Innkeeping with Murder - Tim Myers [5]
Alex shuddered thinking about the sheriff tearing up the gravel road in front of the inn, driving like a demon possessed and scaring his guests half to death. “How about shutting all the bells and whistles off when you came up Point Road? None of your voters live out here but me.”
“Okay, I’ll do it your way. Doc Drake just came in the door for lunch. We’ll be right out.”
After Alex hung up the telephone, he hastily scrawled a “Closed” sign on the back of an old flyer and took a few pieces of Scotch tape from the desk. Grabbing his keeper’s key for the lighthouse’s main door on the way out, he hurried down the gravel path that led to the tower.
Barb Matthews had her hand on the lighthouse door when Alex shouted out her name. She was dressed in her usual attire: sensible khaki pants, a maroon blouse and the sturdy brown hiking boots she always wore. She didn’t wear any makeup that he could see, and her
graying hair was tucked up under a badly abused hat. He wondered briefly when the woman had last smiled.
Certainly not since she’d come to Hatteras West.
He called out, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Matthews. We’ve got to close the lighthouse for a few hours.”
The woman spun around and waited impatiently for Alex to join her. When he got within reach, she started tapping him forcefully on the chest with her cherry walking stick. Perched on top of the slender shaft was a cast-metal dragon’s head painted an unnatural shade of gold. The expression on the dragon’s face reminded Alex of the woman herself. He had to fight the urge to grab the stick out of her hands as she repeatedly prodded him with it. Instead, he stepped back two paces, putting himself safely out of her reach.
She snapped, “Do you care to share with me why in the world you would close the only attraction this dismal place possesses?”
The woman was one customer Alex wouldn’t mind losing. She’d done nothing but gripe since she’d first discovered Hatteras West. As usual, upon arriving the day before yesterday, Mrs. Matthews started in with her complaints. Her room had either too much light or not enough. The same was true of her mattress being too hard or too lumpy, and Alex expected to hear about the towels being too rough or too soft next. Marisa had finally refused to go into the old lady’s room at all.
But Mrs. Matthews did have a point. There had to be some reason for shutting the lighthouse down so abruptly.
“Ummm, we’re doing a routine check of the old kerosene well, and the fumes need to be vented.” The
Fresnel light’s power had been converted to electricity long ago, but Barb Matthews wouldn’t know that.
The old lady jumped off the stoop. “You mean the lighthouse could explode?”
Wonderful. Now he’d have to deal with another rumor. “No Ma’am, it’s just a routine inspection,” he said calmly. “The smell should be gone by tomorrow morning, if you want to try then.”
Pivoting on her heels, the small woman huffed off toward her room. As she was leaving, she took one last shot at Alex. “If I’m still here tomorrow, I may come see it.”
Alex muttered under his breath, “And if you’re not, the drinks will be on the house.”
He must have spoken louder than he’d intended. Either that, or the woman’s hearing was better than a basset hound’s. “Pardon me?”
“I just said, I hope you enjoy your stay here at the lighthouse.”
This mollified her slightly. “Good day to you, Mr. Winston.”
Alex bolted the entrance door to the lighthouse and stuck his homemade sign up at eye level. That had been too close. A fine mist started to fall as he examined his work, chilling the air quickly, so Alex sought shelter back in the main lobby. Marisa was at the desk, looking slightly concerned.
“I couldn’t find him,” she said.
Oh blast. How would this hysterical woman take the news of Reg’s death? Alex couldn’t handle a scene right now with his maid. Calmly, he said, “Never mind. I’m taking care of Mr. Wellington.”
Marisa looked startled. “I’d forgotten all about him.
I was talking about Mordecai. He’s nowhere to be found, so I left a message for him on his machine.” She