Bed & Breakfast Bedlam (A Logan Dickerson Cozy Mystery Book 1) (4 page)

Chapter Eight

Friday
Afternoon

It didn’t smell like the mouthwatering pastry
that I had smelled the first evening I’d set foot in the Maypop Bed & Breakfast.
It smelled fishy even before I got in the door. People were milling around
outside, whispering among themselves and watching the house.

I had spent the morning getting a new
phone. Renmar’s juicy secret recipe didn’t go well with the wiring of an iPhone
6.

I had planned on spending the morning on
the Island but that FBI guy – Bay Colquett – showing up had gotten me so
flustered. I drove out to Augusta, because of course there was no mobile phone
store in Yasamee. On my way back I stopped at the Stallings Inn. It was, I
found, the only other sleeping accommodation in the town. It was quiet and
empty. My mother was working on people to get me approved to do some work on
the Island and I couldn’t just leave now that she’d got other people involved –
my phony cover-up story was causing more trouble than I bargained for. But,
until I heard back from my mother, I decided that I was moving out of the
Maypop Bed & Breakfast. And away from Bay Colquett.

But once I got inside, everything changed.
And things looked even fishier than they did from the outside.

The place was overflowing with people. The
Sheriff was shouting at people, Renmar was crying, eyes red and puffy, and the
lady I remembered as Hazel Cobb was trying to comfort her. It was bedlam. And
then I spotted, Vivienne, sitting quietly there in midst of it.

Miss Vivee sat on the light beige, tufted
armed bench in the corner of the foyer. She had on a sun hat and sunglasses, a thin
powder blue coat, with a large rounded collar, and knee high rubber boots. Her dog
sat on her lap.

She pulled her sunglasses down on her nose
and beckoned me with her finger. She mouthed “Come here,” then patted the seat
next to her.

I snaked my way through the crowd and sat
where she had directed. “What happened?” I asked.

“Gemma Burke died, face down, in her bowl
of bouillabaisse.”

“Here?”

“Sitting right there in the dining room.”

I followed the bony, shaky finger as she
pointed over to a lone bowl sitting on a table in the middle of the room.

“She bounced in, ponytail keeping pace
swinging from side-to-side, full of life. Left cold and stiff in a black bag.”

“That’s terrible,” I said “Was she young?”

“Round about your age.”

“I don’t think I met her,” I said trying
to place the name with a face.

“You didn’t. She had come in for lunch.”

“I thought you only served breakfast and
dessert here.” I frowned.

“Not on Fridays. On Fridays we serve
breakfast, dessert and lunch.”

“Do you ever serve dinner?”

“No.”

 “Well, where is that FBI guy?” I peered around
through the crowd hoping he wasn’t still around.

“You don’t know much about the law do you,
Missy.”

“I’m . . . Logan,” I said placing my hand
on my chest. “Remember?”

“I know your name. I’m just saying the FBI
wouldn’t be in charge of something like this unless it happened on federal
property. You know places like banks, national parks or federally owned land.”
She eyed me curiously and then pushed her glasses back up her nose.

“I didn’t mean that.”

Really, what I wanted to know was had he
been looking for me. I was nervous about any video tape recording being found showing
me running around Track Rock Gap like a lunatic. But I couldn’t let her know
that.

“I was just asking,” I said and changed
the subject. “So Renmar must have known this Gemma well. She seems pretty
upset.”

“No. Not really.” Her nonchalant
expression never changing. “Gemma used to live here in Yasamee when she was
growing up and then she moved away. Just came back recently. Can’t say that Renmar
knew much of her other than that girl loved her bouillabaisse.”

“Then why is she crying?” I watched as
Hazel Cobb nestled Renmar on her shoulder and stroked her head. She was
sniffling and saying something indecipherable between sobs.

“Gemma Burke died while eating her fish
stew. Stands to reason she’d be upset. Everyone is going to think that Renmar’s
dish must’ve poisoned her.” She pulled her sunglasses down on her nose again.
“Don’t you see all these people? In the house? All along the walkway out front?
Probably the whole town has come out. Renmar’s worried. She doesn’t want word
to get around that her famous bouillabaisse is lethal.”

I nodded and made a mental note not to eat
anything else out of Renmar’s kitchen. Too bad because she made the best food
I’d ever eaten.

“She wasn’t poisoned though,” Miss Vivee
said matter-of-factly.

“How do you know?”

“I know Renmar’s bouillabaisse.”

“Maybe the girl had a heart attack or
something?” I suggested.

“Good Lord, no,” Miss Vivee said keeping
her eyes trained on all the goings on. “Although the way she was always out
running like somebody was chasing her, dressed in those stretchy clothes, I’m
surprised that her heart didn’t burst open from all the exercise.”

“She jogged?”

No answer from Miss Vivee, just a look that
asked was I was slow.

“You don’t think jogging is good for you?”
I asked.

Thought I’d try a different approach.

“If people were supposed to go around
running for miles, God would’ve put them on that speed from the word go. No one
has any business moving that fast. For nothing.”

I laughed. “I’m with you on that.”

Miss Vivee lowered her voice. “Gemma
Burke’s death wasn’t natural. I can assure you of that.”

“You don’t think so?”

“I know so,” she said and stroked her dogs
head. “That girl was murdered.”

“Oh my.” A chill ran up my spine. “That
would be terrible if it were true.”

“It is true.” She pushed Cat off her lap,
took off her sunglasses and turned to me. Her whole expression changed. “Oh,
but you missed all the hullabaloo,” she was suddenly animated, her eyes
sparkling. “Coroner came, zipped Gemma Burke in his death bag and hauled her away
on a gurney. No pomp. No circumstance. Zip and done.

“Sheriff Haynes and the deputy got here
when they were wheeling the body out. Been asking questions ever since.” She
nodded to the pandemonium in the foyer.

“What’s the deputy’s name?” I asked. He
looked about my age, nice looking, but seemed lost in all the commotion. He was
nursing a hand that was bandaged and people kept bumping into it. It was making
him even more agitated.

“Colin Pritchard,” Miss Vivee said. “Born
and bred here in Yasamee, but he went and did his Peace Officer training up
north.” She glanced over at me. “You’d never know he had any training in
anything.”

I chuckled. I guess it was pretty obvious
he didn’t know what he was doing.

“But Lloyd Haynes, the sheriff,” she said
and nodded in his direction. “Ain’t had no training, and probably never been at
the scene of a crime like this before, but he looks pretty darn competent,
don’t he?”

I nodded. “Look like he’s got a hurt
foot?”

“Yep,” Miss Vivee said. He and that deputy
of his always out fishing and hunting.” She pointed to the Deputy’s hand. “They
do more damage to themselves than to whatever they’re hunting.”

I laughed. “And those are the two that’s
licensed to protect around here?”

“It’s a sad story, I know,” she said. “Anyway.
Sorry you missed it. Bet you would have enjoyed it. Seeing Gemma Burke like
that,” she said and nodded toward the dining hall as if Gemma Burke was still
there. “Face purple, her eyes open and lifeless. A real sight to see.” She
looked at me. “You like dead things, right?”

Chapter Nine

An hour later the chaos hadn’t stopped.

Miss Vivee and I stayed seated on the
bench and watched as the first murder in Yasamee in the last sixty-five years
was investigated.

Sheriff Lloyd Haynes and Deputy Colin
Pritchard had spent the morning talking to all the people that had been at the
Maypop when Gemma died. Now the Sheriff was trying to get Renmar’s account of
the events.

“Oh my,” Renmar said, her tears still
flowing after sixty whole minutes. “I don’t know what to say.” She looked at
Hazel Cobb who was holding on to her, then she lowered her eyes and toyed with
the tissue in her hand. “Gemma came in here every Friday since she got back.
She was such a skinny little thing, all that exercise I guess. I was happy to
feed her.”

“She loved your bouillabaisse,” Hazel said
and nodded.

“Yes. She did,” Renmar said and nodded
back.

Sheriff Haynes pulled his brown,
four-dented brown hat off of his head, and swiped his hand though the tuft of chestnut
hair that fell in his face. Though he seemed hot and frustrated, he kept a cool
temper. He was slightly tanned with dark brown eyes and a square jawline. He
looked to be in his late fifties or early sixties, and his tan colored,
short-sleeved uniform hung well over his fit body. But with all the disorder he
was dealing with, it seemed Renmar’s reaction to everything was giving him the
most grief.

“And-” the Sheriff started to say
something more to her when the deputy came up and interrupted his questioning.
Deputy Pritchard leaned into him and spoke low and close to his ear. When he
had finished speaking to him, the Sheriff said, “Excuse me, Renmar, I’ll be
right back.” He left out the front door following the deputy.

As soon as he left, Renmar sent Hazel
upstairs for something and then pulled Oliver close to her. They spoke in
hushed, and hurried voices. Oliver puffed hard on his e-cigarette and squinted,
taking in what Renmar was saying. Renmar’s eyes flitted about the room as if
she was ensuring no one was looking. We locked eyes momentarily. Then her eyes
darted from me, to Miss Vivee and back before she turned again to Oliver.

I turned to Miss Vivee. “What they got
their heads together about?” I asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe
they’re trying to get their alibis together.”

“You’re enjoying this aren’t you?”

“Why who wouldn’t?” Miss Vivee said. “It’s
a real crime scene around here. They roped off everything with that yellow
tape, stuffed things into small plastic bags and took a boatload of pictures.
Most excitement I’ve seen in forty years or more.”

The Sheriff came back in and Renmar pushed
Oliver toward the back of the house. He hurried off, furtively glancing back
over his shoulder. Renmar tried to control her sniffles. Patting her hair and
licking her lips, it was quite noticeable that Renmar was trying to remain
calm.

“I hate to tell you, Renmar,” the Sheriff
was back, “but we’re going to have to take that bowl of bouillabaisse that
Gemma was eating when she . . .  Well, you know.”

“When she croaked,” Miss Vivee said in a
voice, it seemed, as loud as her little frame could muster.

“Yes. Well,” the Sheriff said somewhat
flustered.

“Kicked the bucket,” Miss Vivee offered.

“Mother,” Renmar said.

“Hah,” Miss Vivee said. “I could do this
all night. I’ve got a million of them.” She yelled out, “Bite the dust. That’s
another one,” she said laughing and elbowed me.

“Anyway,” the Sheriff raised his voice.
“I’m going to need the whole pot as well.”

“It’s all gone,” Renmar said. And as soon
as it came out of her mouth, Miss Vivee hit me on my thigh. I looked at her.

“That’s a lie,” she said out of the side
of her mouth. “It’s a whole eighteen-quart stockpot full of it on the stove.”

“All gone?” The Sheriff hadn’t heard Miss
Vivee but it seemed like he didn’t believe Renmar either. “Mind if I take a
look?”

“Help yourself,” Renmar said and swept her
arm in the direction of the kitchen. “I gave the last bowl to Gemma.” She set
her lips firmly and locked eyes with the Sheriff.

He held her gaze momentarily and then
headed off to the kitchen without saying a word. Renmar followed behind him.

“They’ll do an autopsy no doubt,” Miss
Vivee said looking out into the distance. “But if they think that Renmar’s fish
stew done Gemma Burke in they’ll soon learn that they’re barking up the wrong
tree. I told the Sheriff that, too. He just smiled and nodded his head.
Patronizing son-of-a-gun. The facts will prove me right. Wait and see.”

Miss Vivee got quiet and then took in a
breath and shook her head. “Her hair was a mess,” she said, her voice a husky
whisper. “Poor Gemma Burke. When they pulled her face up out the bowl it was
just a mess. All wet around the edges from falling into the fish stew.” She
crunched up her nose. “When I go,” she said with a nod of her head, her voice
back to normal. “I plan on looking like I was just getting ready to sit for my
sweet sixteen portrait. Rosy cheeks and all. Even if I have to apply a little
rouge. And not a hair out of place. I’ll make sure of that.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes really,” she said as if it were a
fact. “I’m sure God’ll give me the strength to make myself presentable when
it’s time for us to meet.” Miss Vivee smiled and patted me on my knee.

I looked up to see Deputy Colin Pritchard
standing over me. He smelled all woody and fresh and I took in a big whiff. He was
tall and he looked so buff and officious in his tan uniform. But his eyes and
awkward smile made him look vulnerable, too. Especially with his hand wrapped
in a bandage. I just wanted to kiss his “booboo” and make it feel better.

I wouldn’t mind kissing those lips either.

“Yes,” I said, my eyes meeting his. “You
need me?”

“May I speak with you,” he said. “I need
to talk to you about where you were this morning.”

“Sure,” I said. “I don’t mind.”

“Looks like you’re a suspect, too,” Miss Vivee
said with a mischievous wink.