Killer Closet Case: a Danger Cove B&B Mystery (Danger Cove Mysteries Book 6) (5 page)

The newlywed couple I'd watched navigate the stairs in a lip-lock the day before stared across the front desk at me. The woman was impatiently drumming her nails on the desk, which echoed through the two-story room.

Finally she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "How long does it take to run a credit card so we can check out of this"—she glanced around the lobby, her lips puckering and quivering—"place of death," she finished in a blubbery whisper.

I forced a smile to my face. "There's really no evidence that anyone actually died on our premises. It appears that the body was—"

Her husband stuck a hand in my face to stop me, then made a zip-it motion across his lips. "We don't need any details. We just want to leave. Understood?"

"Yes, sir." The confirmation of their payment finally popped up on the screen. I handed the card back with a receipt. "Thank you for…"

Evidently way past sharing niceties, the couple practically jogged out the front door. They were already down the porch steps before the screen door even slammed back into place.

"…staying at the Ocean View Bed & Breakfast. I hope you'll come see us again," I finished in a falsetto, southern twang just for funsies.

That was the last of them. One couple had left a check on the desk for me, another had been banging on the employee door right after the police left, and now the lovely honeymooning couple had burned a streak across the hardwood lobby floor. Cristal had helped herself to the remaining clean, unoccupied room after the body was taken away and hadn't come out since. She'd muttered something about never going back up to the apartment, not that I really blamed her. Looked like I'd have my pick of rooms for a while, though the couch was very comfy. I couldn't quite shake the vacant stare that kept pushing to the forefront of my thoughts. Who was that guy?

Sheila Flores trudged down the staircase, her lanky arms overloaded with bedding. She dropped it next to the desk onto the pile from the downstairs rooms and tucked behind her ears stray mousy-brown hairs that'd escaped from her long ponytail. "The rooms are clean except for the bedding. I sent everyone else home. I hope that's okay with you. Most of them were a little freaked out about what happened." She looked over both shoulders before bobbing a head toward the garage. "You know, over there."

Oh, I knew. I could still practically feel him laying on me. "That's probably for the best. I don't foresee any reservations in our near future. I can wash those and make up the beds later, if you'd like to leave as well."

"For real?" she gushed. "That'd be great. I'll take the time off to spend with my kids at Two Mile Beach before it cools off."

"I'll call when it starts getting busy again."

"Thanks." She pulled car keys from her pocket and headed out the door, leaving me in complete silence with a mound of dirty bedding.

I lugged it all into the employee area and through the door into the kitchen. Standing at the top of the creaky old basement stairs, I manipulated my armload until I was able to open the basement door and flip on the light switch. I stared down into the ancient brick-walled space that looked untouched by any contractor since the house had originally been built. The only update to the area was a huge front-load washer and an enormous dryer against the wall near the stairwell. As I descended the groaning wooden steps, I eyeballed a massive web attached to the stair I was standing on, spanning to the wall next to the dryer. A spider roughly the size of a small bird skittered into the shadows as I passed, making me seriously regret letting Sheila go and leaving my knees weak and wobbly. I honestly contemplated throwing the bedding on the floor and running back up to nice, clean, updated safety. But I'd have to go down there eventually. And then I'd worry that the damned spider had crawled into bedding, poised to attack and claim me as lunch.

Swallowing hard, I took the steps as quickly as I could manage, threw the sheets into the washer, put in the detergent, and started it, all in record time. I darted back up the stairs, leaning against the closed door while letting the heebie-jeebies quake through my body and curl my toes. 

I did a little flail-dance as I walked back over to the couch that still had Dad's quilt draped across it, and flopped, staring at my phone on the coffee table. Was it fifteen or twenty times that I'd called my parents since the incident earlier? It wasn't like it really mattered, because they still didn't have their damned phone on.

I wrapped the quilt around me and shifted my weight on the cushion to search the coffee table for any remnants of my makeshift lunch. I stared down at the crumbs from the amazing blueberry scone I'd eviscerated within a few seconds after the police had left, sometime between the door-banging people and the honeymooners. It had been a little ray of sunshine through the looming clouds of doubt. I turned to eyeball the pink-and-brown Cinnamon Sugar Bakery box in the kitchen area of the back living room, containing the rest of the perfectly baked goodies.

I was startled to see Uncle Eddie standing next to it, with Champ, his black, bug-eyed Chihuahua (or chi-hooa-hooa, if you asked him) staring intently up at him in hopes that something would drop. Eddie had a liver-spotted hand poised over the box, wearing nothing but his urban camouflage boxer shorts and an old marines T-shirt with a bulldog on the front, which his rounded belly distorted into more of a pug.

"Hi, pumpkin." His big smile made his eyes disappear into nothing but arched, wrinkled slits.

"Hi, Uncle Eddie." I offered a little wave and smiled. "I didn't hear you come in."

He winked. "Still have my stealth skills from 'Nam."

"I see that. Where are your pants?"

He nodded toward the door at the crumpled pile of denim.

"And why aren't you wearing them?"

He looked anxiously back and forth between them and me, his hand still hovering over the goodies. "Your dad said this was a free-range area."

I rubbed my temples, keeping the smile on my face despite the brewing headache. I was in serious need of a nap. "Are you okay if we make this a pants zone until they get back?"

He rounded his first finger with his thumb and shook the okay sign in my direction. "Your dad called me as they were leaving earlier to let me know you were the boss for a bit." He scrambled silently to his jeans and wriggled into them, Champ following stealthily behind just in case. Uncle Eddie returned to the box, popped his hand inside, and pulled out a huge lemon-poppy seed muffin. Turning a quizzical gaze my way, he asked, "Mind if I take another for the road?"

I waved a hand his way. "Help yourself. It's not like there's anyone else around to eat them." Cristal ate like a bird, which just left me. Not that I couldn't throw myself on the sword and polish them off if I had to.

As he and Champ stood at the back door, he kissed his thumb, then flicked his forefinger across it to send it to me just like he'd done all my life. I reached out and grabbed the imaginary kiss out of habit. This made me smile for real as he closed the door behind them.

I wandered into the deserted lobby area, plopped myself into the high-backed leather chair behind the desk, sprawled the top half of my body across the mahogany surface, and began mindlessly surfing through social media and news outlets. I was hoping for something to distract me but ended up desperate enough to click on a Kardashian headline.

The desk phone startled me when it rang. I looked around the old-school phone, hoping for caller ID that would display my parents' cell phone number. Of course there wasn't anything but a corded telephone straight out of the seventies. I did count my blessings that it was push button and not rotary. Remembering my mother's greeting, I picked up the handset and bubbled, "Thank you for calling the Ocean View Bed & Breakfast. This is Bree speaking. When can we expect you?"

"This is Detective Lester Marshall with the Danger Cove Police Department. Is this Bree Milford?" His voice was gruff and his tone commanding.

"Yes, sir." I snapped into a staunch, upright sitting position, briefly considering a salute with his military-type attitude.

"Have you heard anything from your parents?"

"No, sir. I promise to let you know if they contact me in any way." I relaxed back against the chair a bit.

"We've tried the number you gave us on numerous occasions over the past few hours. There's no answer. You understand how this makes things appear, correct?"

I sat up straight again. "I understand, but—"

"No buts!" he blurted.

"Yes, but!" I barked back. Maybe it was panic, pride, or just plain stubbornness, but I swear I'd never yelled at an officer before.

Mal pulled open the screen door and rushed to the desk, smelling of fresh-cut grass and speckled with clippings. "Are you okay?"

I put a finger in the air, hoping to keep him there until I was done. I cleared my throat and reverted back to a more respectful pitch, responding to the officer. "Anyone who's known them for longer than twenty minutes knows they never have the stupid thing on."

All I got in response was a heavy sigh from each man.

Focusing back on the phone call, I asked, "What about the older couple who sold the place to my folks? I told the officer earlier today about how they started the renovations up there. Has he even looked into them?" I tried to keep confidence in my voice, but panic eked in.

There was another huge sigh, this time just from Detective Marshall. "You're testing my patience, young lady. Not that it's really any of your business, but they've been checked out." I heard shuffling of papers on the other end of the line during his pause. "After speaking with a relative in Southern California, we found out that the previous owners, the Renauds, were in a fatal car accident shortly after moving to San Francisco. I rather doubt they'd have had anything like that in them, anyway. I knew them well when they lived in Danger Cove."

"I'm, um, sorry for your loss. But if you knew my parents, then you'd know they don't have anything like this in them, either. What about the previous construction company?"

"This is the first I'm hearing of another company. Are you sure?" Even with the slight hesitance in his voice, he still managed to sound like a drill sergeant.

"Positive. Well, according to the guy who's doing it now. We discussed it with the other officer this morning."

"I'll have to review his notes. If you provide me with a name or a company, we will look into it. We really need to speak with your parents though. Are we clear?"

"Crystal."

Thinking I was beckoning her, Cristal bellowed from the upstairs bedroom she'd hijacked, "I'll be right down!"

I dropped my forehead to my palm and muttered into the phone, "I'll see what I can come up with and get back to you as soon as possible. Thank you for your time."

Cristal descended the stairs in an almost slow-motion flourish, tossing her shiny blonde curls over her shoulder with one hand, the other traipsing down her side to accentuate her curves in the skintight zebra-print dress. I was sure everyone in Danger Cove dressed just like her.

Or not, at least now that my mother wasn't here.

I suddenly felt very underdressed in my jeans and Lakers T-shirt. Mal stared as she hit the landing, a goofy smile on his handsome face.

I cleared my throat, but it still took him a good minute or two to glance my way. "Did you need something?" I finally asked, breaking the awkward silence.

He glanced around the room as though he'd just woken up, blinking rapidly and shaking his head like he didn't know where he was and was searching for his answer. "Oh, aye. I heard you yell. Is everything okay?"

"That was the local police department. The original owners are deceased and…" I made air quotes as I continued, "'I rather doubt they'd have anything like that in them, anyway.'" I dropped my head to the cool desk surface and huffed, "And my parents have
murderer
tattooed on their foreheads?"

"Well," he hedged. "The Renauds were a pretty sweet old couple. Reminded me a wee bit of me gran and granda."

I pushed up on my elbows and flashed him the best death glare I could muster.

He shoved his hands out in front of him, waving them around as though he could erase his prior statement. "Not that your parents aren't lovely too. I was just…" He looked around frantically again. "Leaving to go fix Old Lady Winstead's bushes, I suppose. Ring me if you need something." He practically jogged out the front door.

Cristal giggled. "You really know how to handle a guy."

I really wanted to snarl, but I popped a smile to my face instead. You catch more flies with honey, right? "I need your help."

She blew on her hot-pink nails and waved them about. "As long as I don't have to touch anything until I'm dry, I'm all yours."

I led her into the back living room, sat her in Dad's chair, and shoved the coffee table close to her. My makeshift bed was still cluttering the couch, so I'd flop there. "I'm going to pull some files from my parents' things. Just sift through the papers as best you can."

Her head bobbed in acknowledgement as she blew on her nails again.

After about ten failed attempts from random keys on the ring, I finally found the one to the desk drawers and all of my parents' receipts and records. Neither of my parents could pride themselves as anything close to an organized record keeper or even balance the checkbook on their own. Thankfully, they'd always been able to find a CPA willing to piece it all together for their taxes every year. I pulled out a huge stack of papers. The only thing defining it was a bright-yellow sticky note that stated
keep
.