Killer Closet Case: a Danger Cove B&B Mystery (Danger Cove Mysteries Book 6) (2 page)

Oh, if only there was a mental delete button.

"Hello, princess," he gushed. "Why don't you come over to me for a hug?"

"Yeah, that would be best for all of us," I mumbled as I crossed the small space, kissed him on the forehead, and stooped for a hug. As I stood back up, I glanced around at the myriad of collaged pictures from their high school dating days and graduation adorning the walls. The biggest picture in the middle was of them in their caps and gowns, grinning from ear to ear in a big hug. Other students looked on as they'd milled about, some smiling, others with looks of relief, and one cranky blond guy photo-bombing them. With big hair and spandex clothes, Mom still looked almost exactly the same, other than a few crows' feet at the corners of her eyes and the occasional gray hair she sported between colorings. Dad, on the other hand, had just let nature take its course. He was still handsome, just as a mostly-silver fox who had rounded in the middle a bit.

"How was the drive?" he asked after I stopped browsing my parents' memory-lane wall.

I shrugged. "It was fine."

Dad scanned me from head to toe, his lips pursed in a curious smirk. "What's wrong?"

"U-uh," I stammered, straightening my stance and forcing a toothy smile to my face as I glanced between my mom and dad. Was I wearing a neon sign that touted my inner turmoil? "Nothing."

Arms folded over her ample bosom and toe tapping a slow staccato beat, Mom narrowed her gaze on me and repeated the same scan my father had just done. "Let me guess—the acting and modeling world wasn't all you thought it'd be?"

I didn't have a chance to respond. Dad had returned to his reading but peeked over the top of his newspaper. "My guess is that the money finally ran out."

Ding-ding, we have a winner.

But I so wasn't ready for that conversation. You know, the one where
I told you so
and
we still love you no matter what
converge into scathing tones, pointed fingers, and long, drawn-out sighs. "Can't a girl just be tired from driving all day? The place looks great, by the way," I added, hoping to divert the conversation from the downward spiral it was on.

Mom and Dad both nodded, still giving me the cynical parental up-and-down look. It was like they had some kind of radar and knew my pockets were practically empty and that I'd coasted in on fumes with everything I owned in the back of my car.

Mom's expression was still skeptical, but her voice was a bit more inviting. "The renovations are almost done. We have the most delightful guy heading the crew."

Dad crumpled the paper to his lap. "Only because your mom had a problem with the girl I hired."

Snorting, she turned toward him, hands on hips and toe tapping faster than I would've ever thought possible had I not witnessed it myself. Many, many times. "We discussed this. Ms. Jordan with Finials and Facades is more than qualified, and her finished homes are gorgeous, but Mr. O'Connell does landscaping work as well and included a discount if we gave him both contracts. It's all about the bottom line, honey."

She turned away from him, nudging me with her elbow and waggling a brow, the judgy look now completely gone. She whispered from the corner of her mouth, "His bottom line
is
rather impressive, if you know what I mean."

Dad snapped the paper back in front of his face. "I'm right here."

"I love you, honey," Mom purred.

"Mmm-hmm," he mumbled.

She tugged me into the kitchen area. Sunshine poured through the window, glinting off the new stainless appliances and sparkling across the crystal veins in the granite counters. With the new white cabinets, it could've passed as a model kitchen in a magazine.

I peered through the side window, and a squinty-eyed, sour-faced, bleached blonde glared back from the run-down Victorian house next door. She had on nothing but a sports bra that was barely able to contain its contents, and nearly nonexistent exercise shorts, with a short, silky yellow robe hanging from her shoulders.

Mom pushed me out of the way, cast a haughty glare back at the half-naked, middle-aged woman, and dropped the closed mini-blinds. "Don't mind Patricia. I wish she could be more like the other neighbor. I've never really met him other than a casual wave. He's gone most every weekend and keeps to himself. But she, on the other hand"—Mom flipped her arm toward the window, pointing and setting off the cascade and clacking of bangle bracelets again—"is still hacked off that Mr. O'Connell started our rehab first. The guy, from Burke Construction or something, who she hired just up and disappeared. Not that I minded. He was really creepy, and I think he was hitting on me."

Dad snorted. "I took care of that jerk. No one makes a move on my woman without facing the consequences and seeing the gun show." I glanced into the other room, already knowing he'd be flexing his biceps and acting like a goof.

This wasn't exactly anything new. Dad had married above his station, so to speak, at least in high school terms. Mom was head cheerleader—popular and loved by all. Dad had played the drums in marching band (which was how they'd met at a football game), had a small group of friends who had a garage band (which was part of why Mom fell head over heels), and was extremely intelligent. Dad really hated when men flirted with Mom and obviously still felt like he needed to stake his claim. Which happened often. He really had nothing to worry about. Their love was most definitely a two-way street, as evidenced by the many public displays of affection I'd been subjected to, well, ever since I could remember. Nothing scarring, but definitely more kisses and butt swats than I really cared to see. Especially from my parents.

Mom rolled her eyes and called out to Dad. "I'm sure that chat you had with him, with your finger poking into his chest and all, really sent him packing." Her tone was very supportive of my father's actions, but her shaking head and the smirk he couldn't see said otherwise. She turned back to me. "Anyway, now Patricia's taken to making my life miserable in retaliation, and she's totally stalking Mal with the pretense of getting him to start on her house sooner." Her demeanor flipped right back to flirty, and her face lit up. "Speaking of Mal…" She let out a dreamy sigh. "I can't wait for you to meet him. He's handsome, intelligent, a hard worker, and still has a bit of a sexy Scottish accent too. I'd listen to him read the entire freaking phone book."

"I can still hear you," Dad called from the other room.

Mom giggled and patted my hand. "So, really, what's on your mind?"

I slumped onto one of the tall chairs at the counter, heaving a huge sigh of defeat. What was the harm in letting them know I'd be staying on a little longer than their trip? "Dad pretty much nailed it. Can I stay with you guys for a while? Like, maybe longer than just a B&B-sitting stint? I need to regroup and figure out life."

"He shoots. He scores!" Dad added from his chair in the other room, snickering.

Mom let out a very unladylike snort as she sat next to me. Not that ladylike was something we really practiced in our family, mind you. "You must want to live here forever, if you're waiting to get a handle on life." She pushed my hair behind my ear and wound a curl around her finger as she cupped my face. "You're smart, beautiful, and have your whole life in front of you. You can do or be anything you set your mind to. You'll find your niche in life. Promise."

I leaned into her hand and let out an exasperated sigh.

She sucked in her bottom lip, nibbling on it, undoubtedly trying to decide whether to start with the
I told you so
or the
we still love you no matter what
spiel. Instead, like most talks we have, she went in an entirely different direction. "I'd sell a kidney for your curls. It's not fair that the gene skipped my generation." She released a forlorn sigh. "At least you got my red hair." My curl slipped from her fingers as she flipped a hand in resignation. "I'll just get another perm, I suppose."

"You most certainly will not," Dad bellowed. "The last time you went down to The Clip and Sip salon, you stumbled back home three sheets to the wind with green hair."

"It was green highlights for St. Paddy's Day, for crying out loud, and I'd only had a couple of drinks." Mom's chin tilted with defiance as she leaned toward me. "That just makes me want one even more," she whispered directly into my ear.

It was like someone was shining a giant magnifying glass on my rebellious nature. Life seemed a bit clearer with this revelation, not that I necessarily liked what I saw.

The doorbell rang twice, and Mom popped onto her feet. "Mail call! I bet our tickets are here!"

Whew. Lecture bullet dodged. Well, I was given a brief reprieve, anyway.

I followed her into the living room as she made her way through, but I stopped to flop on the couch next to Dad's chair while she continued on to the front door.

I ran my hand across Dad's old patchwork quilt draped over the arm of the couch. That thing predated me. It's rumored to even predate Mom, but I'm sure she washed it in bleach before she ever allowed it anywhere near her. I stared at Dad's paper, hoping he'd at least lower it, pretending to acknowledge me. Nope. I cleared my throat. "So, you guys are pushing your normal time limit at one place. How soon will you be moving on?"

He shrugged, paper crinkling and lowering to his lap. "Your mom says she kind of likes it here, and, I have to admit, I've been enjoying helping this guy with odds and ends. Most of our prior contractors have shooed me away when I've offered to paint or clean up. I actually like this guy. Just don't tell your mother I said that."

I blinked at my dad few times, wondering what made this place so damned special. It couldn't be just some magical contractor. I was just about to ask exactly that, when Mom squealed from the lobby.

Dad jumped up, the blanket tumbling into a pile at his feet, and shoved the paper in his chair. Thankfully, while Mom and I had been in the kitchen, Dad had put his jeans back on. "What's the matter, honey?" he called out, sharing a Cheshire cat grin with me. He leaned toward me and whispered, "She's going to freak out. I didn't tell her I'd gotten us backstage passes too."

We both darted through the doorway.

There she stood, jumping from one stilletoed foot to the other, clutching an envelope to her chest. "Best birthday gift ever." She stopped bouncing long enough to shove two front-row concert tickets in my face. They were pressed back against her chest before I could even make out who or where. I just knew they were "epic" seats.

"Who's playing?" I asked.

Mom grabbed me, her quivering fingers gripping my shoulders. "We're going to see your dad in concert!"

Dad's big smile returned as he broke out in song, bellowing Bon Jovi's "Blaze of Glory" while pointing at me.

This elicited another eye roll from me, and for good reason. The big family joke was that no one was sure if I was Jon Bon Jovi's lovechild or not. My brother had the honor of Joe Elliot from Def Leppard as his pretend possible baby daddy. My parents thought it was hilarious. I personally couldn't listen to any music by either of the artists now. Somewhere within their love of flipping houses and big-hair eighties bands, I'm sure they wedged some affection for my brother and me. This was undoubtedly why I'd been left in the dark about which concert they were attending. Not that it would've changed my mind about helping, but it gave Dad the opportunity to tease me in person instead of over the phone.

"And…" She pulled out two laminated cards, dangling on lanyards. "Backstage passes!"

Dad laughed like a little boy. "It was all I could do to keep that a secret from you. When you got upset because I didn't take you to see him in Seattle, I hated lying to you. I'd already gotten the passes for the San Diego concert, since it was on your birthday. I hope you're not mad."

"Mad?" Mom asked within a maniacal giggle as she threw herself into his arms. "Next to being blessed with the most wonderful husband and kids in the world, this is the best surprise ever."

I didn't think it was possible, but Dad's grin widened as he looked down into Mom's eyes. "The RV is just about packed. We'll leave in the morning as planned."

Panic buzzed through me. Sure, I knew they were leaving. Yes, I understood I'd be in charge. I just hadn't really put a lot of thought to what all could actually go wrong while I was at the helm. You know: fires, plague, famine, and the like. "Wait. Slow your roll, guys." I waved my hands between us, starting to feel those butterflies stirring things up in my gut again. "You can't stay a few days until I feel comfortable? I know nothing about your computer system or have any clues as to how to run it. Dad promised a training session."

Mom clip-clopped to me again. "Relax. You're more than capable. The place is almost self-sufficient, for the most part. You just have to be around when the girls are on lunch to answer the phone. We have the rest of the staff on a set schedule, and they pretty much know their duties and do their own thing. Sheila, the staff manager, will keep everything else running smoothly. Payroll is done automatically too.
I
promise—it'
s
a no-brainer. I'll give you a few computer pointers before we leave." Mom stopped rambling and just stood before me with wide-eyed hope. "Besides, it's not like you've got anything better on your plate right now." She looked at me from the corner of her eye. "And, if you do this for us, no life lecture, at least for now." Winking, she didn't miss a beat. "You can stay in the little apartment over the garage and just hang out in the living area behind the desk during the day. There are lots of places in town to explore while you aren't covering lunches and breaks. All of the keys and things are in our personal desk back there, and the door off the kitchen goes down to the basement, where the huge washer and dryer are kept." She wafted a hand toward the employee door.