her.
“I guess that’s something,” Gwen said, pulling a face. “But she’s not family. So what happened? You found him near the lighthouse? What was he doing out there?”
“Why don’t you hang up your coat and sit down?” I suggested. “I’ll make you some hot chocolate.” As she hung up her jacket, I grabbed a mug and filled it with milk, then popped it into the microwave. Gwen sat down at the table, picking at the leftover fruit, while I heated the milk, added sugar and cocoa, and filled her in on the details of the day.
“So she questioned all the guests?” she asked, wrapping her slender hands around the mug and breathing the warm chocolate scent in.
“Every one of them,” I said. “And we’re not supposed to leave the island.”
“At least it wasn’t that Grimes guy.” Gwen took a sip from the mug, then her dark eyes flitted to me. “They don’t think you did it, do they?”
“I hope not. I can’t imagine what possible motive I could have, so I’m probably clear. It was just a precaution, I think.”
“So who do you think did do it?”
“We don’t even know if he was murdered yet. He could have died of natural causes.”
“Yeah, right,” she said, rolling her eyes. “That’s why the police are involved and everyone’s talking poison. What does John think?”
“I don’t know.” I studied my fingernails. “I haven’t seen him.”
“Oh,” she said, and there was an awkward silence. Then Gwen took another sip of chocolate, looked at the overloaded countertops, and sighed. “Well, I guess I’d better get started. Why don’t you get out of here for a while—go see if you can find John. Or Charlene.”
I glanced at the Midnight Mint Bars on the counter. “I do need to take those down to the store—otherwise, I’ll eat them all.” Unless my mysterious chocolate thief got to them first, that was.
“Go on,” she said. “I can take care of this.”
“You’ll do turndown, too?”
“Absolutely,” she said. “Why don’t you call Charlene, see if she can come pick you up?”
“Thanks, Gwen. But I think I could do with a walk, actually.”
She looked at me disbelievingly. “With a murderer on the loose?”
“We don’t know that,” I reminded her. “And if there is a murderer, odds are good whoever it is, is already at the inn anyway,” I said, feeling a chill down my spine as I spoke. Unless it was Tom Lockhart , my mind whispered. Or John.
“Well, take a flashlight,” she said, still looking doubtful. “And call me when you get there.”
“I will,” I said, wondering when the tables had turned and Gwen started playing the mom.
___
The cool, moist air was bracing when I stepped out of the inn fifteen minutes later, a container loaded with chocolate mint bars in my hands, feeling only a little guilty about leaving Gwen with stacks of dishes. I’d called Charlene, who confirmed that the store was still open—and probably would be until midnight, with the steady stream of folks stopping by. She’d offered to find me a ride, but I told her I preferred to hoof it. After everything that had happened today, I needed to be by myself for a bit, and nothing cleared my head better than a walk.
A gust of wind brought the smell of the ocean to my nose as I headed up the steep road, glad to be outside in the fresh air. Halfway up the hill, I turned, as I always do, to look back at the inn. It looked like something out of a Currier and Ives painting; the sun setting low over the mountains framing the inn, the windows glowing warmly, the sweet peas starting their climb up the trellis alongside the tender green of the nasturtiums, which I had bravely planted early. Behind the inn, the green field sloped down to the rocks, where the waves licked the gray rocks. Across the water, the lights of the mainland twinkled merrily.
As I gazed at the inn, I reflected that I had taken a huge risk in buying the old house and starting the business, plowing my entire life
“I guess that’s something,” Gwen said, pulling a face. “But she’s not family. So what happened? You found him near the lighthouse? What was he doing out there?”
“Why don’t you hang up your coat and sit down?” I suggested. “I’ll make you some hot chocolate.” As she hung up her jacket, I grabbed a mug and filled it with milk, then popped it into the microwave. Gwen sat down at the table, picking at the leftover fruit, while I heated the milk, added sugar and cocoa, and filled her in on the details of the day.
“So she questioned all the guests?” she asked, wrapping her slender hands around the mug and breathing the warm chocolate scent in.
“Every one of them,” I said. “And we’re not supposed to leave the island.”
“At least it wasn’t that Grimes guy.” Gwen took a sip from the mug, then her dark eyes flitted to me. “They don’t think you did it, do they?”
“I hope not. I can’t imagine what possible motive I could have, so I’m probably clear. It was just a precaution, I think.”
“So who do you think did do it?”
“We don’t even know if he was murdered yet. He could have died of natural causes.”
“Yeah, right,” she said, rolling her eyes. “That’s why the police are involved and everyone’s talking poison. What does John think?”
“I don’t know.” I studied my fingernails. “I haven’t seen him.”
“Oh,” she said, and there was an awkward silence. Then Gwen took another sip of chocolate, looked at the overloaded countertops, and sighed. “Well, I guess I’d better get started. Why don’t you get out of here for a while—go see if you can find John. Or Charlene.”
I glanced at the Midnight Mint Bars on the counter. “I do need to take those down to the store—otherwise, I’ll eat them all.” Unless my mysterious chocolate thief got to them first, that was.
“Go on,” she said. “I can take care of this.”
“You’ll do turndown, too?”
“Absolutely,” she said. “Why don’t you call Charlene, see if she can come pick you up?”
“Thanks, Gwen. But I think I could do with a walk, actually.”
She looked at me disbelievingly. “With a murderer on the loose?”
“We don’t know that,” I reminded her. “And if there is a murderer, odds are good whoever it is, is already at the inn anyway,” I said, feeling a chill down my spine as I spoke. Unless it was Tom Lockhart , my mind whispered. Or John.
“Well, take a flashlight,” she said, still looking doubtful. “And call me when you get there.”
“I will,” I said, wondering when the tables had turned and Gwen started playing the mom.
___
The cool, moist air was bracing when I stepped out of the inn fifteen minutes later, a container loaded with chocolate mint bars in my hands, feeling only a little guilty about leaving Gwen with stacks of dishes. I’d called Charlene, who confirmed that the store was still open—and probably would be until midnight, with the steady stream of folks stopping by. She’d offered to find me a ride, but I told her I preferred to hoof it. After everything that had happened today, I needed to be by myself for a bit, and nothing cleared my head better than a walk.
A gust of wind brought the smell of the ocean to my nose as I headed up the steep road, glad to be outside in the fresh air. Halfway up the hill, I turned, as I always do, to look back at the inn. It looked like something out of a Currier and Ives painting; the sun setting low over the mountains framing the inn, the windows glowing warmly, the sweet peas starting their climb up the trellis alongside the tender green of the nasturtiums, which I had bravely planted early. Behind the inn, the green field sloped down to the rocks, where the waves licked the gray rocks. Across the water, the lights of the mainland twinkled merrily.
As I gazed at the inn, I reflected that I had taken a huge risk in buying the old house and starting the business, plowing my entire life
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