“She crept up the stairs, her heart pounding against the inside of her throat, and inched toward the door.” I pressed my fingers against the bottom of my paperback, pinning it open while I read to Sunlight and Cocoa Puff. “It was ajar, and a sickly sweetness drifted out toward her. A smell she recognized. One she had hoped she would never encounter again.” I paused for effect.
The inn’s two resident cats, Cocoa Puff, the veteran, chocolate in color and as adorable as the day I’d met him, and Sunlight, my new boisterous kitty cat, studied me with bright yellow eyes, seated beside each other at the foot of my bed.
“The odor was so foul she pressed a hand to her mouth, willing her nausea away, yet she was drawn onward. Her shoes scuffed on the creaking floorboards.”
Cocoa yawned and proceeded to lick the front of his chest, pulling faces only a cat could while doing so. Sunlight let out the tiniest of meows then curled up into a ball, purring softly.
“Oh, come on.” I flapped a hand in their direction. “We’re reaching the climax. She’s about to find out who’s been murdering the townsfolk! You know, you two need a literary education. It’s nearly Halloween.” That wasn’t technically true. Halloween was two months away, but as one of my favorite holidays, I was ready to start the celebrations early.
Anything to spice things up a bit at the inn.
It had been surprisingly boring here of late. Apart from the usual cat and guest herding, the chef’s mood swings as her due date approached, and the upcoming opening of the ghost tours at the Gossip Inn, there had been nothing to write home about.
Then again, Gossip was my home and the only person I’d write to was my grandmother who owned the inn.
Sunlight gave another purring meow. Cocoa Puff laid down, lifted a leg and set to work cleaning his private area.
“You two are hopeless,” I sighed. “It’s past time we get in a spooky mood around here. I’m going to talk to Georgina about putting up the Halloween decorations early.”
Something had to give. As an ex-spy, I couldn’t stand the quiet for much longer.
I continued reading. “Rumelda pressed a hand to the door and immediately withdrew it. The wood was ice cold. Her breath misted in front of her face, and, not for the first time, she considered turning back. But the mystery had dug its bloodied claws into her flesh.” I shook my head at the cats. “Come on. This is good stuff. I can’t believe you’re not as spooked out as I am.”
A couple of years ago, the prospect of talking to cats and expecting them to understand me would’ve made me spit out my protein bar. Now, I could barely get through the day without a cupcake and a chat with Cocoa and Sunlight.
I wasn’t even mad about it.
“Rumelda took a breath, pushed the door open. The room was dark, but not dark enough to hide the horror within. A scream tore from her throat and—”
A high-pitched shriek broke the silence in the inn.
I stiffened.
Wait a second. Was that my imagination or—?
But no. Both Cocoa and Sunlight were up. Sunlight stared at the bedroom door, and Cocoa jumped off the bed and darted underneath it.
A second scream, shrill and terrified, rose from below. I glanced at the alarm clock on my bedside table—03:00 a.m..
I jumped out of bed, opened my bedside table drawer, lifted the false bottom, and extracted my Sig Sauer from within. I strapped it to my side, slipped on my white, cotton robe, and exited my bedroom.
Though I’d be the first to admit that I hadn’t been a particularly good spy, my training had kicked in. The slightest movement drew my attention, and my breathing was calm, my gaze focused. I left one hand on my weapon, ready to draw it at a moment’s notice.
A figure glided down the hall toward me in white striped PJs. My grandmother carried her shotgun out in the open. “Awake so late, Charlotte?” Her prim British accent was pronounced.
I didn’t bother asking Gamma why she was up at this hour. She barely slept, possibly because she’d seen too much as one of the NSIB’s most decorated spies.
“I was reading. You heard the screams too?”
“I believe everyone heard the screams.” Indeed, a rumbling of chatter came from the floor below us.
We made our way down the stairs together. I tied my robe closed, letting Gamma walk with her shotgun out. It was expected of Georgina Franklin to wield a shotgun at odd hours of the day and night—she’d acquired somewhat of a reputation—but I was the “meek maid” at the inn.
“Who screamed?” A man’s voice from the first floor landing. “What’s going on?”
“I heard it too.” A woman.
“This is ridiculous. Some of us need our beauty sleep.”
“Mommy, I’m scared.”
“It’s OK, Charity, darling. Everything will be just fine. It’s probably something to do with the ghost tours, you know. It’s almost Halloween.”
“But in the middle of the night? This isn’t what I’m paying for.”
Gamma reached the first floor landing ahead of me and stopped abruptly. “Attention,” she said, raising her voice. “All guests are required to meet in the dining room, tout suite.”
The guests from the first floor stared at her in varying states of shock and horror. “But what is it?” A man asked. “What’s going on?”
“We’re not sure as yet,” Gamma replied. “Rest assured, your questions will be answered in due course.” She ignored the grumbling from the guests and turned to me. “Charlotte, proceed up to the other floors and execute Contingency Plan 4.”
“Copy,” I murmured.
After the last strange “mystery” at the Gossip Inn—of which there had been many—Gamma and I had come up with several emergency plans to keep the guests protected and danger at a minimum.
You’d think that living in a small town in Texas wouldn’t provide too much danger, but with our collective histories… well, it looked like I was about to get that excitement I’d been after.
I hurried up the stairs and did as Gamma had instructed, collecting the guests from the second and third floors, ushering them downstairs and into the dining room. Apart from the plans we’d put in place, Gamma had also installed a new security system. Cameras watched the exterior of the inn but not the halls to protect the guests’ privacy.
“This is everyone, I think,” I said, entering the dining room.
The lights were on and bleary-eyed guests conversed or glared around at the room and each other. Most of the anger was directed at Gamma.
“What’s going on?” a man yelled, over the noise. “We deserve answers. Who was screaming? What is—?”
Gamma lifted her pump shotgun and cocked it in one hand. She was in her late sixties, but she was hard as nails, strong as steel. “Quiet,” she said, calmly. “Your questions will be answered soon.”
“Do not tell him to be quiet.” A woman rose from a table near the dining room windows, and I groaned inwardly.
Not her again.
Glendaree Bijon.
She had been giving us trouble ever since she’d arrived last week, and she stood with her fists on her hips, staring us down. Glendaree wore a silken robe over an equally silky nightgown, both gold in color. She had pinned up her gray hair in a fountain of curls, and she wore severe eye makeup.
Had she splashed it on before coming down for the emergency meeting? Or did she wear eyeshadow to bed? Both options disturbed me equally.
“Miss Bijon, please, take a seat,” Gamma said, calmly. “We’re going to get to the bottom of what’s going on, shortly.”
“It’s Mrs. Bijon to you,” she snapped. “Just because my husband is gone doesn’t mean you can call me whatever you like. I should report you for—”
A howl rose outside and most of the guests gasped.
It had sounded like a dog or a—
“Werewolf!” The scream came from behind us.
Lauren, the usually cheerful chef, stood beneath the dining room’s archway, one hand on her pregnant stomach, the other on her head. She was pale, sweat shimmering on her upper lip.
“Lauren!” I rushed to her side, taking hold of the underside of her arm. “Are you OK? What happened?”
Gamma joined us as chaos erupted in the dining room. “Was that you screaming earlier?”
Lauren nodded. “I think I’m going to faint.”
Carefully, Gamma and I escorted the chef, her usually vibrant red hair hanging limp against her cheeks, into the inn’s kitchen. We seated her at the table and I made quick work of getting her a tall glass of water and one of her delicious cupcakes.
Lauren ate the sugary treat greedily and color returned to her cheeks. She sipped the water. “I’m s-sorry,” she said. “I hope I didn’t scare you.”
“What happened, Lauren?” Gamma stroked her back, standing behind the chef’s chair.
“It was the craziest thing. I—”
“What is the meaning of this madness?” Glendaree Bijon had followed us back to the kitchen. She pointed a bejewelled finger—seriously, bejeweled at this time of night—at Lauren. “I demand compensation for the disturbance of my beauty sleep. You will eject this cretin from the inn at once.”
I rounded on her, but Gamma shot me a look. “Mrs. Bijon,” she said, “there appears to have been a serious emergency with one of our staff members. We apologize for any inconvenience caused. Charlotte will escort you and the other guests back to your rooms.” Gamma had assessed the situation and determined there wasn’t an imminent threat.
“Right this way, Mrs. Bijon,” I said, doing as my grandmother had instructed.
Glendaree drew herself up straight, clutching the sides of her golden robe. “I expect compensation,” she growled. “The Tri-State Baking Competition is at the end of the week, and I need my beauty sleep if I’m going to win again.”
“Of course,” I replied. “My sincerest apologies, Mrs. Bijon.” Words had never tasted as bitter. Charlotte Mission, the spy, wanted to pull that golden robe over Glendaree’s head and run her into a wall. Charlotte Smith, the maid, wouldn’t so much as hiss at a mouse.
I spent the next thirty minutes apologizing to guests, escorting them back to their rooms, checking all the exits were locked, and checking on the kittens and assistant in the kitten foster center attached to the inn.
Finally, I joined Gamma and Lauren in the kitchen.
The chef talked animatedly. “—didn’t mean to disturb anyone.”
“All right,” I said, plopping into a chair beside her and grabbing a cupcake from the center plate on the table. “Would someone like to fill me in on what that was about? Because it took all my energy not to stuff Mrs. Bijon into a closet on the way up the stairs.”
“I’m so sorry, Charlotte,” Lauren said. “I didn’t mean to disturb anyone.”
“So, what happened?” I asked.
“It’s quite the tale,” Gamma said, from where she stood, preparing a pot of coffee. Apparently, we’d decided we weren’t going back to bed. Then again, it was past 04:00 a.m., so what was the point? We’d have to wake up soon to start the morning prep for breakfast.
Lauren stroked her belly. “I wanted to come out to the inn early today, you see, because I couldn’t sleep, and I’m kind of nervous for the baking competition. I thought I’d get a headstart on the preparations this morning. Maybe trial a new version of the key lime pie I want to make for the main event.”
“OK? And the screaming?”
“Right. So, this is where it gets strange,” Lauren said. “I arrived at the inn like normal, and I was just going to open the side door of the kitchen, there.” She pointed to the back door. “When I heard… this… oh my, it was horrible.” Her southern accent grew particularly strong.
“What was it?”
“I heard this shuffling in the darkness behind me. I turned around, thinking maybe it was the new gardener or just a guest or a small critter or something, and that was when I saw it.”
“Saw what?”
“The werewolf.”
I frowned, glancing up at my grandmother. She shrugged.
Lauren was heavily into superstitions. She believed in ghosts and the paranormal, and now, werewolves. I didn’t buy it. Call me a skeptic, but there was usually a good explanation for things that went bump in the night.
In my world, those bumps were often made by men with guns. Or women with guns. Evil didn’t have a gender.
“A werewolf,” I repeated, drily.
“Well, yeah! I know a wolf when I see one. This one was huge, and grey, and it looked at me with this evil gleam in its eyes, and that was when I screamed. I couldn’t get the door open, so I screamed again. I eventually got inside, and then I… well, I sat down at the table, and I fell asleep.”
“You fell asleep?” My eyebrows lifted. “After that?”
“I was exhausted,” Lauren said. “I think it was all the shock and fear and stuff. I just fell asleep. And then I woke up and I heard the noise from the dining room and it came rushing back and I just had to tell someone and—”
“It’s OK.” I patted Lauren on the shoulder. Was it normal for pregnant women to have hallucinations when they were close to their due date?
Or she saw a big dog in the inn’s back yard.
“Don’t bother with any of this today, Lauren.” Gamma set down a cup of hot chocolate in front of the chef. “You should focus on your practice for the Tri-State Baking Competition this week.”
“You’re right,” Lauren said. “I need to bring my A-game. That Glendaree Bijon won’t go down without a fight.”
Their conversation wandered to baking, and I tuned most of it out. A part of me wanted to go out there and see if I could find evidence of this “werewolf”, but we had prep to get to.
Still, I couldn’t help glancing at the back door. It had been a while since there’d been a good mystery to solve.