground.”

He swore. “Stay right there and I’ll be with you in five minutes.”

“Don’t hang up!”

“Okay, I won’t. I won’t.”

“There’s a piece of paper tucked into his coat. The wind is fluttering it.” For the first time, I got a good look at the man’s coat and groaned. “Oh, no… I’m going to be sick.”

“What’s going on now, Vicki?”

“I think he’s wearing the coat Liz gave him last Christmas.
I think it’s Gene
.”

~ ~ ~

I did get sick. Behind another gravestone. I only hoped Matilda Barrister, 1898-1946 would forgive me.

It took Paul four minutes to arrive. Another two for DeWayne to show up. And a good fifteen for my deputy friends from Park City.

Deputy Mary Beth Shannon, a very nice lady sheriff with the Summit County Sheriff’s Department, who spent time at my Inn during last month’s crisis, shook her head at me. “Lordy, child, you’ve gotta quit finding bodies like this.”

Her partner, Lt. Joe Josephson, didn’t smile, but went straight to work.

I found out soon enough that Deputy Shannon’s job was to question me. She was really good, too. It took me another five minutes before I figured out she’d gone from idle chit-chat to delving for the details of finding the body.

I told her everything. From talking to Robert and deciding to move on with my life, to being ready for new adventures…everything.

“New adventures?” She sounded surprised.

“I certainly didn’t mean this!” I motioned toward the body of my sister’s husband, now surrounded by hovering authority figures. I put my head in my hands. “Oh, my gosh, what will Liz do now?”

“Liz is your sister?”

“Yes. He’s her husband.”

She looked over toward the body. “How can you tell who it is with his face half gone?”

“It’s the jacket. It looks exactly like the one that Liz gave him. And he’s probably wearing his wedding ring. It’s a huge gold thing with a big diamond set down in it so you don’t notice it as much, but it’s really huge. Does he have it on?”

“Joe, is he wearing a wedding ring?” she called out to her partner. “Gold with a huge diamond?”

A moment later, Joe nodded. “Huge is about right.”

“It’s Gene. I just know it is. Who’s going to call my sister? I’m not going to be the one to tell her Gene is dead.” I knew I was rambling, but dead bodies seemed to have that effect on me.

“What’s his name?”

“Gene Eklund.”

“I understand the Eklund family is very wealthy.”

“Yes,” I said. “His family comes from Salt Lake and Park City and they have millions. Not that any of it can help him now.”

She patted my arm. “Don’t worry,” she spoke in a slow, warm Texas drawl, “y’all won’t have to say a thing to your sister about the murder. I’ll tell her. Or your brother will.”

I leaned my head back and rested against the—shooting upright, I suddenly realized I was sitting here among gravestones, leaning back against a stranger’s stone. “I can’t sit here.”

“I guess you’re feeling better, after all.” She stood and helped me up.

I could hear the sheriffs calling back and forth to each other, as well as to Paul and DeWayne.

Silver City hadn’t hosted a murder for over a hundred years, not since a mining dispute in 1887. That is, until last month, when one of my guests at the Inn was killed.

And now, here was a second body. And not just any body—but the body of my twin’s estranged husband. “Who killed him?” I whispered.

“No one.”

I looked at her. “He didn’t shoot his own face off. That’s too awful.”

She shrugged. “They found a suicide note. I heard the guys talking about it while you were being sick.”

I glanced over again. That must have been the paper I noticed stuffed in his coat.

And then I saw what I didn’t notice before: a gun resting near his hand, as if he really did shoot himself and it fell onto the ground when he could no longer hold it.

“He seemed like he wanted to get back together with Liz,” I said. “Like he really meant it. He must have been utterly heartbroken to do something like this.”

Heartbroken enough to kill himself? But Gene taking his own life just didn’t make sense. He had the pregnant girl he told to take care of his baby. Alternatively, he was trying to get back together with Liz. He had a successful business that he loved. Nothing made sense.

But I’d already learned when Robert got hit by a drunk driver that death before its time wasn’t supposed to make sense. It just happened; and we survivors just had to deal with it.

~ ~ ~

It took forever before Paul could finally walk me to my car. I started to unlock my Jeep, but he put a hand on the door and shook his head. “There’s no way I’ll let you drive in your state of mind. I’ll take you home.” He looked back in the direction of the body and his mouth tightened grimly. “I have to tell Liz, anyway.”

Even though normally, I would have brushed him off, I was shaky enough that I just climbed into his police car, feeling relieved.

We rode in silence through the outskirts of Silver City where the old cemetery was, and up the windy, narrow road that hugged the mountainside. Halfway home, I said, “How can you tell her something like this?”

“It’s going to be hard.”

I put my hand on his arm. “I know. Do you want me there with you?”

He shook his head. “No. This is my job. I’ll do it.”

Relieved and a little embarrassed at having him do it alone, I sat back in the seat.

When we reached the Inn, he searched for Liz in our basement family quarters.

As I crossed the large, fancy foyer of the Who-Dun-Him Inn, I smelled something delicious cooking. David must have been here again, but he wasn’t fixing food for the guests. This was a bed-and-breakfast, not a bed-and-dinner, except on the weekends during the murder mysteries. We usually had two mystery weekends a month, depending on how busy the season was. And early November was a very busy season in the ski country of the state with the “greatest snow on earth.” Or so our license plates still proclaimed.

With the Inn being just a short jaunt from Snow Haven, a swanky ski resort, we were becoming a popular winter sport destination.

I sat down at the check-in counter, my hands still trembling.

My guests from Denmark, a couple and their two preteen children, all blondes, red-cheeked and sturdy looking, came out of the Mayor’s Parlor, now Sherlock Holmes’s study, and headed toward me.

I forced myself to chat with the parents normally. When she spoke, she had a light Danish accent, “I love our Charlie Chan room. The pictures of all fourteen of his sons are great. And that secret loft! Wherever did you get such a great idea for the detective rooms?”

“I love murder mysteries.” Thinking of Gene’s body, I added, “Reading them, I mean.”

“I just love the idea of detective rooms. What other cool decorations do you have?”

Glad for something to distract my brain from the horror I left behind, I said, “The Columbo room has his 1959 Peugeot convertible, Model 403, made into a bed. There’s a Navajo hogan in the Lt. Joe Leaphorn room. And the Southern Sisters Suite has everything in doubles, with one large and bright, and the other smaller and muted, just like Mouse and Sister.”

“Well, I just love it. How long have you been open? This looks like a really old building.”

“The Ross Mansion has been in my family for over a hundred years, ever since my great-great-whatever Grandfather Ross built it for his wife. Wives.” He had three and another one who couldn’t handle the lifestyle; I didn’t blame her. “It’s only been open as the Who-Dun-Him Inn for a month, but the detective rooms are very popular. We have a low vacancy rate.” This week alone, ten of our twelve finished rooms were filled.

I was rambling again, acutely aware of my brother downstairs with my sister, telling her that her husband had evidently shot his own face off.

“Are these old portraits of your family?”

“Yes. Wives, children, and grandchildren. We put name plaques on each of the frames—all but one. We’re not sure who that woman is, but we figure she’s related somehow.”

When the couple told me good night and headed up to their room, I wandered into the kitchen.

David turned from the stove. He looked really cute in his
Don’t Expect Miracles
apron. Especially since culinary miracles were David’s specialty.

I said, “Why are you here today? I didn’t expect you until Friday’s mystery.”

As soon as he saw me, he stopped stirring whatever was in the large wok and turned off the heat. “I heard a rumor that you might need some comfort food tonight.”

I nodded. “It’s been a horrible day.”

“Does Liz know yet?” David asked.

“Paul is telling her right now. How do you find out all these things?”

“I told you. I have reliable sources.”

David pulled out a chair for me at the kitchen table. “Your hot cocoa awaits.”

At his thoughtfulness, I began blinking back tears.

He pretended to misunderstand. “You don’t like Stephen’s? We have other brands.”

“It’s not that,” I said.

“I know.” He took my hand and sat in the chair beside me.

The front door chime sounded and a moment later, Zach shot into the kitchen. “Hi, Mom. Hi, David.” I pulled him into a big hug. When he wiggled free, he said, “Hey, Mom, can I watch a movie?”

Downstairs? With Paul spilling the horrible news to Liz? Not a good idea. “Why don’t you stay up here for a little while, squirt? Maybe we can talk about the father/son campout.”

Zach frowned. “I don’t want to go. How come I can’t go on Germy’s Scout campout instead?”

I looked at my seven-year-old son and ached for the father he didn’t have to take him. “Brother Unger offered to go with you.” He was our home teacher and intended to drive all the way back from St. George for the event. He was also old enough to be Zach’s grandfather or great-grandfather.

Zach scowled. “I don’t want to go with him. He doesn’t do anything fun. And he has too many rules.”