Innkeeping with Murder (2 page)

Alex stroked the granite base lightly as he
entered the stairwell and headed up the two-hundred-sixty-eight
steel steps that led to the top. Nine landings matched nine
windows, offering Alex an excellent view of the nearby
mountains.

He peeked out the fourth landing’s window and
spotted Barb Matthews, a guest of the inn, scurrying along one of
the wooded hiking trails that surrounded the property. The one
thing Alex had was land, and plenty of it.

He watched Mrs. Matthews dart up the trail,
pausing now and then to investigate something on the ground at her
feet before hurrying on. She would stoop to pick up small rocks
from the path, study them for a moment, then most likely cast them
aside into the woods. It was like watching an ardent ant in search
of food. Her walking stick stayed firmly in one hand the entire
time, though he noticed that the older woman walked perfectly well
without it.

Somehow she must have sensed Alex’s eyes upon
her. Mrs. Matthews tilted her head back and stared directly into
the window opening. There was a look of scorn on her face that Alex
had grown used to seeing since she’d first started coming to the
inn in early May. She was now on her third visit this year, and
Alex supposed he should be happy for the business, but truthfully,
he didn’t care for the grumpy woman.

Alex leaned back out of the window’s line of
sight and finished his climb toward the watch room and the lantern
above.

Great-grandfather Adlai had installed the
original Fresnel lens that supplied the lighthouse’s strong beam,
but he’d rarely used the beacon himself. Alex’s father had run it
so often at night that the local townspeople had complained about
the midnight strobe. The county government acted, passing a special
ordinance limiting the operation of the lantern to situations of
emergency in the valley.

The commissioners did make one exception to
their ruling. A yearly test of the lantern’s light had evolved into
a celebration for the area. People from seven counties came to
picnic at the base of the lighthouse in the growing dusk, and there
was always a hushed awe as the current Winston lighthouse keeper
flipped on the electricity that now powered the slowly rotating
beam. It was one of the moments Alex lived for since taking over
the inn from his father.

The closer Alex got to the watch room and
higher observation balcony located directly below the lens area,
the more certain he became that something was wrong. He felt a
kinship to the tower, as if they shared a common pulse. Something
was screaming inside his head that the sentinel was out of balance.
When Alex noticed that the door to the lens itself was slightly
ajar, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

There was no sign that the lock had been
forced, but Alex owned the only key, and the door had been securely
locked the night before. He climbed the last few steep stairs
carefully, then looked out on the narrow walkway that surrounded
the top part of the tower.

There was a body lying face up on the
catwalk, the head lolling eerily toward Alex.

Reginald Wellington Senior wouldn’t be
needing his pill after all.

Somehow, he’d managed to get into the highest
observation point of the lighthouse on his own. But it appeared
that the climb had killed him. One look at Reg’s pallid, lifeless
face and hollow, empty gaze told Alex that there was no real hurry
to call Doc Drake.

His friend had obviously been dead for some
time.

Chapter 2

“Sheriff Armstrong, I need you out at the inn
right away.” The sheriff had been hanging out at the second place
Alex had phoned, a diner called Buck’s Grill. To Alex’s credit,
he’d tried to reach the sheriff at his office in town with his
first call.

“Is that you, Alex? What’s the rush?”
Armstrong asked. In a lower voice, he added, “Is it anything we can
handle over the phone? I’m doing a little campaigning at the
moment.”

“I need you at the lighthouse. This is
serious.”

Alex’s words instantly sobered the sheriff.
“Tell me what’s going on.”

Alex knew the man was a competent sheriff;
unfortunately that wasn’t all it took to get elected in Canawba
County. Armstrong had barely won his primary, and there were doubts
around Elkton Falls that he could beat his old crony Hiram
Blankenship in the upcoming general election. The only
qualification required to run for sheriff was a pulse. Blankenship
was the town barber, and really seemed uninterested in being
sheriff at all. An argument over what Armstrong still described as
the worst haircut of his life had prodded Hiram Blankenship to
throw his hat into the political arena and “…show that uppity son
of a mutt he’s not the King of Canawba County.” Whatever that was
supposed to mean. The way the scissors and clippers had been flying
that day, Alex had resolved to let his hair grow long until after
the election; it just wasn’t safe sitting in the barber’s chair
during one of Hiram’s tirades. Alex had to admit that the barber
was more qualified to be sheriff than some of the candidates that
county had seen in the past. At least Hiram had been a member of
the military police when he’d served his stint in the armed
forces.

They would have to hose down the whole county
after the November balloting to get rid of all the mud being slung
between the two candidates.

Alex paused on the phone for a moment as one
of his guests entered the lobby. He wanted to get Reg’s body out as
discreetly as possible. Out of respect, he wanted to protect his
friend from prying eyes. And in the process, just maybe he wouldn’t
lose all of his paying guests that way. A dead body was an
innkeeper’s worst nightmare; Alex couldn’t bear to think about what
it meant to him personally losing Reg.

The sheriff prodded him again. “Get on with
it, Alex. What’s so all fired important?”

Keeping his voice to a near-whisper, Alex
said, “I’ve got a body up here, and I need you to send someone out
to pick it up. It has to be done quietly, Calvin.”

Alex almost never used the sheriff’s first
name, and that finally seemed to get the sheriff’s attention as
much as the news that there was a body at Hatteras West. “Was it
foul play?”

Truthfully, the thought hadn’t even occurred
to Alex. “I sincerely doubt it. It looks like one of my guests had
a heart attack climbing the lighthouse stairs.”

The sheriff sounded a little disappointed.
“As soon as I round up Doc Drake we’ll head out your way. Just in
case, though, don’t touch anything, Alex.”

“I mean it about keeping quiet, okay? I don’t
want to disturb my other guests any more than I have to. Can you
forget the flashing lights and the siren for once?”

Armstrong chuckled. “Come on, Alex. I’ve got
to let folks know I’m out doing my job. It’s my duty.”

Alex shuddered thinking about the sheriff
tearing up the gravel road in front of the inn, driving like a
demon possessed and scaring his guests half to death. “How about
shutting all the bells and whistles off when you came up Point
Road? None of your voters live out here but me.”

“Okay, I’ll do it your way. Doc Drake just
came in the door for lunch. We’ll be right out.”

After Alex hung up the telephone, he hastily
scrawled a “Closed” sign on the back of an old flyer and took a few
pieces of Scotch tape from the desk. Grabbing his keeper’s key for
the lighthouse’s main door on the way out, he hurried down the
gravel path that led to the tower.

Barb Matthews had her hand on the lighthouse
door when Alex shouted out her name. She was dressed in her usual
attire: sensible khaki pants, a maroon blouse and the sturdy brown
hiking boots she always wore. She didn’t wear any makeup that he
could see, and her

graying hair was tucked up under a badly
abused hat. He wondered briefly when the woman had last smiled.

Certainly not since she’d come to Hatteras
West.

He called out, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Matthews.
We’ve got to close the lighthouse for a few hours.”

The woman spun around and waited impatiently
for Alex to join her. When he got within reach, she started tapping
him forcefully on the chest with her cherry walking stick. Perched
on top of the slender shaft was a cast-metal dragon’s head painted
an unnatural shade of gold. The expression on the dragon’s face
reminded Alex of the woman herself. He had to fight the urge to
grab the stick out of her hands as she repeatedly prodded him with
it. Instead, he stepped back two paces, putting himself safely out
of her reach.

She snapped, “Do you care to share with me
why in the world you would close the only attraction this dismal
place possesses?”

The woman was one customer Alex wouldn’t mind
losing. She’d done nothing but gripe since she’d first discovered
Hatteras West. As usual, upon arriving the day before yesterday,
Mrs. Matthews started in with her complaints. Her room had either
too much light or not enough. The same was true of her mattress
being too hard or too lumpy, and Alex expected to hear about the
towels being too rough or too soft next. Marisa had finally refused
to go into the old lady’s room at all.

But Mrs. Matthews did have a point. There had
to be some reason for shutting the lighthouse down so abruptly.

“Ummm, we’re doing a routine check of the old
kerosene well, and the fumes need to be vented.” The

Fresnel light’s power had been converted to
electricity long ago, but Barb Matthews wouldn’t know that.

The old lady jumped off the stoop. “You mean
the lighthouse could explode?”

Wonderful. Now he’d have to deal with another
rumor. “No Ma’am, it’s just a routine inspection,” he said calmly.
“The smell should be gone by tomorrow morning, if you want to try
then.”

Pivoting on her heels, the small woman huffed
off toward her room. As she was leaving, she took one last shot at
Alex. “If I’m still here tomorrow, I may come see it.”

Alex muttered under his breath, “And if
you’re not, the drinks will be on the house.”

He must have spoken louder than he’d
intended. Either that, or the woman’s hearing was better than a
basset hound’s. “Pardon me?”

“I just said, I hope you enjoy your stay here
at the lighthouse.”

This mollified her slightly. “Good day to
you, Mr. Winston.”

Alex bolted the entrance door to the
lighthouse and stuck his homemade sign up at eye level. That had
been too close. A fine mist started to fall as he examined his
work, chilling the air quickly, so Alex sought shelter back in the
main lobby. Marisa was at the desk, looking slightly concerned.

“I couldn’t find him,” she said.

Oh blast. How would this hysterical woman
take the news of Reg’s death? Alex couldn’t handle a scene right
now with his maid. Calmly, he said, “Never mind. I’m taking care of
Mr. Wellington.”

Marisa looked startled. “I’d forgotten all
about him.

I was talking about Mordecai. He’s nowhere to
be found, so I left a message for him on his machine.” She glanced
around the lobby. “Where is Mr. Wellington? Did he get his medicine
on time?”

Since there were no guests within earshot,
Alex decided reluctantly to go ahead and tell Marisa what had
happened to their elderly guest. She’d find out sooner or later.
Surprisingly, Marisa didn’t shed a single tear at the news. There
was even a stiffness to her backbone that Alex had never seen
before. Maybe she’d turn out to be a real trooper when things got
tough. Goodness knew he could use a break.

Her next words canceled any hope Alex
harbored of finding a silver lining in that particular cloud.
Marisa’s voice was strong and clear as she announced, “I quit.”

“Come on, Marisa. There’s no reason for that.
I need you here.”

Her voice grew louder, and Alex wondered for
a moment if anyone else would be able to hear her. “Alex Winston,
I’m not about to stay in a place where people die.”

As Marisa hurried to her small room near the
main desk, Alex followed her, talking the whole time. “Maybe you
should take a few days off, just to get a rest. With pay, of
course. When you come back, everything will be just like it was
before.”

His words had no effect on her. During Alex’s
pleading, Marisa quietly jammed her few possessions into a worn
suitcase that had been tucked under her bed.

“You can’t leave me shorthanded like this,”
he pleaded. “Marisa, there’s no way I can run this place without
you.”

He watched in disbelief as his maid latched
her suit

case firmly and headed out the door. Alex
followed her out to her car, a beat-up tan Gremlin from the
seventies. She got in the driver’s side without a word and started
the engine. Only when she was ready to pull out of the parking lot
did she roll down her window and speak.

“I’ll send my cousin out. She’s looking for
work. That’s the best I can do.”

Before he could reply, she was spinning her
tires on the gravel parking lot, kicking up a billowing cloud of
gray dust. Alex had never met Marisa’s cousin, but she had to be
better than nothing. He hoped.

Alex couldn’t do anything about Reg that
instant, but he had another pressing problem he could do something
about. He walked back into the lobby and dialed Mor or Les’s
business number. It galled him that he had the seven digits
memorized.

Mor picked up on the first ring.

Alex said, “I hope this means you’re free to
do a job for me.”

Mor chuckled softly. “I just heard Marisa’s
message on the answering machine. I’m not surprised you’re having
trouble with the boiler. I’ve told you a hundred times it’s long
past time to replace it.”

Alex tapped a pencil on the sparsely signed
logbook. “Save the lecture, my friend. Can you come right out and
take a look at it?”

“Sure, just let me leave a note for Les. You
know, it’s getting to the point where I hate coming out to your
place. Friendship should only have to go so far.”