Scone Cold Dead by Karen MacInerney

Author:Karen MacInerney
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gray Whale Press

14

Goose bumps rose on my arms as I pulled the phone away from my ear and checked the Caller ID. Whoever had called had blocked the number.

It had been years since I'd received a prank call. Was that what this was?

Or was it related to what I had found on my porch the night before?

My meditative mood shattered, I cut the scones and put them on a parchment-paper-lined baking sheet, then slid them into the oven and checked the locks on the doors again, then pushed through the door to the dining room, intending to head to the front door to make sure it was locked, too; I didn't usually go to such measures, but right now, I was being very careful.

I was about to round the corner into the parlor when I heard voices.

"I told you. We're fine."

"Are you sure?" The first voice was low and male, the second female and anxious. "What if she told someone?"

"Who would she tell? No one here knows us."

"I don't mean here," the woman said. "I mean back home."

"Who would she tell?" the man asked again. "We don't run in the same circles. We're only acquaintances; it's not like we were best friends, or like she had phone numbers or anything."

"She might have called," the woman protested. "Looked up the numbers online."

"The service here is so spotty, I don't see how she could. Besides, she only had what, a half hour? You worry too much."

"If it got out, I don't know what I'd do. Oh, God. I knew this was a bad idea."

"We're fine. No one will know."

"I don't know. I shouldn't have agreed to this. I'm so stupid... this was such a bad idea."

"Noelle..."

"I need to be alone," she said. "I need to think."

Footsteps sounded, and then came the squeak of a door opening. I retreated to the kitchen door, and was just about to slip through it when Bruce rounded the corner, looking angry and unhappy. His eyes narrowed when he saw me.

"Oh, hi," I said. "Can I get you anything?"

"How long have you been here?" he asked.

"Been where?" I asked. "I've been in the kitchen making scones. They'll be out in a bit if you're hungry. I was just about to check to make sure the front door was locked."

He stared at me, as if sizing me up.

"Is something wrong?" I asked.

"No," he said slowly. "It's fine."

"Good," I said, bustling past him. "Let me know if you need anything. And like I said, scones will be out in a bit."

"I'm not hungry, but thanks," he said. "And don't lock the door yet. I'm going for a walk."

"Sure," I said, oddly thankful that he'd be leaving the inn. There was something deeply unsettling about Bruce at the moment: agitated, brooding. Potentially violent?

As he let himself out the front door, I headed to the front desk and pulled up the bookings screen, thinking of what he and Noelle had been talking about. What were they worried about someone—presumably Chelsea, based on Bruce's timing comment—seeing?

I looked up the home addresses of Bruce and Noelle.

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