Holly and Homicide Page 4

  Chapter 4

  I love the fresh holly garlands on the stair railings,” Audrey said as we passed the staircase and entered the kitchen in search of our beckoning claret.

  “Thanks.” I felt a pang, knowing I really shouldn’t have hung those till she’d officially approved them, but they were fabulous-looking—perfect for this Victorian-style house. “That was a lot of work, actually. I had to take special care to attach them to the bottom of each handrail, so people’s fingers won’t get jabbed when they grab the rails. The Christmas carol and all those fa-la-las make decking the halls sound so fun, but some of those leaves managed to stab me right through my work gloves.” The shipment of holly had arrived around noon. I had grilled the deliveryman on whether or not his company could have also delivered an unmarked box to the back porch, but had learned nothing.

  Audrey selected a bottle from the nicely stocked wine rack. Just as I popped the cork, Henry entered from the mudroom, his cheeks still rosy from being outside. “Oh, good, Audrey. You’re here. I wanted to talk with you about something.” He glanced at me. “You haven’t let the cat out of the bag yet, have you?”

  “No, the bagged cat is still all yours to release.” The mention of cats brought Hildi to mind; now that Audrey would be staying up here more full-time, I dearly hoped the cat-sitter would give Hildi lots of attention.

  “What’s up?” Audrey asked him.

  “Earlier today, Erin, Steve, and I were talking about Wendell Barton. There’s a general perception that he’s snatching up the best that this region has to offer all for himself.”

  Audrey cocked an eyebrow. “And do you share in this general perception?”

  “Oh, personally, I have no beef with the man. But the scuttlebutt around town was driven home to me this morning, when the building inspector, Angie Woolf, flunked both our front entrance and our tap water. I’d hired her sister, Mikara, to be our new manager. Admittedly, I’d thought that would help us with the inspections. Unfortunately, it only backfired.”

  “Ah. And you think I can help mitigate this situation?”

  “I think so, yes.” Henry popped a breath mint into his mouth and looked longingly at the lovely, country-style pine table; the three of us were standing by the cabinet that held the stemware, and I got the distinct impression he’d have preferred us all to be seated, for some reason.

  I poured two glasses. I held one up to Henry, who shook his head. I gave the glass to Audrey instead.

  “Audrey, it’s imperative that we actively demonstrate to the people of this community that this is not the Wendell Barton Inn.” Henry pounded his palm with his fist, driving home his obviously rehearsed minisermon.

  Audrey merely nodded her approval of the wine to me as she sipped from her glass.

  “We’ve got to show everyone that you and Chiffon are equally important owners of the inn,” he continued.

  She arched an eyebrow at Henry and gave him a wavering gesture that meant: Not exactly.

  “Granted, he owns a slightly larger percentage,” Henry continued undaunted, “but the point is that I’m putting you and Chiffon in neon lights, for all the townsfolk to see.”

  “Neon’s not really my color, Henry,” Audrey said, taking another sip of red wine.

  “Metaphorically speaking, that is. I’m putting you in charge of the Christmas decorations for the inn’s interior. And Chiffon will be doing the exterior. She’s hard at work on her design, even as we speak.”

  Audrey eyed him skeptically. “As Erin might have told you, I truly love decorating for the holidays, Henry, but—”

  “Wonderful! So you’ll work up a design for the inn?”

  “If you’d like me to, I will, of course. Although Erin and Steve are as good a pair of designers as you’re likely to find, and they’re paid professionals.”

  “I realize that. They’ll assist both you and Chiffon every step of the way. In fact, I’m hoping you and Chiffon will be able to come up with a unifying theme for the place. But once you’ve got the theme in mind, you can feel free to leave the details to the professionals.” He winked at me. I took a long sip of wine, feeling more than a little patronized. By all means, don’t waste our talents on coming up with ideas; Sullivan & Gilbert Designs is strictly into minutiae!

  Audrey sighed. “As far as being … placed in neon, as you described it, how will the members of the community know that I was the one who came up with the holiday theme for the rooms?”

  The question gave him momentary pause, but then he said, “We’ll be having an open house or two for the neighborhood as we get closer to the grand opening. We’ll post announcements then. You can act as tour guide for your design during the parties.”

  “Well, I love the idea of playing tour guide. And whatever I can do to help make the transition to Snowcap Inn a smooth one, I’m happy to do, Henry.”

  “Terrific.” He glanced at the clock. “I’m late. I’ve got a quick meeting in advance of our meeting this evening.”

  “There’s a meeting this evening?” Audrey asked.

  “At seven,” I said. “To discuss the hostile inspector.”

  “Well. A last-minute business meeting.” She topped off her glass and said to me, “In that case, we’d better think about polishing off this entire bottle.”

  “I believe Chiffon is going to announce her plans for the outside display tonight. Maybe that will spark some ideas for the interior.” Henry headed toward the door. “See you soon.”

  “Thanks, Henry,” Audrey tossed after him. She waited till we heard the exterior door of the mudroom shut behind him, then asked, “Why did he suddenly make this decision, Erin?”

  “Anxiety over Angie’s not immediately being cowed by her older sister’s important role here at the inn.”

  “I see.” She took a sip of wine. “I have a hunch that the older sister expressed anxiety about the autonomy of the inn’s co-owners, as well. In other words, one of the sisters must have told Henry about my dating Wendell Barton.”

  Finally! I decided not to rib her about my being the last to know and instead replied, “That was a factor, too, yes.” I searched her features. “I must say, I was a little surprised by the news, myself.” I waited, but she didn’t volunteer any information. “So, when did this dating thing start? And is it going to continue?”

  She gave me another of her wavering-hand gestures, which, in this context, meant: We’ll see. “Friday night was our first date, and Saturday our second. We both enjoyed ourselves, so my guess is, it will probably continue. At least for the immediate future.” She grinned. “Besides, as they say—keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Either way, I win.”

  “So …which do you think he’s going to turn out to be?”

  “A friend.”

  “With benefits?”

  “Erin, please. He and I are smart businesspeople.” She paused. “We’re still in the negotiation phase.”

  “What exactly are you negotiating?”

  She winked at me. “All sorts of strictly professional things. You’d be surprised how many decisions need to be made.”

  Other than his sizable paunch and leathery skin from too much sun, Wendell Barton was a fit-looking, handsome man. To my amusement, he dyed his thinning hair the same shade of ash blond as Audrey’s. He arrived a half an hour in advance of the meeting and spent the time flirting with Audrey. Audrey, on the other hand, kept trying to draw me into their conversation. I did my part, but Wendell ignored me, not counting a couple of subtle hints that he wanted to be alone with Audrey. Clearly, the man did not understand the dynamics of women’s relationships. At this particular moment, all fiduciary aspects were irrelevant; I was first and foremost Audrey’s girlfriend. If he wanted to impress her, he needed to show her that he was interested in getting to know her friends.

  The third owner, Chiffon Walters, arrived precisely on time. Chiffon, a petite, pretty blue-eyed blonde, struck me as a nice enough person, but she was more than a little spoiled and
had a short attention span for anything that didn’t affect her directly. Mikara had correctly pegged her as someone who had made her fortune in pop music too young and too easily. We took seats at the enormous sixteen-seat dining room table. With Mikara joining Henry, the three owners, and Sullivan and me, we were now using almost half the chairs. Wendell announced immediately that he was bringing in his personal fix-it man. This key employee, Wendell explained, had recently completed work on Wendell’s property back east—a hotel high-rise—and would consider a hostile building inspector to be a breeze in comparison. Mr. Fix-it, Wendell said, was traveling into town that day and should arrive within the hour.

  As is so often the case with business meetings, the discussions were repetitive and unproductive. Finally, I suggested that we nip any additional hostilities in the bud and request to bring in impartial inspectors. “Sullivan and I respect all of the building inspectors in Crestview, and we can make a case that the inn needs to use unbiased, out-of-town inspectors.”

  Mikara cried, “There’s no need to call in an out-of-towner! That’s the very last thing Snowcap needs! My sister is ethical. And if she says there’s something that’s out of code, it’s wrong and needs to be redone.”

  “Everybody knows an inspector can nitpick forever, Mikki,” Henry retorted. “It’s like how, in a football game, the refs can call holding on every play, if they so choose.”

  “We need to give Angie a chance,” Mikara countered, “or we’ll be building a wall between us and this town. Whenever we need an inspector’s approval from here on out, we’ll get the shaft. Whenever we try to hire someone to—”

  “It’s time to move onto happier topics,” Chiffon Walters interrupted.

  I stifled my annoyance, truly wanting to get this issue resolved.

  “Let’s discuss my Christmas décor plan! I want to turn the entire exterior of the inn into a gingerbread house by tacking brightly painted scalloping to the siding. We’d make it from sheets of that, you know, thin, brown woodlike stuff.”

  “Masonite?” Steve interjected.

  “I guess. You guys know those constructiony kinds of words better than me. The design will be complete with fake candy canes, lemon drops, and licorice ropes.”

  The bile was rising in my throat.

  “Yeesh! That sounds hideous!” Mikara exclaimed, putting a voice to my thoughts.

  Undaunted, Chiffon continued, “I also want Gilbert and Sullivan to find us a life-size sleigh and a team of moving illuminated reindeer for the front yard.”

  “Ugh,” Mikara muttered.

  “And, I want us to hire a Santa to pose in the sleigh from nine to five, and to toss candy and trinkets to the children.”

  “Chiffon, I respectfully disagree with your plan,” Sullivan said. (I also disagreed, but not “respectfully.”)

  “You don’t like Santa’s sleigh?” she asked, drawing her pretty lips into a pout. Santa would disapprove of her facial expression.

  “I can take or leave the sleigh idea,” he continued. “But this is a large, three-story, historical home. It’s not the type of place that can be made to look like a little gingerbread house by slapping up a fake exterior. It’s just too grand and too regal. That would be like putting baby clothes on an adult. It won’t be cute; it’ll just be ridiculous.”

  “I was planning on a tasteful display of Christmas lights, and a single candlelike lamp in each window,” I interjected.

  “Lights are useless during the day,” Chiffon retorted, “and we can put lights over our gingerbread façade. Besides which, Henry is in charge for this year. That means he gets to choose the Snowcap Inn’s appearance. Remember? So what he says goes.” She gave Henry a Marilyn Monroe-esque smile, complete with batted eyes. “Henry?”

  Detesting being asked to “remember” something that I couldn’t possibly have forgotten, I was rapidly reassessing my opinion of her as a “nice enough” person. Meanwhile, Henry had looked almost ill at Chiffon’s tacky suggestion, but kept looking in turns at each of the three partners of Snowcap Inn as if to gauge their reactions. He must have been truly torn—wanting to massage Chiffon’s ego without pimping out his elegant home.

  Henry forced a smile. “I’ll go with whatever the majority of the board decides.”

  “I’m voting to dress up the inn in gingerbread,” Chiffon declared, raising her arm so high she was rising from her chair.

  “Let’s go with Erin’s tasteful light display,” Audrey said, making it a tie vote.

  We all looked at Wendell, who, as the tie-breaker, appeared to be cursing under his breath. “Er, I’ve got to go with my gut here and say that men shouldn’t be involved in anything that has to do with gingerbread.”

  “This from the man with the biggest sweet tooth in town,” Chiffon said. She winked at him flirtatiously.

  “Give us an answer, one way or another,” Mikara said sternly.

  Wendell drummed his fingers on the table, then said, “Henry told Chiffon to decorate outside, and he’s in charge of such decisions this Christmas. Next Christmas, when the permanent staff is in place, things will be different. This year, if Chiffon has her heart set on gingerbread, we should let her have her fun.”

  Chiffon bounced in her chair like a cheerleader. “Hooray! This is going to look so great, guys! You won’t regret it.”

  “Oh, we’ll see about that.” Audrey fired a paint-peeling glare at Wendell. He winced, then averted his gaze. “But so be it.” I knew her well; she was simmering, but was far too classy to throw a scene. “I might as well take this opportunity to unveil my design for the house’s interior.”

  “You’ve designed the interior? Isn’t that kind of what we’re paying Gilbert and Sullivan to do for us?” Chiffon asked with a sneer.

  “I meant with regard to the holiday decorations.”

  Chiffon gave Audrey a long look. “Weren’t Erin and Steve the ones who put up the tree and the lights and all those garlands in the hall? They’re all kind of spectacular, don’t you think, Audrey?”

  “Of course. Erin and Steve are spectacular designers. Even so, Henry asked me to do this, so I did. There are sixteen rooms in the entire house—counting the four small bedrooms. My idea is that each of the eight rooms on the main floor and the four large bedrooms upstairs should be decorated as one of the twelve days of Christmas.”

  Sullivan and I looked at each other. I could immediately envision one of those lovely round miniature pear trees centered on top of the desk in the lobby where everyone would see it as they were checking in, a lavish yet still tasteful partridge on its uppermost branch. Ideas for the other rooms were also springing to mind.

  “That sounds like a great idea to me,” Henry said.

  “Me, too,” Mikara chimed in.

  Chiffon’s eyes widened, then her features took on an expression of childlike glee. “Audrey, I take back everything I said, plus everything I was secretly thinking. That’s a great idea!”

  “Thank you,” Audrey said in a monotone. “I’m humbled by your enthusiasm.”

  “Could we do a big promotion with this, over the Net?” Mikara suggested. “Allow customers to stay twelve days for the price of ten, for example?”

  “I don’t see why not,” Wendell said cautiously, turning toward Henry, who truly was supposedly in charge of this type of decision.

  “You were already telling me about the housewarming party for the neighborhood,” Chiffon said to Henry. “We could make a party game out of identifying the Christmas day in each room … like, we’d list them on our invitations, the twelve days, and we’d put an A, B, C, or so on in each doorway, and make people match the right letters to the right twelve days. Get it?”

  “Hey, I like that, Chiffon,” Henry said with a big smile. “But getting back to Mikara’s suggestion, most of our guests have already booked rooms based on our previous weeklong price breaks. But we’ll contact our registered guests and offer them a special rate—pay for ten days and stay for twelve, from December twenty-fou
rth to January fourth.”

  “No! That’s going to make us sound desperate,” Mikara said, shaking her head. “You’ll make people think something’s up. And what about all our reservations for the week after Christmas? We’ll be double-booking ourselves.”

  “But you were the one who suggested it in the first place!” Henry cried, throwing up his hands in exasperation.

  “Don’t yell, Henry,” she retorted. “I reconsidered, and recognized a flaw in my idea. It’s not like you never change your mind and take back things you said!” She glared at him till he averted his eyes.

  “This is no big deal,” I said, “but just so you know, the Twelve Days of Christmas actually begin on Christmas day and end on January fifth.”

  “Please,” Wendell said, with a dismissive wave in my general direction, “nobody but a church nerd would actually know that. We can assign the dates however we want.”

  “I’m hardly a ‘church nerd,’ Mr. Barton, but I’ll grant that it’s your right to time the promotion however you want.”

  “Which is not going to involve a twelve-day rate at this late juncture,” Mikara stated emphatically.

  The noise level increased exponentially as everyone except Sullivan and me began to bicker. He gave me a loving smile, which I returned. With all parties feuding about something, I reminded myself that, no matter what happened, my relationship with Steve couldn’t be stronger. If not invincible, the two of us could at least prove to be unflappable tonight.

  Wendell cleared his throat and grinned at someone in the doorway behind me. “Ah. Here’s my director of operations. No need to worry about a thing from now on.”

  I turned. My heart started hammering in my chest as I stared in shock at the tall, handsome man, recognizing him at once.

  “Everybody, this is Cameron Baker,” Wendell was saying.

  Our eyes met, and we both froze with our gazes locked for several seconds. He was my former boyfriend—my first love, and the first man I’d been intimate with—and we hadn’t seen each other in ten years. When I was at Parsons School of Design, he’d been a grad student at Columbia.