Chapter Five

It was the lunch rush at The Hungry Puppy Café when Deputy Marks drove into the parking lot. From the passenger seat, Mel smiled at the number of dogs and their owners seated at the heated outdoor dining area, an old wooden porch that circled the small café. The line of customers waiting for a table proved the food and atmosphere were a big hit.

Mel led Marks toward the freezer but stopped at a table to make a fuss over a beautiful chestnut brown Labradoodle puppy. It was only about thirty pounds of adorable energy now, but from the size of its feet she guessed it would grow to be much bigger. Jackson joined them, smiled at her, and gave the deputy a glare so frosty Mel shivered despite her heavy sweater. The history between the two of them must be juicy.

“Mel, Marks, I see you’ve met Chewbarka and my Dad.”

“Hey Jack-o,” the deputy addressed the slimmer man with a decided note of disregard. “When did you get back in town?”

“Last fall. And look at you, of all people, an officer of the law.” Mel heard the subtle sarcasm in his voice but apparently it went over Marks’ head or he was being intentionally obtuse.

“Yep, on the fast track to make sergeant in no time. Weren’t you up in Northern Cali, working for some mega conglomerate, making artificial flavors for tobacco or something?” Then he snapped his fingers in recognition. “I got it, you had something to do with the vaping pen that killed a kid, didn’t you?”

The muscles along Jackson’s jaw jumped. “That’s not even remotely true, and you know it.”

Trained by the best—her mother—in conflict de-escalation, Mel gave the dog one last pat before edging between the two men and changing the subject. “Business is booming, congratulations.”

“Thanks, I’m talking to my investors about getting more money to expand,” Jackson mumbled.

Marks gave a derisive snort. “Serving puppy chow seems like a giant step down from big time biochemist, isn’t it?”

Noticing the clench come into Jackson’s fist, Mel made a show of stamping her feet and blowing on her bare hands. “Some of us aren’t used to the cold yet. Can we just peek at the, you know, and arrange for someone to pick him up?”

She nudged the two men who were acting like overgrown teenagers away from the customers and around the corner where the freezer sat. Marks opened the top, glanced inside, and gave a non-committal grunt before dropping it back down.

Trying to be helpful, Mel explained, “I didn’t see any sign of injury or foul play, but here you go.” She pulled her phone out of her pocket and handed it to Marks. “I took pictures of the scene and can forward them to you if you want to give me your contact info.”

“Thanks, ma’am.” Marks poured on the charm and touched the rim of his cowboy hat. “You don’t need to come up with an excuse, I’m happy to give you my number.” He flirted with the best of them, smoothly handing her his business card.

With an irritated scowl, Jackson demanded, “When can I have my freezer back?”

Marks grew more serious. “I made it up here because I have a four-wheel drive and was only coming from Owl Creek. The road from Hemet is still pretty icy. The earliest a funeral home can get here is probably going to be two days.”

“Two days?” Mel yelped, then looked around and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw they were still alone.

“That’s the day of the Christmas Festival,” Jackson chimed in. “It won’t do much for the holiday spirit if visitors are treated to the sight of a corpse being moved.”

Marks grinned down at Mel. “Oh yeah, I forgot how fun the Festival can be.” His flirty moves oddly made her feel attractive more than irritated. God, had it been that long since she’d had a date?

The deputy turned to Jackson. “Don’t worry, Jack-o. We’ll put up a tent so no one sees a thing.” He pivoted back to Mel, flashing his pearly whites. “Can I give you a ride back up to your B&B?”

Still thinking about the dead man in the freezer, Mel mumbled, “What? Oh, no, thank you. My legs can use a little stretching, and it’s only a half-mile or so up the road. I’ll be fine.”

As Jackson seemed to gloat over her response, Mel chalked it up to whatever history was between them. The question kept nagging at her—how did Hubbard die?

“Isn’t there a doctor in town who could give our friend here a once-over? Aren’t you curious about what happened to him?”

Marks gave an ugly snort. “No way, there’s not gonna be some amateur hour investigation into this man’s death. Look at him,” he gestured broadly at the body and shook his head. “It was a heart attack, plain and simple.” Tipping his hat again, he got in his truck and drove off.

Mel sniffed. Thank you, Doctor Marks, for your professional opinion. He probably thought his words were enough to make her stand down. He was wrong. She could just imagine what would happen to their booking rate once word got out some guy croaked in her Great Room. Weirdo ghost tours would be the only people willing to come.

On the other hand, if she had a definite cause of death, the rumor mills would die from lack of fuel.

She turned to Jackson, who studied her with an impish grin. “You want to know where the doctor’s office is, don’t you?”

“Hey, think how much helping me will piss off Deputy Marks.”

“There is that.” His smile broadened. “But can I at least lend you a coat? I’m getting cold just looking at you.”

****

Mel followed Jackson’s directions to the professional office of Dr. Linda Hart, only a few doors down the street. The people she passed on the sidewalk eschewed wearing scarves and gloves, clearly unbothered by the weather. She had to either acclimate to the temperatures or give up and go back to sunny, smoggy, Los Angeles. Mel unzipped the jacket a little, determined to give life on the mountain her best shot.

The practice was in a white clapboard, one story building off the main circle drive, set back from the street to allow parking in a tiny gravel lot. Its black shutters and door seemed to be freshly painted. The small porch was lined with red and gold foil-covered pots of poinsettias.

Mel rapped on the shiny black door with the equally shiny brass knocker and waited, stomping her feet to keep the circulation going. Maybe she should have called before coming? Her only experience with small town doctors came from watching Doc Martin reruns on PBS, and he seemed to always be in his “surgery”. When no one answered, she turned to leave and had no more than stepped off the porch before the door opened.

A woman who resembled popular depictions of Mrs. Claus and wearing an Iron Maiden T-shirt appeared. “Hello, you must be our new hotelier I’ve heard so much about.” The warmth in her voice matched the twinkle in her eye. “Come in, come in.” She ushered Mel into the foyer that featured closed doors on both left and right sides.

Mel offered her hand. “Mel O’Rourke, nice to meet you.”

The older woman stepped back and smiled. “Oh, I don’t do the hand shaking thing, way too many germs, no offense. Linda Hart. Good to make your acquaintance. Now then, is this a social call or a professional visit?”

Mel hesitated. “A bit of both?”

The doctor’s warm gaze studied her curiously before giving a curt nod of her head, waving to the door on the left. “Go on through here.”

It opened into a cozy living room with a crackling fire in the hearth. Just like the metal head/grandma doctor, the living room was a study in contrasts. Guitars on the rear wall were simple but unmistakable quality antiques. The entire scene defied her expectations.

“Cookie?” Dr. Hart picked up a holiday plate off the coffee table and offered it to Mel. She desperately wanted to get Hart to examine the dead man, but her stomach gave off a noisy reminder that she’d missed lunch.

“Um, sure, thanks.” There were three varieties of cookies on the plate, all more tempting than anything she had to offer at her place. “How did you get them so fluffy? Mine keep coming out flat.”

“If you’re used to baking in LA, it could be due to the altitude. Try adding a bit more flour and raising the oven temperature. But be careful you don’t burn ’em.”

Mel bit into a cookie and groaned in delight. “Sorry,” she apologized, embarrassed. “I don’t bake much, and I’ve only had my own cookies to sample these past few days. I am so going to humiliate myself in this charity thing.”

“Nonsense.” Folding her hands over her belly, the doctor chuckled. “I’ve clearly had a lot more experience eating cookies than you. You’ll do just fine.”

Mel hesitated, uncertain how to bring up what she needed. Thankfully, she threw Mel a lifeline. “You’ve had quite an exciting opening week, Miss O’Rourke.”

“Frankly, I’d love a little less excitement, and please call me Mel.”

“So what brings you here? Your dead body?”

Mel toyed with her half-eaten cookie, grateful the doctor had figured it out. “Can you examine Mr. Hubbard and see if you can establish a cause of death?”

Dr. Hart frowned and shook her head. “Sorry, kiddo, but forensic science is a whole different area of study than being a GP. You’ll have to wait for the medical examiner in the city to figure that out.”

“Sure, I get that. But what if he died from a heart attack, like Deputy Marks keeps saying? Couldn’t you crack him open and see?”

“What difference does it make?”

“I need the Babbling Brook to be a success, and when it eventually gets out that a man died there practically as soon as it opened, I’m screwed. But if I can get ahead of it, definitively say it was natural causes as opposed to curses, ghosts, or murder, I might do some damage control.”

“Is there any reason to think it wasn’t?”

Mel hesitated, hating to have to admit it. “I know it sounds crazy, but there’s just a feeling in my gut that something’s not right. I mean, look—” She pulled up the pictures of the scene on her phone. “His shoes were damp, so he’d been outside at one point, but where’s his coat? And why sit in the public room to eat his cookie and have coffee? He had a fireplace in his own room. It’s like he planned on meeting someone.”

She slipped the device back in her pocket, knowing how crazy her theory sounded, but she’d built a pretty strong career on her hunches. “I really need to know what he died of to protect my business.”

The older woman gave Mel a measuring look. “Since you’re here, are you sure there’s nothing I can do for you professionally?”

Mel’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why?”

“The dark circles under your eyes for starters. That you moved up here to our tiny little hamlet from the bright lights of the big city tells me something drove you to make a change. And the way you’re bundled up like it’s the North Pole out there rules out a desperate love for snow.”

“It’s been a long week. A little more sleep and I’ll be fine.”

Dr. Hart pressed her business card into her hand. “Just in case. Call me if you need me. One advantage to small town living is we do make house calls.”

Mel accepted the card, but as soon as she was out the door she wadded it into a ball and jammed it inside the pocket of her borrowed jacket.

What she needed was an answer as to how Hubbard died.

She did not need a doctor.