Heather Horrocks - Who-Dun-Him Inn 02 - Inn the Doghouse Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Book Description

  Dedication

  Copyright

  Half Title

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Thank you!

  About the Author

  Books by Heather Horrocks

  Acknowledgments

  Excerpt: Snowed Inn

  Excerpt: Murder is Misunderstood

  Excerpt: Kissing Santa

  Excerpt: Beauty and the Beach by Diane Darcy

  Thanks again.

  INN THE DOGHOUSE

  Who-Dun-Him Inn Cozy Mystery #2

  Heather Horrocks

  Description: Inn the Doghouse

  When single mom and mystery buff Vicki Butler pays a visit to her husband’s grave, she stumbles across the body of her twin sister Liz’s estranged husband—the same brother-in-law she argued with just yesterday.

  Since Vicki is caught standing next to the body and her sister stands to inherit millions in her dead husband’s will, the twins suddenly find themselves “persons of interest.”

  Will they identify the real murderer in time to avoid the slammer?

  Or are they about to learn firsthand just how many innocent people one doghouse can hold?

  Dedicated to awesome author friends—Kathleen Wright, Bruce Simpson, A. N. Allan, Rangi Moleni, and Dawn Duren. Thanks for the great critiques, the good conversations, the laughter, the scathingly brilliant ideas, and the moral support you’ve shared with me over the years.

  And to Mark, even though he doesn’t write novels, at all. Even so, he has still managed to share scathingly brilliant ideas, good conversations, laughter, and moral support.

  Copyright © 2013 Heather Horrocks

  www.BooksByHeatherHorrocks.com

  Word Garden Press

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.

  Cover

  Cover Art Copyright © 2013 istockphoto.com / elvispupy

  All Rights Reserved

  This includes the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions.

  Work of Fiction

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Special eBook Edition

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only; it may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please use the Kindle enabled lending program or purchase a separate additional copy on any other format.

  Previews

  For previews of upcoming books by Heather Horrocks, to sign up for mailing list, to order personalized print copies, or for more information about the author, visit www.BooksByHeatherHorrocks.com.

  INN THE DOGHOUSE

  Chapter One

  Friday, September 28

  Morning of the Anniversary Party

  AS THE DARK-HAIRED WOMAN approached me with a pair of sharp scissors, my apprehension grew.

  I put up my hands as a signal for her to stop advancing. “I think maybe this is a bad idea.”

  Behind me, my twin sister, Liz Eklund, put her hands on my shoulders and kept me in the chair, staring at me in the black-edged salon mirror. It was like seeing double. “It’ll be fun. Come on, Vicki. You can’t chicken out now.”

  Marta, whose hair was trimmed into a sharp-edged, geometric, high-fashion style, drew closer. How could she look so menacing with such pretty blue eyes and a friendly smile? Or sound so ominous with her slight French accent? “You’ll both look stunning when I’m done. I promise.”

  Shaking my head, I said, “I’ll settle for not scaring off the paying customers.”

  Liz touched my hair. “Come on, Vicki. You already agreed. And it’s not like you’re the only one changing your look. I’m getting mine cut next.”

  When Marta lifted a large lock of my shoulder-length red hair, I panicked. “Wait, ladies. Let’s rethink this. Why don’t you just trim my hair and shape it instead? I’m not sure I want to be mistaken for you all the time, Liz.”

  My sister answered, “Shush, and let Marta do her job. It’s just a haircut.”

  Marta held up the scissors. “Do I have your permission to proceed?”

  I wanted to protest again, but really, what could it hurt? For the first time in a long time, I’d have a ritzy haircut. After two years as a single mom, I suppose I needed a makeover. That it would be on Liz’s dime was even better. And where better to show off my new ’do than at my parents’ anniversary shindig tonight?

  I blew out a nervous breath, shut my eyes, and nodded. “Okay.”

  The immediate snip of the scissors startled me and I opened my eyes.

  Marta held out a five-inch lock of my hair. “Your transformation to stunning beauty has begun.”

  O-kay. With a big chunk of my hair cut, I had officially passed the point of no return. My indecisiveness came to an end and I sat back, actually feeling relieved. “All right. Transform me.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Liz said, pulling up a stool to watch. “We’re going to have so much fun at the anniversary party. People won’t know who they’re talking to.”

  I felt certain she was right about people being confused, and could only hope she was right about how fun it would be.

  I settled back to enjoy the makeover.

  ~ ~ ~

  During a quiet moment between the last notes over the loudspeakers of one love song and the first strains of the next, an ear-splitting shriek rent the air.

  I jumped, fumbling my plastic cup full of lemonade onto the wooden floor. Heart pounding, I spun around to see who was in trouble.

  Beside me, Liz laughed, raising her hands up in surprise. “Why, Grandma, what a big yell you have!”

  That was Grandma? Really? Holy crap, Batman!

  Sure enough, twenty feet behind me, Grandma Ross was crouched in a martial arts pose, a huge grin on her face—a-hundred-and-plenty (her words) pounds of Chuck Norris readiness—but with streaked blonde hair and many more years under her wannabe-black belt.

  My parents, Frank and Cheryl Ross, were seated at the far end of the large, rectangular room, waiting to greet the many friends and family members who came to help them celebrate their thirty-fifth wedding anniversary. Mom shook her head and Dad smiled at the antics of his mother. My seven-year-old son, Zach, who was standing by my mother, grinned.

  Surprised by Grandma’s yell, others in the church’s large gym-decorated-as-wedding-reception turned to stare at us. Just twenty minutes into the party, there were already enough well-wishers to form a line hugging a long side wall, all craning their necks to see what was happening while wai
ting to congratulate our parents. And all were looking our way.

  For once, could we not be the center of attention? Apparently not, with my grandmother around. I just wanted a nice celebration for my parents; a nice, uneventful evening without karate yells or any high jinks. They didn’t have a big wedding or reception when they got married, so we intended to create a nice reception for them now. I thought we’d succeeded quite nicely so far. Ha! Enter Grandma.

  This morning’s dramatic haircut didn’t help matters any, either. I was already mistaken for Liz twice—the first time by my own son! Ouch.

  While Liz headed toward our grandmother, I bent down near the refreshment tables to retrieve my plastic cup before attempting to mop up the mess with the few napkins in my hand. They were instantly soaked, and I grabbed more from a nearby food table.

  The large, rectangular room was a little bigger than the basketball court demarcated on the floor. For this afternoon’s festivities, the baskets were raised snugly against the ceiling. Beneath them, fifteen white cloth-draped, round tables with centerpieces of red silk roses invited guests to linger.

  Most of the guests were still in line, with only five tables filled so far.

  Oblivious to the attention she’d garnered, Grandma Ross tipped her head emphatically as if she’d made her point. Then she lowered her hands and stood up straight, which, at seventy-eight years, was surprisingly vertical. I felt a rush of love for my noisy, bossy, but life-affirming grandmother.

  In the other corner of the room by the refreshment table, my oldest sister, Joannie, sat on a folding chair. She placed it next to the church piano that someone rolled in from one of the other rooms. Her daughter, Camille, perched on the piano bench, facing the center of the room. They’d flown in from Pennsylvania yesterday. Joannie was still hurt that we opted for a playlist to come through the speakers, rather than asking her to play the piano. We would have asked, as Joannie played beautifully, except we knew if we did, Camille would insist upon singing. I loved my niece, but she was no songbird. Even so, I would have wagered that before the party’s end, she’d have a mic in her hand. Oh, well, at least then everyone wouldn’t be staring at Grandma—or at Liz and me, trying to figure out who’s who.

  When my best friend, Stephanie Bowcutt, entered the building, I waved before grabbing another handful of napkins, hoping these would finish the job. I was determined to ignore Grandma.

  As Stephanie drew near, she said, “Hi, Liz.” She drew out the Liz. “Want some help?”

  “Whatever, Amelia,” I said, calling her by her older sister’s name. “I’m already getting that from everyone else here, but I know you can tell us apart.”

  “Yes, Vicki, I can, but tonight, you two look exactly alike. Ack! It’s like I’m having a flashback of high school.” She pretended to shudder, then laughed as she handed me more napkins. Running a finger along the sharp edges of my new geometric haircut, she asked, “Edward Scissorhands was here?”

  “Liz dragged me into a hair salon this afternoon. Your Clip’s Come In.”

  She whistled at the mention of the ritziest place in Silver City. “Did you have to sell your son in order to afford it?”

  “Liz’s treat! And also her idea.”

  “So it’s a hair-brained idea. Ha-ha.”

  I rolled my eyes and said, “I laugh at your hare-brained comment.”

  “Somebunny is not happy.” She studied my natural red hair, usually just brushed and clipped back; but today screaming, Look at me! I’m cool and trendy! “It’s not your normal style, but I like it. Gives you some sass and attitude.”

  “Suits Liz’s career as sassy attorney better than mine as friendly bed-and-breakfast hostess.”

  “If you say so, but you look sharp, girl.” Stephanie was best friends with both Liz and me ever since she moved to Silver City in elementary school. She was the first person I ever saw with skin the color of milk chocolate. “So I take it you’re not enjoying having everyone mistake you for Liz again? You forgot what it was like, didn’t you?”

  “What was I thinking? When Liz said ‘let’s get our hair cut exactly alike; it will be fun to be mistaken for each other again,’ for a brief moment of insanity, I agreed. Silly me.” I nodded. “Actually, it was kind of fun getting second glances,” I admitted. “Until Zach got home from school, hugged me, and called me Aunt Liz instead of Mom.”

  “Ouch.” She leaned in and whispered. “Did Grandma get hers colored red and cut like yours, too?”

  At one time, Grandma did exactly that, calling herself our triplet. I tipped my head. “See for yourself. Here comes trouble now.”

  I stood up and threw away the last of the wet napkins as Grandma and Liz joined us. Stephanie gave Grandma a hug, and then excused herself with, “I’m going to get in line to say hi to your parents. Catch you later.”

  As Stephanie walked away, Grandma grinned. “I told you I don’t need a gun to take care of us. Karate is where it’s at nowadays.”

  Last month, she was carrying Grandpa George’s favorite handgun; this month, she was taking karate lessons. I could hardly wait for next month’s surprise.

  Grandpa George had been dead a decade, and Grandma decided it was time to kick up her heels again. She informed us last month that she was looking for a boy toy—and then proceeded to make an obvious play for Dr. Ray, one of my very first guests, who barely qualified as a boy toy, being only a few years younger than she. A best-selling author, he intended to move to Silver City next year to research his next book. Apparently, he also made Grandma his research assistant.

  “Well, that’s good news,” I said, referring to her karate hands, and trying to keep my voice quiet. “Since Paul confiscated your gun.”

  Liz chimed in with, “As if you ever really had a permit for it.”

  My brother, Paul Ross, Silver City’s police chief, had wisely locked Grandpa George’s handgun securely in his locked home gun repository, safe from Grandma—and therefore, keeping everyone else in town safe, as well. Thank heavens for that. I nearly got shot with it only a month ago during the grand opening weekend of my Who-Dun-Him Inn. I certainly didn’t care to repeat the experience.

  “I don’t need a permit to carry my hands. And soon, they’ll be classified as lethal weapons.” Grandma nodded smartly. “Let’s see Paul try to take my hands away.”

  I stifled my laugh, making my face as stern as I could, and whispering, “Grandma, can you show us your karate skills later? Please? Maybe after the party.”

  “You look exactly the same.” Grandma glanced from Liz to me a couple of times. Then she settled her gaze on me. “But you must be Vicki. Lighten up.”

  Rolling my eyes, I said, “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Smart aleck.”

  Zach ran up and grinned at Grandma Ross. “Cool yell, Grandma. Are you a ninja?”

  “That’s Great-Grandma to you, short stuff.”

  “You are great, great, great.” Still grinning, Zach took Grandma’s arm. She patted his hand with her liver-spotted one, shook her head, and sighed deeply. “Your mother is far too repressed for her own good, if you ask me. Come with me and we’ll eat cookies while we discuss how to solve this problem.”

  Zach leaned closer to Grandma and lowered his voice. “Which one is she?”

  Shaking my head, I pointed to myself.

  My son grinned “Hi, Mom.”

  Grandma smiled down at my son and said, “Zach, did I ever tell you how I got my lucky penny?”

  I’d heard the story before, but I didn’t think Zach had. Grandpa George had found a penny on their first date, picked it up, and given it to her, saying it would be their lucky penny forever. She’d carried it with her all the years since.

  With a wave, Grandma walked Zach toward the refreshment tables. Looking over her shoulder, she smiled before sticking her tongue out at me.

  If all the guests hadn’t been watching, I would have stuck my tongue right back at her. I was not repressed. I just happened to have the most unrepress
ed grandmother in the world. No, the world was too small: she had to be the most unrepressed grandmother in the entire universe.

  I turned around and saw Liz, who raised her hands. “Hey, I didn’t say it. I think you’re perfect just the way you are.”

  “I am not repressed,” I announced in a cool voice as I grabbed a cookie and took the nearest seat at an empty table.

  “Okay,” Liz agreed and sat beside me. “Not to change the subject, but I’m starting a betting pool on who asks you out first: David or Lonny.”

  Surprisingly for me, I actually did have two guys interested. Lonny Singer was a guy I’d known since we were children, while David Weston was a new guy in town. I enjoyed spending time with both of them, but hadn’t dated either. They both said they’d be here tonight, which might prove interesting. They took an instant disliking to each other the first time they met and had continued their feud ever since, especially around me. Go figure.

  I shrugged. “I’ll keep you posted for a cut of the action.”

  “Be sure to say yes either way.”

  “I don’t think I’m ready yet. And I still feel the need to be home for my son.”

  I saw the hurt cross Liz’s face, and immediately regretted my thoughtless words. We might be identical in most ways, but she couldn’t have children, while I had Zach within two years of marrying Robert. “I’m sorry, Liz. I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Hey, don’t worry. A child would just make things harder now, what with having to worry about visitation and all.” Her words didn’t camouflage her vulnerable tone. “And who’d want to subject a young child to Gene and his various girlfriends? I’d be forced to shoot him myself with Grandma’s gun. Then Paul would feel obligated to arrest me, and that would make future family parties really awkward.”

  Liz left her husband of four years, Gene, last month because she discovered not only that he was having an affair, but that it was the latest of many. The final straw was after he’d gotten a much younger girl pregnant. Liz was still in the angry stage.