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Gran. Harriet’s heart was pounding as she whirled around, trying to orient herself in the dark.
“Everyone stay calm,” said Meachum, clicking on his phone’s flashlight and aiming the beam of light at the door. “I’ll go ahead.”
They all ignored him. Andrew stepped back and held the door open and Harriet rushed through it, with Claire close behind.
“Wait for me,” bellowed Meachum.
The glowing candles scattered around the room emitted enough light that it was no problem for Harriet to see that Gran appeared to be fine. She and Denise were standing between two tables, staring down at Bryan’s prostrate body while Tony crouched beside him. Paige was nearby punching a number into her phone. Even Ariana was interested enough to wander over and see what was happening.
“My head,” moaned Bryan, once he saw that Meachum had arrived. “I was attacked.”
“By who?” asked the detective, panting slightly.
“By whom, you imbecile. How would I know? I was hit from behind.”
Meachum ignored the insult and peered around the restaurant. “I know you’re in pain,” he said, “but I want you to try and visualize the scene right before you were hit. The lights just went out; the assailant must have been close by.” He pondered that thought while he scratched his stomach. “And it was never actually dark, was it? These candles throw off lots of light.”
Bryan shut his eyes and exhaled loudly. “I had just finished a call with my agent. I wasn’t paying attention. It could have been any of them that hit me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Gran. “Nobody hit you.” She shook her head in disgust. “More’s the wonder.”
Bryan moaned and gave no indication he had heard her. “Paige, I’ll need a stretcher. How much longer until the damned ambulance gets here?”
“There are no ambulances,” she replied. “They can’t get back into town. We’ll have to get to the hospital on our own steam, but the operator said they’re short-staffed so not to go unless it’s an emergency.”
“It’s an emergency! Did you say you were calling for Bryan Berenson?”
“It was the first thing I said. She’d never heard of you. I guess she doesn’t have cable.” Paige bent down beside him. “You must have put your back out again. Do you remember when it happened last year?”
“Of course, I remember, you cretin. I couldn’t get out of bed for a week.” Bryan turned his attention to Meachum. “Why are you standing there gaping like a half-witted hyena? Find out who attacked me.”
Denise was squinting suspiciously at the floor. She grabbed a candle from the nearest table and used it to get a closer look at the area, before poking Meachum in the arm. “Aim your light right there, behind his head.”
Meachum pointed his phone at the floor and Denise used her foot to indicate a spot five feet north of Bryan’s head. “Nobody hit him. He slipped.”
Everyone looked where her toe was pointing, at a large chunk of pecan pie, much of it smeared beyond recognition.
Meachum pursed his lips, studied the trajectory of the smear and Bryan’s fall, and nodded in agreement. “There was no assailant, sir. It looks like you slipped on a piece of pie.”
“I was hit. I distinctly remember being hit in the head.”
“I don’t see how that’s possible,” said Meachum uncertainly.
“Listen, Sherlock, I’m in too much pain to argue. I have a chronic back condition and I need off this floor and into a bed. Moving me requires competent professionals. Comprende?” He shut his eyes and groaned. “Don’t bother me again until the ambulance arrives.”
“We’ll have to move you ourselves, Bryan,” said Paige. He didn’t respond, so she turned her frustration on the assembled group. “Fisher is dead because this one-horse town doesn’t have an ambulance.”
“We have a capable, professional EMS service in Sevenoaks,” said Meachum, affronted. “Mr. Swimm is dead because someone spiked the maple syrup with a substance that he was known to be allergic to.”
Tony looked over at the tablecloth covered body on the floor. “Someone killed him on purpose?”
“There was bee venom in the maple syrup,” said Harriet. “He’s allergic.”
“Fisher was murdered?” asked Ariana, shocked enough to put down her phone.
“That appears to be the case,” said Meachum in a solemn voice. “We’ll need to investigate further, obviously.”
“Why would anyone kill Fisher?” Paige snorted in derision. “Ridiculous.”
“Ha Ha. That’s hilarious coming from you,” said Ariana.
What did that mean? Harriet looked to Meachum to see his reaction, but he was so absorbed in digging the marker out of his pocket he didn’t appear to be listening. He used it to give his armpit a quick scratch, then pointed it at Tony. “I’ll need a list of everyone who’s had access to the kitchen in the last couple days.”
“That’s a lot of people ...”
“How long has the maple syrup been here?” asked Harriet.
“Since early this morning. I couldn’t tell you who brought it, but I remember seeing it on the counter when I went into the kitchen for a coffee.”
Bryan fluttered his eyes and groaned. “What are you all jabbering about? I’ve got a horrible headache. Why am I still lying here?”
“Fisher was murdered,” said Claire.
“And we haven’t decided what to do with you,” added Gran.
“Murdered?” That shook Bryan out of his self-pitying stupor. “Who murdered him?”
“No one,” said Paige. “They don’t know what they’re talking about.”
“Murdered how?” insisted Bryan.
“There was bee venom in the maple syrup,” said Harriet.
“Ahhh. Very clever. Someone was thinking.”
Clever? That’s his response?
“Any idea who would want to kill him?” asked Claire.
“It would take all night to regale you with that list,” said Bryan, “and I want to get off this filthy floor. How about I tell you who wouldn’t want to kill him?”
“I’m not listening to this garbage,” said Andrew, his voice cracking mid-sentence. “I need to get back to the inn.” He fiddled with the wispy hairs over his lip as he peered down at Bryan. “We should probably put him on some kind of back board, just in case he really is hurt. If I pull my truck up to the bottom of the stairs, we can shove him in the back. It’s open to the elements, but it’s only for a few blocks.”
“No one’s shoving me anywhere,” snapped Bryan. “I need professional care.”
Andrew ran his hand through his hair, at a loss for words, so Tony jumped in to help him. “The alternative is for you to stay here. On the floor.”
“Just toss him in the truck,” said Ariana. “He makes a fuss about everything.”
“Exactly right,” said Gran. “How are those genitals of yours, Bryan? If it’s not your crotch, it’s your back. I’ve never seen the like.”
Ariana snickered at Gran’s comment, before going back to scrolling through her phone. Harriet looked at her curiously. Ariana was so placid; blank almost. Her fiancé was dead, murdered, and she didn’t seem bothered in the slightest.
Andrew folded his arms and blew out his cheeks. He looked exhausted. “Any idea what we can use to move him?” he asked Tony.
“I have some long folding tables in the storage room. I guess we could use one of those.”
“Sounds good. Let’s do it.” He glanced across the room then quickly looked away. “What about Fisher?”
Meachum stopped scratching long enough to address the question. “He’s staying where he is until we get a coroner and a forensics team. The roads will likely be open tomorrow.”
“You’re going to leave him overnight in my restaurant?” asked Tony.
“He’ll be fine,” said Meachum. “Especially with the power out. The cold will help preserve his body.”
From the look on his face, that bit of information did not assuage Tony’s concerns, but he headed to look for a folding table.
“I’ll go get the truck cleared off,” said Andrew, “and back it up to the steps.” He nodded to the rest of the group and headed for the door. “Why don’t you find your coats? I’ve got to get back to my guests.”
“I’m your guest,” snapped Bryan, but Andrew was already half-way across the room. Bryan jabbed his finger in Paige’s direction. “This is your fault. I hold you completely responsible.” Paige was standing beside Bryan’s left foot, so to accentuate his point, he attempted to kick her. He misfired and kicked Gran instead, a weak little kick that barely made contact.
“Hey!” said Gran,
“My apologies,” he grumbled. “I was aiming for my useless producer.”
“You kick anyone again,” warned Claire, “and you’ll be spending the night here with Fisher.”
Harriet gave Claire a wry smile as they walked toward the foyer to grab their coats. “You appear to be over your adulation of Bryan.”
“You’re not kidding. He makes a world-class buttermilk biscuit, but what a freakin’ creep.”
“What’s the deal with Ariana?” murmured Harriet, after they’d managed to find their coats in the semi-dark of the coatroom. “You’d never know her fiancé was just murdered.”
Ariana had a white, fake fur cape draped over her shoulders and was moving through the dining room, pouting into her phone, as she took selfie after selfie.
“She’s a piece of work all right,” agreed Claire. The friends watched as the young woman tilted her head and snapped a picture of herself pretending to wipe away a tear. “And was Fisher even divorced yet? What’s he doing with a fiancé?”
Tony and Andrew entered the foyer at the same time, Andrew stomping snow off his feet and Tony struggling to carry a long, metal table. Tony set the table down and looked across the dining room to the prostrate Bryan, who was barking orders at Paige. “He looks heavy.”
Denise ran her hand over the table. “And this table looks slippery. It’d be a shame if we dropped him.”
“Only because we’d have to pick him back up,” said Claire.
Andrew tapped Denise lightly on the shoulder. “Have you talked to Taffy?” he asked. “Does she know about Fisher?”
“She didn’t hear it from me, but she’s the mayor. In a storm like this she’ll be working the phones. She’ll have heard.”
Andrew nodded his head in agreement. “This has been — Do you mind? Can you call her? See how she’s doing.”
“I will when I get home,” Denise assured him.
There was a blast of cold air as Meachum pushed open the front door and came over to join them. “My car’s warming up. It’s a mess out there.” He gestured to Bryan. “Did anyone grab his coat?”
“I’ve got it,” said Gran. “Or I assume it’s his. It’s got a nasty look to it.”
Tony nodded to Andrew and together they lifted the folding table and the group started moving through the dining room. “You know,” said Andrew, spitting out the words like he couldn’t hold them in any longer, “anyone could get hold of bee venom. Taffy buys it on the Internet. Anybody could do that.”
“Of course, they could,” said Denise.
“And lots of people knew about Fisher’s allergy. He was almost phobic about it, when I knew him anyway.”
“Taffy Grimwood?” asked Meachum. “The mayor? She’s familiar with bee venom?”
Andrew hesitated for a moment. “She uses it in her cosmetic line. Like Claire said earlier, lots of people use it for all sorts of things.”
“I don’t know about lots of people,” said Meachum. “I’ve never heard of it before.”
Tony and Andrew set the table down beside Bryan. “How about this?” said Tony. “The detective and I will take his shoulders. Andrew and Harriet, you handle the middle and the other ladies take his feet.” He tossed Gran a friendly smile. “Obviously not you, Mrs. Pickles.”
Ariana waved her hands and stepped back. “Not me either. These are new nails.” She pulled her cape close around her. “I’ll hold the door for you.”
“Before we go, Miss,” said Meachum, “would you like to have a moment with your fiancé?”
Ariana crooked an eyebrow in his direction. “Huh?”
“For any last words. He’ll be going to the morgue after this.”
“He’s dead. What would I say to him?”
“Fisher wasn’t in the relationship for the repartee,” said Paige.
“Would you get on with this?” growled Bryan. “No one wants to talk to Fisher.” He jabbed his finger at Paige. “I need to relieve myself. If we ever get back to that inn you need to get me settled.”
“Settled?”
“Settled regarding my toileting needs,” he said, through clenched teeth.
“I’ll get Travis right on it.”
“Not Travis!”
Paige winced but didn’t have to respond because Tony cut in with a firm, “Let’s do this. On my count; one, two, three, lift.”
“My god, he’s heavy,” said Denise as with some effort they moved Bryan onto the table and started shuffling awkwardly toward the door. “We’ll never make it down the stairs.”
“If you dare to drop me,” threatened Bryan.
But they didn’t. Claire stumbled on the bottom step and almost brought the whole enterprise down, but they righted themselves, and with a good deal of swearing and complaining (mostly from Bryan) they pushed the table into the back of the truck and Andrew slammed the back, harder than was strictly necessary.
“Hop in,” he said to Paige and Ariana, who didn’t need any more encouragement to get out of the blowing snow.
“Good job, everyone.” Meachum hunched his shoulders and headed for his car. “I imagine I’ll see most of you tomorrow,” he called over his shoulder. “Don’t forget that list of names, Tony.”
“Will do.” Tony started back up the stairs. “I’ll go in and blow out the candles and help Mrs. Pickles out to the car.” Gran was waiting in the foyer until Harriet got the car cleared off.
Andrew wiggled his shoulders and nervously stomped his feet. “I shouldn’t have said that about Taffy using bee venom in front of the detective. I wasn’t thinking.”
“He’s probably forgotten it all ready,” said Harriet.
There was a loud moan and the sound of banging from the back of the truck. “Why isn’t this truck moving? I’m freezing back here.”
Andrew gave the women an awkward wave. “I guess I’ll be seeing you again soon. What a night...” He jumped in his truck and drove off, much too quickly. His wheels spun in the snow and he just missed hitting a telephone pole on his way out of the parking lot.
“What is wrong with that man?” demanded Denise. “I felt like kicking him when he brought up Taffy.”
“He’s upset,” said Harriet. “And Meachum would have found out about it soon enough.”
“And Taffy didn’t murder Fisher,” said Claire. “There’s nothing to worry about.”
“I know she didn’t murder him, but color me worried anyway.” Denise yanked her hat down over her eyebrows and shoved her gloved hands in her pockets. “I’m out of here. See you tomorrow.”
“You sure you don’t want a drive?” said Claire.
“It’s four blocks. I’ll be home before you get your car cleaned off. What are we doing about the café if the power stays out?”
Harriet shrugged. “It’s not usually out that long.”
“And if it is, we’ll open anyway,” said Claire. “We’ve got a gas stove. We’ll be fine.”
Denise nodded in agreement. “Sounds good. Say goodbye to Joyce for me.”
The two friends watched her walk away, then Claire looked across the parking lot at their snow-covered vehicles. “Why don’t we go together? Faster to just clean off the one car. You can pick yours up tomorrow.”
Harriet hesitated, but only for a moment. She didn’t much like driving at night even when the roads were clear. Claire started her car and cleared off the cluttered passenger seat for Gran, while Harriet grabbed the snow brush and began cleaning the windows. Across the street she could see the outline of someone standing on their porch. Whoever it was had been there since they’d brought Bryan out. She’d noticed because of the faint light from a cigarette.
Once the car was ready to go, Tony escorted Gran down the stairs and across the parking lot. “Thank you, Tony,” she said, patting him on the arm before climbing into the front. “You’re a real gentleman.”
Claire scanned the lot, empty except for Harriet’s car. “Did you walk, Tony?”
“Sure. I’m just over on Silverlake. I moved there a few months ago so I’d be close to the restaurant.” He sighed and used his arm to wipe the last traces of snow off Gran’s window. “All I can think about is that I wish I’d told Paige she couldn’t film here. I had to shut the place down to regular customers for two days and the show’s not even paying me. I figured it would be worth it for the publicity. Some publicity this is.” He flashed them an embarrassed grimace. “Sorry, I know that sounds terrible. Fisher is dead, and I’m worried about what it’s going to do to my business.”
“Did you know him when he lived in Sevenoaks?” asked Harriet.
“I was a year ahead of Andrew and him, but I knew them a bit. When I was in twelfth grade, one of the teachers taught an after-school cooking class. We were the only guys that signed up.” He gave a mirthless snort. “Fisher was kind of a jerk back then. I never liked him.”
“A jerk how?”
“He was arrogant, you know what I mean? A bully. But high school was a long time ago. He came by to check the place out and he was very friendly. Lots of compliments. Anyway, I’ll let you people get home. Drive safely.”
“Tony,” called Harriet, as he walked away. “That list you’re making for Meachum of people who were in the kitchen. Could I get a copy?”
“Sure. I’ll drop it by the Bluebell.” He took a last look at his restaurant. “I won’t have anything else to do tomorrow.”
“Tony’s a nice guy,” said Harriet, once they were in the car.
“He is,” said Claire. “And he’s right. A dead body is going to be terrible for business.”
Harriet leaned forward and stuck her head into the gap in the front seat between Claire and Gran. “Look at that porch across the street. That person’s been standing there the whole time we’ve been outside. Who would do that in this weather?”
“That’s Ruth Crenshaw’s house,” said Gran. “It can’t be her though. She had a heart episode a couple of months back. She’s moved into a nursing home; Leisure Living, I think.”
Slipping and sliding, but unrattled, Claire pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street. In front of Mrs. Crenshaw’s house, she slowed the car almost to a stop and all three of them squinted into the darkness. “Oh, I know exactly who that is,” said Gran. “Of course. It’s Patricia Swimm. Ruth’s her aunt.”
“Patricia Swimm?” said Harriet. “You mean —?”
“You’ve got it,” said Claire. “Fisher’s wife.”
Gran leaned back in her seat, her eyes still on Patricia. “She’s not his wife any longer; after tonight she’s his widow.”