“I got up early to help Aunt Winnie with the breakfast,” I replied curtly, putting extra emphasis on the word help and ignoring his second question altogether.
Peter coughed. “If you are insinuating that I am a lazy ingrate because I did not help with the breakfast, may I direct your attention to the driveway. The freshly shoveled driveway. Actually, a better description might be the freshly shoveled, ridiculously long, heart-attack-inducing driveway.”
As directed, I looked out the window to see a freshly shoveled driveway. And now that I noticed it, it was ridiculously long. Feeling petty and foolish, I turned back to apologize but Peter held up his hand to stop me. “And may I just add,” he continued, “that the reason I was surprised to see you up so early is that I know that you were up late with that detective. Aunt Winnie and I were hoping that you’d sleep in a bit. She mentioned that when you don’t get enough sleep, you have a tendency to get … cranky.” He paused to cock his eyebrow at me. “Seriously, though, how did your interview with the detective go?”
“Not very well,” I mumbled, remembering my various outbursts.
“I had a feeling,” Peter replied dryly. Turning to him for an explanation, he went on. “He was here this morning. He asked me a few questions about you. He said you were a spitfire.” Peter paused and folded his arms across his chest. “I don’t think he meant it as a compliment.”
“I can assure you he didn’t.” I was embarrassed that my temper had once again gotten the better of me. “He asked me not to leave town.”
“Well, don’t let that get you down,” said Peter. “He asked the same of me.”
The rest of what Detective Stewart said came back to me as well, especially his suspicions about Aunt Winnie. “Peter,” I said impulsively, “I think that the police suspect Aunt Winnie.”
His dark brows knitted together in concern. “Really? Why?”
“Because of some things Detective Stewart said to me last night. Apparently, someone told him that Gerald still wanted to buy the inn and that he was harassing her through the zoning board. And now Detective Stewart has it in his head that Gerald actually threatened Aunt Winnie. It looks bad for her—after all, she was the one who turned off the lights. And what if they find out about that time with her friend’s husband? If you didn’t know the whole story …” I began.
“… it could look pretty bad,” Peter finished. He thought for a moment. “So you think the police suspect Aunt Winnie of killing Gerald just so she can keep the inn?”
“Something like that. Do you think I should tell her?”
Confusion registered in Peter’s brown eyes. “I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t you tell her?”
Last night, I could have listed at least eight reasons why I shouldn’t tell her the police’s suspicions. In the light of day, after a cup of hot coffee, I couldn’t think of a single one.
“You’re right,” I finally said. “I’ll tell her. There’s no reason not to.”
“She’s a smart woman, Elizabeth. I’m sure she can handle the likes of Detective Stewart.”
“I know. I guess I wasn’t thinking clearly.” I smiled at him. “Thanks, Peter. I’ve got to run and take a shower. See you later.”
“Right,” said Peter. “I’ll go see if Winnie needs any help.”
As I walked up the staircase, I was sure that Peter was right. There was nothing to worry about. Aunt Winnie was a smart, strong woman. More important, I assured myself, she was innocent. I turned back to Peter. He was staring out into space, his shoulders hunched and his expression a mass of worry. My good feeling went right out the window.
CHAPTER 9
We’re all in this alone.
—LILY TOMLIN
I WAS SURPRISED to see all the guests file dutifully into the reading room for breakfast, until I realized that no one wanted to be left alone in a bedroom. With a murderer on the loose, there was something to be said for that old adage about safety in numbers.
Joan and Henry sat woodenly together on the yellow couch. They neither spoke nor ate. Joan’s eyes were red and swollen behind her glasses, and Henry’s round face appeared to have aged ten years overnight. My good-morning greeting received only a muttered response and they both had trouble making eye contact with me.
As they had last night, the actors huddled together, clearly more comfortable with one another than anyone else. Standing as one body by the fireplace, they whispered among themselves and warily eyed the rest of us. I couldn’t blame them, but it still made me feel rotten.
The only one entering the room who didn’t seem affected was Daniel. He looked gorgeous. Wearing a blue wool sweater and faded jeans, he strode into the room and issued a general greeting that managed to convey a respectful acknowledgment of last night’s tragedy as well as a sense of unity. Unlike my earlier greeting, which had been essentially ignored, his was appreciated by everyone. Joan even smiled at him.
After pouring himself a cup of coffee, Daniel crossed the room to where I was sitting on the window seat and squeezed in next to me. He was so close that I could smell his spicy aftershave.
“Hello,” he said quietly. “How are you getting on?”
“You mean aside from seeing a man murdered, apparently by someone who is a guest here, and being informed by the police that I am not allowed to leave town?”
Daniel smiled. “Right, aside from all that.”
“Oh, well, other than that,” I said with mock cheerfulness, “I’m doing just super, thanks. And yourself?”
He matched my tone. “Never better. Never better. In fact,” his whisper was conspiratorial, “I’m having such a brilliant time that I’ve decided to extend my visit by a few days.”
“Detective Stewart asked you to stay on, too, I take it.”
“In a word, yes. Apparently, the police have taken it into their heads that Lauren and I are more than friends.”
“Really?”
“I see from your expression that you already heard that,” he continued matter-of-factly. “And I have little doubt where that tidbit of misinformation came from.” He took a sip of coffee. When he spoke again, the teasing tone was gone. Anger now laced his words. “Miss Tanner would do well to take care. One day she may find herself on the receiving end of a slander suit—or worse.”
I agreed with him. Jackie wasn’t going to make many friends in town if she merrily continued to spread gossip about everyone. She’d managed to get Aunt Winnie unwanted scrutiny by the police and now she’d done the same for Daniel. I could well understand the anger behind his words.
Daniel stared at the snapping fire for several moments. Finally, he shifted his attention back to me, a suggestive smile on his lips. “So, you are staying on as well,” he said. He glanced out the window at the trees bent and bowed under the weight of the snow. “Terrible snowstorm last night,” he continued, picking up the teasing tone again. “Better to stay in and keep warm.” His blue eyes locked on mine. “Any ideas on how we can stay warm? Indoors?”
“Roast marshmallows?” I was trying to appear calm and composed. I knew that his sexual banter wasn’t serious—the man flirted as naturally as he breathed—but I could feel my face flush and I knew that my cheeks must be bright red. My upper lip began to twitch, another of my attractive manifestations of nervousness.
Daniel shook his head. “Gave up sweets for the New Year. Any other ideas?”
I knew that one of two things was going to happen. I was either going to fling myself into his arms, yelling something idiotic like, “Shag me!” or I was going to have a hideous breakout of nerve-induced hives. Either way, I was seconds away from making a complete ass of myself.