A Stodgy Slaying, page 11
“Let me go see if Ginny is okay, then I’ll give you my statement.”
He nodded and stepped aside. I stepped gingerly down the grass to the sidewalk. Ginny looked up, her face stained with tears. “Is it true? Aunt Eliza said she killed that man.”
I nodded. “She told me as much. I’m so sorry.”
She held out her hand and I took it in both of mine, then stepped around the gurney to hug her.
“Family reunions are going to suck,” she said as I let her go.
I laughed in spite of myself. I brushed her hair out of her eyes. “You can pick new family, you know. You don’t have to just stick with the ones you’re born with.”
She smiled and took a deep breath. “Yeah, but I think I’ll take care of these ones for a while. They seem to need me.”
With that, she turned and followed the gurney into the ambulance. It set off toward the hospital in Bowness.
I tracked down Jaime. We sat on the curb and I told him the story. When I finished, he tapped his notebook.
“Hmmm,” he said. “I have a touch more investigating to do, but if this checks out, it looks like I’ll owe you an apology.”
“Yep, you will. I will allow you to make amends by helping me fix up the inn.”
He grimaced. “It’s a rather old building, you know.”
“So I’ve been told,” I said with a grin. “What was it you wanted to ask me about Eleanor Davies?”
“Right,” he said. “I ran into her and your cousin Franklin at the DIY centre.”
I turned to him sharply. “The DIY centre?”
“I think you Americans call it a hardware store.”
“I know what it is,” I said, rolling my eyes at him. “Why was it important?”
“They were looking at some tools. They said they had just run into each other, but it didn’t look like that to me,” he said, looking at me pointedly. “See, you’ve even got me seeing innocent people being suspicious.”
I had stopped listening. Cousin Franklin and Aunt Selma’s bitter enemy had joined forces. I gazed with wonder at Jaime.
“That’s why things keep breaking at my house,” I said as if in a daze, which I likely was. “It’s not the house, it’s Franklin!”
Chapter 25
I marched down the sidewalk, throwing off the blanket before I left Clarissa’s yard, and stormed down the street to my B&B. I stomped up the steps and threw open the front door.
“Franklin!” I roared in anger. “Get down here!”
Franklin appeared at the top of the stairs, a bucket of water in his hands, looking startled. He set down the bucket but stayed where he was.
“Is that any way to talk to someone who is helping you? You Americans are quite rude.”
“I’m quite rude? I’m quite rude?” I stomped up each step toward him, taking satisfaction that he stepped back toward the wall. “You have been sabotaging my inn. All those things that have been going wrong, you did this. The pantry shelf. The washer. The front door handle. The ladder.”
I wagged my finger, my eyes on him as I approached. As I neared the top step, I stopped, not wanting to get too close to someone who had tried to hurt me.
“Why have you been undermining me? Why, Franklin? I even gave you a second chance.”
I held onto the railing as I shook my fist in anger.
“Because the old bat should have left it to me.” Franklin’s face looked pinched as he stepped forward, his eyes on me. He didn’t see the bucket he had set down just moments ago and tripped on it. The bucket tilted toward me as Franklin went down on his knees.
I automatically leaned into the railing to avoid the water. Franklin’s eyes widened. “Kat, be careful!”
The railing creaked, then gave way beneath me. My feet left the ground as I fell backwards. Just when I was sure I was going to fall to the first floor, Franklin grabbed my hand and pulled me to safety, nearly smacking me against the wall.
We both sat on the steps, breathing hard. Then I looked toward him.
“You loosened the railing?” I said as I stood up over him. “You could have killed me or Corbyn. Oh, my gosh, you could have killed Corbyn! What is wrong with you?”
I began to pummel his chest with my hands.
“Kat!” Jaime’s voice from the entryway stopped my attack. “Let me handle it. You’ll just get yourself in hot water.”
I stopped mid-pummel, glaring at Franklin.
“Get out of my house,” I hissed at him. “Don’t ever come back.”
Franklin scrambled around me and down the stairs, practically scooting on his behind he was in such a hurry. Jaime stood at the bottom of the steps, his arms crossed.
“Actually, I need to talk with him first,” he said, giving a hard eye to my cousin. He glanced up at the railing, which was hanging in the air. “Now do you want to press charges?”
“Yes. Yes. Yes!”
Jaime grinned. “One yes would be enough.” He glanced down at Franklin. “Let’s go. I’ve had enough of your antics.”
“It wasn’t my fault,” Franklin said as he turned to look at me. “It was that old lady. She made me do it. Said she’d pay me five hundred pounds if you left.”
All the fight went out of me. My legs crumpled beneath me and I sat down hard on the step. I blew out a breath. I knew Eleanor Davies was mean and judgmental, but I never suspected her of trying to get rid of me. Killing a man, yes, but hurting me? Not for a second.
I waved at Jaime to take Franklin away. He nodded shortly. “You’ll be all right?”
I smiled sadly. “I will be. Don’t forget who my aunt was.”
He gave me a small salute and stepped out the door, pushing Franklin ahead of him.
Leaning my head against the wall, I curled my arms around my knees. “Aunt Selma, what have you gotten me into?”
Chapter 26
It turned out that Eleanor had indeed paid Franklin to sabotage my business. I knew someone had to have put him up to it. Even when he tried to steal Aunt Selma’s illustrations, Franklin had help.
This time, Franklin had fiddled with the dumb waiter, cut a hole in the washer tubing and sawed the ladder, among other things. I had to give him credit. All the things he did were designed to fail when he wasn’t nearby, giving himself an alibi.
A home inspector had come and looked through the whole house to make sure it was sound, that Franklin hadn’t set up something to fail later on. The inspector found that Franklin had unscrewed the screws holding the entertainment shelving into place in the front sitting room. It was only a matter of time before someone pulled the unit down onto themselves.
Anger had welled up once again and was only mildly assuaged by Franklin and Eleanor’s speedy guilty pleas and the fact that they would pay for all the damage and repairs, including the home inspector.
Outwardly, Franklin had always supported me in running the inn. He told me once that if he owned it, he would run it to give himself money for retirement, but I suspected now he needed the money more than that. He likely would have sold the inn, then taken the money and run.
He frequently asked me about Aunt Selma’s illustrations, but I had never given him a firm answer. I didn’t know what I would do with them yet. I might need them to pay for upkeep in the inn, or I might be able to put the money into savings. I made a mental note to contact an appraiser as soon as the first guests settled in at the inn.
I sipped my tea and tried to calm my thumping heart. The rooms were ready. In fact, my first guests were scheduled to arrive this afternoon for a weekend stay. I started small. Only two rooms this first weekend.
To celebrate the grand reopening, I had invited the village to an open house. I wanted my neighbors to see that I wasn’t going to change all that Aunt Selma had begun, although I did add a few touches in a nod to my American roots. For instance, both the Union Jack and the Stars and Stripes hung in the entryway, big enough to be noticeable but not so big as to be distractions.
Setting down my mug – I still clung to my American-sized mug – I started down the hallway. Corbyn stood beside the new check-in counter we had installed. It was just big enough to be official, but small enough to be homey. Corbyn was officially my new employee.
I hadn’t really planned to put him to work, even though he had offered many times. Then one morning, I wondered aloud what I would do with the inn when I had to run errands. What if my guests needed something?
“Selma just let them know she would return shortly, and they just waited,” Corbyn said.
That’s because Aunt Selma had been running the inn forever. The look I gave him must have been filled with horror because he hesitantly said, “What if I do it?”
I stared at him, waiting for more. “What if you do what? Run my errands?”
He smiled as he shook his head. “What if I run the front desk for you?”
Relief swept over me. Tears filled my eyes.
“Corbyn, you would do that?” I said. “I would pay you, of course.”
He shrugged. “We’ll work it out, dear.”
And we did. Corbyn would work the front desk in the mornings so that he would be available to answer questions about The Lakes, send guests to the correct locations, and whatever else came up. I would handle breakfast and clean-up, making sure I was around the inn while Corbyn ate his lunch, took his daily walk and had a short nap in the afternoon. After all, he was nearly ninety. I couldn’t begrudge the man his afternoon nap.
Then, depending on how busy we were, he would help check in guests in the late afternoon as well as send guests off to find dinner and evening entertainment.
Corbyn straightened and re-straightened the paper and pens at the front counter, then turned the new computer tablet this way and that.
I grinned at him. “You’re as nervous as I am.”
He smiled as he looked up. “It’s quite exciting. I know Selma would be so pleased.”
He gestured to the painting, which we had mounted behind the counter with the words “Founder” beneath her name.
The front sitting room had been turned into a breakfast nook with small tables in addition to the couch. This way, we could actually offer breakfast. When guests registered, one question asked them about breakfast preferences. So far, most visitors were from London, so they had checked the “American continental breakfast” choice.
For today’s Open House, I had set up continental breakfast-style snacks of fruit, mini croissants, chocolate eclairs and tiny apple pies that, yes, I had baked myself.
I glanced at the clock on the wall, then toward the front door. Something moved outside. I held up crossed fingers to Corbyn.
“Here we go!” Then I turned and flung open the front door.
Clarissa, Jaime and Alex were the first in line, which caused tears to well up in my eyes.
“You guys!” I exclaimed. “You didn’t have to come. You’ve helped set it all up.”
In truth, they had been here until late the night before, setting up the tables and helping me finish the baking.
“You guys!” Alex said in the worst American accent. “You guys!”
We laughed, and the three of them gave me hugs before stepping inside, Alex turning to offer an arm to his mother, who had been a friend of Aunt Selma’s.
Other neighbors followed, stepping in and exclaiming how nice and new everything looked.
They wandered from room to room, Corbyn telling them about some of the changes.
Clarissa looked at me with a grin. “You did it, luv.”
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”
She glanced over my shoulder and her face froze. She gestured for me to turn around.
Eleanor Davies stood in the doorway, uncertainty across her face. It was my house, so I decided to be the bigger woman.
I approached her, extending my hand. “Eleanor, welcome. So nice of you to come.”
She took my hand, looking down at it, then grabbed it with both of hers as she looked down at me.
“I’m so sorry, Kat. I wanted you to know that.” She looked up at the ceiling of the entryway, still grasping my hand, then turned her eyes back to mine. “I got carried away and, well, I am quite sorry for what I did and for what I asked Franklin to do.”
I clasped her hands in return and peered closely at her. “Thank you, Eleanor. I hope we can move on together as neighboring business owners.”
She smiled slightly. “I think I’d like that.”
“Thank you for the new sign out front,” I said as I released her hands.
Eleanor whisked away my comment with her hand as if somewhat embarrassed. As part of the settlement, she had agreed to pay for and provide the appropriate signage for the front of the inn.
“It turned out lovely,” she said absently as if she no longer wanted to think about the whole affair.
I shuffled aside so she could enter the inn, then hovered behind as she stepped over to the new breakfast room. Her eyebrows raised as she surveyed the room. She nodded as she turned back toward the entryway.
“Nicely done, Kat. Nicely done.”
Tears welled up again as she turned down the hallway. I don’t know why her approval meant so much. Perhaps because it was so hard won. And also because I felt exhausted.
“No crying today, Ms. McCoy.” Jaime’s voice came from behind. He handed me a tissue over my shoulder.
I sniffled as I took the tissue and turned to look at him. “No promises.”
Jaime had been by a lot in the past week since Eliza had fallen from the roof, updating me with the case and trying hard to make amends for thinking I was a killer.
Eliza was taken to a hospital in London, where she would be charged for Graham’s murder and for my attempted murder. Clarissa had helped Ginny pack up their room, then put her on the train for London with the promise that the youngster was welcome to return any time she wanted a job.
In a surprise to all of us, except perhaps Jonathan Moore, we learned that Edgar Elliot Graham had left money to Ginny from his estate. Her father’s aneurysm had pierced his stodgy armor and he hoped the money would help her go to college or whatever she chose to do with it. We hoped the courts would allow Ginny to accept the funds, even though her aunt was the cause of Graham’s death.
Jaime and I were alone in the entryway when he pulled an envelope out of his pocket and handed it to me. I opened it quickly and peeked inside to see my American passport.
“Put it in a safe place,” he said. “I hope this means you will stay.”
I clutched it to my chest. “I’m glad to have it back, but I’m not planning on going anywhere just yet.”
He broke into a wide smile. “That’s the ticket.”
More visitors stepped through the door, so I quickly tucked the envelope into the cash box under the counter.
For nearly two hours, the people of Windermere and Bowness wandered through Aunt Selma’s inn. Many of them I hadn’t met yet, but they had stories to tell of my great aunt.
Geoff McPherson stepped through the door and waved at Corbyn, who pointed out the portrait behind him. Geoff praised the work and the placement, then turned to me and gave me a wink. I laughed and waved him into the inn.
Jonathan Moore waved as he came through the door with a few other visitors. I had bought several of his walking sticks to keep in the inn for guests to use. Hopefully, they would like them so much they would stop by Jonathan’s store to buy more.
As the Open House was winding down and fewer visitors stepped onto the porch, a small man with a pencil mustache stepped through the front door, looking around him in dismay.
I didn’t recognize him from town. I glanced at Jaime, who had just come down the hallway. He looked at the man, then shrugged. He didn’t know him either.
I stepped around the counter. “Welcome to the Little Windermere Inn,” I chirped at him.
He challenged me with a look. “I’ve come to see Katherine McCoy.”
“I’m Kat,” I said. “How may I help you?”
He peeled off his gloves, then pulled a card out of his pocket and handed it to me. It read “George W. Potter.”
I grinned as I handed it back. “Is the ‘W’ for Washington?”
He didn’t smile back.
“My great aunt was Beatrix Potter. The illustrations you ‘found’ here?” He made air quotes with his fingers. “They belong to me and it’s high time I got them back.”
The End
Corpse Pose, Indeed
Book 1 of The Yoga Mat Cozy Mystery Series by Jacqueline M. Green
You're not supposed to actually die during Corpse Pose. When a student does just that and suspicion falls on yoga teacher Mariah Stevens, she must find the killer while still practicing ahimsa and swilling mochas (because life is all about balance, right?).
As evidence piles up, Mariah’s friends and students have her back, but will it be enough to keep her out of jail and save her fledgling studio?
Available from Amazon here.
About the author
When Jacqueline M. Green first heard of “cozy mysteries,” she thought her sister had brilliantly made up the term. She was delighted to discover it was a genre all its own, with tons of stories about crafting, quilting, knitting and cooking. Her first cozy mystery series was set in a fictional yoga studio in California. Jacqueline loves to travel and fell in love with England’s Lake District, so her second cozy mystery series is set there.
A public school teacher and certified yoga instructor, Jacqueline lives in Northern Nevada with two cats, two dogs and a teenager.
From the author
Thank you so much for reading! If you liked or loved this book, please leave a review on Amazon. Follow me on Twitter and Facebook for updates on the new series.
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