Innkeeping with Murder by Tim Myers Page B

Her father, Buck Wilson, had
been a state Golden Gloves champ, knocking down every opponent he
met. Clippings on one wall chronicled his climb to the regional
finals, where he had the misfortune to meet a future contender for
the heavyweight championship title of the world. Buck’s nose still
bore the bend that Bomber Maxwell had put in it. He wore the
crooked nose with pride, regaling every new customer with his
blow-by-blow account of the fight. At fifty, Buck still looked like
he could go ten rounds with any up-and-comer.
    Alex suddenly thought of something. “Is your
dad back in the kitchen now?”
    “No, he’s off on his morning jog, ten miles,
rain or shine.”
    “Chances are Finster doesn’t know that.
Here’s what you should do.” Alex whispered his instructions to
Sally Anne, whose grin grew wider with the telling.
    Finster came back just as the two of them
finished their discussion. Sally Anne managed to dodge Finster’s
groping paws; the realtor chuckled as he sat down.
    Finster smiled and said, “What are you trying
to do, Alex, go after every eligible woman in town? Leave a few for
the rest of us, will you?”
    Alex jammed a doughnut in his mouth to keep
from saying something he might regret. Sally Anne made the
doughnuts fresh every morning, and Alex loved the smell of the
batter frying almost as much as the tender, moist taste of the
pastries themselves. He ate both doughnuts, drank the milk, then
glanced at his watch. “You’ve got two minutes, starting now.”
    Finster wolfed down the last bite of his
doughnut. To Alex’s disappointment, the man didn’t choke. “My buyer
has upped the offer for the inn. Why don’t you grab it before my
client finds out about what happened at Bear Rocks? You might avoid
a lawsuit that way.”
    “Finster, I’m not going to sell the place
unless the creditors are knocking down the door.”
    Finster’s smile became predatory. “You think
guests will flock to the Murder Inn next season? Come on, Alex,
wise up and sell the white elephant while you can still get a good
penny for it.”
    Alex had given that very option a great deal
of consideration lately, but the Winstons had a stubborn streak,
and Alex had inherited more than his share in the bargain. The
nagging thought that a sale would no doubt give Finster a whopping
commission steeled his resolve not to give the lighthouse up.
    Getting up from the booth, he said, “Tell
your buyer no sale.” Alex nodded softly to Sally Anne, who was
standing just inside the kitchen. According to his plan, the door
was propped open, but Sally blocked the view. When she began
speaking, it was loud enough for the two men to hear.
    “I’m telling you, Dad, he tries to grope me
all the time. I’m not waiting on him anymore. If you want his
money, you serve him. I’m tired of him pinching my butt.”
    There was a pause, and Alex looked over at
Finster. The man’s face was completely white. Everyone in town knew
that it took a lot to anger Buck, but one sure sign you had managed
it was when he lowered his voice to a deadly whisper. The fact that
Sally’s pleas were going without response wasn’t lost on
Finster.
    They heard Sally Anne’s voice again, this
time with a heartfelt plea in it. “Please don’t get so angry,
Daddy. If he so much as looks at me again, I’ll tell you, I
promise. Give Mr. Finster one more chance. You’d have an awful time
explaining it to the jury, what with your temper and all.”
    Finster didn’t wait around for a response. He
mumbled something to Alex, then threw a twenty-dollar bill down on
the counter as he raced for the door. As the weasel scurried down
the sidewalk, Alex burst into a laughing fit.
    Sally Anne joined him at the window as
Finster sped away in his Cherokee.
    She threw her arms around Alex. “I swear, I
could kiss you for getting that leach off my tail.” Sally Anne did
just that, sliding into Alex’s arms and planting a happy kiss on
his cheek.
    The sight of Finster’s