Murder at Mistletoe Manor: A Mystery Novella Read online

  “Thanks for the coffee, Klarinda. I think by this evening I’ll be hanging up the bike for the season and having to use my Jeep. I just about wiped out coming up here.”

  “Myrtle’s about to plow our driveway. You can stick around here for a little while until she gets to it, if you’d like, so your trip back down isn’t so bad.”

  “I’d love to, but I’ve got a few more deliveries to make, and I want to be done before the storm hits. Take care,” Todd said, setting his nearly-full mug back on the counter along with the bulky manila envelope that he’d pedaled up the mountain to bring to her.

  “You, too,” she told him, and then added, “Stay warm out there,” as the door closed after him.

  Dejected, Klarinda tore the envelope open and reached inside. Her hand closed around the instantly recognizable papery-linen texture of cash. Thinking she must be imagining things, she peeked inside. Her eyes met a huge bundle of bills. She froze, looking all around her at the empty first floor of the inn. She could hear Pierre back in the kitchen, slamming pots and pans around, but otherwise, she was alone. She pulled the wad of bills from the envelope and set it on the counter. She began quickly flipping through the stack of hundreds and counting, and ended on an even one hundred. On the very last bill was a sticky note reading This ought to cover it.

  Her heart seemed to have moved up a few inches, its drumbeat reverberating through her entire chest and neck. She looked around, waiting for Todd to return and say, “Gotcha!” or for Myrtle or Pierre to jump out along with a hidden camera crew. But the inn was calm and silent, and nothing unusual was happening.

  She walked over to the front door and peered out the old nine-paned window. Aside from the rapidly falling snow and low, gray clouds settling over the inn, all was still. Todd Healy was gone, the tracks his bike had left already getting buried under fresh flakes of snow. The clock on the wall by the stairs was ticking the loud, deliberate seconds it always produced when she listened for them. In the far distance she heard a plow coming up the hill, and little else.

  She shoved all ten thousand dollars back into the envelope and slid it beneath the counter, and immediately dialed Todd’s number, which, mainly due to having too much time on her hands in a boring little town, she knew by heart.

  “Hello?” he answered. She could hear the wind howling in the background.

  “Hi, Todd. It’s me. Klarinda Snow.”

  “Oh, hey. Did I forget something up there at the inn?” he asked.

  “No. I’m wondering about this package you just delivered. Who’s it from?”

  “There wasn’t any identification on it?”

  “No. None,” said Klarinda.

  “Nothing identifying inside?”

  “Not a thing.”

  “Well… Yikes! Chunk of ice in the road!”

  “Be careful,” said Klarinda, picturing Todd’s cute, slightly weathered face.

  “That package was left at my shop and the form was only partially filled out. Whoever left it just filled in the part about taking it to Mistletoe Manor, and they left me the five dollar delivery charge in cash.”

  “Strange,” said Klarinda.

  “It happens more than you’d think. People are half-assed about things,” said Todd.

  “Luckily you’re not,” said Klarinda, taking another look at the envelope’s contents.

  “Anything good inside? Never mind. It’s none of my business.”

  “So there’s no way for you to find out who left it?”

  “Oh, shit! I just got splashed with a heap of slush. I think that asshole did it on purpose! I’ve got to get home before I freeze to death. Sorry I can’t help you, Klarinda,” said Todd.

  “It’s okay. Bye, Todd,” she said, but he had already hung up.

  Chapter 4

  “Hi?”

  “Am I hearing things?” Klarinda asked herself. She looked into the parlor, but it was deserted.

  “Hi?” again came the call of a… person?

  Klarinda crossed the parlor and looked into the dark dining room. She could just barely decipher the silhouette of a frumpy little woman standing alone in the middle of the room.

  “I’m here to spend the night,” said the woman.

  “I didn’t see you arrive,” said Klarinda, setting down the pile of laundry she’d just retrieved from the basement. She squinted into the dark dining room. The woman was gripping the back of a chair.

  “I got here a few minutes ago, but no one was around, so I took a little tour on my own. I hope that’s okay.”

  “Oh, sure. Of course it is. Why don’t you come up to the front counter and I’ll get you checked in.”

  “It would be nice if you had fires burning in the fireplaces. It would feel more welcoming,” said the woman, not budging from her place in the dark dining room.

  “Good idea! We’ll get those fires going any minute.”

  “Good,” said the woman. “I pictured this place with fires burning. And where’s your Christmas tree? There’s at least one Christmas tree here, right?”

  “Uhh,” said Klarinda.

  “Tell me there’s a Christmas tree! A place that calls itself Mistletoe Manor owes its guests a Christmas tree or two. Or three. Or four.”

  “We’re just one big disappointment, I guess,” Klarinda muttered under her breath.

  “What did you say?” asked the woman.

  “The dining room is actually closed right now. Would you like to join me at the front counter? I’ll get you checked in and show you to your room,” said Klarinda. “This way.” She walked through the dining room and back toward the front hall of the inn, hoping this guest would follow her.

  “Okay,” said the woman, slowly shuffling along. Now illuminated by the flickering sconces on the wall of the inn’s main floor hallway, Klarinda saw that she wasn’t nearly as old as she’d seemed.

  “Do you have luggage along?” Klarinda asked her.

  “Just this backpack. I’m only staying for one night.” The woman set the backpack on the floor and placed her small, childlike hands on the front desk.

  “Could I see your credit card and driver’s license, please?” asked Klarinda.

  “I don’t drive, and I don’t have any credit cards.”

  “Oh,” said Klarinda. “Well, what’s your name, please?”

  “Benjamina McKellar. I go by Benji. I know what you’re thinking. Like the dog, right?”

  “I wasn’t thinking anything,” said Klarinda. “Here you are on my schedule. I’ve got you in the orange room.” And it suits you perfectly, Klarinda noted to herself, seeing as how Benji’s hair, freckles, shirt, pants, and sneakers were all varying shades of rusty orange.

  “Is my room just up these stairs, here?” asked Benji, making no effort to pay for her room.

  “Yes. Room number five. And, let me guess. You got a plain white invitation saying your room had already been paid for?”

  “That’s right. Good thing I enter so many contests! Thanks for picking me.”

  “No problem,” said Klarinda, with a shrug.

  She’d just begun folding the dishtowels in the laundry basket when the door swung open again and a man and a woman stepped through it, dusting snow off their shoulders. Klarinda watched as the airport shuttle haphazardly turned around in the driveway. Myrtle had plowed their driveway and parking lot twice now, but there was already another inch or two of snow on the ground.

  “Welcome to Mistletoe Manor,” said Klarinda. “You must be the Newcastles?”

  “Actually, we just met at the airport, and shared a cab when we discovered we were both headed here,” said the man. “I’m Jacob Reese. Here for one night.” He shook the snow from his wavy dark hair and flashed a sexy smile Klarinda’s way. She felt her cheeks get hot.

  “And I’m Sara Byers,” said the tall, rather plain woman. “Also here for one night.”

  “Sara and I compared notes on the car ride here, and it seems we’ve both won the same all-expenses-paid mini vac
ation,” said Jacob. He pulled a plain white envelope from his coat pocket, for Klarinda to see.

  “But, of course,” she said weakly.

  “Is this some kind of marketing gimmick?” asked Sara. “Not that I’m complaining. I needed a break from my four kids. They’re all under the age of five. Yes, it’s every bit as exhausting as it sounds! Since the twins were born, I haven’t gotten a good night’s sleep once this whole past year. It’s just about more than I can take.”

  “It sounds rough,” said Klarinda. “Jacob, you’ll be in room three. It’s the green room. Sara, you’ll be in room six, which is our purple room.” I hope Myrtle got that damned toilet fixed! Klarinda prayed silently. “Do either of you need some help with your luggage?”

  “I’ve got it all,” Jacob said, picking up his bag and Sara’s bag with a chivalrous sweep of his arm.

  You certainly do, Klarinda thought.

  As they ascended the stairs, the front door of the inn swung open again, and an attractive blonde haired man with glasses and a black ski jacket stepped inside. “Am I okay to park right there?” he asked, pointing to a green Subaru resting crookedly beside the dumpster corral.

  “Yes, that’s fine,” said Klarinda.

  “Great. Sorry about the parking job. Best I could do, with the conditions out there.”

  “You’re fine,” said Klarinda. Yes, you are! she added silently.

  “My name’s Christopher Murdock. I’ve got a reservation for the night. I almost didn’t make it, though. They’re closing the road between here and Elk’s Pass. I’m hoping I can get out of here in the morning. If not, I guess you’ll have me for two nights.”

  “They’re closing the road?” asked Klarinda.

  “That’s what they said on the radio.” Christopher unzipped the duffle bag he was carrying and reached inside, pulling out a now-familiar white invitation. “Do you need this?”

  Klarinda sighed. “No, you keep it.”

  “Is this because I’m a 94.7 preferred listener?”

  Klarinda just shrugged.

  “Anyway,” said Christopher, “thanks for covering airfare and taxi fare, but I live just an hour and forty-five minutes from here, up in Coldwater City. I figured it was easier and faster to drive.”

  “Oh. Okay,” said Klarinda. She handed him his room key. “Room number four. The gray room. At the top of the stairs, you’ll go straight down the hall and to your left, across from room number three.”

  “So, can I redeem my airline ticket and taxi fare voucher for some other trip?”

  “I’ve got to confess,” said Klarinda. “You all seem to be part of a mystery, and I’m afraid I’m not in on it.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Christopher.

  “Just what I said.”

  “You still haven’t answered my question.”

  “Take it up with the airline.” She passed him a card with the dining room hours on it.

  “Thanks,” he said, shoving the card in his pocket. “So,” he said, leaning in flirtatiously, “this isn’t your place, right? You’re too young for that. Right? Are you the manager, or do they call you the front desk girl?”

  “Nope. This is my inn. I own it. Just little ol’ me. Anything else I can help you with?”

  “I guess not,” he said, sighing and heading up the stairs, leaving Klarinda to her dishtowels, confusion, and throbbing temples.

  “The dining room’s open for business in five minutes,” said Chef Pierre, a few minutes later, turning on its lights.

  “I’ll get the fire going,” said Myrtle, who was just stepping through the front door. She was covered in snow and grease. “That doggone plow,” she said, in explanation for her disheveled appearance. She was followed by Kelsie Bantam, a local high school student who served as one of the inn’s only two waitresses.

  “Sorry I’m late,” said Kelsie. “Driving here was really scary.”

  “I understand,” said Klarinda. “It might be busy tonight. The inn is booked and I wouldn’t be surprised if some folks from town venture out, too. Should I call Addie to come and help out?”

  “I kind of want the tips,” said Kelsie. “But, yeah, maybe you ought to call her. I can only do so much.”

  Klarinda had just finished leaving messages on the other waitress’s cellphone and home answering machine when the inn’s front door swung open again and a scowling woman entered. Her pant legs were soaked from the knees down.

  “My goodness,” exclaimed Klarinda, setting down the phone. “You must be freezing!”

  “That’s putting it mildly,” said the woman. She tossed her butter yellow hair back away from her round, pretty face. “The taxi driver dropped me off at the bottom of the hill since he couldn’t even decipher where your driveway was.”

  “Has that much snow come down since Myrtle last plowed?” asked Klarinda.

  “I can’t tell you when Myrtle last plowed,” said the woman, putting the name ‘Myrtle’ and the word ‘plowed’ in air quotes, “but if I’d been able to stay on the driveway when I walked up here, it probably wouldn’t have been so bad. However, it’s so poorly lit out there that I stumbled into a snow bank! Can you please get me checked in so I can take a hot shower and change out of these frigid clothes?”

  “Of course. What’s your name, please?”

  “Alanna Newcastle. I go by Lannie. Here you go,” she said, whipping out her ID and handing it to Klarinda. “The reservation is probably under my husband’s name: Tom Newcastle. He was going to come along, but something came up at the last minute. Like it always does.”

  “Thank you,” said Klarinda, taking Lannie’s license.

  “And this little cutie-muffin is Pumpernickel. She’s my little Yorkie-poo,” said Lannie, patting the head of the fluffy creature tucked under her arm in a quilted pouch. Then she began speaking in babytalk to the dog: “Aren’t you a cutie-muffin, Pumpernickel? Who’s a little Yorkie-poo? Did Mommy keep you all warmy-warm-warm and toasty-toasty-roasty in your widdle carrying bag? No big, bad snowstorm for you!”

  “I’m sorry,” said Klarinda, “but we don’t allow pets.”

  “Are you kidding me?” yelled Lannie. “This is a service dog! Tell me ‘no’ again and I’ll sue you.”

  Klarinda sighed. “I didn’t realize it was a service dog. In that case, yes, your dog is welcome here.”

  “That’s more like it!” said Lannie.

  “You’re in our Rose Suite. It’s the red room at the top of the stairs. Room number seven. It’s our only suite, and if I do say so myself, our nicest room. The dining room is right down the hallway, and dinner is being served from now until eight thirty tonight. Here’s a card with the breakfast and lunch hours as well. Do you need help with your bag?”

  “No,” Lannie said, shaking her head and disappearing up the stairs.

  “Sorry about the driveway,” Myrtle whispered, popping out from the basement as soon as Lannie was gone. “We’re going to have to get a mechanic over here. Something’s wrong with the plow. I’m afraid it’s going to fall right off the truck. It’s dragging on the ground. I can’t even drive that truck the way things are right now.”

  “Let’s get Phil the Plow Guy over here. We can’t have the driveway blocked off like this,” said Klarinda.

  “Good idea. I’ll give him a call,” said Myrtle. She glanced up the stairs, and then whispered, “So, did you learn any more about what brought our guests here?”

  “No, except that the first two knew each other.”

  “Oh. Well, that makes a little more sense,” said Myrtle.

  “Only, they were surprised to see each other. They hadn’t intentionally booked their stay here to be together. In fact, they both looked shocked to see one another.”

  “What kind of a wacky coincidence is that?” asked Myrtle.

  “I know! Right?” said Klarinda. “This whole situation is baffling. They’ve got these fancy, embossed invitations that I’ve never seen before, telling them that they’ve won a night�
�s stay here. And Myrtle, get this: Their airfare and taxi rides here, all the way from the airport, were even covered! They all assume I know what it means, and that I’m the one who invited them, or that they won some kind of contest or something. But I haven’t got the foggiest idea what’s going on. Did anything like this ever happen when the old owners were here? Some kind of murder mystery party, or something like that?”

  “Not that I recall,” said Myrtle. ”And trust me: I wouldn’t forget something like that, because this place isn’t exactly known for its exciting times.”

  “That’s what I was afraid you were going to say,” said Klarinda. “I ought to add, it’s a tough crowd. They’re the biggest bunch of weirdos and snots I’ve ever dealt with.”

  “It might be the bad weather getting to them,” said Myrtle.

  “Maybe that’s it. The other thing is that they all seem to be pretty young. I’ve got photocopies of most of their drivers’ licenses and they’re all between the ages of twenty-six and twenty-eight. Rather unlikely, wouldn’t you say? Our average visitors are middle-aged couples.”

  “Maybe this is becoming a singles’ hotspot,” said Myrtle. Her eyes lit up at the thought of it.

  “Ha! Why am I still alone then?” asked Klarinda.

  “I hear ya,” sighed Myrtle. “Do you think Pierre’s ever going to warm up to me?”

  “I think Pierre will only ever truly love his copper pans,” said Klarinda.

  “Yeah, I suppose an old bag like me can’t compete with something that new and shiny,” said Myrtle.

  Klarinda laughed. “Maybe Phil the Plow Guy has some room in his heart. I heard Martha left him?”

  “He’s not my type,” said Myrtle. “I just can’t date a man who’s shorter than me.”

  “Despite being height-challenged, he’s a cutie,” said Klarinda.

  “Did you hear who Martha left him for?”

  “Please, please don’t tell me that she left him for my secret boyfriend Todd the bike messenger.”

  “I wasn’t going to,” laughed Myrtle. “She left him for the high school principal.”