Innkeeping with Murder by Tim Myers
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Innkeeping With Murder By Tim Myers Book 1 in the Lighthouse Inn mysteries Praise for the Lighthouse Mystery series by Tim Myers “Entertaining ... authentic ... fun ... a wonderful regional mystery that will have readers rebooking for future stays at the Hatteras West Inn and Lighthouse.” —BookBrowser “Colorful... picturesque ... light and entertaining.” —The Best Reviews Praise for the Candlemaking Mystery series by Tim Myers “Excellent storytelling that makes for a good reading experience…(Myers) is a talented writer who deserves to hit the bestseller lists.” ---The Best Reviews “An interesting mystery, a large cast of characters, and an engaging amateur sleuth make this series a winner.” ---The Romance Reader’s Connection (four daggers) The Lighthouse Inn Mysteries by Tim Myers Innkeeping With Murder Reservations For Murder Murder Checks Inn Room For Murder Booked For Murder The Candlemaking Mysteries by Tim Myers At Wick’s End Snuffed Out Death Waxed Over A Flicker Of Doubt The Soapmaking Mysteries by Tim Myers Dead Men Don’t Lye A Pour Way To Dye A Mold For Murder The Cardmaking Mysteries by Tim Myers written as Elizabeth Bright Invitation To Murder Deadly Greetings Murder And Salutations Innkeeping With Murder by Tim Myers. Smashwords Edition Copyright © 2001 Tim Myers All rights reserved. Smashwords Edition, License Notes This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Dedication For Patty, who never stopped believing. Chapter 1 “Alex, we’ve got a problem.” At the sound of the maid’s voice, Alex Winston jerked his head up, cracking his skull on the steel pipe placed treacherously just above the opening of the furnace he’d been working on. Alex had been crouched in an awkward position staring at the mysterious workings of the inn’s antique boiler, trying unsuccessfully to figure out what was wrong with the blasted thing this time. For a moment, all Alex could see was a dancing whirlwind of flashing white lights. “Damn!” he said as he rubbed the crown of his head. No blood came away on his hand, thank God for small favors. “Are you cursing at me?” Marisa Danton’s tone implied that an improper response from Alex would send her fleeing to her room in tears yet again. It had happened too many times to count over the past three months she’d been housekeeping for him at The Hatteras West Inn, an exact replica of the Cape Hatteras Lighthouse nestled on forty acres of land in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. With a forced smile, Alex said, “No, of course not, I would never swear at you.” He’d become quite adept at soothing Marisa’s ruffled feathers. Alex needed his maid’s goodwill, but he also needed a working furnace. Without it, they would both be out of work. Worse yet, Alex could lose the only home he had ever known. Marisa stared at the mechanical workings of the boiler, a slow smile coming gently to her lips. “It’s broken again? That’s the third time in two weeks.” She looked absolutely delighted by the misfortune. Alex couldn’t figure out what there was to smile about. The cantankerous boiler supplied the heat and hot water for all the guest rooms in the two buildings that made up the inn. It was difficult keeping up two guest buildings as well as the lighthouse, but there really wasn’t much choice. The arrangement and construction of the buildings had been determined long before Alex Winston had been born, one stormy Halloween night nearly thirty years before. Alex kicked the cast-iron base, cracking his big toe with the impact. “I can’t believe how ungrateful this mechanical nightmare is. I should have thrown it out years ago.” He looked at the boiler with disgust. He could usually coax the antiquated system back to life with a judicious whack from his monkey wrench, but even his verbal threats to dismantle the oil eater and sink it in the lake down the road had met with no response. On second thought, he realized it wouldn’t do to pollute one of the features that drew guests to the inn. The lake, though small by some standards, was large enough to allow visitors to fish from the banks or from a canoe. Alex had gotten a good deal on four battered aluminum canoes from a summer camp that had gone bankrupt the year before. After giving each boat a fresh coat of green aluminum paint, he began offering them to his guests, for a slight fee, of course. Alex used every angle he could think of to generate more income, but no matter how much money he brought in, there never seemed to be enough. The boiler was a case in point, nothing more than a big black hole waiting to swallow what was left in his dwindling bank account. Still, he had no choice but to have it fixed immediately. Lacking basic amenities, his guests would disappear faster than cotton candy in a thunderstorm. The weather in the foothills of North Carolina could suddenly turn cool during the fall months, and they were now in the heart of autumn. As gently as he could, Alex asked, “What problem were you talking about when you came in?” Marisa started to answer, but Alex held up his hand to cut off her response. “Never mind, I don’t want to know. Marisa, if something’s wrong, you’re going to have to deal with it yourself. I have to call Mor or Les.” The two men operated the town’s combination handyman service and fix-it shop. Unfortunately, both men were on intimate terms with his troublesome boiler. Marisa’s lower lip quivered in a rapidly increasing tempo, a sure sign she was fighting back a crying jag. Her teary spells had concerned Alex at first, but he’d soon learned that the girl would cry at the slightest provocation. Barely in her twenties, Marisa had the look of a wild doe, from her long thin body and matching oblong face to the biggest set of brown eyes Alex had ever seen. Marisa stifled back the tears and mumbled something Alex couldn’t understand. He tried to bury his irritation with the girl before he spoke. She hadn’t done anything to anger him, but the throbbing ache in his head from the boiler collision was hard to ignore. In a voice calmer than he felt, Alex said, “Relax and take a deep breath.” She did as he suggested, and Alex could see the quivering recede. “There, that’s better. Now what’s the problem you wanted to tell me about?” “You said I should handle it myself.” Alex coaxed her gently. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’ll take care of whatever’s wrong.” “It’s Mr. Wellington,” Marisa said. “He asked me to wake him from his nap, but he won’t come to the door no matter how hard I knock. It’s time for him to take his medication. I just know he’s forgotten again.” “Where’s Junior?” It was a ridiculous moniker for a fifty-year-old man, but that was the name Reg Wellington insisted everyone call his grown son. Although the senior Wellington had been vacationing at the mountain lighthouse for as long as Alex could remember, he had never brought his son with him before this trip. Marisa said, “I can’t find him anywhere either. I don’t know what to do.” Great, just great. For the hundredth time that day, Alex wished his dad had left him anything but the inn. After his father had died, Alex’s brother Tony had opted for cash, and in a burst of sentimentality that Alex had often regretted since, he’d volunteered to take over the ten-room inn and connecting lighthouse where the two of them had grown up. Rubbing the crown of his head, Alex asked, “Marisa, would you like me to take care of Mr. Wellington myself?” The maid’s face lit up. “Oh would you?” With the glimmer of a smile, she added, “I’ll be happy to call Mordecai for you.” So that was the reason she’d been pleased about the boiler trouble; it was another chance for her to see Mor. It was obvious by the way Marisa doted on him that she had a crush on the handyman. Marisa was the only person in Elkton Falls who didn’t call Mor by his nickname. Les was the founder and older partner, Lester Williamson. Everyone around town had called them Mor or Les for years, so the two men finally decided to adopt the name officially for their business. “You do that,” Alex told her. “Tell him it’s the boiler again.” As an afterthought, he added, “You might want to mention that if he doesn’t get over here soon, there’ll be no money to pay last month’s bill.” Alex used every weapon at his disposal to keep the inn open.