Chapter Five

Bev thought better about asking the guests to write their name in the book right away, instead heading into the kitchen to wash her hands and start dinner preparations. The cinnamon roll dough was nearly finished proofing, as was the rosemary bread (though she wanted a second proof on that).

"Bev?" Estera poked her head in. "Oh, goodness. What a smell. That's… What are you making in here?"

"Cinnamon rolls," Bev said, smoothing the cinnamon, sugar, and butter mixture out onto the dough. "Not a typical event here at the Weary Dragon, but considering we're all stuck here another night, I thought it might be a good idea to whip some up."

"You're a saint," she said, standing on the other side of the table.

Bev watched her for a moment, trying to figure out if she was the one who'd sent the letter to the Witzels. Estera couldn't have been older than twenty-two, with that youthful sort of air that told of an adult who wasn't quite ready to call themselves such yet.

"So," Bev said, after a moment, "you said you weren't eager to leave. Where are you headed?"

She sighed. "Home. See my folks for the first time since…um…" She glanced at Bev, the flush coming to her cheeks again. "Since a while."

"I see," Bev said. "Is it a long way?"

"Not really. I haven't been given… Er. Haven't found the time to leave." The young woman twisted her hands together, clearly agitated about something.

"Is everything all right?"

"Yes, I just…" Estera looked around. "They told us not to be so open about it when we traveled along the roads. Can't be too sure who's loyal to whom out here in the country, you know?"

Bev tried not to look intrigued as she gathered the edge of the dough and rolled it on itself. "Oh? Who's they?"

"My…um…bosses."

Bev looked up from her careful rolling. The poor girl's face was now the color of a tomato, and her gaze was anywhere but. For someone keen on being cagey about who they were and where they were going, she was a horrible liar.

Or maybe she's faking it to throw you off the scent.

"Goodness," Bev muttered to herself. She'd been too long in the skulking-about business and was starting to mistrust her own instincts.

"What was that?" Estera asked.

"I said, goodness. Well, you're among friends here in Pigsend." She plastered a smile onto her face. "But I understand your business is your own, and I won't pry. I do, however…" She glanced at the guestbook sitting on the counter. "Well, the local librarian asked me to gather the names of the guests who're in town for this little snowstorm we're having. It's something of a rarity in these parts to have so much snow before the solstice." She finished rolling the dough and grabbed her kitchen knife, wiping it with a little butter to help with the cutting. "If you'd be so kind as to at least sign your name on the first blank page, I know he'd appreciate it."

"Didn't you…get my name yesterday?" Estera said with an inquisitive look.

"Yes, but…" Bev sighed. This was why she hadn't bothered with the darn thing in years. "Well, if you feel inclined to fill out the rest of the information, I know Max would appreciate it. But if not…"

If not, you'll be my prime suspect.

~

"Well, of course," Bernie said, walking over to the guestbook and opening it to the page Bev had marked. "It looks like this hasn't been used in some time."

"Haven't had a freak snowstorm in some time," Bev said, hoping her little lie would hold. "But you know these local archivists. They like to document everything."

Collin signed readily, and Abigail signed for her family, as did Wallace. Bev realized too late that this "brilliant" idea wasn't so brilliant—especially if Paul or Byron were the real culprit. But the peer pressure worked, and after everyone had signed, Estera sidled up to at least hastily sign her name and room number on a blank line, her face a deep red.

"Much appreciated," Bev said, closing the book. "If anyone needs me, I'll be in the kitchen getting dinner ready."

She scurried through the door with the book in hand and quickly compared the writing with the letter the Witzels received. Bev wasn't a handwriting expert by any means, but to her eyes, nothing in the book matched the letter.

"Well, that was a lot of effort for nothing," she muttered, snapping the book shut and going to her basket of potatoes.

She sat on her stool and peeled, lost in thought. Of course, there were others who hadn't signed the book—Byron and Paul, and of course, the Mysterious H in room five. But there was a chance even the ones who'd signed had disguised their handwriting, having seen Bev speaking with the butchers.

Or perhaps it wasn't anyone in the inn at all, and it was someone in Pigsend.

Bev's mind was starting to go in circles, and she didn't like it. When it came to the sinkholes, she hadn't been sure of her path, but she'd trusted her instincts. The soldiers who'd inevitably been the culprits had been on her short list from the very beginning. But with the Harvest Festival mishaps, she'd been completely blindsided by Renault or Claude or whatever his actual name was. The judge had been staying in the inn, showing no clear signs that he was the one behind everything until Bev had uncovered the evidence in his room.

Or rather, Biscuit had uncovered the crime.

Bev paused, glancing down at her laelaps, who was passed out in front of the fire. "Hey, Biscuit."

The creature perked up, unfurling his tongue and smiling.

"Come here for a second," Bev said, pulling out the letter and letting him sniff it. "Do you know who wrote this?"

He sat down and stared up at her, tilting his head in confusion as his mouth closed.

"I mean, was it someone in the inn?" Bev asked.

Blink.

"Well, I suppose it's a good thing you aren't reacting to the note," Bev said, tucking the letter into her back pocket. "Might be nice to get a break from magical nonsense."

He smiled again, wagging his tail as if expecting a treat.

"Useless," Bev said with a half-smile. "Go back to bed."

But he didn't move, his golden eyes traveling to the potato skins piling up next to Bev. She rolled her eyes and pushed three to the floor, which he gobbled up in seconds.

"That's all you get until dinner," Bev said. "Now back to your nap."

He trotted to the fire, curled up, and fell asleep.

~

Bev was surprised to see Etheldra and Earl come through the door for dinner, having assumed that the heavy snow would keep them away. But Earl, who'd been working to clear the snowy village roads all day, along with a couple of others in town, said he'd worked up an appetite and couldn't say no to Bev's famous rosemary bread.

"Well, if it's you we have to thank for making it easier to get around town, then please, it's on the house tonight," Bev said.

"What about the roads out of town?" Abigail asked. "Are they looking any better?"

"Can't say they are," Etheldra said, eyeing the children with a wary gaze. "And it's started up again."

Abigail and her husband let out a loud groan, which was somewhat adorably mimicked by their two little boys. The baby strapped to her front, however, kept babbling happily.

"How many rooms you have rented, Bev?" Earl asked as he sat with his bowl of food.

"I'm not quite sure about room five," she said, glancing upstairs. She hadn't wanted to knock on the door and check to see if the Mysterious H had decided to stay, but her hunch was that he had.

"Oh, he's in there," Peter, the older of the Wersts' two boys, said. "He came in yelling at Mama for the baby crying."

Bev furrowed her brow. "Next time that happens, you come see me, okay?"

"It's no big deal," Abigail said, waving her hand and looking quite harried. "But I do wish this weather would cooperate so we can get on our way."

"As do we all," Collin said with a sigh. "But in the meantime, I figure I could play a song? Anyone have any recommendations?"

The mood was decidedly less festive this evening, but Wallace still called out song after song, and Bev had to admit the music was nice. She ate her meal in silence, watching each of the guests and wondering who could be the one trying to blackmail the Witzels.

Of course, Estera was still top of the list, considering how strange she'd been acting. But would someone so horrible at lying be so brazen as to leave a letter like that?

Bernie, she hadn't had a chance to chat with much, but he seemed to have found a like-minded friend in Estera. Perhaps they'd only come separately, but they were really working together on some devious plan.

To do what?

Bev shook her head. She had to remind herself of the advice she'd given Vellora to look at the big picture.

Collin and Wallace were another pair of fast friends, with poor Paul off to the side reading a book before giving up and going to bed. On the other side of the room, Abigail and Byron seemed too focused on keeping their kids from making a mess. Any one of them could have a motive if she thought about it hard enough.

Don't be ridiculous. It can't be the parents. Bev scoffed.

There was no way they could juggle a gaggle of children plus want to shake down the butchers next door.

You thought the same about Claude.

She made a noise and stabbed a potato with her fork.

"You seem distressed, my child," Wallace said, walking up to her with his hands clasped. His breath smelled of ale, and his eyes were a bit more watery than usual. Bev didn't usually charge by the tankard, but she had a feeling if she didn't start curbing the old cleric's drinks, she'd be out of beer before the week was done. "Maybe I can be of service?"

"Just trying to figure something out," Bev said. "And unfortunately, I've lost a bit of my confidence in my own deduction abilities."

"Ah, well—Oh!" Wallace turned, alarmed by the absence of music as he drunkenly toyed with his ring. "Why don't you play another round of Winter, Winter, Come Hither?"

"Thanks for the advice," Bev said with a shake of her head.

"I do hope this…young man and his music aren't to be a permanent installation here," Etheldra said, bringing her dirty plate and empty tankard to Bev.

"He's stuck here in town like everyone else," Bev said, taking it. She eyed Etheldra for a moment, briefly reconsidering a Pigsend citizen as the writer of the letter, as preposterous as it sounded.

"What are you staring at?" Etheldra barked.

"Nothing," Bev said. "Get home safely. It's nasty out there."

"Harrumph." She wrapped herself in her cloak and headed for the door as Earl took her place.

"What'd you say to the old bird to get her riled up? Promise to stop making bread?" He chuckled. "Or breathe wrong in her direction?"

"You've been around town for a long time, right, Earl?" Bev said.

He nodded. "All my life. Took over for my dad when he retired."

"And you…" Bev chewed her lip. "I mean, you know the Witzels, right?"

He tilted his head. "You all right there, Bev? Of course I know the Witzels. Why?"

She let out an exasperated breath. "I don't even know, to be honest. I'm trying to figure something out, and I can't seem to get my head on straight. Don't know the questions to ask." She paused. "I guess the real question is: the people of Pigsend, we stick together, right? I'm not imagining that?"

"Is this about the sinkholes?" Earl asked. "Everyone's moved on from that, especially after you saved the Harvest Festival."

Bev finally decided to let it go. "Never mind, Earl. The snow's getting to my head, I'm sure. Have a safe walk home, and hopefully the weather will clear."

He tipped his cap to her, though there was still a bit of wariness in his gaze. "Get some rest, Bev. You look like you need it."

~

Unfortunately, two guests decided to make a late night of it, with Wallace calling out more songs for Collin to play until Abigail made an appearance at the top of the stairs and gave them one very clear look to quiet down or else.

"Suppose that's it, eh?" Wallace said, slowly getting up and rubbing his stomach. "Well, Collin, in the morning!"

"In the morning," the bard said with a small smile. He seemed to be waiting for something from the old cleric, but the other man simply walked up the stairs, humming the solstice melodies to himself all the way to his room.

"I bet your fingers are tired," Bev said, absentmindedly wiping the counters. "But before you head to bed, I hate to ask, but I don't think I've gotten your silver from you for tonight."

"Well, um…" Collin rubbed the back of his neck. "You see…"

Bev quirked a brow.

"I don't exactly have the money to stay another night right now. I'm sure I could, in a couple of days, but…" He coughed. "I really wasn't planning on staying. But it seems I have to. So um…" He grinned sheepishly. "I was hoping we might barter? Music for a bed?"

"That's a barter you needed to ask about when there was daylight," Bev said, a little tersely. Every so often, she'd get a patron like this, who'd try to sneak by with a free night. Though she could give Collin a bit of leeway due to the weather, it still struck her as rude.

"I'd be happy to pay you on my way back," Collin said. "Once I've gotten my payment from Kaiser Tuckey, of course. And there would be interest, too."

"Listen, how about this: if you'll help me clean up tonight, I'll let you off the hook. But I want that kitchen spotless when I come back there, understood? I'm not one to throw a man out in the cold, but I'm also not to be messed with."

He nodded, reaching for his cuffs and rolling them up. "Spotless, it'll be!"

"But before that," Bev said, "I want you to walk up to room five and tell him he needs to pay for his room."

Collin blanched. "I don't want to talk to him."

"Neither do I, so hurry on up there." Bev chuckled. "And then come on down and get to work on the dishes."

The bard climbed the stairs, and Bev listened as he knocked on the door, the disgruntled voice that followed, then the door slam—waking the baby next door. A few moments later, Collin walked back down the stairs, wincing with every step and holding a gold coin.

"He gave me this," he said. "Do you think it could cover—"

"Nope." Bev thumbed toward the kitchen. "Get to work."