A Conventional Corpse by Joan Hess

Author:Joan Hess
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 2010-03-31T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter

10

Lily was sitting on the steps of the front porch of the Azalea Inn when I drove up. Her knees were splayed rather cradely, but as far as I could tell, there were no blood splatters on her clothes or a particularly disturbed look in her eyes. This was not to imply I might have proffered an invitation to spend an evening on my sofa with pizza, cheap wine, and video rentals.

“Are the police gone?” I asked.

She gestured at the curb. “Look for yourself.”

“Well, I suppose they are,” I said lamely. “Did any of them have something significant to say?”

“They stormed around the garden, causing irreparable damage, and then searched Ms. Small’s room as if it were a prison cell. One of them had me sign a receipt for a laptop computer. Why would they think I cared? They could have taken her luggage and thrown it off the bridge, or piled it in the alley and set fire to it This woman brought a curse on the Azalea Inn, as have you, Ms. Malloy. All I’ve ever wanted to do is create a nonviolent ambiance where we can all celebrate nature in an embracing environment. Hypoallergenic soap, healthy meals, cotton sheets with a two-hundred thread count—”

“Can it” I said as I sat down beside her. “Did the police take anything besides the laptop?”

“No. They spent less than half an hour in her room, then told me to leave everything as is until they get in touch with someone. I do hope they’re not planning a seance. The last thing I need are diaphanous netherworld creatures who go bump in the night. The azaleas will positively shrivel.”

“Why, Lily, is it possible you have a sense of humor?”

“Don’t bet on it.”

I sat back and looked at her. “I shudder to imagine your past lives. How old are you this round?”

“Thirty-one. In case you were going to ask, which I presume you were, I have a master’s degree in art history and seven years of experience as a curator in a museum in Taos. When the Twiller trust informed me that I could have this house, I trampled over all the clay-splattered potters and purveyors of puerile watercolors in my haste to escape. I ran down three tourists clad in khaki shorts and Ray-Bans on my way out of town. I may have outstanding warrants, but I have no regrets.”

I sucked in a smile. “You made the decision by yourself? Wasn’t that intimidating?”

“I had no choice. All the bikers with the really good tattoos were headed toward Callfornia.”

“So you came here and opened an inn?”

“And without a clue,” she admitted. “I thought I could be a beacon of personal integrity, but all I’ve done since then is compromise. I even allowed a couple to bring their parrot last month. Birds are filthy creatures, Ms. Malloy. I myself will never sleep in the Hibiscus Room due to the possibility of air-borne diseases. Now I’ve allowed smoking, and I have no doubt that blasted cat was wandering around before you arrived.

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