Holly and Homicide (31 page)

“No matter what happens,” Mikara announced, “the Lemon Chiffon Walters Pie will be served at this inn over my dead body!”

The front door banged open and footsteps resounded in the hall, causing us all to turn to stare at the door. Sheriff Mackey and two deputies barged into the room.

“Wendell Barton,” Mackey stated with a bravura that indicated he felt this was his finest moment, “you’re under arrest for the murder of Cameron Baker.”

L
ooking shocked, Chiffon dropped into the nearest chair—a hand-carved bergère upholstered in a gold-and-cream-striped silk that was positioned opposite Wendell’s. Mikara scooted over to distance herself from Chiffon.

Wendell gaped at the sheriff. “What do you mean I’m under arrest! This is ridiculous, Greg! Is this some kind of a joke?”

“Go ahead, Deputy Penderson,” Mackey said, pointing with his chin, “cuff him and read him his rights.”

Penderson took a step toward Wendell. “No!” Wendell
cried at Mackey. Penderson hesitated. “There’s been a big mistake. If you want to talk to me about some false information that implicates me, you can call my lawyer. Once I’m done with this meeting, I’ll come in, and we’ll get everything straightened out.”

Steve and I glanced at each other. I felt both shocked at the situation and annoyed at Mackey. Even if he was arresting the right person, there was no chance he had gotten the airtight evidence he would need. The case against Wendell would get dismissed, and he’d go scot-free. Come to think of it, maybe allowing Wendell to get away with murder was Mackey’s ultimate intention.

I scanned everyone’s faces. Audrey was glaring at Mackey and had a white-knuckle grip on the arms of her chair. Mikara, too, looked angry. Her eyes, however, were focused on Wendell; she must have believed that he’d killed her sister. There was a peevish wrinkle forming between Chiffon’s perfectly plucked eyebrows. Knowing her need for attention, she was surely livid that Mackey and Wendell had stolen her limelight. Henry had taken a seat on the hearth, leaning back a little against the stone. He was pale and looking down at his lap, stunned.

“You’re not writing the rules, here, Barton,” Mackey declared. “I’m the law in this town.”
And we’ve somehow blundered into a spaghetti western
.

Penderson was still hanging back, but moved behind Wendell’s leather club chair. “Mr. Barton, sir? Could you please stand up and put your hands behind your back so I can put these on?” He opened one of the handcuffs.

“No! You’re not putting those damned things on me! This is stupid! I didn’t kill anybody!”

“We have plenty of proof that that’s not the truth,” Mackey said with a snort.

“What proof?!” Wendell asked.

I gave Audrey a quick glance; she was still glaring at Mackey.

“Documents written by the victim himself. They were in Miss Gilbert’s possession till recently.”

All eyes turned toward me. “They
weren’t
in my possession. Steve and I found them in the garage. We turned them over to the sheriff’s office immediately.”

Mackey said to Wendell, “Plus, your receptionist is on record claiming that you recently shouted at her, ‘I’d like to raise Cameron Baker from the dead just so I could kill him again!’”

“But I didn’t mean
I
killed him in the first place,” Wendell sputtered. “Only that I was mad enough to kill him, considering that he was already dead. Which isn’t really a crime.” He spread his arms in frustration, and Penderson snapped the cuff on his right arm. “Hey!” Wendell yelled, “Get this thing off me!” The deputy kept a grip on the other end of his handcuffs. Wendell leaned away from him and eyed Henry. “Henry,
you’re
the mayor, for God’s sake!” He pointed with his free hand at the sheriff. “Fire him!”

“I can’t!” Henry said. “Like me, he’s an elected official, and he’s only doing his job, albeit in his usual moronic style.”

“Stand up and put your other arm behind your back,” Penderson said. Wendell responded by holding his left arm out as far away from the deputy as possible.

“Wendell,” Audrey said, “you’re not helping yourself.
Let the deputy put the handcuff on your other wrist. Give me the name of your lawyer, and let me call him.”

Wendell grimaced, then grumbled, “Fine. Someone has to act like an adult here.” He rose and put his hands behind his back but glared defiantly at Mackey all the while. “You’d better hire a lawyer yourself, Greg, because I guarantee you, I’m going to be filing false-arrest charges.”

While Penderson consulted with a pocket guide and started Mirandizing Wendell, Audrey grabbed a pen and pad. Wendell gave her the name and contact information for his lawyer in Denver. As Penderson and Mackey led Wendell away, Audrey called after them, “Sheriff Mackey, whatever popularity you might gain with this arrest will backfire, once word gets out that you arrested the wrong person.”

“And you can forget receiving any more financial support for your reelection campaign from me,” Wendell added. “A dead deer would make a better sheriff than you!”

Audrey began to dial her cell phone. “Stop talking, Wendell. I’ll meet you at the jail. And I’ll see to it that your lawyer’s there, too, even if I have to fetch him myself.”

“Thanks, hon,” Wendell called over his shoulder as the two lawmen dragged him out the front door. Henry, meanwhile, rose and began to pace once again in front of the fireplace.

Audrey wandered into the kitchen with her phone; she was speaking directly with Wendell’s lawyer. Sullivan gave my hand a squeeze. I still believed Wendell was guilty of
both murders, and I knew that Steve agreed. My one source of nagging doubt, though, was that Audrey obviously believed Wendell was innocent. Then again, Mikara had remarked that women’s judgment gets impaired by love. Maybe Audrey cared more for Wendell than she was admitting, even to herself, and she wasn’t seeing him clearly.

“So, does this mean the meeting’s over?” Chiffon asked. “Because if
not
, I call for a ruling of the remaining board members. All in favor of Chiffon Walters retaining her ownership shares of the Snowcap Inn, raise your hand.” She raised her hand, scanned the room (in which only we nonboard members sat), and said, “Motion carries.”

“For God’s sake,” Henry muttered, dragging his hand across his features and looking truly exhausted, “I just … don’t have the energy for this.” He looked at Chiffon. “Okay, fine. I’m dropping this thing for the time being. If you pull one more stunt like that, though, I’m dragging you to court, and I guarantee you will get the boot, no matter
how
many famous clients your California lawyer represents.”

“Fair enough,” Chiffon chirped.

“I’m not kidding,” Henry said, jabbing his finger in her direction. “This is your last warning. You behave like a crazy, vindictive ex-girlfriend again, and I’ll burn this place to the ground before I let you own so much as a toilet here.”

Chiffon scowled at him. “You made your point already. I’m just trying to live up to my fans’ expectations anyway.”

Henry rolled his eyes but held his tongue.

“In the meantime, Henry,” Mikara said pointedly, “your majority owner has just been hauled off to jail for murder. They’re probably going to determine that he killed my sister. It’s always possible that his girlfriend, a second owner of the inn, aided and abetted.”

“Hey!” I shouted and leapt to my feet. “That is not even remotely possible!”

“My point is simply this: Henry now has to figure out how to handle a much more serious situation than a part owner’s idiotic behavior with a can of spray paint.”

Audrey returned to the room. She was fastening the buttons of her white wool coat. “I’m heading to the jail now. Wendell’s lawyer is on his way in from Denver. For the record, not only am I completely innocent, but so is Wendell. The real problem here is that Snowcap Village elected a donkey’s ass as sheriff.” She looked at me. “And that there was circumstantial evidence that was misleading.” She shifted her gaze to Henry. “I move that we adjourn this meeting.”

“Seconded,” Chiffon said.

“Meeting adjourned,” Henry said.

Audrey continued, “This will get resolved soon, and I recommend that the inn take no action. Until that time, everyone’s response to questions from the media needs to be ‘no comment.’” She turned.

“Audrey?” Steve asked. “Would you like me to go with you?”

“No, but thank you, Steve,” she replied with a sincere smile, then left.

“Well,” Mikara said, rising, “I must say that this was the least dull business meeting I’ve ever attended.”

“Before everyone heads off and does their own thing,” Chiffon said, “could I please just mention that I really think the Lemon Chiffon Walters Pie would be a big seller? Just ’cuz everyone’s ticked off at me doesn’t mean we have to drop a good marketing idea, does it?”

“Yes,” Mikara and Henry said in unison. Steve and I stayed mute, but we had no say in the inn’s menu anyway.

Chiffon’s face fell. She gathered herself, rose, and left without another word.

“Cripes,” Henry grumbled. “I hope she isn’t about to paint a big yellow pie on the front of the house.”

“She’s not that stupid,” I said. “I think Chiffon lives her whole life with an image of herself on MTV, and acts accordingly.”

“Erin’s right,” Steve said.

“That’s what makes Chiffon absolutely insufferable, in my opinion,” Mikara said. “So, on that note,” she glanced at her watch, “I’m going into town to have dinner with friends.”

We said good-bye to Mikara, and she, too, left the house. Henry sank into Wendell’s leather chair and seemed to be lost in thought. “Do you have dinner plans?” I asked.

“I’m not hungry.” He muttered, “It really was low of me to dump her and dash out of the kitchen this morning.”

“It’s always hard to break up with someone,” Steve said. He seemed to be studiously avoiding my gaze, and my heart started pounding. That was just basic paranoia on my part, I assured myself; no way was Steve on the verge of breaking up with me.

Henry rose. “I need to apologize to Chiffon. To tell her
that I’ll do my best to convince Mikara that we can put her damned pie on the inn’s menu. Once we
get
a menu.”

“You’re going to Chiffon’s house right now?” I asked in surprise.

Staring into space, Henry didn’t acknowledge my question.

Uh-oh. Henry was now enticed by Chiffon simply because he enjoyed the chase. The best chance of opening the inn on time would be to leave things as they were between those two. “You might be better off e-mailing Chiffon, just so nothing gets misinterpreted, you know?” I said. In the corner of my vision, I could see Steve trying to resist a smile.

“Maybe so.” Henry popped a breath mint into his mouth. “But I’d feel better doing this in person.”

“In that case, good luck. But …shouldn’t we take into account that this is a bed-and-breakfast inn? Wouldn’t it make more sense to put some kind of lemon chiffon pastry on the menu? Or lemon chiffon yogurt?”

Henry grinned. “Hey! I like that idea!” He hopped to his feet. “Now I definitely need to go tell Chiffon about this in person. Have a nice evening, you two.” He left.

Steve shook his head as the back door clicked shut behind Henry. “Somewhere there’s a definition of ‘glutton for punishment’ with Henry’s picture beside it.”

“And there’s a picture of Chiffon next to the definition of ‘camera hound.’”

Steve chuckled and stretched in his seat. “We should try to scrounge up something for dinner.”

“I suppose so. There’s some leftover chicken in the fridge. I’d be fine with a Caesar salad.”

“Me, too.”

There was a palpable tension in the room. It felt as though we were having this trivial conversation just to hear ourselves talk. Our eyes met. “What do you think, Steve? Is this mess finally over? Could Wendell have killed both Angie and Cam, regardless of what Audrey thinks?”

Steve gazed at the fire, which was starting to die out. “Yeah, Erin. I think that Wendell was paying both Angie and the sheriff to do what he wanted, and that Angie wasn’t playing by his rules. Ultimately, neither was Mackey. So I think Wendell killed Cameron for betraying him.”

“I hope you’re right. I mean …you must be. I’ve suspected him from the start.” It’s just that Audrey was so seldom wrong about people. Trying to snap myself out of a sinking mood, I said with a forced smile, “I think this is the first time we’ve been alone here since we arrived.”

“Yeah. We should celebrate.” His voice was oddly flat.

“You don’t sound all that enthused,” I remarked.

“I am.” He gave me an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I was concocting a plan in my head. That’s all.”

“A plan?”

“Absolutely. For our celebration. For having the place to ourselves. And for finishing our job ahead of time, and in Gilbert and Sullivan Designs typical unparalleled style.”

“You mean Sullivan and Gilbert Designs.”

“Right. Isn’t that what I said?”

“No, you said my name first.”

“I’m not really listening to myself.” Once again, he
seemed to be avoiding my eyes, and he was making me a little nervous.

Now that I thought about it,
he
was the one who was acting strangely nervous. I could have sworn his hand shook a little as he raked it through his hair.

“I’m going to run to the store and get a bottle of chilled champagne. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Okay. I’ll make dinner.”

He searched my eyes. “Actually, Erin, just in case Henry comes storming home in a few minutes, raving about Chiffon’s being nuts, how about champagne in our room first …dinner later.”

Oh, my god
. Although jumping out of my skin, I nodded. “That sounds wonderful,” I managed to say with a resemblance of calmness. Steve pivoted and left. My knees were shaking and it was all I could do to grab two champagne flutes and head up the stairs.

Unless I’d grown completely delusional, Steve was about to propose to me.

B
ombarded by emotions, I climbed the stairs to our bedroom. I was scared half to death at the thought of Steve popping the question—and even more scared at the possibility that he had no intention of doing any such thing. The memory of our first meeting three years ago raced through my brain. He had been belligerent, sure that I’d deliberately named my business “Designs by Gilbert” and located myself two blocks down from him on the same street in order to trick potential “Sullivan Designs” customers into coming to me. I’d thought he was a detestable, arrogant jerk.