Murder at Mistletoe Manor: A Mystery Novella by Tierney-Bedord Holly

Author:Tierney-Bedord, Holly [Tierney-Bedord, Holly]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: UNKNOWN
Published: 2016-10-12T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

“What I don’t understand,” Klarinda told the police officer, “is why there was water everywhere.”

He nodded, dinging the little bell on her front counter. “That’s loud! I like little bells like this. You don’t see them much anymore.”

“Thanks,” she said, setting it beneath the counter. “Back to the accident…”

“Go on. I’m listening,” he said, reaching in his pocket for a tiny notebook.

“When I say there was water everywhere, I mean everywhere,” said Klarinda. “I’m talking about gallons and gallons of water.”

“Hmm. Yep, I can picture it,” he said. WATER EVERYWHERE!?!?!? he wrote in his little notepad.

“Of course you can picture it. I just showed you what I’m talking about.”

“Yup,” he said.

Klarinda sighed and stole a glance toward the front window. She was hoping to see Deputy Franklin or the sheriff arriving, but there was no sign of activity out in the Mistletoe Manor parking lot. Just more snow coming down. This officer standing before her was some new guy she hadn’t seen yet, and he didn’t look like he was even old enough to shave.

“I’m talking about the water everywhere in my bedroom, when the ceiling collapsed,” she added, since, despite having seen the scene of the accident, he seemed so confused.

“Because it was a bathtub?” he asked, giving her a quizzical look.

“Yes, but it should have been empty. They drained it. I thought they did, anyway. We were worried about something like this happening. The weight of it all, and the inn being so old. It was built in the 1880’s.”

“Oh. Okay,” said the officer. 1880’s! STAGECOACH INN??!?? he scrawled on his page, trying to block his notes from Klarinda’s prying eyes with his other hand.

“This was never a stagecoach inn. Not to my knowledge,” she told him. He drew a line through what he’d just written. “But when I went into my bedroom,” she continued, “and saw what had happened, the room was soaked. And not just from the water spraying everywhere from the pipe above.”

“Hmm… Yep, interesting. Go on,” he said. WATER SPRAYING?!! he wrote on his tablet. Then he whispered, “Would you quit looking at my notes, Miss Snow? These are private police business.”

“Sorry. I’m just… It’s just that I can see what you’re writing and I want to be sure you’re getting it right.”

“Trust me. I’m the law,” he said, his face turning red.

“Anyway,” Klarinda continued, “as I was saying, the tub pretty much dropped straight down and since it landed on the bed, and… err…”

“And on the body,” he said, helping her along.

“Yes,” said Klarinda, “And the body. My point is, when the tub dropped, it didn’t break, so I could plainly see that it was still half full of water. After that big drop! How could that have happened if it had been drained?”

“Calm down, Miss Snow,” he said.

“All things considered, I’m calm,” said Klarinda, liking him less and less. She was stroking Pumpernickel’s furry little shoulders, trying to soothe the dog, who seemed able to sense the loss of her owner.

“Do you mind telling me what the victim was doing in your bedroom?” asked the officer.

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